“Shall we try to find our way to the airstrip a different way, take to the roads, or just fuck our brains out and then do a murder suicide pact?” Kaufman asked.
“For now, why don’t we try a bit of Plan A along with some Plan B and try to cut through the woods, circle around, and try to make it to the airstrip,” Hardigan said. “We can always go with your Plan C if that doesn’t work out.”
“Ah, what a way to turn a girl down,” Kaufman said, snapping her fingers in an exaggerated motion of mock disappointment. “They probably won’t wait for us, especially since they think we’re dead. You know that, right?”
“I do,” Hardigan said, “But there might be other planes there, you can fly anything right?” Hardigan asked hopefully.
“If it makes you feel better to believe that, then yes, yes I can,” Kaufman said, giving Hardigan an enthusiastic thumbs up.
“Cheer up, did you ever think you’d live this long?”
“No, nor did I think I’d want to, given the state of things,” Kaufman said, her voice quiet again. She still fell in behind Hardigan and matched his pace, which wasn’t hard since he was still limping.
“What changed that?” Hardigan asked.
“Nellie,” Kaufman said, her voice betraying a hint of emotion. “I was… a mess when I first came to the complex. She had just arrived herself, and she’s still emotional now, but more so then. It’s not my place to tell you things about her, but suffice to say, she had a rough time of it too. A lot like… my own experience, with losing her family thrown in too. I suppose we bonded together,” Kaufman said, not bothering to disguise the warmth in her voice. “What about you, why do you keep going?”
“Jenny and Greer I suppose,” Hardigan said. “Jenny’s tough, a lot like you Laura,” he said, laughing.
“I’ve met your Jenny,” Kaufman said, smirking back. She stepped over a fallen log and helped Hardigan cross it. “You seem to have a thing for dangerous women.”
“Maybe it just worked out that way,” Hardigan said, grunting in pain as he dragged himself over the log. “Greer was with Jenny first, I guess they were a lot like you and Nellie. Then Jenny and I… sort of happened, and Greer came along with the package. Only now… Lisa and I …”
“Only now you’re in love with Greer too,” Kaufman said. “It’s not hard to see, and there’s not enough of us left to be petty about things. If it works for you, go with it. Families can take all sorts of forms.”
Hardigan nodded. “I suppose you’re right Laura.”
“Of course I’m right, that’s what I’m here for, don’t you remember?” Kaufman said, smiling. “There’s not that many men left in our little bunch, looks like you’ll have to go around.”
“Lucky me,” Hardigan grunted, using his rifle butt to help support his leg as they climbed over some rocks. Mercifully, the wind was blowing so as to hide their scent from the revenants, and they were now on the reverse slope of a slight rise, hiding them from sight as well. “You hinting at something Laura?” Hardigan asked.
“And if I am?” Kaufman asked, blinking slightly.
“Everyone would have to know the score, and it’d be complicated,” Hardigan said.
“Well, we live for danger you and I, now don’t we?” Kaufman asked, winking this time.
“Yeah, I guess we do,” Hardigan admitted, finding that he enjoyed Kaufman’s company. “Before all this happened, what you’re talking about might have been a dream come true, now it just seems like the way things are.”
“Blame the Army, all you poor dumb men died fighting,” Kaufman said.
“You don’t seem much like an officer any more,” Hardigan said, studying Kaufman’s rank tabs.
“I’ve been thoroughly civilianized and corrupted,” Kaufman replied, grimacing. “I made it a very deliberate point to stop thinking like I was in the service after… after the hospital.”
“You still tend to give orders a lot,” Hardigan said.
“So do you,” Kaufman snorted.
“Yeah, I guess we never have much choice do we?” They walked past a burnt school bus, singed books still blowing about in the breeze. “They must have tried to evacuate, been desperate enough to try driving cross country,” Hardigan muttered.
“Someone has to give the orders,” Kaufman said, pausing to stare at the bus for a moment. “Otherwise, there’s no future. Someone has to make it, or there was no point to this, to any of it.”
“That’s why I’m still up and walking,” Hardigan grunted, reverting to using his rifle as a walking stick again.
“You’re the one who said you needed a pep talk sometimes,” Kaufman reminded.
“Last time you were just going to give me a bullet,” Hardigan retorted.
“Times change,” Kaufman said. “If I start to nag, just let me know, sometimes I’m afraid I sound like the old Jewish mother that I am.”
“You’re not that old,” Hardigan said stealing an admiring glance. Kaufman caught him looking and returned the smile. Then part two of it dawned on him, “I didn’t know you had kids.”
“I had a son,” Kaufman said quietly, looking away again. “He was with his father, my ex-husband. Visitation and all that. Before all this started, he was away for the summer.” Kaufman shook her head and kept her eyes averted.
“I’m sorry,” Hardigan said.
“I told you before Jack, stop being sorry for what you can’t change, just deal with what you can,” Kaufman chided.
“I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories is all,” Hardigan said, pausing to lean on his rifle again and catch his breath.
“You’re getting out of shape there,” Kaufman said, resting her hand on Hardigan’s shoulder for moment. “And don’t worry about the memories, sometimes memories are all we’ve got left. Good, bad, or indifferent, they make us what we are.”
Hardigan nodded and started forward again, “If you get me out of this, I should name my kid Laura,” Hardigan said.
“If I get you out of this, and you do, let’s hope it’s a girl then, otherwise your son will be awful traumatized,” Kaufman said, laughing and wiping away a tear she didn’t want Hardigan to see.
“I could name him Larry then,” Hardigan suggested.
Kaufman paused and gave him an odd look, “I think that might be fitting,” she whispered, “Larry was my son’s name.”
Hardigan didn’t say anything else for a few moments as they made their way closer through the woods. He paused twice to shoot revenants wandering through the trees. “How long were you married?” he asked finally, wanting to break the silence.
“Not long and yet too long,” Kaufman laughed. “I never even took his name, his name was Miller, a nice Goyim like you. He was older though, a doctor already.”
“That why you went to medical school?” Hardigan asked.
“I don’t know; my undergraduate work was in biology. I studied plants if you can believe that. Somehow I took the idea into my head that I wanted to be a fast jet pilot, so that’s what I did until I became pregnant, then ground duty until my time ran out.” Kaufman’s voice was still uneven, “What about you, ever have a Mrs. Jack Hardigan?”
“No, came close a couple of times, but nothing ever clicked,” Hardigan said shrugging.
“And now it’s like the end of the world jokes used to be, if you were the last man on earth and all that,” Kaufman said, smiling again.
Hardigan noticed that Kaufman had crow’s feet around her eyes and was looking increasingly haggard. He paused, leaning against a tree and removed his canteen. He handed it to Kaufman again, who accepted it. Drinking deeply, she nodded her thanks.
As Kaufman handed back the canteen, they both looked up. The sounds of the engines were unmistakable as they heard a plane fly overhead.
Greer opened her eyes again when she felt the pressure of someone squeezing her hand. She looked around and realized that she was still strapped into her stretcher, but noticed that Nellie was no longer lying across from her. Straining to move her eyes upward, she saw that Nellie was now strapped into a regular seat near her, and that her eyes were shut.
Suddenly conscious of pressure in her ears, Greer realized that someone had inserted a set of foam earplugs into them. Feeling another squeeze on her hand, she looked to the side and saw that Jenny was strapped into a seat, holding her hand. Feeling a sudden sense of panic, Greer cast her eyes left and right, her gaze finally catching Jenny’s.
Greer swallowed hard, her mouth feeling suddenly dryer than it ever felt before, she looked at Jenny, already realizing that the blank, empty look on Jenny’s face was mute confirmation of her worst fears. “Hardigan?” Greer yelled, trying to be understood over the sound of the engines.
Jenny was wearing over-the-ear hearing protectors, but she seemed to already know what Greer was going to ask. She simply shook her head. Greer could see that Jenny’s eyes were red and puffy, “I’m sorry, he didn’t make it,” Jenny yelled, the tears flowing fresh.
Greer looked away, staring down the cargo hold. There were boxes of ammunition and rations secured to the floor with tie downs, and the fold down bench seats were crowded with the civilians they’d managed to rescue, as well as the handful of soldiers from the airstrip. Greer noticed a number of children, and at least two infants. At least they’d gotten some people out Greer thought, that was something.
She swallowed again and nodded, no longer able to talk. Deep in the pit of her stomach, she felt merely empty, well and truly empty. Someone had loosened and rearranged the straps so that her arms were free, so she ran her hands over her face, feeling them come away wet.
Back in the cargo compartment, Abernathy had apparently recovered the speakers and sound system from the M113 and was blaring music that could be faintly overhead even over the sounds of the engines. Greer quietly mouthed the words, “This is the end, my only friend, the end…”
Baldwin fought to keep the plane level, he didn’t like flying so low, and it had been dicey enough taking off from the short strip. There was sweat already beading up on his forehead.
“Hey, look at me,” Alice said into the intercom, getting Baldwin’s attention momentarily and locking his gaze onto hers. “You’re doing fine, just keep it level and the air speed up.”
Baldwin nodded, gingerly removing one hand from the control yoke to wipe his brow. “With the sunspots, we need to be careful how much to trust the instruments, and we have to stay low to avoid dangerous atmospherics,” he said.
Alice nodded, even though he wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know, assuming that it simply made Baldwin feel better to voice his concerns. “It’s going to be a long flight, just let me know if you get tired,” she offered. “I can at least hold us onto a steady heading.”
Baldwin merely nodded; he was starting to take on a distinctly greenish tinge again. There were already two used trash bags near his seat. “I think my gut is about empty anyway,” he said looking at the bags briefly and managing a weak smile.
Alice smiled back, “I’m sorry about Kaufman,” she said finally.
“It’s okay, I think… I think she’d have wanted to go out like that, making it so that other people had a chance. I don’t know how much easier that will make it in the end to accept it, but I like to believe it.”
“That’s a good way to think about it,” Alice said soothingly.
“Makes me want all the more to not crash,” Baldwin said, still looking green.
Alice nodded, and then turned the intercom to a private channel where only Baldwin could hear. She then described for him in lurid detail what be willing to do with, for, and to him if he managed not to crash the plane. A guided tour of her undergarments being just the start. By the time she was done, she wondered if it had done more harm than good, as she was now flushed and panting, and Baldwin’s greenish tinge had turned into a distinct blush.
Alice watched as he wiped the sweat off his brow once more, and also dried his palms. “I’m going to try very hard not to crash us now,” he said, seeming more confident already.
Still blushing, Alice simply nodded, and switched the intercom back to the general usage channel. “This is the co-pilot speaking, we hope you’ll enjoy your flight with ‘Last Chance Airways,’ please observe the no smoking signs and keep your seatbelts fastened…” she intoned, trying to keep a straight face.
Whitey adjusted the plug on his helmet; he was keyed into the intercom channel by virtue of somehow being elected into the defacto leadership of their little group. He’d been somewhat worried by the brief moments of silence from the cockpit, but now he scowled slightly at Alice’s mock announcement. Still he thought, chewing his pipe ruefully, it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to light it until they were safely on the ground. Unless of course they started to crash, or the plane caught, or blew up… Whitey’s mind ran through the possibilities, as he remembered why he’d never joined the airborne forces. Just in case, he’d already filled the bowl of his pipe with tobacco, in case of any of the worst-case scenarios, he had decided that all bets were off, and that he’d go ahead and light it.
He turned to the woman sitting next to him, Nikki, the tower gun. She’d helped him aboard when they’d pulled their Humvee up next to the plane after it already begun to taxi. “That was a good idea getting the .50 caliber on board and finding the tripod for it,” Whitey said over the intercom, holding up three fingers so that she’d switch to a private channel.
“Thanks,” Nikki said, finding the channel. “I thought we might need it is all,” she said simply. Then she studied Whitey for a moment, “You’re one of the leaders huh? Weren’t you on rescue and forage duty?”
“Yeah, team two,” Whitey said, still holding his pipe ready with white knuckles.
“You probably shouldn’t light that,” Nikki cautioned.
“I don’t plan to,” Whitey said defensive, “I’m just going to chew on it for a while.”
Nikki snorted, “Don’t like to fly do you?”
“No, I don’t,” Whitey said.
“Neither do I,” Nikki admitted, “But I think it’s less scary than when I jumped out of that tower today,” she said.
“Look about that,” Whitey said, preparing to explain his regret at Tripod’s dubious driving skills and having almost killed Nikki and her co-gunner Eric.
“It was so brave the way you drove right up through those things and saved us,” Nikki said, becoming slightly flushed. “Those freaks had already over run all the other towers, and we were running low on ammo. I thought for sure you might just leave us after we blew the wire, but then you just stayed on your gun and had your driver run right up to us, even knocking the tower down to slow those things up. That was just above and beyond,” Nikki said, smiling.
“Um, what can I say,” Whitey said, really not knowing what to say.
Nikki set let her hand brush Whitey’s leg in a not altogether casual way, “Eric’s girlfriend was even in one of the trucks, so I guess we all ended up lucky today,” she said.
Whitey nodded and simply rubbed the stem of his pipe. He began a mental count of their passengers. They had managed to rescue a total of forty-five civilians, in whose number he still placed Alice and Frenchy. These consisted of two infants (one boy and one girl), nine children ranging in age from four to fifteen (five girls and four boys), and thirty-three adults. Of the adults, there was one man of around seventy, and a fifty-year-old woman. The others ranged in age from about eighteen to their mid 30s. There were only five men including Frenchy who’d made it out among the civilians, the other 28 adults were women. Of the military personnel, they had the twelve airstrip survivors, four of whom were women, himself, Doc Baldwin, Stavros, Finley, Abernathy, Greer, Jenny, Nellie, Nikki, Eric and Ike from the motor pool. That meant that there were a total of twenty-four adult males on board. Meanwhile there were thirty-seven adult women on board, and a total of sixty-seven survivors.
Whitey studied Nikki again for a moment and realized that their half again as many women as men, roughly the same percentage that their had been back at the complex. He nodded to himself and realized that even with Tripod having his harem, people were still going to start pairing off. Suddenly Whitey understood why Nikki was behaving the way she was. He thought back to Tripod’s friend as well, and remembered Hardigan’s arrangement.
“So tell me about yourself,” he said, smiling at Nikki. Including himself, about nine of the men seemed to be unattached to any one. Including Nikki, there were eighteen unattached women. Nellie, Greer, and Jenny were going to need time to grieve so he didn’t count them, and he had already decided that Doc Baldwin and Alice were going to be a couple.
Whitey sighed and thought about Hardigan, about all the other friends he’d lost over the years, and as he began to talk to Nikki, they both talked about loss as much as anything else while they let hope kindle.
Steiner had found the paper matches wedged in the bottom of his pocket. He had always tried to keep his habit of smoking a secret from his subordinates, thinking it a sign of weakness. (Although he still found himself truly craving a cigarette, he also found that the morphine he was slowly administering to himself cut even that craving.) Now, the matches helped serve him well, as they were his only source of light. The escape tunnel was a straight-line path, so he sparked one only occasionally, using them to make sure he still had his bearings.
The escape tunnel would take him right to the old garage and eventually intersect with the old access tunnels. In the old auxiliary garage, Steiner had placed an apparently broken white van up on blocks, but he’d also left a pile of tires under a tarp nearby, as all the van really needed was tires. He’d also kept it fully gassed up. Should that plan fail, he’d also hidden a motorcycle in the rear of the van. Perhaps it was the morphine distorting his perceptions, but Steiner had decided that perhaps it would be best if everyone and everything else went up in flames, but if he personally made his escape.
Although he stumbled from time to time, he felt that he was making good progress towards his goal. In the back of his mind, he remembered that there had apparently been a security breach at the garage, but he was willing to bet that even if any of those freaks had gotten inside, that they likely would have gone further into the complex where the actual food, i.e. occupants were. Steiner smiled with some relish, imagining Dr. Lang still strapped to his hospital bed and being gnawed on. A part of Steiner also visualized Dr. Lang being strapped to that same bed, only having an ovipositor forced into his rectum by a reaver. For reasons Steiner wasn’t sure he wanted to contemplate, and liked to imagine the drugs as causing, he found that mental image strangely erotic.
Steiner struck yet another match, and read the sign at the corridor junction. Were those bullet holes in it? He wondered, staring at it a moment longer, and then dismissing the idea. The sign said that he was just shy of his goal in the garage. He smiled, and then paused to think, he’d been worried that there might be mice and rats down in these corridors, as they had seemed to congregate in the lower and basically unused regions of the complex. Now though, he couldn’t hear any of them making a sound. All the better he supposed, even if there were any rats, let them burn too.
Steiner cursed as he inadvertently burned his hand, tossing the stub of the match into the darkness. He’d just entered the garage itself anyway, pausing again as he did so. “That’s odd,” he muttered, looking around. It looked as though there had been a fire on the floor. To make matters worse, the back door of the van was open, and it looked as though someone had stolen the motorcycle, Steiner saw as he lit another match, the pack rapidly decreasing.
“Goddamn it, bunch of thieves,” he muttered.
The match burnt down, and Steiner cursed again, feeling his fingers get even more singed. From the corner of his eye, he thought that he saw movement. “What the hell?” he muttered, lighting his last match. “What, what are you?” he hissed, looking at something approaching him. It seemed to walk almost like a man, but seemed hideously burnt and with… shapes, shapes like baby reavers burrowing in and out of its skin, as the skin itself unfolded and writhed. An entire flap of skin was gone from the chest, as Steiner thought he could see a blackened, mostly ruined lung, continue to inflate and deflate.
“I am abomination,” the thing hissed with a ruined throat, as it lunged towards Steiner with surprising speed.
“No!” Steiner yelled, as the shape enveloped him, his match falling to the side and extinguishing itself in a pool of slime on the floor. Anything else he wanted to scream was choked off as a black writhing shape invaded his throat. Trying to gag as the form worked its way past his jaw, and deeper into his esophagus, Steiner found his teeth snapping painfully at the roots. Even as bile and vomit tried to rise, the object forced it back down. A mixture of pain, utter horror, and lack of oxygen caused Steiner to begin to rapidly lose consciousness. Somewhere, he thought he heard a voice hiss, “The fire, the fire wasn’t hot enough. Know my pain.”
Even through all the pain that he was getting to know first hand, a part of Steiner remained distant and removed from events. He had a mental image of himself sitting back in the C&C room, only in a Lazy Boy now, drinking a nice cold Red Stripe. A wide screen TV was in front of him, just like on Super Bowl Sunday, only rather than the big game, the image on the screen was solely occupied by a countdown clock. His mind flashed forward in time, everything passing by in a blur, until he saw an image of a touch down melding into one with a giant ball of a fire and a mushroom cloud, as the crowd went wild.
Finally, Steiner’s heart ceased to beat, this being the smallest of untold violations of his body. Seconds later it began to pulse again, irregularly, no longer strictly alive in the way it had been, but now enthralled to another presence.
“Man, there’s some weird shit in these books, bro,” Tanner said. The batteries in his Game Boy were dead, and he was fresh out, so he had taken to looking through some of the documents he’d found while Tanner drove. Being surer of their route, they were making double or more the time getting back as they had leaving.
“What’s it about? I liked that first one you was looking through that the girl wrote, all about her love life, and talking about her being attracted to other girls when she played with herself and that shit, though it was all sad and shit at the end, about her dad lying to her, yada yada and her boyfriend leaving her,” Dale said, “It reminded me of that Lifetime Channel shit that used to be on, except how she dug other chicks, that was sweet dude,” Dale said, whistling.
“And how,” Tanner said, pushing his glasses back up. The first journal he’d read reminded him of another word from his word a day calendar, though the definition was foggy in his memory, melancholy he thought it was. “Any who, this other book is all about how this dude what wrote it was talking to his old best friend, about some weird shit experiments, and how they thought all this weird shit would happen.”
“Weird shit like the shit what happened, or like other weird shit?” Dale asked, curious now, even though the narrative apparently no longer involved any teenaged girls having sex with each other.
“Dunno dawg, there’s all kinds of shit in here I don’t get, and you know I failed Mr. Bramble’s Science class.”
“You failed it three times,” Dale corrected.
“Yeah, whatever Mr. I couldn’t pass driver’s ed the first time cause I was too high.”
“Hey, that’s not fair, that was some good weed dad had growing back then,” Dale insisted.
“True enough,” Tanner admitted, “Anyway, catch this bro, it’s like he finds out that the other dude, his supposed buddy, was tapping his wife on the side, or suspected it at least.”
“Dude, you was right, he must have whacked that bitch, that’s cold,” Dale said whistling in admiration again.
“I ain’t so sure dawg, the writer and his ole lady were going to get a divorce, but then she like blew the other dude off and her and her husband were trying to get it back on it. Sounds like this dude keeping the book loved her something fierce dawg,” Tanner said.
“Whoa, so who snuffed her then, you think maybe she snuffed herself and he hid her down in the basement, maybe to still get some loving later?”
“That’s sick and wrong dawg!” Tanner protested, but then he paused to think about it, “Maybe.” He said nodding.
“Sick world bro,” Dale said, shaking his head, “Hey, you think we can trim some more bud off the plants we got in the shack?”
“They ought be about ripe,” Tanner said, thinking about it.
“Too sweet,” Dale said, rounding a curve. “Oh shit!” he yelled, pulling the wheel violently to the side and swerving to avoid the motorcycle which suddenly loomed in front of them in the road. Much to both his and Tanner’ surprise, the airbags in their battered Mazda still functioned perfectly.
Mac had taken the bike on wide loop towards where they estimated the base the revenants were headed towards to be. Even so, he thought they’d made excellent time. A motorcycle, even one with a sidecar on it, was still better able to negotiate what was left of the road system much more efficiently than any car was capable of doing.
With Larry contentedly riding in the sidecar, and Molly clinging to his back, Mac had taken them as quickly as possible towards their destination. Already they could see smoke ahead. Using their speed as well as a clever series of changing of roads, Mac didn’t know it, but he had done much better than Dale and Tanner had done when traveling in the opposite direction. He estimated them as just a few miles from their destination when they finally paused to take a break.
After they all used separate trees for a restroom break, but kept each other in sight, Mac broke open a bottle of beer from his pocket and shared it with Molly, who made her disappointed nose wrinkle. “I never did like beer much, and now I remember why,” she said.
“I’ve had better,” Mac admitted, draining the rest of the bottle, “But right now, this really hit the spot.”
Larry was sitting at the edge of the sidecar, quietly doing something; Mac looked over at him, and noticed that he was praying, though not in English. “Sounds like German,” Mac said conversationally to Molly.
“I think it’s Hebrew, he seems to remember bits and pieces of it, as well as German and Yiddish, he’s a great kid really,” Molly said quietly, not wanting to disturb Larry.
“I didn’t know he was Jewish,” Mac said, worried suddenly about all the pork in their diet, “I feel bad for all that Spam now.”
“He’s never said much about his family, he was with someone that I think was his grandfather when I first met him. But I was a little out of it then, still in shock I guess, and I suppose I should remember more, but I don’t. From what little he’s said, I think his mother was Jewish, but his dad wasn’t, and that they weren’t real religious. At least not until…” Molly broke off. “I went through a religious phase myself early on during all this. Then I got to wonder if praying did any good, so I stopped. Most of the time.” Molly’s voice broke again, “Then I started again the night Larry and I found you,” Molly whispered. She put her arm around Mac and tugged.
Mac hugged her back, “Just a bit longer and we’ll know about the base we think is out there, if it is gone, well I’ll think of something. I always do, don’t I?” Mac asked, lifting Molly’s chin and kissing her.
“That you do Mac, that you do,” Molly whispered. “Can we let him finish?” she asked.
“Of course, we’ve got a bit of time, “ Mac said, then we have to really haul ass, he thought to himself as he looked at the position of the sun in the sky. It would be dark soon, and if the base was overrun, Mac wanted to be able to find shelter by nightfall.
Larry rose to his feet again and noticed Mac and Molly looking at him, “Sorry if I took so long, but my mother told me once to say my prayers whenever I got scared,” he said, coming over and hugging Mac’s knees.
“What are you scared of?” Mac asked, rubbing the boy’s head for luck.
“Just am,” Larry muttered.
“That’s as good a reason as any,” Mac said, nodding. “Tell you what, you just hang on tight, and let old Mac drive, and I’ll keep us all safe, okay?” Mac said, waiting for Larry to nod, which he finally did.
“Don’t you fucking die on me Laura,” Hardigan cursed, pulling up Kaufman’s sweater to inspect the wound. Under other circumstances, he might have found the experience erotic, but right then he was just worried about stopping the bleeding and seeing how bad the wound was. He yanked up her blue USAF sweater as well as the t-shirt underneath, and finally yanked up her sports bra as well. Still not seeing anything, he began to feel around looking for the wound.
Kaufman moaned, and tried to rise, “Ow, what hit me, and why are you feeling me up?” she moaned feebly.
“You’ve been shot,” Hardigan said, still looking for the wound.
“How?” Kaufman moaned, “It feels like I’ve been punched in the chest,” she complained.
“I don’t know how, we were shooting at those two revenants we came across, I think one of your rounds must have hit a rock and ricocheted. I heard it whistle right by my ear, then saw dust come off your chest and you dropped. Roll on your side,” Hardigan ordered, feeling along Kaufman’s back.
“What a shitty way to die,” Kaufman said, half dreamily, “At least you finally got my top off though,” she coughed.
“Shut up, I’m trying to save your life,” Hardigan said, finding himself blushing slightly. Finally his hands stopped just above Kaufman’s left breast and he moved his hand away, “I don’t fucking believe it,” he said.
“What is it?” Kaufman asked, trying to rise again.
“Just hold still a bit longer,” Hardigan said, feeling around a bit more. “Does that hurt?” He asked pressing down.
“Ouch,” Kaufman said wincing, “yeah it does, but not terrible.”
“You’re the doctor, but I think you’re just bruised and got the wind knocked out of you,” Hardigan said, removing his hands. He held a bullet pinched between his thumb and forefinger, it was a 9mm pistol bullet partially flattened. “This was stuck on the stuff around your neck, your dog tags, Star of David, and locket. It looks like your dog tags are dented, but the rest is still fine.”
“I bet you think it’s fine,” Kaufman whispered, chuckling underneath. “Does that mean I can get dressed now?” she asked tossing her hair.
“Yeah, sorry,” Hardigan said, feeling a bit flushed.
“Don’t worry about it,” Kaufman said, taking a couple of deep breaths in and other and pulling her clothes back into order.
“That’s the damnedst thing I’ve ever seen,” Hardigan said, slipping the bullet into Kaufman’s palm.
“I know I’m in good shape for my age, but you don’t need to flatter me that much,” Kaufman said, smiling slightly to let Hardigan know that she was kidding.
“Ha ha,” Hardigan said, then he frowned, “I thought I’d lost you there for a second Laura,” he said.
“You won’t get rid of me that easily,” Kaufman said. She coughed and then retrieved her hat from the dirt. She pulled the two cigarettes from her hatband and gave one to Hardigan.
He produced his Zippo and lit them, “We can just sit and rest a minute, it looks all clear,” Hardigan said. “Try not to scare me like that again, huh?”
Kaufman nodded, inhaling the cigarette, “Scared you, how do you think I felt?” she asked, shaking her head. Gingerly she rubbed her chest and then looked at the bullet. “Guess those dog tags saved my life twice now.”
“Guess so,” Hardigan agreed. “The locket came open, but it’s not damaged. Was that your son?”
Kaufman swallowed and nodded, “Yeah, it is. Or maybe was.”
“Maybe wherever he is, he was looking out for you too,” Hardigan said, his eyes moist.
“If you weren’t already involved with two other women, and me with one, I think I’d kiss you right now Jack,” Kaufman said, her own eyes moist.
“Why don’t you anyway?” Hardigan said softly.
“I think I will at that,” Kaufman said, leaning forward and pressing her lips softly to Hardigan’s. “If we get out of this alive, it’s going to take a lot of sorting to make this work, you know that right, assuming you want to make… something work…” Kaufman whispered, lingering and then kissing Hardigan again.
“We’re both just going to have to survive to give it a go then,” Hardigan whispered back, tracing his hand lightly against Kaufman’s side.
She chuckled lightly, “Easy there Sergeant, I’m still wounded.”
Hardigan smiled easily and removed his hand, “Back to the real world anyway.”
“You know, I sometimes wonder if all the other changes have affected all of our behaviors. If the sun spots can make the radios go out, and do what they’ve done to the radio, maybe they make us act the way we do too.” Laura said, and then she stroked the back of her hand on Hardigan’s cheek. “Which isn’t to say I’m not going to take you up on trying to make this work.”
Hardigan nodded and shrugged, “I plan to hold you to it as well. As to the rest, I don’t know. I think that it might just be Mother Nature taking her course. Maybe even clearing out a lot of the dead wood, and jump starting things running again with the rest.”
“If only so many of the dead wood didn’t have names,” Kaufman said bitterly.
“I’m sorry,” Hardigan said, “I didn’t mean to…”
Kaufman shook her head, half frowning, “I swear, if you apologize one more time for something not your fault, I’m going to… well never mind what I’m going to do, but you might or might not like it.” A mischievous smile flared briefly across Kaufman’s face. “You might just be right though,” she said.
“Come on,” Hardigan said, helping Kaufman to her feet. “If we don’t keep moving, it won’t matter anyway.”
Kaufman chuckled as she let herself be pulled to her feet. “You know, I hope we do make it, if for nothing else than to see the look on everyone’s face when you explain to Jenny and Greer that you’re adding Nellie and me into the relationship.”
“Nellie and you both?” Hardigan said.
“Where I go, she goes,” Kaufman said, raising an eyebrow, “That won’t be a problem will it?”
“What do you think Nellie will say about it?” Hardigan asked, curious.
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll convince her.”
Hardigan studied Kaufman’s expression for a moment, and felt his mind reeling with still more possibilities. “Why am I so popular anyway Laura?”
“Because you and your friend Whitey, along with my good friend Tom, are quite possibly the three most handsome men left alive. Though your pal Finley and that guy who was wearing the beret aren’t doing too bad. On top of which, you’re smart, you care, and you have your own guns. The latter is like a dowry now.” Kaufman said, sticking her tongue out at him. “Are we done feeding your ego now?”
“Quite,” Hardigan said. “What about Ike from the motor pool?” he asked, reaching down to help Kaufman over a crater in the soil.
“Hardly, he was cleaning his ears with a drill bit,” Kaufman said. Then she chuckled again, “Besides which, I heard that you were almost the one who ended up with the nickname Tripod instead of being called Lefty.” Kaufman rolled her eyes.
“If only,” Hardigan agreed, continuing forward. “Just stay sharp Lau-“
Before he could finish, the ground of the crater opened up and the reaver popped out amidst a spray of dirt. All other thoughts would be forgotten for the next few seconds, as Hardigan wondered if this was truly the end.
Mac slowed the bike as they rounded the turn, seeing a flash of red metal in the road ahead. He wondered if somehow it was another vehicle on the road, but then dismissed the possibility. “What are the odds I’d see another car after I saw that truck the other day?” he muttered to himself, “That would be as crazy as it being the same people driving both.”
“Mac, look at that,” Molly said, tapping him on the side.
As it was, Mac couldn’t help but to look at it. Blocking the road was a battered red Mazda, with two men in duck hunting outfits busily at work changing a tire. Their air bags appeared to have gone off when they’d hit a wrecked UPS truck.
Mac slowed the bike as he approached the two men, but let his hand ease down so that he could draw his long barreled Model 14 if he had to. “Let’s place this cool,” he said to Molly, hoping she heard over the noise of the engine. He felt Molly remove her right hand from around his waist, allowing her to reach for the Ruger auto if she had to. Idling the motorcycle, Mac pulled it up within about fifteen yards of the two men, both of whom were now standing. A cut down shotgun and what looked like an M16 were lying on the hood of the car, but neither man was moving toward them. Mac noticed that both were wearing pistols however. Stopping the completely, Mac dropped the kickstand and swung himself off.
“Yo, you with that other biker who almost ran us off the road?” the blonde man with the goatee asked.
“Yeah dude, if you are, tell your buddy we’re going to kick his ass dawg,” the second man, who was wearing dirty Army glasses with thick lenses and a duck hunting hat said.
“I don’t know any other biker,” Mac said, pondering whether it was a good idea to let these two know that he was alone. “I’m just like you guys, traveling.”
“We ain’t just traveling friend, we’re on an important mission,” the one in the hat said. “In fact we’re on our way back to a genuine government base right now.”
Molly gasped slightly, and whispered behind Mac, “So there is a base, and it must be close.”
“But if these two are the sort manning it, maybe it isn’t such a good idea to go there,” Mac whispered back tersely.
“Hey, you got any beer?” the blonde one asked.
“Sorry, fresh out,” Mac said. “This base you’re headed to, is it nearby?”
“Couple miles,” the one with glasses said. “If you can stand the rules and shit, they let new people in.”
“Do you think it’s still there?” Molly asked, “I mean did you just come from the base?”
“Why wouldn’t it be there?” the one in the hat asked.
“Don’t you know what’s going on?” Molly asked, “Haven’t you noticed all the revenants massing this way?” She stared at them in disbelief.
“Well, now that you mention it,” the one wearing glasses said, “Them things did seem a little thick on the ground, but we didn’t think much of it.”
“The revenants aren’t the only thing around here that was thick,” Mac muttered quietly.
“I don’t think I like your tone mister,” the blonde said.
“I don’t think I care,” Mac said.
The one in glasses laughed, “See, Dale, he’s okay, he don’t take none of your shit. Don’t mind my brother dawg, he weren’t raised right. I’m Tanner Sherman, this is my brother Dale. Soon as we get this tire done, you and your wife and kid are welcome to follow us in to the base.”
Mac noticed Molly make an unidentifiable nose wrinkle at being referred to as his wife, he couldn’t identify if it was good or bad. He also tried to remember where he’d heard of the Sherman brothers before, but couldn’t quite place it. Instead, he decided to just plunge along into agreement, “If your base hasn’t been over run, I think we’d be happy to-“
Dale went for his gun, there was no warning, no prelude, and no immediate reason that Mac could see, but in deference to popular opinion, Mac snatched for his own holster, grabbing for the Smith and Wesson. Just as he was clearing it from his holster, he realized that Dale and Tanner were both turning away from him, and towards the road.
There was a narrow rise of earth and trees above them, which it wouldn’t be quite far to call a hill. A sluice of debris had rained down on the hood of the car, and with it was mixed it in human bones. Mac scanned his eyes across the earth, seeing the small indentations and bumps now, and realizing that they had stumbled across a nest of reavers.
Mac doubted how much good his .38 was going to do him, but his Thompson was still slung across his back, while the revolver was already in his hand. The first black, worm like head, was already poking from the earth, as the body struggled forth. Slick, black, hair like protrusions wrinkled along the length of the body, as it continued to emerge from the soil. A mandibled mouth, glistening with an oily slime stretched open, a forked silvery tongue darting out and tasting the air.
Larry was the first one to fire, surprising Mac with the pop of .22 rifle as he shot at the first creature to appear. Several more, Mac guessed it to be around six, were also emerging from the soil, one of which was behind the bike. “Look out!” Mac yelled, turning and trying to bring the Smith into line without putting Larry into the line of fire.
The sharper pop of Tanner firing his M16 caused Mac to snap a glance over his shoulder, seeing the rifle being brought to bear, his first thought was that Tanner had decided to shoot him after all. Instead, a short three shot burst of tracers impacted into the earth behind the motorcycle, slowing the reaver emerging behind Larry.
Molly spun as well, the .40 caliber Ruger already drawn. She squared her shoulders and took at tight grip, firing at the one behind the motorcycle. A piece of hot brass dinged off Mac’s sombrero as she swung in a 90-degree arc to fire at the hillside as well.
Mac thought he heard another, louder, rifle shot, and a flurry of pistol shots from the woods nearby, but he couldn’t spare a brief instant to think about it. Lining up the long barrel of his revolver, Mac pulled the trigger, sending a round thumping into one of the reavers that was now fully out of the earth. He missed the false eyes, but clipped one of the creatures antenna, disorienting it enough, that it’s full seven foot length rolled backwards.
Mac fired again, hitting the same reaver in the midsection, though he had no idea if his round penetrated deeply enough to do any damage or not. His third shot struck a mandible as he became vaguely aware of more hot brass striking his hat, and realized that Molly must be standing very close indeed, and was firing at the same target.
Dale had apparently emptied his revolver, and had broken open the action of the shotgun that had been lying on the hood, reloading it as well. Mac didn’t remember any shotgun blasts going off, but he was getting lost in the constant stream of gunshots. “Slugs,” he heard Dale yell as the sawed off duck gun was leveled. The recoil almost knocked Dale off his feet, as he’d braced the gun poorly, but one of his shots impacted another of the reavers, tearing a large chunk from its center.
Mac made his dash for the bike then, grabbing Molly by the hand and pulling her towards it. She shrugged him off and slammed a fresh magazine into her pistol, releasing the slide to snap it back into battery. Molly brought the pistol back into action, firing again and again.
Giving up his grip on her sleeve, Mac moved to the opposite side of the bike from Larry, to avoid the boy’s line of fire. Mac didn’t bother unslinging the Thompson, or even reaching for Molly’s shotgun, which was still secured to the bike. “I’ve got a better idea,” Mac said, tugging open one of the saddlebags and grabbing up two of the thermate grenades. “Fire in the hole!” he yelled, pulling the pins.
Hardigan rolled, jamming his already injured leg in the process but getting clear of the immediate rush of the reaver. He still had Kaufman’s bag on this side, and this partially cushioned his fall. The Remington slid from his grasp and went skidding in the grass, stopping just out of reach, as he tried to turn back towards the reaver.
It was out of the dirt now, a picked clean human skull still lying near one of its feet. In appearance, it looked much like a hideously over grown millipede. Only this millipede had an obscene looking growth jutting out from it, very phallic in look. The female of the species had an ovipositor, which it used to inject eggs, or rather, a sack of eggs, into the host. These would hatch eventually, and consume the host from the inside when they did so. This ovipositor was now extended as the creature advanced towards Kaufman.
Hardigan pulled the Kimber from his tanker holster. He had a full magazine in the pistol and one partial. He doubted it would be enough, but he planned to at least try. Swinging the gun into action one handed, the slide just barely avoiding contact with the ground, Hardigan started shooting even as he still lay on his back. Odds were that a .45 slug wasn’t going to penetrate; the females especially had thick hides, and a set of triple redundant internals. What Hardigan really hoped to do, though he barely admitted it to himself, was to draw the reaver’s attention away from Kaufman and onto himself
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