Nomad turned and stared at Summer, ignoring Liz once again. At least his eyes were engaged and not looking at the floor.
Krista was about to reprimand him again, but then he raised his arm and aimed an index finger at Summer. He waved it away from her and to the door, repeating the same gesture three times—each flash of his finger more emphatic than the last.
Liz turned to Summer. “I think he wants you to leave.”
“Why? I didn’t do anything.”
“No, you haven’t,” Krista answered. “But if it helps to get him to talk, then—”
“Well, that’s not fair. I’m part of this, too. I have every right to be here. More actually, since technically Edison put me in charge.”
Liz touched Summer’s wrist, wrapping her fingers around it. “How about you just step into the hallway for a bit? A young girl’s life depends on it.”
Krista wanted to rebuke the statement made by Liz, not wanting to agree that the sick Scab in the infirmary could still be classified as a girl, but she kept her thoughts to herself.
Summer locked eyes with Liz, then pressed her lips together and shook her head, looking like the defiant pain in the ass she was.
Liz nodded, adding emphasis to her tone. “Please, Summer. We need to see what he has to say. It’s for the good of everyone, like Edison would have wanted.”
“I don’t like this at all,” Summer said, crossing her arms across her chest.
Liz continued, her voice calm and reassuring. “I’ll fill you in as soon as we’re done. I promise, you won’t miss a thing.”
Krista nodded and pointed at the door. “You’ll only be ten feet away. If we need you, you’ll know. Please. Like Liz said, let’s see what he knows. It’s a small price to pay.”
Summer held for a beat, then turned and stormed outside.
“Do you want me here or out there?” Wicks asked Krista.
“Remain at your post. Summer’s a big girl. She can handle it.”
The instant the door closed, Nomad spoke, his voice full of gravel and pain. “It was yesterday when I returned home. She was weak and in her bunk.”
“Did she have a fever?” Liz asked.
“I believe so. And she was suffering from chest pains. The black substance was all over her mouth and she was unresponsive. That’s why I brought her here.”
“How did you know where here was?” Krista asked, unable to stop her mouth from taking over.
Liz looked a Krista. “Please. Let’s stay focused on the patient.”
“Right. Sorry, Doc.”
Liz gave Krista a slight smile, then turned her focus to Nomad. “Tell me about the area she was in. Was it a barn? A house? A campsite? What?”
“A cave.”
“A cave? What kind of cave?”
“Used to be an old tourist attraction before the eruptions.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Liz said. “Was it dry or wet? Large or small? Mostly on the surface or deep underground? I need to know what the environment was like.”
“Wet. Underground. Large.”
“Define large,” Liz pressed.
“Colossal.”
“Colossal? That’s a big word from such a pussy,” Wicks said in a sarcastic tone.
Nomad never took his eyes from Liz. “Like I said, it used to be an old tourist attraction.”
“When you say wet, do you mean damp or was there standing or running water? If so, did she drink any of it?” Liz asked.
“Damp, running, and standing. And no, she didn’t drink it. I taught her better than that.”
Krista found Nomad’s choice of words curious. Especially the taught her part. As in training a wild cannibal. “Is your cave south or west from here?”
“South,” he replied.
When Krista combined his answers with her memories, an idea came roaring into her brain. “I think I know which cave he’s talking about.”
Liz ignored her comment and continued her interview. “Are there insects or animals around?”
“We had our share of spiders. More so than not.”
“Was she bitten?”
“Not that I could determine, though I was only able to perform a cursory review. I thought it best to get her to medical right away.”
Liz held for a beat. “What about bats?”
“Had our share of them, too.”
Liz nodded but didn’t fire another question.
“Is that important?” Krista asked the doc.
“Yes, I think so. Depending on the number and their droppings.”
“Droppings?”
“Bat guano,” Wicks added.
Liz nodded. “There’s a specific respiratory infection that can result when a patient is exposed to the spores over an extended period of time. It’s called Histoplasmosis.”
“Bat shit has spores?” Wicks asked.
“No, but the fungus that develops does.”
“What about the rest of us?” Nomad asked. “Are we at risk, too?”
“From what I remember from medical school, most who’ve been exposed don’t develop any symptoms. Usually only affects the weak or infirmed. Those with an immune system deficiency.”
“Well, Doc, she’s a skinny, malnourished cannibal. I think that qualifies,” Wicks said. “Who knows what she’s eaten over the years.”
“Or who,” Krista added.
Wicks scoffed. “I’ve met my share of women who are bat-shit crazy, but this is a first.”
Nomad looked up at Wicks, but held his tongue.
“I wonder if that’s where the term comes from?” Krista asked Liz.
“That’s not in my area of expertise.”
“At least she’s not ape-shit crazy,” Wicks added, looking pleased with himself. “Talk about a mess.”
“Can you treat it, Doc?” Nomad asked.
“If I had the proper antifungal medication, yes. But I’m not sure what we have on hand.”
“Even if we do, we shouldn’t be wasting it on her,” Krista said.
Nomad’s voice became energized. “Please, Doc, you must help her. I’m begging you.”
Krista grabbed Liz. “No. We can’t. Our supplies must be saved for our people, not theirs.”
Nomad continued, “I have supplies I can trade. Explosives, too. Whatever it takes, please.”
“Explosives?” Krista asked.
“And weapons. We’ve been accumulating them along with our supplies.”
“What about fuel?” Krista asked.
“I have several drums of diesel.”
“That’s a start.”
Liz shook her head at Krista. “Trading is all well and good, but I’m not entirely sure we have the proper medication anyway. And if we do have it, we have a duty to help all those in need, regardless of their ability to trade. It’s the humane thing to do.”
Nomad didn’t wait for Krista to respond. “I’ll take the risk. Whatever it takes. Just give me your word you’ll do everything you can to help her and I’ll get you whatever you need. I even have intel, if that’s more to your liking.”
Krista wanted to know more about the additional perk he’d just offered. “What kind of intel?”
“Mission critical intel. The kind that affects this place and everyone in it.”
“Are you talking about Frost and his men?”
“Among others,” the Nomad said, pausing as his eyes glanced at everyone in the room, then back to Krista. “Do we have a deal?”
“That’ll depend on if we believe you or not. It’s an honor thing.”
Nomad spun on the bench in a blur and flew at Wicks. An instant later, he took the rifle from the brute and used its shoulder sling to lasso Wicks around the neck in a figure eight pattern and lock him down in a suffocating choke hold. Nomad then pulled the man’s pistol from its holster and held it to the side of Wick’s head.
Liz gasped, scooting back a step on the bench.
“Easy now,” Krista said, holding her arms out. She couldn’t
believe what she’d just seen. The man moved at lightning speed. “I thought we were negotiating.”
“We are. But it became obvious that a small demonstration was needed,” Nomad said, releasing Wicks and the rifle, letting them both drop to the cement.
He brought his hands together on the pistol and, in a blur of movement, broke the weapon down into its component parts, ejected the magazine, caught it in the air, then finished by flicking the rounds out of it with only the tip of his finger.
Krista held quiet, unsure what to say or do. She’d never seen anything like it.
Nomad tossed the parts away and returned to his seat, sitting in the same submissive slump as before, as if nothing had happened. Then he said, “Let’s be clear about one thing. My clan and I made a decision to come here willingly and allow you to keep us under guard. My only goal is to help those I brought along. Nothing more. It’s an honor thing for me as well.”
Krista looked at Wicks.
The guard nodded and bent down to retrieve his rifle. “I’ll assemble a team, ma’am.”
“Then I take it we have a deal?” Nomad asked Krista.
Before Krista could respond with a yes, Summer burst through the door with eyes wide. But she wasn’t alone. There was a young brunette girl with her, whose eyes were also as round as apples.
“There’s been a horrible accident in Zimmer’s office,” Summer said, looking at Liz. “Come quick.”
CHAPTER 11
Dice plopped his backside on a section of exposed piping that rose up from the surface above the missile silo. It ran horizontal for a good ten feet, where it disappeared into a maze of other pipes, all of them symmetrically installed amongst themselves, running level and parallel to each other.
He had no clue what all the hardware was for, but it was obvious someone had spent a lot of time and money building this place. The age of the computer equipment he saw inside told him the facility was built long before he was born. Probably sometime around the 50s, he guessed.
Fletcher came over and took a seat next to him. “Fuck, I’m tired.”
“I hear you, boss. It’s not everyday you join a Scab army, attack an underground bunker, then find yourself on the short end of a detonation. It’s a miracle we’re still breathing.”
“Stipple never had a chance.”
“Not with that heart of his,” Dice said.
“That poor fucker.”
“Ah, no loss. Didn’t much care for him anyway.”
Fletcher nodded. “Me either.”
“Craven’s going to be pissed when he finds out his army got cooked. Literally.”
“I’m sure he has more.”
“Still, he’ll consider this a major loss. Might expect additional compensation.”
“Ah, fuck him,” Fletcher said in a tone that made him sounded disinterested.
“Of course, now that I think about it, his reaction might depend on whether his runner took off before the explosion or after. It does change the narrative a bit.”
“That it might.”
“I asked around, but our guys don’t remember the Scab leaving. They were too distracted with everything going on. So it could have been anytime.”
“Just more bullshit to deal with,” Fletcher said, his head hanging low and shoulders slouched.
Before Dice could offer up his next round of conversation, Chapa Longbow walked up with something in his hands—a folded piece of paper. The knife-wielding Navajo who always wore a headband gave it to Fletcher. “Boone found this, boss.”
“What is it?” Dice asked, watching Fletcher take the item and open it along the folds.
“Looks like someone’s been doing a little reconnaissance,” Fletcher said, tilting the paper toward Dice.
Dice studied the page from afar. It was a map, with several locations highlighted with the letter X in black ink. Three of them were circled, while the rest were crossed out.
“Where did Boone find this?” Fletcher asked Longbow.
“It was stuffed inside the helmet of one of the protective suits he found on the refueling level.”
Fletcher pointed at one of the circled X’s. “I think this is us.”
Dice nodded. “Then that must mean—”
Fletcher moved his finger to one of the other circled locations. “—these are silos are well.”
“I didn’t know there was more than one.”
“Neither did I.”
“Do you think Nomad knew?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.”
Boone walked up and joined the meeting, his mouth chewing on a wad of something. It wasn’t chewing tobacco, since they’d run out years earlier, but it didn’t stop the man or his habit—a habit that had turned his voice into a gravely mess. “Hell, I didn’t know there were any.”
“Nice work,” Fletcher said.
“Thanks, boss. Was just nosing around and decided to try on one those suits and bam. Someone had stowed that map inside for safekeeping. It was folded up and stuffed underneath the side of the foam padding. Good thing I have a huge head, otherwise, I might have missed it when the thing didn’t fit right.”
“No Boone, not huge. Massive. As in ginormous,” Dice said with a smile.
Boone struck a bodybuilder pose, then grabbed his crotch and tugged on it as if it weighed ten pounds. “I am who I am. As are all my parts.”
Dice laughed, appreciating the man’s ability to respond with his quick wit. Dice looked over at Fletcher. “Edison’s map? You know, before Frost burned him.”
“Possibly,” Fletcher said. “The others must not have known it was there. Otherwise, they’d never leave this behind.”
“Lucky for us.”
“Yeah, lucky for us,” Fletcher said, mumbling as if his repeat was involuntary.
“They might have bugged out for one of the other facilities, boss,” Boone said, spitting a round of saliva into the dirt on the right.
“That’s a possibility.”
“Must have known we were coming and set the explosives,” Boone said. “Them fuckers. They gotta pay.”
Dice agreed. “Makes sense. If you can build one silo—”
“Why not build two? Or three,” Fletcher added, nodding. “Assuming you have the money and supplies.” He turned the map over and leaned in closer, studying something for a few seconds. “Hmmm. That’s interesting.”
“What?” Dice said, leaning in close to take a look. He saw a sketch of a figure done in pencil. It was of a man. A naked man. Muscular. Badly malformed. There were other elements drawn on the page as well, but the character was the most prominent. “What the hell is that?”
“Looks like Edison was doodling,” Boone said.
“Or he was gay,” Dice quipped. “Who draws a naked man on the back of a map?”
“Yeah, an ugly one at that,” Boone said.
“I don’t think that’s what this is,” Fletcher said, pointing to a symbol in the bottom right corner. It was a rudimentary shield with a pair of arrows on it. A string of six numbers was written underneath with slashes separating every pair of numerals. “Looks like a date.”
Dice agreed. “Ten years ago.”
Fletcher continued. “Right before The Event.”
“So does that mean this is a real person?” Boone asked.
“Or he’s Edison’s spirit guide,” Longbow said.
“Yeah, nice try, Chapa,” Boone said to Longbow. “Not everything is about your damn spirit guide. You really need to let that mumbo-jumbo shit go. It’s exhausting already.”
Dice pointed at the other parts of the sketch, specifically, the area of the drawing behind the figure. It ran from left to right, in a downward rippling-line pattern. It resembled a river with something rising up from the water. They looked like heatwaves, only not quite. “So what’s all that?”
“Water,” Longbow said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Nah, not with all the stuff rising up from it,” Boone said.
Dice lo
oked at Fletcher. “What do you think, boss? Real or imaginary?”
“If I had to guess, real. And it’s something military-related, based on this shield in the corner,” Fletcher said. “Plus, there’re these initials.”
Dice looked. “T. N.”
Boone continued chomping on whatever was stuffed in his mouth as he spoke. “The Nomad?”
“Shit,” Dice said.
“That means he was working with Edison,” Longbow said, his tone terse and to the point.
Fletcher held for a beat before responding. “Maybe. Or perhaps Edison figured out who the man was and noted it on this map for some reason.”
“Then why not write down his real name?” Dice asked.
“Security, I’m guessing.”
“Or T. N. are his real initials,” Boone said.
Fletcher closed the map but didn’t say anything.
“What’s the plan, Fletch?” Dice asked.
“We finish our sweep of this location, then move on to the next,” Fletcher said, raising the map in the air like a prize. “If they bugged out, we’ll find them.”
* * *
“What the hell happened?” Summer asked a female citizen she didn’t know, whose hand was on the side of Zimmer’s neck. It appeared as though the woman was pressing down in an attempt to contain the man’s blood.
“I don’t know,” the female said, her eyes flashing behind her, directing Summer’s attention back down the hallway. “Ask him.”
“Your dog just went nuts,” Simms said, clutching the leash of Sergeant Barkley as they followed along in a trot.
Summer could see red streaks on the dog’s chin and whiskers. Even so, she didn’t want to allow her mind to accept the facts as truth. “What do you mean, nuts? Dogs just don’t go nuts. Not like this.”
Before Simms could answer, Zimmer moaned, opening his eyes and looking up at Summer. She had to look away, not wanting to stare at his neck or the blood seeping through the hand of the female next to her.
“Don’t crowd me,” Krista said as she pushed the gurney at a furious pace. “You need to step back, Summer. I’ve got this.”
Summer slowed her feet and took an extra breath to calm her insides. The sight of blood was always an issue, ever since Avery ate it at the hands of the Scabs. But this was different somehow. More intense. More disturbing.
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