“Always.”
Hatcher turned slowly and headed back into the main building. He worked his way past the few people surrounding Big Mike at the short wave radio closet and pushed his way into the infirmary.
Coop raised a hand in welcome. “Had to wait until bedtime again, didn’t you?” He fought the urge to smile. “I stayed up just for you.”
“I bet you did.” Hatcher stepped into the small recovery room and pulled a chair beside the bed. “You were probably waiting for my sister to come by and tuck you in.”
Coop smiled at him. “Guilty.” He crossed his arms over his chest and gave him a knowing look. “So what bug has crawled up your ass?”
Hatcher leaned back and stared into the shadows. “Am I that transparent?”
“You all but said something was wrong the last time you came by to visit.” Coop raised a brow at him. “Spill it so I can get some sleep.”
Hatcher slowly shook his head. “You were military, right?”
“Navy. Viet Nam era. Why?”
“You ever get that feeling that something just isn’t right?” He raised his eyes to meet Coop’s gaze. “That something bad was about to happen?”
Coop scoffed. “Just about every damned day.”
“Well, my internal alarms are screaming at me. Again.” He cleared his throat. “The last time it happened, I…” His voice trailed off.
“You about lost your mind. Became paranoid. Started snapping at folks. I remember.”
“Yeah.” Hatcher sat upright in the chair. “That feeling that caused all of that is even stronger now.”
“And you’re afraid you’re gonna lose your shit again.”
Hatcher nodded slowly. “Or worse. Ignore it and something really bad will happen.”
Coop drew a deep breath and blew it out slowly, his mind trying to find the right words as he paused. “Is there anything else you could do to prepare the guys for something?”
Hatcher shrugged. “Probably. If I could know what to expect, but I don’t.”
“You can’t prepare for every contingency. It’s just not possible. We don’t have the resources.”
Hatcher studied him closely. “Meaning?”
“Meaning, if there was an air attack…there ain’t shit we could do to fend off one of those.” Hatcher blanched at the thought. “Now, if a different group of marauders came knocking, we might be able to fight them off. For a while anyway.”
“Depends on their numbers,” Hatcher nearly whispered.
“The Zulus are about starved out, from what I’m hearing. The few that remain aren’t smart enough to get past the defenses that Stanton has in place. That is, if his homemade mortars are still active.” He looked to Hatcher for verification.
“They are.”
Coop nodded. “Then I don’t think there’s much else you can do.” He leaned back in the bed and slid his hands under his pillow, bracing his neck. “Trust that your people will do their jobs.”
Hatcher sighed heavily and hung his head. “It’s tough, ya know. Everybody looking to me for the answers and…”
“And you feel that you have to be ready for whatever happens.” Coop shook his head. “You’ve put together a good group of people. Everybody pulls their weight…well, except me.” He winked at him playfully. “But we have food, water, power, flushing shitters…what more could anybody ask for?”
Hatcher groaned as he came to his feet. “Peace of mind?”
Kevin slipped out of his room and made his way down the short hallway to the laboratory. He kept the main lights off as he sat in the dimly lit room and tried to think of how he should rid himself of the body in his quarters.
“Maybe I can go back after my shift and be surprised that there’s a dead body in my shower?” He fought the urge to hit something. “What if somebody saw us leave the mess decks together?”
He came up from the rollaway stool and paced the small room. “Maybe I could work my way topside and dump him?” He sighed heavily and pressed his forehead to the cold stainless steel bench top. “Too many guards on the upper deck.”
He turned and slid to the floor, his brain racing as hundreds of thoughts formed and dissipated. He clenched his jaw and squeezed his fists together tightly, fighting the urge to pound the flooring.
His head popped up and he blinked rapidly in the low light. “I could just slip him into the hallway outside my room. Maybe wet the floor so they’ll think he slipped?”
He slowly began to smile. “Yeah. And I either didn’t hear a thing or I was here in the lab or—” His thoughts were cut short by loud noise in the hallway.
The door to the lab flew open and the lights came on, temporarily blinding him.
“Get your ass in there and keep quiet. The skipper wants to have a word with you.” Equipment clanged to the floor and Kevin shot to his feet.
“What the hell is…” He stood open mouthed, staring at a rather rough looking Dr. Broussard. “Andre?”
The older researcher turned and gave him a tight lipped smile, the cut above his eyebrow caked with dry blood. “Bonjour, Dr. McAlester.”
“You try to leave this lab before the skipper gets here and the armed guards outside the door won’t hesitate to tune you up.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Kevin squared his shoulders. “You do realize that this man may have single handedly saved the human race?”
The soldier leaned close to Kevin and sneered. “I don’t give two shits if the Frog walked on the moon, he went AWOL.”
Kevin gave him a sardonic smile. “Well, that’s impossible since he’d have to be a soldier to go AWOL and last I heard, he’s a foreign national.”
The soldier cocked his head to the side and clenched his jaw tightly. “You really think there’s any ‘laws’ left, Doctor?” He stepped closer and poked at Kevin’s chest. “The only law around here is the lawful orders given by the skipper and he said to bring the Frog back.” The soldier sucked at his teeth and gave him a derisive snort. “Best watch yourself or I’ll have the guards come in and tune you up as well.”
Kevin looked down at the shorter man and gave him a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’d like to see them try.”
“That’s enough!”
All eyes turned to the man walking into the lab and the soldier snapped to attention. “Attention on deck.”
“At ease.” The skipper stepped around him and reached out to grip Dr. Broussard’s chin. He tilted the man’s head to the side and groaned at the gash over his eye. “Who did this?”
Dr. Broussard raised a brow at him. “Three guesses.”
“No idea, sir!” the soldier barked. “He was in this condition when we found him.”
Broussard snorted and sat down heavily on the rollaway stool. “One of your hounds tackled me to the ground and another stood on the back of my head while they handcuffed me.” He met the captain’s gaze. “Sorry, but I couldn’t see the name tag on his shirt.”
The captain squared his shoulders then turned and faced the Marine behind him. He whispered something in the man’s ear and both researchers watched the soldier’s face drop. He swallowed hard then marched out of the lab.
The captain turned back to the researchers and took a relaxed pose. “Apologies, Dr. Broussard. Apparently somewhere along the chain of command wires got crossed.” He glanced around the room. “And Dr. Chaplain?”
Broussard gave him a deadpanned look. “Your soldiers refused to bring her back.”
The captain seemed genuinely surprised. “She’s alive?”
“When I last saw her, yes.” Broussard limped toward the sink and peered into the mirror. He reached for a towel and dampened it. “Might I ask under whose authority I was kidnapped and brought back here?”
The captain gave him a surprised look. “Mine.” He stepped behind Dr. Broussard and watched as the man scrubbed the dry blood from his face. “You may not be a military asset, but you were sent here by the French government. That makes you a non-citi
zen and my responsibility. I have to ensure your safe return and I can’t very well do that if you’re traipsing around the continental U.S. without armed escort.”
Broussard dropped the towel into the sink and turned to face him. “And Dr. Chaplain?”
“She should have been brought back with you. All CDC personnel are supposed to be with the flotilla.”
“Then you’ll be sending someone to retrieve her?”
The captain paused and slowly shook his head. “From what I understand, our arrival to your location stirred the Zeds up pretty well. I can’t authorize the expenditure of that much fuel and manpower for someone who is most likely already dead.”
Broussard raised another brow at him. “I suppose I should have expected as much.”
The captain ignored his comment. “Care to tell me just what in the hell you were thinking?” He stepped closer, his face hardening. “You went against direct orders and evaded your escort then ran up the coast to set up shop in the middle of occupied territory.” He glared at the French researcher. “For what?”
Broussard gave him a sad smile. “Apparently your chain of command could not grasp that we needed to be in the thick of things to monitor the progress of the treatment. We had just set up a new laboratory when your jackbooted thugs kicked in the doors.” He sighed heavily and sat down again. “We were in a prime location with secured high ground and optimal viewing. All we needed was a bit more time to—”
“You disobeyed a direct order.” The captain’s voice cut him off. “You may not be a military asset, but you are still my responsibility. That means that you operate under my authority and follow my guidelines.” He turned from the man and reached for the door. “From now on, you will have an escort everywhere you go.”
“And if I step out of line, your soldiers will ‘tune me up’ again. Correct?”
The captain paused and fought the urge to raise his voice. “Trust me. You do not want to step out of line again.”
The two men watched the officer slip through the doorway and disappear down the hall. An imposing man in uniform stepped forward and stared through the glass.
“You pissed them off good,” Kevin stated as he slipped his lab coat on. “What the hell were you two thinking? I know your explanation to him was pure bullshit.”
Broussard rubbed at the back of his neck and slowly shook his head. “You’re not capable of understanding even if I told you.”
Kevin gave him a cold smile. “Oh, you might be surprised what I’m capable of.”
Simon pulled his trousers up and buckled them. He reached for the bottle of liquor and took a long pull, his head pounding again. He turned to see his woman curled in a fetal position, sobbing. “At least now you move around some,” he spat in her direction then turned and pushed his way back into the grocery store.
His lead hunter, Clyde, trotted toward him, a bow in his hand. “Come.” He waved him toward the front of the store.
Simon fell into step behind him and noted that the sun was almost down again. He could feel the fingers of anticipation crawling up his spine as the hour drew close. “Tell me they’re ready.”
Clyde slowed as they rounded the end of the aisle and pointed. “Many Quee sick.” He pointed to the mass of people lying about, some groaning as they held their middle, others pressing against the sides of their head. “No fight.”
“Fuck that.” Simon pushed past him and waded through the crowd. “On your feet!” He kicked at the men who lay curled into balls. “Move!”
Clyde grabbed him by the arm and shook his head. “Not ready. Sick.”
“The hell they are.” He jerked his arm loose then walked deeper into the mass of people. “They’re faking. They’re scared to fight!”
Clyde shook his head and stepped between Simon and the Quee. “Sick!”
Simon shoved the larger man back then gripped his boomstick. He leveled it on Clyde and rage flashed in his eyes. “Don’t make me kill you, asshole.” He narrowed his gaze at the tall, lean man. “I had high hopes for you, Clyde.”
He pointed to the people again. “SICK!”
Simon felt his lip curl in a snarl and pointed his boomstick toward the ceiling. He loosed a round and watched as the Quee all jerked or jumped at the sound, their eyes darting to their Alpha. “I say we fight.”
Clyde averted his eyes and seemed to deflate. “Too sick to fight.” His voice was barely a whisper. “Can’t walk.”
“They’re faking.”
Clyde looked up again and met Simon’s gaze. “Kill them.” He slowly squared his shoulders. “Kill them. No army to fight if Quee dead.”
Simon’s face fell and he gazed out at the people again. Most, if not all, were moaning in pain, some laying in their own excrement.
He felt a growl rise from low in his throat and he screamed. A long, lonesome, hoarse scream that seemed to echo outside of the store and between the buildings in the area.
“Great!” He threw his hands into the air then spun a slow circle. He glared at Clyde. “Come with me.”
Simon spun and marched down the aisle where the bitter pills were. He fumbled with the boxes on the shelf and eventually found the right one. He ripped the cardboard open and used his teeth to pull the plastic lid off. He jabbed his finger through the thin foil seal and shook out the bitter white tablets.
He shoved a few into his mouth and chewed; the bitter flavor told him he’d chosen correctly. He tipped his bottle and washed the pills down then turned back to Clyde. “Give them these.” He shoved the pill bottle into Clyde’s hand then handed him the bottle of liquor. “And have them drink this. They’ll feel better soon enough.”
He turned and stomped back to the aisle with more alcohol and pulled the closest bottle from the shelf. As he fumbled with the cap he stared at his army lying on the floor and fought the urge to scream again.
“Tomorrow.” He took a long pull from the bottle then wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “Tomorrow we feast on the dumb, slow ones.”
Chapter 18
Hatcher paced the small courtyard, his attention bouncing from the skies to the front gates to the sides of the compound that he felt were vulnerable.
“Suddenly that moat sounds pretty good, don’t it?”
He spun and caught the smirk across Hank’s face. “I told you that you could build it.”
“Yeah, yeah. It was the bridge that you demanded that threw me off.” Hank inhaled deeply of the night air and let it out slowly. “Is it just me or does the air smell sweeter these days? Maybe it’s the lack of cars.”
“I think it’s your imagination.” Hatcher slipped his hands into his pockets and continued to stare skyward.
“What are you looking for?” Hank craned his neck to stare upward.
Hatcher slowly shook his head. “I don’t know. Another plane maybe.”
“Or maybe the Zulus sprouted wings and will attack like the monkeys in Wizard of Oz.”
Hatcher snorted a short laugh. “We’d really be boned then, wouldn’t we?”
“Depends on how good you are at skeet shooting I guess.” Hank nodded then pointed to the small RV parked outside the fence. “I heard that they were gonna pull up stakes and head for the hills.”
Hatcher eyed the small RV and nodded. “I told him I thought it was a bad idea. Maybe he took it to heart.”
“I never thought I’d say it, but I think I’d miss having her around.” Hank smiled at an unspoken memory. “When they showed up, I was a bit spooked. But seeing that kid gave me hope.”
Hatcher raised a brow at him. “How so?”
“Well, I mean, we got plenty of kids around here. But she’s a Zulu.” He shrugged. “Except she’s not. Not really.”
“I know what you mean.” Hatcher’s voice went soft and low. “If she could be tame, perhaps others could be as well.”
“Yeah, something like that.” Hank gave him a crooked smile. “Like maybe somewhere out there is a community of Zulus that are just going about
their business without trying to kill the rest of us, ya know?”
Hatcher slowly shook his head. “That might be a bit of a stretch.”
“Maybe.” Hank stretched then turned for the door. “But the world is a big place. You never know.”
Hatcher watched him walk away then turned his attention back to the skies. “I don’t think I’d hold my breath if I were you, buddy.” He climbed the ladder to the sentry station. “Anything?”
The man shook his head slowly, still scanning the horizon. “Quiet as a cemetery.”
“Nice choice of words,” Hatcher muttered. He lifted his own set of binoculars and scanned the area. “Not so much as a coyote.”
“Like I said.” The sentry sipped at his coffee and continued to gaze outward. “You feel it, too?”
“What’s that?”
“That there’s something out there. Just waiting.” He lowered his voice even more. “Like there are constantly eyes on us.”
Hatcher nodded almost imperceptibly. “That’s why I wanted you boys diligent.”
“Trust me, we are.” The man cleared his throat and nodded toward the main building. “Most of us have families here, too.”
Hatcher leaned against the railing and crossed his arms. “Tell me something. You were one of the Marauder refugees, right?” The sentry nodded. “I got into a bit of a pissing contest with a fella from your group. He said I was as bad as Simon because I withheld information.” He turned and met his gaze to better judge the man’s reaction. “Do you agree with that assessment?”
The sentry scoffed and took another drink of his coffee. “Either he’s an idiot or he wasn’t with Simon for very long.”
“Why do you say that?”
The sentry turned and gave him a smirk. “Simon was all about Simon. He got the best of the food we found. When he wasn’t stumbling drunk, he was screwing any female in the clan. He would double cross his own people in a heartbeat if it meant he could come out on top.” He spat on the floor of the shack. “The man was worse than a turd.”
Caldera 8: Simon Sez Page 13
