Bethany’s legs were strong and she would be fine marching with gear. Carolanne, however, was struggling. After ten squats, her cheeks would turn red and her breath would come out in huffs. Brian would have to keep a close eye on her.
Their weapons were assembled and laid out on the dining room table, and a lesson was given on how to take each firearm apart and keep them from jamming. Brian had his assault rifle and automatic pistol. The women had two .22 rifles—both good firearms, especially for hunting small game. One of them, the Ruger, had a compact yet powerful scope. The women also had a .38 snub-nose revolver, which they kept lodged in the railing below the hatch door. Bethany had always been a crack shot, even when she was a young girl. Brian had no doubt she would be fine handling any gun on the table. Carolanne looked at the pistols and rifles as if they came from a foreign land.
Brian inspected their weapons, counting the ammunition and feeling the cold and heavy .38 snub-nose revolver in his palm. “This is a good pistol,” he said. “Is this everything?”
“We had a shotgun,” Carolanne said. “But … it’s gone now.”
The girls looked at the floor.
Brian waited for an explanation, but they did not offer one.
Disappeared along with Robert, he remembered.
“Okay, this is what we’re going to do,” Brian said. “I’ve set up a target down the hall. We’re each going to fire a few rounds from the .22s. It’s going to get smoky in here, so we’re only going to fire off a few.” He faced them. “You know how to fire a gun?”
Bethany rolled her eyes. “Please. I grew up in Nelson.”
“I was asking Carolanne. You ever shoot a gun, Carolanne?”
She flushed. “I … no, not really. Not ever, actually.”
“Now’s the time to learn. Beth, you need to watch too. I reckon you never handled an assault rifle.”
He showed them how to load each firearm and how to take them apart for cleaning, with Bethany helping dismantle the .22s. Then he stood at the range and aimed down the barrel at the box filled with books and crushed tin cans. The loud pop of the gunfire made Carolanne jump.
“Easy, see?” He looked at Carolanne. She didn’t seem so sure.
Bethany fired next. It was her rifle, although it had belonged to Steven when he was a boy. Somehow, over the years, it had wound up in her care. Brian remembered the gun fondly from his own childhood—a Marlin, with a smooth wooden stock and solid metal barrel.
“This is the only rifle George allowed in the house,” Bethany explained. “He thought guns were unnecessary, that they should be eliminated from the world—an obsolete need and a danger to society. They should only be used by soldiers and police, he thought. However, after firing it himself at tin cans and paper targets, he grew to enjoy it as a sport and later he bought the Ruger.”
She turned toward the target and fired a few rounds, in expert fashion.
“Okay, Carolanne,” Brian said. “You’re up.”
Carolanne took the rifle. She rested the butt of the stock against her shoulder, but she was shaking and her stance was off.
“Hold on,” Brian said. “Here, let me help.”
He showed her where to put her feet and stood behind her holding her forearm.
She squeezed the trigger, and her eyes went large.
“That’s it. Breathe. Stay steady.”
She fired again, and again. Brian stepped back, and she continued pulling the trigger. When the firing pin clicked and the magazine was empty, she loosened her grip.
“That’s fun,” she said. Her cheeks were flushed against her pale skin. Brian laughed.
***
When the women emerged from the bathroom, they had tucked their hair into hats and were dressed in olive-drab jumpsuits and bulletproof vests.
“How do we look?” Bethany asked.
They were wearing size smalls, but the jumpsuits were loose around their waists, and the sleeves were too long.
Brian laughed. “Like a couple of teenage boys.”
“Better we look like teenage boys than young girls.”
“Not if we run into a band of priests.”
“Brian Rhodes!” Bethany laughed.
Brian had replenished much of his strength, and the girls were eager to see the light of day. The time had come; they were packed and ready to leave the bunker. They went over the route they would be taking until it was ingrained in their memories, and each of them could retrace the line on a blank map by recollection. Brian stuffed the large military stuff-sack with more supplies than he thought they would need and packed smaller backpacks for the women. He gave Carolanne the Marlin rifle, and Bethany the pistol and the scoped Ruger.
He asked them both, “You ready?”
They wore grave expressions, the collars of their jumpsuits forming dark rings. They looked similar to Brian and Steven when they had left the bunker in Nelson.
Brian turned to the ladder. “Let’s get on, then.”
***
Bethany stopped dead in her tracks a few feet outside of the shed and just stood there. They were next to an old garden, the rectangular outline still visible from a waist-high grass border.
“Beth, we got to move on.” Brian looked to her house in the near distance, reduced to rubble. “I know this is a lot to take in, but we gotta move.”
She didn’t budge. Carolanne went to her side. “Give her a minute,” she told Brian.
“All right, but we—”
Carolanne shot him a fierce look, so Brian reluctantly walked away to scan the road ahead. He looked back; Bethany was kneeling beside the garden, her head bowed in solemn contemplation as more tears fell to the earth. Carolanne was rubbing her shoulders. He walked back.
“Is everything okay?”
“It’s …” Bethany said.
“What?”
Brian looked at the garden. It was hard to see, but when he studied the ground, he saw a rectangular-sized mound under the tall weeds and a basketball-sized rock at the far end.
George …
He didn’t say another word, but walked off to keep watch. The surreal image of the two girls digging a hole in the garden while wearing neon hazmat suits flashed in Brian’s mind.
Ten minutes passed, and Bethany rose. They walked over to where Brian stood among a fallen section of Bethany’s house. He wanted to ask Bethany if she was all right, but he couldn’t find the words. The looks on their faces told him to remain quiet.
He was happy to oblige.
***
It took some time, but they made it to the outskirts of Aurora. After several hours of walking, the women were not as shaky as they had been when leaving the bunker. They complained at times that they were tired and sore, but their adrenaline kept them moving. They were headed for the woods near the Adirondack trail. The walk so far was nothing in comparison to the trail Brian and Steven had endured since leaving Nelson. The land here was flat, the rain had ceased, and the air was clear and dry. Plus, the distance between Nelson and Aurora was much farther than the distance between Aurora and the East Coast. In just a few days, maybe a week, they would make it to Uncle Al.
“You think God killed them?” Carolanne asked.
“Who?”
“Everyone.”
“God? I don’t know.”
“If not God, who then? Did we make the disease? Did humans do this?”
“I suppose we’ll never know. Maybe. Probably.”
Carolanne shook her head. “Why? Why would we do that?”
Brian shrugged. “Maybe we didn’t? Maybe it just came about, just happened.”
“Just happened? There has to be a reason. I heard on the news—back when there was news—that it started in the Middle East.”
“Could be. Reckon I heard that too, but that could’ve been a load of bullshit. Propaganda. Maybe it wasn’t anybody’s fault. A disease can come about without the aid of people. Usually happens that way, I imagine.”
Carolanne frowned. “No.�
�� She shook her head. “We did this.”
They were quiet for a while, and then Carolanne went on, “What if we get to Uncle Al’s and nobody’s there?”
“We can’t think like that,” Brian said. “Uncle Al made a plan. He knew what to expect. We’re doing all right so far, ain’t we? We survived in the bunkers for two years, and now we’re following the route he laid out for us. We’re a part of Uncle Al’s plan, one way or the other, and because of that plan, we’ve survived this long.”
“I guess so.” She bit at her lip, and then continued, “Not everything’s gone according to plan though. We’ve lost a few along the way.”
Brian’s voice dropped. “Yeah …”
They were quiet.
Then Carolanne continued, “Sorry I brought that up. I sometimes … talk a lot when I’m nervous. Words seem to slip past me.”
“Hey, that’s no problem. You were only being honest. Talk away.”
She bit at her lip again before continuing, “What do you think it will be like when we get to your Uncle?”
“Shit, I don’t know.” Brian held back a branch so it wouldn’t whip the girls as they passed. “I reckon there will be other people. Probably a good number. Survivors, like us.”
Carolanne giggled.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Sorry. I just never heard someone say reckon so many times before.”
Brian smiled, but he felt his cheeks turn red. He knew the stigma attached to coming from the Deep South.
“I don’t think it’s bad or anything …”
Bethany laughed.
A few minutes later, when Carolanne took out her map to give it a study, Bethany whispered in Brian’s ear, “She never knows when to shut up.”
***
They made camp deep in the forest. Brian gathered wood for a small fire, and they heated cans of soup on the hot coals.
“We’re going to take turns keeping watch,” he told them. “You two will go first, together.”
Bethany interrupted, “We can each take a turn.”
“No, and it’s not up for discussion. You two will keep watch together for five hours, then it’s my turn.” Brian continued, “Keep the fire low, and wake me if you hear anything. Anything. Okay?”
“Okay,” Carolanne answered.
Bethany kept her mouth shut.
They ate and the night grew dark. Brian crawled into his sleeping bag and was asleep within minutes. Half an hour later, he was snoring.
They kept the fire low and sat close together as the night wore on. A small crackling noise caused Carolanne to jump, but Bethany calmed her down. “It’s nothing,” she said. “A deer or something.”
They woke Brian after five hours, and he sat up in his sleeping bag, his eyes puffy with sleep. His voice hoarse. “All right. You girls get to bed.”
Brian yawned and tossed some sticks in the small fire.
It was a long night, and all Brian could think about was Steven. How he had left him staring up at the sky, and then came back to find him gone.
Did animals drag him off?
But those were horse tracks, and people.
He reminded himself that he could not afford to let his mind dwell on terrible thoughts, lest he suffer the same madness that had befallen Steven.
As the first rays of sunlight approached, Brian filled his tin cup with water and set it before the glowing coals. When the water began to steam, he removed the cup and sprinkled some instant coffee on top. He stirred it with a twig and tossed the twig in the fire, where it sizzled.
He heard movement, but not from the woods. A moment later, Carolanne was sitting up in her sleeping bag.
He whispered to her, “Go back to sleep. You have more time.”
She shook her head and yawned. After a moment, she scooted herself in her sleeping bag closer to the fire. Bethany was fast asleep.
“Good morning,” she whispered.
“Good morning.”
“What’s for breakfast?”
“Powdered eggs.” Brian chuckled. “How do you like your powdered eggs? Soggy or damn near drowned?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”
They were quiet as Brian heated a cup of coffee for Carolanne. The instant coffee was premixed with powdered milk and sugar from the bunker and didn’t taste half bad. Brian preferred his coffee black, but just having coffee, any coffee, was an amazing boost to his morale. When the coffee was hot, Carolanne held it under her nose, breathing in the rich vapors and blowing away the steam.
“It’s weird being out of the shelter,” she said.
“I know. It takes some getting used to. I’ve been out for a little while now, and I’m still not used to the outside world. Don’t know if I ever will be.”
“You think there are more people out there? Good people like us?”
Brian thought of the old man sitting by the fire, stirring the rancid stew, his cane resting over his knees. He thought about the town of Odyssey and the awful-looking men marching with weapons fashioned out of metal poles, dragging naked prisoners along down a road lined with executed corpses hanging from streetlights and crucified on poles.
He said, “I reckon there are good people out there.”
They sipped their coffee. “I never said thank you.” Carolanne’s voice was low. “I never thanked you for coming to get us.”
Brian looked surprised. “You don’t have to thank me. Hell, it’s me that owes you some thanking. I would have died outside your bunker for sure if you hadn’t taken me in and cared for me the way you did.”
“I liked having something to do. I was glad to have a purpose.”
“Well, thank you.”
As the sun came up, the morning dew turned into drifts of low rolling fog.
“I’m scared, Brian.”
He looked at her. Carolanne was looking into her coffee, lost. She went on. “When George died and Robert disappeared, I thought Beth and I would soon die for sure. Thinking we would have to wait two years for you and Steven to show up—if you showed up—and that we would have to spend those two years alone down there, waiting … scared the shit out of me. All I kept thinking about was getting the hell out of that bunker. Now, though, now that I’m out … I kind of want to go back. But I also want to be as far from it as possible. I know it’s stupid, but I’m … terrified.”
“That’s not stupid. I understand.” He envisioned them—Carolanne and Bethany, alone in the bunker, comforting each other, spending weeks and months mourning their husbands.
“I never lost a loved one the way you and Bethany lost your husbands, so I’m not trying to compare, but I know the feeling of losing someone you care about while there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it. Nancy and Ben Hendricks—they were like parents to Steven and me, and we had to leave them above ground in Nelson. All that time in the bunker, I kept thinking about them and what they must be going through, cursing myself for not forcing them to come with us, although I thought the task impossible at the time. Then came Stanley … Stanley Jacobs, my best friend after Steven. He came to the bunker sick with the disease and died down there. I saw firsthand what the disease was doing to people. It was the most frightening display I ever seen. Knowing that Nancy and Ben might have died that way … it just about killed me thinking about it.”
Carolanne nodded, looking into the fire. “I want for things to get better. I need for things to get better so incredibly bad. It’s time to move on. Beth and I, I think we’ve come to terms, but I need something to believe in again—a sign that humanity hasn’t truly seen its last days on earth. I hope to God that there are good people in Uncle Al’s camp … but, I have to admit, I’m terrified to get there.”
Brian played with a stick in the flames and looked up at Carolanne, hugging her knees to her chest inside her sleeping bag. “I promise you,” he said, “I’ll do everything in my power to get you girls to safety. I promise, with all of my heart, with all the strength I can muster, that I will d
o everything I can to protect you. I’ll never leave you, Carolanne. Neither of you. I will get you to shelter or die trying.”
“I know.” She choked back a tear. “I know you will.”
Chapter 29
The Alpha
“Get back, Winston! Get back!”
Winston’s body was rigid, his muscles taut.
The muzzles of the wolves were now looming out of the shadows like insidious devils belonging to the night.
Simon had to act fast.
He grabbed the wooden end of a stick burning in the fire and threw it hard in the direction of the wolves. It crashed against the side of a tree and burst like a firework, raining down an avalanche of hot sparks. The wolves scurried.
Move, now!
Winston was ready to lunge. Simon grabbed him hard at the base of his neck with one hand and scooped him up under his ribcage with his other. Winston was thrashing about in his arms, but Simon managed to stuff him in the hole in the garage wall, and blocked the entrance with his foot. As Simon turned, the wolves were back, sprinting out of the shadows, dark and evil.
Oh, my God!
The alpha wolf was in the lead, snarling. His wet fangs glistening a bright white against his fur that was black as night.
Simon grabbed the shotgun, aimed into the fire, and pulled the trigger. The burning wood exploded in a frenzy of sparks and burning coals, fanning out in a semicircle before him.
The wolves stopped as if they had hit a wall.
Simon turned and dove headfirst into the hole. His shoulders scraped the sides, but his torso cleared the opening. Then he felt a snag around his waist. He was stuck. It was pitch black inside the garage, blindingly dark. Simon couldn’t see Winston a foot in front of him, although he could feel the heat coming off the dog’s growling breath. He groped the floor of the garage for anything he could use to pull himself forward, but all he felt was the cold, cement ground.
He thought he could hear the patter of paws approaching, the wolves drooling over the meat of his exposed legs. The teeth would sink in deep, rattle his body about, and shred away whole chunks of calf and thigh meat before ripping him free from the hole to devour him in a frenzied swarm. The prize would be his brain, broken free like a walnut from the shell.
The After War Page 21
