The Scourge (Book 2): Adrift

by Abrahams, Tom

“We could see from the back of the house there were people inside. They got these big windows. The lights were on.”

  “Lights? They had power?”

  “A generator. They had a big kitchen. Looked like they wasn’t hurting for nothing.”

  She lifted her leg and crossed it over the other one at the ankles. A nod told Dickie she understood.

  “Trick sent me around front to play decoy. I knocked on the door to get this woman to answer. It was just her and two kids, far as we knew. I knocked. She came to the door. That’s when Trick and Cooper broke in through the side door. They got the kids and surprised the woman.”

  “How did a woman and two kids kill Trick and Cooper? That don’t sound right, Dickie.”

  Dickie swallowed. He feared she wouldn’t believe him, that she’d try to poke holes in the truth. “It wasn’t her or the kids. There was a woman upstairs we didn’t know about. Trick sent me up to deal with her.”

  He paused and swiped at his forehead. Sweat greased his palm and he wiped it on his pants. Dickie wanted to put his head on the table and close his eyes. He needed sleep.

  Winter picked at a fingernail and then chewed on it. “Then what?”

  “The woman upstairs was trouble. I got shot. I dove out a window. Then I seen people from the bridge come running. There was all kinds of chaos inside the house. Shooting, yelling, screaming. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I know they killed Trick and Cooper.”

  “How do you know if you was outside?”

  Dickie started to answer but stopped and took a breath. The last thing he wanted was to sound defensive. That might cause unnecessary suspicion.

  “I saw them through the window. Their bodies, I mean.”

  Winter tore off the edge of the fingernail with her teeth and gnawed on it. “How many people?”

  Dickie counted in his head. “Four, I think. Plus the woman with the kids and the woman upstairs. Though I don’t know if the woman upstairs, the kids’ mom, is alive. Not sure. I think I shot her.”

  “Everyone downstairs survived? Trick didn’t kill a one of them?”

  That was a good question. “I don’t know. I guess there could be less.”

  “Fewer.”

  Dickie scratched the side of his face. “What?”

  “It’s fewer,” said Winter. “I ain’t a grammar person or nothing, obviously. But one thing I know is the difference between less and fewer. It bugs me when people get it wrong. It’s like saying I instead of me or vice versa.”

  Dickie blinked. He stared at her.

  She rolled her eyes. “If you can count whatever you’re talking about, it’s fewer. If you can’t, it’s less. Fewer dead people, less death. Got it?”

  His brow wrinkled. “How do you know that?”

  “I had a teacher in sixth grade. She talked about it. Called it a pet peever. Corrected us if we got it wrong. I remember it. I didn’t hold onto much else, mind you, but I did keep that up here.” Winter tapped her temple with an index finger. She sighed. “What am I gonna do with you?”

  Dickie tensed. “What do you mean?”

  She gestured at him, motioning to his current state. “You’re a mess, Dickie. You’re hurt pretty bad, I can tell that. You stink like all get out.”

  “I’ll clean up,” he said. “I’m not hurt that bad. I don’t think.”

  “I’m not worried about that,” Winter clarified. “That’s an annoyance, but it ain’t the problem, as I see it.”

  Dickie could use a beer. That was what he needed, not water. He licked his dry lips with his thick tongue. No doubt he was dehydrated. A headache pulsed behind his eyes.

  Winter uncrossed her legs, lowered them from the table and planted her feet on the floor. She leaned in on her elbows and locked eyes with him. “The problem is that you and Trick didn’t get along much. I mean, there was a tension there, you know?”

  Dickie said “I don’t—”

  She held up a hand. “Don’t deny it. I get it, Trick was a tough man. He could get on a nerve and work it raw. I know. But you didn’t like him making fun of you. You didn’t like the jokes at your expense or the way he ordered you around. He favored Neil. Poor stupid Neil. That’s who Trick liked and you knew it.”

  Dickie wasn’t sure where this was headed, but he didn’t like its direction. Winter wasn’t armed as far as he could tell. But that didn’t mean anything. He was hurt and weakened. She was strong. She could choke him to death right here. She could punch him unconscious and then get a knife or a gun.

  Winter leaned back and chewed on another nail. She tore off a piece and rolled it around in her teeth before spitting it out. “I’m not sure I can trust you, Dickie. I’m not sure you didn’t let Trick get killed.”

  Winter kept talking without awaiting a response. “I know you’ll deny it. No need to waste your precious energy on defending yourself.”

  He sank a little deeper into the chair. With each accelerated beat of his heart, every injury on his body throbbed in unison. It was an orchestra of pain exacerbated by Winter’s doubts.

  “I’m going to give you a chance to prove yourself to me,” she said. “I want to be certain that I can trust you going forward. I mean, we’re in the early days of this new world. It would be good if we could trust each other, right? A mutually beneficial partnership. You, me, the rest of ’em sleeping right now?”

  Dickie considered the others and how they’d react. Mony wouldn’t hold anything against him, nor would Neil. The Rusk sisters would be angry, so would the James brothers, Danny and Cal. How they handled him would likely depend on the tone Winter set.

  “The others didn’t have the trouble you did,” she said. “The James boys and Neil scoured the neighborhood. No shoot-outs, no dead people. But there wasn’t anything to take neither. They found some boxes of oatmeal and a couple of gallons of distilled water, some batteries. Clothes. Nice boots that might fit you. Nothing big though. No electricity, no stashes of food and supplies. I was disappointed with their haul. Told me things need to change around here.”

  No doubt she was in charge of their gang, if that was what it was. He wondered, sitting across from her, if she’d always been in charge. It was likely she’d been the woman behind the man, pulling the strings and directing Trick’s actions.

  “What do I need to do?” he asked.

  “Give it a week,” she said. “Heal up. I got one simple thing for you to do. Then it’s all square and you have my trust.”

  He hesitated then asked, “What it is?”

  “Take me back to that house, the one with the generator and the lights.”

  “Why?”

  “Two reasons. One of which is they got things in that house we don’t. We could use electricity and supplies. This way we don’t have to go scouring places, hoping we find things we need. It’s all there. We just gotta go get it.”

  Winter balled her hand into a fist, like she was crushing something underneath her fingers. Her face contorted into a growling sneer. There was something feral in the way she looked at Dickie.

  “Okay,” he said. “What’s the other reason?”

  She tossed her head back and laughed. Then she slammed her hand down on the table. Dickie jumped in his seat, startled by the sudden, violent action.

  “Revenge,” she said in a low voice. “Revenge.”

  CHAPTER 24

  MARCH 20, 2033

  SCOURGE +170 DAYS

  ATLANTA, GEORGIA

  Rufus Buck loaded the last of the gear into his Humvee. The air was cool for a spring morning. The sun hadn’t yet risen above the Atlanta skyline, but bands of yellow, orange and purple foretold of its ascent. It was a cloudless night, but thin stretches of cotton white clouds blotted large patches of the sky overhead. He couldn’t remember the last time it had rained. There was talk of a coming drought. He’d overheard a team of meteorologists discussing the cyclical change in weather patterns in the mess hall two days earlier. They spoke of it in hushed tones, with a reverence those
in the dark ages reserved for witches and warlocks.

  There were two trucks parked along the curb behind his Humvee. Both were diesels and both had large payloads. One truck was loaded with weapons, ammunition and rations. The other carried plastic five-gallon cans of fuel.

  The trucks belonged to Logan and Manuse. They’d arrived at the CDC a week earlier in their own vehicles and they were leaving in them now. Colonel Whittenburg offered different rides. All three men declined.

  The plan wasn’t to stay as long as they had, but there were too many logistics to consider and outline to make the visit as short as expected. Now, those plans firmly defined, they headed back to Texas to take their places as leaders of a new republic.

  Major Bailey assured them Whittenburg had already arranged contacts and provided supporting troops upon arrival in Beaumont. Their caravan would grow from three vehicles to twenty-five and nobody would challenge them as they re-established order.

  A breeze blew across Buck’s face and sent a chill through his body. He didn’t like the cold. He didn’t much care for heat either. Given the choice, though, he’d take sweat over frostbite.

  “You know where you’re going, General Roof?”

  Buck turned to see a group of people emerge from the loading bay at the back of the complex. First among them was Bailey, a confident smile on his face and a swagger in his step. It was Bailey who’d posed the question.

  “I know where I’m driving,” said Buck. “As for where I’m going, that’s another question altogether.”

  Bailey chuckled and stopped with the others a comfortable distance from Buck. They stood in a loose semicircle around him. Buck recognized all of them but only knew Bailey, Whittenburg and Lowe.

  The group collectively looked past Buck and he checked over his shoulder to see Logan and Manuse walking toward them. Both men had their hands stuffed deep into their pockets, their shoulders hunched near their ears. It was obvious they didn’t like the cold either.

  Whittenburg clapped his hands together and rubbed them as if trying to keep warm.

  “Let me begin by introducing everyone,” he said, sounding like he was rallying the troops before battle. “It’s important we put names with faces. All of us have a hand to play here and whether or not we serve one another directly or indirectly, acquainting ourselves with one another might prove critical in the later stages of our efforts.”

  The colonel paused, as if waiting for objections or input. When there was none other than the chattering of teeth, he started with a thin woman to his left. She was tall, dark hair pulled into a bun. Attractive, Buck thought, but harsh.

  “This is Dr. Gwendolyn Sharp,” he said. “She leads our research team and is vital to our understanding of and future dealings with the Scourge.”

  Sharp scanned the crowd, almost passing over Buck. He didn’t like this. It told him she thought little of him. He chuckled to himself at how ignorant she must be. A damned scientist who stood in a sterile lab, afraid to get her hands dirty. If she only knew what it took to change the world, she’d quake in her boots and soil her baggy jeans.

  The colonel quickly introduced the two others to his left. Both were men, both scientists.

  “Dr. John Treadgold is the man in the lab on a daily basis. He’s done fabulous work for us and will be central to our future endeavors. Also with me is Dr. Charles Morel.”

  Whittenburg didn’t elaborate about Morel. That appeared to steam the man. He gritted his teeth and balled his hands into fists at his sides.

  The colonel then introduced the tactical team: Lowe first, then Bailey, Logan, Manuse and finally Buck. He chuckled and mentioned their new ranks.

  “I understand the four of you have dubbed yourselves generals. That’s fine by me. You can call yourselves what you like, though your newly ascribed ranks don’t usurp my authority.”

  Everyone but Buck laughed. Nobody seemed to notice, the colonel least of all.

  “This is a momentous day,” said the colonel. “Should our efforts unfold as planned, our little force will change the course of history. I know I’m asking extraordinary things of all of you. It will be worth it, I assure you. I thank you. Is there anything any of you would like to say before our esteemed team of generals rolls out for Texas?”

  The woman scientist raised her hand. Of course she had something to say. She couldn’t just let them be on their way and out of the cold.

  ***

  Gwendolyn Sharp was compelled to speak. She couldn’t look the self-professed generals in their eyes. It was too difficult knowing how they were pawns in this much larger conspiracy. They stood there, bravado dripping from their smug, unshaven faces, unaware of what their true role in all of this would become.

  “Thank you for volunteering to be a part of this,” she said. “I know what we do here in the labs is nothing compared to the risks you’ll take out there in the real world. Yours is the true sacrifice. We are grateful beyond measure.”

  As she spoke, she watched for nonverbal cues. Were the men buying this? Were they emboldened by her gratitude, her acknowledgment of their duties? Did it matter ultimately?

  Not to the self-professed generals, she was sure. And who cared what they thought? This wasn’t about them.

  This little speech was for Colonel Whittenburg. It was for John Treadgold. And it was, most of all, for Charles Morel.

  The more she exuded a level of authority with everyone in attendance, the more she solidified her position and her authority. As Whittenburg had made crystal clear since they’d first met in the air strip hangar outside Atlanta, authority was everything. It was currency in a world where actual money meant virtually nothing.

  This was an opportunity to cement her authority. “Our team here, so you understand, is working to support your efforts in Texas,” she opined. “Through your relationship with Colonel Whittenburg, we will receive updates of your progress. We’ll know about your successes and your failures.”

  The one with the dark hat, the one called General Roof, frowned, as did Major Bailey. She countered with an apologetic, explanatory smile.

  “Nobody’s perfect, gentlemen. We all fail from time to time. Success cannot sustain itself without failure. You’ll learn more from what you do wrong than from what you do right, as will we here in the labs. I don’t expect us to be infallible.”

  “You are right, Dr. Sharp,” the colonel said. “We all make mistakes. It is part of the business of doing great things. I think President John F. Kennedy once said, ‘Only those who dare to fail greatly can ever achieve greatly.’”

  General Roof smirked. “Colonel, it was Robert Kennedy who said that.”

  The colonel tilted his head to one side and narrowed his eyes. “Was it?”

  “With due respect, Colonel, Roof is right,” said Manuse. “1966. Capetown, South Africa. He was a senator at the time.”

  “How do you know that?” asked the colonel. “It seems like an esoteric, random bit of knowledge.”

  Manuse shrugged. “Took a speech and politics class in college. We studied it. It was called the Affirmation Day Address.”

  The colonel lifted a hand to his chin and scratched with three fingers. Then he smiled and extended his arms. “See? You prove my point. I learned something from my failure and the next time I utter those words, I’ll successfully credit the right Kennedy.”

  It was a thin save. And might have served to undermine the purpose of her speech had she not jumped on it and concluded her thoughts.

  “The colonel’s point is the same, regardless. We expect good things from you despite the bumps you may encounter along the way. I look forward to seeing what you accomplish, as do my colleagues.”

  “Thanks,” said General Roof. “Your confidence in us means the world. It’s just the boost we need to set us sailing.”

  The sarcasm dripped from every word. Roof, or Buck, or whoever he was, appeared to be a man of little humor. His gray beard and shoulder-length hair told her he tried hard to appear effor
tless. His arrogance would be his undoing one day. There was no doubt in her mind about this. Whether it was his own hubris or the hell she and her fellow scientists would one day soon unleash in Texas, he’d be silenced, his sarcasm an echo of his own inadequacy.

  The colonel clapped his hands together again, perhaps sensing the growing tension and ended the gathering. He thanked those in attendance and saluted the quartet of men known collectively as the generals of the Cartel.

  The men saluted in response and loaded into their vehicles. Roof and Bailey were in the Humvee. Logan slid behind the wheel of his truck; Manuse climbed into the cab of his.

  Almost on cue the three started their engines. With final waves to the assembled, the convoy pulled away from the curb and rolled away from the loading area. Condensation billowed from their exhausts and clouded the sight of them as they accelerated around a corner and disappeared.

  When the others moved toward the loading door, Gwendolyn lingered. She listened to the rumble of their engines until she couldn’t hear them. The colonel was next to her, rubbing his hands together.

  He nudged her with his shoulder. “What are you thinking, Gwendolyn?” His breath was hot and visible in the cold air.

  She looked up at the sky. The sun was above the skyline now, an opaque smudge of light behind the amassing scud clouds. The chill of the night had not given way to the morning. If anything, it was getting colder. She tucked her hands under her arms and exhaled, watching the stream of breath form and evaporate.

  “I’m thinking there are a lot of unknowns, Colonel. All it takes is one uncounted variable to throw the best-laid plans into disarray.”

  “One variable?” he asked. “What kind of variable?”

  “Could be anything,” she said. “Or anyone.”

  The colonel pursed his lips. He nodded in agreement and motioned to the door. “Back to work?”

  “Yes. And miles to go before I sleep.”

  CHAPTER 25

  MARCH 20, 2033

  SCOURGE +170 DAYS