by Mark Kelly
43
A glint of metal
With Simmons sitting behind him, Chenney turned the snowmobile in a wide circle and headed back down the rough trail he and Taxson had broken earlier. On the left, a steep ridge of granite and Precambrian rock with jutting twenty-foot high cliffs loomed over them.
Dines was right, Simmons thought as he ran his eyes over the boulders and crevices. There was no way the loggers would have tried to build a road over that. He glanced at the map and guessed they were still a mile or two from the turn that would bring them to the steep hill—and then the cabin.
When they passed the point where Chenney and Taxson had first turned back, the pitch of the snowmobile’s engine changed as it struggled to move through the deep, virgin snow. Simmons looked ahead and saw tracks crossing their path in front of them. He tapped Chenney on the arm.
“What is it?” Chenney asked, slowing the snowmobile to a crawl.
“Stop here. I want to take a quick look around.”
Chenney brought the machine to a stop. He stole a worried glance at the fast approaching storm clouds. “We don’t have much time, Professor. How about we check the tracks out on the way back?”
“What’s going on? Why did you stop?” Mei shouted to Simmons as she and Taxson pulled up beside him.
He pointed to the tracks that came down one side of the valley and up the other. It was impossible to tell if they were human or animal, but whatever had made them had taken a meandering, almost drunken path through the forest, scrambling over fallen trees and squeezing through small gaps in the giant boulders littering the ridgeline.
Chenney glanced at the path the tracks took and shook his head. “We’ll never make it on the snowmobiles. Let’s just stick to the route we mapped out.”
“You guys go on ahead,” Simmons said, slipping his leg over the snowmobile’s seat and stepping into snow midway up his thigh.
Mei jumped off the back of Taxson’s machine and joined him. “Do you think they’re Saanvi’s, Tony?”
“I don’t know, but they’re fresh. It’s worth taking a quick look around.”
“This is a bad idea,” Chenney whined. “Dines will have my ass if I lose you two in the bush. Please get back on the snowmobiles.”
Simmons handed the map to the worried soldier. “We won’t get lost. You can pick us up on the way back.”
“One of us should stay here and keep an eye on them,” Taxson said to Chenney. “You go ahead and check out the cabin.”
“Goddamnit…all right, but don’t go very far.” Chenney took a quick glance at the map before he tucked it away inside his jacket. Then he pointed a finger at Simmons and Mei. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes and then we’re getting the hell out of here.” He gunned the snowmobile’s engine and pulled away.
“I’ll go left. You go right,” Simmons said. Mei nodded and they split up, leaving Taxson behind on his snowmobile.
Following the trail in the snow, Simmons headed up the ridgeline, grabbing rocks and tree trunks for support. After a couple of minutes of climbing, he was breathing heavily from the exertion and sweating like a pig. He unzipped his jacket and started out again, calling Saanvi’s name every few steps. Mei heard him and joined in with her own shouts.
When he reached the top of the ridgeline, he leaned against a birch tree to catch his breath. In the distance, on the other side of the valley, he could hear Mei continuing to call out Saanvi’s name.
The sound of plastic rustling in the wind came from his left and he turned to see the torn remnants of a grocery bag caught in the lower branches of a spruce tree. He stared at it for a second, oddly bothered by the sight of garbage in the pristine white wilderness.
A few feet from the bag, something metallic glinted, catching his eye. He took a second look and saw the shape of a body buried beneath the snow. Then he saw black hair, and the shiny gold hoop earring that had caught his attention in the first place. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he realized it was Saanvi.
“I found her!” he screamed.
“I’m coming,” Mei shouted back. “Is she okay? Is she alive?”
“I don’t know. Hurry!”
Simmons stumbled through the snow and dropped to his knees beside Saanvi’s body. He began to furiously dig with his hands, shoveling away the surrounding snow. He removed his gloves and touched her face. She was as cold as the snow she lay in, and the color of milk; a waxy, white colour. The color of death.
Panicking, he gently shook her. “Saanvi, can you hear me?”
Unsure what else to do, he unzipped her coat to check for a heartbeat. Nothing. His mind went blank with a feeling of helplessness. She couldn’t be dead. He turned and screamed for Mei.
An eternity later, Taxson charged over the top of the ridgeline, holding Mei by the hand and almost dragging her behind him.
“Let me see her, Tony,” Mei said, pushing him out of the way as she knelt. She ignored the half-unzipped jacket and immediately reached for Saanvi’s wrist. For what seemed like forever, but was probably only ten seconds, Mei sat motionless, concentrating as she felt for a pulse. Finally, she spoke.
“She’s alive, but just barely. I can’t treat her here. We need to get her back to the base.”
“Move aside,” Taxson barked.
They scrambled out of his way and the stocky special ops soldier bent down and lifted the girl into his arms. Without a word, he turned and bulldozed his way through the snow. Even with the load he was carrying, they struggled to keep up with him. He was waiting by the side of his snowmobile when they reached him.
“If I hold her, can you drive?” he asked Mei.
She shook her head. “I’ve never driven a snowmobile.”
“Give her to me,” Simmons said, holding out his arms. He looked at Taxson. “If you drive, Mei can sit behind you with Saanvi supported between the two of you.”
Taxson didn’t hesitate. He handed Saanvi to Simmons. Then he climbed onto the snowmobile and slid forward.
Simmons carefully maneuvered Saanvi’s limp body into position. He held her in place while Mei climbed on the snowmobile and wrapped her arms around Taxson, sandwiching the girl between them.
“Go!”
Taxson squeezed the accelerator. The snowmobile’s engine screamed as the machine bogged down under the weight of its three passengers. Simmons placed his hands on the back of the seat and pushed with all his might, closing his eyes as snow kicked up into his face from the spinning track. Slowly, the snowmobile gained traction and started to move. He ran behind it, pushing until he couldn’t keep up. Then he collapsed in the snow, exhausted, and watched the machine and its passengers disappear down the trail towards the highway.
After just a few minutes, Mei’s muscles ached and burned. She wanted to let go, but she didn’t—she couldn’t. She squeezed her legs tightly against the snowmobile’s seat and held on to Saanvi for dear life.
As they neared the highway, she leaned sideways and peeked around Saanvi’s limp body. Dines and Emma were standing on top of the Bison watching the snowmobile approach. Mei frantically waved at them. Dines saw her and leapt into the snow as Taxson brought the snowmobile to a stop beside the armored vehicle.
“She’s got extreme hypothermia,” Mei shouted at Dines and Taxson. “We need to get her inside, but be gentle. Her heart is already dangerously close to shutting down. Any sudden movement could induce cardiac arrhythmia.”
“I’ve got her,” Taxson said, lifting Saanvi off the snowmobile and holding her close to his chest like a mother would hold her child. Using his free hand for support, he climbed up the metal ladder on the side of the Bison and down into the crew compartment.
“How long before we can get back to the base?” Mei asked Dines.
“Thirty-five minutes, maybe a little faster if we push it.”
“Then push it. Do you have any blankets?”
“In the supply cabinet,” Dines said, already emptying the contents of a metal locker onto the fl
oor.
Mei bent down and grabbed the blankets. She turned to Emma. “Help me spread them out on the floor.” When they had finished making a make-shift bed, Taxson lay Saanvi down on it.
“Emma, get undressed.”
“What?”
“Get undressed,” Mei repeated, unzipping her coat and dropping it on the floor next to Saanvi. She began to remove her shirt and pants. “We’re going to use the heat from our bodies to slowly raise Saanvi’s internal body temperature.”
Emma hesitated.
Mei looked into her eyes. “Emma, you need to help me. Saanvi’s going to die if we don’t get her warmed up.”
Emma nodded and began to peel off her clothing. When they were both in their underwear, they lay down next to Saanvi, and Dines covered them with the coats and remaining blankets.
“She’s so cold, Mei,” Emma said, shivering uncontrollably. “Is she going to be okay?”
“I don’t know,” Mei replied, starting to shiver too.
44
Not very epic
Lucia saw the thick black smoke billowing into the air and slowed as Baker held up his arm, signalling her to pull over. As was their habit on the open road, they didn’t stop until they found a semi-sheltered location. Here, the nearest safe spot was between a Ford pickup truck and a Hyundi, both of which had no windows and were riddled with gunshot holes.
Baker was first off his motorcycle. His feet touched the ground at the same time he pulled the fully automatic c7 carbine from the scabbard attached to the frame near the rear wheel of his bike. That was also a habit; a habit born of being frequently shot at whenever they stopped.
He raised the rifle and did a quick three hundred and sixty degree rotation, checking for threats in every direction. “Clear,” he said out loud; yet another habit. He lowered his rifle and looked down the interstate at the city ahead. “That’s Wichita—and that’s the Epic Center.”
Not very epic, Lucia thought, running her eyes over the Wichita skyline. In the entire city there were only a handful of buildings with more than ten floors and only two with twice that. The thick black smoke was coming from the middle floor of the tallest building. Even a couple of miles away, she could smell the stench of burning plastic.
“Why are we stopping?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.
The crackle of gunfire erupted in the distance. Neither she nor Baker flinched. After all their time on the road, they had both heard enough guns being fired to know whoever was shooting was more than a mile away and of no immediate threat.
She listened as the gun shots followed a familiar pattern. First a single shot or two, and then the rattle of an automatic weapon in response. It was the sound of negotiation. Simply put, someone had something that someone else wanted.
“That’s why,” Baker said with a wry smile. “You know what they say.”
“What?”
“Where there’s smoke there’s gunfire.”
Lucia did an eye-roll. He seemed to have an endless supply of stupid jokes. “I asked you a question,” she said, unable to contain the impatience in her voice. It had been a long six weeks, and now she just wanted to kill John Raine and go home.
Baker turned serious. “McConnell Air Force Base is south-east of the city. We can get to it from here, but I think we should avoid the downtown completely. We’ll go south and then head north. It’ll add another couple of hours of travel time, but it’s safer.”
“We should go the fastest way,” she said, making a move to put the bike in gear.
Baker held out his hand to stop her. His eyes flashed a warning. “Remember what happened the last time you went charging off without thinking things through.”
There had been many last times, but she knew he was talking about the events at the dam. Her impatience there had cost Michael Otetiani and his people a fortune in gasoline to keep her alive. It had also cost her and the others their friendship with the Mohawk leader. And it was all because of that big biker with the stupid name and even stupider-looking motorcycle. She should have killed Petit Henri when she had the chance. She vowed that if she ever saw him again, she would.
“All right,” she said reluctantly. “We will do it your way.”
They went south, and then north on the Kansas turnpike. The turnpike, like every other highway of size they had travelled on, was cluttered with broken-down vehicles. As they neared a toll-booth with a line of abandoned cars in front of it, Baker carefully steered his bike and the trailer he was pulling off the highway and onto the grass.
It appeared to Lucia like he was going to stop—yet again. Already edgy and impatient from the delays, she raced up beside him and shouted, “What now?”
He looked up, signalling she should too. The large white sign above the toll-booth read: CASH ONLY.
“I don’t have any change on me,” he said, grinning broadly.
At that moment, she was certain that if she had a gun in her hand, she would have shot him. His grin quickly faded when he saw the look on her face.
“Sorry, I was just having some fun. With the trailer behind me, I don’t think I could have squeezed past the cars. Taking the median was safer.”
“Then you should have just said that,” she snapped. “Instead, you are always trying to be smart. Sometimes being smart is stupid. I do not have time for these games right now.”
She twisted the throttle on her handlebars and sped past him. When he caught up to her, she was two miles down the road, still angry, and stopped with her arms crossed over her chest.
“I’m sorry—”
She unfolded her arms and held up a hand to silence him. “We will not talk of it anymore. We will find John Raine and kill him. And then we will go home. All right?”
He nodded.
Good.
“Now, what should we do about that?” she said, staring down the road.
“Drive slowly.”
Certain he was being a smart-ass again, she twisted her head, ready to shout at him, but he wasn’t even looking at her. He was staring at what had caused her to stop in the first place—a crowd of people gathered around the entrance to a refugee camp.
The camp was a quarter-mile ahead in a field to their left. It was filled with white A-frame tents laid out in rows as far as she could see. It hadn’t snowed, but everyone she saw was bundled up against the biting-cold wind that swept down from the Rocky Mountains. Compared to the camp in Canada, this one was larger and more chaotic, but not as large or chaotic as the camps they had seen near the bigger cities further east.
“We must be close to McConnell Air Force Base,” Baker said. “It makes sense there would be a refugee camp near it. I’ll go first. Stay right beside me.” He pulled his rifle out of its scabbard and rested it on the bike’s handlebars. “Don’t stop for any reason. We have a trailer full of supplies that most of these people would kill for.”
They rode forward, taking care to maintain a steady pace that would allow the people in front of them time to get out of the way, but not enough time to do anything stupid.
To Lucia’s surprise, every single person in the crowd wore a mask over their mouth and nose. When the people they passed saw Baker and Lucia’s bare faces, they recoiled in fear. Baker turned his head and shouted, “Pull up your bandana.”
For once, she did exactly what he said. They had become careless. The people here didn’t know that wearing a mask wouldn’t prevent the infection, nor that she and Baker were immune and disease-free. As far as the crowd was concerned, not wearing a mask meant you were either crazy, or infected by the bug.
Baker accelerated and Lucia followed, quickly putting distance between themselves and the people in the crowd who had seen them without a mask. After a few minutes and a couple hundred yards, they slowed as they approached the turnoff to the road leading to McConnell Air Force Base.
The crowd had thinned to almost nothing. Baker stopped and climbed off his bike with his rifle in his hand, shielding it from the soldiers who were standi
ng a couple hundred yards down the road in front of the main gate.
Lucia pulled up next to him.
“What?”
“I think we’ve got a problem.”
“What problem?”
“Look and tell me what’s different.”
“Different from what?”
“Different from around the base in Canada.”
These guessing games were another one of Baker’s quirks. She didn’t understand why he couldn’t just come out and tell her what he saw like a normal person. Still, she did what he asked. She looked around.
The road to the base was completely empty and anyone trying to reach the gate would have to pass through a maze of concrete barriers laid out in a pattern to slow traffic. The guards, and there were about a dozen of them, stared menacingly down the road at her and Baker. Unsure what Baker was concerned about, she shrugged.
“Look at the perimeter fence and the road leading to the gate.”
She ran her eyes up and down the fence-line in both directions. At first, she saw nothing different, but then she realized there was no one within twenty feet of the tall razor-wire chain-link fence.
She understood immediately. At the base in Canada, there was always a crowd gathered around the main gate, and there were refugees hanging around the fence begging for food or looking to barter with the soldiers inside.
“Why are they afraid of the soldiers here?” she asked Baker.
“Two words,” he replied. “Deadly force. Anyone approaching without authorization will be shot.”
Lucia thought he was exaggerating. “Don’t be stupid, the soldiers won’t shoot you. You’re one of them.”
He gave her a tight smile. “They don’t know that and even if they did, it wouldn’t matter.”
“Why?”
“Because they can’t take the chance of an infected person breaching the perimeter. It would put the entire base at risk.”
