Iron Mike

by Patricia Rose

  “What do you want, Scientist?” she asked, no longer ready to kill the man outright but not ready to make kissy-face either.

  “I am Scientist-Farmer,” the man repeated, as if explaining something to a young child, with a slight emphasis on the last word. “Scientist is not even deployed in this galaxy ... and he knows nothing of the land or animals.”

  Kari simply stared at the man who looked so much like Daddy and, after a moment, he sighed.

  “I am trying to stop my people from committing ... from completing ... a heinous act of genocide against your people,” he said, and Kari’s muscles relaxed even more as the truth of his words sunk in. “I need to ask you some questions about your mother’s religious beliefs.”

  Kari arched a quizzical eyebrow, and then a comfortable blackness settled over her.

  March 18.

  Mike

  Hershey barked once, sharply, as the small black orb floated close enough for his humans to see. He heard Kari gasp and smelled the adrenaline suddenly pouring from Mike. Good. His job was done. They knew.

  The orb came up to Mike and did nothing, simply floated there about a foot away. Hershey yawned, settling his head between his paws. Yippyface was already snoring softly next to Hershey’s side, her tiny paws kicking a bit as she dreamed.

  “Mike –?” Kari asked, a warning clear in her tone. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Mike wasn't backing away from the orb, but was instead slowly reaching toward it. He didn’t reply, just stretched out his hand. And then Hershey heard a sharp pop! and a hiss of pain as Mike jerked his hand back, shaking it sharply. “Son-of-a-bitch!” he yelped, sticking two fingers into his mouth and glaring as the black orb accelerated away, almost immediately becoming lost in the trees.

  “Well, that was pretty much genius,” Kari chuckled, one eyebrow raised mockingly.

  Mike shot her a glare and straddled his motorcycle, nodding for her to do the same. Hershey jumped up into the sidecar without being told, a big floppy doggy grin on his face. “We should hit White Sulphur Springs around 1800,” Mike commented. “We can stop early for the night or if you’re still up to riding we can try to make it a bit closer to Beckley, and find somewhere secure outside the city.”

  Kari shook out her hair before slipping her helmet on and visor down. “Let’s roll!” she agreed.

  They rode for several hours, stopping only to fuel up, piddle, and check the radio periodically. The interstate heading west was even more damaged and ruined than the eastbound lanes. More people had fled the coast, apparently reasoning it safer to be away from all the military bases and shipyards. Not that it mattered, in any case. In late February, resistance census workers tried to estimate the U.S. population after the attrition of a hard winter, but even they admitted their figure of .7 million survivors was a simple shot in the dark.

  Mike swerved slightly and eased off the gas as an animal ran out in front of his headlights; he raised a fist to slow Kari as well. “Starting to get dark,” he told her as she drew up near him, their machines idling. “Best case, we still have about half an hour to get to Beckley, but there was a sign saying there’s a rest stop two miles up the road. If we’re lucky, the custodian has a nice couch in his office. If not, at least we’ll have solid walls around us.”

  Kari nodded agreement, and they headed to their exit. The grass around the rest area was high and unkempt. Mike checked the perimeter while Kari let Butterball and Hershey stretch their legs and drink the last of the water from their first container. She looped the handle around the bungee cord holding her bedroll, knowing the empty gas container and empty water container banging against each other would irritate her. They’d have to come up with a better solution before they set off in the morning.

  “I wish I had my bow,” Mike commented as he came around to the motorcycles. He nodded over to the tree line as he straddled his bike and began walking it toward the shattered glass door of the rest area facility. “The rabbit population has exploded since the war started. I saw some pretty little bunny wabbits out there that would taste a damn sight better than MREs, but I don’t want to risk bringing hostiles around with a shot. I’ll set a couple traps I can check in the morning before we head out.”

  “Hell, I’d eat Thumper himself about now,” Kari agreed, following Mike inside the building, “and all his little rabbit babies, too.”

  “Hedonist,” Mike accused with a grin.

  “Let’s look for that custodian’s couch!” she leered in response. “I’ve got a taste for meat!”

  They found the custodian’s office and, amazingly, Mike actually had to break the lock to get in. The small room hadn’t been ransacked and was surprisingly well-appointed. They immediately noticed the water cooler beside the filing cabinet. Mike poured a small measure of water into one of the triangle-shaped cups from the cup holder next to the cooler and sipped tentatively. He nodded. “It’s hot, but good,” he said, and Kari began filling their canteens. No sense wasting resources, even if they did still have ten gallons in the sidecar.

  While Kari saw to the canteens, Mike checked out the rest of the office. The filing cabinet held no surprises ... personnel files and office supplies. The wardrobe held a state worker’s uniform and jacket and a small, personal-sized lunch cooler Mike knew better than to open. The desk held ... Pharaoh’s treasure.

  “Bingo,” Mike said reverently, drawing Kari's attention.

  “What?” she asked, screwing the lid on the last canteen closed.

  “Look on my works, ye mortals, and despair!” Mike misquoted, and with a flourish, he held out the 3.75 liter bottle of Maker’s Mark, Kentucky’s finest brand of whiskey.

  “Ohhhh, my god,” Kari said, her eyes wide and her voice hushed with dramatic awe. “For a minute there, I thought you’d found something amazing ... like a Hershey bar!”

  Mike mock-glared at her, and they both grinned as the brown hound dog pricked his ears up upon hearing his name. “We will definitely pack this baby up with us,” Mike promised, patting the bottle lovingly.

  The couch wasn’t roomy enough for two so Mike used both sleeping rolls and took the floor, while Kari stretched out on the comparatively luxuriant upholstery. Butterball firmly wriggled her way up onto the couch even before Kari settled down, and Mike looked at Hershey with long-suffering pathos. “Just you and me, boy,” he said, patting the bedroll beside him.

  Hershey started toward Mike, but Kari made a slight kissing sound. Hershey glanced at Kari, saw the invitation in her smile and immediately jumped up on the couch, settling down at her feet with a happy sigh, his head resting on her thigh.

  “Fuuuuuck,” Mike grumbled, and fell asleep to the sound of Kari’s quiet giggles, regretting only that they were both too exhausted to make other use of the custodian’s couch.

  March 19.

  Hershey

  Hershey yawned and gave a mighty stretch, luxuriating in Kari’s musky scent and the warmth of the puppy pile on the custodian’s couch. Mike’s breathing was changing, which meant his human would be awake soon and getting up off the floor, moving in that slow, stiff way he always did after sleeping on the ground. Hershey stood, careful to only step on Kari’s soft parts, and shook himself briskly. She yelped, so he jumped lightly off of her, moving over to the doorway his humans had blockaded the night before. He waited politely, and then sneezed in disgust as Yippyface plopped off the couch, stumbled a few steps, and immediately peed on the floor. Would the fat little puppy never learn any manners?

  Kari stretched, murmuring her good morning to Mike and the dogs. She pulled the package of useless wet wipes out of her backpack and offered some to Mike. The two of them used the almost-moist cloths to smear their perfectly good scents all around on their bodies. Hershey knew a lot of strange human rituals, but this one always puzzled him.

  Hershey shrugged it off, shaking happily just to hear his collar jingle ... and also to remind his humans that SOMEbody didn’t piddle on the floor. While Kari dug i
n the backpack again, pulling out some of the yummy brown food packages, Mike pulled the desk and file cabinet away from the door and let Hershey bound outside, down a hallway, and through the broken glass door into the sunshine.

  Hershey watered a bush, then another, then some late blooming daffodils. He froze, his hackles rising, until he found and identified the Badness. There ... way over by the trees. It was far enough from his humans that it wasn’t a threat, so he ignored it and urinated on a flagpole. Pleased with himself, he bounded back inside, his nails clicking on the smooth floor until he found the room where his humans were still moving around slowly. Mike, of course, already had his new toy out and had just finished talking to it.

  “Knox soldiers took out three of the Trois,” Mike told Kari, a sound of contented satisfaction in his voice. “Hairston says morale on post has never been better.”

  “That’s awesome,” Kari smiled. She frowned, a line of worry creasing her forehead. “Maybe the Old Bear will set up my firing squad for after the court martial then. At least I’ll get a last meal.”

  “Hey, hey, none of that,” Mike said, setting his toy down and moving over to Kari, cupping her face in his hand. “It’s going to be fine, sweetheart, I promise. You’re a fucking combat vet - a war hero now! The old man can’t afford to shoot you.”

  Kari laughed at his teasing, but the sound was still uncertain. Then she shrugged. “Nothing to be done for it now, I suppose,” she said, and began to change her clothes. She took off her heavily scented t-shirt and replaced it with an even more aromatic hoodie. Hershey heartily approved the choice - it wasn’t often his humans liked to smell like humans.

  “Ugh, this is disgusting!” Kari scowled, rolling the t-shirt into a tight ball and shoving it deep into her rucksack. “I can’t wait to do laundry, again! And get a shower!”

  “And a shave,” Mike agreed.

  “And something to eat other than a goddamned MRE.”

  “Amen to that!”

  Kari frowned down at the tasty food packets and tossed one to Mike. “You have a choice,” she said grumpily. “Delicious scrambled egg-like substance or delicious scrambled egg-like substance.” Hershey sat down politely, but he couldn’t help licking his chops in anticipation. When Kari used that tone of voice, it usually meant she left more of the Ethiopian food for him!

  “Belay that,” Mike said with happy anticipation. “Let me go check the traps. Maybe we can have Thumper over easy for breakfast this morning.”

  “Oooh!” Kari grinned, a gleam of interest in her eye. “I’ll pack up the bikes while you go get us a bunny! A fat, juicy one!”

  Mike headed outside with Hershey prancing happily beside him and Yippyface wobbling along behind, more interested in the scents of long-dead humans than in being a good dog. Hershey proudly pointed out the bushes and flagpole he watered earlier, but Mike didn’t seem to notice. He watched Yippyface running clumsily to catch up with them and chuckled.

  “You in the mood for some rabbit for breakfast, girl?” he asked the pup, heading over to the northern side of the building.

  Hershey trotted along companionably, not bothering to answer in Dog. After a moment he stiffened, a low warning growl in his throat. Mike was headed toward the thicket of underbrush where the Badness hunted for its prey.

  “Come on, boy,” Mike encouraged, not slowing down.

  Hershey increased the volume and sharpness of his growl, and Mike looked at him curiously. Hershey thumped his tail a few times, knowing it was one of the few Dog gestures humans thought they understood. “That’s right. I’m growling. Listen to me.”

  “Hey, I actually snared one!” Mike exclaimed, his voice pitched with excitement and pleasure. “Check it out, boy!”

  Hershey’s growls turned into panicked snarls, and he pushed himself between Mike and the snare line he was reaching for, trying to hip-check his human away from the Badness.

  “Hershey, stop that!” Mike snapped, shoving the hound out of the way and grabbing the line that held their plump, meaty breakfast. “Got it! Let’s go.”

  Hershey wanted nothing more than to “go,” but he knew it was already too late. When Mike tried to turn back toward the rest stop building, he realized it, too.

  He had been taken by a Feeder.

  Kasoniak

  SET TO HANG

  Mr. Daniel Tillison

  March 19 at 0900

  For the following crimes committed against fellow survivors of Invasion Day:

  Murder - 6 counts; confession under duress

  Rape - 9 counts; confession under duress

  Rape of child - 1 count; confession under duress

  Armed robbery - 17 or more counts; confession under duress

  Criminal formally objects to the violation of his constitutional and civil rights. His confessions were given under the duress of intimidation and physical violence/torture. Criminal’s right pinky finger was broken during the interrogation.

  THIS MILITARY POST IS UNDER MARTIAL LAW. The soldiers under this command will enforce a zero tolerance policy for looters, murderers, rapists, thieves and other violent criminals. This historic date marks the first - BUT NOT THE LAST - public execution to be held on New Fort Knox.

  BE SO ADVISED AND CONDUCT YOURSELF ACCORDINGLY ON PERIL OF DEATH.

  March 19.

  Mike

  Oh. Shit. Oh, holy shit, shit, shit!

  Mike moved fast, bending down and unlacing his combat boots in record time. It wasn’t fast enough. As Stephen had described, his feet were locked into the bottom of the boots themselves, as though he were attached even through his the leather soles by intense suction. This was not looking good.

  “Kari!” Mike yelled, careful to keep his shout free of the panic he felt whipping through him. Hershey continued to bark and snarl viciously, trying to snap at the solid ground around Mike’s feet. The dog was literally foaming at the mouth.

  “Quiet, boy!” Mike snapped. "Come on, hush, let me think.”

  Hershey quieted slightly but continued to growl as he paced frantically around Mike and the Feeder, panting in fear. Sharp, snarly teeth didn’t work against the Badness - he didn’t know how to help his human!

  “Mike?” Kari called from near the front of the building.

  “Over here!” he responded. Hershey took off, running full speed toward Kari, jumping up on her and barking frantically as she finally saw what was happening and broke into a run.

  “NOOO!” she screamed as she reached the edge of the woods where Mike was stuck. Her cry was a strange blend of terror, denial, and anger. “Oh, god, what the fuck, Mike? Can you get out of your boots?”

  Mike shook his head, looking down at the boots. The Feeder had already sucked him in just over the ankles, and his feet were feeling comfortably warm. Mike considered that, and then he quickly pulled on the tongue of each boot, pulling the laces taut and tying them tightly to give his feet and ankles as much protection as possible.

  Kari squatted down beside Mike, tears filling her eyes and spilling down her face. “Oh, god, oh, god,” she moaned softly, rocking back and forth. “God, what are we gonna do?”

  “I’m not sure what to do on this one, babe," Mike shrugged, his voice quiet and thoughtful. "Leverage won’t work - we know that from Nathan. I just don’t know anything that will. Jesus!” Mike ran a hand over his crew cut hair, wiping sweat off his forehead. It was barely past sunrise, the air decidedly chill, but stress and fear beaded his forehead with droplets of water. “Fuck! Gotta think!” he muttered to himself.

  “You have more upper body strength than Nathan did,” Kari said, desperation and hope warring in her eyes. “If we can drop a strong enough limb all the way across this thing ... maybe you could pull yourself up, like getting out of quicksand?”

  Mike nodded distractedly. “There’s a handsaw in with the tools,” he said, knowing as he gave her the instruction that it was a futile attempt. He felt the strength of the Feeder pulling at him whenever he shifted or tried to resis
t. Like a snake, the beast constricted when he struggled, tightening coils of muscle around his ankles. With a sudden lurch, the muscles coiled around his calves.

  Kari ran back inside the building and grabbed the tools she would need from the sidecar of Mike’s bike. Huge, gulping sobs tore at her throat when she was out of his sight, but she took a moment to swallow them before returning to Mike. She looked around, spotting a thick sapling about twenty yards deeper into the woods and nodded toward it.

  “Be careful,” Mike warned, and Kari shrugged her agreement.

  Mike shifted slightly to make it easier to see Kari sawing at the tree and another sucking motion pulled him knee-deep into the Feeder. He concentrated fiercely on the sensation of ... something ... pressed against his legs, muscles coiling and bunching even as his own muscles stiffened against it. He noticed something else then, something about calf-high where the heavy leather of his combat boots no longer protected his legs. The warmth was beginning to burn.

  Reality hit. Kari was wasting her energy trying to saw down the sapling. Mike would be dead before she could even fell the tree. There was no way out of this mess ... not this time.

  “Kari?” Mike called softly. He watched her stop sawing and swipe the sweat and tears from her face before turning to him.

  “What?” she demanded, her voice sounding harsh, almost angry.

  “Hey, can you come here a minute?” he asked. "I’m not exactly up to joining you.”

  “Not funny,”" Kari grumbled angrily, but she set the saw down and walked over to Mike, sitting beside him at the boundary of the Feeder. Hershey and Butterball sat, too, both panting heavily.