Discarded
Page 40
Costa recovered quicker than the others. He goggled at the spreading inferno, watching it spread farther and farther – and gradually begin to subside, becoming a low burning wildfire. The agent pointed. ‘What the hell was that?!’ Patrick and Hiroshi stared with him: the former alert, the other calm – and understanding.
Instead of answering, Greg slid the case off his shoulder, went to one knee, and set it on the ground between them. Costa and Patrick watched him, careful and puzzled. He flipped the catches up, turned it around, and lifted the lid. Both men’s eyes almost bugged out at the sight of the radiation sign. They stepped back a pace; the rest of the Ranger team imitated them. Hiroshi looked startled himself, but stayed still, and calm.
As Greg stood up, Leah stepped forward in turn. Her face was dry now, no tears in her eyes – even the pain was gone. She reached behind her back. Half a dozen guns trained on her. Barely noticing this, she brought the hand forth again. The canister rested flat in her palm. She let the two men stare at it for a full ten seconds, then, still wooden-faced, returned it to the clasps. Greg moved a step in front of her, resting a hand on the lid. ‘We’ve got some things to discuss,’ he said, voice flat, and purposeful.
The agent and the Ranger officer looked at each other, then the four Golems, then the blaze. Neither one seemed able to speak, or move. Finally, Costa stepped up. He couldn’t quite take his eyes off the nuke. ‘Looks like we do,’ he said, uneasily – but with a growing purpose to match Greg’s. He held out his hand. Solemnly, Greg took it.
Epilogue
The Brothers Mountains, Washington State
Four Months Later
Pulling hard with both hands, Greg hauled himself up onto the rocky ledge. He got to his feet, and sucked in a great breath, letting it out slowly. The summer air was smooth and clean, with a taste of salt from the Sound. A gentle breeze wafted around him, making his blue T-shirt ripple. The feel of the clinger was only a memory now, and growing more distant – a fact he was happier with by the day.
Trees were sparse all around his current spot, but those few there were – mostly evergreen – were strong and healthy. Below him, the entire landscape was bedecked in vibrant green, with a few dead, grey patches near the beach from the Bomb’s radiation washing ashore. At this height and distance, he could make out the two small watch sites still occupied on the shoreline. A vessel – a trawler or small freighter – cruised on the Hood Canal, making its way deeper into the Zone from the intro point at Bangor. Samir was reportedly on this trip, along with several others; another reason for his hike.
Up to almost 400now, coming in from all over, he reflected. If Hiroshi’sright, the rest of the ‘losttribe’will be here by October:200, maybe more. With those, they would come close to accounting for nearly all the Golem population – those that still lived, anyway. Some of the new arrivals had been distrustful, keeping to themselves; all too natural after years underground, often in conditions that made the Sahara or the Arctic look like the pre-flooded Bahamas. Almost all of them, however, had been curious enough to explore further – and had quickly fallen in love with the thick forests and secluded bays of the place. Whatever the numbers, they would have no trouble finding room for them. Cayden was helping with their acclimatisation, often volunteering to go out solo to find any who were still holed up. Possibly he was onboard the freighter, shepherding in the next batch before heading out again. Eventually, everyone would be found, and he would choose a permanent spot for himself in the Enclave – still part of it, though on his own terms. Till then… till then, he acclimated in his own way, on his own terms.
Greg shifted his gaze southward, past the end of the Canal. If he felt like it, he could lift the binoculars around his neck, and just be able to spot the next convoy of troops being deployed outside the demarcation line. The border along I-5 and 101 was de facto in place, even with Patrick and the Sanctuary negotiators not yet done hammering out the Seattle sector, around Mercer Island and I-405. From all the signs, Costa – and the rest of his negotiating team, sent out from D.C. – were willing to concede them.
The westernmost area was still undecided, too – hence today’s combination of survey and afternoon hike. Backup supplies were still coming in, thanks to Patrick’s insistence and Costa’s heft; there was almost no need for the smuggling routes out the south, anymore. The croplands and greenhouses around Olympia were already showing signs of a bumper yield, and the first surveys and clearing of suitable land were proceeding apace on McNeil, Anderson, Hartsine, and the cleaner areas of the Kitsap Peninsula.
Tentative surveys had revealed Vashon and easternmost Bainbridge and Kitsap to be still too contaminated for reliable growth or permanent settlement, even by Golems. But the levels were decreasing; another decade, and they would probably be habitable. The same couldn’t be said for Seattle itself. Cautious sweeps of the region, after what was already being called the ‘Facility Incident’, or the ‘Battle of Bangor’ by some of the others, had shown it would be between twenty and thirty years before the radiation was low enough for long-term human settlement, augmented and otherwise. The firebomb hadn’t helped, either; much of the un-decayed but settled fallout in and around the Facility was now free-floating again, mixing in with the downtown deposits.
Then there were the hints Patrick had dropped from his conversations back East, about some hardliners – who’d pointedly looked the other way when it came to the Golems at their height, and Hunter at his worst – making noise over yielding Seattle, and so much other abandoned valuable land and infrastructure, no matter how contaminated. Their turning over the second stolen nuke hadn’t lessened the clamour by much; indeed, some of the politicos and military brass were pointing to it as further proof of the Sanctuary’s hostile intent.
Doesn’t really matter, Greg reflected. Long as we’ve got Gaia, and the canister, we’ve got the proof– and another Pulse, if need be. Despite Garrett’s final gift, they had no need for nukes, with that kind of power. It was the perfect defence against anyone, anywhere in the world, who saw them as a threat. Hopefully the message’ll stick for a while, giving us time to build a new home, and set it in stone.
Looking around, he spotted a small boulder, a few feet away. Part of the surface was marred in odd lines, almost like writing. He peered closer. His eyes widened, then crinkled in humour, amazement, and not a little melancholy. With a furtive look over one shoulder, he knelt beside the rock. Pulling out his knife – he was getting less and less used to carrying it, nowadays, with hardly anyone in the Sanctuary wearing clingers except on patrol or guard duty – he set it in a little crevasse between the rock and the mountaintop, well out of sight. He sat back on his haunches, bemused and, in a way, saddened – but without regret.
A huff of exertion broke his reverie. Getting to his feet, he saw Leah’s face appear over the edge of the rock, reddened and straining. He moved closer, one arm out, but she yanked hard with both hands, and pulled her chest above the edge of the rock. Lying on her side, she crawled one-handed the rest of the way. After a pause for breath, she brought her knees underneath her and stood up. Her eyes glowed. ‘Still got the moves,’ she remarked, with hardly a pant.
‘Always have and always will.’ Greg’s answering smile showed a hint of mockery. ‘But, of course, I made it to the top first – as always.’
With a growl, Leah sprang forward, grabbing both his arms and pushing him toward the ledge. Laughing, he pivoted hard on one heel, spinning her around. They pushed and wrestled at each other like mountain rams. Then Greg let his legs give way, and they collapsed in a heap. Rolling on top of him, Leah pretended to clamp both hands around his throat. He fended her off easily, seizing both her hands in his. She desisted, gasping and laughing, and leaned forward. Her lips pressed against his. He wrapped both arms around her waist, squeezing tight.
Eventually, Leah slid off, and sat down beside him, one hand still gripping his. With the other, she pointed eastward. ‘Almost no fog; you can almost see the Needle
today.’ Her gesture shifted to the south. ‘Same with the new camps at Belfair, and Victor.’ She glanced at him. ‘I’m still surprised you didn’t push the Committee to relocate somewhere else. Olympia’s cleaner, but right on the new border. We will need an HQ deeper in the CZ at some point, and one that’s not as potentially exposed.’
Greg shrugged. ‘Didn’t see any real need to. Besides, it’s a good spot: small, on the water, without most of the rebuilding problems in the rest of the Sound. We’ll need Seattle and the other sites later, for salvage, and maybe more space. In the meantime, we can keep the place secure – and we shouldn’t have any serious threats against it.’
Leah’s gaze turned east again. ‘You think they’ll ever change their minds?’ Her voice held a touch of worry. ‘That they’ll work up the nerve to try and end this experiment, and come back around to making something more… more like Hunter’s?’
‘Maybe. Maybe not.’ Greg peered east himself. ‘The radcount’ll keep them out for another decade, at the periphery. After the Doc’s last act, and the work with Costa and Patrick, I’d say we’ve got a good while after that, before they’ll be in any shape to come here.’ A little conspiratorial smirk. ‘Plus there’s the little worry about a certain package, still missing from D.C., and still not confirmed as lost in the Facility. Long as that’s still out there, they’ll be watchful, but won’t want to come knocking.’
Letting go of Leah’s hand, he let his rest on her stomach. The swelling was just noticeable now, despite her loose white shirt and khaki shorts. His voice went softer. ‘Well before then, we’ll be settled – and there’ll be plenty more of us to deal with.’
Leah’s mouth curved in a soft smile. Taking his arm in both hands, she reclined against the rock, closing her eyes. Greg smiled back, though she didn’t see it. He looked at the boulder once more. A crude heart was carved into its face, much faded by sun and weathering. Two names were chipped within the image, along with a date: Rich + Gwen,7/15/00.
He lay on his back, free hand behind his head. The sky was a brilliant blue, with hardly a cloud to be seen. His eyes fell half-closed. All around them was the wind, the rustling of leaves and pine needles, and faintly, the whisper of water lapping against the shoreline, far below. Best place to build a home, he thought dimly, as sleep crept over him. For ourselves– and for whatever comes next.
FIN
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