by V. L. Dreyer
"Stop reading my mind," I scolded, though there was no genuine irritation in it. "Yes, that's gang sign. Like cats pissing on the furniture to mark their territory."
"That's a lovely thought," he answered dryly. "Should we start worrying about your cat doing that?"
"Of course no," I said, putting on a mock-haughty tone. "I'll have you know that Tigger is a lady. She'd never do such an improper thing."
"Oh, I see!" Michael responded by putting on a haughty tone of his own. "Very good, then. Carry on." He returned to his normal tone of voice to ask a question. "Do you know what they mean?"
I lifted the binoculars to my eyes and studied the markings for a moment before it started to make sense to me. "'Aua le sau i totonu'. Looks like the Samoans. That sign looks pretty old, though. The paint is chipped and faded." I studied the various words painted on the buildings nearby for a few minutes, then lowered the binoculars and looked back at him. "If the Samoans are still here, that's potentially good for us. I've had dealings with them before. While they don't trust outsiders, they're unlikely to attack us unless we provoke them."
"I'm sensing a ‘but' coming on," Michael commented, his brow furrowing in concern. I nodded grimly and set the binoculars down in my lap.
"But the sign is really old, and I'm not seeing any fresh tags," I replied. "The Samoans are usually quite diligent about keeping their territory markers up-to-date. It's unlikely that they'd let their tags fade that much."
"Unless they've been displaced," Michael said, finishing the thought for me.
"Or wiped out." I shook my head and shrugged helplessly, then I grabbed my GPS off the dashboard and checked our position against it. "Take this right, and keep following the road. We should be coming up to a level crossing in a minute."
"Follow the road? That may be easier said than done," Michael commented dryly.
I glanced up, and promptly swore beneath my breath. I heaved a long-suffering sigh, grabbed my walkie-talkie, and spoke into it, "So, I know you guys are just dying for some exercise. Who feels like wrestling a train?"
An assortment of groans and complaints came across the connection. I waited until the noise died down, then continued, "Yeah, yeah, whine all you want, but it's the fastest way to get where we want to go. Little kids and animals stay in the car with the doors locked. Teenagers and walking wounded, you're on guard duty. Watch the rear and sides. I want every able-bodied adult up at the front of the convoy. It's time to get wet. Sorry."
There were more groans, but I ignored them. Michael and I exchanged a smile as we climbed out and locked the doors behind us. I put my shotgun over my shoulder on its carry strap, and made my way over to examine the train.
"How on earth are we supposed to move that?" Michael asked, his voice raised to carry over the sound of the rain. "That thing has to weigh tons, and the wheels are rusted solid."
"We don't have to move the locomotive," I replied. "If we uncouple the last carriage, then that should give us enough space to get through. Cover me for a second while I take a closer look."
"Okay," Michael agreed, though I could tell from his voice that he was dubious about the integrity of my plan. I heard his footsteps behind me as I headed up to the train, and squeezed myself into the narrow gap between the last two carriages.
The coupling looked like a road map written in a foreign language. Still, I was pretty much used to working out all things mechanical based on pure logic. After a minute or so, I figured out which lever would raise the pin that was keeping the carriages together. I grabbed the lever and pulled, but it was rusted firmly into place. A glance back over my shoulder told me that the others had gathered behind me, waiting patiently for instructions.
"Hemi, can you please go find Skylar?" I asked. "I need a can of CRC, a hammer and chisel, and a crowbar. She should know where the tools are."
"Got it!" Hemi sketched a salute and raced off. I turned to look at the others.
"Okay, the plan here is that we're just going to get the last car loose," I explained. "Then, we muscle it about three meters down the rails. We should be able to squeeze through, no problem. I'm going to need a couple of you strong blokes over here to open this lever. Volunteers?"
Just about everyone stepped forward to volunteer, much to my amusement. I just grinned and beckoned Tane and Iorangi to my side. Just as they joined me, Hemi reappeared with the tools we needed. It took a few minutes of coaxing and a few teeth-grating shrieks, but eventually the lever began to move.
"That's it, we've got it!" I cried victoriously, waving the crowbar to the waiting group. "Okay, everyone. Pick a side, and find something to grab."
Eager to follow my own instructions, I raced up to the far end of the carriage and braced my shoulder against an ancient hand railing. I felt a warm body join me, and looked back to see Michael right behind me, his strong hands flexing on the railing above my head. He glanced down at me, smiled, and nodded his encouragement.
"On the count of three," I cried, loudly enough for everyone to hear me. "One, two, three – push!"
On command, I threw my weight against the train carriage's bulk. My feet slipped in the gravel for a second, then one of them struck a sleeper, giving me something to brace against. Michael growled deep in his throat, a noise of determination more than frustration. I felt him straining along with me, using every ounce of his strength to move the stubborn cab.
For ten long years, it had stayed in exactly the same place, waiting for an engineer that would never return. For ten years, it had endured the elements, exposed, slowly turning to rust. That much rusted metal didn't move easily – but, eventually, it did move.
At first, it was only a centimetre. Then another. Then five centimetres. Ten. Twenty.
"We're doing it!" I cried breathlessly. "How far are we?"
"About half way!" someone called back; I wasn't sure who.
"Keep going," I gasped, throwing my weight against the railing with renewed enthusiasm. "We can do this. It's coming a little easier."
And it was. The farther we managed to move it, the more those rusted wheels began to loosen up on the railings. Stars began to dance around the edge of my vision but I ignored them. I was intensely focused on the task, and oblivious to everything except that one more millimetre. Just a tiny, tiny bit more…
"That's it!" the voice cried from the end of the line. "That's enough, we can get through."
A collective cheer went up from the people around me. Overwhelmed by a sense of team victory, I shoved myself upright again – then promptly stumbled and fell against Michael's side.
He caught me before I could hit the ground, and turned a worried look on me. "Honey? You all right?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," I lied, waving away his concern. "Just over-extended myself, that's all."
"Okay…" he said softly, but his expression said that he didn't believe me. He gently helped me back to my feet and released me. I smiled at him and went to take a step back towards the others, except that my body didn't want to obey. Before I quite realised what had happened to me, my feet had once more gone out from under me and I was on my way down.
Michael caught me again, but this time he didn't let me go. Despite my protests, he scooped me up and carried me back towards the convoy, past a row of faces that turned to watch with concern.
"Put me down!" I demanded, thumping a fist ineffectively against his broad shoulder. "I just need to sit down for a second, I'm totally fine."
"You have a broad definition of 'fine' and we both know it," he answered, his voice deep, firm, and commanding. It was a tone that I rarely heard from him since I'd taken command, but it was one that brooked no nonsense. Before I could even think about forming a counter-argument, he'd carried me back to the car where Doctor Cross was standing guard over the children.
"What did she do this time?" the doctor asked. Without waiting for an explanation, Doc shoved his gun back into its makeshift holster, and stomped over to examine me.
"Hey, I don't injure
myself that often," I complained, but I didn't even bother trying to fend off the examination. Doc was stronger than he looked, and I knew better than to resist his ministrations. "I just got a little light-headed after we finished moving the train. I keep telling him I'll be fine, but you know how much he worries about me."
"And with good reason." Doc stood back and gave me a sharp look, one that instantly made me feel like a naughty child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "Ms McDermott, need I remind you yet again that you suffered a concussion not even a week ago? You are one of the walking wounded, and you know that you're not supposed to be exerting yourself."
"I needed to," I answered sharply; it always made me a little bit cross when he used that tone with me, and now was no different. "It was all hands on deck. We needed everyone."
"Did you let them try without you first? Are you sure that they needed you?" he countered, his eyes narrowed to slivers behind the scratched lenses of his glasses.
"Well, no," I admitted, then swiftly rose to defend myself, "but I didn't want to. A leader should always be willing to do anything that she asks her followers to do. It wouldn't be right for me to ask them to muck in, and not do it myself."
"And yet you were perfectly happy to assign the other walking wounded, myself included, to guard duty," he pointed out. His voice softened suddenly, and his expression turned almost fatherly. "Ms McDermott – Sandy – the most important thing about being a leader is learning your own limitations, and knowing how to follow your own rules. I know that you want to contribute so that the others don't think that you're using your position to slack off, and I understand that. I really do. But, it simply isn't necessary."
I started to protest, but he cut me off with a wave of his hand.
"You're human just like the rest of us, and your unique set of circumstances make you particularly vulnerable. Accept it. You're not invulnerable." He adjusted his glass, and gave me a stern frown. "She's fine, just give her a few minutes to sit down."
Then, before I could say anything else, he marched away to tend to whatever other business was demanding his attention. I blinked in surprise, and looked at Michael.
"What is it with everyone giving me lectures lately?" I asked dryly, both amused and a little annoyed by it. "Skylar, Anahera, Doc, you… it seems like everyone wants to tell me how to do my job."
"You're still learning," Michael said gently, slipping his arms beneath me to lift me up in his arms, as easily as a father lifting a child. "Everyone is, I think. But you're the one that has to learn the most in the shortest period of time, because people are relying on you. Don't worry, they're not lecturing you because of any kind of failure. They're lecturing you because they see so much potential in you."
"Oh." I paused to consider that as he carried me back towards the car. The explanation assuaged most of my annoyance, and left me thoughtful. "Well, that does make some sense."
"I should hope so," he answered, shooting a look at me. When we reached the car, he gently set me back on my feet and braced me against the Hilux's side panel with his body. "Do you notice the commonalities amongst the people that have been trying to educate you?"
"You lost me with the big words," I answered teasingly.
The joke earned a smile from him, and encouraged him to finish his thought. "They're either leaders themselves, or people of uncommon ability or experience. I hate blowing my own trumpet like that, but it's true. Anahera and I both led our groups for a long time, so we have experience with what you're learning now. Doc has the most life experience of any of us, and he's also the student of human nature. He's been studying people like us longer than we've been alive. And as for your sister, well – she has a deeper insight into your nature than any of us, even me. She's been studying, emulating, and loving you her entire life. That makes her an expert in… well, you."
"So, what you're saying," I summarized, "is that I shouldn't think about it like a kid getting a spanking, but more like university lectures?"
Michael laughed and nodded. "Yes, but you're definitely getting a spanking later on. In private."
"Oh my," I intoned dryly, wiggling a brow at him in a playfully suggestive manner. He grinned and gave me a kiss, then reached past me to open the passenger's door.
"In you go walking wounded," he ordered, guiding me back into my seat. For once in my life, I did as I was told. He even went so far as to buckle me in, then kissed my forehead. "You stay here and guard the car while I make sure everyone's safely loaded."
"Okay," I agreed reluctantly. Just as he was walking away, a flash of anxiety twisted my gut. "Make sure you do a headcount! Don't leave Tigger behind!"
"We won't," he replied, waving over his shoulder.
Relieved, I sat back and indulged myself in a long, deep sigh. If there was one thing I could rely on in life, it was Michael taking care of the people I loved. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, forcing myself to relax. The sound of the rain was always something that brought me comfort, even when I was soaking wet and cold. During the bleak years I'd spent living in the back of that shipping container in Te Awamutu, the rain had always eased my terrors, chased away the demons, and lulled me to sleep.
The vertigo slowly began to fade, leaving me feeling better. I opened my eyes and blinked slowly – then I froze, staring at a distant junkyard. Through the haze, I thought I could see human figures watching us. I fumbled for Michael's binoculars, but by the time I found them, the figures were gone.
The driver's door opened, and Michael climbed in. He was soaked to the bone, rivulets of water oozing off his leather jacket, and his short hair was plastered to his head. Despite that, he still had a smile for me. In the back seat, Alfred lifted his head and yelped a greeting to his master, tail wagging frantically.
"All heads are accounted for and firmly attached to their necks," Michael told me playfully, reaching back to rub Alfred's ears.
I took the opportunity to steal a quick kiss, then I pointed towards the shipping yard a few hundred meters beyond our current position. "I think there are people over there, but I couldn't tell how many. Let's be careful."
"We could go a different way," Michael suggested, turning back to face front. He slammed his door, pulled his seatbelt on, and started the car, but waited while I pondered the suggestion.
"No," I decided, shaking my head. "It's not worth the extra risk. At least we've seen the lay of the land here, so we know more or less what to expect."
Michael nodded, put the truck in drive, and took his foot off the brake, letting us roll forward slowly until we felt the tyres bump across the train tracks. On the other side, a wide, open space yawned in front of us, flanked on one side by thick trees, and the other by warehouses and shipping yards. I picked up the binoculars again and studied the yards carefully, but if anyone lurked there I couldn't see them.
Michael kept our pace slow and cautious as we advanced. I heard the faint growl of an engine, and caught sight of a quad bike rider in my side mirror. A second later, another rider appeared on Michael's side, flanking us. I recognised the riders as ours, but they were so bundled up against the weather that I couldn't tell exactly who they were. One of them glanced at me and waved, but he looked away before I could reciprocate.
"Eight eyes are better than four," Michael explained. "I asked them to ride with us and help us keep watch for trouble. The others are spread out along the column, doing the same."
"Good call," I agreed softly, my natural caution slowly bubbling away beneath the surface and making me uncomfortable. It was only mid-afternoon, but it was darker than it should have been because of the weather. The treeline beside me was full of dancing shadows, which made it hard to determine if there were enemies about.
"Intersection," Michael said. "Direction?"
"Keep going," I replied. "We should start seeing more warehouses and stuff soon."
"Is that... a cannon over there?" Michael asked, sounding both excited and bewildered.
"Yes," I answe
red, laughing. "The map says that's the old Returned Services Association's hall. Pity that won't help us deal with our mutant problem, right?"
"Yeah, no kidding," he agreed with his usual playful grin. A moment later, he chuckled and pointed at one of the shop fronts up ahead of us. Three ride-on lawnmowers sat nestled amongst a grass verge so overgrown that we could barely make them out. "That strikes me as kind of ironic. Need a mower?"
"Nah, I'm good," I answered dryly. "Besides, good luck getting them to start after they've been sitting out in the rain for ten years. We should be coming up to a roundabout soon. Go straight through it."
"You mean that thing?" Michael asked, pointing to an enormous green dome that sprang up in the middle of the road, verdant with wildflowers and bushes. "It looks like a big green mushroom."
I couldn't help but laugh at the comparison. "It really does. I don't much like the look of those trees on the other side, though."
"They're just trees," he said, his tone turning gentle and reassuring. "Don't worry, it'll be fine."
A few seconds later, our convoy plunged into semi-darkness beneath the thick boughs. What had once been a row of shade trees planted in a neat median strip had become a jungle, just like the rest of the human world. Just as suddenly as it had begun, the trees parted into an area that had been a shopping centre. The glass fronts of the buildings had been shattered and broken away, and gang sign painted over every flat surface.
"Left," I instructed. "We're almost there. Just keep going straight through the next few intersections."
Michael nodded silently and obeyed. With careful determination, he guided the truck around a few cars that partially blocked the road. We found what we were looking for just a few minutes later: a low, glass-fronted building with an assortment of broadcast aerials on the roof. The windows were just as cracked and broken as everything else, but there was no sign of current occupation.
I grabbed my radio, and thumbed the receiver. "We're here. Form a circle in front of the building, bikes in the middle. Get some people up on top of the trucks to stand watch. Skye, Zane, Jim, and anyone else who knows anything about mechanical stuff or radios, you're with me."
