“What do you mean by that?” He was telling a good tale, but I still couldn’t remember him clearly. Some of the things about him did ring a bell and I felt a hint of familiarity. The way he talked with his hands, waving them around, using them for emphasis or pointing out direction. There was something else about the way he talked that gave me pause, but I couldn’t figure out why.
“You’d taken to wearing dresses over leggings like you are right now. Derrick always said he hated that style. You said it gave you better range of movement, but he wasn’t buying it.”
I knew what he was talking about, now. When I became a teenager, I had developed a rudimentary sense of style, along with a sense of my femininity, and I liked the look and feel of loose fitting dresses. Of course there were downsides to being caught unawares while wearing a dress in this fucked up world, so I usually wore thick leggings and combat boots, as well. What can I say? It was a look.
“The last time we met was about two years ago. You painted an even more striking figure. You were wearing those custom holsters Derrick had made for you.” He indicated the leather belt that held Wilma and Betty, my two Sig Sauers. “You and he had also taken up the whole swordplay thing. That was just before you and Derrick disappeared.” He shrugged at my questioning expression. “This is the first time I’ve seen you in almost two years. Where the hell did you guys go? And, where’s Derrick?”
I felt that damned stone in my gut again. Now that I had most of my memory back, I could see it all replay in my mind as if it were yesterday. I held my breath as I felt the pain and tried to distance myself from that tightness of chest, that itching in my eyes.
“Holy shit,” Kel said, staring at me.
“What?” I remarked with an edge that could have cut glass.
“You’re crying.”
“What?” My vision blurred, proving his statement true. It felt strange. I was almost 20 years old and I had never once shed a tear until now. I wasn’t certain what to do. Kel moved to the sink, retrieved a small cloth and handed it to me.
“Wipe your nose,” he said, nodding at me. I could only comply. “Rock,” he asked gently; “Derrick’s gone, isn’t he?”
“They killed him. They almost killed me. I’m not sure why they left me there. They didn’t even try and rape me.”
“They, who?”
“Bandits. Two guys. And a girl. Ambushed us in Las Cruces.”
“When?”
“I’m not really sure. Maybe a year ago. That was when I lost my memory. I was muzzy for weeks as my head healed.”
Those bastards had left me for dead. I damned near was. Once I regained consciousness, I had to find replacement medical supplies to stitch up a nasty gash just above my left ear. My hair still doesn’t grow properly there. It’s one of the reasons I always wear a cap of some sort. I dabbed at my eyes and refocused on Kel.
“The fucked-up thing is, I was attacked again yesterday. I took them both out, but not before getting another nasty bonk on the head. Now I have it all back.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Almost,” I added.
“So, now what?” he asked. At first I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer. I knew what my next steps would be. Whether or not I wanted this knucklehead involved, well, that was another matter.
“You said you can take care of yourself,” I commented. He nodded. “Time to show me.”
CHAPTER 3
I left the table and walked over to the shelving unit that held glasses, cups and serving dishes. On the far left side of the top shelf, I grabbed the second cup back and twisted it clockwise. The hidden latch released and the shelving unit moved free of the wall. It took only the slightest push to ease it from the wall and expose the hidden door behind it.
“Holy shit!” Kel said, standing. “I’ve been all over this house and I never had a clue that was even there. You guys are some sneaky bastards.”
“It was my Dad and Derrick. They knew what might happen, living this close to the missile range. They were nothing if not prepared.” I twirled the large dial on the door, which resembled a humongous safe, metal and unforgiving. A few more spins and I heard the familiar click. Twisting the thick handle, I pulled the door open, revealing the stairs beyond.
“What is this?” Kel asked. “Some sort of safe room?”
“Bomb shelter, you moron.” Again, I wondered how the guy had lasted this long on his own. I turned back to him. “How was it that you found this place? You still haven’t told me that.”
“To be perfectly honest, it was a total accident.” He looked away and scratched at his neck. If I had to guess, I’d say he was embarrassed.
“Yeah?” I said, skeptically.
“I was being chased by a pack of wild dogs. I leapt over the fence in back to get away from them. I saw the garden and decided to check the place out.”
“The tripwires are still in place,” I noted.
“In the front. I left them alone for safety’s sake. In back, they almost got me. Again, I think it was sheer luck that I bent down to tie my boot and I saw them. After that, I must have spent hours scouring the place for any other neat little surprises.”
“You found everything?”
“Obviously not. I’ve been here for almost eight months, I guess. My last watch stopped working years ago. When I saw the photos of Derrick, I was shocked and really excited. I figured you guys were out hunting or scouting or something. I expected you back at any time.” His mouth curled up on the left corner and he spread his arms as if giving up. “You sure took your time.”
“Trust me,” I said, turning to head down the stairs into the darkness of the shelter, “If I had remembered, I’d have been back here long ago.” The memory of burying Derrick — and not even remembering why it was important — weighed heavy on my thoughts. I pushed those thoughts aside and tried to focus on the goal. I now knew what my goal was and it was good to have direction again.
Kel followed me down into the darkness. I felt for the power switch on the wall near the foot of the stairs. It was a large, hand-sized switch that Uncle D used to call a Frankenstein switch, whatever the hell that meant. I grabbed it and flipped it up to make the connection. Surprisingly, there was a little electricity left in the battery bank that Derrick had installed to store the power we didn’t use. The lights flickered and I dashed over to the gas generator in the corner. I jerked on the cord a couple of times before it revved into life. The lights steadied.
“This is so fucking cool!” Kel exclaimed.
“It was kind of a family project. Other families on our street finished their basements as rec rooms. We built a bomb shelter in ours. My Dad always said that living next to a missile range was like painting a bull’s-eye on the area. I don’t think they ever thought the shelter would be put to the use it eventually was.”
On one side of the single room were shelves of canned foodstuffs, mostly from the garden outside. In the back were a couple of cots, an alcove with two rather large oxygen tanks, a small generator with the exhaust piped outside and a refrigerator. The generator normally powered the fridge, but since the power hadn’t been on for at least a couple of years, I wasn’t planning to open the fridge any time soon.
On the opposite side of the room from the pantry shelves were benches and tables piled to overflowing with weaponry and ammunition of all sorts, shapes and sizes. It was a veritable arsenal. That was inclusive of the two amy-style sabers that hung crossed on the wall. Derrick had always carried a blade and he was hell-bent on teaching me the art of fencing the last couple of years we were together.
“Jesus. You guys were loaded for bear, huh?” he said.
“Be prepared. Boy Scout motto. Or, at least, Uncle D always said it was.”
I removed the combat harness, cleared the guns and set out some leather dressing and a rag. I sat on one of the two stools at the workbench and began to slowly work the oil into the harness and holsters. I caught Kel standing in silence, watching me with querying eyes. I raised one eyebrow and he moved to
sit on the other stool, facing me.
“You have no idea how weird this looks, do you?”
“What’re you talking about? Leather needs maintenance.” I pointed at a Western style hip holster hanging to one side of the bench. “I suggest you get to work, too. I’ve got something to do later. You’re welcome to join me, if you think you can handle it.”
“Why do I get the feeling that this ‘thing’ you have to do involves more than just a trip to the park?” He waited as I stared at him for a long moment. I figured it was about time to broach the subject, whether I wanted to or not. I went back to working the paste slowly into the leather of the holsters but took a deep breath.
“Do you have any idea what happened to the world, Kel?” I asked.
“Pandemic. It was a super flu that killed, well, damned near everyone.”
“So, why did we survive? Why did so few live through it?” I stared at him as he shrugged. “Because we’re immune. A small number of us had strong enough immune systems that we managed to not catch the virus. And it was a virus. You know the difference between a cold and the flu?”
“Not really, no.”
“Not much. A cold is a short-lived virus infection. Influenza, the flu, is a much heartier strain of virus. There’re several subtypes, actually. What happened thirteen years ago was a new subtype of the flu virus. It was spread, like any flu outbreak, through airborne particles. People either breathed in the virus or touched an infected surface and then touched their mouth, eyes, or nose.
“Derrick and I did a lot of research on it, reading old newspapers, magazine articles. Plus, my dad left a detailed letter explaining what he knew. What we could come up with was that the pandemic was unique in only one way. It not only attacked the respiratory system, but the very immune system itself.”
“But, that’s not right. I thought our immune system actually defended against such things.”
“Normally, it would. This strain wasn’t natural. It was a man-made variant.”
“Hold on,” Kel said. “Are you saying that man created the very thing that killed everyone off?”
“Yep.”
“Why? Why in the hell would we do something like that?”
“That’s what I’m going to find out.”
I reached up to the pegboard on the wall in front of me and clicked a latch underneath a Sig Sauer .357, and opened a small compartment. Inside, there were some papers, the letter my dad had written me and a faded cardboard pencil box. I retrieved the papers and then set the box on top of them.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Memories. Clues. Keys.” I opened the pencil box. Inside were several old photos of a large man in a uniform, a lady in a blue dress and a dark-haired little girl. There was a plastic key card for an office building and, lastly, a few faded pages folded double. I laid them all out.
“Wow. Is that you as a little girl?” Kel reached for one of the photos, but my hand covered his in a flash. He looked up at me. “Sorry.”
I let go of his hand and sat back, staring at the items. “No. I’m sorry. It’s just that -“
“No problem,” he replied, cutting me off. “I get it.”
“It’s just that this is all I have left. Everything, everyone, else is gone.” I got up and went to lay down on one of the beds. I laced my fingers behind my head and stared at the ceiling. “He saved us,” I said, after several long moments. “Somehow, he saved us.
“Uncle Derrick was only seventeen when everybody died. It was years before I ever got around to questioning why someone else in my family would have survived. But, he did it. I know he did.”
“I’m sorry, Rock, but I’m confused. You say he saved you. You’re not talking about your uncle, are you?”
“My Dad. The Colonel. He saved us.”
“How?”
I looked over at Kel. My mouth was set in a firm straight line. My mind was made up. There was no sense putting it off any longer. I stood up and walked back over to the bench. “That’s exactly what I want to know. Let’s get these holsters in shape, clean the weapons and get packed.”
“Where the hell are we going?” he asked, reaching for a rag and some leather oil.
“White Sands Missile Range.”
CHAPTER 4
It was a quiet drive on Interstate 70, heading southwest toward White Sands. We had loaded the trunk of the Ford with everything from bottles of water to a few hand grenades. Kel was smart enough not to ask about my choice of supplies. He seemed willing to help me, to just go along for the ride.
My attention was focused on the road, even though there were very few wrecks there were numerous natural obstacles, places where soil had drifted across the pavement. No washouts, which was lucky, but wherever a culvert under the road had been blocked by debris, the result was usually a fan of dirt and rocks across the tarmac. I drove cautiously to avoid the worst of the debris, the tires on the Ford were probably older than I was, and I didn’t trust the spare either.
Every once in a while I would catch Kel staring at me. He played it off, but I felt that he was looking for something in particular. What it was though, I had no idea. I really wished I could remember him, from before. I wondered to myself why I didn’t. If he wasn’t lying, and it didn’t seem like he was, then there must be a damned good reason why I had blotted him from my memory.
“So, what’s the plan?” Kel asked, noticing that I was slowing down to turn off the highway. A few small buildings sat alongside the road and the sign read Trap Club Road.
“Time to see if you really can take care of yourself,” I replied. We drove along the narrow road, through an expanse of desert shrubs, down into a large area of lower elevation that used to be an old shooting range. Kel dry washed his face and took a deep breath.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Hey, I’m not taking you into a situation where my life might end up in your hands only to find out you’ve never even fired a gun before.”
“But…“he began. I cut him off with a wave of my hand.
“Let’s knock this out and then get back to business, ‘kay?”
“Fine,” he replied.
“This doesn’t have a silencer,” Kel said a few seconds later, as he grasped the Beretta, pointing it in a general downrange direction.
“No one’s sneaking up on us here. Shut up and shoot.”
I’d already placed a hand-drawn target on one of the posts about twenty-five meters downrange. I had drawn a large smiley face as the head, placing a smaller bull’s-eye right between the cartoonish eyes.
He slowly took aim and fired one shot. I frowned. There was a hole in what would be the arm of the smiley-faced target. I was not getting a good feeling about this guy’s ability to watch my back. He lowered the pistol, shook out his shoulders, rolled his head about on his neck. Without warning, Kel jerked the pistol up toward the target, squeezed off five rounds in rapid succession and holstered his pistol in one smooth movement.
I stood there staring at the target, not quite grasping what had happened. I shook my head and double-checked the target. I admit I kind of lost it. I stepped forward, grasping Kel by the back of the neck, guiding him toward the target. As we got closer, I cleared my throat.
“What. The fuck. Was that?” I said.
“What?” he asked. Feigned innocence fell over him like a blanket over a newborn.
“That!” I stated, pointing at the five holes in a neat circle, all within the quarter-sized bull’s-eye I had drawn.
“I told you I could take care of myself.”
“You son of a bitch.” I stepped back a few feet, drawing both .45s in a smooth, fluid movement. They were pointed unwaveringly at Kel’s forehead. He raised his hands, making no attempt at the gun in his holster.
“You need some serious work in the whole ‘people skills’ department,” he said, a slight grin etching his face.
“Spill it. Spill it now, or I shoot you where you stand.”
�
�Calm down, Rock. I’m not your enemy.”
“Who the hell are you, then?” My hands were steady and unwavering. If Kel even flinched the wrong way, he’d be dead by the time he hit the ground.
“Honestly? I’m just some rich kid who was left to his own devices, with no one to rein him in for the last 13 years. My father was a real estate developer in Phoenix. He owned a quarter of the city by the time the pandemic hit. Like I said, my mom died when I was born, so when he was taken by the super flu, not much changed for me. I was still alone. I still had all my toys. But I had his, too.”
“What are you saying? That you just never had to worry for anything? That you taught yourself how to shoot like that? I’m not buying it.”
“I started martial arts classes when I was six. Then it was fencing. Then it was skeet shooting. Each class was just one more way for dear old Dad to keep me out of his hair. I had all the time in the world before the end of the world to do as I pleased. Afterwards…” He shrugged his shoulders, a fleeting mask of sadness appearing and then fading from his expression. “Same ol’, same ol’.”
“How many people have you killed?”
“Now, that’s a helluva question to ask. How many have you killed?”
“Seven.”
“Shit. Not bad.” He smiled a wide smile and, with hands raised, began counting his fingers. “Eight,” he said. “I win.”
“Seriously?” I was beginning to think he might be completely insane.
“No. Not seriously. Jeeze!” He lowered his hands and crossed his arms, carefully not getting close to the gun. “Yeah, I’ve had to defend myself a few times. But, I’ve only had to kill two other people. Even though I tried to avoid it. Some assholes just won’t take no for an answer.”
“You’re playing a very dangerous game,” I said, wondering whether I should just drop this guy right here and now.
“It’s no game. I have not really lied to you. I may have stretched the truth a bit, but I’ve had little else in the realm of entertainment until you showed up.”
“At my own home.”
4POCALYPSE - Four Tales Of A Dark Future Page 9
