Earlier in the day the four roommates had gathered around the table and debated their options and plausible course of action. In the middle of the night Bobi’s cell phone had buzzed, alerting her to an incoming message. She had fallen out of bed and banged her knee on the floor in a mad scramble to reach the phone. Her parents were deeply troubled over the state of their community but more to the point, they were overwrought with worry for their daughter. While Bobi had a brief second of coverage, she fired off a quick reply, confirming her location and well-being. She’d slept better knowing her family was safe but the other women had laid awake for hours with cell phones in hand, praying they might receive the same message. Unfortunately, they had not.
Mick had conducted the rather informal meeting, pacing a groove into the floor as she hovered over the others. Hannah took notes while Bobi and Raven tried to offer helpful ideas and suggestions. At the top of a notepad, tilted at an angle just in front of the dental assistant, the word ‘Supplies’ was written boldly and underlined several times. A rudimentary inventory stretched down the page with everything from toothpaste, toilet paper and deodorant, to foodstuffs and medical items.
“Okay ladies,” Mick had said, “let’s generate a list of things we can’t do without until some semblance of order is restored.”
“Does Dr. Pepper fall within that category?” Raven asked, without the least bit of sarcasm in her voice. “It might not hurt to have a caffeine supplement,” she’d added, in hopes of swaying the others.
“Okay, I’ll add it to the list, but I’m putting it at the bottom,” Hannah had said, raising an eyebrow at Rave, who smiled her appreciation.
“Guns?” Bobi had asked, almost afraid to bring it up but quite sure it was on everyone’s mind.
“Absolutely. If we run into real trouble, like what Rave and I experienced the other day, we’ll want more than just that old shotgun. I propose we head over to the neighbor’s place as soon as we can and scope out their things,” Mick had said, more as a directive than a question. The others had voiced their agreement except for Raven, who lifted her feet from the floor, brought them to the front of her seat and wrapped her arms around her legs.
“I don’t think I can go back there, you guys. The thought of it is making me sick to my stomach. No joke, I think I’m gonna hurl,” she’d blurted out, just before she leapt from the chair and dashed to the bathroom, where she lost her breakfast and most of her nerve.
“Okay Rave, you can stay here but I think the rest of us better go. Who knows what we’ll encounter over there and I’ll need someone to stand guard while we load up.” Bobi and Hannah had acknowledged their agreement, passing a knowing look across the table at each other and then at Mick. “Bobi, how safe are we to go over there?”
“There are a couple of things we know about this virus and some of those are working in our favor. It does not survive long without a host and it does not do well in cold weather. So anything that is freestanding should be safe enough but I’d recommend we clean everything before we bring it back here. We can make up a solution with some cleaning products and take with us. What we need to be careful of, even after this many days, is blood and body fluids. The virus will survive a lot longer in those mediums and we should just avoid any contact with the deceased,” the lab tech had instructed, hoping she’d been accurate in her remarks.
Raven had returned from the bathroom and was brushing her teeth for the second time in the day when she’d asked, “You leaving me here alone?” The words were garbled with a mixture of spit and blue foam but the question was clear. Mick had confirmed her friend’s suspicion with a glance, which led to an outpouring of blue suds and nearly incoherent words. “No frickin’ way you’re leaving me here. I’m coming . . . last time I was alone . . . no way . . . ” She continued to mutter to herself all the way back to the bathroom and while she rinsed. Upon returning to the others, she asserted, “I’ll stand guard. As long as I don’t have to go in the house, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Yeah, I’m sure I’ll be fine.” It sounded as if she was trying to convince herself even more than her friends.
And now at the Necula cabin, as she rocked back and forth, from heels to toes, in a bid to avoid retching again, the words she’d said earlier slapped her in the face. She whispered them again under her breath, “I’ll be fine,” but then added, “stupid.”
From the porch and just inside the doorway, Mick stuck her head out from the house, “You okay?”
“I’m not puking, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Good, keep it that way,” the school teacher said, raising her voice just enough to carry the short distance. She was covered with safety gear provided by Bobi: glasses, mask, gloves and her coat and pants were duct taped tightly around her ankles and wrists. All three of the women, who had entered the house, were equally attired except for the mask that Bobi wore. It was not your typical filtered linen but a true oxygen mask worn while she worked with dangerous elements in the lab. She knew it was perhaps a bit of ‘overkill’ but the old cliché, ‘Better safe than sorry’, seemed more than appropriate, based on their circumstances.
“Have you found anything worthwhile and how about Benny? Any sign of him?” Raven shouted back, not bothering to turn around as she continued to concentrate on her feet.
Mick stepped further from the house and took a couple of deep breaths. The smell inside was almost more than they could bear; thankfully, the colder temperatures had kept the decomposition to a minimum and Mrs. Necula’s body had not been disturbed by the local wildlife. The same could not be said for her husband, whose body had been dragged from its original resting place and into the woods by a pack of hungry wolves. There, they had torn the remains apart and satisfied their gluttonous appetites on bloated intestines and red meat. The bear would be next, but even now a host of avian predators were picking at the carcass and savoring the easy meal.
“No, unfortunately no sign of the boy. Maybe someone's found him and taken him to town, but we did mange to find some food and a few things that may come in handy. We’re just washing what we want and getting ready to bring it out,” Mick said, still taking her time to breathe deeply, before she plunged back into the wafting fetor.
“Sad isn’t it? I mean one day, they’re a happy family, everything is going fine and the next thing you know, he catches this bug and ends up eating his wife. Who could have imagined this ever happening? Truth really is stranger than fiction, isn’t it?”
“Yes Rave, it surely is. You be okay out here for a few more minutes?”
“Yeah, I’m getting my sea legs. Wouldn’t be so hard if I didn’t know who they were. They were such friendly . . . ” She cut herself off before possibly spiraling out of control. “Okay Mick, just hurry.”
“We will. Hey, we found another gun, a Winchester. You know, one of those with a lever action like what you’ve seen in the old westerns. I’ve never fired one but I’m sure we can figure it out.”
“Good, that’s good. I’ve never shot one either but as long as it’s got a trigger and a barrel, how hard can it be?”
Fifteen minutes later the back of Mick’s Jeep was loaded with a box full of canned goods, some medical supplies and other odds and ends. Each had been carefully cleaned and inspected for contamination before it was allowed in the vehicle.
“I think that’s got it, girls,” Hannah assessed, happy to be free from the house’s stink. She removed her mask and inhaled deeply, sucking the fresh air fully into her lungs before she blew it out slowly. “I feel bad that we can’t bury her.”
“Me too, horrible way to die and now she’s just going to sit there and rot,” Raven said, still unable to venture too close to the Necula’s cabin. “Mick, let’s take a look at that rifle. Did you find some bullets?”
“We did, but how do we know if they go to that gun?” Bobi asked.
“Should be some markings stamped on the gun’s metal that will tell us for sure,” Mick said, pulling the gun from a case that protect
ed the weapon and made it easy to carry.
“Whoa, that is an old one,” Rave said. “Look at the barrel, it’s not even round. It’s got like flat sides to it. What’s up with that?” she said, handing the shotgun to Hannah so she could get a better look at the rifle and feel the odd design.
“I don’t know but it’s sure heavy. At least a couple of pounds heavier than the shotgun.” Mick cocked the lever and exposed the chamber that slid smoothly open, allowing an unrestricted view of the gun’s inner workings. “It’s empty.” With her hand extended through the back portion of the lever, she pulled it against the wooden stock, closing the chamber. The action clicked when it sealed, leaving the hammer cocked back and the trigger primed. Mick had shot enough pistols to know the hammer could be released without having to fire the weapon. She held the worn-smooth hammer back with her thumb while pulling the trigger; the process released the striker as she gently allowed the spring to pull it forward, bringing it to rest against the butt of the firing pin. Once done, she pulled the rifle close enough to read the etchings stamped into a metal plate on the upper portion of the wooden stock, just behind the chamber. ‘Winchester Model 1894 30-30 Caliber’; it was worn but readable. “Where are those shells?” Mick asked.
“Right here,” Hannah said, pulling two boxes of twenty rounds each from her front pockets. “Yup, 30-30 it says; must be the right ones. Should we give it a try?”
“I think so. We better each try it. Don’t you think, Mick?” Rave asked.
“I hate to use up the few shells we have just playing around but I agree, we better see how it handles and take a couple of shots. Hannah, give me a few of those.”
Hannah opened one of the boxes and slipped a long brass, grey-tipped bullet from its Styrofoam sleeve. “They’re heavier than they look. I think you slide ‘em into that thingy on the side. Pretty sure that’s how John Wayne did it.”
“I believe you’re right, Hannah. That’s how you feed the magazine. I’ll bet it’ll hold about five shells, maybe more,” the teacher said, sounding more like an instructor than she cared to. She took the live round from her friend and pressed it, lead tip first, into the receptacle’s shallow opening. She pushed until the shell’s rim slipped fully inside the weapon and the doorway snapped closed, catching the flat of her thumb and pinching it badly. “Ouch, damn that hurt. Well, that seems like a stupid way to load a gun.”
Raven reached for the rifle, which Mick gladly handed over, rubbing her thumb and index finger together in hopes of dulling the pain. “Give me one of those, will ya Hannah?” Seconds later, Bobi held the rifle while Raven sucked her thumb, suffering the same insult that Mick had experienced only moments before.
“Alright you two, do I have to show you how us real cowgirls do it?” Hannah handed over another bullet and stepped aside, unsure how Bobi would fare with the heavy weapon and not wanting to be anywhere near the muzzle once she got it loaded. “Watch and learn, ladies,” the brown, little woman said. She walked to the steps and placed her left leg on the second landing, laying the rifle over her thigh with the magazine flap facing upward. With her left hand stabilizing the Winchester she forced the end of the shell into the opening with her right. Rather than slowly sliding the shell into the magazine until the rim was accepted, the lab tech slammed the shell forward in one fluid motion, pulling her thumb away at the last instant, just as the shell was swallowed up into the weapons hungry belly. “Ta-da, easy as that.”
“Now, how in the hell did you know to do that?’ Raven asked, flabbergasted that her funny roommate could do what she could not.
“Brains and beauty, baby,” Bobi said, laughing at her friends.
“No really, how did you know?” Mick asked, still rubbing her sore thumb.
“Well, if you must know. My dad is a Clint Eastwood freak. I’ve seen The Good, The Bad and The Ugly more times than I care to remember. Who knew that it would ever prove useful?”
“Alright smartass, show us how to shoot it,” Hannah said.
“Gladly. Watch and learn.” Still supporting the weight with her left hand and leg, she ratcheted the action down until she could pull it no further. A gleaming shell could now be seen within the jaws of the Winchester, being angled up to slide into the gun’s chamber. When aligned, she quickly closed the action back against the stock, shutting the chamber and cocking the hammer back. “What should I shoot?”
“See if you can hit one of those vultures sitting on top of that old bear,” Hannah suggested.
“Really, a bird? You want me to try and hit that bird? That’s pretty far, don’t think I can hit something that far away but I’ll try.” Bobi brought the rifle to her shoulder, snugged the butt against the layers of her clothing and did her best to align the sights. “So do I line up the little metal post with the top of the back sight or in the bottom of the ‘V’?” she asked.
The other girls stepped back, well behind the shooter, as the heavy barrel oscillated in Bobi’s hands. “This is harder than you’d think. How do you keep it still?”
“Try holding your breath. My dad says that’s the key,” Mick offered, bringing her fingers to her ears and motioning for the others to do the same.
“Okay, here goes nothing.” Suddenly the day’s calm was shattered with the deafening sound of the rifle discharging a round and sending a deadly projectile into a tree trunk, 30 yards to the right of the intended turkey vulture. The blast startled the hideous-looking bird enough that it swooped into the air for a few seconds before coming to rest again on the large carrion, continuing its feast. However, the vulture was far less surprised than Bobi, who fell to the ground and dropped the rifle, which landed barrel up in a snowdrift, as if mocking them all.
“Nice shooting, Clint,” Hannah said, causing the others to laugh. “I never have my phone rolling when I need it. If there was ever a YouTube moment, that was it.”
“Man, that’s harder than you think. Kicks like crazy,” Bobi said, rubbing her shoulder through the thickness of her coat.
Raven retrieved the weapon from its resting place and cocked the action, bringing a live round back into the chamber. “Come here, Mick,” she said. “Stand facing the bear and I’ll use your shoulder for a brace.”
“You’ll what?”
“Come on, just plug your ears.”
“Okay, but don’t hurt me.”
“You have my word.” Raven carefully laid the rifle on Mick’s right shoulder and allowed her friend to swing her arm up, forming a triangle as she plugged her ear. Raven then stood behind her and placed her right hand on the forward wooden grip and firmly held the stock and trigger assembly with the other. She controlled her breathing, keeping each intake slow and shallow until she was ready to fire. “Mick, hold your breath for a few seconds.” Immediately the slight rise and fall of the other woman’s frame stopped and Rave pulled the trigger. The gun bucked and roared, but she controlled the recoil and the rifle, protecting Mick in the process. Seventy yards into the field a puff of feathers was floating lazily back to the earth, the scavenger exploding on impact.
“Holy!” Bobi called out.
“Good shot, girl,” Hannah shouted, not realizing that she still had her fingers buried in her ear canals.
Raven turned to the two and bowed with the Winchester still firmly clutched in her hands. “And that’s how it’s done.”
Suddenly a motion near where the vulture had disintegrated caught Mick’s attention. “What? I mean, who is that?” She pointed into the field where a blond-haired teenage boy now stood, just on the other side of the rotting bear. It was difficult to make out the youth’s facial features but it was obvious he had been eating a portion of the fallen animal. A dark, blackish-red slurry covered the lower half of his face, which showed little emotion beyond a dazed stare. “Rave, is that the Necula kid?”
The women looked into the field, trepidation seizing each of them. As Raven stepped forward to get a better look, she ejected the spent cartridge, smoothly slipping the next round
into place. She studied him, taking into account the years since she'd seen him but his slender frame and unusually long arms were a giveaway. “Sure looks like him, but it's been a long time.”
Hannah was close behind, bringing the shotgun to her shoulder. “Why didn’t the first shot scare him?” she asked.
“Probably didn’t hear it,” Bobi answered. “He’s likely infected and deaf as a result of the virus -- wasn’t distracted until the vulture exploded.”
Hannah swallowed hard and nodded toward the lanky youth. “What are we supposed to do with him? We can’t risk him infecting us.”
“You’re right, Hannah. I don’t think there’s anything we can do,” Mick concurred.
Raven walked another ten feet into the snow-covered field and lifted her left hand to shield her eyes from the sun. “It’s Benny Necula all right. Maybe we could leave some food until we can send help.”
“Rave, it won’t matter. He had access to all that stuff we just took out of the house and he didn’t utilize it,” Bobi said, sliding up alongside Mick and taking her hand. “I guess we could open the cans and leave them, but anything hard-packaged will confuse him.”
“We’ll do that then. Keep your eyes on him while Bobi and I put some food out,” Mick said. The two friends slipped their masks back over their faces and returned a portion of the food to the home, opening each container and exposing the precious contents.
“What’s he doing?” Mick shouted from the house.
“Nothing, just standing there,” Raven yelled back. A second later the boy stepped from behind the bear and started a slow, labored walk through the snow and toward his home. “Mick, he’s on the move. He’s walking this way!” Something suddenly clicked in Raven; a manifestation of what life would be for her and her friends. If they were to survive, she would need to be hard, as hard as the forged steel she held in her hands.
“What do we do? You guys, what do we do?” Hannah screamed, the sound of fear rising in her voice as she started to backpedal. “We can’t just kill him.” She watched Raven lift the rifle to her shoulder and drop her cheek to the stock. “Rave, don’t!”
Operation Z-Day (The Raven Falconer Chronicles) Page 9
