by Justin Bell
Rebecca’s team held fast for a moment, listening to make sure no alarms were set on battery backup and that no one inside reacted to the sound. She nodded to the rest of them, then ducked into the broken glass on the door and vanished into the building, the others trailing just behind her. It was a typical old-style office building, the lobby a pale green tile floor, which Fields could see thanks to the mag light she now used the way it was meant to be. The beam played over the glimmering surface of the floor and it bounced off a rounded reception desk which sat unmanned. A directory was screwed to the wall just to the right of the desk and as she shone her light around the lobby, checking the elevator, the closed door to the stairwell and a few cushioned benches for visitors, she made her way toward it. Phil, Max, and Tamar spread out into the lobby, their own flashlights illuminating the area, following the trail that Rebecca had left. There was nothing else of immediate interest.
Fields tapped the wall three times to get their attention and Phil looked over first, his flashlight catching her in the eyes. She winced and pulled away and Phil dropped the beam apologetically, then moved toward her, light pointed more to the floor. Fields pointed at the directory, and her finger landed on a label that simply said Records Room - Floor Two.
Phil nodded and gave her a thumbs up and she moved beside him, then past him, out to the lobby, angling to the emergency stairwell. Max and Brad fell in behind her, shoes squeaking on tile and Phil brought up the rear, swiveling as he walked, arcing his MAC-10 throughout the entrance to make sure nobody was coming. He squeezed into the closing door and up into the narrow stairwell behind the other three, keeping the sub-machine gun close to his hip and his eyes as much on the back of his son as he could. Moments later they spilled out of the door on the second level, making their way down a carpeted hallway, four floating globes of light moving through the dark building.
Rebecca shined a light on every door that passed until she found the one marked Records Room, and held her hand up, signaling the three behind her to a halt. She tested the door, but the knob didn’t move and she waved the others to fall back, which they did, as she lowered her weapon.
Surging forward, she kicked out with a thick boot and slammed her foot into the frame of the door, splintering old wood, shattering plaster and sending the door crashing inwards, spraying shards up into the stale, stagnant air.
She looked over at the others and nodded.
“Let’s do this.”
They all nodded back and poured forward into the records room.
***
Rhonda knelt on the pavement outside, pressed against the wall of one of the buildings, concealed in a shroud of darkness within the narrow passage. Her foot hit a glass beer bottle and sent it rolling across the rough pavement until it clanked against the other wall, only a few feet away.
It had been fifteen minutes since the recon team had broken the glass of the front door, and she’d seen faint flashlights bobbing through the second floor hallway about three minutes after that, then they’d shifted and collected in a pair of windows on the second floor in the center of the building. They dipped down beneath the pane of glass, then shot back up, circling around within the darkened building like angry spirits. All was quiet outside as she crouched there, Winnie across the alley from her and Brad just behind. Daisuke sat on the ground behind Brad, not really sure what he was doing there or what he was supposed to be doing. They’d brought him so they could make sure they knew exactly where they were supposed to be, but now that they were there, the poor guy had little use.
“So how have you been doing?” Rhonda asked Winnie in a hushed tone.
“What do you mean?” she replied.
“We don’t talk much anymore,” Rhonda said. “About anything.”
Winnie smiled and rolled her eyes. “Mom, we never talked much.”
“I know. I hate that.”
“It’s cool, Mom, really. It’s not like I don’t think you love me, okay? Don’t get all emotional on me here.”
Rhonda looked over at Brad, who avoided her gaze, pretending as if he wasn’t listening.
“Sorry, honey,” Rhonda said. “I don’t know what’s up with me lately. I think it’s all of this stuff with Lydia and… and grandma and grandpa. It’s got me a little twisted up.”
Winnie nodded, but didn’t speak at first. She let the silence ride for a few moments. “So what’s up with grandma and grandpa, anyway? What’s the deal with you and them? You’ve never talked about it.”
Rhonda looked away, glancing across the street toward the building. “Not much to talk about, I guess,” she replied. “I… I had a tough childhood. The cabin wasn’t always the summer home, for my entire childhood it was our home. It was where we lived. Where we ate. Where I went to school.”
“Whoa, wait. What? You were home-schooled?”
Rhonda looked at her and nodded. “I was home-everything. Grandma and grandpa… they didn’t really trust people. Like, anyone. Especially not the state or town government. They believed in being self-sufficient and living off the grid.”
“Seriously?”
“You were there,” Rhonda said.
“Yeah, but, there were kind of more important things going on right then. I didn’t pay much attention.”
“Fair point,” Rhonda replied.
“So you pretty much had to fend for yourself then?”
“No pretty much about it. I totally fended for myself. My parents made me.”
Winnie didn’t reply. Rhonda realized as they were talking that she’d never shared any of this with them. Not her, not Lydia, not Max, not even Phil. Phil knew a little of it, just that she wanted to separate herself from that life, but he didn’t know everything. If she had her way, none of them would ever know everything. It would be too painful for her to bear.
Rhonda cast her eyes back across the road, watching for the familiar floating orbs on the second floor, and she saw them there, in the same two windows, bobbing around like ghosts.
She looked back over to Brad. “Brad, how are you coming, buddy? Doing okay in this new world?”
Brad smiled warmly and shrugged. “I dunno. I guess? Adjusting, like everyone else.”
“You and Max still getting along okay?”
“Sure, Mrs. Fraser,” Brad replied. “We’re good. Hasn’t been much time for fun and games lately, but I think we’re good.”
“Nobody’s really talked about what happened the other night. When you guys raided the store.”
“Not much to talk about. Happened pretty much like Max and Angel said. We met Tamar and those slobs from Ironclad came after us, we got split up, and basically stumbled on Max and him by accident.”
“Clancy says you’re getting really good with the pistol,” Winnie said, smiling and nodding toward the weapon in Brad’s hand. He beamed.
“He said that? Really?”
Winnie nodded.
“Yeah, I guess I’m doing okay. Could still use some practice, but I’m doing okay.”
“Lot better than I would be, I’m sure,” a voice said from the shadows. All three turned as Daisuke stepped forward, nodding his head. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Don’t be sorry, Daisuke,” Rhonda replied. “We’re glad to have you. I appreciate your help in finding this place.”
He nodded.
“I’m hoping we can help get you back to your family.”
“I hope so, too,” he replied. “I am trying to not get my hopes up.”
“I understand,” replied Rhonda.
“But we will help you,” Daisuke said. “Much as we can, we will help.”
“Tell me again a bit about you and your family,” Rhonda whispered, shooting a quick glance back out to the street to make sure it was empty.
Daisuke looked a little uneasy, but started speaking. “My parents were Japanese. Came here in the 50’s. After the war. Barely missed the internment camps.”
“You work with computers?” Brad asked, turning toward him, legitimate
ly interested.
“Hai. Yes. Started in software development. Writing code. Things like that. I graduated to a Project Manager at a tech firm in Chicago. Pretty small place you have not heard of.”
“Do you miss it?” Rhonda asked.
Daisuke made a strange face, then shrugged. “I don’t know. It was a job. I don’t really miss it, but in times like this, I wish I had been doing something more important. More useful.”
“Hey once we start rebuilding the world, we’ll need all sorts of skills,” Rhonda replied.
Daisuke’s face remained stoic. “Do you think that’s possible? Do you really think we will ever rebuild this world? It only took two months to bring it crashing down. A thousand years of civilization.”
Rhonda nodded. “I get it,” she said. “And I know. It seems unbelievable. But sometimes, you have to cling to whatever small hope you can, or you’ll just want to crawl in a hole. I can’t afford to crawl in that hole, I’ve got people depending on me. So do you.”
Daisuke nodded. His eyes narrowed, looking out past Rhonda’s left shoulder.
“We’ve got problems!” He hissed and Rhonda whipped her head around. The sounds of multiple vehicles were growing louder until the sources were revealed. Her eyes widened as two sets of headlights coasted to a stop on a side street just next to the Consolidated offices. Engines eased to a dull roar, still audible from where they crouched and doors opened, then slammed shut, the silhouettes of several figures passing in front of the headlights. Even from all the way across the street, Rhonda could see the distinct shape of automatic weapons carried in their hands, bracketed by the ominous white glow of the headlights behind them.
They were here, and they were heading straight for the front door. Rhonda looked at the building, a full street away and realized, dumbfounded, that she didn’t have a way to communicate with the people inside. There was nothing she could do to warn them that someone was coming.
Near the front of the building, several armed men made their way inside through the broken glass, weapons lifting and ready.
***
It was a dry cough, a hoarse bark like snapping twigs, deeper than a typical throaty, viral thing. That cough came from deep down below. Greer hacked a few rough times, his face contorting as he struggled to hold himself upright against the wall. He used the upper half of his arm as a crutch against the white plaster pillar and pressed the fist of his other hand to his mouth as the coughing fit continued.
His head swam with the explosion of coughs, his chest searing with pain. It was like he had razor blades in his lungs and every time he coughed they bounced around, clawing at the raw, pink muscle tissue. A single laser focus of agony buried there, too, just at the left side of his chest, right where he knew that slug was wedged, dug in tight between muscle fibers.
A white-hot flare of pain lanced at the stump of his arm, then ran up the limb, through his chest and buried back deep within the pectoral muscle. His head ached with the pain, a dull, twisting throb.
“Clancy, you okay, brother?” Angel asked, walking over to Greer who was doing everything he could to remain semi-upright.
“I’ll be okay,” he replied quietly. “Nasty cold. I think the meds I’m on for the arm made me a bit sick.”
“I dunno, man,” Angel said. “Sounds like more than that.”
“I’m okay,” he replied, standing upright, almost losing his balance as he tried to use his entire left arm for support and realized too late it wasn’t all there. Angel stepped forward and wrapped an arm around his waist, helping him stay standing.
“Take it easy, Clancy, there’s no macho crap here, okay? If you’re hurting, you’re hurting.”
“Can’t afford to hurt,” Clancy replied. “All hands on deck, right?”
“Yeah, but, you know… you dying on us isn’t going to help us at all.”
“Never said I was dying. Why? I look like I’m dying?”
“What do I know about dying people, bro?”
Clancy regained his own balance and walked forward, away from Angel, toward the large, circular fountain in the middle of the aisle. His eyes roamed the central passage, looking for Jiro and Kaida, and he saw them down by the pretzel shop.
“They’re all right,” Angel said. “I’ve had my eyes on them.”
“Good boy.”
Greer gingerly sat down on the fountain, grumbling a little as he did.
“Anything I can do?” Angel asked. “You look like crap.”
“Funny you should say that, I feel a lot worse.”
“There are some pharmacies around, man. I can go see what they got for penicillin or something? I know we emptied most of ‘em out, but you never know, maybe we missed one?” Angel’s voice and reaction was walking a close line toward desperation. He’d been part of the search parties that had ransacked and emptied the local pharmacies. Deep down he knew there was nothing left, but at this point, to save his friend, he had to come up with something.
Clancy glared up at him. “Last thing I need right now is pain killers. And Fields pumped me full of antibiotics when she was stitching up my arm. Didn’t seem to take.” He drew in a deep breath, his chest radiating a deep, punishing heat. It was like the hot desert sun had set in his chest and was rippling there, cooking his lungs.
“We gotta do something,” Angel said.
“Bullet’s too deep according to Brad’s grandma, and she was the trauma nurse, remember?”
“So we’re just going to sit here? Hope you somehow get better?”
Greer looked down at the floor for a moment, his one and a half arms bent over his knees. Angel couldn’t tell what he was thinking or what he was getting ready to say.
“The human body’s tough,” he replied. “If I’m meant to overcome this, I will. God’s grace will carry me through.”
Angel opened his mouth to speak.
“Don’t,” Greer said, holding up a finger. “Just don’t. This is something I have to say.”
Angel nodded and closed his mouth.
“If I’m not meant to live through this, then that’s what happens. It’s out of my control, Angel. It’s out of all of our control. All we can do is live with the cards we’re dealt, and my hand is my hand.”
“If we can find a hospital…”
“Where? Chicago? The war zone? So all the rest of you can get killed trying to save the life of an old man who’s got nothing left to live for, anyway? No. Not going to let that happen.”
“Sounds like you already gave up.”
Greer shrugged. “It’s not about that. It’s not about giving up. It’s about accepting what’s happening and coming to terms with what can be done in our current situation. Believe me, I didn’t get to this place overnight. It’s been a long, hard…” he stopped speaking for a moment, drawing a sharp, pained breath. Angel stepped toward him, but Greer raised a hand to hold him back. “It’s been a hard road, okay? A road I had to drive myself.”
“We’re all in this together, bro,” Angel said. “You saved our lives. Bunch of times over. We’re not going to just let this happen.”
“You’re right,” Clancy said. “You’re not ‘letting’ anything happen. The rest of them aren’t going to let it happen either because they’re not going to know about it. Do you understand?”
“What do you mean?”
“Look, you confided to me. Gave me your life’s story. Made me promise to keep it to myself, and I did. I did, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, man, yeah. You did.”
“Do this for me,” Greer whispered. “The Frasers and the rest of the crew have enough to worry about. Far as they’re concerned, I’m dealing with losing half my arm, but I’m doing good otherwise, okay?”
“Clancy, I—”
“Say okay, Angel. Do this for me.”
Angel stood there for a moment, looking at the man. After a few seconds, he nodded. “Fine. I’ll do it. But I don’t like it.”
“I’m not a big fan either, Angel, but I’m
just playing my cards.”
Angel took a step forward, lowering to a crouch in front of him as he sat on the fountain. Greer drew back, not knowing what to expect, but Angel leaned forward and wrapped his large, tattooed arms around his shoulders, then squeezed. Greer closed his eyes, holding his breath as his chest flared with pain, but he made no outward sign of the agony he was in.
The other man stepped away and slapped him on the shoulder.
“I got you, Clancy, okay? I got you.”
“Thank you,” Greer replied, realizing for the first time that his vision was clouding with tears.
***
“Get that light over here,” barked Fields as she yanked open one of the filing cabinets. She was using both hands to leaf through folders and papers and Phil strode over, his flashlight shining down into the drawer while she flipped through. “We need to grab a bunch of these,” she continued, pulling out a handful of manila colored folders and tossing them on a long table under one of the front windows.
She filtered through a few more folders under the shining light.
“Whoa,” she whispered. “We’ve got personnel records here,” she whispered. Pulling free another handful of folders she threw them down onto the desk with the others.
“Anything good?” she asked Max and Tamar, who were rifling through some other filing cabinets.
“I don’t even know what we’re looking for,” Max replied. “I’ve been looking mainly for pictures, and I’ve found a folder of press releases and press events.”
“Grab it!” Rebecca replied. Max pulled it out and walked over, dropping it on the same table with all the others.
“What exactly are we hoping to find here?” Phil asked as he glanced over Rebecca’s shoulder.
“We’ll know it when we find it,” she replied. “Tamar, look for shipping manifests!”
