---
When Trevor called for her to fly him in an Apache to the Red Hand camp, Nina did not refuse. She had already decided not to let him see how much his rejection bothered her.
The sun had disappeared behind the horizon but enough of its glimmer remained to keep night at bay for a short while longer. The Apache flew above the treetops, ascending and descending with the contour of the land.
Jon guided them to the camp via tactical radio. She landed the chopper in the middle of the dead village. Jon, his team, and a small group of freed, shell-shocked human slaves waited.
Nina followed Trevor from the Apache and walked behind as Brewer gave his report.
"This one was closer than we thought. From what the captives told us, there are three settlements farther north, but they’re spread out more. Not going to be easy to find."
The men stopped. Nina stopped with them. Jon pointed toward one of the smaller structures. Trevor turned to his friend and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Thank you. You’re a hell of a soldier. I may not have--"
"Trev. It’s okay. Maybe now I have a chance to…to redeem myself."
"You already have. Now get ready to return to the estate. Your mission is over."
Jon turned around but Trevor continued forward. Nina hesitantly followed.
Trevor pushed aside the animal skin curtain at the entrance to one of the smaller dwellings. Remnants of a fire smoldered in the middle of the chamber, a hole in the roof allowed strands of lazy smoke to drift away. Sacks wove from plants hung on the walls serving as racks for weapons and tools. Next to the fire lay a wool blanket.
Trevor knelt on both knees and stared. Nina waited for him to speak, to tell her why they had come but she could think of nothing else to do other than kneel alongside him.
He pulled the blanket off the bruised and bloodied body of Sheila Evans, her eyes wide open but seeing nothing…nothing other than whatever pain and suffering she had endured the last hours of her life.
Nina had seen the face of death a thousand times since late June. Sheila’s face now became just another to join Sal’s and a parade of others.
Scott?
She turned to Trevor expecting he would be ready to go. He was not. His lips quivered. His eyes closed. He trembled.
"She just wanted to belong."
His chance at redemption… his chance to tell her she belonged…gone.
"I’m sorry, Sheila. I’m so sorry…"
Nina watched his misery pour forth. His grief took her by as much surprise as his cold tone had taken her at the meeting that morning. Could this possibly be the same person? So different the emotions. All in one person?
When we start killing again, I’ll call for you.
Stone sobbed alongside the body of Sheila Evans. As Nina watched, she stopped questioning why he acted this way. Instead, she questioned herself. She realized she should do something to comfort a fellow human being, but she did not know what. She didn’t know how.
Nina Forest envied him his remorse. She wondered how it felt.
14. Red Rain
Lori Brewer walked into the empty basement of the mansion. No one ever lurked in the basement in the mornings, making that a great time to return the DVD her and Jon had kept in their room the last few nights. She stuck it in the video cabinet: waaayyy in the back. As she did, a muscle in her upper leg ached.
Last time we take that DVD. Ouch.
She noticed the armory’s door ajar. Curious as usual, Lori peeked inside.
Nina Forest, dressed in her SWAT outfit with a green army jacket, strolled among the racks of weapons, her eyes glazed in a trance. She drifted a hand over the metal of the guns as if not sure they were real, like a child in a museum filled with wondrous but scary treasures.
"I would recommend the black one; it goes better with the ensemble."
Her head swiveled around. "Oh, hello, Lori."
Nina returned her attention to the racks. "I can use every gun in here. Fix a jam, break down and clean…I can do it. I can tell you the muzzle velocity and rate of fire for each one, too."
Although Lori did not get the impression Nina sought an answer, she pointed out, "You have a skill. A skill that’s pretty important these days."
"Yeah. Good thing for me the world went to Hell."
Nina closely inspected one of the assault rifles. Nothing special about that one, it merely happened to be nearest.
"Nina, I want you to know I’m your friend."
"A friend? I wonder what that really means."
Lori came back, "You sure are tough."
"Don’t worry; I’m that way with everyone."
"I mean on yourself." Lori let that sink in and then asked, "What is it you’re afraid of?"
Nina stared off at nothing. "I don’t get afraid. I don’t get scared. I don’t get sad." She considered and added, "But I do get mad and even confused now and then."
Lori opened her mouth but Nina told her, "I’ve got to go. Trevor has called a meeting. He needs me now; there’s more killing to do."
---
Four men huddled around a map of northeastern Pennsylvania unfurled on the large desktop: Trevor, Stonewall, Shepherd and Jon. Nina Forest stood two paces in the background with her eyes fixed on the floor, as if she dared not look anywhere else.
Behind them, beyond the glass balcony doors, thick gray clouds blocked out the morning sun, creating a dreariness reinforced by the pitter-patter of rain against the window.
Trevor spoke, "I spent last night interrogating the freed captives."
"Interrogating?" Shep did not like that word.
"Just like you heard, Jon. Three more camps. Probably stretching up into Wyoming County but all within spitting distance of the river."
Stonewall suggested, "I propose we send both of those marvelous flying machines to find the camps from the air and—oh, what would be the word?—blast them to smithereens."
Jon disagreed. "There are human prisoners in those camps. Missiles and Gatling guns are overkill if we’re trying to rescue hostages."
Trevor said, "I’m not so worried about rescuing. The important thing here is retribution."
Shepherd did not like that word, either.
"Retribution? Seems to me we might do right by forgetting about them for now. Seems to me they’re far enough away that we just might not hear from them again any time soon."
"That’s how it may seem to you, Shep, but it seems to me that a bunch of these things came to our house and killed our people. This is an organized enemy. If they get away with this word will spread. Our location will be revealed and others will think us easy targets."
Jon asked, "So, what are you saying? Send in the choppers and blow everything up?"
"I’m not going to waste rare munitions and fuel on primitives. Besides, the camps won't be easy to find from the air. No, we need boots on the ground. I need somebody who can track these things; someone who can take a minimal team and do maximum damage."
I need a killer, Nina heard.
Trevor walked to her. His words seethed with anger. Nina fixed her eyes straight down as Trevor growled in her ear.
"I’m unleashing you, Nina. Do what you need to do. Do it the way you want to do it. I command only one thing: hunt down every Red Hand in our grasp. Wipe them from our planet. Kill them. Every last one of them. No mercy. You are my vengeance. You are my sword."
Still, she did not look from the floor.
Trevor nodded to the other men and the group left the room leaving her alone. When they were gone, Nina raised her head with her eyes wide open. She looked forward and saw, with total clarity, what she was to do.
---
Nina leapt off the wooded embankment completely surprising the enemy. Two quick three-shot bursts from her Colt M4 killed both Red Hand warriors. The aliens staggered and fell, never having a chance to pull taught their bows.
She glanced in both directions along the wide swath the utility company had cut throu
gh the forest so long ago; a path cut to clear passage for massive electrical wires and towers.
Nothing moved under the gray, drizzling sky.
She motioned her arm forward. The woodland came alive. Danny Washburn, Woody "Bear" Ross and Dustin McBride appeared, followed by Odin the Elkhound, six Siberian Huskies, and another five German Shepherds.
Ross and McBride hid the bodies of the Red Hand patrol
She knew the encampment could not be far…
…Nina watched through the telescopic lens on a Heckler & Koch MSG-90 sniper rifle. The cross hairs fell first on a Red Hand warrior slapping around a thin, sickly human prisoner…then on that prisoner…then back again; alien and prisoner shuffled, conspiring to obstruct her aim.
"One…more…second."
Washburn crouched next to her under the prickly limbs of a bush.
"Hey! They’re too close. Watch what you’re shooting at."
Three silenced shots whistled from the military sniper rifle. The rounds slammed into the shoulder of the warrior…and through his body into a prisoner.
"Shit! Damn it! Every one move, move, move!"
They rushed down the wooded slopes through a soaking rain into the Red Hand colony with assault weapons blazing. Seven enemy warriors fell in the first moments of battle. Puffs of steam rose as rain droplets splashed on hot gun barrels. Arrows and spears flew. Warriors charged futilely toward the modern weapons.
Nina descended upon the primitives like a vengeful goddess of war slaughtering with precision. At the same time, the Grenadiers closed and attacked working in pairs. They grabbed legs, dodged weapons, pulled the Red Hands to the ground and tore them to pieces. All the tribe---even non-combatants--fell to the iron of guns and the flashing ivory of canine teeth.
As the assault team overran the camp, the Red Hands spitefully slit the throats of slaves, but the speed of the attack saved most of the humans trapped inside the pen.
The entire colony died in minutes.
While the dogs swept the forest for stragglers, Dustin, Bear, and Washburn freed the remaining prisoners and Nina brought fire to the buildings of the village…
…Nina climbed the slope until she came to an open rock face. There, under a cloudy night sky, she assembled a high-powered radio and sent a message home.
Trevor received the message while examining a map on the desktop in the Command Center. A circle represented the camp where Jon had found Sheila. An ‘X’ had been drawn through that circle. As he listened to Nina’s report, Trevor drew another circle. When her report finished, he ‘X’d’ that one, too.
He could nearly smell the smoke from the fires of his revenge…
…In the morning, Nina’s team led the freed human slaves through the wilderness to the nearest major road, Route 187. A heavily armed convoy met them and transported the survivors to the estate on a luxury bus.
Nina Forest and her band continued their mission of destruction…
…The tents, buildings, and slave pen of the second Red Hand settlement rested alongside a small, peaceful stream at the base of a forested valley.
Not long after dusk, the warriors returned carrying home small game hunted in the forest. They turned those kills over to the young and the females for cleaning and cooking.
Meanwhile, the slaves finished the day's final chore by carting water from the stream to the massive container at the center of the village. They could expect entrails and bones from the cleaned animals as sustenance.
Fires started across the camp, flickering to life below cooking spits. The flames tried to chase away the chill in the air, but the day’s rain lingered like ice carried on the wind.
The Red Hand people collected around those fires, feasting on fresh kills and covered in animal skins while the ruling class of warriors and their Chief gathered in the community hall.
The scrawny human slaves lay in one mass inside the muddy pen, clothed in the remains of business suits and sweatpants, short sleeve summer T-shirts and socks pulled over bloody hands as makeshift mittens. A moan came from the pile of forlorn souls.
A soft pop stayed hidden beneath that moan, the chatter of Red Hands, and the steady trickle of the bubbling brook. Neither warrior nor slave saw the first sentry die.
Another guard walked behind the main lodge. He heard the next pop and felt a warm pain in his chest. His body twisted, fell, and tumbled into the stream with a quiet splash.
Another pop. Then another. Screams erupted as a Red Hand dropped his wooden cup and collapsed face-forward into a campfire.
More pops. More bullets striking tribesmen. The alarm sounded in a series of cries. The Chief and his warriors mustered in the center of the settlement.
No more pops. Nothing moved.
The Red Hands gathered and scanned the surrounding forest. Their ivory eyes saw only shadows, but a noise came to their ears. It started low then rose to a terrifying cacophony echoing around the doomed primitives: a chorus of snarls and barks, of growls and yaps from beasts unseen. Louder…louder…LOUDER!
Warriors gripped their bows and spears tight in sweaty slender fingers. For months the tribe had hunted, enslaved, and killed unarmed men, women, and children. Now they shivered and shook as an unknown enemy stalked them.
A warrior’s chest exploded. The Red Hands scrambled to cover behind buildings and posts and piles of chopped wood.
The sounds of barks and snarls from the woods suddenly stopped, leaving only the gentle roll of the stream in the warriors’ ears.
Arrows flew blindly into the dark: shots of frightened desperation.
On orders from the Chief, four Red Hands approached the perimeter with spears and bows raised. They disappeared, seemingly swallowed by the forest.
A second later, the snarls and barks returned joined by the cries of the four scouts.
The Chief focused on the darkness, hoping to see what haunted his people, to glimpse whatever nightmare this strange world had unleashed.
The snarls and barks stopped again. No more screams. No trace. No sign.
A cold autumn wind gust across the settlement carrying fallen leaves on its wings.
They came.
Flashes like lightning exploded around the camp followed by loud claps not of thunder but of man’s deadly weapons, wielded by a handful of human soldiers and led forward by the icy blue eyes of a blond-haired demon of a woman.
Fast-moving four-legged animals raced in with the humans tearing at legs, leaping and growling as they attacked.
The Chief’s warriors threw spears and fired arrows but the assault poured on them horribly fast. Bows misfired in trembling hands; hastily tossed javelins missed their mark.
The tribe—warriors and more—died one after another, many standing and fighting, others dragged to their death. The humans attacked so viciously that some of the slaves trapped in the pen fell victim to stray bullets but this did not slow the woman and her pack.
The Chief suffered a deadly projectile in his shoulder. He saw one last vision as his life’s blood drained onto the dirt: the human woman with the cold eyes taking embers from the tribe’s fires to the homes of his people. The flames licked to life…
…in the campfire. Woody Ross, Washburn, and the young Dustin McBride warmed themselves in the glow.
The freed slaves had already rendezvoused with the retrieval convoy, the radio transmission long since sent to the estate; no doubt, another 'X' marked on Trevor's map.
The rain had stopped yet no stars shined from beyond the veil of clouds. Nina figured they did not deserve any stars. They did a dirty business. She did not want anyone to see.
She sat away from the radius of the fire against a barren birch tree with Odin at her side. For some reason, the Elkhound had taken a liking to her.
Nina cleaned her rifle. Not because it needed to be cleaned, because she needed to do something. She heard the men speaking around the fire, probably unaware of her presence.
Woody Ross asked, "So what is it you guys miss the mo
st about before ‘all this’?"
Danny Washburn answered first: "Pineapple."
"Pineapple?" The answer puzzled Ross.
"Yeah. Not the canned shit. I mean real, fresh pineapple."
Dustin McBride chuckled, "Oh man, that is weak."
Nina listened. Pineapple?
She could not remember the last time she ate pineapple, even before "all this."
The former ATF agent joked with McBride, "So what about you, rookie?"
"Man, I’ll show you," the teenager pulled his wallet from a back pocket and dug through until he found a photograph. Dustin McBride’s wide grin captivated Nina as she watched him share the photo with the men around the fire.
Washburn reacted, "Wow, but ah, ain’t she a little young for a girl friend?"
"Damn, that’s my little sister, g-man. I was raisin’ her like my own. You shoulda heard her playing the piano at school. I tell you, she was going to be something."
Nina turned her eyes from the fire to her half-assembled rifle. She stared at it for several moments. After a grunt of resolve, she snapped the upper receiver in place, propped the rifle against the tree, and walked to the fire.
Nina wanted to see that picture. She wanted to know why Danny Washburn liked pineapple so much. She wanted to hear what Woody "Bear" Ross missed about his old life.
She stepped into the glow surprising the men and chasing away smiles.
"What’s going on here, guys?" Even as she said it, she realized how it sounded.
The men scattered. Dustin McBride put away the photo before Nina could see.
Washburn muttered, "Oh, yeah, I should be keeping watch out."
Ross grumbled, "Got a big day ahead of us."
The three men--thinking her annoyed at their late night chat--left to do things more to her liking such as guard duty and weapons cleaning.
Nina stood alone in the glow of the fire…
…The cross hairs fell on the chest of a Red Hand sentry who refused to stand still as he smacked the posterior of a hunched human teenager tasked with repairing a fence post.
Beyond Armageddon: Book 01 - Disintegration Page 20
