The Pandemic Sequence (Book 3): The Tilian Cure

by Tom Calen

  Stops thus far had been infrequent, one to drain fuel from a gas tanker, the effort yielding barely a quarter tank, and a second delay when Erik’s squirming need for a nature call had reached the point of annoyance. Still feeling the effects of the physical toll her solitary journey weeks before had taken, though much less powerfully as of late, Lisa realized she had slipped into a light sleep when the Humvee’s engine cut off. The absence of the machine’s droning rumble brought her to full wakefulness. Before she could voice the question, Mike supplied the reason.

  “We’re on the road Paul’s team should be taking,” he said to Erik, though clearly the information was aimed for her hearing. If there was any doubt, he added. “If her intel can be trusted.”

  Refusing to take the bait for an argument, Lisa watched in silence as Mike opened the driver side door and stepped down to the pavement. “We’ll stop here to eat and then make a search for any sign the team passed through ahead of schedule.” he announced, after a brief scan of the area. Eager to stretch her legs after the confinement of the small back seat, Lisa hopped from the truck and forced herself to ignore the feeling she was a prisoner granted the privilege to move about freely. Mike may never forgive her, but she would allow him the time he required to make that decision.

  Erik sat cross-legged atop the Humvee’s hood as he devoured his portion of the food they had brought with them. With an appetite not fully restored, Lisa ate sparingly from the pouch of jerked beef. The smell was enough to nauseate, but she forced down as much as she could stomach, knowing she had to restore her strength. What remained she offered to Erik, who quickly scarfed the dried meat.

  “He’ll come around, you know,” he said, after taking a deep swallow from his canteen of water.

  “Maybe.”

  “He will. It’s just going to take time,” Erik continued in his attempt to lighten her dark mood. “Besides, it’s not like we can go back to New Cuba any time soon.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” she asked, puzzled.

  “I’m just saying, we are on our own again, and we can't afford to be cutting people off.”

  Lisa could not hold in the laugh. “Forgiveness by default, huh?”

  Realizing how his assessment of things had been taken, Erik blushed slightly as he replied softly. “It’s a start.”

  Feeling additional guilt, this time for disparaging his hopefulness and rebuffing the first conversation she had had since Michelle and Matt left, Lisa nudged his knee with a playful elbow. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I am just feeling sorry for myself.” The words helped return Erik’s ever-present grin as Mike made his way over to them.

  “All right, I’ll take the west, you two search the eastern span. We’re still weeks ahead of their schedule, but keep your eyes open for any signs they came this way before us,” he announced.

  “We could cover more ground if we all split up,” Erik stated the obvious, though the words made Lisa cringe. Though the journey thus far had been one of awkward silence, she much preferred that to another argument regarding her status. Mike leveled a stare at Erik, its meaning unmistakable. “You two will search the east while I search the west. Clear?” he said flatly.

  Sweeping himself off the hood, Erik mumbled agreement, though his words held an uncharacteristic edge. “Whatever you say, Mike.”

  The searching was brief as no evidence of Paul’s passing could be found. In fact, an impassable congestion of cars and trucks a quarter mile east all but proved the man and his team had yet to travel along the road. Finally satisfied, Mike ordered a return to the Humvee, and once again the trio set out west. The jarring ride, the pavement riddled with potholes, did little to ease Lisa’s unsettled stomach. Since her near death from starvation and dehydration, her body had rebelled against her efforts to resume some normalcy. She also wondered how much her dread of Paul learning the truth caused her stomach to knot and flip. Every solitary moment, and due to Mike’s strict isolation there were many, her thoughts could not help but turn to how he would receive the news. What’s done is done. He’ll either love me or not, she told herself. Please, God, let him still love me!

  Once the sun dipped below the tree line ahead, Mike slowed the armored vehicle to a stop alongside a small rest area. A few picnic tables had once occupied the space, though after years of scavengers seeking firewood, all that remained were some discarded pieces of woodand the nuts and bolts. A fenced off dog run provided the most protection for the night ahead. Even if Tils slipped past the watch, they would surely be heard climbing over the metal gating. Mike refused to allow her to take a watch shift on her own, so he and Erik divided the hours between them. Erik tried to spin the reasoning to her favor, explaining she needed the extra time to rest. Nodding glumly, Lisa slid into the sleeping bag on the ground and tried her best to ignore the various rocks and divots that made finding comfort nearly impossible. Anxiety ensured that her sleep was troubled and sporadic.

  * * *

  With one hand steadying her against the tree, Lisa stared into the distance, though her eyes were unfocused and saw little. Her mind was too engaged with the implications of the realization to process much else. The morning had started early, and rather normally given the situation. A few moments after finishing a small breakfast, the world seemed to tilt and spin faster than her thoughts could encompass. Both men raised their eyes with concern when she had hurried into the woods without explanation. Even as her stomach contracted, even as she sank to her knees and gave in to the nausea, Lisa fought with the fearful truth.

  “You okay?” Mike asked as he stepped into view. She wondered briefly if he had followed out of genuine worry, or fear of her escape. As soon as the question formed, she knew the answer was the latter. Standing as best she could, weak mostly from shock, she ran the back of her hand across her mouth and simply stared at him.

  “Lisa, what’s wrong?”

  Before she could stop the words, she heard her own voice reply. “I think I’m... I’m pregnant.”

  With a significant raise in his eyebrows, Mike’s eyes drifted down to the expelled remnants of her breakfast. For a long stretch neither spoke. She could see the battle waging within him. The hate he held for her was still present, but now it seemed that razor edge had dulled. The unexpected—and undesired—shift in his perception had muted him.

  Making significant noise to announce his arrival, Erik looked from one to the other. “Um, what’s going on?”

  Snapping back to awareness, Mike stammered in reply. “Nothing. Lisa is... I mean she had to... there was a... something needed...”

  “I’m pregnant,” she finished, in part to end his babbling, but also to see if she could bring herself to say the words again without feeling faint.

  “You’re pregnant? Like right now?”

  She laughed in response. “No, Erik, next year. I’m just giving you extra time to buy a card.” She was surprised to hear Mike laugh for the first time in the weeks since he had found her stumbling at Fort Polk, though he quickly tried to mask it with a forced, and unconvincing, cough.

  “Well, that’s... it’s good right? I mean we don’t have to worry about it like we did with Abby. There are tons of kids on the island that were born after the outbreak.”

  Offering him the strongest smile she could manage, Lisa replied. “Yes, it’s good. There’s nothing to worry about anymore.” She hoped the words did not sound as hollow as they felt. While it was true babies of all blood types had been born safely since the infection, a fact learned only upon arriving in Havana, Lisa knew that a pregnancy would further complicate Paul’s decision regarding their future.

  With an over-abundant amount of care, Erik insisted on helping her back to the camp site. Her protestations had been half-hearted though, as she could feel the weakness in her legs. Lisa did however, refuse Erik’s offer of packing her gear. If anything, the task would hopefully push her mind to a new focus. As she crouched to replace the few items she had removed from her pack, Mike�
�s long shadow fell over her. Wordlessly, Lisa raised her eyes to find him holding out a holstered .40 caliber firearm. More hesitant than she intended, Lisa accepted the weapon from his outstretched arm.

  “Thank you,” she said, with more than a little surprise.

  “Yeah,” was all that he managed in return as he shifted and walked away. Had she been less emotionally exhausted, Lisa might have shed a tear over the fractional crack in Mike’s wall. The moment soured when a nagging voice in her head said, He did it to protect the baby, not me.

  Chapter Seven

  “Do you see anything?” Matt whispered in her ear. Shaking her head quickly, Michelle kept her eyes scanning across the debris-crowded marina. Tense moments had passed since there had been any sound or sight of the enemy craft. He had cut the engine of their own boat, which eventually drifted alongside a much larger vessel moored into the sea.

  Feeling her anxiety increase with every heartbeat, she turned to Matt. “What are we going to do?” Their pursuers were unlikely to abandon the hunt, especially now that she and Matt were clearly trapped. Further seconds of delay only served to allow the Mohawk to arrive and cut off all means of escape.

  “How good of a swimmer are you?”

  Spending a youth more focused on books than physical activities, Michelle had only infrequently experienced bodies of water. And since the outbreak, the mountain camp certainly did not afford the chance to hone aquatic skills.

  “Better than a doggie paddle, but not by much,” she told him honestly. Whatever he had planned, she wanted to make sure he had all the information he needed.

  “Well, you’re getting a lesson today,” he rejoined with a twitch of a grin. In hurried, hushed tones, Matt detailed his idea. Michelle could see many holes in the plan, but without a viable alternative, she agreed. He worked wordlessly, preparing what he hoped would divert the enemy before the pair slid into the chilled water.

  She had to bite back a gasp as her flesh pimpled from the temperature. Tugging her along, Matt helped her move through the bobbing water. Their movements were slow and cautious, the slightest splash risked revealing their location before they could fully set the trap. Focusing solely on keeping her head above the waterline, Michelle hoped that he was keeping a look out. It didn’t matter if they were discovered now, she knew. Barely able to swim, she could offer no defense.

  Her arms and legs were beginning to feel like lead weights branching off from her body. Their destination was still yards in the distance, and Michelle feared her burning lungs might not be able to sustain the effort. More frequently, large gulps of the sea invaded her mouth as she forced her way through the water. Matt, alongside her and propelling her forward, pulled her close and whispered with panic. “Take a deep breath, we have to go under!”

  Filling her lungs in the split second before he pulled her beneath the surface, Michelle panicked when the darkness of the water and the burning saltwater blinded her. She could still feel Matt’s hand on her wrist, though she could not see him beyond his elbow. It seemed somewhat easier to move through the water now that she was fully submerged, but her already weary lungs worried her. At first counting the seconds, painfully holding in that last gasp of air, she could feel the strain of the task. She abandoned ticking off the numbers, as it had quickly become a further source of panic.

  At last feeling she could resist no longer, a stream of bubbles rushed from her mouth and nose. Instinct demanded she inhale, but Michelle fought the urge with a steadily depleting cache of will. Once darting specks of light began to flash in her vision, she knew she had to resurface. Angling her body upward, she could feel Matt’s hand gripping even more tightly, and worse, continue its constant pull forward. He’s not letting me go up!

  The burning in her chest had taken on a new urgency, and Michelle could feel her body rebelling against her mind. The drive was beyond her control now. She would take a breath, even though she knew doing so would be death. In one last surge of energy, she tried to pull her arm free of the clasp that would be her end. For an instant, she thought her freedom had been won, but with a glance discovered Matt’s hand was still firmly attached. He was, she realized, pulling her towards the surface with him.

  Unsure if the expanding brightness before her was a sign of the surface or simply her mind slipping, the young woman felt a relief with both possible outcomes. Death would mean failure in avenging Andrew’s death, yet it also meant freedom from the horror of emptiness that now ached within her. Michelle could feel herself surrender to the inevitable needs of her body. She would inhale, she knew with a smile, and she would be free. As lips parted and water rushed in, her head broke the surface of the water. With a sputtering gasp, partially to expel the sea, and also to take in the much need air, her vision cleared and she saw Matt’s head bobbing beside her own. For the first time since entering the water, the blood pounding in her ears was overcome by the eruption of bullets from their boat’s machine gun.

  In confusion, Michelle twisted in panic to locate the boat, but then she recalled Matt rigging boat line to the weapon’s firing mechanism. Without delay, Matt dropped the cord and pulled himself up on the ladder of the ship to which they had swum. Correctly assuming she would be unlikely to have the strength to climb the ladder on her own, he extended a hand and pulled her up beside him. There would be little time before their pursers located the other craft.

  Matt had hypothesized correctly. Not only had the phantom gun-fire masked their gasps for air upon resurfacing, but the sound had lured the Mohawk-men. In relative safety on a different ship, they watched as the inflatable filled with five armed men pulled alongside their now-empty boat. Matt had secured it to a larger boat, by its size Michelle assumed it would be called a small yacht. By cutting a small gash into his palm, he had left a “trail” that indicated that he and Michelle had boarded the yacht. But, Michelle wondered, would these guys fall for it?

  In response to her silent question, the men rose to stand as they cautiously attempted to board the tethered vessels. With their targets now exposed, Matt settled his rifle along the rail and aimed into the distance. Michelle had to rely on her handgun and her once accurate aim. Firing from a water-tossed boat, at moving targets some hundred yards away, was likely beyond her ability, but Matt assured her he would be able to bring the five men down with his rifle. Whispering a word of encouragement, he lowered his eyes to the gun’s sights. Once he let loose the first shot, Michelle did her best to provide supporting fire. The men, caught off guard as they stepped between boats, dove for cover, but not before Matt was able to remove three of them from the threat.

  The return fire was expected and initially far off course. Matt had chosen the vantage point well. In their rush to cover, the men had not seen from which of the many boats nestled together in the marina the attack had come. When one of the remaining men crept into view, Matt smoothly placed a bullet into his head. She could not believe how calm and steady her companion’s hands were. Granted, her hands still shook from the near-drowning, but his movements were decisive and composed. And accurate, she added, as she watched the fifth and final man fall to a shot. Handing her the rifle, Matt dove back into the water. Seeing him now, swimming unencumbered by dragging her along, she realized how embarrassingly awkward her own form had been. His body sliced through the water with measured movements, arms and legs perfectly synced. Far faster than she expected, he reached the boats. Reminding herself to cover him, Michelle angled the rifle and watched for any last moments of life from the felled pursuers.

  She felt great relief when he finally returned and she was able to lower the weapon, her strength seemed renewed as she hopped down into their boat. Matt had already seen to the last stage of their escape. Even at this short distance, Michelle could almost believe that the propped-up soldiers sitting in the inflatable were alive – if she ignored the gaping holes in heads and chests.

  “Okay,” Matt began, pulling her from her corpse-focused stare. “I’ll give you a fifteen second
lead before I come out behind you.”

  “Are you sure we need to do this?”

  “If they only see our boat, the Mohawk won’t let up. But if they see one of their own chasing, they might not act as quickly.”

  The logic in his argument was sound, and Michelle knew it. She worried, however, about the two of them separating. Selfishly, she knew if something happened to Matt, it was unlikely she would be able to navigate her way back to New Cuba. She needed him if she had any hope of reaching Duncan.

  “Fifteen seconds,” he said again, his tone clearly an attempt towards reassurance. “And don’t stop until you see me swing back in towards the coast.”

  “Got it.” Once Matt detached the inflatable from the boat, Michelle followed his instructions and set the craft into motion. Fear gnawed at the corners of her mind as she imagined finding the Mohawk already having closed the distance. As she cleared the inlet, she stole a quick glance over her shoulder. Though present, the military ship was still some ways off. Steering her boat into the east, she could feel the rush of wind push back her hair and her anxiety. We might actually have made it.

  As the Mohawk shrank behind her, the much smaller form of Matt and the inflatable of dead soldiers drew nearer. Within the hour, he darted for the coast. Impressed with her captaining, Michelle was, however, eager to rejoin Matt and hand over the navigation duties to his vastly greater experience. Wasting little time, he had already removed the weapons that had helped stiffen the backs of the limp corpses. After transferring the additional firepower to their boat, he tossed several of the soldiers’ packs onto the deck before leaving the inflatable himself.

  Using one of the newly obtained handguns, Matt fired several rounds into the craft’s hull. The rushing and hissing of the escaping air was quickly covered by the roar of their engine. As they sped on ever eastward, Michelle watched the inflatable and its men slip slowly from view.