The Tsunami

by Marshall Miller

  Abigail came over with Fuzz in tow, Aleks behind them. The large dog was panting but looked very satisfied with himself. He might have gotten a piece of one member of the unruly crowd.

  “Husband, there you are. How many new cuts and bruises this time?”

  “No more than usual, Aleks. Abigail and I will go to the clinic to be checked out, if you can keep an eye on Fuzz.”

  “As long as he does not try and drag me all over the Base, I will. Your dog, Abigail, is a single-minded brute when he wants to be. Just like most men.”

  Abigail was patting Fuzz’s head. “I’m sorry. It is my fault. I saw that man who attacked Ruth and I, and I saw red.”

  Torbin looked her in the eye. “Abigail, like me, you are used to just reacting in the field. We can’t do that now. We need to let the authorities handle things around here. That is why Madam President is reconstituting many of the Government functions and services. She wants a more staid and normal existence rather than the old west.”

  Abigail sighed. “I know. I need to be ‘civilized’ more now too, I guess. I was trained to take care of things now. I guess I need to let others into the picture.” She ruffled Fuzz’s fur on his shoulders. “I can take him home, and fix myself up. I’m a trained EMT…”

  “Captain, as the expression goes, a physician who treats herself has a fool for a patient, which applies to medics as well. You will come with me to be checked out. That’s Major to Captain, not friend to friend.”

  Abigail looked down. “Yes Sir. Sorry to be trouble Sir.”

  “Oh, don’t give me that self-deprecating crap. Just come with me to the clinic. You women are such a pain in the ass sometimes…ow. You kicked me, wife.”

  “That is Major to Major. Now, Abigail, for me and Fuzz, go get checked out. A broken rib that goes untreated can result in a punctured lung. I will ensure this beastie makes it home in one piece.”

  Abigail looked at Fuzz, who looked back. “Go and protect Aleks, my big fellow. That’s a good dog.”

  With a “woof” and a single wag of his tail, Fuzz moved next to Aleks. Abigail gave Ichiro a warm smile, said she would talk to him later. Torbin noticed this interplay, and knew where it was heading. His wife would have to have a small talk with the sometimes naïve young woman.

  Torbin and Abigail hitched a ride with an MP to the clinic at the Base hospital. He wanted to get this over with and go home. They both had a busy week scheduled, running a bunch of new butterbars through some tough combat and live fire training. With Universal Service, there were some one million available sixteen to forty-five year old humans to draw from. Madam President had told General Reed, now a Four Star and the equivalent of the old Chief of the Joint Chiefs of Staff (name changed to Commanding General of the Allied Armed Forces) to hit the ground running.

  Torbin, with his status as Hero of the U.S.A. and extreme combat veteran, was pressed into the role of combat trainer extraordinaire. Torbin wanted back into the field, but he was told the Free States needed live heroes, not dead ones. So, a-training he would go. Abigail’s excellent abilities and experience in the field made her a fine example for young female trainees to emulate. It also kept her from the sticky situation of fighting for a group of states with which Deseret had no formal treaty. Not to mention that as a Special Ambassador (the title the Prophet/President and the U.S.A. had created) if she was injured in combat with no formal treaty, it would be a very sticky situation. All of these positions and duties, plus her interpreter and foreign liaison duties, kept her very busy, a state on which she seemed to thrive.

  While one group of personnel was going over Torbin’s injuries, a female doctor was examining Abigail. A young enlisted troop had recognized her, saw Rolf’s oversized shirt she was swimming in, and rushed to find her a replacement. A new silk screened T-shirt, from Torbin’s veteran buddy’s shop at the BX, with the phrase “Caution: Sushi Chef in Training” was given to Abigail to wear. She grinned. “Thank you. This is a great help. I owe you, and will replace it for you.”

  “Ma’am, begging your pardon, but you’re an inspiration for many young girls. If you try to buy me another I’ll be pissed. Just, please, keep being who you are. You give us all hope.” With that, the young medical technician, probably Abigail’s age, disappeared from the exam room.

  Abigail realized that she did not even get her name. Just then, a doctor by the name of Major Rice, reappeared. An examination of her by technicians so far had revealed some bruised ribs, bruises on her arms, minor dents and scratches. When she found out that Abigail had not had any bloodwork done yet, something all women were having done since finding out about the Squid’s modification program, the Major had a blood draw done. A technician specially trained to look for the early telltale signs of exposure to the Squid modification program had done a quick microscopic examination of the sample. What she had seen had puzzled her, so she gave the results to the doctor. Now she was puzzled.

  Doctor Rica Rice was a Filipina who had been finishing her residency in the Great Lakes Area when the rock strikes began. She was newly pregnant with her first child, her husband also a resident doctor. They had at first tried to help the injured, then fled when harvester arks landed in the larger cities. The first ten days, every human that moved was harvested. Then, the darker skinned humans were weeded out. As they fled the area, her husband, a Caucasian American, was killed. Somehow, she escaped. In a daze, she had made her way west, trying to survive so that she could give birth to a healthy baby in a few months. People helped her when they found out she was a doctor, finding medical supplies for her to use. She and a group of many others from all races and walks of life, (later they named themselves “The Rainbows” for all the colors they represented) hooked up with the remains of some military units that were retreating to the interior. One day, she arrived at Malmstrom. She volunteered for military duty, commissioned as an officer, gave birth to a healthy boy, now almost six years old. Now, she was giving back for all the help she and her son had received.

  She flashed a genuine warm and sunny smile at Abigail. “Captain, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. Everyone in the hospital heard about you, especially from Aleks Smirnov, during her pregnancy check visits. But you have dodged a physical up until now.”

  Abigail presented a sheepish smile. “I’ve been busy getting settled in, Ma’am. I’ve just not taken the time to come here.”

  Doctor Rice looked at the medical history chart she had filled out. “Well, let’s be a bit honest. You were kind of dodging us because of the radiation exposure scare the doctors in Deseret had put into you. True, Captain?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Abigail answered in a subdued voice. Rica sighed. “Let’s take our rank and insignia off, shall we? Doctor to patient. You have no symptoms of any after effects from radiation exposure. I will complete a pap smear and a few fertility tests, which I am sure will show you are as fertile as the next young woman your age. Which means I will also see about getting you some birth control.”

  Abigail jerked with a start. “Uh, Ma’am. I am…a virgin. I am not experienced with sexual matters. I plan to stay a virgin until I am married, if that happens.”

  She finally smiled again. “If you tell me I am fertile, it will be a gift from God. There was fear in Deseret that I was…unclean.”

  Doctor Rice ears began to burn with anger. Anger that some doctor had allowed religious beliefs to cloud medical science. “Unclean? What type of diagnosis was that?

  “Abigail, if you remain a virgin until your honeymoon, more power to you. I will do a very careful gynecological exam so as not to ‘disturb’ anything. But I am going to have Colonel Bardun, our resident specialist in exobiology, check your examination. Your body and blood have some…unique features that may show signs of exposure to Tschaaa material. No, nothing to be worried about. On the contrary, you seem to be as healthy as the proverbial horse.”

  She looked at the chart again. “The x-rays and the limited MRI show you have very strong, dense bon
es for a young lady. Your muscle tissue and structure is also very compact, dense, and efficient. Women’s muscles are a bit more efficient than men’s, though men have more muscle cells in numbers than we have, especially up top.” She looked at another image. “Your cells seem almost…superior. Let me examine your arms and legs again.

  A few minutes later, Rica whistled. “Not only does your body seem to have excellent healing powers, but your muscles feel like bands of steel. Remind me never to get you angry.”

  Abigail blushed. “That’s how I got here, Major. I let my anger cloud my good sense. Two very good friends helped to save me from myself.”

  News traveled fast, especially since some of the more grievously wounded of the scavengers had been treated at the ER first, prior to being kicked off base. Rica Rice knew Abigail had done a lot of damage to her fellow humans. She had pieced together Abigail’s history in Deseret. By all rights, since being a child warrior from age twelve, Abigail should have had some scar tissue, signs of healed trauma, or bad early development of bones and joints caused from too much physical stress too soon. The doctor could find very little.

  “You will have a few bruises, aches and pains for a day or two. That’s about it. Like I said, I’m going to forward the blood samples to Colonel Bardun for further comparison with some of the pregnant women who have been exposed to some type of Tschaaa modified DNA. But, they have not had any serious problems so far even while carrying babies. So please do not worry.”

  Abigail gave a slight smile. “I greatly appreciate your help, doctor. I have been told to be…concerned about my development, my maturing because I fled through the Hanford Explosion. I had resigned myself to the fact that there was too much chance of genetic damage to have children. If that is not the case…well, it is a very excellent present, one of many I have received since arriving here. I think God shines on Malmstrom more than you long term residents realize.”

  Doctor Rice chuckled. “Hey, I’m just a doctor. What plans the Universe holds for us is beyond my pay grade. Now, just out of curiosity, how often did you see a doctor in Deseret?”

  “Almost monthly.”

  “What occurred during these visits?”

  “Well, as with all of the Twenty, I received a physical, blood work, vitamin shots, an occasional short term prescription to take. As I matured, a couple of very nice female doctors explained the importance of breast examines for me, the signs of cancer I should look for. Of course, much of that was predicated on my exposure during the Hanford Explosion.”

  Doctor Rice paused for a moment. Just what was Abigail given each month? “Well, I will try and go through channels to see if I can somehow get your in depth medical charts from Deseret. From what I understand, I don’t think you’ll be going back anytime soon.”

  “No, Ma’am.” Abigail had permission to make weekly telephone calls back to the Capital, as well as send letters, telegrams. They were trying to set up a secure direct computer connection to the President/Prophet’s office. So far, all the communication was that she was doing a good job, that they were in direct contact with Madam President, they knew what she was doing with the U.S. Military, and keep up the good work. Then they sent her some cash and a few personal items, like copies of the local newspapers. She still had more money than she knew how to spend.

  However, she would let the doctor talk to the doctors in Deseret. She had learned a long time ago not to question things in areas outside her expertise. “Again, thank you very much, Doctor Rice. Am I finished?”

  The Doctor smiled. “Yes. Colonel Bardun may contact you in few days. But feel free to come by anytime with questions.”

  As Abigail left, some young female enlisted personnel were nearby, speaking in low tones.

  “Anything I can do for you ladies?” Doctor Rice asked.

  A young Sergeant spoke for the group. “That was the Avenging Angel from Deseret. We just had heard so much about her that we wanted to see her up close. She’s becoming a legend among the young girls and women in town.”

  “Well, she doesn’t have horns or a tail.” That comment elicited a few titters of laughter. “But, I suggest you all treat her with respect. I would not want to see her angry.”

  It was four days after the highly successful Oktoberfest. Abigail and Torbin were at work training a bunch of new officers in the fine art of killing. Aleks was stuck at home, looking to her own eyes more like a beached whale every day. She wished the twins could be magically transported from her abdomen to the bassinets they had for them.

  Aleks was in the kitchen of her part of the Duplex, under the watchful eye of Fuzz. The large K-9 took his task of guarding the pregnant human quite seriously. When he was alone with Aleks, a knock at the door meant Fuzz was there before Aleks could be, getting between her and any potential threats.

  Right now Aleks was cooking a turkey, supposedly practicing for Thanksgiving. Actually, it was an easy way to have a large amount of protein on hand to keep the trolls happy. They demanded a lot of extra calories. Fuzz was always spoiled by Aleks with scraps and snacks, out of Abigail’s sight.

  “What good is having a big beastie around if I cannot spoil it?” She asked Fuzz. He thumped his tail once. The weather was cooler, with chances of snow in the forecast. For a Russian, living in Siberia the last few years, it was nothing. Aleks laughed at how concerned even some native Montanans became at the first hint of snow.

  “A fire or some heat source, some vodka, some potatoes and borscht, a warm body to curl up next to, that is all you need, Fuzz.” The dog also gave her someone to talk to when home alone. She was not used to this imposed exile due to her condition. She was not at all the type of woman ready for mahjong games with the other pregnant women, eating coffee cakes. She was a trained spy, damnit. What did she have in common with the other dependent wives?

  She had been initially angry about Abigail confronting that scavenger, and dragging Torbin into a nasty fight. But when she found out what had happened in Evanston, Aleks had told Abigail, “Next time, wait until I have given birth. I would love to cut that one’s nuts off.” As Scarman and the one named Baker had disappeared again, she might still get the chance.

  Torbin had tried to get all big brother with Abigail, but Aleks came to her defense, explained the anger a woman feels when someone tries to manhandle their private parts. An argument ensued, leading to loud voices. Fuzz had walked up, letting out a low rumbling bark. The humans turned to look at him and he was staring at them, a bit agitated.

  “I think Fuzz is trying to tell us that he does not like us arguing,” Abigail commented. “I think he sees it as adversely affecting the unity of the pack.”

  Torbin snorted. “That’s all we need. A four-legged combination referee and marriage counselor.”

  But they did stop arguing. The problem was that both Aleks and Torbin were hard-headed, stubborn, and opinionated. Aleks sighed. They loved the hell out of each other, so they always kissed and made up, sometimes ending up in bed. Aleks’ pregnancy had limited their lovemaking, which also frustrated her. She had looked at her large stomach. “Trolls, you had better hurry up and come out. As much as I love you, I miss my alone time with my husband.”

  Fuzz choose that moment to walk to the double paned sliding French door to the backyard, and gave her that “I need to go out” look. “Okay, my beastie, let’s get you outside. Let me know when you want back in.” She walked to the door and had to maneuver her stomach out of the way to open it.

  “You’d better appreciate this, my husband. I am getting tired of carrying two bowling balls in my stomach.”

  Fuzz went outside, and Aleks shut the door. She then went back to checking on her turkey and some stuffing she was experimenting with. A couple of minutes later, a sound of breaking glass came from the spare bedroom in the front of the house.

  “What are you getting into, Fuzz?” She asked as she waddled to the hallway. As she rounded the corner to the hallway and started down it, she remembered Fuzz was sti
ll outside as she heard him bark. Then, as it came out the bedroom door, she saw the Eater.

  Aleks screamed in fear and anger. How dare did this thing come into her home? Reflexes took over and she turned and made a grab for the hall closet door, where a semi-automatic Saiga shotgun resided. Her large stomach with twins threw her balance off and she started to fall, but steadied herself with the door knob. Then a clawed hand grabbed her left ankle.

  She fell, turning sideways, still holding on to the doorknob. She landed more on her back than her pregnant stomach. She looked and saw a teeth filled maw not far from her captured foot. She howled “No!” and began kicking with her feet at the face of the creature.

  Aleks did not hear the breaking double-paned door glass, nor the sound of Fuzz rounding the corner. One moment the Eater had ahold of her foot, pulling it toward its teeth, the next moment it was propelled into the drywall of the hallway, one hundred fifty pound plus of enraged canine slamming his whole body weight into the alien creature. The Eater was shoved completely into the wall, and left a body sized imprint. As the stunned creature started to slide out from the indentation, Fuzz latched his jaws on what passed as its throat. A twisting jerk of his shoulder and neck muscles and Fuzz ripped the throat area out, blue tinted blood splashing about. The Eater slumped to the hallway floor. Then the bud mate of the Eater appeared.

  When Fuzz slammed into the Eater, time and space seemed to slow down. And Aleks heard a voice from her memories. “Smirnov. You fat cow. Are you just going to lay there and die? Move!”

  During her spy training, she and the other trainees had suffered under the ministrations of a training instructor who went by the name Stalin. No one knew his real name. But every day he said, “You may hate me now, but what and how I am teaching you will save your sorry asses someday. Now move!” Cut and scarred, no one knew how many people he had killed. They just knew he was very good at it.