by Jerry Ahern
The Bali-Song—from her hip pocket into her hand, the lock working off under her thumb’s pressure, the handle half flicking out, back, out, the knife open, the Wee-Hawk blade slicing cannibal flesh, a carotid artery spraying blood as the body fell.
Michael Rourke. John Rourke.
She could see both men now, Madison still between them, each of the Rourke men wielding one of the stone axes, hacking, chopping at their common enemies, the screams, the shouted snarls that perhaps were curses in the grunted language of the cannibals, death surrounding her as she slashed and hacked with the Bali-Song.
On the far side of the cave, the cracks of Paul Rubenstein’s pistol had stopped—he would be using his blade now, too.
She could see the Rourke men—ahead. She fought toward them.
Chapter Forty-Four
He heard the girl Madison screaming behind him. John Rourke wheeled, three men with axes closing on his son. Rourke shoved the girl aside, hacking outward with a stone axe, killing the cannibal nearest her, stepping forward between Michael and the three cannibals, his own axe swinging outward against the face of the farthest cannibal, impacting the head of the second. The axe of the third was on a downswing, Rourke sidestepping, his son moving—a blur of motion, the axe of the third man gone, the face crushed.
Madison—her scream again. Rourke wheeled toward her. She was hacking outward with the cattle prod, the smell of burning flesh on the air for an instant, the cannibal falling back. The thought crossed John Rourke’s mind—they’d make a good Rourke of her.
Michael—his axe chopped downward, against the head of the man Madison had struck with the cattle prod.
Rourke brought his axe through in a wide arc, five of the cannibals falling back, the impact then against his left shoulder. He stumbled, the axe falling from his hands, his upper body numbed for an instant. ^ Michael stepped past him, the axe in Michael’s hands flailing outward. v Rourke’s left arm was numb, but his right hand found the butt of the Gerber Mkll in the belt sheath and drew the blade, thrusting into the attackers with it, withdrawing, thrusting, with-drawing, a swiping hack across an exposed artery. He wheeled quickly as the blood sprayed.
Natalia—she was beside him, fighting, her Bali-Song flashing in the sunlight that now filled the cave, red blood dripping from the blade. Paul—his fighting knife wrenched free of a body. And it had stopped—Rourke’s right hand held the Gerber, poised, ready, but the cannibals who still stood were withdrawing, backing out of the cave or running in fear.
There was a clicking sound—John Rourke knew it well, the sound of a fresh magazine going up the well of Rubenstein’s Schmeisser. “Leave ‘em, Paul—let ‘em withdraw.”
“All right, but in case they come back we’ll be ready again.”
Rourke only nodded.
He glanced at Natalia—she was wiping her blade clean on a bandanna handkerchief. “Here—
use this for your knife,” and she passed it to him. Rourke nodded. “Paul and I can take care of get-ting the bikes down here—Paul can ride them down one at a time and I can cover him.”
“Takes too much time—cover him for the third bike, then each of you ride the last two down—“ “You found my bike!”
He looked at his son. “Yeah, we found your bike,” and John Rourke laughed.
Chapter Forty-Five
That the cannibals would return was not something Rourke thought debatable—it was obvious. Michael and Madison had shown Natalia the location of one of the door panels in the rock wall of the cave and Natalia, Paul helping her, was already at work to open it. She had laughed. “All that KGB training—I was always very good at breaking into things.”
John Rourke stood at the mouth of the cave, his son beside him, Madison with Paul and Natalia.
“I guess I fucked things up.”
Rourke looked at his son. “Welcome to the club.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ahh,” and he sighed loudly, long. “Your mother—she’s angry. More angry than I’ve ever seen her. Because of what I did—using the cryogenic chambers to let you and your sister reach maturity while the rest of us slept.” “It was the only practical thing.”
“Don’t let your mother hear you say that.”
“She’ll get over it.”
“I don’t think so. Maybe it’ll be good in a way— like you said that maybe you’d gotten Madison pregnant. A grandchild—but at her age,” and John Rourke felt himself smile. There was no sign of the enemy but they had already proven they were good at using natural cover. They could be ready to attack again, Rourke realized. “No— maybe a grandchild will help her feel better about herself, but it won’t make her feel better about me.”
“You mean—“
“I don’t know what I mean,” John Rourke answered, looking at his son. It was like staring into a mirror—Michael stood well above six feet, a full shock of dark brown hair, brown eyes, the prominent jaw, but there were fewer lines in his face and unlike John Rourke, not yet a trace of gray. “I thought we might have lost you. But I’m embarrassed—I should have known you could take care of yourself.”
“It was touch and go there for a while,” his son laughed. “I’m glad you and
Paul—and Natalia— I’m glad you all showed up when you did.” And Michael seemed
to clear his throat, his voice odd-
QO
sounding as he almost whispered. “I was going to kill Madison if I had to.”
“I know that.”
“You would have done the same, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah, I would have—and I wouldn’t have liked it any better. This thing, this thing with your mother and with me, well—“ “I figured we could go exploring together—see what’s out there, you know, and—“ “You’re gonna have a family—“ “That never stopped you,” Michael answered.
Rourke looked away and smiled. “No, it never stopped me. Maybe it should have, son—maybe it should have.”
“If Madison is carrying a child, well, there’ll still be time. Before the child comes, after.”
“What—leave the girls at home? You and me— and Paul—“ “Well, sure. Paul, too—he’s your partner and—“ “Best friend I ever had. You are too, but you’re my son. So that allows me to have two best friends. But whatever happens,” and Rourke lit another cigar.
“Well, don’t get into this thing between your mother and me—it wouldn’t be right
for her to think I’d turned you or Annie against her. I never wanted—“
“Doesn’t she realize why you did it—I mean, I know. You set things up so Natalia
and I would, ahh—“
“Am I that transparent?” Rourke laughed.
“Yes, you are—yes.”
Rourke nodded. “I guess I am. But it didn’t work, did ü?”
“You were willing to give up Natalia for your love for Momma.” “You mean I was willing to give up one woman I love for the other woman I love—that doesn’t say a whole hell of a lot for me, does it?”
“But all that time you searched for us and you never—“ v
“No,” Rourke laughed. “I wanted to—God, did I want to. But as long as there was
a chance your mother was alive…”
“I don’t—“
“Your mother and I,” Rourke said softly, exhaling a cloud of the gray cigar smoke, watching it dissipate on the air, then staring at the glowing tip and the ashes as they formed there. “We fell in love with each other—we’re still in love. At least I am. And she is, too—yeah. But, ahh, we were never—well, we were never really friends. I knew this couple once—the guy was a writer. He and his wife—you never saw two people so much in love. But they were buddies, pals—friends. The friendship and the love coexisted. I, ahh, your mother and I—we never—“ and Rourke inhaled hard on the cigar. “What about you and Natalia? Are you friends?”
Rourke looked at his son. “We’re friends. It’s your mother’s play. I’ll do what she want
s.”
“What about Natalia if, ahh—“
“Ahh, what?” Rourke smiled. “I don’t know. I
woke up from that second period of cryogenic sleep, ya know? Annie had this dream—said it’s only the second time in her life she remembered a dream, and that she saw you in danger. We oughta listen to that kid more. But I woke up,” Rourke sighed, exhaling the cigar smoke again, watching tt again as the wind caught it and made it dissipate. “Your mother was heartsick—and I decided I’d never try playing God again. I mean I didn’t try this last time—I just tried to do what was right, what was best for all of us. Well, I did that, ya know,” and Rourke snorted loudly, his sinuses bothering him suddenly. “I did what—what I thought and, well, shit,” and he inhaled on the cigar again and opened his eyes wide against the wind. And he felt his son’s hand on his shoulder.
Chapter Forty-Six
Annie Rourke hitched up her skirt as she clambered over the rocks, getting to her feet again, letting her skirt fall, straightening the webbed pistol belt at her right hip, the Detonics Scoremas-ter there in the military flap holster. She could see for miles from here. She had started coming here as a little girl and she had never stopped. She didn’t remember their home at the farm. Perhaps someday they would go back to where it had stood and something she would see would jog loose a memory—she hoped that it would. But the Retreat was the home she had grown up in, was the home in her heart. She dropped to her knees, gathering her skirt under her, leaning back, sitting finally, not taking her eyes off the mountains and the valleys between them. r She was cold as the wind picked up and she hugged her arms to her, huddling more in the quilted coat she had made.
She had never known the company of adults of her own sex—and she wondered if she and Paul came together, would they sometime, someday be drawn apart. She thought of her mother.
The Retreat was not Sarah Rourke’s home. It never would be. She hated it—that was obvious, Annie realized.
She thought of her father and her mother—and she was frightened. She had known nothing else—that Sarah Rourke and John Rourke were husband and wife and that it was forever for them.
Annie Rourke was very cold now. She closed her eyes and saw Paul Rubenstein’s face and couldn’t imagine feeling toward Paul what her mother now felt toward her father. But then for an instant she could imagine it—and she was afraid. She was very afraid and she sat there and stared out at the mountains again, wanting Paul Ruben-stein to say he loved her, to hold her.
Chapter Forty-Seven
The interior air lock door had not taken as long as the exterior door which had been covered with rock.
“I have it, John,” Natalia announced.
Rourke watched her for a moment, then stared at the dismantled locking device.
“They never intended their retreat to be unoccupied.”
“It was never made to be opened from the outside.” Rourke nodded to her. He looked at his son, Madison standing beside him. “You said this second holy book is some sort of diary.” “It looks like that—one of the videotapes had a diary featured in the story, and I read about diaries.”
Rourke nodded. “All right. So we get this second holy book and break the seal and read it.”
“That is forbidden—even to ones like your-selves,” Madison whispered. John Rourke put his hands on the girl’s shoulders, then smiled at her. “Michael tells me the Bible is very important to th£ people here—at least to some of you.”
“That is true.” Madison nodded somberly. “It is all that we read.” “Then isn’t it presumptuous for men—like the ones who head the Families—isn’t it presumptu-ous for men to add to it, to change it, with some secret book they won’t even read themselves but that supposedly gives them the authority to commit murder every time the population goes over some magic number, year in, year out, to create people like the ones you call Them, to create people who aren’t people anymore, at all?”
“But—“
“I look at the story of Adam and Eve rather differently than most people do. If their aim was to seek knowledge, I don’t see it as a sin. To play games with the devil—that’s wrong. But to want to know, to understand—knowing isn’t evil. It’s what you do with the knowledge. We’ll find that book—you think Natalia’s good on doors, wait ‘til you see her with a safe. We’ll read that book and then we’ll know what really happened here and how to help all the Madisons and all the other people here—or at least we’ll be better able to try. All right, sweetheart?”
“Yes/’ and she leaned her head against his chest. “Yes, Father Rourke.”
John Rourke just closed his eyes and hugged the girl for a moment.
“We’re ready,” Natalia said.
Rourke looked at her. “All right.”
“I’ll go first,” Paul announced.
He was already starting to open the doorway Michael covering him with Rourke’s CAR-15.
Then Michael passed through, Rourke hearing him call. “There’s no one waiting for us.”
“There may be a redoubt of some kind further ahead,” Rourke answered.
Madison passed through the doorway then.
Rourke stood alone beside Natalia. She touched at his hand. “If I were a young girl—you would make a fine father.”
Rourke looked at her, smiling. “Just because I let myself age another five years while you slept— well, don’t rub it in, huh?”
And he let Natalia pass through the doorway and he followed her close behind, a De tonics pistol in each hand.
Chapter Forty-Eight
“The last thing I ever expected to see again in my whole life was a golf course,” Paul Rubenstein murmured.
Rourke shrugged—after the indoor pool (Olym-pic sized) and the sauna and the racquetball courts, an indoor nine-hole golf course hardly surprised him. That it was only nine holes he found curious.
He stepped out onto the perfect green carpet, dropping to one knee—what he felt through the knee of his Levi’s, the touch of his fingertips confirmed. Synthetic grass. It had been called Astroturf before the Night of The War. “I have never seen this place,” Madison murmured, between Rourke and his son.
Rourke looked at her. “This place—the Place-it’s hermetically sealed at most times—at all times really because of the air lock. No dust, no dirt. No reason for maintenance. The pool is bone dry— likely hasn’t been filled for centuries. I bounced one of those racquetballs—the core is dead. It hasn’t been used for a long time.” v “A playground,” Michael murmured.
“The rich capitalist playground.” Natalia smiled. Rourke looked at her. “Yes—isn’t it,” and he reached up to the Alessi shoulder rig, returning the one Detonics pistol he still held, with his left hand closing the trigger guard snap that formed the speed break. “Let’s find that arsenal—then we’ll find their book. If they can’t use what they have, maybe we can. With that door having to be forced open, the hermetic seal is broken. If those cannibals have an ounce of brains among them they’ 11 feel the air circulating between the crack the door left and the wall—and they’ll pry it open and attack. What Michael told us about that one cannibal following him and Madison on a blood hunt—that may be typical behavior. And we killed a lot of them. Now be on the lookout for those guys in the business suits with the cattle prods. Madison—show us the way to the arsenal.” “Yes—where the guns are kept.”
“Yes—where the guns are kept.” She startet ahead, walking beside and slightly ahead of Michael, her right hand locked inside his left, Michael’s right fist balled around the CAR-15’s pistol grip, the Colt assault rifle’s stock collapsed, the scope covers removed.
Rourke felt a hand touch gently at his—he looked into Natalia’s eyes, his left hand closing over her right hand. “He looks so much like you— but he isn’t you,” and she leaned up quickly as she walked beside him, kissing him on the cheek. “I love you,” John Rourke told her, still holding her hand, walking on.
Chapter Forty-Nine
/> Natalia had opened the doors to the arsenal— not bothering to pick the lock, instead half wheeling right, a double kick to where the two doors joined, the doors splitting inward.
Paul had rushed in, the subgun ready in case the Families had decided the arsenal should be their redoubt.
But the arsenal was empty of people.
“Who were these people?” Natalia whispered.
Rourke didn’t answer her.
“Arsenal—you can say that again,” Paul Ru-benstein whispered.
Rourke looked at him for an instant, then to the
Astroturf before the Night of The War. “I have never seen this place,” Madison murmured, between Rourke and his son.
Rourke looked at her. “This place—the Place— it’s hermetically sealed at most times—at all times really because of the air lock. No dust, no dirt. No reason for maintenance. The pool is bone dry— likely hasn’t been filled for centuries. I bounced one of those racquetballs—the core is dead. It hasn’t been used for a long time.”
“A playground,” Michael murmured.
‘ ‘The rich capitalist playground.” Natalia smiled. Rourke looked at her. “Yes—isn’t it,” and he reached up to the Alessi shoulder rig, returning the one Detonics pistol he still held, with his left hand closing the trigger guard snap that formed the speed break. “Let’s find that arsenal—then we’ll find their book. If they can’t use what they have, maybe we can. With that door having to be forced open, the hermetic seal is broken. If those cannibals have an ounce of brains among them they’ 11 feel the air circulating between the crack the door left and the wall—and they’ll pry it open and attack. What Michael told us about that one cannibal following him and Madison on a blood hunt—that may be typical behavior. And we killed a lot of them. Now be on the lookout for those guys in the business suits with the cattle prods. Madison—show us the way to the arsenal.” “Yes—where the guns are kept.”
