Surviving the Dead (Book 4): Fire In Winter

by James Cook

  “I will most certainly do that,” I replied.

  Penny showed up an hour later, chewed the medics’ asses up one side and down the other for leaving me in a drafty tent for so long, and demanded they move me to a room in her tavern. They took me there on a litter, apologized profusely to the fiery little woman, then fled the building with their tails between their legs. I had a long laugh over that one.

  The next morning, I woke up to find Sheriff Tucker sitting on a stool beside my cot, bright sun shining on her face, smiling warmly. “How you doin’?” she asked.

  “I’ve been better.”

  She nodded. “I gathered that. How bad is it? The medics wouldn’t tell me.”

  “Not very. I’ll be on my feet in a day or two.”

  “I’m glad.” She patted my shoulder and was quiet for a long moment, eyes fixed on the wall. The lines of her face were deep with exhaustion, and there were little black circles under her eyes. I tried to imagine what the last week or so had been like for her, then decided I didn’t want to know. Finally she looked up and said, “Did you find him? The man responsible for what happened here?”

  “I did.”

  “And?”

  I shook my head. “He’s not a problem anymore.”

  She nodded again, eyes troubled. “You know, I should be bothered by that. I’ve been a cop since long before the Outbreak. Never had much patience for vigilante justice.”

  “If it makes you feel better, it wasn’t justice.”

  She looked me in the eye, head tilted to the side. “What was it then?”

  “Revenge,” I said. “Plain and simple.”

  Her hand came up and traced a scar on my check, fingers gentle and searching. “Is it true what they say? Is it best served cold?”

  My eyes closed and I lay back on my pillow, suddenly very, very tired. “No, Sheriff,” I said. “It’s best not served at all.”

  There was a rustle of fabric, a brush of soft lips against mine, and then she was gone.

  Four days after arriving in Brownsville, Hicks and I arranged transportation for our horses and the loot we took from the Crow Hunters and the Blackmire guards, then gathered our gear, said our goodbyes, and hitched a ride on a transport bound for Hollow Rock.

  Along the way, I thought about Sheriff Tucker, and the women of her town, and how hard things would be for them going forward. I thought about Tanner, and his greed and anger, and the destruction such things bring. I thought about my own desire for vengeance, and how things might have turned out differently if I had just let it go. Mostly, though, I thought about Elizabeth, and Eric, and Allison, and the Glover family, and how good it would be to see all of them again.

  As the transport trundled along, I thought about how a great many people don’t have homes anymore. Those of us who do cling to them and fight hard to protect them because we understand how precious they are. We know the homes we build, the bonds we forge, and the friendships we make are the fire in winter’s cold that gives us hope for better times, and better lives. It is why we work, and toil, and plant our crops year after year. It is why people hug their children, and make love, and celebrate milestones, and share food and laughter and all the thousand little touches in between. Because having a home is worth working for, worth fighting for, and if necessary, worth dying for.

  And I had been away from mine for far too long.

  EPILOGUE

  With the approach of May, winter finally lost its grip.

  As the daily high temperatures rose, so did the hopes and prospects of Hollow Rock’s many farmers. The bulletin board in front of town hall once again became festooned with HELP WANTED and NOW HIRING signs, each one listing a particular farm, its owner, and what terms of payment they were offering. It was plainly obvious the aforementioned farmers had held a meeting and agreed on what wages to offer. They were universal, and much lower than the previous year’s.

  “That’s going to cause trouble,” I said to Elizabeth, pointing at the flyers.

  She shook her head. “The same thing happened last year before you got here. I held a town hall meeting and forced the farmers to explain themselves, at which point they capitulated and agreed to better terms for the workers. I imagine it’ll be the same this year.”

  “Seems like a lot of unnecessary arguing.”

  She shrugged. “The farmers want to keep as much profit as they can. It’s their land, after all.”

  “Yes, but without field hands to help them, they aren’t growing anything.”

  “And everyone goes hungry. It’s just the way of the world, Gabe.”

  I frowned and picked up a notice with my diminished left hand. With the infection cured, it had healed quite nicely. The seam of stitched skin over the nub of proximal phalange had settled into a flat, pink thimble of scar tissue. Even the incessant itch had gone away.

  “You’d think after everything that’s happened, people would learn to be decent to one another. To appreciate what they have and work together for the common good.”

  Elizabeth’s hand was soft and strong as it slipped into mine. “You of all people should know better, Gabe. That’s not going to happen.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  We turned away from town hall and walked down the sidewalk, bound for Stall’s Tavern. It was just past noon on a Friday, and the town square was busy in preparation for market day. A steady stream of farmers, Runners, and trade caravans poured in through the north gate, prompting Sheriff Elliott to double up the guards and send out extra patrols to beat back the encroaching infected.

  In the distance, I heard the steady beat of hammers and the roar of heavy equipment as the newly arrived troops tore down the wooden palisade surrounding Fort McCray and built a larger, sturdier wall. The wooden buildings within the encampment were being torn down also, soon to be replaced by quonset huts and pre-fabricated steel.

  Between First Platoon, the new arrivals, and the Ninth TVM, there were now three full companies of troops stationed just outside of town, along with two Blackhawks, an Apache gunship, several APC’s, and two Abrams tanks. A hell of a lot of hardware by modern measure.

  While the townsfolk appreciated the extra protection, and the extra business, they also understood the reason for such a strong military presence. And they were not comforted in the least.

  “You ever hear back from the feds about the insurgents?”

  Liz snapped her fingers. “Right, I’m glad you reminded me. Yes, I did. The trial has been canceled. There’s a Chinook coming next week to take them all to Kansas.”

  I sighed in relief. “That’s good. Last thing we need around here is to stir up more trouble with the Alliance.”

  “Amen to that.”

  As we passed by the sheriff’s office, I glanced at the front door and wondered what awaited the ten captured insurgents within. Seven of them had tried to attack Hollow Rock, and three of them were associates of the now deceased Sebastian Tanner, a known outlaw and Alliance sympathizer. The first seven were probably looking at lengthy prison sentences at the least, and execution at worst. The other three, because they had testified against Blackmire, would probably be turned back over to the Alliance.

  Their trial had been postponed due to the attack on Hollow Rock a few weeks ago, and afterward, Elizabeth sent a message to the recently re-established Justice Department imploring them to take the prisoners off her hands. She had enough problems to deal with as it was, and inciting the anger of the Alliance settlements to the north would do nothing to ameliorate them. The fact that they were honoring her request was welcome news indeed.

  As we neared Stall’s Tavern, I put my arm around Liz and pulled her close. “So what’s the special occasion?”

  She smiled coyly. “What do you mean?”

  “You never drag me out of the house in the middle of the day. You’re too fond of your afternoon nap. What gives?”

  “You really don’t remember, do you?”

  “Remember what?”

  Sh
e laughed and opened the tavern’s door. “And here I thought you had a mind like a steel trap.”

  As I stepped inside, I was greeted by the sight of several dozen people, some in uniform and some in civilian clothes, all with silly, colorful little pointy hats strapped to their heads. The building’s newly installed light fixtures came on overhead, shining upon ribbons, streamers, and balloons. Elizabeth beamed at me as the assembled guests raised their hands over their heads and cried, in unison, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!”

  I stopped in my tracks and found myself amid a hail of multi-colored confetti and serenaded by the sounds of kazoos and party horns. Liz clapped her hands together and did a bouncy, excited little dance. I turned my best scowl upon her.

  “You did this?”

  “No,” a familiar voice said from the stage. I looked over to see Eric standing there, smiling broadly, his guitar strapped across his chest. “I did. Happy birthday, you big nine-fingered bastard!”

  I was going to throw a chair at him, but then I saw the cake.

  Cake fixes everything.

  *****

  There was food, and drink, and cake, and a lot of laughter. Eric played his guitar and sang for a couple of hours, then came over to my table with a bottle of lukewarm booze. Elizabeth, perceptive lady that she is, excused herself so we could talk.

  Eric pushed a full shot glass across the table. “So tell me. What happened?”

  Ever since I returned from Brownsville, he had been remarkably non-inquisitive. Probably figured I needed time to sort things out. Evidently, my reprieve was at an end. So I took the shot and told him, start to finish. It took me half an hour, and when I was done, I held out my glass. “The son of a bitch got me twice,” I said. “Must be losing my touch.”

  Eric frowned at me. “If you had been more careful, he wouldn’t have. The first time, you let emotion get in the way. You were angry. You didn’t act with your usual thoroughness. But you escaped with your life because you had something Tanner didn’t.”

  I caught my glass as Eric slid it across the table. “And what’s that?”

  “Friends,” he said, then downed his shot. “You inspire loyalty and confidence. That’s why Ethan and the others were willing to risk their lives to track you down. Yeah, I paid them, but that was just to satisfy their CO. They would have done it for free otherwise. Tanner, on the other hand, ruled by fear. His men followed him out of greed and avarice.”

  I clanked my glass against the table and shook my head. “But he got me again on the highway. If I hadn’t been wearing my armor, I’d be dead.”

  “Listen,” Eric said, “there’s good luck, there’s bad luck, and then there’s making your own luck. You do a good job of the latter. You train hard. You stockpile ammo. You buy the best weapons and equipment you can get your hands on. You make readiness a top priority. Tanner didn’t do that. When he took that shot, he aimed center of mass because he didn’t have enough confidence to try for a headshot. You wouldn’t have made that mistake. But you knew he might, so despite the weight, you wore your armor. It wasn’t just ceramic plates that saved your life, Gabe. It was thinking ahead.”

  I studied my drink for a while, then tossed it down the hatch. “Well, when you put it that way…”

  Eric grinned, slapped me on the arm, and informed me he was going to go eat cake with his wife.

  The party lasted until late in the afternoon, all attendees spirits buoyed by the warm weather and the copious amount of alcohol flowing from the bar. As the sun began to dip to the west, I sat with Liz by a window, feet propped up on a chair, head back, sun on my face, listening to the good sounds of children playing outside. Eric climbed back onstage, much to the revelers’ delight, and plucked a few notes.

  “Okay folks,” he said in his booming stage voice. “One last song, then I’m outta here.”

  The response was a mixture of cheers and mournful wails that it was the last song of the afternoon. Eric’s deft, long-fingered hands began dancing across the strings, pulling music from his finely-crafted instrument until it slowly suffused the room, glowing and warm and dripping with heartache. I felt a small smile pull at the corners of my mouth. Head Full of Doubt/Road Full of Promise. The Avett Brothers had long been a favorite of mine, and Eric knew it.

  After the opening chords, he began to sing:

  There’s a darkness upon me that’s flooded in light.

  In the fine print they tell me what’s wrong and what’s right.

  “What are you thinking about?” Elizabeth asked as I swayed my head in time with the music.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Nothing at all. It’s nice, for a change.”

  And it comes in black, and it comes in white,

  And I’m frightened by those who don’t see it.

  “I wish I could do that. There’s so much on my mind all the time, sometimes it feels like my head is going to burst.”

  I opened my eyes enough to look at her. “You carry a lot of responsibility. Ever think about delegating some of it?”

  She sighed and laid her chin on crossed forearms. “I guess I’m going to have to. Maybe hire an assistant or something. What about you? When will you start going on salvage runs again?”

  I shrugged and turned to look out the window. “Maybe in a few weeks. Eric is managing things just fine. I’ve been enjoying the time off.”

  “You certainly earned it.”

  When nothing is owed, or deserved, or expected,

  And your life doesn’t change by the man that’s elected,

  Her hand crept across the table, turned over, and made a come hither motion. I reached out and felt her fingers trace over the newly healed stump. “There’s something I wanted to ask you about,” she said.

  A pause. “Okay.”

  “Don’t be mad.”

  “No promises.”

  “Allison told me about your conversation with Eric.”

  If you’re loved by someone, you’re never rejected,

  Decide what to be and go be it.

  I sat up and withdrew my hand. “Which one? We talk a lot, the two of us.”

  “You know which one.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and hissed out a breath. The conversation in question happened a week after I returned from Brownsville. I brought Eric up to speed on the situation with the Republic of California, as well as my bargain with General Jacobs, and asked if he wanted in. He hesitated, eyes straying to Allison working in the garden outside, and said he would think about it. I knew he would talk it over with Allison, but I didn’t think it would reach Liz’s ears. So much for secrecy.

  There was a dream, and one day I could see it.

  Like a bird in a cage, I broke in and demanded that somebody free it.

  “That’s classified information, Liz. How many other people did you tell?”

  “No one. You, me, Eric, and Allison are the only ones who know.”

  “Please make sure it stays that way.”

  She waved the comment aside. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  And there was a kid, with a head full of doubt.

  So I’ll scream till I die and the last of those bad thoughts are finally out.

  I laid my hands flat on the table and stared at them, specifically the one with a reduced allocation of digits. “I was going to. Just didn’t know how to say it.”

  “How about, ‘Liz, I made a deal with the head of Army Special Operations Command, and in exchange for the medical supplies that probably saved your life, I offered to become Jacobs’ personal assassin.’”

  I winced. “It’s not like that.”

  There’s a darkness upon you that’s flooded in light.

  In the fine print they tell you what’s wrong and what’s right.

  She stared at me for a moment, then stood up, came around the table, and plopped down in the seat next to me. Her arms slid around my waist, warm and comfortable, like they were made to go there. “I’m sorry. That was a cheap shot.”

  “I deserved
it.”

  And it flies by day, and it flies by night,

  And I’m frightened by those who don’t see it.

  The arms tightened, and her lips brushed my ear. “Why do you do it, Gabe? After everything you’ve been through, after all the years of fighting, why do you feel compelled to risk your life to help others? Why keep putting yourself in danger?”

  There was a dream, and one day I could see it.

  Like a bird in a cage, I broke in and demanded that somebody free it.

  There were a lot of ways I could have answered that, but as I am fond of saying, the best explanation is often the simplest. In this case, it was a parting shot from that broken-hearted woman who slammed a door in my face all those years ago and banished me from her life forever. Maybe someday I would get a chance to apologize to her, but I wasn’t getting my hopes up.

  And there was a kid, with a head full of doubt.

  So I’ll scream till I die and the last of those bad thoughts are finally out.

  The song went on as I held my new love tighter. She nestled into me, and I laid my cheek on her head, rocking the two of us in time to the closing refrains. Finally, and all too soon, Eric sang the last lyrics.

  There’s a darkness upon me that’s flooded in light,

  And I’m frightened by those who don’t see it.

  When he strummed the final, haunting chord, I opened my eyes.

  “I am what I am, Elizabeth. And I always will be.”

  About the Author:

  James N. Cook (who prefers to be called Jim, even though his wife insists on calling him James) is a martial arts enthusiast, a veteran of the U.S. Navy, a former cubicle dweller, and the author of the Surviving the Dead series. He hikes, he goes camping, he travels a lot, and he has trouble staying in one place for very long. He lives in North Carolina (for now) with his wife, son, two vicious attack dogs, and a cat that is scarcely aware of his existence.