“That's why I'm going to give you more,” Jake said. “A lot more. But if you want it, you're going to have to let her go. You claim you know about me, so you know my word is good.”
The radio was silent for so long, Jake thought the Purifier's leader had gone off the air.
“Let's talk about exactly what it is you're offering...” Poole said.
* * *
Laurel woke smelling bacon.
She stretched leisurely and reached out of the sleeping bag she and Jake had shared that night for her clothes. He, Rae, and Foster had finally deemed to halt their evaluations of the satellite data around 9:00 pm, when everyone ate together. While they were all worried about Karen and wanted to rescue her now, the two fixers had deemed it necessary to study the Purifier's nighttime routine. They might be able to find a flaw in their defenses that could be exploited, but it would have to wait until they could check the photos in the morning.
They'd all slept, except for whoever was on the three hour guard shifts, spread throughout the Beechcraft’s hangar. The redhead had lucked out and not drawn a watch that night (something everyone hoped for). Jake had drawn the late shift from 4:00 am to 7:00 am, which was fine with him. He enjoyed being awake when the sun came up and the world was just taking a breath.
That being the case, after they'd eaten Laurel and Jake had gone to bed, and sleep had been the furthest thing from their minds. They'd taken up residence in the other King Air 200. After securing the hatch then zipping their sleeping bags together, the two had taken all of a minute flat getting each other undressed.
After their first few rounds of lovemaking, the unruly-haired writer asked her what her plans were once they reached the west coast, as she luxuriated on the bags and he had a cigarette. She'd told him in no uncertain terms, was she going into the holistic food industry again. Then he asked her if she'd consider living in sin for, oh... the next thirty years or so. She jokingly replied that idea sounded good, but she'd need some assurances that he wouldn't take her for granted once they reached safety. There were sure to be a lot of lonely women out west, and how could she be sure Jake wouldn't grow bored with her, amidst all those California tans and saline implants?
He'd stubbed his cigarette out on the interior hull of the King Air, then proceeded to convince Laurel otherwise.
After dressing, she climbed out of the Beechcraft and headed for the camp stove they'd set up near the front end of the hangar. Most of the others were still sacked out across the echoing expanse and she could hear Foster's muted snores coming from inside one of the offices as she headed for sweet, sweet coffee. George's niece Beatrix and the blonde Gwen were sitting on a nearby worktable. As she poured herself some of the caffeinated goodness, she realized they were talking quietly with each other about skin care alternatives. Laurel wasn't vain, but she did want Jake to experience a moment of lust whenever he looked at her (end of the world or not), so she moved to join them.
“…so afterwards, you can crush it up and add it to the Chapstick,” Bee finished.
Gwen looked thoughtful. “That's a pretty good idea.”
“Hey girls,” Laurel said by way of greeting, “what's up?”
“Post-apocalyptic beauty tips,” Gwen replied, waggling eyebrows. “Our green-haired friend here was telling me about how you can use charcoal for eye shadow. “
Laurel's brows went up. “Makes sense. How did you know about that, Bee?”
Foster's niece grinned. “When you've got an uncle like mine, you learn all kinds of whacked out stuff most people would never even think about. Like did you know you can use just plain, old lard as a moisturizer?”
“You're shitting me,” Gwen said.
“No, she's right. You can mix a small amount with water, maybe some wild herb like lavender too, and it should work fine,” Laurel told her. “I carried a brand at my store like that. Kountry Kitchen Secrets, it was called.”
Bee bounced up and down excitedly while she sat. “Oh, you've got to tell us more! Seriously!”
Laurel took a sip of her coffee. “You don't really want to hear about all that, do you? I mean, there's lots of shampoos and soaps and stuff laying around everywhere. I don't think there's going to be a shortage of Cover Girl or Revlon any time in the near future...”
“Yeah, but we may not be able to get to it,” Bee pleaded, “or we may not have time to make a side trip! Or maybe we just won't be able to convince the others to stop just to pick up product!”
“Knowing your uncle, I can believe that,” Gwen said wryly.
“Uncle George just doesn't understand the need for maintenance.” Bee rolled her eyes. “He gets it when it comes to machines, but has no clue when it comes to women. At his age, too. I swear, he thinks we just roll out of bed looking this good.”
Laurel was feeling decidedly self-conscious at that point. She hadn't even brushed her hair yet. “Which reminds me, do either of you have any shampoo or soap I can use over here? I'll let you use mine next time. I just don't want to go digging through the Mimi's stores for it.”
“Sure, just let... Wait a minute! Are you telling me you haven't hit the bathroom yet?” Bee was staring at her.
“Um, no...” she admitted, attempting to hide behind her coffee. “Jake was up earlier on watch, and I figured I'd just wait for him so we could... um... that was too much information, wasn't it?”
Gwen was staring at her open-mouthed too.
“Guys, cut it out! I just woke up okay? I know I look like crap.”
The two on the table looked at each other calmly.
“See?” the blonde said.
George's niece nodded. “Till now, I wouldn't have believed it.”
“Told you so. “
“What?” The redhead asked, looking back and forth between them.
“Since we met? I honestly thought you were one of those snooty, stuck-up bitches, who flaunted how hot they were in everybody's face,” the green-haired girl admitted.
Laurel was speechless. “Bee, I would never—”
“No, no!” Beatrix said, waving her hands. “I get it now. You honestly don't know how hot you are!”
It's not that Laurel didn't try to pick her jaw up off the floor; it's that her brain was misfiring and she just wasn't able to.
Foster's niece hopped down off the table and to the woman's total surprise, hugged her quickly, almost making her spill her coffee all over the both of them. “This is great! I can't wait to start working on our makeovers!”
Laurel was both relieved by her reaction and a little uncomfortable at how long the hug was lasting. The green-haired girl's arms were surprisingly strong for her five-foot, six-inch frame and she wasn't giving Laurel the normal “girlie-lean” version, either. Bee mashed her body full-length against the taller woman's, jiggling slightly as she squeezed them together exuberantly. Jake's lover looked questioningly at Gwen, still sitting on the workstation. The blonde gave her a smile and shrugged, causing her breasts to rise slightly. That made her very aware of Bee pressing firmly up under her own, as she pillowed the side of her face atop them in her excitement over Laurel's un-bitchyness. Laurel felt more than a little uncomfortable and escaped from the exuberant girl’s embrace as quickly as she could.
Laurel patted Bee's shoulder awkwardly and tried not to slosh her mug, until she finally released her. The younger woman was smiling so widely, her head was in danger of splitting in half.
“Let me check my stuff,” Bee said. “I'm positive I have some Paul Mitchell left.”
* * *
Rae walked through the access door almost an hour later, just as Gwen and Foster's niece were finishing their respective showers.
Laurel's hair was still damp and she'd given up fighting the unruly lock for the moment, as she sipped another cup of coffee. It was clear to her that the alluring woman was upset about something. Rae stalked to their camp stove, grabbed one of the metal cups, and sloshed a healthy amount of liquid bean squeezings into it. She then stormed ove
r to where Laurel sat and plunked beside her on the worktable with a long, put-upon sigh.
“You know, I realize most male members of the human race are slobs. I also realize that it is the apocalypse and all, so already disorderly men won't feel much of a need to pick the fuck up after themselves. Do they have to intentionally create more work though?” Rae asked.
Laurel smiled. “I think it's a genetic imperative. What allowed you to have this rather obvious epiphany?”
“Someone rifled through the MREs (which are now sitting in a pile on the floor next to the Mimi), presumably to find the elusive sausage gravy pack,” Rae fumed. “When I find out which of them did it...”
“How to you know it was one of the guys?” she asked.
“Because they're the only ones who would check in the Hummer,” she replied patiently. “When you and Maggie and I went through the stores at my place? We put them all in the Mimi. The only ones that went in the Humvee were beef stew, chicken-a-la-king, chili-mac, and beans n' franks.”
“It could be one of the guys I suppose,” Laurel admitted, nodding and putting some Nivea on her arms. She'd never had a problem using whatever moisturizer happened to be handy at the time, but was thankful Bee had some of her favorite. Both her elbows and knees were a little carpet-burned and sensitive this morning. Jake loved it when she moved on top of him and... She tried not to think about it at that moment. She'd just had a shower and this evening was a long way off. “Then again, the new members of the group wouldn't know we did that either. Who do you think it was?”
“I'd have said George, if he weren't still asleep,” Rae replied, with a meaningful look towards the sounds of the fixer, still sawing logs inside the nearby office.
The redhead chuckled. “Either Kat or Elle could've done it too. Our good, blonde Sergeant is none too neat herself and while I love my roommate like a sister, I also know her.”
“Great.” Rae put her chin in her palm. “How do we figure out who the culprit is then?”
“Well, we could...” Laurel stopped, frowning. “Wait. Are you sure the MREs were out of the Hummer?”
“Absolutely.”
She had a strange look on her face. “But...why would somebody take them out of the Humvee, then lug them inside?”
Rae gave her a confused look. “I don't follow.”
Laurel slid slowly off the worktable with a worried expression and began moving towards the hangar door. “Something's... not right.”
“I didn't see anyone outside.” Rae hopped off the table and strode after her. “The area's still secure, so none of the infected got in.”
“That's not it,” Laurel replied as they left the hanger and started for the one housing the Mimi. “Why take the time to put the MREs inside? Why not just toss them back into the bed of the Hummer? No one would've noticed until we repacked it.”
“Maybe whoever did it would be the one doing the repacking?”
Laurel started into space for a moment then trotted outside and stared at the Mimi's hangar. Rae came to a halt beside her and slid the MP-5 around from her shoulder. Scanning the area, the gorgeous fixer wasn't able to locate a threat. What was stranger was the fact that both of the other woman's pistols were still secure in her ever-present, thigh holsters.
“Oh no,” Laurel's eyes were growing wider by the moment. She looked like she was frightened half to death and pissed off beyond all sense of the word, besides. “No-no-no-no-NO!”
Then she was sprinting for the hangar, red hair flying out behind her like a living banner. Rae hurried to catch up as Laurel flew through the door and almost ran straight into her as the evidently, panicking woman came to a sudden halt, ten feet inside the hatch. Jake's lover's head whipped around wildly, then she ran for the Mimi, with the still confused female fixer in tow.
“Laurel, what's wrong?” she called. “I don't see anything!”
Cornering around the transport's ramp, Laurel came sliding to a halt in front of the large pile of MREs. There were over a hundred and forty of them, two of George's seventy-two count boxes, dumped there. What Rae hadn't noticed in her initial irritation however, were the rest of the supplies and equipment that lay just beyond, half-obscured by the pile of army-issue meals.
“Where the hell did all of this come from?” she asked, quizzically.
Instead of answering, Laurel raced up the Mimi's loading ramp and into the belly of the huge, pink transport.
“Jake?” She yelled. “Jake, answer me!”
She blew through the rear section towards the vehicles prow without pausing, worry building in her guts. Laurel didn't want to believe what her brain was suggesting and began bargaining with the gods as she crossed the threshold to the second module.
Let him be up front, she pleaded. Let him be here and whole and safe. Let it just be me being paranoid and stupid. Please, please, please, please, please!
She came to a halt again, just after passing through the airlock door to the front of the Mimi.
“Laurel, tell me what the hell is going on!” Rae demanded, ducking though the hatch and crowding in behind her.
Her companion didn't answer, but instead slowly walked to the secondary seats and reaching into one, picked up—
Jake's tac-vest. Rae moved forward to see that his Glock and large Hammer pistol, both still in their thigh holsters, were resting in the seat as well. Laurel pulled a folded piece of printer paper out of the tactical vest's pocket and started to read, as a sneaking suspicion began to build in Rae's mind.
“Jake's gone to meet Poole,” she said a minute later, still reading.
“What?”
Laurel lowered the note. “He says they promised to let Karen go, if Jake turned himself over. He's going to trade himself for her. We need George.”
Rae was shocked. “Why would he think Poole would do that? He has to know once that guy's got his hands on him, there's no way he'll let the girl go! With everything we know about Poole? He wouldn't be above hanging on to Karen just to keep Jake under control. They'll both be his permanent guests! That's…”
“Rae! Focus!” Laurel yelled. “Go. Get. George! Now!”
As the femme-fixer turned and ran for the rear of the Mimi, she folded Jake's tactical vest, placed it back on the plush officer chair. She took a deep breath, took up the writer's note and read it again.
Laurel,
Poole made contact last night. He demanded the Mimi and for all of us to turn ourselves over to him, or he's going to give Karen to his men.
I can't allow that to happen.
I managed to convince him to take me in trade. For some reason, he's willing to accept that and I've taken the Hummer, after unloading most of its supplies. He's agreed to let Karen leave with it and she's going to meet you at the location I've marked on the map in my tac-vest. You all need to move today, in case he's able to get our …your, current location out of me.
George and Rae can get you the rest of the way. Give Kat the Humvee. She, Elle, and Leo are a good team, so let them continue on as the scouting party. Gwen seems to have potential as a marksman, so you may want to send her along as well, after some training with the Longarm rifle.
I know you won't agree with what I'm doing, but it's the only way to free Karen, at least without putting everyone at risk. You all agreed that I was the one who could lead us west. Well, this is what it's going to take to get you there.
I want you to go.
No, I don't, actually. What I want, is to live to a ripe old age with the woman I've been searching this little mud-ball for, so I can wake up thirty years from now and see her lying next to me. What I want is to not be such a coward and tell you... well, it doesn't really matter now.
You've been the best part of my life. Before we met, was a dream. Nothing but a bad dream. If this is my fate, at least I have the memory of the time we spent together to give me the strength to endure it.
Goodbye.
-Jake
Laurel felt her knees go, but she couldn't fee
l when they hit the transport's metal floor. She didn't see the floor as she bent over; clutching Jake's note to her breast, half crumpling it while crippling fear stole away her ability to think. Blind panic turned her thoughts into a confused jumble that raced past her eyes and set her limbs to shaking violently.
A scream tore its way from her throat. It echoed through the hangar so loudly, the others back in the Beechcraft’s prior home heard it, even before Rae burst through the door yelling for George.
The old fixer was slow exiting the office. He came staggering through the doorway on rubbery legs, holding a rising knot on his forehead. Laurel's scream had jolted him out of a dead sleep and he'd banged it on the edge of the desk he'd been lying next to, as he sat up suddenly.
After hearing what Jake had done (and letting loose a string of truly vile curses), he told the others they had fifteen minutes to gather everything, before they moved out and ran back to the Mimi's hangar with Rae at his heels. They found Laurel almost prone on the floor, holding herself up with shaking arms, weeping.
George moved to pull her gently upright. “Red. Red! Come on, girl! You can't do this now. We've gotta go.”
“He's gone,” She sobbed, eyes frantic. “George, he's gone! He's going to trade himself for—”
“Rae told me,” Foster replied. “I know yer hurtin' right now, Red, but you've got ta pull it together! We need to get our people movin' right now!”
“B-but…”
“Laurel!” he yelled into her face as he gripped her shoulders roughly. The aging fixer had never used her name before. He'd always called her Red, or Girlie, or something to that effect. It shocked her into a relative calm and momentarily allowed her to get control of her fear.
“Come on, girl. We need you with us,” he said gently, pulling her up to her feet.
George helped her over to sit at the systems terminal and Laurel put her face in her hands. Her world was spinning and she was struggling to keep from being sucked down into the hole that seemed to have opened beneath her feet.
Rotting to the Core (Keep Your Crowbar Handy Book 2) Page 18
