by Keith Taylor
He raised himself to his feet and made his way across the room to the doorway, the bottle forgotten on the counter.
“It’s your call, girl. Entirely up to you.”
He shook the bag again, and as he walked out onto the forecourt Boomer padded to the door. She looked over toward Warren’s cairn and then back to Jack, torn between following the snacks and staying by her master’s side.
“Totally up to you,” Jack repeated, still shaking the bag as he walked. “I’m not pushing you either way.”
Now he reached the road. A few dozen more yards and the asphalt would curve around the bend, hiding him in the trees. Still Boomer stood at the gas station door, her head low to the ground, whining unhappily at the choice she had to make.
Jack smiled, pulling from his pocket a vacuum packed strip of jerky, and when he pulled away the wrapping Boomer immediately stood to attention and panted excitedly.
“I'm not making the decision for you,” he called back, taking a bite out of the dried meat as he walked.
Now the trees began to close in around him once more, and beneath the canopy the moonlight tried and failed to break through. The gas station behind him began to slip out of view.
And then came a bark, and another, and in the silence of the forest Jack heard the pad of Boomer’s feet on the asphalt. She appeared beside him at a run, skidding to a halt and looking up at the treat in his hand.
“What, you want this?” he asked, pointing to the jerky.
Boomer whined, licking her chops, and when Jack lowered it within reach she barely stopped to chew. The jerky vanished down her throat in an instant, and while she was slobbering over it Jack began to walk again.
He’d only gone ten steps before Boomer returned to his side, keeping pace. “You’re gonna come along for the ride, huh?” Boomer looked up at him and let out a bark.
“Well, OK, you can come if you really want to, but it’s not all peanuts and jerky, understand? That’s just a treat because we’re sad about Warren. As soon as we find Emily you’re back on the healthy stuff, you got me? I'm not gonna let you get fat.”
Boomer just panted.
“You’ll love Emily, I promise. She’ll play with you all the time. Karen… well, Karen maybe not so much. Karen might try to make you eat broccoli.”
Boomer let out a whine, padding away ahead of him.
“I know, buddy, I know,” he replied, speeding up to keep pace. “I hate it too.”
΅
CHAPTER FOUR
AX TO A GUNFIGHT
KAREN LEAPED DOWN the steps three at a time, almost turning her ankle in the clumsy work boots as she rounded the bends, but she didn’t have time to worry about injury. The sound of the gunshot played over and over in her head, and it was all she could do to keep herself from imagining what she’d find when she reached the bottom of the stairs.
She couldn’t remember if Emily’s scream had stopped at the same moment the gun had fired. It had all happened so fast she couldn’t keep it straight in her head, but her imagination was running faster than she was. The more she thought about it the more she was certain her little girl’s scream had been silenced by the shot.
She pushed the terrible thought from her mind, turning the final corner and throwing herself down the last flight of steps. Now she was dripping with sweat in the heavy jacket, and she knew she was inhaling the dust that had settled on it by the lungful, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t take the time to pull it off.
Below her the bottom of the staircase came into view, and she finally she forced herself to slow down. She could hear her own panting breath echoing off the walls, and the clomp of her boots against the stone sounded deafening. With a superhuman effort she managed to resist the urge to sprint the final hallway to the office door.
At the foot of the staircase she saw a pool of what looked like vomit dripping down the last few steps, thick and bile green. She skirted past it cautiously, ducking down to get a view of the corridor beyond, dreading what she’d find.
The door was open at the end of the hallway, swung back on its hinges and hanging loose, and even from the far end of the corridor Karen could see that the wood around the handle was splintered. Someone had forced it open.
She moved closer, biting her lip to keep from calling Emily’s name, and as the sound of low voices crept out from the office ahead she forced herself to stop in her tracks. The fabric of the jacket and pants rustled as she walked, and she was certain that anybody in the office would hear her coming from a mile away.
With exaggerated care she slipped herself out of the high vis clothing and set it down in a heap on the floor, leaving her stripped down once again to her underwear and boots, and then she took the grip of the ax in her hand and brought it up to her shoulder, ready to swing.
She approached the door slowly, struggling to control her breathing, straining to make out the voices in the office beyond.
“Just settle down, OK?”
That sounded like Ramos, his voice slow, steady and soothing.
“We can deal with this, understand? I’m a doctor. I can help you, but first you have to help me. Why don’t you start by telling me your name?”
Another voice emerged, this one louder. On edge. Panicked.
“It’s Jared. What’s happening to me? Did… did you do this to me?”
“No, Jared,” replied Ramos, struggling to keep his voice steady. “It was the bomb. Do you remember the bomb? It… it made you sick. You understand what I’m telling you? The radiation from the bomb has made you sick. That’s why you’re feeling so confused right now. You have a high fever, and I need to bring it down to help you get better. You just need to put the gun down and let me help. Do you think you can do that for me, son?”
For a moment Karen could only hear breathing, but then the newcomer yelled out, his voice terrifyingly vicious. “Don’t come closer! I’ll shoot her! I swear to God I’ll shoot her right in the head if you take one more step.”
When he fell silent a new sound arose, this one much softer. It was weeping, muffled and low, and Karen didn’t need more than a moment to recognize the voice as Emily’s. She gripped the ax handle tighter, clenching her jaw as tears began to well at her eyes.
Ramos spoke again. “OK, Jared, I’m going to stay right here until you tell me different. I won’t come a step closer, OK?”
Karen silently lowered herself to the ground, heart thumping in her throat as she crept towards the door. She needed to see what was going on in the room, but she knew that if the man saw her there was a chance he might—
No! Don’t think about that, she scolded herself. She knew it would do her no good to imagine what Jared might do to Emily if he was provoked. She took a deep breath, pressed her cheek against the door frame and peered around.
Ramos was standing on the far side of the room, dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and a t-shirt a couple sizes too small, holding out his hands palms forward as if he were trying to calm a wild animal. Halfway between him and Karen was the newcomer, Jared, his back to the door.
Jared was a tall, skinny man dressed in cargo shorts and a loud Hawaiian shirt, his shoulder length blond hair thin and straggly. Beneath his knees the skin of his legs was bright red, as if sunburned, but Karen looked beyond the legs.
In front of him was Emily. He was holding her above the ground, his pink arm wrapped around her throat, and in his other hand… in his other hand he held a gun against her head.
Karen almost growled. The rage was visceral, uncontrollable. She raised herself from the ground and squeezed the ax handle so tight it felt like her knuckles might burst through the skin, but as she stood Ramos finally noticed her from the other side of the room. He kept his eyes on Jared, but he firmly shook his head and held up both hands.
“We’ll all just stay exactly where we are, OK? None of us will move a muscle. I don’t want to see anyone get hurt. This will all be over soon. Understand?” He was looking directly at Jared, but it was o
bvious that the message was intended for Karen.
She stood back, her fists clenched white against the ax handle, tears in her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to run up behind the bastard holding her daughter and bury the ax in the back of his head. She wanted to crack open his skull and watch the light fade from his eyes just for daring to lay a finger on her little girl. She wanted him to suffer a lifetime of agony for every second of fear he’d caused Emily, but somehow she managed to hold the anger at bay. Ramos seemed to have a plan, and she had to trust that he knew what he was doing.
“Why don’t you point the gun at me, son?” Ramos suggested quietly. “Come on, there’s no reason to scare the girl. Go on, it’s OK. You can point it at me.”
Karen couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This was his plan?
She watched open mouthed as the man raised the gun hesitantly from Emily, and as he leveled it at Ramos’ chest she was overcome with guilt as a thought slipped into her mind unbidden.
At least if he kills someone it’ll be Ramos, not Emily.
She couldn’t believe she’d allowed that thought to bubble up. Of course she believed it. There wasn’t a mother alive who wouldn’t happily sacrifice a town full of people just to keep her child from skinning their knee, but they knew they were never supposed to consciously think it. It was supposed to stay deep down, an instinct rather than a fully formed thought, because even though every parent secretly felt the same it was still too shameful and monstrous a truth to admit, even to yourself.
“That’s good,” said Ramos, somehow managing to keep his composure as Jared pointed the gun square at his chest. “That’s real good. Now how about you let go of the girl and take a seat. Your arm’s gotta be hurting holding her up like that. It’s OK. Remember, you’ve got the gun pointed at me. You’re safe, OK? You can just let the girl go and rest while we figure this out. Go ahead, son.”
Karen watched as Jared took a slow step back. He did seem to be struggling a little under Emily’s weight. She ducked quickly behind the door frame as he turned to look at the chair behind him, and she pressed her head against the wall and listened until she heard the sound of wood creaking. He’d taken a seat.
“I’m not letting the girl go,” Jared said. “I’m… You gotta fix me, but I’m not letting her go.” He was slurring his words now. A moment ago his voice had been full of anger and energy, but now he sounded drunk.
“That’s fine, Jared. As long as you keep the gun trained on me you can do whatever you want. You're in charge here.” Ramos had dropped his voice low, almost to a whisper. He sounded a little like Jack back in the old days, back when he used to tell bedtime stories to Emily and Robbie, his deep, quiet voice soothing them to sleep. “We’re gonna get you all fixed up, son. You just relax. There’s nothing to worry about any more.”
Karen peered around the door frame again, and now she saw the man leaning back in the chair. He still had a firm grasp on Emily, but now her feet were touching the floor. The pressure was off her throat, and the grip seemed looser. Even the gun…
What the hell?
Karen watched as the barrel of the gun began to slowly drift down. First it slipped away from Ramos’ chest, and he continued to speak in a soothing voice as it ran down his legs. He held up a hand again, urging Karen to stay back, and as the barrel finally began to point towards the ground he started to move forward. Just a couple of steps at a time, like a kid playing grandma’s footsteps.
Jared was falling asleep!
Still Ramos crept forward. He was halfway across the room now, maybe a half dozen steps from the chair. In a few more seconds he’d be standing in front of him, and he could reach down and—
The grip around Emily’s neck suddenly loosened, and Emily realized she could slip her head out carefully from beneath it. Ramos raised a finger to his lips, looking at the little girl with wide, warning eyes, urging her to be quiet, but Karen noticed the problem before he did.
Emily couldn’t hold up his arm. She’d managed to lift it high enough to slip out from his grip, but now she was trembling under the weight. Any second now she’d have to drop it, and when she did…
The moment came, and Karen pushed off the door frame and launched herself forward. As Emily dropped his arm Jared suddenly jolted awake, confused and agitated. He raised the gun with a snap, pointing it once again towards Ramos’ chest as he yelled out.
“What? What have you done to me?”
Jared squeezed the trigger in the same instant Karen swung the ax. It came down from her shoulder in a clumsy arc, and she felt it connect with his skull at the exact same moment the flash burst from the barrel of the gun.
The ax was the wrong way around. Karen caught the man a blow to the ear with the handle, not the blade, and rather than bury itself in his skull it only knocked him off balance, sending his arm flying up and to the left.
But it was enough to save the Doc. As the barrel flashed the gun shifted away from his chest. The bullet zipped past him, catching him in the arm, and he tumbled forward onto his attacker before he had time to get off another shot.
Beneath Ramos’ weight Jared fell out of the chair, the gun sliding across the floor, and Karen reached out and tugged Emily clear as Ramos pushed himself up and tried to rain blows on the newcomer.
He’d drawn back his fist for the first punch before he realized it wouldn’t be necessary. Beneath him Jared lay rigid, his arms and legs locked out straight, his body convulsing as if a current was passing through it.
“What’s happening?” Karen demanded, pulling Emily close.
Ramos rolled off the man and grabbed his arm, pressing down on the patch of blood spreading out across the sleeve of his t-shirt. “It’s OK! Don’t touch him.” He gasped, struggling for breath like a asthmatic at the finish line of a marathon, but he managed to hold up his hand. “Just… just stay back. He’s not a threat any more.”
Almost as soon as Ramos spoke Jared proved his words to be true. With a final jerk he coughed, a stream of pink frothy blood drooling down his cheek, and a moment later he fell silent and still.
Karen clutched Emily in a tight hug, ignoring the pain in her chest, and her daughter sobbed as she pressed her face against her mom’s bare shoulder.
“It’s OK, pumpkin, it’s OK. He can’t hurt you now. Mommy’s here.” She looked to Ramos. “Doc, what the hell happened? Who was he?”
Ramos panted. “That,” he said, baring his teeth to hold back the pain, “is what I hope doesn’t happen to you.”
Karen shook her head, confused. “What do you mean?”
Ramos nodded to the body, the frothy blood mingling with a stream drying beneath his nose. “Acute radiation sickness,” he managed to wheeze. “He was outside too long.”
Finally Karen was thinking clearly enough to notice Ramos’ injury. The blood had spread to a patch a couple of inches across now, and from the look on his face he was in terrible pain.
“My God, Doc, we have to get you fixed up. What should I do?”
Ramos shook his head, speaking through clenched teeth. “He only clipped me. It’s just a graze, I’ll live,” he panted. “Wash. Now. You don’t want to end up dying like him.”
Karen stared at the spreading patch of blood. “But Doc, we have to get you—”
“It might already be too late for you,” he said, raising his injured arm and pointing to the bathroom. “Go! Now!”
“But Doc, we have to—”
“For God’s sake, Karen, look at your hands!”
Karen let go of Emily and held up her hands, and as soon as she saw them she felt a wave of nausea and dread. They were bright pink and swollen, dry and cracked, ending in a sharp line at her wrists where the skin returned to creamy white. It took her a moment to make the connection, but when she did she stared down at the body on the floor.
It was the fallout. Wherever the air outside had touched the skin it had burned her, and now she realized the same thing had happened to the man’s legs. That was
why his exposed skin glowed pink. Now she felt the pain in her hands, the throbbing sting of a bad sunburn, and she realized she felt it in her face, too.
“Doc…” She gingerly touched her face, her fingers trembling. Even the lightest touch felt like the drag of fingernails against her skin.
“What’s happening to me?”
΅
CHAPTER FIVE
WITH THAT WILD BEAST?
BY THE THIRD hour on the road Jack glared at Boomer with undisguised envy. He was jealous of the way she casually padded along beside him as if this were just a pleasant walk in the woods, occasionally wandering over to sniff an interesting tree or scoop up a branch in her slobbering jaws. The miles seemed to have no effect on her. She looked like she could keep walking all the way to Modesto.
Jack, on the other hand…
“Hold up a second, girl,” he called out, wincing as he lowered himself to the ground at the side of the road. The asphalt was slick with rain and mud, but he’d long since stopped worrying about the state of his clothes. A muddy ass was the least of his concerns.
“Ow ow ow, oh Jesus,” he whispered, groaning as he picked at the laces of his once shiny black Oxfords. “How are you doing this, Boomer?” At the sound of her name the lab wandered back towards him, tilting her head as if to ask what’s up?
“Ten miles. We must have walked ten freaking miles without seeing a single car, and you still look fresh out of the shower. And look at me,” he said, slipping his shoe carefully over his raw heel and rolling down a dress sock. “Look at this damned blister. It’s almost a second foot!”
The blister on Jack’s heel was translucent and weeping, a stinging flap of skin rubbing against the angry wound where it had burst and broken away. He clenched his teeth as he carefully rolled the sock back on, and when he moved to his other foot he didn’t even bother to check it. He knew it was just as bad without looking, so he just slipped off his shoe and left the sock alone.
