Aftermath - 02

by D. J. Molles

  Lost in a tumult of thoughts, LaRouche drove on autopilot. The same way Harper could remember he would drive home from work, thinking about different things both good and bad, and then suddenly he would be home with no recollection of the drive he had just made. Somehow, without thinking, he’d managed to avoid collisions, stay on the road, and stop for all the stops signs and traffic lights.

  In the dead world of Smithfield, there was no need for traffic safety, as there were no other cars to worry about but the one you were driving. But in that state of instinctive driving, LaRouche’s subconscious mind registered the intersections, the traffic signals (even though they were dark), and the broad white line where you were supposed to stop.

  And LaRouche applied the brakes, slowing down for that stop.

  With faint note of curiosity, Harper asked, “Why you stopping?”

  LaRouche realized what he was doing, even as he looked both ways down the intersection—first right, then left—and he prepared to take his foot off the brake and continue on when he saw the movement far to their left and several blocks down.

  He straightened in his seat and squashed the brakes. “Shit!”

  Harper and Miller were instantly alarmed, grabbing up their assault rifles.

  Several intersections east of them, moving in the opposite direction, the three men observed a green Humvee rumble past, the distant figure of a man on top, pointing the .50 caliber machine gun dead ahead. Following this, were three pickup trucks.

  “It’s fucking Milo,” LaRouche whispered, as though he could be heard.

  As the last of the pickup trucks passed through the intersection, Harper’s hand shot out, jabbing at the air with a pointed finger. “That’s our truck! That’s our truck! Milo’s got our truck!”

  Miller was beside himself. “We gotta get it back, boss!”

  LaRouche looked at them both like they were crazy. “Are you kidding me?”

  Harper didn’t realize he was grimacing. The thought of trying to get their pickup truck back was horrendous, it spiked his blood pressure and reminded him of those days in the office when something bad was coming down the pipeline. But oh, this was so much worse. The juxtaposition almost choked a weird laugh out of him. A stressful day two months ago was when the boss was mad at you because you fucked something up. A stressful day today was when you had to get in a gun battle so you could feed your family.

  My, how times change...

  “We gotta get it back!” Miller repeated, as though Harper hadn’t heard him the first time.

  It would be so much easier to go back to Camp Ryder, a coward, but a coward with no bullet holes in him. It would be easier, and it would be safer. Just to give up. Give in. Resign yourself to your fate. Gather your family around you and starve to death eating dirt and twigs and all the stupid shit people do when they are trying to ease that gnawing ache in their stomachs. Yes, even that seemed better than trying to get the truck back.

  But it wasn’t about him.

  It was about Marie, who stretched a couple bags of rice and beans because she had the stalwart belief that help was on the way. It was about Bus, who stood like a proud stone monument but inside was scared to death of failing so many people, because they were all looking to him, and he was looking to Harper. It was about Captain Harden, with 18 stitches in his back and a missing tooth, sitting in a dark room with his hands taped behind his back, who did it all for no other reason than he believed in something bigger than himself. Captain Harden, who fought like a wild animal to save a few innocent lives, who even now prepared to face a madman alone, having released his companions with the simple promise that he could take care of himself. And if it was possible to die of shame, Harper was sure it was the fate that awaited him should he go back to Camp Ryder empty handed.

  It was do or die time.

  “Yeah,” Harper said. “We gotta get it back.”

  ***

  Everything has a catalyst. Lee knew this from personal experience. Anyone who said they were the same unchanged person they were a year prior was either naive or lying. That held true for people before everything fell apart, and for the entirety of human existence. People changed. Every minute, every experience, it eroded you like eons of wind and water made canyons through solid rock. Sometimes those experiences were small, almost imperceptible, changing you in ways you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Other times those experiences were nuclear blasts that reshaped you in an instant. Whatever the catalyst for change, no one was the same person they were.

  The catalyst for Lee was the day he found out that his morality, his code of ethics, and all the strong ideals that he held as a young man could be turned on and off like a lightbulb. Like every human being that ever lived, there was a savage little animal stuffed deep down inside of him, kept under lock and key by societies views of “good” and “right.” And it only took the right catalyst to bring it out.

  When he was twelve years old, he’d body-checked Rudy Stovall during a pickup game of flag football after school. Rudy Stovall had gone sprawling. This was unacceptable because he was a year older and had a girlfriend who, unfortunately, happened to be watching at the time. His ass and pride hurt, Rudy immediately jumped up and the two of them got into a little scuffle, at which point a teacher walking to his car broke it up.

  Lee thought that was the end of that, but Rudy’s pride needed further vindication. So the next day when Lee walked into the locker room to change for PE, Rudy slammed him from behind and began pummeling him in the face. Lee remembered first the shock, as he bounced off his own locker, and then the burning indignation when he suddenly realized what Rudy Stovall had just done.

  He’d attacked him from behind! Didn’t even give him a fair warning!

  As the bigger kid’s fists were smashing into his face, Lee remembered thinking quite clearly, This isn’t fair! He’s not fighting fair! Because a fair fight when you were twelve years old was when you arranged the time and the place and you duked it out—no biting, kicking, or scratching—in front of the flag pole, surrounded by a ring of your chanting peers.

  And that was when the switch was thrown, and Lee realized that fairness, and truthfulness, and honor, and morality were all excellent ideals to espouse and to practice in times of peace. But when the shit hits the fan, there’s no such thing as a fair fight. There’s only winners and losers, and the only way to win is to be quicker, more aggressive, more psychotic than your enemy. To act with brutal decisiveness and end it as soon as possible.

  So that twelve year old Lee sank his butt down to the ground and then upper-cut Rudy Stovall right in his groin. As Rudy toppled into the locker with a groan, Lee scuttled out from underneath him and slammed the locker door in Rudy’s face three times, breaking his nose, popping out both of his front teeth and splitting his upper lip all the way to his nostrils.

  Rudy and Lee were both expelled and sent to separate schools.

  It was the first and only fight of his childhood, but it had taught him a valuable lesson about human nature, how people were just another species of animal, and like any animal, from the biggest predators, to the smallest scavengers, most human beings could only be pushed so far before they lashed out.

  Lee ruminated on this in the stale darkness of the hospital room. He sat against the far wall, staring at the door directly across from him and feeling strangely calm. Save for his thoughts and memories, his senses were tuned outwards, listening, feeling the vibrations as people bustled past the door, hearing their hushed conversations.

  “He’s here!”

  “Shit! Get the fuck in your room!”

  “I don’t wanna be anywhere near that psycho.”

  He listened, and he waited. He waited like a trap-door spider, tucked underneath its little rock, huddled in its dark space, nothing but patience and instinct. Waiting for the right moment. For an opportunity. For a mistake.

  The movement outside reached a crescendo and tapered off.

  There was a long and empty
silence in the hospital. The sound of a dark house, everyone inside asleep. Only they weren’t sleeping, they were waiting. With the hospital quiet, Lee twisted himself onto his feet and began looking around once again. The length of time he’d spent in the dark room with only the red emergency lights had given his eyes time to adjust, and now with the relative certainty that no one would be barging in for the next minute or so as they were all laying out the red carpet for Milo and his crew, Lee felt it was a good time to search the room for anything he could use.

  The room was completely emptied, even the curtain that partitioned the room had been torn down. The phone had been ripped off the wall, and for the life of him, Lee couldn’t figure out why. Even if they did use the room as a holding cell—which he was beginning to think they did—there were no working phone lines. Perhaps they were concerned that someone would use the cord.

  But Lee wasn’t looking for a cord. He was looking for something sharp. Anything with a point, or a jagged edge. They had used several layers of duct tape to bind his wrists behind his back, and while strong and unyielding to his efforts to stretch it and break it, duct tape was relatively easy to sheer. If he could poke a hole in it, or cut through even just a bit of it, he might have enough to rip it off his wrists.

  Because that was step one: Get your hands free.

  He had already tried pulling his hands underneath his feet so he could at least have them in the front, but he was not as flexible as he would have liked. So he was back to square one.

  Find a sharp object.

  Four times he circled the room, staring up and down on the walls, thinking to himself that there must be something, something he could use to cut through the tape. A piece of plastic he could break into a jagged edge, or a corner of some piece of metal...

  Somewhere further in the building, a door slammed shut.

  Voices.

  Lee growled to himself, “Only fucking hospital room in the world with nothing sharp in it.”

  The voices drew closer until Lee could make out several distinct speakers involved in a heated discussion, though he couldn’t quite make out the words. They stalled and Lee imagined they were somewhere around the nurses’ station. Frustrated, he quickly crossed the room and sat on the same wall as he had before, the plaster still warm from his body heat. He continued to wait.

  Whatever the voices were talking about, someone had the final word and the conversation ended. The shuffling sound of several pairs of feet replaced the talking and trundled down the hallway where they stopped in front of the hospital room door that Lee stared at. Someone whimpered pitifully and unintelligibly. The lock clacked and the door handle quivered. Lee squinted his eyes, preparing himself for the daylight to come lancing through.

  The door opened and he could see that the hall was full of figures that milled about in front of the doorway. He tried to count heads, but the backlighting and Lee’s own slitted eyes obscured what he was looking at. He licked his lips and for the first time realized his mouth was dry.

  The whimpering continued. Now the voice was familiar. “Why won’t you let me see Nicole? What did you do to her?”

  The shapes in the doorway shifted around and Lee opened his eyes a bit more, bringing things into focus. He saw the scrawny back, the long and scraggly hair, wet with sweat and body oils and rain. Doc had his back turned to Lee and was speaking to someone, but not receiving the answer he wanted.

  And then Doc was being pushed out of the way, and a tall, thin man stepped forward. Lee could still not make out the man’s face, but Lee could tell the man was looking directly at him. Then the man spread his arms out and laughed. “Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph! Ha ha! Could it be? Do my fucking eyes deceive me?”

  The man’s voice was strangely melodic, but there was something in there that didn’t sit right with Lee, like the one violin in the orchestra not tuned properly, a discordant note floating out amongst the rest and lending the whole thing a sour tone.

  Lee felt his heartbeat increase.

  He’s crazy...

  The thin man sauntered forward, his hands still outstretched as though he were about to embrace Lee as an old friend and all the while that giddy chuckle kept coming out of him, like the kid who knew the secret no one else knew. He reached the back wall where Lee remained motionless and knelt down.

  Now the red emergency lights played over this stranger’s face, revealing a fresh gash across his face that had been stitched closed with black thread, and eyes that seemed to glow in the dark with some great and sordid mirth. He spoke again, this time quieter, more reserved, as though he were trying to control his satisfaction. Like he didn’t want to be rude.

  “You must be the ‘Captain.’ That is what everyone seems to call you.”

  Lee nodded. “You must be Milo. No one really likes you.”

  Milo shrugged and placed a hand on Lee’s shoulder. “People are...” He considered his words. “Small minded. I’ll be the first to admit I won’t ever win a popularity contest. But I do what needs to be done, and I don’t ever let my humanity stand in the way of my survival.” He smiled and his teeth seemed to glow crimson. “I’m sure that’s something you can understand.”

  If he was waiting for Lee’s answer, there was none forthcoming.

  He leaned in a bit closer to Lee, his voice conspiratorial. “I understand at this point in time, you may not like me, Captain. But I assure you, I don’t come to cause harm to anyone. Unfortunately, sometimes they force my hand and I’m sure that has resulted in some, hmm, inflated stories concerning my methods. However, I hope that you, as a reasonable man, can see that we both have something to gain from being in a mutually beneficial relationship.”

  Lee turned his back slightly. “Can you get this tape off my wrists?”

  Milo laughed. “No. No, we won’t be getting too comfortable with each other just yet. I’d like to make this situation work, but you have a track record of causing me problems. I’d just as soon keep you restrained.”

  “That’s probably smart,” Lee admitted.

  “Before I waste any more of my time attempting to build a rapport with you,” Milo rubbed his palms together. “Do you have any intention of cooperating with me?”

  “Cooperating how?”

  A brief swipe of sweat from his face and Lee could see the thinly veiled impatience there. “Yes, well, it’s my understanding that you have a device. A device that allows you to locate and access bunkers that contains items. Items that I need.”

  “Oh.” Lee frowned. “No, those aren’t for you.”

  Milo’s face became deadpan. “But they are. Because I own you, Captain. Whether you like it or not.” He cleared his throat. “I would truly—truly—like to be civil with you. I bring you the device, you show me what there is to see, I go collect the items that I need, and I leave you alone. It’s just that simple.”

  Lee shook his head slowly. “That’s a lie.”

  The two men stared at each other in silence.

  “You’re a broken man, Captain.” Milo spoke almost with pity. “You’re fighting a fight you can never win, for a country that no longer exists, in a manner which has become outdated. You cling to your goodness and righteousness and all the comfortable teachings you grew up with, but have you bothered to look around lately? Have you noticed how different things are? These are violent times, Captain. These are cruel times, and no one hates it more than me.” He looked away from Lee. “I would like to be idle, as I have been for the last years of my life, let myself slip quietly back into a life of addiction and dependence. Because its easy. But there’s no room for it now. There’s no one else to depend on, so I have to outgrow that part of myself. We have a job to do, you must see that. The infected threat must be eradicated before we can rebuild. Or do you plan to skip that step all together?”

  “No,” Lee worked enough saliva into his mouth to moisten it. “You’re right. It is necessary. But you’re just a criminal, Milo. Just a thug. No one wants you, and they certainly don’t
need you. And I won’t help you.”

  Milo stood, his voice cold now. “Fine. I hate that you forced me into this situation. I wish we could have worked something out.”

  Lee matched his tone. “We can’t work anything out.”

  “Noted.” Milo spun on his heels and strode for the door.

  Lurching from a dark shadow, Doc tried to grab his arm. “Where’s Nicole? Where is she?”

  Milo jerked away from him and backhanded him in the face. Lee noticed for the first time the bloody bandaging wrapped around Doc’s left hand and wondered what was missing underneath all of that. A giant man stepped in and threw Doc to the floor, and then there was the distinct sound of duct tape being pulled from the roll, and Doc’s hands were secured with tape behind his back, lying facedown just a few feet in front of Lee.

  Doc didn’t resist, and he didn’t look at Lee. His face was covered with stringy hair, so that Lee couldn’t see his eyes. He just kept mumbling to himself, droning on and asking incessantly for whoever this Nicole lady was. All the while, Milo stood and watched with a vacant stare. When the men were finished restraining Doc, Milo nudged his arm with the toe of one of his boots.

  “Doc.” Milo sounded far away. “I take no pride in this, but I’ve been using you for the last few weeks. Nicole guaranteed your cooperation, and you were such an enormous help to us, that I simply didn’t want to lose you. But I suppose all good things must come to an end.” Milo bent over Doc’s prostrate form. “Come on, now. Surely you suspected. Pretty girl like that, in with a bunch of low-lifes like Big G here. What did you think was going to happen?”

  It seemed as though the life had left Doc.

  He remained as still as a corpse on the floor.

  Milo patted Doc on the back. “Yes, I’m sure you knew already. You just didn’t want to admit it. I think it was Big G that had her last, and I’m sure he would tell you that she was...well, she was probably too fucked up on pills to remember much of anything. Or feel much of anything. So I hope you can take some comfort in that.”