Disintegration ba-1

by Anthony DeCosmo

  Trevor mused, "Just an all-American girl."

  "What’s that?" Shepherd did not hear.

  Trevor ignored him. "So what about Scott? Does she remember what happened to him?"

  Shepherd closed his eyes again as he shook his head ‘no’. His disposition answered Trevor’s next question before asked: there would be no more search parties.

  Trevor asked, "Why can’t she remember what happened?"

  Sal said, "Yo, a bump on the head can mess you up good. It’ll come back to her."

  Trevor, through the window, saw Nina appear and stroll along the driveway with an HK MP5 on her shoulder. She walked slow, almost sluggish, with her head bent down as if trying to slip by life unnoticed which, he thought, might be why she kept otherwise attractive hair pulled tight in a boring ponytail.

  She knelt to pat the head of a curious Rottweiler.

  Lori Brewer entered the scene from the opposite direction. She approached Nina with the aim of striking a conversation. Trevor watched but could not hear.

  "You’re thinking of staying and she doesn’t like that."

  Shep eased in his chair, scratched his chin, and told the truth.

  "She thinks we need to keep moving. She doesn’t think there’s anything here for us."

  "And you?"

  "Like I said, Nina’s got a head for fighting. But she’s still just a kid, you hear? Seems to me she don’t always see the big picture."

  Trevor surmised, "She looks to you."

  Sal cut directly to the heart of the matter: "Shep is the only person she’ll listen to."

  Stone understood. "She’d have a tough time here; a tough time following."

  "Not just her."

  "Oh," Trevor swung about pulling his eyes from the window.

  Shepherd told him, "I’ve been in the force for twenty odd years. I led a platoon in the Army. I’ve fought for guys with medals on their chests. So you can see my point."

  "Why should you follow me?"

  Jon broke in, "How about ‘cause we saved your ass?"

  Trevor raised a hand to calm Brewer.

  "Fair question. You’d be an idiot not to ask it."

  "Nothing personal, you understand," Shepherd replied.

  Trevor asked, "The estate, the stock piles, and the K9s aren’t enough?"

  "Well, I am impressed. Lots of planning went into this. As for the thing you can do with the dogs, that’s a pretty neat trick. But to be honest, that’s likely to make me more jittery."

  "Sure," Trevor admitted. "Not something you’d expect in the old world."

  Brewer asked, "So you’re not going to stay?"

  Trevor answered for Shep, "He didn’t say that. He wants me to convince him I’m a guy worth following. I mean, they made it all this way on their own. Why hand it over to a stranger now, right?"

  The old policeman nodded as he listened.

  "I’m not going to roll over and do tricks. I can’t call lightning from the sky or part the waters of the lake. The only thing I can do is tell you what’s going on here."

  "Yeah?" Corso waved his hand. "What’s that?"

  Trevor left no room for debate. "We’re done running. We may hide a little longer, but we’re done running. I’m looking for survivors. The ones that are out there had the strength and smarts to stay alive. People like you, and me, and your friend Nina."

  Corso chuckled. "So, what, this is like the new Garden of Eden?"

  "Oh no. We gather our strength, then we’re turning and fighting."

  "Fighting?" Corso's surprise caused his voice to boom. "You can’t fight this. It’s over, man. The best we can do is make it ‘till tomorrow."

  "If that’s what you think then you need to go hide in the hills. It’s going to take a while but when we’re ready we’re going to push back."

  "News flash, Chief," Corso ranted while Shepherd watched silently. "No one could stop this and others had a lot more fire power than you got here!"

  Trevor tried to explain, "We were taken by surprise. Military units were scattered, cut off, and overwhelmed. Still, the people who did fight took a lot of the bad things with them before being over run. Now we regroup until the time is right."

  Sal asked, "And who decides when that is?"

  "I do."

  "Merda! And who are you? What brigade did you command, Chief?"

  "Me?" Trevor wondered aloud. "I’m just…I’m just a link in a chain."

  "What does-"

  Shepherd finally returned to the discussion, cutting off Sal in the process.

  "I got to admit, parting the water would have been a nice touch."

  Captain Jerry Shepherd smiled.

  – "Hello," Lori spoke to Nina Forest.

  Nina, still kneeling, gave the Rottie another pat on the head and responded meekly, "Yeah, uh, hello."

  "We didn’t get a chance to talk earlier."

  Nina stood and hoisted the HK Mp5 over her shoulder. She wore black BDUs but time and action had dulled the color nearly gray in some spots.

  When Nina said nothing Lori reminded, "I’m the one who cleaned you up, made sure you didn’t have a fever, all while you were knocked out," she tapped her own head to make the point.

  "Yeah, sure," Nina mumbled as she watched the Rottweiler trot away.

  "We looked for you for almost three days."

  "Glad Shep found me."

  Lori corrected, "Actually, it was my husband, Jon. Your friend Shep was on the bench getting his leg stitched."

  "Oh," Nina’s eyes pointed anywhere but at Lori.

  Mrs. Brewer did something she did not usually do; she waited patiently.

  Well, she waited somewhat patiently.

  "Okay," Lori groaned. "I can see this is going to be difficult."

  "Look," Nina put it out there. "I’m not trying to be rude but I just don’t have any interest in getting to know anyone around here."

  "Because you don’t plan on staying long."

  Nina nodded.

  "I thought your man Shepherd was in there right now making that decision."

  "Right."

  "And you’re sure he’s going to decide that you guys should keep on marching."

  "Right."

  "Why’s that?"

  "Because I’ve seen what happens to people who stay in one place," Nina told Lori but still avoided eye contact. "They’re sitting ducks."

  "And that’s how you guys stayed alive? By moving around?"

  "That’s right, yeah. We were assigned to a rescue station and barely got out alive. There were eight of us back then. Now we’re down to three. I’m just saying that we’ve been on the move ever since, and it’s better that way."

  Lori said, "Guess you got kind of lucky."

  "I don’t know what you mean."

  "Well, you’re lucky Trevor decided to stay in one place… here. Otherwise he wouldn't have been able to pull your butts out of the fire."

  That did not sit well with Nina Forest.

  Lori quipped, "You remember Trevor, right? The guy who saved you is also the guy whose neck you nearly broke."

  Nina’s brow furled. It pleased Lori to see she had annoyed Forest. At least being annoyed was a reaction. It opened the door for a lot of other stuff. Lori pushed another button.

  "I see that ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry’ aren’t words you’re good with."

  "Huh? What’s that?"

  "Well, you owe Trevor and Jon a ‘thank you’ for saving all of you and you also owe Trevor a big ‘sorry’ for nearly killing him. Don’t you think?"

  Nina apparently did not think so.

  "Listen, I don’t know who you are-"

  Lori smiled a big friendly smile as she cut Nina off and extended a hand.

  "I’m Lori Brewer, pleased to meet you."

  The surprise gesture left Nina dumbfounded. She could think of no other recourse than to limply shake Lori’s extended hand.

  Odin, the Norwegian Elkhound who had tracked Nina’s scent, trotted across the yard and affectio
nately licked Nina's fingers. Much as Lori’s surprise offer of a handshake, Nina felt compelled to pet the dog between its ears.

  Lori sarcastically said, "Uh-oh. You’ve done it now. You’ve gone and made a friend."

  Before Nina could reply, the front door opened. Shepherd and Corso came out with Trevor following. Nina hustled to Shep as if searching for the safety of his shadow.

  Shep said to Trevor, "So that won’t be any problem? You have enough ammo?"

  "No problem. What’s here is yours."

  Lori Brewer maneuvered around the conversation and disappeared inside the mansion.

  "Great. Thanks. We’ll check out your armory in a bit. Give me a chance to get us ready."

  Trevor returned inside, closing the door behind. Nina jumped over Shep with questions.

  "So, what? Is he giving us ammunition?"

  "Nina…" Shep started and Sal Corso finished, "We’re stayin’ here."

  Nina’s mouth froze open but that lasted only a second before her mouth worked again.

  "What? What? Shep, we can’t stay here. This clown’s just a kid!"

  "Yep, seems to me he’s not even twenty-three years old," he used her age against her.

  "I’m just saying that I don’t see anything here that’s worth staying for."

  "Nina," Shepherd spoke in his Captain’s voice. "We’re staying here and we’re going to be a part of this. And you know what? You’re going to listen to him. We all are. How things go down the road…well I reckon we’ll find out ‘bout that when we get there."

  Nina bit her lower lip and shook her head.

  "Why?"

  Her protest lacked force. She could not use forceful words with Shep.

  "I see two reasons. The first is I’m tired of running."

  Nina muttered, "The second?"

  Shep glanced at Sal, then to Nina again, and struggled on how best to explain.

  "Have you looked into his eyes? I mean really looked? Ever since the world went to Hell, everyone I meet looks tired and afraid. But this guy-this kid… I look in his eyes and I don’t see tired and afraid. I see eyes that are looking at something I didn’t think existed no more. I see eyes that can see something none of us can see."

  Sal spat, "What kinda shit is that? What does he see?"

  Shepherd told them, "A future."

  10. Stonewall

  "Always mystify, mislead and surprise the enemy; and when you strike and overcome him, never let up in the pursuit. Never fight against heavy odds if you can hurl your own force on only a part of your enemy and crush it. A small army may thus destroy a large one, and repeated victory will make you invincible." — General Stonewall Jackson, circa 1860s

  At one time, the Cafe Commons on the campus of Penn State Lehman served hot meals and sandwiches to hungry students. While most of the booths and fancy latticework remained intact, wooden tables and chairs lay in pieces. Based on the low growls from the K9s ahead of Jon's patrol, whatever caused the mess still lurked nearby.

  Two black and tan Rottweilers trotted through the smashed doors; their paws crunched on broken glass and splinters. Jon entered next with Sal Corso and Shepherd.

  A dim glow from the cloudy afternoon slipped in through several wide windows to provide some illumination; tactical lights on their M4 carbines did the rest.

  They saw a drop ceiling that had literally dropped in several places with electrical cords, tiles, and bent metal rods drooping from above. They also saw several doors leading away from the room as well as a buffet counter where students had once stood in line for meals.

  "Damn," Sal coughed. "What the hell is that smell?"

  "Rotting food?" Jon hoped.

  Shepherd said, "Something worse than that, I think."

  Two more Rottweilers entered and the dogs fanned out, sniffing the air as they moved.

  "Looky here," Shepherd shined his light toward a metal door. A coating of slime covered the letters 'office' on a small placard. Dents pounded around the frame suggested that whatever had left the slime had also tried to batter in the door.

  "Wow," Jon said, "I can't wait to meet-"

  A sharp bark cut him off. The dogs pointed their eyes, ears, and snouts toward the buffet counter. Something moved back there.

  The three men raised their rifles in that direction.

  "Hey," Jon called. "We're friends. C'mon out, we're here to help."

  No answer. No reaction. No movement.

  Shepherd grabbed a metal napkin holder from the floor, held it for the others to see, and then tossed it over the counter. It hit out of sight with a clang.

  The 'survivor' revealed itself in the shine of their flashlights: Green, big, and pissed. It 'crawled' up the wall with the speed of a sprinter. The dogs burst into barks. M4s spit fire.

  After reaching the ceiling, the monster slithered toward them upside-down: a big star-shaped creature with slimy slug skin and a center bulb with two Squid-like eyes.

  Bullets from the trio of carbines ripped away more ceiling tiles, sparked off metal struts, and sent clouds of dust exploding from above, yet several rounds found their mark. Yellow goo erupted and the creature fell from the ceiling, scattering the quartet of dogs as it plopped to the floor. A smelly fluid dribbled from the motionless fiend.

  "Been here one friggin day," Sal complained. "And I nearly get eaten by a god damn-"

  "AAAAAA!" screamed a loud voice: a battle cry of sorts.

  That voice came from a man who rushed out from the 'office' door wielding a baseball bat. He ran straight for the now-dead Star monster and battered it with his weapon again, and again; thump- squish; thump- squish.

  "Relax there, partner," Shep grabbed the bat away. "We took care of it."

  "A…guys?" Sal's voice wavered.

  Sal stood straight with a pistol pressed to his temple. The man with the bat had not been the only one hiding in the office. In fact, a whole family of folks came from there, including one man now holding a gun to Sal's head.

  "Hey, whoa, easy there," Shepherd slowly set the baseball bat on the floor.

  "I'm doing the talking. Rifles on the ground, now."

  The 30-ish man had thin, dirty jet-black hair and sported an overgrown beard that was the work of time, not choice. His hand trembled as he held a Glock to Sal's head. His clothes-a Penn State jumpsuit with the gift shop price tag still attached-hung loose from his bony body.

  Jon said, "We're all friends here."

  The man who had swung the baseball bat-a South Asian looking fellow-said, "Mister Washburn, I am not thinking this is the correct course of action."

  Washburn-the man with the pistol-answered, "I've seen what happens when you trust people these days. These three could be cannibals like those whacks I ran into last month. No thanks, Danny doesn't want to end up on the menu."

  "Is that your name? Danny?" Jon asked. "Hey, Danny, we're looking for survivors. We've got all kinds of supplies and food a few miles from here."

  The darker-skinned baseball-bat man said, "Is that true? Would my family be welcome?"

  Jon glanced to the office and saw whom else the baseball bat protected: a lovely woman, a six-year-old boy, and a girl of eleven or so, all sharing the same complexion as their father.

  Jon said, "That's why we're here. Our dogs picked up the scent of survivors."

  Danny held firm. "Food? Yeah, sure. We'd probably be the main course."

  Jon tried another approach.

  "No, no. For our main course we usually have steak."

  Danny's gun wavered.

  "Steak?"

  Jon repeated what he learned the night before: "It seems Sal here is the expert Chef in our group. How would you do them, Sal?"

  Sal, the gun to his head, mumbled out one corner of his mouth, "Huh? Ah, well, I would, um, well I'd broil a couple of fillets, get a real good, you know, sizzle going. Gotta leave a bit of pink through the middle. Real juicy, capire?"

  "Jui-cy?"

  Sal relaxed despite the gun thanks to his p
assion for cooking. "I make a mean mushroom glaze with a little, um, Worcestershire sauce and olive oil."

  Jon stepped forward, smiled, and said, "The wine cellar is stocked with Merlots that wash steak down perfectly but you don't want to eat too much at dinner. We've got one of those ice cream machines-you know, the kind with the crank-and with the fresh milk from the farm, well, I think we've got a pint of Strawberry in the freezer right now."

  Danny blinked fast and said, "You got all kinds of supplies at this place? And…steaks?"

  "Yes," Jon said. "Everything you need and lots to eat."

  Danny removed the gun from Sal's temple and popped the magazine.

  "Do you got any bullets? I've been empty for three weeks now."

  – Trevor had decided the first-floor den was too small for an effective nerve center and he did not like the big French windows behind the desk; they made the room feel exposed. Nonetheless, he stored some reference materials there and was searching through data on the water table in the Wyoming Valley when Jon and his charge of survivors entered.

  Jon announced as the five arrivals filed in, "Trevor, may I present Omar Nehru, his wife Anita, and their children."

  Once again, Jon beamed. Another successfully completed mission that, in this case, began when a patrol caught scent of humans at the nearby Penn State Lehman campus.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you," Trevor extended his hand.

  "I must be thanking you quite much," Omar shook Trevor's hand fast. "If for no other reason than to save us from the ramblings of Mr. Washburn."

  Danny Washburn-a smile forcing its way from beneath the overgrown beard-entered last and waved at the mention of his name.

  Omar continued, "We were considering mass suicide. Living on the Bisquik and cans of the fruit was difficult enough, but we have lived with Mr. Washburn's juvenile puns for nearly two months and that has been making us contemplate such drastic action."

  Washburn said, "Don't let Omar's Quickie Mart accent fool you; it's just a front to keep you guessing. It goes away when he's scared or really pissed."

  Anita stepped forward, cutting off her husband's response before it started.

  "Thank you, Mr. Stone, for having us." Despite a ragged appearance from months of hiding and-apparently-refereeing between Omar and Danny, Anita Nehru came across as a woman of intelligence and grace. "We are all quite hungry and my son has a bad cough."