Disintegration ba-1

by Anthony DeCosmo

  Nina did not pause to observe falling maces or spasms. A fifth Mutant sat atop the high stack of crates. Her tactical analysis gave that one next-to-last priority because she realized-in a quick glance upon entering-that its hands were occupied with bones.

  She raised the iron sights of her gun but before she pulled the trigger that Mutant tumbled from the crates. Jon Brewer, entering through the loading docks with Trevor, plugged it before Nina could claim every kill.

  Regardless of Jon’s prize, Nina Forest struck fear into her enemies and awe into her comrades. She saw everything.

  What looked fast and heated was-to her-slow and methodical. Like an expert nine-ball player, Nina thought a shot ahead, planning and strategizing in the blink of an eye. The gun- whatever the weapon — became an extension of her body. The noise, the smoke, the flash of the muzzle; these were the sights and sounds that filled her with purpose.

  As he watched, Trevor realized what made Nina Forest a great warrior. Not some Amazonian strength or perfect marksmanship but her instinct, her mind, her eyes…they worked faster than the bullets she fired. She understood battle: every nuance. She moved fluidly with every part of her body working to fire, for defense, to kill. She wore her cloak of death dealing comfortably.

  Naturally.

  Trevor’s admiration subsided as he realized what she planned next.

  The last Mutant held a knife to the throat of a late-20s man with brown hair, lots of razor stubble, and the first cuts from what would have been hours of sadistic slicing. However, that blade wavered, suggesting the monster sought to negotiate.

  Nina discarded her Mp5 and approached the remaining creature and its hostage with her pistol in a two-hand grip.

  Trevor tried to intervene. "Nina…wait…"

  Blam! Blam!

  She fired two shots because the first missed the thing’s head by an inch. The second exploded its oval skull. The knife and the monster fell to the floor.

  The captive staggered; shocked that two bullets had nearly grazed his head.

  Nina said nothing to the hostage, nothing to the others. She casually retrieved her assault rifle and made to exit the building.

  Woody Ross and Sal approached the rescued man who shook uncontrollably.

  Trevor's eyes darted from the freed hostage to Nina as she walked away.

  Danny, at his side, said, "Christ, that woman is the angel of death."

  Trevor stormed after Nina.

  "Hey. I said hey!"

  Nina stopped, her shoulders slumped in annoyance, and she turned to face Trevor.

  "What the Hell are you doing?"

  "I’m killing monsters. That’s what you want me to do, right?"

  He looked at those blue eyes with fire in his own.

  "You nearly killed a man."

  She answered, "Nothing to it, I killed the monster. What’s the problem?"

  "The problem" he told her, "is that you missed with your first shot. So you ain’t perf-"

  "The thing is dead. You should be happy. Listen-"

  "No," he commanded, "you listen. This isn’t only about killing the bad things. It’s about saving people. We aren’t going to win this by shooting without thinking."

  "Is that so? Well then maybe you got yourself the wrong girl."

  Nina turned to leave. Captain Jerry Shepherd stood there. She stopped dead in her tracks, having never before seen such a disapproving expression from Shep.

  "Nina…" Shep shook his head, then walked around her toward the freed hostage whose sarcasm echoed through the place: "Hey, be sure to thank Eva Braun for nearly killing me."

  She shut her eyes, held a breath for a long second, and then walked outside alone.

  – BLAM!

  The sound of the gunshot rang out. More specifically, the first shot. The one that missed.

  Nina pounded her fist against the tile as the shower drizzled over her.

  The pressure and the temperature of the "hot" water did not impress. Still, even the light drizzle beat weeks of no showers at all when her team had been on the run.

  She soaped her body and rinsed for the fourth time; the dirt from the morning's battle clung tough. Nina turned the squeaky faucet knob and the shower stopped. Steam filled the bathroom and coated the mirror thus hiding her reflection.

  After wrapping herself in a tight towel, she walked the short hall into the orange and green 70s-styled living room where the cooler air against her hair and skin felt refreshing.

  A stranger’s living room with a stranger’s furniture. She had already thrown away everything overtly personal: photos, CDs, clothes from the previous occupants. That did not help, though, because she lacked any mementos to fill the empty space. She realized she possessed nothing overtly personal of her own.

  Yet…yet maybe some day she could make it feel like home.

  She shook that thought from her mind. She reminded herself how she wanted to leave. What had Shep been thinking when he decided to stay?

  Nina walked to the front windows and looked out at the long driveway and the waters of the lake. Her view included the boathouse and dock across the road from the main estate. Shep sat on that dock, a fishing rod in one hand, a beer in the other.

  Her stomach fluttered. Had she pushed things too far today? How he had looked at her…

  Nina decided to talk to him. She needed to talk to him.

  She hurried to the bedroom to find some clothes. Her clothes. A soldier’s clothes.

  – As Trevor crossed the dock, the planks creaked with each footfall while waves lapped lazily below. The warm afternoon, the blue sky, and the docile waters conspired to paint a picture of summer. The lie would not last, but it remained an enjoyable lie for the time being.

  Jerry Shepherd relaxed in a patio chair at the rim of the small pier. The business end of his fishing pole drifted in the water hoping some unlucky trout would nibble. One empty and one half-full can of beer waited in arm’s reach. Next to the beer rested a shotgun. These days, who knew what might come out of the lake?

  Trevor found a chair by the boathouse door and dragged it next to Shep. He sat and stared at the water, too.

  "Catch anything?"

  "Not a damn thing. Say, how's that fella we pulled out of harm's way this morning? What was his name? Evan…Evan something?"

  "Evan Godfrey," Trevor said. "He's shaken up. Physically he's fine but he's starving and pretty freaked out right now."

  "Funny," Shep flashed a wry smile. "That seems to be the only type of folks we get around here these days."

  "Ain't that the truth? In any case, he's not talking much. It's going to take some time for him to come out of his shell. It'll be a while before we know much about Evan Godfrey."

  The water swooshed and gurgled. A bird sung an enthusiastic song, perhaps also deceived by the weather.

  Shepherd, still looking into the distance, said, "We wouldn’t be having this conversation if she were a man."

  "What?"

  "Now c’mon Trev, you know I’m no idiot."

  Neither of the two noticed Nina Forest as she approached the boathouse, but when she heard Trevor's voice, she stopped. She turned to leave but did not. Instead, she listened.

  Trevor said, "You’re right. If she were a guy, we’d think he was some sort of Rambo."

  "But because she’s a woman, I reckon it’s hard to accept what the eyes see."

  Trevor asked. "What is she like when her defenses are down? When she’s not being Mrs., Godzilla?" Shepherd chuckled. "Well now that’s a new one. Mrs. Godzilla?"

  Trevor watched the older man's eyes sharpen to pencil thin as he focused on something out over the sparkling waters of the lake.

  "I don’t know if Nina’s defenses have ever been down. I never met anyone like her."

  Shepherd turned his head slowly to Trevor and drove the point home: "I reckon that’s why I think she’s special. Not just the fightin’ and all, but whatever else is inside there…well it hasn’t come out to the world yet. Like
the hard parts of her have grown up faster than the rest."

  "I see."

  Shepherd corrected, "No you don’t. You’re too busy trying to pull this together and here she goes giving you trouble. Seems to me you’re wondering if it was worth it, asking us to stay. Seems to me you’re worried that one loose cannon could muck up the whole works."

  Trevor smiled. Damn, he liked this old timer.

  "I can see why she looks up to you so much."

  "Then that makes one of you. Personally, I haven’t been able to figure it myself. I met her when she was a trainee. I put her through Hell. As soon as I figured out she had a way about her, I made it even harder for the girl. Ever since, it seems I’m the only person that gets through to her. Half the time she’s this shy little girl that won’t say a peep. But when the action heats up…well, seems I’m the only person that can keep her from going off half-cocked. Can’t say I mind it, though. Sometimes I feel like I got that kid I never had."

  Trevor said, "Because you didn’t treat her like a girl."

  "What’s that?"

  "Why she took to you," Trevor went on. "When you put her through Hell, you put her through the same Hell you put the guys through. Maybe you were even tougher on her. You were probably the first person she’d ever met that saw a warrior first, not a cute chick."

  Shepherd stroked his gray mustache, "I suppose that’s something worth thinking about."

  "Think all you want," Trevor stood. "Just keep her from going off half cocked."

  "I understand. You can’t have one person screwing things up."

  Trevor gave him an entirely different reason. "No, I can’t go losing her."

  "What?"

  Nina, from her listening post, grew confused.

  "I realized something today as I watched her fight," Trevor explained. "I realized that we can’t lose her. We need her to win this whole thing. Without her, we’re toast. I’m toast."

  "That surprises me, after the shit she pulled today."

  "Oh, she just wanted to show me up. That hand signal thing was just a kids’ game. I’m a big boy. Taking that risk with the hostage…that was a problem. She’s got to start understanding what this is all about. She’s got to do that fast because I can’t afford to lose her now that I know what she is."

  " What she is? And what is that?"

  "Well, if I'm the knight in shining armor in all this," Trevor said, "then she's my sword."

  – A window and a wide counter separated the kitchen from the rest of the church basement hall. The equipment in that kitchen recalled 1960s styling but had been solidly built and well maintained over the years.

  The dirty white paint of the kitchen walls differed dramatically from the dark paneling lining the rest of the basement. Dull brown linoleum, with patches of bubbles and rips, covered the floor throughout and a series of fluorescent lights radiated flat illumination over rows of long tables and metal folding chairs.

  Despite the aged styling and boring ambiance, the basement offered a cheery, homey feel due to crayon sketches drawn by pre-Armageddon Sunday school kids. Tacked around the room were drawings depicting the church and its small steeple, crude portraits of Jesus and Mary, angels, disciples, and many that were no more than jumbles of colored lines from tiny hands.

  The early breakfast crowd sat around the hall and included Lori Brewer. She had stationed herself alone at the end of the table furthest away from the stairs that ascended to the outside world. She held a paperback mystery.

  Sal toiled at the stove aided by the two teenage sisters who had served with Stonewall as medics but who spent the two weeks since the kitchen opened working with ‘Chef’ Corso.

  Lori heard the sizzle and crack of frying eggs, the beat of a whisk whipping pancake batter, the clang of dishes hauled from cupboards, and the pleasing glunk-glunk-glunk of juice poured from pitcher to glass.

  She smelled salty, farm-fresh bacon, the sugary scent of syrup dripping over butter patties atop fluffy pancakes, and the whiff of her own mug of fresh-brewed coffee.

  The sounds and smells surrounded her like a warm blanket chasing away goose bumps and cued memories of the diner where Jon had taken her on their very first date way back when life felt new.

  Lori smiled to herself, just a little, then firmly grasped the well-worn pages of the paperback. She did read the words on those pages but the novel served as a front hiding her reconnaissance mission. If her husband found out what she was up to he would berate her for giving in to her counselor’s curiosity.

  She peeked at her watch: 7:28 am.

  A couple of Stonewall’s folks gathered at a table sipping coffee while Evan Godfrey, the newest addition, stumbled to the counter in search of breakfast. Lori made a mental note to get to know Evan. He had been at the estate for over a week now and she still had not talked to him.

  However, Evan would have to wait. Lori had hurried to the basement that morning not for him, but for Nina Forest. Well, partly for Nina Forest.

  Lori had come to know that Nina arrived at the church every morning for breakfast at 7:15 a.m., give or take exactly thirty seconds.

  True to form, Nina had indeed arrived fifteen minutes ago and remained in the hall sitting by her lonesome. She studied the most up-to-date ‘Hostiles Database’ binder in between fork-fulls of eggs, strips of bacon, and the occasional sip of condensed orange juice.

  Lori rested the book on the tabletop and held her coffee cup in both hands.

  She waited.

  While Trevor Stone and Dick Stone had few things in common, they did share one trait: neither were early risers. During the first week after the church basement opened, Lori had not seen him in the place before 8:30. However, in recent days he seemed to have found a new side to himself, a side that desired an early breakfast.

  Preferably by 7:30, Lori figured.

  She finished a sip of java and swapped the mug for her prop: the book.

  A commotion erupted around the entrance as Danny Washburn, Jon Brewer and Trevor walked in together, laughing loudly.

  Lori glanced at Nina.

  Forest afforded the newcomers a brief glimpse.

  Then another.

  Nina shook her head as if annoyed at the distraction, and then returned her attention to the 'Hostiles Database'.

  The men stopped at the counter, grabbed mugs and plates, and Trevor led them to a table as far away as possible from Nina Forest’s position. Trevor hurried to a seat against the wall.

  Lori’s eyebrow rose. She did not think it a coincidence that his seat afforded a good view of Nina.

  Stone, usually a man of few words, was surprisingly vocal at breakfast in recent days, or so Lori observed. Now he spoke to Jon and Danny about sports, hunting, and projects in need of attention. All the talk interspersed with quips and laughter.

  As for Nina, her eyes remained planted in the binder. Lori guessed a marching band could not force Nina’s eyes from those pages. She wondered, however, if Nina actually read the words printed there or if the binder had become her own prop, much like Lori’s mystery.

  It took the three men ten minutes to devour their breakfasts. Jon broke away from the trio as they dispersed to visit with his wife. Lori alternated her eyes between Trevor, as he walked toward the exit stairs, and Nina as she kept her vision glued to the binder.

  Jon asked, "Whatchya doing?"

  Lori did not look at her husband. She watched Nina close as Trevor climbed the stairs. First one step, then two…a few more and he would be gone.

  Nina Forest cast her eyes toward the stairs, catching a quick glimpse of Trevor as he left the basement. When he disappeared outside, Nina returned her attention to the binder.

  "I said, what are you doing? Earth to Lori?"

  "Oh, sorry honey," Lori gave him a peck on the cheek.

  "So what are you doing? Reading a good mystery?"

  Lori smiled, "A good mystery?"

  Jon did not know why she smiled. In a way, he felt glad he did not know.
<
br />   "It’s a good one," she confessed. "But I can already see where it’s going."

  Mrs. Brewer sipped her coffee.

  Oh yeah, can see this coming a mile away.

  The one-time counselor was not the only one who noticed. That other person sat hidden away at a tiny table in the corner picking at the remains of a canned peach.

  Sheila Evans lost her appetite.

  12. Raid "The art of war teaches us to rely not on the likelihood of the enemy's not coming, but on our own readiness to receive him; not on the chance of his not attacking, but rather on the fact that we have made our position unassailable."

  — Sun Tzu, The Art of War

  Jon Brewer walked into the Command Center and reported, "We’re bringing the convoy vehicles around now."

  Trevor glanced up from the papers spread on the big desk and acknowledged, "Good."

  "How tough is this going to be?"

  Trevor answered, "I don’t think it’s going to be hard. We hit the Cross Valley Expressway, bypass the city, get on the Interstate, and we’re at the airport. About forty minutes unless there’s stuff in our way."

  Jon did an about-face and, as he left, said, "Everything will be ready in a few minutes."

  Trevor returned his attention to the papers.

  Not much had happened in the ten days since the raid on the warehouse. During that time, Trevor concentrated on consolidating the situation around the estate.

  The Brewers, Shep, and Sheila lived in the main mansion. Sal, Danny Washburn, and Evan Godfrey stayed in the three apartments above the garage. Omar and his family occupied the A-Frame with Nina in the rooms above their garage.

  The Rheimmers welcomed four of Stonewall’s followers to their farm. Better still, five more of Stonewall’s troop used supplies from an Agway warehouse to re-start another dormant farm. That meant more crops, more cattle (some found grazing aimlessly in countryside) and more hope for the growing band of survivors.

  Those of Stonewall’s crew who remained at the lake took residence in a quaint cluster of homes just past the Methodist Church where Sal ran his kitchen.