The rest of the assault team, including K9s, attacked.
A warrior ran at Nina from behind, his hatchet poised for the kill while her attention focused forward as her pistol sought targets at the center of camp. Odin pounced, knocking the Red Hand and his hatchet to the ground where canine teeth did their painful work.
A tribesman raced out from a shelter.
Nina pulled the trigger. An empty shell casing discharged from the ejector port and a new round loaded.
An elderly female staggered into the morning gloom struggling to put on an animal skin.
A bullet from Nina’s gun found her.
Her marksman’s eyes did not distinguish targets; it only found them. Hostile or friendly with no ground between.
Another empty casing dropped to the mud.
The trigger pulled again. A younger victim fell.
The trigger pulled again. And again.
The bullets found the back of a fleeing female running for the wilderness.
Another shot. And another still…
…The butt of Nina’s rifle smashed the latch and the pen gate swung open. A terrified woman huddled with her young child on the ground inside the jail. Nina extended her hand.
"It’s okay. I’m human, like you."
They flinched from her reach.
Nina did not know why they would do that. She wanted to rescue them; to let them fall into her arms and see her as their liberator. She wanted to comfort them and tell them that everything would be okay now.
Then Nina saw her own outstretched hand; a hand soaked in crimson blood. The blood of her enemies. The blood of her victims.
Her hands…her face…her body covered in the gore of those she slaughtered.
Bear gently grabbed Nina’s shoulders and moved her aside so that he, Washburn, and McBride could evacuate the slaves. Nina staggered away with her eyes wide open in wonder.
The Grenadiers raced across the scene hunting for stragglers, but the assault team had done a thorough job. Nothing remained of the tribe.
She stopped at the rim of a large puddle. Behind her, the others comforted and led away the emancipated slaves.
Nina felt a light tap on her forehead.
Her eyelids fluttered as raindrops began to fall. She could hear the tip-tip-tip of sprinkles splashing the ground among the empty buildings and carnage of the now-dead colony.
Nina stared at her arms. The rain drenched her skin but instead of washing away the mess, her arms seemingly grew redder.
She collapsed to a knee. Her knees splashed in the puddle. She could not pull her eyes from her gore-covered hands as the rain intensified to a downpour.
The blood clung to her.
Is this all there is? Is there nothing more?
15. Revelations
"Come in my friend," Omar welcomed Trevor inside with a big fake smile.
Omar's workshop was once a climate-controlled garage on the southeast side of the lake. Workbenches, cabinets, and tools cluttered the place now instead of Ferraris. A mix of smells ranging from acidic to fishy floated in the air. Fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling.
"And what is it I can do for Mr. Trevor today?"
"Just checking up on things."
Omar responded with his typical sarcasm and overdone accent. "Oh how splendid! Thank you for checking up on things over here right now with me."
Several days had elapsed since Nina eliminated the Red Hands from northeastern Pennsylvania. Trevor's attention turned from revenge to the future. The goodies in Omar's work shop would be a key part of that future: four Mutant hover bikes, twelve platypus rifles as well as a quantity of those same aliens’ glowing ping-pong-ball grenades, and a variety of other gizmos that lacked labels, definitions, or any modicum of understanding.
Trevor motioned around the garage and asked, "Tell me, what do you need to better understand these things? I mean, we have to be able to adapt some of this stuff some how."
Omar lit a smoke with a match. He waved the fire out then dropped the match to the floor, despite the highly explosive materials nearby.
"I would be needing more time and more people."
Trevor wondered how much time they had before something particularly nasty found them. As for manpower, he did not need to explain the difficulty in finding highly skilled engineers, technicians, and researchers.
"Well then, you get to work, don’t let me stop you."
Trevor patted Omar’s shoulder and headed for the exit.
"How inspiring! I shall endeavor to work with twice the haste."
– Lori Brewer filled the trough with dog food. Hungry K9s hurried across the barn and dove their snouts in. One Rottweiler ignored the food and stood close to her.
"Oh, what a good little doggie you are," she scratched his head knowing that this ‘good little doggie’ had probably mauled, torn, or otherwise disemboweled its share of creatures.
Nina Forest walked by the open barn doors. Her steps crunched on the drying red and gold petals falling all around the estate; their syrupy smell of decay drifted in the air.
She saw Lori, stopped, and took a tentative step inside the barn.
"Hey," Nina meekly greeted.
Lori suppressed her surprise over Nina instigating a conversation and said, "Hi. Have you met this good little doggie? He’s such a good little doggie."
" Doggie? Trevor wouldn’t approve."
"Oh, screw him," Lori laughed.
Nina almost- almost — smiled.
"So whatchya up to? Target practice?" Lori guessed based on the collection of rifles and pistols slung and strapped to her person.
"Got to stay sharp, you know?"
"Sure," Lori nodded.
Nina said, "Thank you."
"Huh?"
Nina tapped her head recalling the gesture Lori made the first time they had spoke. "For fixing me up after they found me. You’re right; there are some words I have trouble with."
Lori contained her shock as best she could.
"You’re welcome."
After several seconds of awkward silence, Nina stepped away.
"You did a heck of job taking out those camps I hear," Lori's words stopped Nina.
"Oh. That. Yeah. Nothing to it. Hey, it’s my skill, right?"
"I also heard how Trevor treated you when he sent you off. He was being a jerk."
Nina said, "Your husband tells you a lot, huh?"
"Sure. It’s what friends do. They tell each other things. If you don’t talk to someone things can really eat you up inside. That doesn’t do anyone any good."
"I suppose so," Nina paused, considered, then observed, "You and Jon, you seem to get along real good."
Lori chuckled. "Get along real good? Well, I suppose I make him realize he can be an asshole. He makes me realize I can be a stubborn, nosey bitch. It evens out."
"Nice fit, I guess," Nina sort of smiled.
"What about you, Nina? How did you end up with the police? Where are you from?"
The quick questions staggered the girl.
"See-nosey bitch. Guess my husband is right."
Nina shrugged.
"I grew up in Kutztown. My parents worked at the University there. Nothing special. Nothing out of the ordinary."
"And here I thought you were a city girl."
"Not me, no. Not until I signed on to the Philly PD."
"See that," Lori said, "look at the things we find out just by talking."
"I guess. Say, you’ve known Trevor for a long time. What was he like before all this?"
"Trevor? Nah, I didn’t know ‘Trevor’ before. I knew Richard Stone."
Nina's head tilted. "Richard?"
"Before the world went up in smoke, he was Richard. Sometimes ‘Dick.’ His middle name is Trevor. That’s what everyone calls him now, seeing how different he is these days."
"Different?"
"Well, yeah," Lori spoke as though it should be obvious. "I mean, who isn’t different after everything that has h
appened?"
Nina fidgeted but did not respond.
"But you know what? I don’t think he so much changed as he found something from inside. I mean, he was always a nice guy. A smart guy, sort of. Never really pushed himself; did what he had to do to get by. I always thought he could do better, at a lot of things in life."
Lori did not say that Richard Stone could damn well have picked a better girl to want to marry but Lori did not want to mention Ashley. Certainly not to Nina. After all, Ashley had never asked Lori anything about her and Jon. Already Nina asked, and the girl did not even realize her interest in Trevor. Or, at least, she refused to admit it.
Lori heard-in her mind- her husband imploring her to ‘stay out of it’. As usual, she ignored him.
"Take his job: here’s a smart guy with a college degree and he was a car salesman."
"A car… salesman?"
"I know, funny isn’t it? The guy who’s leading the fight to save humanity sold Chevys before all this. I bet if you asked Trevor back then, he’d tell you he would be selling cars for the rest of his life. Probably thought it was the only thing he knew how to do. Yet here we are and he found a lot more inside of him than he thought was there. Don’t you think?"
Nina absently nodded. Lori could not tell if the girl heard the message or grew bored.
The counselor finished, "Goes to show you, doesn’t it? You don’t know what you’re capable of if you go around afraid to take chances."
The wind rustled a herd of dried leaves. More of that syrupy smell carried through the air.
Nina said, "I guess you do learn something new every day," and she turned to leave.
Lori thought up something quick: "I could use help with my shooting. Maybe I could take target practice with you next time?"
"Sure. Nothing to it."
Crunches and snaps underfoot announced Trevor Stone's approach.
Lori saw Nina's eyes look anywhere but at Trevor. She also saw him do the same.
Nina said, "Well, I got to go," and moved off at a quick pace.
Lori sighed.
Trevor arrived and said, "I didn’t know you two were such good friends."
"You're just not very observant. A lot of things get by you these days."
Then Lori punched him in the shoulder.
"What was that for?"
"I heard how you sent her on that mission. You-are-my-sword. What kind of shit is that?"
"That was serious. Besides, Nina lives for that kind of stuff."
"No, she thinks she lives for that kind of stuff. She thinks there’s nothing for her but shooting and killing. Look at her."
They watched Nina walk by herself toward the front grounds. She was no lumbering warrior but a petite blond girl hiding curly hair in a short ponytail to avoid any hint of style. She plodded along as if trying to go unnoticed.
Lori said, "She's just a lonely little girl."
"That little girl is the best soldier we’ve got."
"Great, but she’s also a person. Giving her orders like that, what does that do? It tells her that no one thinks of her as anything but a killer. That maybe you only think of her as a killer."
"I have to think about…I mean, she’s the best soldier we’ve got and I need her to-"
Lori turned her back to him and walked away from the barn calling, "Keep it up, Dick."
"Hey! That’s not my name anymore."
Lori waved her hand dismissively. "I was using it as an adjective."
– Two weeks past without incident, yet a feeling of unease remained: the Red Hand raid had shaken any feeling of security or isolation.
During those two weeks, patrols found another eight people scattered throughout the outlying neighborhoods of the valley. They added to the sixteen people Nina’s Red Hand raids had liberated and thus grew the community significantly. However, two of the prisoners rescued from the Red Hand tribe died. One, an elderly woman, succumbed to what Reverend Johnny diagnosed as a respiratory infection. The other, a middle-aged man, could not overcome the internal wounds inflicted by his captors.
The remaining newcomers included young and old, men and women, and a cross section of ethnic ancestries. They occupied more houses along the rim of the lake, most relying on candles and wood-burning fireplaces for light and heat.
A scouting party led by Jon Brewer found a floral nursery a few miles away. Anita Nehru and a group of volunteers converted the space into vegetable gardens. Of course, the lake and streams provided catfish and trout while deer and wild turkey fell to human and K9 hunters.
Dante ran a fever for the better part of a week but eventually recovered. Reverend Johnny proclaimed the man free of any of The Order’s implants.
Tooth aches and vision problems arose, each solved with either home made remedies (such as pliers) or by raiding a dentist or optometrist’s office.
Just before nightfall on November 14 ^ th, a squall of flurries blew through and coated the ground in a glaze of white snowflakes.
– It had not moved all day, hiding its small body in the underbrush and shadows of trees.
It followed the signal ingrained into the fabric of its being. It existed for one purpose. Moving too quickly would jeopardize that purpose. The clever creatures nearly caught its scent twice in recent days. Fortunately, the wind had changed at the right moment.
Night fell again. The small, three-legged creature rose from under a blanket of fallen leaves and powdery snow moving…oh…so…slowly…through the forest.
To fulfill its purpose.
– Trevor spent hours on his laptop adjusting the 'hostiles database' derived from information brought by newcomers, including Stonewall and liberated Red Hand slaves.
Some of that information proved useful: "Yes, I saw it eat only eyeballs."
Some less so: "I’d say it was round, and purple. Sort of like a square. Oh yeah, with orange things coming out of its sides."
His stomach grumbled, echoing through the library-turned-Command Center. The noise served as Trevor’s cue to call it a night, after a quick stop at the pantry.
He closed his computer, clicked off the desk lamp, and walked from the room. He tried to put everything aside, but thoughts ricocheted.
The lack of medical supplies…the looming fuel shortage come spring…
Nina.
…the need for more heavy weapons…Omar’s lack of support staff…
Lori and Nina have been spending time together. I wonder what they're talking about.
As he came to the stairs, he noticed the door to one of the many second-floor guestrooms standing slightly ajar and a soft light eking out from within. Trevor knocked lightly and entered, finding Dante Jones sitting in bed playing solitaire.
Dante grunted and brushed the cards away.
"Losing again?"
"Yeah, man, I suck at this."
"Solitaire?"
"Sitting around."
"Oh," Trevor said. "Well you were sick and starving, remember?"
"Rich-I mean, Trevor-it’s been three weeks. The most I’ve done is carry firewood or clean up the mess hall. I want to do something."
"You mean, like carry a gun and shoot things?"
"Damn straight, buddy. I’ve been target shooting. I’m ready."
"Okay then, I’ll get you out on some patrols. See what you’re made of."
Jones smiled but it looked painful. "See what I’m made of? Listen to you. Man, the last time I saw you, you were talking about going to work selling cars while the world was falling apart. Now look at you."
"This must be tough for you, seeing me changed so much."
"Guess I just have to get used to it," Dante tried to sound lighthearted, but came up short.
Ajax the Doberman scrambled to the door and stared at Trevor who, after a moment, told Dante, "They’ve found something outside. Come on."
– The dream shocked Nina awake. She sat in bed surrounded by darkness, sweat soaking through her oversized nightshirt. Her chest heaved in and out.
She remembered what had happened to Scott after the helicopter crash. She had witnessed it all. Scott had been murdered in cold blood.
Her mind raced as she recounted the images in her head. Not a dream, but a memory. A memory and a…a…a feeling.
Someone had murdered her…her… fiance.
The man she loved.
Scott.
Confusion…muddled thoughts…but one thing cut through it all: Rage. Absolute, unequivocal, unstoppable.
A whisper inside warned, Wait! Stop!
That whisper disappeared; a drop smothered by a flood of hatred and anger.
She must have blood.
And there…the answer…resting in the corner: her Heckler amp; Koch sniper rifle.
Nina lit the candle next to her bed, pulled on a t-shirt, jeans, and a camouflage jacket, then grabbed the rifle. She threw open the apartment door and walked onto the small landing outside. Attached steps descended from there to the driveway. Flurries drifted in a solitary flood light that painted a glowing circle over the coating of thin white snow on the driveway.
Voices. Nina froze like a predator catching scent of prey.
She heard his voice. Then movement-shadows-by the estate’s fence, fifty yards away.
Nina glanced over her shoulder at the gently angled roof. She slung her weapon and climbed to better killing ground.
– Tyr, Ajax, and three Doberman sentries gathered with Trevor and Dante amidst the trees along the perimeter fence. Drifting flakes floated aimlessly around them.
The sentries had killed something, as evident by the gore on their snouts.
Glowing flashlights announced the approach of Reverend Johnny and Jon Brewer.
Trevor asked, "What do you make of this, Reverend?"
Beams found the remains of a green creature with three legs and a mushroom shaped body. It had stood three feet tall before the dogs tore it into two pieces.
Johnny-shivering in his leather jacket-said, "Dear Lord, what abomination has visited us this evening?"
Trevor told them, "According to the sentries, the top part was glowing when they found the thing. Still, no harm done. The Grenadiers got a hold of it before it could get around the fence. It didn’t put up a fight."
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