The Survivalist

by Arthur T. Bradley

  The image of Samantha clutching Tanner’s arm as the helicopter went down tried to push its way into Issa’s mind.

  “No!” she breathed, shaking her head.

  She would not allow herself to entertain such darkness. Instead, Issa focused on the task at hand. She believed that the best place to start her investigation was at the airfield. Not only would they know of the condition of the helicopter, they would presumably also have been the ones to have received the pilot’s last radio transmission.

  The airfield was located along the western edge of the compound. Originally built with only a single helipad to support the emergency operations center, the landing area had been expanded by the US military into a full-scale airport. More than a dozen helicopters now sat scattered across the tarmac as well as an adjacent field. Several were equipped with armament left behind by the military during its hasty evacuation.

  Issa followed the long cement roadway that passed in front of the maintenance hangars. As she approached one of the hangars, she spotted a young man in a mechanic’s uniform, standing outside. He puffed on a cigarette, his hands coated in black grease. The poor boy looked exhausted as he stared off into the distance.

  “Excuse me,” Issa called.

  He turned, stifling a yawn. “Yeah? What is it?” At the sight of her stomach, he straightened and his eyes grew wide. “You’re…” He seemed to have forgotten the word.

  “Pregnant, I believe, is what you’re looking for.”

  “Yes, ma’am. But how?”

  “Even at your age, I think you know the answer to that.”

  His face flushed. “What I meant to say was how’d you get pregnant when none of the other women could?”

  Remembering Mother’s warning, Issa shrugged and said, “I guess things are changing.”

  “Does Mother know?”

  “Of course.” She stepped closer and extended her hand. “I’m Issa, by the way.”

  “Gunther,” he said, quickly flicking away the cigarette and wiping his hands on his shirt.

  Issa looked past him through the open hangar door.

  “Were you here this morning when the pilot took off?”

  “Oh sure. I’m here all the time.” His eyes drifted down to her stomach. “I’m sorry for staring, ma’am. It’s just been a long time since I seen anyone pregnant.”

  She smiled. “No problem. I understand.”

  “Can I…” He extended his palm toward her stomach. “Touch it?”

  “You can if you don’t mind losing your fingers.” The words were matter of fact, neither threatening nor humorous.

  He pulled his hand back. “No, ma’am.”

  “Do you know the pilot?” She was careful not to use the past tense for fear of internally accepting that if he were dead, so might be his passengers.

  He shrugged. “Well as any, I guess. Marcus was born and raised in Kentucky, same as me.”

  “Is he a good pilot?”

  “You kidding? Marcus is the best we got. Trained most of the others around here.”

  “Did you,” she hesitated, “hear what happened?”

  “About him crashing?”

  She nodded.

  “I heard. Can’t hardly believe it though. Marcus could fly a pencil sharpener if you put enough gas in it.”

  “Were you the one who performed maintenance on the helicopter?” She did her best not to sound accusing.

  “Me and others. It was in perfect shape though. I can show you the log, if you like.”

  Issa accepted that it wouldn’t help her investigation to see meaningless dates on a page.

  “Well, something went wrong.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, looking down at his feet. “Ain’t no other way it coulda happened. Like I said, Marcus was the best.”

  “Did anyone else have access to the helicopter?”

  He looked up, confused.

  “What’re you saying? You think someone mighta sabotaged it? Why would anyone do something like that?”

  “I’m just asking the question.”

  Gunther pulled out a crushed pack of cigarettes and fiddled around until he got one out.

  “I don’t see how it’s possible. We only received word that he’d be going out a few minutes ahead of time. Wasn’t but just a couple of us even knew what bird he’d be taking.” He shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think anyone coulda messed with the helicopter, certainly not in a way that would bring it down hours later. How come you’re looking into it anyway?”

  “My husband and daughter were onboard.” Even saying the words caused her stomach to knot.

  Gunther’s face wrinkled up. “I’m real sorry to hear that, ma’am. You must be sick with worry.”

  Issa swallowed to keep her voice from breaking.

  “I heard there was a distress call. Do you know what was said?”

  “Wasn’t much to it. Marcus said something about having trouble staying level. Said the sky and the ground both looked alike.” He shook his head. “Didn’t make no sense to any of us.”

  “That’s it? He didn’t say where he was located?”

  “No, ma’am, afraid not.” Gunther put the cigarette to his lips, and then thinking better of the decision, pulled it back out. “That was the last we heard from him. Couldn’t reach him back, neither.”

  “What was Marcus like this morning? Anything strange about him?”

  “Nah. Same old Marcus. A little miffed maybe at having to cut breakfast short, but solid as ever.”

  “He was coming from breakfast?”

  “Sure was. Why? You think that’s important?”

  Instead of answering, Issa turned and headed in the direction of the mess hall. If it wasn’t the helicopter that failed, perhaps it was the man.

  Mount Weather’s main mess hall was a huge facility, capable of seating three hundred people. The kitchen ran exclusively on natural gas, which worked out well since the military had stockpiled vast amounts in underground tanks. They had also stored enough canned food to feed several thousand people for three years. Recognizing that even with such stockpiles, supplies would eventually run out, Mother had workers planting large fields of crops around the fenced compound. Those, too, were starting to come in, and one thing the infected could never claim was that there wasn’t enough to eat.

  By the time Issa pushed open the doors to the mess hall, it was more than an hour past lunchtime. The only people left inside were the cooks and a handful of staff responsible for cleaning up.

  She stood in the doorway, not quite sure of where to start. If Marcus had been poisoned, it could have been done by any number of people. The food was prepared behind closed doors in the kitchen and dispersed cafeteria-style, with patrons pushing trays down a long hot-bar. Typical of mess halls, the cooks dished out the food, thereby minimizing chances of contamination or waste by the diners.

  Issa caught the eye of one of the cooks.

  Louisa was a short woman with thick spectacles and bulging green eyes. The pox had done a number on her complexion, leaving a patchwork of scaly skin covering her face, neck, and arms. Taken together with her swollen eyes, Louisa had an almost lizard-like appearance that caused most people to look away.

  When they had lived together in the tunnels, she and Issa had run afoul of one another on a few occasions. Not for any particular reason, more of an oil and water type of thing.

  Most who knew her would say Louisa was bitter and shrewd. Issa thought that was a watered-down way of describing what she really was—a Grade-A bitch.

  Their eyes met, and Issa offered a tentative wave. Louisa answered by turning her back and disappearing into the kitchen.

  Undeterred, Issa crossed the cafeteria and pushed through a set of swinging double doors. Women, some no older than Samantha, worked busily in front of metal tables, preparing the evening’s meal. Navigating the kitchen, Issa finally caught up to Louisa as she was dumping a sack of carrots onto a large wooden cutting board.

  “Hello Louisa,
” Issa said, hoping to start things off on a cordial tone.

  Louisa eyed her. “You need something?”

  Figuring that a little name dropping couldn’t hurt, Issa said, “I’m looking into something for Mother.”

  “And that something takes you into my kitchen?”

  “I wouldn’t have thought so, but here I am. Were you working breakfast this morning?”

  “I work every morning.” She glanced down at Issa’s stomach. “Not all of us get to lay up in bed.” Her tone somehow managed to insinuate that Issa was not only lazy but also the community slut.

  Issa forced a smile. Taking the bait wouldn’t gain her anything.

  “Perhaps you might remember Marcus, then?”

  Louisa said nothing.

  “He’s a pilot,” she continued.

  Louisa pulled a butcher knife from a block and began chopping carrots.

  “What makes you think I keep up with everyone eating in the mess hall?”

  It was the kind of non-answer for which Louisa was famous.

  “So, you don’t remember him?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Issa felt her patience growing thin.

  “You didn’t say one way or the other.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Louisa!”

  The woman looked up, eyes wide, butcher knife clutched in her hand.

  Issa forced a breath. “I’m asking nicely for your help. Don’t make me have to ask another way.”

  Louisa stared at her a long time before turning back to the carrots.

  “Marcus was here this morning, same as always. I only know this because he likes his eggs a certain way.”

  Issa was surprised to hear that Louisa catered to anyone.

  “He’s teaching my grandson to fly,” she grudgingly added.

  Issa couldn’t help but smile. Quid pro quo evidently extended to omelets. It also meant that it was very unlikely that Louisa would have poisoned her son’s flight instructor.

  “Anything unusual about him this morning?”

  “Not that I noticed.”

  “I was told he was called away during breakfast.”

  “That’s right. And he wasn’t happy about it, either.”

  “Who came and got him?”

  “Don’t know his name. It was that ugly fellow that always carries around a spear.”

  Issa nodded. He was the one Samantha called Tillman.

  “And they left without any fuss?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. Spear boy knocked Marcus’s coffee all over him. A second man came to check on them while they were cleaning it up.”

  “Who?”

  “Tall fellow, with a face that looks like it’s made out of Play-Doh.”

  Musketeer.

  “Did they all leave together?”

  “More or less. Spear boy fetched Marcus a fresh cup of coffee before hurrying out after them. Why’s any of this matter to Mother?”

  “You may not have heard, but they lost contact with Marcus this morning.”

  Louisa looked up with a start. “What? Was anyone else with him?” Like all mothers, her mind went first to family.

  “My husband and daughter.”

  Louisa’s eyes softened. “Do they know what happened?”

  “Not yet.”

  “And Mother asked you to find out?”

  “That’s right.”

  “She knows you’ll get to the truth. Mother’s smart like that.”

  Issa nodded.

  “Well, for what it’s worth, I hope you get your answers.”

  “Me too.” As Issa started to turn away, she felt Louisa’s scaly hand touch her arm.

  “Come back around later if you get hungry.” Her bulbous green eyes were filled with something Issa hadn’t seen before. Compassion.

  “Thank you. I’ll do that.”

  Issa exited the kitchen, crossed the mess hall, and stepped back out into the afternoon sun. She held a hand up to shield her eyes as she considered her next move. Something had happened to the pilot. Poison seemed the most likely cause of his confusion, but who had done the deed? Louisa appeared to be the only cook with easy access, but she had good reason to make sure that Marcus remained fit and healthy.

  If it hadn’t been Louisa, perhaps Tillman or Musketeer was behind the attack? But if so, why? Both men seemed loyal to Mother. A betrayal of this magnitude would surely mean death. If they had done it, were they out to hurt Marcus, or was their malice directed toward Tanner and Samantha?

  Either man could have done the deed, the prick of a small needle while walking, or a few drops of something added to the pilot’s coffee. How then could she identify the culprit? Only one idea came to mind.

  She would need to set a trap.

  Chapter 12

  Gran stood beside Major, running her fingers lightly across the thick black body bag draped across his back. She looked different than when Tanner and Samantha had last seen her. Her hair and makeup were fixed, and she wore a yellow dress that seemed like something best saved for Sunday services.

  “I can’t believe you found him. You actually found him.” Her voice was little more than a whisper, as if trying to be respectful of her sleeping husband. “Where? How?”

  They dismounted and guided the horses back into the small corral.

  “He was over at the school, just like you said,” explained Samantha.

  “All this time, he was jes’ lyin’ there, waitin’ on me to come get him.” She stroked the bag. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s probably better that you didn’t go,” said Samantha. “There were three big dogs living there.” She glanced at Tanner. “He had to kill them.”

  Gran looked at the long stripe of tape running across the bag.

  “Did they… eat on him?”

  Samantha pictured Tanner shoving Carl’s leg bone into the mouth of one of the beasts.

  “No,” she said, telling herself that technically it wasn’t a lie.

  “Good. I can’t imagine nothin’ worse than being eatin’ by an animal.”

  Tanner carefully lifted the body bag onto his shoulder.

  “Where do you want him?”

  “Got a spot all ready for him.” Gran turned and hurried toward a small fenced-in area at the back of the property. Several weathered gravestones could be seen poking up through weeds and pine straw.

  As they entered the small family cemetery, Tanner and Samantha discovered a freshly dug grave with a step ladder poking out. A shovel was firmly planted in the mound of dirt piled beside it.

  “You did all this yourself?” Samantha couldn’t imagine the old woman shoveling so much dirt.

  She nodded. “Been workin’ on it for more ’n three months.”

  “But how’d you know he’d ever make it back?”

  “Same way I know everythin’. Faith in the Lord Almighty.”

  Samantha had found faith to be a powerful but terribly confusing thing. Some saw it as a belief in God’s hand actively guiding their fate. For her, it was something different. Faith had become an underlying belief that there was purpose to the world. Not necessarily justice, just a reason for things happening the way they did. She credited it for nearly every important thing that had ever happened to her. Meeting Tanner, traveling all across the country helping others, adopting Issa as her new mother, even standing beside an open grave in the middle of Kentucky. She didn’t know why she was standing there. Perhaps it was to simply help an old woman bury her husband. Or perhaps it was so that a butterfly could land on her shoulder to rest from a long journey. All she could say with any degree of certainty was that randomness was not what guided her life.

  Tanner edged up to the grave and lowered Carl into the hole. It was only about four feet deep, but he figured it would be enough to keep the body from being dug up by scavengers.

  “Do you want us to fill it in?” offered Samantha. “It wouldn’t take us long. Would it, Tanner?”

 
; “Sure. It’s not like we haven’t done enough already.”

  Gran was slow to answer. “I have a different favor to ask.” She turned to Tanner and drew the Mare’s Leg from the holster hanging at her side.

  His eyes narrowed, and Samantha took a step away from the grave, her hand inching around to the knife at the small of her back.

  “We did what you asked,” she said nervously.

  “And I’m thankful for it.” Gran pushed the gun toward Tanner. “Please. Take it.”

  It was Tanner’s experience that when a person shoves a gun at you, it was best to take it. He slowly lifted the weapon from Gran’s bony hands, finding the short wooden stock still warm from where it had rested against her body.

  Gran unbuckled the thick leather belt holding the knife across her chest.

  “This too.”

  Again, Tanner took it without argument. He was beginning to suspect that the items were more than simple rewards for service.

  Gran moved to stand at the far end of the grave, her back facing toward it.

  She stared up at Tanner.

  “I think you know what I’m askin’.”

  Samantha stood, confused. “What’s going on?”

  “She wants me to shoot her,” he explained.

  “What! That’s crazy!”

  “It ain’t crazy,” argued Gran. “I’m a tired old woman who wants to lie down with her husband. What’s so wrong with that?”

  “Only about a million things,” answered Samantha. “Besides, we brought your husband home. Now you can go on living, knowing that he’s here with you.”

  Gran shook her head. “Ain’t nothin’ here for me. Not no more there ain’t.” She reached out and pulled the muzzle of the Mare’s Leg to her chest. “Just do it.”

  “He’s not shooting you,” Samantha declared, crossing her arms. “We don’t kill innocent people.”

  “Ain’t no one innocent,” Gran countered without looking away from Tanner’s eyes. “I’m askin’ you for a personal favor, one ol’ ornery goat to another. But I know ain’t nothin’ free in this world. I got a whole basement full of food and supplies, plus the horses.” She nodded toward Dusty and Major. “You can have it all.”