by Lukens, Mark
“This is where we split up,” Luke said.
“You go down that road and you’ll find your way to the Georgia state line,” Dawson told Ray.
Ray knew Dawson was just trying to be helpful, but it irritated him; he already knew where he was going and he didn’t need Dawson to point it out for him. He looked at Luke, ignoring Dawson. “I hope you get him. I really do.”
“We need to,” Dawson said.
Ray and Luke looked at Dawson.
“I need to take a piss,” Dawson said like he knew he’d worn out his welcome. He left, walking around the front of the Humvee toward the edge of the woods.
“You really trust him?” Ray asked Luke in a low voice.
Luke shrugged. “Not really sure. I just need them to get me to Hell Town, then I’ll improvise a plan of my own.”
“You don’t know how you’re getting in?”
Luke shrugged again, a weary gesture. “We’ll figure it out as we go.”
Ray shuddered at the idea of not having a clearly mapped-out plan, and then a backup plan. But then again, who was he to criticize? It wasn’t like he knew what he was doing any more than Luke did. He didn’t know what was waiting for them at Avalon.
It was already almost two o’clock in the afternoon, the air already colder, the shadows from the woods stretching a little farther across the roads.
“We should get going,” Luke said. He looked at Mike. “You take care of your dad.”
Mike grinned and nodded, the pistol clenched in his hand down by his leg.
“Go try to pee,” Ray told Mike. “I don’t know when we’ll get another chance to stop.”
Mike looked wary.
“There are enough armed men here if any rippers come,” Ray told him.
Mike took off for the woods, walking between the two Humvees.
Ray turned back to Luke and offered a hand.
Luke shook it.
“If you make it back—”
“I’ll make it back.”
“When you make it back,” Ray corrected, “I’d like to ask a favor from you.”
Luke waited.
“I want you to train Mike. Turn him into a fighting machine. Teach him how to shoot better. I want him ready for anything. I want his odds of survival to be as high as they can be.”
Luke nodded. “I’ll do what I can. But Mike’s already got a fighting spirit, a natural survival instinct. You can’t teach that. Either you’re born with it or you’re not, and Mike was born with it.”
Ray knew Mike was a fighter as much as he was himself, as much as Luke was, as much as Josh and Emma were. The five of them couldn’t have gotten as far as they had for this long without that tenacity to win, to overcome, to survive.
“Thank you,” Ray said and shook Luke’s hand again.
Josh and Emma walked up. Josh shook hands with Luke and said goodbye. Emma hugged Luke and whispered something in his ear. Luke nodded like he was confirming whatever she had said or asked, his face set grimly, but Ray saw a softening in his eyes.
Mike was back. He gave a Luke a hug.
A moment later they were back in the van, everyone seated and belted in. Ray started the van and backed up a little to turn toward the road that led south.
It felt strange leaving Luke behind. Even though they’d been together for only a few weeks, it felt like they’d known each other for years. The horrors they’d been through had bonded them. And Ray realized that he had come to depend on Luke too much. That was dangerous because Luke could die at any moment . . . any of them could. They all had to learn to become self-sufficient, to rely on their own skills. They would all need to learn to shoot well, and not just with guns, but also with more primitive weapons. Eventually bullets would become scarce. Yes, they could learn to make bullets sometime in the future, but they needed to become proficient with every type of weapon even before that.
There were so many other survival skills they would need to learn: hunting, fishing, tanning, medicine, farming, foraging, building.
The thought of it overwhelmed Ray for just a moment. Unlike Luke, Ray was too much of a planner, an organizer, a worrywart as Kim used to call him. And that was good in a way, but he also needed to let go of some of that and learn to live in the moment, only planning a few steps ahead at a time.
*
Two hours later they skirted another small town, only stopping once so Ray could remap their route, trying to avoid any populated areas. But this town was unavoidable, like so many others along the way.
The buildings in the distance seemed abandoned, and so far there weren’t that many rippers as they drove by, no large groups.
Ray was pretty sure Josh and Emma were sleeping in the back; he could hear Josh’s heavy breathing, pretty close to snoring. But Mike was still awake, staring out the passenger window, watching for rippers.
“Dad,” Mike said with his gun in his hand. “Can I practice?”
Ray saw the loner that Mike had spotted. They were leaving the small town behind and entering a patch of farms and fields, with another thick patch of woods in the distance. He felt sick at the idea of his twelve-year-old son aiming a gun out the window and shooting at a human being, but he remembered how he had asked Luke to teach Mike how to shoot, how to survive.
What if Luke didn’t make it back? Who would teach Mike?
Ray nodded.
Mike rolled down the window and pointed his gun out, holding it tightly, closing one eye and doing his best to aim as they approached the ripper who walked a few yards off from the side of the road. The ripper looked like a starving and dehydrated man wandering through the desert, a man close to death; he looked like he didn’t even know where he was or what he was doing, just plodding along, maybe hoping to come across some food and water.
Mike squeezed the trigger three times. One of the shots hit the ripper in his head, pitching him forward where he landed down among the tall, dry grass.
“What the hell?” Josh yelled, waking up in the back of the van, startled and sitting up straight on the bench seat next to Emma.
“It’s just Mike practicing,” Ray said.
Josh exhaled a long sigh and whispered to Emma.
Ray couldn’t help smiling. If he couldn’t sleep, then no one else should sleep right now.
“Good shot, son,” Ray told Mike.
Mike beamed as he rolled the window back up.
CHAPTER 26
Petra
Petra woke up in the dark basement, not sure what time of day it was. She could see the very faint light coming from around the dark curtains over the basement windows, so she knew it was still daytime.
Someone was unlocking the basement door. Opening it. Footsteps on the stairs.
Petra sat up on the edge of the bed. She was still fully dressed; she even still had her hiking boots on and laced up. Hours ago she’d been walking around, pacing back and forth to get her blood flowing and to keep her alert and warm, but the pacing had made her hand and severed pinkie throb even more, so she sat down in the chair at the small table. At some point she had crawled back into bed and fallen asleep.
The bandage around her hand had spots of blood on it, but she didn’t remove the strips of gauze to look at the wound. Another servant girl, dressed in white as Audrey had been (and like Sharon, who they had strapped to a chair so Jacob could snip off parts of her body), had dressed Petra’s wound. This woman’s name was Lindsey. Petra had asked the woman her name and was surprised when she had given it to her. Lindsey had taken off the old bandages and applied some kind of cream to the short nub where Petra’s pinkie used to be, and then she had wrapped new strips of bandages around it again.
Since then Petra had been left in the basement with a half-filled gallon of water sitting on the small table. No one had brought her more water or any food.
Maybe they were leaving her down here to die.
No, she didn’t think that was true. They would eventually come down here to kill her. Or they would drag
her upstairs and kill her on the back porch. Or they would load her in a truck and take her out to the fields, hang her by her wrists from the crossbeam and call the rippers to come and feast on her.
Maybe they didn’t need her anymore. Even while they had tortured her, and tortured Sharon in front of her, the Dragon had known the answers to his own questions. But it still felt like he’d been digging for something specific, prodding her brain with the fingers of his mind, looking for some secret she was hiding from him. Maybe it was the only reason she was still alive.
The Dragon knew about Dawson’s defection, and the few others who had gone with him. He hadn’t stopped Dawson. He wanted Dawson to leave, to bring the others back here. He wanted the others, as he called them, to all be here in one place so he could take them out.
Petra still had trouble believing the Dragon was so afraid of them (or us, she reminded herself), but it seemed like he was, like all of his plans were on hold until these pests were exterminated.
The footsteps were heavy on the basement steps—Jacob’s signature slow descent down to her lair. He stood on the landing a moment later, bathed in the afternoon light that came down the stairwell.
“Get up.” He was smiling, but it was an evil smile.
This is it. This is where they take me out and kill me. Or worse.
Petra was ready to die. She’d been ready for a while now. She just wished she could get one chance to kill the Dragon . . . just one chance.
“Get up,” Jacob said again in the same even tone.
Petra got up. She could hear someone at the top of the stairs by the basement door—one of the guards.
Jacob moved back to the corner of the landing, giving Petra enough room to squeeze by him and walk up the stairs.
“To the dining room,” he told her, and then he was right behind her, following her up the stairs.
There were two armed guards at the top of the steps. They moved out of the way to let Petra out of the stairwell. They followed her to the dining room where the table was set for two, just like before. The Dragon wasn’t there, just one more of his black-clad elite guards.
“Sit down,” Jacob said as he came into the dining room, the last one to enter. One guard remained at the archway to the kitchen, another at the archway to the living room, a third in the far corner where the Dragon would be seated.
Lindsey, the same woman who had treated Petra’s hand, came into the dining room with a tray of food, bowls of what looked like some kind of beef stew and corned beef hash, both probably from cans. She set the tray down in the middle of the table. She served some stew and hash onto the Dragon’s plate and then some onto Petra’s plate.
Petra had already made up her mind to refuse the food, but her stomach grumbled at the sight of it, at the smell of it. The growling of her stomach was so loud she was sure Jacob had heard it.
Jacob said nothing about Petra’s hunger; he just stood at attention, waiting. A minute later the Dragon entered the dining room from the living room. He was dressed in black, like his guards. He sat down at the head of the table. Without a word he picked up his fork and began eating. He chewed quickly, swallowed, then he looked at Petra as if he’d just noticed that she was there.
Petra sat stone-still, staring at the Dragon
“You’re welcome to eat, Petra. I know you must be hungry.”
Her stomach growled on cue.
“It doesn’t hurt me for you not to eat. It only hurts you.”
Petra picked up her fork and butter knife, cutting a hunk of potato and beef with the knife, then taking a bite of the stew. She gripped the metal utensils hard, wondering if she could get to the Dragon across the table before one of the guards or Jacob could react. She saw herself hopping on top of the table and crawling across it, pushing the food and dishes out of the way, diving at the Dragon and burying the fork and knife into his eyes.
The Dragon stopped eating suddenly, staring at her in mild shock like he’d just seen the image in her mind.
Good. I’m glad he saw it.
Petra ate her stew. She was so hungry; it must have been at least two, maybe three days, since she’d eaten anything.
“Your friends are coming for you today,” the Dragon said conversationally and then took another bite.
Petra said nothing.
“But I’m sorry to say they won’t rescue you. They’re not even going to get inside the walls.”
Petra shoveled more stew and then hash into her mouth, hopefully doing the opposite of what the Dragon had expected her to do.
“I have a little surprise waiting for them.”
Petra didn’t answer him, she ate more food, scooping up the hash with her fork and slowly lowering the butter knife down to her side.
“You don’t want to know what my plans are for your friends?” the Dragon asked, seemingly a little hurt by her apathy.
She didn’t answer. She glanced at the guard behind the Dragon; he wasn’t looking at her. She slipped the knife under her shirt, and down into the waistband of her pants. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but maybe she could sharpen it down like a shank when she got down in the basement again. She had no way of knowing if the guard behind her had seen her subtle movements. But Jacob wasn’t even looking at her—that was a good thing.
“Do you want to know what my plans are for you?” the Dragon asked.
Petra stopped eating, but she still wasn’t going to answer him. He was just baiting her, toying with her.
The Dragon seemed to grow bored with their one-sided conversation, declining to reveal his plans for her. He looked back down at his plate, concentrating on eating again.
Moments later Petra finished her food.
The Dragon was only half finished with his plate. He looked at Jacob and nodded. “She got her food. She’ll be strong for later. Take her back down to the basement.”
Jacob nodded.
“But get the knife from her that she just pocketed,” the Dragon said.
Jacob smiled. He’d seen it too.
The guard behind Petra had her up on her feet before she could even react, holding her arms behind her back—it felt like her arms were wrapped in steel bands.
Jacob’s face was close to her face; he breathed on her as he slipped his hand down into the waistband of her pants slowly. “Nice try, Petra,” he whispered as he removed the butter knife and dropped it on the table.
The guard marched Petra down the stairs to the basement. Jacob was right behind them.
Once Petra was down in the basement the guard went back upstairs.
But Jacob waited.
Petra stared at him as he stood on the landing.
“I’ll give you a hint about your future,” Jacob said with a sly smile. “We won’t need you much longer, and when this is over, when your friends are dead, I’m going to have some fun with you. Yes, we’re going to spend quite a while together.”
Petra felt sick to her stomach as Jacob walked back up the stairs, clomping his feet heavily on each step. He slammed the door shut at the top of the stairs and locked it, shrouding the basement in darkness.
CHAPTER 27
Emma
Emma calmed down a little after Mike’s gunshots and Josh’s cries of alarm. She could tell that Ray had found it amusing that Mike’s gunshots had woken Josh up. Now Mike’s window was rolled back up and Josh had settled back down next to her. Her body was achy from the cold even though Ray had the heat in the van on. She tried changing positions, stretching her legs out, even unbuckling for a little and turning onto her side on the bench seat.
Everyone was quiet for a while as Ray drove. Mike and Josh were keeping an eye out for rippers or Dark Angels, but she could tell that they were both getting tired. You could only stay at a high level of tension for so long.
She curled up a little more. Josh laid a blanket over her without saying a word. She knew she loved Josh. She fantasized what it would have been like if she could have met him before the Collapse had happened, or if none o
f it had ever happened.
What would her life with Josh have been like?
She was back in her condo in Washington D.C. Josh had moved in. They shared her bedroom together, making love, then cooking and eating together in the evenings. Josh got a job, probably some kind of construction job, as she continued to volunteer at the center for the blind. They weren’t rich, but they weren’t hurting for money either.
Her mother came to visit. Emma felt a pang of sorrow when she saw her mother, who had sent Ray and his family to help her. Her mother had been taken by the police. She had died.
But in this fantasy her mother was still alive. She would come over once a week to spend time with them. Mom liked Josh. Everyone liked Josh. Josh kidded around with Mom, and Mom kidded right back with him.
Today they sat on the couch watching TV. Josh was joking around, making fun of the show they were watching. Emma didn’t even listen to the show—she listened to her mom and Josh.
“When are you two going to give me a grandkid?”
“Mom,” Emma said with feigned shock, but she’d been having thoughts about it.
“I’m not getting any younger, you know.”
“Josh and I are taking our time. Right, Josh?”
Josh gave her a kiss on her cheek. “Right, baby.”
“I’m not getting any younger,” Mom repeated, but now her voice was lower and deeper, sinister. “In fact, I’m dead now. It’s too late.”
Icy fear crystalized throughout Emma’s body. She knew her mother was still somewhere near her, but she had changed. And where was Josh?
“Mom?”
Heavy and deep breathing. Close to her, getting closer.
Panic roared through Emma. She felt the urge to get up and run. “Josh?”
No answer, just the heavy breathing.
Josh wasn’t there anymore. Neither was her mom. It was only the Dragon now.
“I know where you’re going, Emma,” the Dragon said. “I’ve always known. And I know all about your friends’ little sneak attack.”