Melt | Book 9 | Charge

by Pike, JJ

  Hedwig shook her head. Her heart was an overzealous drummer whaling away on her ribs. She kept her face impassive and prayed she wasn’t visibly sweating. “I’m good.”

  “No, really…” Plastic sheeting hung from his cuff. He was one of the moderately-infected, staving off death by feeding the beast. He took another step forward. His uniform was ill-fitting, big in the shoulders, long in the leg. He had a class ring with a green stone on his left hand. Might have been his but could have been stolen. Stripping the dead for anything usable or glittering was a fact of life, but it made her cringe.

  He waved the tattered plastic in her general direction. “This is just a precaution. We’re doing this as a preventative measure, now.”

  Didn’t mean crap as far as Hedwig was concerned. She didn’t know who “we” were and, in any case, he was probably lying. She kept her eyes trained on his face while searching the ground for the shovel. “No offense, Mister, but I don’t know you and I don’t want to. Back away and leave us alone.”

  “I’m not going to hurt…”

  “I’ll say it one more time, then I’ll take you down. Back off.”

  He held his hands up in mock surrender. Or maybe it was total surrender. She couldn’t tell anymore. When everyone’s an enemy there are no acts of kindness; only people who are about to do you genuine harm and people who would probably do you harm if you gave them half a chance. Even if he walked away, he could easily walk right back. She couldn’t wheel the wheelbarrow and keep hold of her shovel. Neither could she turn her back on the soldier. She was trapped as long as the man stayed in the vicinity.

  GOD: What if he’s not the enemy?

  HEDWIG: Yeah, not now, God. I’m kind of busy.

  GOD: Just saying…

  HEDWIG: No. Seriously. Not now. He’s got the plague. I don’t want the plague.

  GOD: What about ‘love thine enemy?’

  HEDWIG: Worst possible timing, God.

  GOD: Think about it. If you love someone, how can they be the enemy?

  There were things you didn’t want to say to God. Not even in your own head. Not even if you were sure He would forgive you because you were, after all, only human. And in Hedwig’s case, only nineteen. And only getting over a major case of PTSD. And only far from home and your folks and your adopted family and your fiancé. And only with everyone relying on you to keep it together and get the meds. Things like: There are real enemies, God. There are good people and bad people. And I don’t see how it’s my job to make bad people into good people. My job is to keep the good people safe and alive and keep the bad people at bay.

  People who want to kill me: Bad.

  Soldiers who string each other up: Bad.

  Soldiers who hurt Barb: Bad.

  Soldiers who are staring at me and grimacing like I’m a joke: Bad.

  Soldiers who are trying to insinuate themselves into my life: Bad.

  Bad, bad, bad.

  Truly, it didn’t help that he was in a uniform but the longer she looked at him the more certain she was that he wasn’t, and never had been, a soldier. What then? Wolf in sheep’s clothing? Other way round. Sheep in wolf’s clothing. In any case, he didn’t add up to someone she wanted to encounter in the woods with a winged wingman and her main healer laid up in bed.

  GOD: But, what if he’s not, Hedwig? What if he’s a friend?

  HEDWIG: If he’s not the enemy, God, I need a bit of a sign. This is not one of those “take it on faith” times.

  GOD: When is?

  The soldier was backing up, hands in the air. “I’m a friend of Caleb’s…”

  Whoa. That pulled Hedwig up short. She’d asked for a sign. Again. And gotten one. Again. But, said the voice in the back of her head (not God, this was definitely her own voice): Why hadn’t he said that right away? Surely if you were creeping about someone else’s property you’d assume they were armed (she wasn’t; she’d been stupid and left her sidearm behind in Barb’s place) and lead with your most convincing argument?

  “He sent me to find you. Caleb and Rowdy needed to change the meet. It’s about the location, see?”

  Hedwig nodded. Okay. Maybe. She would give him two more sentences. Then it was Death Match With a Shovel. “Why didn’t they come themselves?”

  He shrugged. “The terrain. It’s too hazardous. They travel the shortest distance possible and allow clients to come to them.”

  That sounded like the kind of thing Rowdy might do. He was a pragmatist, a businessman, a money-maker. She could see him saying that. “Let them come to us. We have the goods. Supply and demand…”

  The soldier-not-soldier took a micro step in her direction. “Things have changed…”

  Hedwig’s hand found the shovel. She stood. At least now she was armed.

  The soldier laughed. “I’m not the enemy. Really. The twins are at the quarry. Caleb and Rowdy are waiting for you. They don’t want to cross over to this side with the goods, so they’re staying put…”

  Did that make sense? Hedwig charted the surrounding countryside in her head. The four of them were supposed to meet a few miles north of her current location. A mile from the abandoned truck stop. Not near the quarry. What would make them come all this way?

  “The leakage from the recycling plant has made everything east of here toxic a.f.”

  That tallied. They’d always known the MELT-sludge would eventually eat everything available on the inside of the recycling plant and work its way out in search of new fodder. They’d been lucky it had been contained for as long as it had. Her heart wasn’t back to normal, but her head was getting there. The stranger was making sense. “But why send you? Wouldn’t they just…”

  “You think you’re their only buyer? I work for them, bro. We have a network all over the northeast. We’re the suppliers. We’re keeping everyone alive. We’re the saviors…”

  Hedwig held up her hand. Long shot gamble coming up. “What’s the password?”

  The soldier smiled. “I was wondering when you’d get to that. ‘Banana splitsville or bust.’”

  There was only one way he could know their code phrase. He was who he said he was. He worked for Caleb and Rowdy. It didn’t mean he was safe or could be trusted, but the drummer in her chest switched down another notch.

  Sean groaned. His eyelids fluttered. He was trying to speak, but his lips weren’t cooperating. He licked them repeatedly, then coughed.

  “He needs medical attention. He’s not looking good.”

  “Yeah. What’s your name?” Hedwig hadn’t let go of the shovel, but she had come to a decision.

  “Stuart.”

  “I need your help, Stuart.

  “Sure. We take him to Barb and then go to the meet. That’s what I’m talking about.”

  He knew Barb’s name. Good or bad sign?

  Stuart moved around the tree, hands still in the air. But that face. Either he was really unlucky and looked guilty just because of the way his eyes were kind of dead and flat, and his mouth was trying to smile and failing, or he was leering again.

  Hedwig tapped the edge of the wheelbarrow with her shovel. It had the desired effect. Stuart stopped moving. “You stay here. I’ll take him to Barb. Then we’ll talk.” She lay the shovel on top of Sean and reached for the wheelbarrow’s handles. Jiminy Christmas, he was heavy. Didn’t help that she was facing in the wrong direction. She needed to push, not pull.

  Sean shifted his weight threatening the whole operation. If he tipped out he’d hurt himself again and she’d have to accept help from Stuart which was not something that appealed to her. She hauled and heaved and grunted, moving Sean and his one-wheeled chariot an inch.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do.” Stuart laced his fingers together over his head. “You’re going to take your weapon off Sean and walk behind me….”

  He knew Sean’s name, too. That was a little reassuring. Not a lot, but she was out of choices and she knew it.

  “You walk behind me while I push him. That way, i
f I make any sudden moves you can whack me over the head and have two invalids to take care of.” He laughed.

  She bent down and whispered in Sean’s ear. “I won’t let him hurt you. I promise. I’ll just be a few steps behind you. Stay as still as you can. We’re going to get help.” She took the long way round, circling Stuart as he crept toward Sean and the wheelbarrow.

  “You’re fine, Xena. You can relax now. You’ve got the upper hand.” Again with that fake laugh.

  Hedwig didn’t crack a smile. He had a vibe. He was wrong. He didn’t add up. He looked one way and felt another. Deep in her core there was a voice. No, not a voice. A sound. Hardly even that. It was a sense-sound-smell-sensation. A new thing that wanted her to pay close attention.

  She waited, her eyes locked on Stuart as he turned the wheelbarrow around and began to push Sean to safety. When he was ten feet ahead of her, she followed, still listening to the voice-not-voice which was cautioning her to keep her distance and stay alert. She let the wordless data bubble up to her mind and form sentences.

  Stuart wasn’t one-hundred-percent-Pig. Maybe twenty- or thirty-percent? He was the kind who would have stood back and watched. There wasn’t any one thing she could put her finger on and say, “That’s what tells me he’s not like Paul or Bill or Sean. That’s what tells me he’s one of the others.” The slope of his shoulders, the crooked-y smile, the eyes that had never left her face even though he wanted to scope her out were clues, but they didn’t add up to the complete Pig-picture.

  But she knew.

  He was Pig material.

  He was easily swayed. A follower. Hollowed out. Broken. But not like her. She’d been broken and filled with good-new-shiny things: A call to action, a conversation with her Maker, a will to live and be better than anyone had expected her to be. She’d been an ordinary girl with higher-than-average hopes, great parents, a dream trip to New York. She’d been one of the lucky ones.

  Then it happened.

  And in a split second she was one of the unlucky ones.

  But she had made a decision. This thing that had happened—bad men, bad luck, bad timing—it didn’t define her. It had shaped her but she hadn’t become the shape of IT. Whenever she found a crack in her armor she filled it up with action and bravery and things that made her feel good about herself.

  Her heart was almost all the way back to its regular, boring pace.

  Stuart pushed Sean ahead of her. He was right about one thing. She could finish him off with one swing of her shovel. She didn’t want to, but she would. And if it turned out that the voice inside her was wrong and he was more Pig than man, well…THAT was never going to happen again.

  Never.

  Ever.

  She’d found her footing and felt a whole lot better about the way the day was shaping up. Caleb and Rowdy had sent a runner. He was shifty and not to be trusted. He was a follower, not a leader. A weak man. He had no center. No moral compass. Her inward-looking face grinned. She had a brand-new Pig-sensor right in the center of her chest. It was going to be invaluable. It would go off whenever she met a Pig or a Piglet or a Pig-in-the-making. She smiled and was glad. Now all she had to do was make her Pig-sensor into a scanner so she could catch them before they crept up on her the way Stuart had.

  “How’s Barb doing?” He tried to look over his shoulder.

  “Eyes forward. Don’t want you to drop Sean. The ground is uneven up here. We need to go to the left of the oak. The other way is too knotty.”

  Stuart did as he was told and veered to the left. “Is she better? We ran the soldiers off…”

  Barb hadn’t mentioned helpers. Then again, she hadn’t been in her right mind when they’d arrived. And she talked in riddles half the time anyway.

  “They didn’t get the silver.”

  Hedwig’s spine straightened. She was glad Stuart was in front of her so he couldn’t see her flushing red, then white, then red again. Why would Caleb be dumb enough to mention the silver? That was not like him. Or Rowdy.

  “Or at least we hope they didn’t.” He laughed, put the wheelbarrow down, wiped his forehead with his sleeve.

  “Who’s we?”

  “The boys.” He looked at her. Frowned. “Caleb and Rowdy. They don’t do this out of the kindness of their hearts. This is business, plain and simple. They have something you want. You have something they want. Bingo, everyone’s happy.” He bent again and lifted the wheelbarrow. If it was a strain on him Hedwig could only imagine what it would have been like for her. He might be a creep but he was a useful creep.

  “Do you know where it is?” He didn’t look back at her but that was tactics. She could tell. He didn’t want her to see his sneaky face. His eyes would be narrowing and his lips all puckered up. He was digging for information. Her antennae went off big time.

  “I’ll discuss terms with the business owners, not the help.”

  He stopped. She almost walked into him. She raised her shovel and aimed it at the middle of his back. She’d insulted him. Little men didn’t like to be insulted. She’d learned that much in the camp.

  Stuart walked on. “You pay them, they pay me. There’s been some trouble with people ponying up the goods in the last couple of weeks.”

  “Oh, yeah?” She didn’t lower her shovel. The air between them had shifted. She couldn’t smell the earth or the trees or the cute little purple flowers that were gathered in clumps along the side of the dirt path. She could smell him, though. Too much sweat and not enough water. Some panic. Some scheming. A whole lot of ‘I don’t trust you as far as I could throw you.’

  “Yeah. There’s not much left to barter with, you know? Places have been picked clean. People have moved on. There’s only you, the crazy kooks up at Wolfjaw, and the encampment at the spa left with anything worth a dime.”

  More alarms. Hedwig hadn’t known she could go from an eight to an eleven in the space of one sentence, but she was there, bells and gongs and whistles all blasting at full volume.

  “Why are they staying? If things are so picked-over and crappy.” She had a reason. She was engaged to Paul. She had a job to do. But Caleb and Rowdy were rich kids like Sean. They had options. They could have been at the North Pole or New Zealand or whatever. Safe. Far from the sludge and the fallout. So? Was he going to answer. She prodded him with her weapon. “Why? Answer me.”

  He shrugged. “People moved away, right? Like ordinary people.”

  Hedwig waited. What he said next would decide his fate. Would she have to smack him down or could she let him walk on?

  “The Army still needs supplies. Meds. Goods. Like you.” He pushed himself against the tip of the shovel, testing her strength.

  Hedwig tensed her muscles, ready to plunge it into him. He didn’t know what she was made of. She’d spear him right through, sever his spine, make him into chopped liver if she had to.

  “They have stuff dropped in. Air lifts. You know? Official shit. Supposed to keep them alive while they complete Operation Donut.”

  She’d heard something about Operation Small Donut on the radio, but she didn’t relax her grip.

  “They don’t have the people to collect their supplies. Too many grunts have gone AWOL. But we do. We have the people and the infrastructure. We’re their sole supplier. We collect and distribute. For a fee.”

  “You make them pay? For their own stuff? They’re paying twice?”

  He laughed. She was getting real tired of that sound.

  “Think of it as a commission. We take all the risks, the federal government pays us for our trouble.”

  They rounded the corner. Barb’s bower-bird-house came into view.

  “You made her a fire. That’s good. She wouldn’t let us help. Said we had work to do. Talked about ‘the calling.’ Made us move on.” Stuart picked up his pace, trotting across the clearing. “It was Caleb who said I should come and get you. There are rogue soldiers roaming the woods. We couldn’t chance it. You’re a valuable asset. The government pays in ones a
nd zeros. All offshore. Nice work if you can get it. But you have hard currency. You’re the real deal. We couldn’t let them get their hands on you.”

  She and Sean hadn’t made it to the silver stash. She needed to get there. Fast. Without Stuart. If he was who he said he was she’d be able to do what she always did: Secrete the silver about her person and make her way to the other side of the quarry.

  If he wasn’t? Well, that’s what guns were for.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  DECEMBER 2021

  Alice was only half-right: The invading forces weren’t just carrying, they were packing.

  Hulking great monstrosities—clad from head to foot in articulated metal suits and full-face-covering helmets which harkened back to the Middle Ages—stormed their pathetic excuse for a military camp with shoulder-mounted rocket launchers, grenades, and automatic weapons that rivaled the Terminator’s arsenal at peak invasion.

  Michael and Alice dove behind a tree before the shooting began but the battle that raged didn’t pass them by.

  Bodies, bits of bodies, stampeding boots, screams and cries and smoke and fire and something in his eyes and up his nose and down his lungs, coughing and choking and eyes streaming before…

  Black.

  His eyes stung. He wiped his hand over his face, sure that he must be weeping blood, but when he brought his fingers up to his eyes he could see nothing.

  The hands that lifted him were metal.

  The feet that clomped across the ground as they dragged him away were metal.

  The bench they strapped him to, the straps they used to tie him down, the cup they forced over his nose and mouth: Metal.

  He’d slipped into a parallel universe and had been abducted by metal men.

  This is what happened when your alveoli were suffused with a pharmacological agent designed to strip you of your wits: you invented an enemy that could not be defeated. They’d been outnumbered, outgunned, outwitted, and undone.

  He didn’t see Alice. Or Hoyt. Or Baxter. He didn’t see anything.