by Allen Kuzara
He grabbed the rifle he’d leaned up against the wall and turned to cross what had become their front yard. His mind shifted to the immediate problem at hand: which truck should he take down the Dalton?
After only a few steps, Jimmy’s mind snapped back to his environment. Something caught his attention: movement.
He looked up, south, toward the top of the hill he would climb. He scanned the crest left and right. Nothing moved.
Then a twitch, and he pinpointed the lone figure, standing like a dark clothed scarecrow.
Jimmy dropped his bag, knelt and pulled his Marlin forward to aim. He raised the stock to his cheek and examined the figure over the beaded front sight.
It was a man, but it was no crazy, Jimmy decided. The man was dressed in dark clothes, tactical gear, dark mirrored sunglasses, and carried what looked like a military style rifle.
“Who are you?” Jimmy shouted nervously. “Identify yourself,” he added, trying to sound more confident.
The man didn’t speak but began approaching Jimmy’s position.
“Stop right there,” Jimmy yelled.
The man didn’t, but instead raised his gun to his side, at the ready.
“I’m not kidding,” Jimmy pleaded. “Stop or I’ll shoot.” He wasn’t kidding, but this wasn’t as simple as shooting a crazy. Real, unaffected people were a whole different ballgame. For one, this man could be friend or foe despite his aggressive posture, and he could fire back. If Jimmy fired a warning shot, the man might simply kill him in self-defense. No one had shot yet, and Jimmy was afraid to break that implicit contract.
He thought about turning around, unlocking the vault and retreating. But there wasn’t time. And he’d be a sitting duck with his back turned, an easy target.
Jimmy’s legs turned to jelly as he stood and moved toward the man. This didn’t help his odds of dodging a bullet, he knew, but he felt like he had to maintain a posture of strength. Whoever this was, he needed to know Jimmy wasn’t going to give up without a fight.
Jimmy marched toward the stranger with his gun raised. “Drop your weapon,” Jimmy insisted. “I don’t want to hurt you, but you need to back down.”
The man stopped.
Success! He’s listening.
But the man didn’t lower his gun. Jimmy noticed him turn his head to the side and whisper something. Jimmy stopped his approach and watched. Then he saw the small radio unit attached to the man’s tactical vest. He was communicating with someone. This wasn’t good, Jimmy knew.
“This is your last warning, mister.” Jimmy choked on his words. That was exactly the stupid kinds of things Nick hated for him to say. But it was out there now. “I need to know your intentions. Let’s start with lowering that gun.”
The man didn’t move, didn’t flinch. He stood there as if impervious to threats, fear, or danger. It made Jimmy think of the Terminator movies he’d watched with Nick last year.
More movement. Behind the lone figure. Jimmy saw five more similarly dressed, armed men top the hill and come marching down.
Slowly, Jimmy lowered his rifle. He barely had enough bullets for each of them, and they appeared to have automatic weapons. He didn’t stand a chance.
Then he dropped his gun. It made a dull ker-plunk on the muddy banks of the small summer creek. Jimmy raised his hands slowly. “Don’t shoot,” he whispered. Then in a louder tone, “Please, don’t shoot.”
CHAPTER 11
THE RAGGED COUPLE ran for their lives. Fortunately for Nick’s sleep-deprived mind, they didn’t have to think about how they’d get to Deadhorse. The pipeline was their constant companion as they jogged north on the Dalton highway.
Every few miles, they found an abandoned car or truck and had to decide if they would check it out, see if it had fuel and keys and would start. If they stopped to check, that meant the cannibals were that much closer to them, but if they could catch a ride, they would be out of danger in no time.
After a couple of false checks, Nick resigned to march on. They couldn’t afford to let those people catch up to them, and he knew that if they just kept putting one foot in front of the other, they would eventually make it to Deadhorse and the vault. Then the horde could bang and smash themselves against the six-inch steel door all they wanted. There was no way they could get through, and he, Lusa, and Jimmy would be safe inside.
The sun was high in the sky and beat down upon them as they ran the macabre marathon. Nick struggled to remember what day it was and how many days he’d been awake. He also didn’t know how many miles they had left. No one had seen a mile marker since they’d reached the Dalton. Nick wondered—if there was a purgatory—if it wouldn’t be something like this.
When he turned to check their pursuers—he kept hoping they would simply give up and quit—he could more easily make out their features: the men and women were mostly barefoot, and what few clothes they did wear didn’t seem to have any rhyme or reason to them; some had pants with no shirt while others had t-shirts and shorts, and some were entirely nude. He realized the fact he could see them better meant they were gaining on them.
As if his world wasn’t messed up enough, Nick’s fried brain struggled to explain these people. They weren’t the typical crazies, though they would be glad to kill the two of them. He just couldn’t figure out how they had survived the winter without more clothes. Even if they had hibernated like the crazies he’d seen before the thaw, they would have needed some clothing. And these people worked together, planning and cooperating to achieve their ungodly goals.
When Lusa and Nick finally reached Deadhorse, their worn condition was becoming frighteningly apparent; their pace evidently had slowed dramatically as evidenced by the nearness of the dozens of cannibals behind them. Nick could faintly hear their footsteps on the now gravel road, and occasionally one would snort or holler, beckoning an audible response in kind from the others. It made him think of the way low-flying geese honked, encouraging each other to keep flying. Except these shouts weren’t attaboys; these were we’ve-almost-got-thems.
The road ended, and Lusa hesitated. “No, it’s okay,” Nick told her. “Our shelter’s down here.” She examined his face as if she wasn’t sure she could trust him, then followed him down the grassy hill. About halfway down, Nick spotted the blinking red light that had first welcomed him and Jimmy. “There it is,” he shouted, but Lusa didn’t seem to notice it.
When they’d gotten down to the valley where the summer creek ran, Nick started to point out the vault’s outer door and window that was now visible. But before he could, it opened. He expected to see Jimmy, but instead a half-dozen men in dark combat gear and automatic rifles rushed out.
By the time Nick drew his weapon, the six were spread several yards apart, forming a horizontal line of defense.
“Drop your weapons and get on the ground,” one of them shouted.
They were outnumbered and outgunned, but Nick hadn’t come this far just to lay down. He tried to think of something to say, but his rattled mind wouldn’t give him answers. He noticed his hands shaking from fear or fatigue—he didn’t know which.
Then another figure exited the vault door. It was Jimmy. He came running, his hands waving like a football referee calling off a false start.
“Don’t shoot!” he shouted. “It’s okay. He’s my brother. Put your guns down. Everybody.”
Slowly, they complied. The six first, then Nick. Jimmy came forward to the other edge of the creek. “You made it,” Jimmy said with a smile.
“Look, we don’t have time,” Nick said. “We’ve got trouble.”
“Oh, them. Yeah, well it’s a long story but a good one,” Jimmy said.
“No, you don’t understand.” But before Nick could go on, he noticed the six soldiers raise their rifles again. But they weren’t aiming at the two of them. They were aiming higher up, behind them. Nick twisted around and saw dozens of cannibals top the hillside.
“Run!” Nick shouted, as he dragged Lusa by the hand into t
he ankle-deep creek.
“Who are they?” Jimmy asked.
When Nick reached his little’s brother’s position, he shoved him toward the vault. “C’mon. We’ve got to get inside,” Nick said.
As the three ran, Jimmy spoke to the six men and told them to defend their position. Unhesitatingly and before the three had even reached the vault’s outer door, the six soldiers spread out into a wider formation and began firing upon the invaders.
Nick held the door open for Lusa and Jimmy who were behind him, then closed it behind them and locked it. “Jimmy,” he said, “open the window, and see if you can take some of them out with your Marlin.”
But much to Nick’s displeasure, Jimmy didn’t follow orders. Instead, he went to the shortwave transceiver and began turning dials. Nick didn’t have time to see what that was about. All he knew was, he wanted to keep the cannibals back at all cost. If they couldn’t keep them from entering their shelter—if they came through the window—they’d have to retreat further back into the structure, behind the second vault door and wait them out. It was an option, at least, but he didn’t want to pull the plug if he didn’t have too.
Nick grabbed Jimmy’s Marlin and rushed to the window. “Let me help,” Lusa said.
“You stay back,” Nick scolded.
“I can shoot,” she insisted. “Give me a weapon.” But Nick ignored her and took up a position near the bay window. Pete had told him to keep her safe, and that’s what he was going to do.
As soon as he opened the bay window—it was one of those old crank deals that seemed to take forever to slide the window an inch—the sounds of automatic rifle fire went from dull background noise to piercing, explosives that hurt his ears.
Nick’s first observation out the window was that the team of six had put down a considerable number of cannibals. He found a target and took aim. The .30-30 round was heavy and dropped quickly; he saw dirt fly some yards before the wild man he was shooting at. The man looked at Nick’s position, noticing the shot, and came running toward him.
Nick cranked the lever action and a hot brass casing spit out the side, plinking lightly on the floor. He shot again, but this time he simply missed, the bullet apparently flying to the right or left of the charging target.
Then one of the soldiers fired at the man: two shots to the chest, one to the head. The target was down, and the soldier had made it look easy. Nick lowered his rifle, surprised by the efficiency of this small team of gunmen. He watched in amazement as they cleaned up the last few stragglers, the last to reach the hillside. Nick was out of danger, he realized. They all were, and it was because of these strangers who had done the fighting for them.
Always the cautious one, Nick cranked the window back shut. He turned around to Jimmy and Lusa. Jimmy was just taking off his headset now, finished radioing whomever. Both boys had big dumb grins on, but Lusa sat at the table with a scrunched-up scowl. Nick wanted to ask her what was wrong, but he quickly played back the last several minutes in his mind and figured she was mad about him telling her not to fight. Oh, well. She can get over it, he thought. I just saved her life. She could be a little grateful. But he also realized she’d just lost her family and village. She had the right to be sore.
“They did it,” Nick said, raising his hand back toward the window. “I don’t know who they are or where they came from, but they did it.”
“I’d say our luck has changed,” Jimmy said.
They both looked at each other, their beaming faces unchanging for several seconds. Then, slowly, they both turned to Lusa. She was the elephant in the room, the unexpected addition to their little family. And her luck had run out days ago.
“Do you need anything?” Jimmy asked. Then, before she could answer, he knelt, extended his hand out to her, and said, “I’m at your service, fair maiden.
For the first time in Nick-didn’t-know-how-long, Lusa smiled as she took Jimmy’s hand. “Thank you, kind sir,” she said.
Jimmy kissed her hand as if she was a princess. “The honor is all mine,” Jimmy said with a fake regal accent.
Well, that’s better, Nick thought. At least she’s smiling. “Look, Nancy,” Nick said, teasing Jimmy, “I think we’ve got more important things to do besides playing tea party.”
Jimmy coughed and stood up as if at attention, donning his most macho affect. Lusa giggled. “Sir, yes sir,” Jimmy reported.
“Care to tell me about your friends?” Nick asked more seriously, his thumb pointing over his shoulder toward the window.
“No. No, I don’t,” came Jimmy’s response. “But I know someone who does.”
Jimmy walked to the window and peered out. Nick turned and tried to see what Jimmy was looking at. Then, as if on cue, a truck crested the hill. Several similarly dressed men jumped off the back of it. Another man who didn’t match the others stepped out of the passenger side door.
“There he is,” Jimmy said, “the man with all the answers.”
CHAPTER 12
“NICK, THIS IS Dr. Vaughn Craig,” Jimmy said. They all were standing on the far side of the valley creek, the one closer to Deadhorse. Nick extended his hand to the man, who eagerly took it.
“Call me Vaughn,” he said. “The days for titles and surnames are over. Anyone worth knowing is worth knowing on a first-name basis now.”
Nick shook Vaughn’s hand and noticed the cool touch of his skin, his long, slender fingers feeling frail under Nick’s grasp. Vaughn had a short brown beard and long slicked-back hair tied in a ponytail. He was several inches taller than either of the boys. His clothes were simple: black long-sleeved shirt and gray pants, matching those of the elite team he seemed to lead. But he looked nothing like a soldier and appeared to carry no weapons or gear of any kind.
“It’s good to meet you, Vaughn,” Nick said. “I guess we owe you big time. You saved us.”
“It may be the other way around when it all gets said and done,” Vaughn said. He stared at Nick as if he should understand. Then he added, “The seed vault. Jimmy gave me the grand tour while you were away.”
Nick was shocked that Jimmy had so willingly shared their secret with a total stranger, and he was now equally embarrassed that the truth was out for Lusa to hear.
“I don’t know how long it would last if we started feeding everyone by it,” Nick said. He hated his own words. They were weak half-truths, and he was playing defense, trying to mitigate risk with Vaughn and cover his tracks with Lusa. He didn’t dare turn and look at her, though he felt her scrutinizing eyes on him.
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of eating the seeds,” Vaughn said. “Food’s the least of my worries. But some day, when the time is right, those seeds may help remake the world, a world we will have to build.”
Nick wasn’t sure about Vaughn. There was something about him that made Nick suspicious, but at the same time, Vaughn seemed competent, confident, and far more in control of his life than anyone else Nick knew. It was oddly refreshing being around someone like this, someone who made Nick feel young again. It was different than it had been with Pete. Pete was fatherly, but the man was poor and lived meal-to-meal. Vaughn was…well, Nick didn’t know yet. But it was different.
Suddenly, Nick realized Vaughn had lost interest in him and was examining Lusa who stood beside him. “Oh, this is my…” Nick stopped himself from saying girlfriend. “…my friend Lusa. She—”
“It’s good to meet you, Lusa,” Vaughn interrupted as he extended his hand. She shook it, and Nick noticed her shyness. It was something he’d seen before, but he’d misinterpreted it as being coy, or stoic. Now, it was plain as day; she was a scared little girl.
“It’s good to meet you,” she said as bravely as she could.
“Jimmy didn’t mention you,” Vaughn said.
“No, I don’t live here,” Lusa answered. “I live…” She looked down, seemingly unsure how to answer.
“Well, Lusa, I don’t know your situation,” Vaughn said. “But I know you’ve lost someone.
Because we’ve all lost someone. Nobody alive can say otherwise. That’s one thing that brings us all together.”
She looked up, eyes glimmering with what Nick believed was a combination of pre-emergent tears and hope. “That’s true,” she admitted.
Nick was surprised at how easily Vaughn could positively manipulate her. It didn’t seem malevolent, but the skill involved, the understanding required, was easily apparent.
“Look, I’d love to continue getting to know you all, but I’m needed elsewhere,” Vaughn said. “You have to have plenty of questions, I know. And I’ll answer them all, I promise. But I can’t do it here. Or, at least, it would be far simpler to show you the truth instead of tell you about it.” Vaughn paused, making sure his words penetrated. Then he asked, “Would you all join me for dinner? You’d be my honored guests. And you won’t believe the tableside view.”
CHAPTER 13
NICK SWOONED AS the boat rose and fell with the waves. It was hypnotic, though the patterns were too irregular to allow him to completely fall asleep. A splash of cool ocean water rushed into the boat, waking him from his brief respite.
For half a second, he was disoriented. The bright sunshine reflecting off the top of the blue-green water was blinding, and he felt mildly nauseated. He’d never been sea sick. He hoped that wasn’t what was happening.
He looked over across the small craft and was greeted by his smiling brother. This little adventure was the kind of thing Jimmy lived for, but Nick still wasn’t convinced it was all for the best. Meeting Vaughn seemed fortuitous for sure—they may not have survived the siege at the vault without his help. And the resources Vaughn seemed to command was so considerable, there was no question they should meet with him and consider how they could all work together. It was a no-brainer.
Still, Nick wasn’t sure. It felt like a lucky break. They’d been lucky before when Bob had invited them to Deadhorse last year, but that had ended with Bob going broke and trying to kill them.