The heartwarming emotions that had been bubbling in Donald’s chest dried, cracked, disintegrated into dust, and were then swept away by the approaching winds of irritation.
“Eat it before it gets cold,” Donald said. “Or animals get to it.”
“Oh, thank you,” Dr. Beck said. “Is there any coffee?”
Donald snorted, shook his head and began his day’s march east.
“Donald?” Dr. Beck said. “Donald?”
The forest was excellent at many things; gathering creatures together to form small and not-so-small habitats for them to exist in and swallowing up sound with its thick canopy. The latter was currently in use by Donald.
15.
DR. BECK’S ploy had failed.
He’d intentionally overslept, keeping his eyes like slits to watch Donald as he prepared to leave him behind. He’d snorted, hardly able to keep the smile off his face. Donald had thought he was dead! After the grinding march the day before he actually felt like he could have died.
The plan had backfired. Rather than the expected pity, Donald walked even faster! Dr. Beck regretted putting so much effort into helping Donald recover and become stronger. He was meant to be defending him, not casting him out with the wolves. Dr. Beck pushed himself up and watched as Donald marched away. He would need to do something else, something much more drastic.
He attempted—as often as he dared—to appear wearier and more feeble than he actually was. He was doing it for good reason. The kids in their luxury horse-drawn cart were indeed ahead. How far, he couldn’t say, but it was of the utmost importance Donald not reach them before they got to Denver City. The fate of the human race depended on it.
It sounded overly dramatic but it was the truth. The kids simply had to reach Denver City before he and Donald did. If they didn’t, who knew what might happen next. Donald might insist on the kids returning home to their doomed commune. Lucy would never get inside the City and never launch the rocket. That would leave them with precisely one option: the giant cannon.
By itself, it wasn’t a bad option but it also wasn’t the most reliable. They would likely get a single shot on the Bug ship before it was able to return fire and wipe the cannon out. Twenty years of work and development gone in an instant. A single shot to destroy the Bugs, removing their grip from humanity’s throat for good, or else encourage them to apply another hand to strangle humanity with.
They needed to get Lucy to the awaiting mothership. They needed her to initiate the battle with the Bugs. Therefore, Donald needed to slow down. And Dr. Beck was running out of options.
The kids were riding on a horse-drawn cart and at the start, it’d seemed a safe bet they would be travelling much faster than a man could on foot. But as Donald kept powering ahead, stopping only to relieve himself in the bushes and sleep, he began to suspect Donald was, in fact, outpacing the cart and horse, especially since they were in no particular hurry and the trader would undoubtedly keep stopping to trade with local passersby and other tradespeople they met.
He considered telling Donald everything. Every sordid detail about what he’d done and what his future plans were. And that he’d sent his kids on a journey that would alter the course of the human race forever and leave Donald to die at the hands of the Rages. Hm. That wasn’t likely to go down very well.
Dr. Beck was beginning to get nervous. Each long corner he took, he held his breath, relying on the blind escape of hope that a horse and cart wouldn’t be visible. He breathed a sigh of relief each time that turned out to be the case, powerless to prevent any change in his circumstance at all.
And then something happened.
16.
IT WAS A corner like any of the others. Dr. Beck said an impromptu prayer before he rounded it and held his breath. He was relieved, as always, to find no cart and horse within sight. He was more surprised by seeing Donald, crouching at the side of the road four hundred yards ahead, beside a hole. It had to be something important to make Donald come to a stop like this.
Dr. Beck slowed his pace, fearing the worst.
“What is it?” Dr. Beck said, panting and struggling for breath. “What did you find?”
“The cart got stuck here,” Donald said. “The tracks are fresher. See how they’re not filled with water?”
“Yeah, so?” Dr. Beck said.
“So, the rain didn’t come until yesterday afternoon,” Donald patiently explained.
Dr. Beck still had that same confused expression on his face. He was capable of forming new equations to discover the secrets of the universe but when it came to pure logic he was a kid floundering in a paddling pool.
“It’s been cloudy and damp since then and none of the water has evaporated,” Donald said. “It means this hole was made after the rain fell.”
Dr. Beck got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“The kids aren’t ahead much farther,” Donald said.
He looked up at Dr. Beck with a grin on his face.
“We’re catching up,” he said.
17.
THE NEWS spurred Donald to even greater speed. It was the dead of night by the time Dr. Beck caught up, and this time Donald was fast asleep already. He’d barely get a few hours sleep before he’d have to get up again. He was going to fall further and further behind. And today he’d had quite a scare.
He’d just had a midafternoon snack when the bushes began to rustle. He picked up his rifle, all fingers, and thumbs, and aimed at the offending foliage.
“Donald?” he’d said. “Is that you?”
As if the great lumbering ox would waste time playing terrifying games on him. Especially when he risked getting filled with holes. Dr. Beck had raised the rifle and prepared to fire.
That’s when the damn raccoon had leapt from the bushes, hissed at him in anger, and tore off back into the forest. He wished he’d filled it with holes. At least then he could have used it for food that evening. Except that would have been fruitless. He didn’t know how to prepare it, never mind how to start a fire.
He lowered his rifle but did not put it away, still remembering the horror movies he’d seen as a kid. Everyone knew the real villain came after the fake one. But no real villain presented itself. And now he was even further from catching up with Donald.
Being out in the open and exposed like this was a new experience for Dr. Beck. He was used to having thick, solid walls and a roof over his head. He had often not gone outside for days, sometimes weeks on end, because he was so deeply involved with one or more projects. He’d simply never had to worry about Rages.
And wasn’t that the problem when a Rage horde had finally beaten down the City doors and flooded them? None of them had given them much thought. They were aware they existed but they weren’t a part of their daily landscape. It had turned out to be an error of biblical proportions.
Now, he found himself out here with no protector. Didn’t Donald realize Dr. Beck’s importance? Didn’t he know the value of the knowledge within his mind? The things he was capable of?
Sure. But they meant diddly squat out here.
And so Dr. Beck continued to struggle through the mud and the rain, the swampy earth gripping at his feet as he waded through it. Each day, he got left behind a little more. The message was simple: either keep up or shut up.
That night he vowed to speak with Donald. Things couldn’t go on this way. One day the bushes would rustle and it wouldn’t be a furry forest animal that greeted him but something a lot worse. He prodded Donald awake.
“Ngh?” Donald said.
“Can’t you slow down just a little?” Dr. Beck said.
“What?” Donald said.
He’d been fast asleep.
“When we walk,” Dr. Beck said. “I want you to slow down a bit.”
“You have to keep up,” Donald said.
“I can’t keep up,” Dr. Beck said. “I’m old and frail with a gimpy leg.”
“Then you’ve got problems,” Donald said.
>
“No, we’ve got problems,” Dr. Beck said. “It would be foolish to think you can do what you need to when you reach Denver City without me.”
“It’s a City,” Donald said. “I’ll find a way in.”
“Thousands of people have tried to find their way in,” Dr. Beck said. “They never succeeded.”
“They’re not me,” Donald said before turning over to sleep.
Within minutes he was snoring once again. Skipping with the fairies.
The next day, Donald once again got up early and powered ahead. For once, Dr. Beck did not feel the urge to hurry after him. In fact, the opposite. He slowed down. What difference did it make? He was never going to catch up to him anyway. And he was exhausted. Donald was a machine with no remorse. It had been a mistake bringing him on this journey. He should have left him in the hospital to die, for the Rages to feast upon. Try as he might, Dr. Beck did not find any joy in contemplating that scenario.
A rustling in the foliage to his left. Thick leafed plants and spiny shrubs with sinister thorns that had snagged fur from a dozen different creatures. Some had blood attached to them.
“You can cut it out,” Dr. Beck said. “I know you’re only a raccoon. Or a pig. Or some other beast that’s out looking for his next meal. You don’t scare me.”
The bushes continued to shake, louder now. Despite himself, Dr. Beck felt a thread of fear, like the filament in a lightbulb beginning to flicker to life. The bushes were upset again, following his movements as he walked. That was unusual. Usually, the animals heard him, turned and ran.
The hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He brushed them down with a confident hand.
“You don’t scare me,” Dr. Beck said again.
The more times he said it, the more he would believe it.
Boy, would he feel foolish after the beast turned to run in the opposite direction. He’d sure have egg on his face. And he’d love to have egg on his face. It meant he could eat it.
He concentrated on the road ahead and picked up the pace. Sweat soon followed. He hadn’t worked hard enough for it to be a product of his exertions. It was cold sweat, the kind that broke out over the entire body at the same time. The sweat of terror.
The leaves whispered in muted conversation one last time before parting and something fell out. More jostling. More of them fell out. And more.
He knew what they were long before he heard their groans. The haunted groan that he had, until recently, never had much experience with. It was the sound of his impending doom.
18.
JUST WHERE did that old fool get off? Donald thought as he chased his own marching footsteps. Why did he think it was okay to slow him down? He knew he wanted to find his kids as fast as possible.
He was grateful for the strong body the doctor had given back to him but there had to be a limit to his generosity. That was the main reason he disliked owing people anything. It was always difficult to know when the debt had been fully repaid. The truth was, it was never repaid. An expectation existed between the two of you, that you ought to look upon them favorably in future too. As a commune leader, where you oversaw the day-to-day running of the community, you had to make decisions. If you ruled against the partner who aided you, they were always quick to resort to emotional blackmail.
Donald sighed and came to a stop. Perhaps he was being too harsh on the doctor. He had saved his life after all. There was no greater gift than that. Maybe he could be a little more understanding, considering the circumstances.
He began at a walk, treading on the steps he’s made earlier in the opposite direction. Easier to tread in footsteps carved out by others, he reasoned. Even if he’d been the one doing the carving.
A blood-curdling scream. From the doctor’s throat.
That was not fake. It couldn’t be. There was too much fear in it. He unshouldered his backpack and let it drop in the mud. He leaned forward and let his weight carry him. It was dangerous to run in the mud like this as fast as he was. If he stepped in a hole or the mud gave way beneath him and he couldn’t extricate his trapped limb before he had fallen forward. . . It could end very badly.
Another scream. It matched the one he’d heard not more than a week ago—had it really only been a week?—when the commune was besieged by the giant Reaver clan and they’d breached their defensive walls. It was the wail of defeat, in full knowledge of everything that would befall them. It was the sound a man made when his soul had been torn from his body and everything he loved was torched in front of him.
The sound of a man who had lost all hope.
Donald lengthened his strides and cursed himself for being so foolhardy as to think he could get into the City by himself. He hadn’t even known there was a City a few mere miles from the commune where he’d spent the past twenty years of his life. He’d walked past the mountain entrance to the City a hundred times—damn, maybe a thousand times—and he’d never had the slightest inkling a City was there. He knew beyond all doubt this Denver City existed but it brought him no closer to getting inside it.
He needed Dr. Beck. And Dr. Beck needed to be defended. What was a few more hours or days travel so long as he could get inside the City? How could he have been so stupid?
A blast of gunfire.
Donald hurried the final few feet to round the corner. The doctor lay on his back, assault rifle in both his hands, aiming between his legs at the Rages that flowed like a river’s burst banks from the forest. There had to be dozens of them. Where had they come from?
Donald shifted his weight with his next step, bringing his rifle around at the same time. A pair of Rages were almost on top of the doctor. One was on its feet, running directly at him. The other crawled along the ground on its hands and knees toward him, sloshing through the mud. Donald wasn’t sure if the doctor could see the one on all fours due to the awkward angle.
Unfortunately, the doctor was not a good shot. He aimed for the closest and therefore most dangerous targets—one point in his favour—but his aim was off. His strikes began on target before pulling up at the recoil, forcing the barrel up.
The Rages took shells in the chest, arms, legs, nowhere that mattered. The Rages were not falling fast enough.
He was a dead man.
Donald needed to act now or it would be too late.
He came to a stop, slipping slightly in the mud and putting a hand to the ground to steady himself, before taking aim and opening fire. The angle was not the best, the distance even worse. He was as likely to strike the doctor as he was the Rages. But a bullet wound, even here in the wild, could be healed. A bite from one of those things, and you were a goner. He fired in controlled bursts, targeting one Rage at a time.
The one standing over the doctor was first. Then the one on the ground drawing up uncomfortably close on its hands and knees. Then openly at the swelling gang behind him. With a little luck, Donald thought he could hold them back.
Then the rest of the horde burst through the bushes, like a dam breaking beneath the torrent. Far too many to take down before they fell upon the good doctor.
“Doctor!” Donald said. “Get out of there!”
Dr. Beck was attempting to get to his feet, pushing himself up using his hands, but he’d lost his walking stick at some point and, desperate to get away, he made his escape on his hands and knees. Slow, slithering moves. It was the best he could do.
Dr. Beck’s inability to get to his feet might actually play to their advantage. He was low, which allowed Donald to fire at will at the dauntless creatures.
Clack, clack, clack, clack, clack!
He was out. He reloaded with disarming speed and opened up again, taking his time with each Rage as he stepped closer between each shot. One fell after the other. Donald and the doctor could not outrun these things, not with Dr. Beck’s current condition. They needed to be put down. Every last one of them.
By the time the doctor had crawled to Donald’s feet, Donald was finishing off the final few Rages.
Dr. Beck was in shock, still panting from his brush with death.
“Doctor?” Donald said.
The old man looked up at him with sunken grey eyes, pigeon chest moving up and down like a bouncing basketball.
“Did they bite you?” Donald said.
“No,” Dr. Beck said.
“Are you sure?” Donald said.
“Yes,” Dr. Beck said. “They didn’t get close enough.”
Donald nodded. He would have to check on that later.
Not all the Rages were dead yet. Some struggled to find their footing to launch another attack. The last thing Donald needed was to find one of these unfinished creatures wrapped around his neck in the middle of the night.
He approached the pile of bodies, finishing off the stragglers. Headshots only. One shot at a time. No need to waste ammunition. He checked over his shoulders every couple of minutes to ensure none of the things snuck up behind him. Dr. Beck should have been watching his rear, but he was in shock. Not the best state of mind.
The sporadic movements of the Rages had turned the area into a putrid swamp of mud, blood, and guts. The vortex sucked at his feet and blew farts of decaying flesh at him. A mass of long-dead decaying bodies, still writhing and faking life. He bestowed a bindi of death to each unmarked forehead.
He came to a stop. The arms and legs continued to dance, flopping in the mud, making stolid slap noises. The torsos had come to a stop already, accepting their fate. It had been a close thing for Dr. Beck. He’d been lucky to escape with his life. If Donald hadn’t been there to save him. . . well, the ending would have turned out very differently.
And then he felt it.
Something like a gnat bite on his ankle. It might have been his boots pinching his skin. They had never been the best-fitting shoes he’d ever had. He glanced down and immediately realized his mistake.
His big mistake.
After the Fall- The Complete series Box Set Page 46