The Warlord w-1

by Jason Frost

  "Modest boy you've got, Ms. Ravensmith." Fallows unsnapped his holster, pulled the Walther P.38 out. He walked over to Annie and stood in front of her, touching the cold barrel to her nipples. The nipples hardened from the cold. Fallows traced her ribs with the barrel, across her stomach, along her hips, into her pubic hair. He stared into her defiant eyes while stirring the gun through her hairs. Annie didn't recoil, didn't budge. She stared back. "You like this don't you? Say yes."

  When she didn't respond, he shoved the barrel roughly between her legs.

  "Say yes," he repeated. "Say, 'Yes, I love it.' "

  "Yes, I love it." Her voice was flat and mechanical.

  "Good. Now say, 'Screw me with it.' "

  "No."

  Fallows smiled. "Cruz." Cruz took a couple steps forward. "Break something on the kid. Something small."

  Before Annie could protest, Cruz had grabbed Timmy's hand and snapped the little finger back until it made a sickening crack. Timmy howled with pain for a moment, then forced himself to be quiet, blinking away the tears and staring at the floor.

  "He's going to remember that it was because of you his finger is broken," Fallows said. "Right now he blames me and maybe even Cruz. But in a day or two, he'll blame you for not speaking up fast enough." He lifted the gun and pointed it in Annie's face. "Suck it," he said.

  Annie hesitated, saw Cruz reach for Timmy, and took the barrel in her mouth. She closed her eyes, tried to think of other things, picture Eric coming for her. She saw the look of determination on his face, saw him clawing over rocks and hills. He was calling her name now, shouting it, listening for an answer. She saw his face so clearly, she was surprised he couldn't see her. That tight, grim expression that always made her feel safe.

  Fallows pul!ed the hammer back, the threatening click made her open her eyes.

  "Parting is such sweet sorrow," he said and pulled the trigger.

  The hammer struck the empty chamber with a deafening metallic crack. Annie jerked back at the sound so suddenly the sight on the end of the barrel tore the roof of her mouth. Blood seeped over her lips.

  "You son of a bitch," she hissed, shaken.

  "You don't know the half of it, Ms. Ravensmith. This was just the first scene. There's much more in store for you. And it gets worse and worse." He glanced over at Cruz. "Get them out of here."

  Cruz brushed open the tent flap, snapped his fingers at someone, and young Foxworth came running. When he saw Annie naked, his eyes widened. He licked his lips.

  "Take them back," Cruz said.

  Annie stooped down to gather her clothes. Fallows stomped his foot on them.

  "You won't he needing these."

  Immediately, Timmy took off his shirt and handed it to Annie. She smiled at him and slipped it on. The tail barely covered her.

  "Move it, Foxworth," Fallows snapped, and the soldier hurriedly ushered Annie and Timmy out of the tent.

  When they were gone, Fallows sat back on the cot. "It's going well, eh, Cruz?"

  Cruz shrugged. "It's not my game."

  "But you've liked your part in it so far, haven't you?"

  "Listen, Fallows, you're a fucking military genius. Everybody knows that. Maybe all that theatre shit helped you, I don't know and I don't care. As long as you make the plans and they work, and everybody gets what they want, I'll follow orders. It don't bother me to kill anymore than it bothers you." Cruz crossed the tent in two steps, grabbed Fallows by the arm. The fingers closed around Fallows' flesh like a mechanical claw. Fallows felt the bite against his muscles, but he showed no reaction. "I don't mind playing the stupid ox in your little dramas, Fallows. You can say anything about me you want, I could give a shit." He wagged a warning finger. "Just don't you start believing it." He released Fallows' arm and strolled out of the tent, closing the flap behind him.

  Fallows shook his arm and laughed. How predictable everyone was, even Cruz. The poor bastard didn't realize that Fallows could have killed him a hundred times over as he stood there wagging his sausage-sized finger in his face. But that wasn't part of the plan. Every player has his part-Eric, Annie, Timmy, even Cruz. And when the time was right, each would act accordingly, as Fallows knew they must. As he had planned.

  But first, Annie. Fallows shook his head happily, imagining Eric's face when he finally found her, what was left of her. He won't know whether to kiss her-or kill her.

  22.

  'They were here," Eric said, hiking up the steep embankment to join the others. "Camped down there last night."

  "Jesus, Eric," Tag whistled with respect, "you must be a hell of a tracker to be able to follow them so easily."

  "Only because Fallows is careful to leave plenty of clues."

  "I can't see them," Rydell said, studying the ground.

  "You aren't supposed to. He doesn't want it to be too easy. Nor does he want every scavenger out here following him. This is between him and me. That's the way he wants it."

  "And you?"

  "Yeah, that's the way I want it too."

  Season collapsed on a large boulder and began fanning herself with her hands. "Damn, it's hot." She took a swig from her canteen, peered into the opening, held it up to her ear and swirled it around. "Getting a little low on liquid refreshment here. Who's going to run down to the liquor store for soft drinks and wine?"

  "Yeah," Molly agreed, sitting on the ground with an exhausted sigh. "I think I've sweated off a bra size today alone. And I can't afford the loss."

  Eric unfastened the portable shovel from his pack, tossed it to Tag. "Start digging a hole."

  Tag looked at the shovel. "You think we're going to dig up water? Just like that?"

  "Just dig the hole. Three feet across and two feet deep."

  "Where?"

  Eric pointed. "Over there, where there is no shade."

  Season made a face. "I hope that's not the latrine."

  Eric reached into his pack, pulled out a folded sheet of clear plastic. He flipped it through the air to Season. "Roughen one side of this with sand, but be sure you clean it thoroughly when you're done."

  "Okay," she agreed, exchanging confused expressions with Tag.

  "An evaporation still," Rydell explained. "Right?"

  Eric looked at him over his shoulder, surprised and pleased. "Right."

  "We learned about it at camp. You dig a hole, place a bucket or container at the bottom of the hole, stretch the plastic over the hole. If you've got it, you run a plastic straw from the bucket out the edge of the cover so as not to disturb the process. Then you place a fist-sized rock in the middle of the tarp so it sags to a point about two inches above the opening of the bucket."

  "Sounds clever as hell," Season said. "But what's it do?"

  "Well, the sun heats the air and soil to furnace temperatures under there, which causes the water in the soil to evaporate. When the air becomes saturated, droplets form on the plastic sheet because it's cooler than the air. The drops trickle down into the bucket. Presto change. You've got drinking water."

  Season frowned skeptically. "Water? Out of the ground, huh? Sounds like a lot of work for a few drops of water. You sweat more than that away digging the damn hole."

  "Depends," Rydell continued. "Even a bad site can yield a pint a day, and a good one can give you a quart a day for a month."

  "Not bad," she nodded.

  "At least we'll all have a sip of water with our beef jerky breakfast in the morning."

  "No, you won't," Eric said. "At least not from the still."

  "What?" Rydell said. "I don't get it."

  "We aren't making this still to use now. That's one of the reasons we're camping here. It's remote. The still probably won't be discovered by anyone else. That way it, and the water, will be here later."

  "So what?"

  Eric sighed, tipped his canteen to his lips enough to moisten them. "There are only two ways to get my wife and kid away from these people. We either shoot it out or we steal them. Any volunteers for a shoot-out, rais
e your hands."

  No one moved.

  "Good. We know they have a couple guns, anyway. And they have more and better-trained troops. Any head-on confrontation will only result in all our deaths. And Annie's and Timmy's as well." He looked around at each of them. In the three days since they'd left camp, Eric's skin had bronzed by several shades, almost like a chameleon taking on protective coloring. The hard, angular muscles blooming from his rolled-up sleeves made him look like he'd been carved from a block of teak. He removed the Australian bush hat he'd taken from the clothes storage at University Camp and wiped the grimy sweat from his forehead. "So we want to try and steal them and then run like hell. Chances are excellent that Fallows will follow us. But if we leave some water holes behind us, we can get the jump on them by not having to search for water."

  "But they will," Tag said.

  Eric nodded.

  Tag stood up, laid the shovel on his shoulder, and marched toward the spot Eric had pointed out. Season shuffled wearily behind him with the plastic sheet folded across her arm.

  "Take your weapons!" Eric snapped.

  Tag and Season rushed back, snatched up their weapons, and hurried off with embarrassed expressions.

  "What about water now?" Rydell asked, glancing around. "This is desert terrain. We could dig around some of the plants to tap into their water source."

  Eric shook his head. "Not worth the energy. I've got a better idea. Get ready for a hike."

  "A hike?" Molly moaned. "What do you call what we've been doing all night and most of the morning?"

  "Strolling. At least compared with what we're going to do now." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the craggy mountains jutting up half a mile behind them.

  Rydell shaded his eyes with his hand as he looked up. "What's up there?"

  "History."

  "Things are dry enough around here without having to swallow that."

  Eric permitted himself a smile. Three days traveling with these kids-for indeed they were kids when it came to survival-had reminded him of his fondness for the curious student. And for teaching. Every day he reminded himself that he only told them what they needed to know to survive because he could use them later. They were nothing more than chess pieces to be positioned and, if necessary, sacrificed against Dirk Fallows. But there was something else going on, and though he denied daily, he felt a fondness for each of his companions and their unique personalities. Rydell's intelligence and independence, Molly's endurance and humor, Tag's sensitivity and loyalty, Season's mocking and strength.

  And he enjoyed lecturing them on what to eat, what to avoid eating, how to find shelter, trap animals. In this new world under an orange, contaminated sky, the lessons of history often seemed too distant, too ethereal. How to eat, what to wear, where to sleep, who to kill-these were the gospel now. And each was a worthy student and, in different circumstances, might have been a worthy friend.

  But this was dangerous ground, forming attachments. It could mean an unwillingness to use them properly when the time came. And that could result in losing Annie and Timmy forever. He had to fight these emotions, avoid reverting back to the old Eric, the civilized Eric who had failed to protect his family. Like the cassette recorder, the wedding ring, and Jennifer's body, friends were a heavy baggage in this savage world. To survive, one had to learn to travel light.

  "Mines," he said, the good humor gone from his voice as he stared at Molly's and Rydell's confused faces. "There are some silver mines from the late 1800s and early 1900s."

  "Silver mines?" Rydell said. "Never heard of them."

  "Not much reason to. They never paid off much. Not like the ones up north. But at the time there was a lot of indication of lead, so they dug around for a couple years hoping to hit paydirt."

  "What the hell's lead got to do with anything?"

  "That's how silver's made," Molly said. "Silver's just an impurity contained in certain lead ore. Called galaxy or something."

  "Galena," Eric corrected.

  "Right."

  "How'd you get so damn smart about this?" Rydell asked her, impressed.

  "Jeopardy. Remember the game show with Art Fleming? Used to watch it all the time. Picked up a lot of junk. I was in love with Art's politeness."

  Eric bent over his pack and started fastening the straps. "Often there are some water pools in these mines. Bring Tag and Season's canteens, we'll fill them up there."

  Rydell walked over to Season's pack, rustled through for the canteen. Suddenly he straightened up. "Listen!"

  "What?" Molly said.

  "Did you hear that? A noise. Like someone moving." He grabbed his bow from the ground, fixed an arrow in the string.

  "Relax," Eric said, not even turning around.

  "No, I really heard it. There it is again."

  "Yeah," Molly whispered breathlessly. "I heard it that time. Maybe I should go warn Tag and Season."

  Eric continued fastening straps. "Just calm down. No need to worry." He made no move toward his crossbow.

  "Hello," a familiar voice called to them. "Don't shoot, okay?"

  She staggered out from behind a giant boulder, her face blistered from the sun, her tongue swollen with thirst. The heavy backpack threatened to tilt her backwards. She was wearing khaki shirt and shorts, torn here and there at embarrassing locations. One knee was bruised and an angry red knob stuck out on her shin.

  Eric still didn't turn around.

  "Jesus, Tracy!" Molly gasped and ran toward her. Rydell dropped his bow arid joined Molly, each grabbing Tracy under one arm and half-carrying her to the camp.

  Tag and Season started to run over.

  "Keep digging!" Eric ordered. They hesitated, but returned to their work.

  Tracy Ammes nodded thanks as she shook off her backpack and flopped to the ground. "I had a couple of clever entrance lines," she said, "but all I can think of right now is water."

  Rydell handed her his canteen. "Go ahead and finish it off. We're on our way to get more."

  She swallowed the few ounces greedily, tilting the canteen higher and higher even after the last drop was gone. "Thanks. I tried to ration myself, but I guess I figured it wrong."

  Eric was still fussing with his pack, his back to Tracy, "Military studies show that rationing doesn't have any physical benefits. It's just as sound to drink all the water at once."

  Tracy looked at Molly and Rydell, raised her eye-brows in question. They both shrugged back and shook their heads.

  "How long have you been out there?" Molly asked.

  Eric answered for her. "Since we left camp. She started following us right away, been on our tails ever since. Just far enough to stay out of sight, but close enough not to lose us. Right?"

  "Right." Her voice was morose, like a child caught stealing.

  "That's crazy, Tracy," Rydell said. "Why didn't you just join us at the start?"

  "Because she knew I wouldn't take her," Eric said, turning now to face them. "Right again?"

  She nodded. "I wanted to come, though I'm not sure why. Maybe I just knew it wouldn't be the same there anymore, not after what happened. It didn't feel as comfortable, not with Annie and the kids gone. And it didn't feel as safe, not with Eric and the rest of you gone. It had a sinking ship feel to it, a lot of people putting on cheerful faces to mask their fear and dread." She shrugged, looked at Eric. "I guess you and Annie and the kids were really my only friends."

  "That's not a very logical reason to leave," he said coldly.

  "Maybe not. But it was enough for me." Her eyes were red and she blinked rapidly as if flushing tears, but there wasn't enough moisture in her body for tears. She hadn't expected Eric to understand, not Eric who wielded logic like a saber, more so each day since the earthquakes. Annie had often discussed it with her, fearful that Eric's hate for Fallows and fear for his family would consume him.

  Tracy had always soothed Annie's fears, careful not to let any of her own jealousy peek through. But Annie had known, Tracy was sure of
that. Yet she had never made any accusations, in fact had done everything to make her feel more comfortable. And Tracy had for the most part managed to bury her jealousy, learning to enjoy the Ravensmith family as if it were her own. Tried to look at other men with the same passion Annie looked at Eric. She and Annie were like sisters, and she missed Annie now. As for Eric, those buried feelings had worked their way closer to the surface in the past few days, but guiltily she did everything to force them back down. Annie and Timmy's safety was all that mattered now. And during the past three days and nights of traveling alone, hidden in the shadows from Eric and the others, Tracy had decided she would gladly give her life toward that end.

  Across the camp, Eric stared at Tracy. He had known since the first half hour of leaving University Camp that she was following. Had given her a day at most to surrender and finally show herself. He'd been surprised when she hadn't, but had been certain she would by that night, especially considering some of the wretched sights they had passed so far. A pack of dogs fighting over the half-eaten carcass of an old man. Hastily butchered cats chewed to the bone near old campfire sites. But Tracy had not shown herself, had not asked for refuge. For a moment he'd become worried, thought about going back for her. But then he remembered Annie's speech that night, placing Tracy in nomination as her replacement should anything happen. It flooded him with guilt and rage, and he cursed them both. The third day he knew she was still there and was angered at the rush of relief he felt. That was the old Eric.

  Finally she'd joined them, holding out until she was certain they couldn't take her back and wouldn't send her on her own.

  "Now what?" Tracy asked, withering under his intense stare.

  "Now we get water," Eric replied, plucking her empty canteen from her side.

  "That's awfully small," Molly said nervously.

  "They didn't need it much bigger." Eric ducked through the entrance of the cave. He switched on the flashlight, motioned for Rydell and Molly to follow. Tracy had been left at camp to rest.

  "Did I mention my fear of spiders yet?" Molly asked.

  Rydell laughed. "You too?"

  "Some comfort you are."