67
Moraine fought against fainting once the three dogs rushed from the fog for the lady holding her baby. The scene drew into a closing noose as she dashed onward armed with her rifle.
Jenny’s screams drifted into white noise as the former Delta Force operator pushed herself. Pace, self control, all her training swept aside by a rush of adrenalin and love.
Moraine started a mental count, drawing in her years of combat experience into a diamond bullet. A thing she did to calm her nerves when the world around her became unbearable. She wanted to shout a warning, but didn’t want the dogs alerted to her presence. Then Gladys did the unthinkable. She lowered Casey and told her to run.
The Canines yet picked up Moraine moving ahead, propelling herself forward as ebony clods and heads of lettuce flew at her wake.
Moraine’s heart broke as Casey did a toddler dash. The girl’s arms pumped, her legs stirred into a busy blur lacking the burst of speed. Beyond Casey, Gladys confronted the vicious trio slowing to a casual approach.
Casey tripped and fell. She sat on the soil and began pushing heads of lettuce while giggling.
Moraine ran to Casey. Grabbed her. Hugged her tight for a few seconds until a wide-eyed Jenny snatched the girl and headed for the Unimog.
Bright heat flashed through Moraine. How dare Jenny take her daughter? Then she noticed the danger out in the open with bloodthirsty noises resonating at her rear.
Moraine remembered Gladys, switched gears, and aimed her rifle. She spied out so much blood and flailing limbs. Her finger squeezed off six rounds, dropping the Doberman and pit bull.
The Rottweiler peeled off from his feast and sprinted at her, resembling a black linebacker. He torpedoed straight ahead and launched, knocking Moraine hard against her forehead.
She buckled from the blow as blue and purple stars splashed her vision. The Rottweiler landed, jumped, hit her against her temple, strong enough to stagger Moraine.
Moraine swung her left arm back for balance. He clamped his teeth onto her forearm protected by thick leather.
Moraine sensed the painless pressure. Bones sat on the cusp of breaking. His eyes rolled up to hers. He shook his powerful head, jerking Moraine’s torso, trying to ground her for the kill. Her rifle jounced to the dirt. Muffled growls jammed her ears.
Moraine slid her blade from its sheath when the Rottweiler jerked again, pulling her low. She landed nose first, wet earth clogged her nostrils. She needed to roll before the huge canine switched from arm to jugular.
Moraine struggled to her knees, bearing the animal's powerful weight. The big dog went for her neck. Within those precious seconds she spotted his dog tag. The name Draco graced her sharp browns. She sliced along Draco’s yawning jowls, catching his tongue.
Draco shuffled in retreat, his fierce growl softened but his intense resolve multiplied. He lunged. Moraine bolted to her feet. Draco’s cinderblock skull crashed into her shoulder.
Moraine grunted, regained her balance from a stumble. She cut diagonal, opening a crimson slit above Draco’s feral glare. The dog whimpered as red foam gathered at his maw.
They circled each other, her gaze shifting from Draco to the tree line, expecting hundreds of dogs to pour out at once. Draco leaped, exposing his underside to her blade.
Moraine slashed downwards from sternum to balls. Draco howled something miserable. The dog collapsed, his hot innards spilling over several shriveled lettuce. His exposed entrails sent steam wafting into the chilled morning air.
Moraine bent, breathing heavy with blood slathered over hands and knife. She gazed at Draco’s kicking hind legs, his mouth filled with blood opened and soon he lay still.
“Moraine,” Jenny’s call cracked across the field.
Moraine glimpsed up from her handy work, pausing for more dogs. Instead a few crows cawed overhead, ready for the human to leave so they could enjoy an early breakfast. After retrieving her rifle she raced to the fallen Gladys.
She knelt next to the woman, sheathed her blade and performed a quick visual recon. She placed a hand on Gladys's cooling cheeks.
Gladys forced a grin, scars and gouges revealed bleeding pink flesh. “It’s ok.”
Moraine gripped the woman’s hand. Her dying awareness faded in increments without fighting the inevitable. “Thank you, Gladys.”
Gladys gave a slight nod. “Thank you, for the pills.” A faltering smirk arrived. “Too many, Moraine.”
Gladys's grip tightened on Moraine’s hand.
“Be at peace.” Moraine motioned the cross over Gladys. She mused whether to believe in such things anymore.
Gladys’s chin lifted, her eyelids fluttered. “Erik is here.”
A long breath escaped her lips.
Moraine ached to bury Gladys, however a dark tingle filtered through her taut muscles. She stood and walked away from the bodies and blood and war she promised never to fight again. But here she found herself, dug in, killing again.
“I hate war,” she said, rising her voice as she hiked to the Unimog and to Casey.
A lone howl shattered her somber moment. She spun and faced three dogs standing on the field’s muddy edge.
Moraine presented herself to Black, White, and the tiny Molly. Black raised his head and delivered another howl. The perfect opportunity to slaughter them flooded her mind. But they remained at a safe distance, calculating no doubt the wind and bullet drop her round needed to travel to reach them.
She turned her back and returned to the Unimog. Both joy and sadness saturated her soul. She focused on the mud splattered Casey held in Jenny’s embrace. The thought of Gladys sacrificing her life to bring her daughter home brought tears to her eyes.
Moraine glanced behind her. The dogs vanished into the waning mist. She stared at Gladys for a minute before climbing into the Unimog.
68
Moraine returned to the empty fruit store where they camped. Jenny sat next to her with Casey settled in the middle chair. They rode in silence except for Casey who chewed an MRE chocolate bar, smacking her tiny lips as she devoured the confection.
Moraine spotted the two pickups and parked. She got out, and the group stood without talking. They stared at Moraine’s blood splattered clothing. Pete’s girlfriend approached Moraine with an armload of semi-clean clothes.
“Thank you, Alice.” Moraine took the cloths. She changed in private, dressing in a pair of jeans and a white tee. When she arrived everyone already piled in their vehicles waiting.
Moraine occupied the front passenger seat with Casey huddled in the backseat. Jenny made herself comfortable behind the wheel. Jacob and Davin climbed into the Unimog’s cargo hold and the trucks convoyed off to Bakersfield. They stopped for bathroom breaks. For lunch they ate near a dried vineyard and then continued on their journey.
Moraine glanced at Casey. Her scratched forehead and cheeks brought a continuous ache to her chest. Casey smiled and performed a limp wrist wave.
“Where’s daddy,” Casey said. “I want daddy to sing.”
Moraine patted Casey’s cheek, her answer for why her father no longer traveled with them.
The three vehicles reached Bakersfield two days later after a harrowing journey. They pulled into a crowded parking lot packed with pickups and armed people.
“Wait here,” Jacob said before exiting. He headed for the gaggle of rifle toting men and women.
Jenny studied the crowd gathered before them. “How you doing, girl?”
Moraine shrugged. “I’m still breathing, Jenny.”
Jacob motioned for Moraine.
Moraine stepped from the truck, leaving Casey with Jenny if things proved to be wrong. “Hello there.”
Jacob gestured at the battle-hardened veteran. “Hank Armstrong, this is Master Sergeant Moraine Baxter.”
Hank Armstrong, standing at six foot eight with wide stooping shoulders and potbelly, grinned hard. He resembled a hound perched on stork legs. “Pleased, Master Sergeant Baxter.”
Morai
ne shook hands and noticed the man’s strong grip and thick fingers. “Moraine is fine.”
Hank introduced Moraine to the rest. Moraine waved at her team to meet the Bakersfield militia eager for a fight.
“And this here is my daughter Casey.” Moraine scooped Casey up in her arms.
Hank tipped his big cowboy hat. “Hi, Casey.”
Casey giggled, hiding her slender face underneath her mother's defined jaw line.
“I’m the mayor of Bakersfield. Follow me, your friends can find a place to wash up. Pardon my language, but you guys look like shit sautéed with garlic and onions.”
“Bad,” Casey remarked. She peeked out at Hank from Moraine’s neck and delivered an impish smile.
Hank saluted the little girl. “Bakersfield is open to you. Us regular folks are running the town. Come on and let’s talk.”
Moraine nodded, happy they found a safe city. For now. “Thank you.”
69
Moraine showered and bathed Casey at the YWCA, scrubbing the girl good. After the bath she brought Casey to the local clinic. Besides bruising, cuts, and scrapes, and a community of lice in Casey’s honey colored tresses, the toddler stayed healthy. After the medical appointment a guide found lodging for the group at a Holiday Inn.
Moraine reached her hotel room on the second floor. She tried relaxing, yet her mind buzzed with hundreds of tasks to complete. Unable to decompress, she stepped onto the balcony.
Moraine enjoyed seeing the sun slide behind the western hills. A calm filtered through the urban world of concrete and steel to her right.
Nightlife sprung up from the bricks and mortar. No loud music punctuated the atmosphere. A somber peace filled with low voices and car engines added a delicate ambience as if Bakersfield continued to heal from the earthquake. Opposite the cityscape rose a northern hillside, its crest edged with cattle farms, forcing Moraine to marvel at this bit of oddness.
Moraine reentered her room to tuck Casey in and kiss her goodnight. Jenny emerged from the shower with a blue towel wrapped around her slender frame. “Can you watch her? I need to chat with the mayor.”
Jenny leaned against a wall. “You should sleep and talk to him tomorrow.”
Moraine sat next to Casey and ran her fingers through the girl’s hair. She traced the scars etched across Casey’s cheeks, chin, scalp and arms. No more bugs deemed her golden locks a sanctuary. The thought of waiting until the morning made her uncomfortable. She needed to relay the information in her head before the words grew stale.
“I won’t be long, Jenny.” Moraine walked out the room and into the warm dusk. She noticed armed guards strolling the streets. They stared at her in awe, giving her smiles and nods. She figured someone mentioned their journey from the Bay to Bakersfield.
Moraine asked for directions to the mayor’s residence. A guard dialed a number and soon a Hummer rolled up and the driver took her straight to Hank’s home.
She thanked the driver and approached a ranch styled abode with a large redwood porch, a house she often wanted to settle in with Erik and Casey. The screen door swung wide and big Hank Armstrong came out waving and smiling.
“Come on in, Moraine.”
Moraine climbed the steps. Warmth suffused her body upon stepping inside the dwelling lit with soft lights. The aroma of barbecued chicken soaked the air as she followed Hank to the kitchen.
“You hungry?”
“I ate earlier, thank you.”
Hank pulled out two Corona beers and handed a frosty bottle to Moraine. “The generators keeping this area running. The city is still on emergency power. Don’t know where FEMA is.”
Moraine accepted the drink. The cold rising from the glass chilled her fingertips as Hank grabbed a chair at the kitchen table covered with a tablecloth decorated in red roosters. “Sit and tell me what happened.”
Moraine popped the beer. She savored the Corona and weaved her tale into Hank's ears, every violent detail starting with the Lawrence Livermore Labs and bumping into Jacob and Davin.
Hank paused in contemplation. “We struggled after the quake, but kept the place safe. Thank the Lord, folks stuck together and worked their problems out.”
“And the dogs?”
Hank downed his beer and left for more. He returned, handing Moraine one and settled his bulk into the wooden chair. He opened his, sipped. “The dogs. Well, went wild. A few didn’t. The ones who turned, we put them down fast. Broke my heart because most of those dogs belonged to responsible owners.”
Moraine drank, savoring the roasted taste of the beer. Gladys’s bloodied face haunted her vision. “They are coming. Bakersfield is a checkpoint in the Damascus Chips programming.”
Hank gazed at Moraine. “Jacob told me you joined Delta Force. I sent him to look for you after my cousin arrived from up north.”
Moraine swept her eyes over the comfortable kitchen, owning a home became a sudden and strong desire. The comfort and security snuggled in her mind akin to a fatted cat. A fatted Skitters.
“My cousin said the dogs near San Francisco killed thousands of people. Weird enough, your story puts things in perspective. Now here’s the kicker. Where’s our military? Where’s FEMA?”
“A powerful somebody called them off, Hank. He's watching this play out for whatever reason.”
Hank's forehead wrinkled. “The government, maybe?”
Moraine nodded. “The dogs are traveling through Bakersfield headed to Los Angeles. I want to stop them here.”
“What's their count?”
“Close to a thousand or more.”
Hank drained his bottle, pursed his thin lips. “Can you help us?”
Moraine smiled. “I’m way ahead of you, Sir.”
Hank rocked back in his seat. “How many days you reckon we have before they get here.”
Moraine pondered the question. “Ten days if the dogs keep their current pace. And we must be ready. Those animals are unforgiving, and willing to kill everyone in this city to succeed.”
70
Akiko woke, not realizing she slept through an entire day stretching into next morning. She confronted a dry mouth and aching skull. Her stomached gnawed as if she skipped a few meals. An incredible dizziness kept her on a ground covered in hoarfrost. She forced herself up to her knees, her world swirling as if she spun in a circle. She leaned over and vomited.
Silence greeted her ears after she gathered herself. No dogs barked in the distance, no one cried or laced the chilly air with hellos.
She pushed herself onto jellied legs, taking in the bright warm sun. Fear crept beneath her skin. The camp slumbered except for a few slaves and Canines stumbling as if drunk and staring off into a void.
Akiko recalled what she thought the prior night activities. The dogs celebrated something. After eating and drinking, Black and White gave speeches. She recognized the commotion as nothing more than howls and barks. The children ate and drank after the Canines, and she awoke to this.
She moved through the sleeping and semi awake searching for Black and White. The last she spotted them, they huddled near the front of the army on a slight rise overlooking the crowd.
After a few minutes of searching, she bumped into the Cadre emerging from the woods. Golden retriever, black lab, chihuahua, German shepherd, Saint Bernard, followed by her favorite three. Black, White and Molly. She knelt and waited.
No one growled, nor did Molly nudge her to stand. Black and White traded huffs, and the Cadre remained silent, observant. She sensed their presence as they barked out an important matter.
Molly whimpered and licked Akiko’s hand.
Akiko looked up as Molly scooted forward and stopped, giving Akiko the sign to follow her. She rose and trailed the small dog into the tangle of trees and brush until arriving at a lettuce field drenched in sunlight.
Akiko faced rows of round wilting vegetables. She discovered a disturbed patch of uprooted lettuce splashed in crusty red. Forms lay on the ebony earth, crows pecked around the scene,
calling harsh cries at the intruders who interrupted their feast.
Molly led the way, reaching the spot she wanted Akiko to see. For a second Akiko’s vision deceived her. She saw her mother, father, brother, and boyfriend splayed in death. In slow increments they transformed. Gladys, on her back, lips cracked open. Draco, King, and Romulus, all frozen in rigor mortis.
Akiko glanced up from the morbid sight. She scanned the horizon for the culprits and assumed they fled. An eerie serenity emerged after the crows flew off circling and waiting to return.
Black and White, alone, sauntered up to her. They exchanged glances with Molly who rolled over, begging.
Akiko trembled, her slender muscles danced in a great wave. “No. It’s not my fault. I don’t know what she did. You can trust me. I’m not an evil human.”
Black, immobile, fixed his stare on the three fallen generals and released a sorrowful warbling howl.
“I’ll bury them if you wish,” Akiko announced while falling on her fours and bowing.
Molly came up to Akiko and dug with her forepaws, her tongue lolling as she concentrated on her task.
Akiko joined Molly, plunging her fingers deep into the soft dark soil, scooping with her hands. She worked for five hours until four graves sat ready for occupying. Her bloody hands bore scratches, her chipped nails stung from the fertilizer and grit. Molly tugged at Draco's stick hardened leg, the job impossible for such a tiny animal.
Akiko offered to help Molly and noticed the clean cut splitting Draco as if a hunter gutted a deer. She ignored the pink entrails curled over lettuce. She grabbed the stiff hind paws and dragged him to the first grave. Careful to display the appropriate respect, she placed the dead Rottweiler into the hole. Romulus and King received the same burial.
When she approached Gladys, Black exploded into fierce barking. He rushed Akiko, leaped, slammed against her skinny frame, knocking into her several times until she tripped and plunged into Gladys's grave.
Baxter’s War Page 23