Apocalypse Law 2

by John Grit

  The girl sat in the cab looking around, crying for her mother.

  A quick search of the truck’s cab produced nothing useful other than a container of water. How did they survive this long without weapons? What have they been eating?

  Nate searched the back. There was a tarpaulin covering a long mound of something. He pulled it aside. With an involuntary move to cover his mouth, he stepped back, his eyes wide. All the signs of the killer disease that had just wiped out ninety-five percent of the world’s population were on a dead elderly woman. He pulled the tarpaulin back over her.

  They were being hunted; any moment, pickups filled with armed men would come racing down the road. The killers could not miss the tracks where he turned off onto the jeep trial.

  Nate grabbed the girl and ran into the woods. He had to get far enough away they could not hear her crying. She pounded at his head and left side of his face with both fists. “Let me go! I want my mommy.”

  Nate heard them bouncing down the dirt road, engines roaring. He surged forward, bulling through thick brush. His right arm was still weak, but he willed his hand to hold the rifle tighter. “Close your eyes, girl.” He could not protect her face since both hands were occupied. “Turn your face the other way and close your eyes.” She would not listen. The little girl kept hitting him and screaming for her mother.

  Nate was too out of breath to keep talking. When he broke through to an open meadow, he skirted it and ran faster. There was no stopping and he knew it. With her crying, he dare not let them get within two hundred yards.

  ~~~~

  Brian opened his eyes. Something had awakened him. He blinked and peered into the dark of the bunker. He guessed it to be 2 AM. Cindy was on security and looking out the north loophole. He could just make out movement where she was. She moved her head to search her field of view.

  There it was again. Brian sat up.

  Deni was moaning. He jumped off the mattress and ran to her, nearly stepping on Ben. “Deni. You’re awake!”

  “My head hurts,” Deni said.

  Cindy nearly yelled, “Hey, Deni’s awake!”

  In seconds, everyone was scurrying out of bed.

  Brian lit a kerosene lamp.

  Martha pulled the curtain aside and Deni looked up to see smiling faces glowing in the yellow lamplight.

  She touched her head gingerly. “Where am I?”

  “At Mel’s bunker,” Martha answered. “You’ve been unconscious for days.”

  Deni blinked, looking up at them. “What happened?”

  “You were shot.” Martha got down on her knees and put her left arm across Deni’s shoulders to steady her. “Nate stitched your head up and carried you all the way here.”

  Deni reached up to touch her head again.

  “Careful.” Martha pulled her hand down. “It seems to be healing okay. Most of the scar will be covered by your hair.” She smiled with happiness. “And you’re awake.”

  “Are you hungry or thirsty?” Brian asked. He seemed more relieved than the others did.

  “Uh, I guess,” Deni said. “Help me stand. I want to sit in a chair.”

  Ben rushed to her.

  Before he could help her up, Martha said, “I don’t think she should move yet. We don’t know exactly how…”

  Deni broke the awkward silence. “I’m not dizzy, and I can see okay.” She looked at Brian. “I may be crazy, though.”

  “Why do you say that?” Martha asked.

  “I’ve never seen Brian smile so much.”

  Cindy broke in. “What, you didn’t know he likes you? We’re all happy to see you are better. We didn’t know if you would ever wake.”

  Ben and Brian helped her to a chair.

  Cindy put a glass of water on the small table.

  Deni took a long drink. She looked around the dimly-lit room. “So, he got me to the bunker.”

  “Yep,” Brian said.

  Deni’s face changed. “Nate! Where is he?” She looked at Brian. Her face told everyone she was already remembering the killers at the bridge.

  Brian’s jaw set. “After he carried you here, he ate, cleaned up, and left to stop those men.” Brian turned and looked into a dark corner. “He was hurt, but he wouldn’t stay.”

  “You should have stopped him.” Deni tried to stand, but seemed to weaken and sat back down.

  “He’s bigger than me,” Brian said, “and I’ve learned not to argue with him so much. He’s got enough to worry about.”

  “I would rather you argued this time.” Deni tried to stand again.”

  Martha grabbed Deni’s shoulders. “Stop that. You should be lying down.”

  “He’s out there alone! There are hundreds of them.” Deni looked at Ben. “And we are sitting around jacking our jaws.”

  “You just woke up after being shot in the head.” Brian’s voice rose, not unlike his father’s. “Calm down and think. You can’t walk across this room yet, and I’ve learned it’s better to do what he says. He’s usually right. And when he’s wrong, he’s still my dad and the boss.” Brian walked to a shelf stacked with cans of freeze-dried food. “You feel like breakfast or dinner?”

  Ben and Martha glanced at each other with tight-lipped smiles.

  Deni’s eyes gleamed. “For some reason, I have a craving for ham and eggs.”

  “I’ll make it,” Caroline said. She had been staying out of the way, but seemed as happy as the others to see Deni awake and talking. She lit the gas stove. There was still a little gas left, and they dared not use the wood stove, because smoke could be seen by anyone close by.

  Brian put a can of scrambled eggs on the table and filled a small pot with water from the hand pump, guessing accurately how much water to use.

  “Cindy,” Brian said, “Maybe you should finish your watch. The next one’s mine.” He turned the lamp down. “If you can see anything out there with this lamp on.”

  Carrie woke up. Rubbing her eyes, she walked to their side of the bunker and said, “I’m hungry.” She did not show any recognition of the fact Deni was awake.

  Brian looked out a loophole, his eyes distant.

  Chapter 13

  Nate could not get the little girl to stop crying. She wanted her parents. She was afraid of him. He tried many times to console her and ease her fears, but wasn’t successful. He couldn’t get her to eat anything, but did get her to stop crying long enough to drink some water.

  She appeared to have been eating lately, but she was thin. Nate wondered where her family came from.

  Nate also wondered if he was doing the right thing. The sickness killed the old woman, and that meant it was probably being carried by the girl. He could be bringing death to Brian and the others.

  Despite the danger, there was no thought of leaving her.

  As exhausted as he was, he picked her and his rifle up and ran. He planned to shake them off his trail and then turn upriver. With the canoe he had left hidden, he could take her to the creek and within a mile of the bunker. She needed to be with women and Tommy. Perhaps then she would feel safer.

  His right arm still bothered him. It felt numb and weak. Fine motor movements were possible only with extreme willpower. It had taken all he had to hold steady while aiming the revolver at those men in the dirt road. He discovered he had not been hit by a bullet. Instead, a bullet had slammed into his pack from the right side and yanked it so hard the right shoulder strap cut into his flesh and caused nerve damage in his shoulder. The rifle was a heavy caliber magnum of some kind, more suitable for large bears than men. The bullet hitting a full canteen that exploded in his pack gave the impact more force.

  It grew darker with sunset. Nate kept moving fast, taking advantage of the dying light.

  By the time twilight faded into night, she had finally cried herself to sleep. Exhaustion overcame terror and grief. She slept in his left arm, her head leaning against his cheek, hot and sweaty in the humid river swamp. Heavy brush slowed his progress, and he could not see well in the sh
ade of the jungle canopy, where not even starlight penetrated. Mosquitoes managed to keep up, because of his slower pace, and buzzed around them both. Nate could not keep them off her. His other hand carried the rifle.

  The canoe had to be close. Nate could not be sure, but he thought it was not much farther. Exhausted, he moved on.

  The girl woke up and immediately started crying and fighting Nate, wanting down. He had not found the canoe yet, and now he had her to deal with. She was afraid in the dark, and Nate knew she had to be tired of being carried. He certainly was tired of carrying her.

  “Don’t be afraid, little baby girl,” Nate said. He used to call his own daughter that when she was about her age.

  She cried.

  “What is your name?” Nate got what he expected for an answer: she cried. “Do you want a drink?”

  “I want my mommy.”

  “I’m sorry. She is not here.”

  She cried.

  Hell. This will go on all night. He was starting to remember all those sleepless nights when his children were babies. He was patient then, and he would be patient with her. What else could he do? Losing his cool with a child this small made him more immature than the kid. Little kids cry sometimes. That is the way it was, no matter how annoying it could be—and, in this case, dangerous. This little girl had good reason to wail, and he would not hold it against her or blame her for his headache. She damn sure had good reason to be unhappy with the world and no reason at all to trust him. After all, hadn't he taken her away from her parents and into this dark swamp? She probably couldn’t comprehend that both her parents were dead. She did know he was the one who took her away from all she knew and loved.

  “I wish you would eat and drink while we’re resting,” Nate said. “Later, we will go on a boat ride.”

  “No! I want my mommy!”

  Nate sighed. “If you’re not going to eat or drink, we might as well go on to that boat.” He slung the rifle over his right shoulder and held her in his arms so they both would be more comfortable.

  She slapped at his face, kicked, and cried.

  It was not easy finding the canoe. He had to turn back downriver and cover old ground because he missed it the first time.

  He put her down on her feet. “Just stay there a second.” He took his pack off and sat it on the ground. “Sit on this while I get the boat ready.”

  She took off at top speed.

  Nate caught her within three steps. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Little baby, I’m trying to help you.”

  She cried.

  “If you run off and get lost in this swamp, you will die. Now, sit on the pack and don’t move.”

  The tone of his voice must have had an effect. She sat there, not making a sound, while he got the canoe ready and in the water.

  “Okay. Stand up, little girl. I have to put the pack in.” Nate took her by her hand. Together, they walked the short distance. He let her hand go and tied the pack to an aluminum strut on the front seat so it could not fall out if the canoe turned over. Just as he finished, an owl hooted in a tree above her. She ran to him and wrapped her arms around his leg.

  “It’s just an owl, little baby girl.” He bent down and picked her up. “I won’t let anything hurt you. Are you starting to realize I’m the only friend you have at the moment?”

  She said nothing, but she was not crying.

  “I know I’m ugly, dirty, and I stink, but I promise you that I’m not mean like those other men.”

  He put her in the bottom of the canoe.

  “Just lie still and try to get some sleep. We’re going to a better place where there are kids. One little boy is about your age.”

  “How old is he?” she asked.

  Nate smiled in the dark. “About your age. Maybe a little older.”

  She did not say anything else, and she did not cry.

  Eleven miles upriver, she woke and asked for a drink. Nate stopped paddling and gave her water.

  She went back to sleep.

  It was dangerous, but when the sun came up, Nate kept paddling. He wanted to get her to the bunker as soon as possible, and it was unlikely any of the killers were this far upriver.

  Paddling was difficult at first because of his numb right arm. As the hours flowed by, his arm seemed to be getting better. Perhaps the exercise was helping. Nate hoped so. He might have to shoot at any time.

  She sat up in the canoe. Nate wished she would lie in the bottom to keep her center of gravity low. Now that the sun was up, she enjoyed watching the trees on both sides flow by as Nate worked to overcome the river’s current, staying close to shore and in any eddies he came to, avoiding the full force of the flow.

  Nate kept searching both banks for trouble. He didn’t like traveling by canoe in daylight, but it was unlikely any of the killers would be this far from the bridge. There could be others around, though, and he knew from experience that one never knew what strangers were like. He hated thinking the worst of people. Despite his feelings, he really had no choice. To do otherwise could be fatal.

  As the day wore on, Nate became more anxious, his eyes were constantly on the shoreline. Just around the next bend, he would be pulling in to shore. They were close to his farm.

  “Do you want to tell me your name now?” Nate tried to hide is worry, keeping his voice soft.

  She shook her head.

  Nate spoke under his breath. “Okay. You don’t have to. You can tell me later. You have been quiet. That’s good. We both need to be as quiet as possible.” He drove the bow of the canoe onto a sand bar with a powerful stroke of the paddle. “Just stay like you are and I’ll get you.”

  He waded in the shallow water and picked her up. “There we go.” He put her down on shore. “Just stay there for a minute, while I take care of the canoe.”

  Nate pulled the canoe into brush and hid it. When he walked back to her, he had his pack on and his rifle in hand.

  “We’re going to my house where we can eat and clean up and rest.”

  Her eyes brightened a little. “The little boy there?”

  “No. Tommy is at another house. We’ll be going there later today. I have some clothes for you that belonged to my little girl. We will pick that up before we go to the other house.”

  “Where is your little girl?”

  Nate picked her up. “I’ll carry you most of the way, and then you can walk.” He waited until he had carried her up the steep bluff before answering. “Her name was Beth. She got sick. She’s in heaven now.”

  “Oh.” She looked up at the sky, but not seeing much of it through the scrim of treetops. “My grandma is in heaven, but she’s really in the truck. Mommy said it’s her insides that’s in heaven.”

  Nate kept walking.

  “Is Mommy and Daddy in heaven, too?”

  “Yes.” Might as well get it over with. She saw it. She knows anyway. Just doesn’t want to let them go yet.

  She blinked and looked up at the sky again.

  Nate put the rifle against a pine and held her with both arms. “I’m sorry, but you’re not alone. Now, you have me, and soon you will have a lot of people to take care of you.”

  “They never come back?”

  “No. Never.”

  Nate did not know what to think of her silence. She did not say another word all the way upslope and out of the river valley. He hoped she would remain silent until he was sure no one was around.

  She sat quietly under a magnolia while he eased close enough to the edge of his field to see the house and part of the driveway. There was no sign of anyone.

  Scanning the scene with binoculars gave no clue of danger. The cow was in the pasture, her udder swollen. He would have to take the time to milk her. Both she and the chickens needed feeding. The cow could graze in the pasture, but the chickens had only the feed and water Deni had left when she came for the ammo. The little girl complicated everything and made the situation more dangerous.

  He backed away from the clearing. She was still where
he'd left her, playing with a twig. She smiled up at him when he came back.

  “Okay,” he said. “We have a little more walking to do. I need you to be quiet and not say anything or cry. Will you do that for me?”

  She nodded.

  “Good.”

  It took Nate more than an hour to work his way around the farm while staying in cover, searching every inch of the exterior of the house and barn for any sign that someone had been there since Deni. He stopped every ten feet or so to scan the ground for tracks and check the woods around him for movement. There was nothing, no sign anyone had been there.

  Nate left her in the woods one more time and unlocked the front door. A quick search confirmed no one had been inside.

  Nearing the pine stump, he left her sitting on, Nate said, “We can go on into my house now.” He stopped in his tracks and jerked his head around in a panic. She was not where he left her.

  He ran to the stump, eyes searching in desperation. “Little girl, where are you?”

  Movement in thick brush twenty yards away prompted an automatic reflex. He snapped his rifle up, shouldered and ready to shoot. The movement was low. He kept the rifle’s muzzle high.

  When he saw blonde hair, he forced his way through thorns. There she was, looking up at him, pointing. “Big doggie was here. He ran away when you came.”

  Nate looked where she was pointing. An area six feet long and four feet wide had been rooted up by a hog.

  “How did you get through all those thorns?” Nate picked her up. “You don’t have a scratch on you.” His own hands were bleeding. “Must have crawled under it.”

  “I’m hungry,” she said.

  “Good. So am I, but I really wish you would tell me your name, because I don’t like eating with strangers.”

  She tilted her head and gave him a look as if she were wondering if she should let her secret out. “Synthia.”

  “Synthia is your name?”

  She nodded.

  “That’s a pretty name for a pretty girl.” He carried her into the house. “My name is Nate.” After putting her on a couch, he said, “I suppose you couldn’t tell me if we’re friends yet.”