“I found a map.” She held the paper up like a victory flag and dropped the backpack to the floor.
I clenched my jaw, trying to force a blank expression, but Koenig smiled and delivered the map to Stabenow.
In the glare of the light, I still saw the broad smile on Stabenow’s face as he unfolded the sheet, and studied it. His chuckle defined the moment. He heaved himself up from the counter and waved the map. “Young man,” he said, “Thank you.”
Uncle Ray looked at me, puzzled.
“She found my map,” I said, my eyes wide.
“Shit,” he muttered and turned to Dan and Mr. Wheeler. “You know, the map.”
Mr. Hansel’s eyes grew wide and he cursed. At puzzlement appeared on Mr. Wheeler’s face, and then faded. The bruise at the corner of his eye darkened.
Defeat never felt so lonely.
“What now?” Stack asked, gripping the collar of Mr. Wheeler jacket.
“I’ll head out and bring the car around front.” Stabenow stepped over to the woman hiding in the glare of the light and pulled back her hood. No longer shadowed by the hood, even the glare of the light couldn’t hide Rhoda Mallory face. It was her. She knew about us. She was the key.
Stabenow handed her the map, which she slipped inside her parka.
Anger burned in my chest.
Looking back at us, Stabenow said, “Kill them,” and the pair moved quickly, almost at a run, behind the deli counter and through a back door, which groaned as it closed
Mr. Wheeler shouted, “You’re a bastard, Stabenow! You are—”
Stack struck again with the automatic, and this time Mr. Wheeler dropped to his knees.
Koenig headed back to me, her automatic still in hand.
Stack began tugging Mr. Wheeler to his feet.
Colberg moved around behind my uncle and Dan Hansel. He raised his pistol.
Koenig, ready to set the automatic to my temple, spoke to Stack, “Don’t brother to stand him up, Phil, just shoot.”
She looked away.
I knocked her pistol hand up as I crouched, snatching a loose arrow from the floor, and drove the point into her middle. I pushed against the heavy fabric of the parka, throwing my weight, and pushed harder.
Koenig doubled over, even as she fought to push me away, grunting in pain. I tried for her pistol, but could only grab her wrist.
Shouts and the heavy thud of bodies dropping to the floor filled the room. I saw nothing but the white of her parka pressed against my face. The deafening concussion of a gunshot pounded in my ears as Koenig’s pistol discharged. I planted my feet and drove up again and again with the arrow, putting my shoulder into her upper body, gripping the arrow. A warm wetness spilled over my fingers.
She grunted and then released a guttural scream. She lost her balance, falling backward, banging into empty shelves on the way to the floor, me bearing down on top of her.
Another gunshot shattered one of the large front windows. A gust of wind blew in, throwing a cascade of glass fragments back inside. Headlights slashed in through the front windows.
Through the glaring light, the screams, and the struggles of Koenig, my mind shouted, Stabenow! He’s coming back!
Chapter 30
I made a final grab for Koenig’s automatic, but her arm fell limp in my grasp. The pistol skittered across the floor. I rolled off Koenig’s body and frantically searched for the gun, cutting my hand on broken glass. Wind rushed in huge gusts as I rose to one knee, swung around, something sharp dug into my knee.
Uncle Ray and Dan Hansel each held one of Stack’s arms as Mr. Wheeler straddled him, repeatedly punching him in the face. Colberg lay still on the floor, his face bathed in light pouring from not one, but four vehicles.
“Move! Move!” someone shouted from outside. Figures in helmets, camouflage pants and coats darted in front of the headlights.
More shouts came, orders called out.
Soldiers advanced rapidly into the building, through the door, and the broken storefront window, making high steps over the windowsill. Assault rifles held at the ready.
One of the new arrivals halted next to Mr. Wheeler, directed the muzzle of his rifle away from us and spoke, in what could only be described as a casual request, “Sir, please stop beating that man.”
Mr. Wheeler’s fist already cocked for another strike, wavered. He glanced up at the soldier, gave an exhausted nod.
A hand gripped me under the right arm and pulled me to my feet. I squinted as the wind caused my eyes to tear, but I recognized Colonel Dorrance.
“Where’s Stabenow? Mallory? Where are they?” His back was to the light coming in, so his eyes peered from a shadowed face.
“They’re gone. Out the back door,” I said. “Stabenow said there was a car.”
“How long ago?”
I blinked, shook my head, and said, “Just before you showed. They can’t be far.”
“Yeah, but this damn weather.” The colonel called to a soldier posted by the door. He passed orders to make immediate preparation for pursuit to a soldier standing at the front door. Colonel Dorrance patted me on the arm and headed outside to join a squad of men forming around what resembled a laminated map in the glow of Humvee’s headlights.
I shook my head and brushed a hand across my knee, a piece of glass dropped loose, and blood stained my fingers.
Corporal Deeds moved into the store and knelt next to Mr. Wheeler, talking to him in a calm, low voice. He flashed a penlight into his eyes and then retrieved a hand full of snow which Mr. Wheeler applied to the side of his face.
Three soldiers led Stack out to the windswept parking lot, at gun point. A few minutes later two men arrived to carry out Colberg on a stretcher. His head drooped to one side. A bullet hole punctured the left side of his forehead. The stretcher bearers’ boots crackled on the glass-strewn floor as they carried the corpse away.
Dan Hansel and Uncle Ray stood by the door talking in a rapid and animated conversation with the Colonel who glanced in my direction and then waved for me to join him.
“This stolen map, it’s a serious problem?” Colonel Dorrance asked, but he already knew the answer. “It’s detailed, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yeah.” I rubbed my face with a hand. “Mallory is the one who has it.” I felt sick, my sides turned and my stomach burned.
“This is something you couldn’t have predicted.” He ran his tongue over his top teeth. “Hell, I didn’t. But try not to worry. We’ll find them.”
I nodded, but I wasn’t sure.
“I just hope we can find them in this weather.” The colonel gazed out to at the falling snow.
I did, too.
But the snow storm didn’t let up.
***
We couldn’t participate in the chase, which Colonel Dorrance called a mission. We spent the rest of the night sitting in the panel truck, but it was warm. Deeds offered prepackaged meals. He’d heated with a chemical pack about the size of a playing card. Warm food helped against the cold, but couldn’t make thoughts of the stolen map go away.
I ate, slowly, forking the warm spaghetti into my mouth. But I couldn’t get Stabenow and Mallory out of my mind. The whole incident was some nightmare, haunting me. I kept seeing that smile on Stabenow’s face, again and again.
“Maybe we should just move in here,” Mr. Hansel said, glancing around, while he worked on a third cup of coffee.
I smiled, but it was just a smile with nothing behind it but fear. Mr. Hansel tried to lighten an impossibly heavy situation, but he knew what damage the map could cause. He didn’t blame me, nor did Mr. Wheeler, who grinned at the attempt at humor. Uncle Ray gave me a firm warm pat on the leg. But the worry showed in the wrinkling of his brow.
The sun rose. Orange and red light seeped in through the window at the front of the compartment. The heavy snow fall was done, only a flurry brushed through the air.
A sharp grating noise came as the rear door opened. Sunlight and cold air rushed in.
“Everybody out,” Colonel Dorrance ordered with a huffing fatigue, his face reddened by windburn.
I went through the opening and stepped into what appeared to be a foot of snow.
The Colonel pulled me to the side, tugged off his gloves and said, “Here,” putting the folded map in my hand. “It was the only piece of paper on her and I didn’t even look at it.” He grinned.
“Thank you.” Relief caused my whole body to sag and a warm weariness flowed through me.
“Now, put it somewhere safe and you might think about getting rid of it.” Seriousness invaded his expression as he pursed his lips.
“Yes.” I held the folded sheet tightly in both hands, and then slipped it into the zipper pocket inside my jacket.
Two soldiers came around the front of the truck carrying a basket stretcher occupied by a body in a white plastic body bag.
“Not one of your men, I hope?” Uncle Ray asked, shaking his head.
Corporal Deeds assisted the stretcher bearers slid the corpse into the panel truck.
“No, it’s Mallory. We found the car using infrared, the heat from the engine compartment . . . and luck. They’d gone off the road and down an embankment into a stream. Mallory was thrown out and the vehicle landed on her.” The Colonel stretched and rubbed his eyes.
“Stabenow?” I asked.
“I have no idea. He could’ve survived the crash and then got lost in the storm. Right now, I don’t care and he better not show up.” He scratched the stubble on his chin. “He found you because of Mallory and I only learned about them going after you because of one car too many leaving the facility—that information came from Sergeant Fort after you were gone. But enough is enough. I only know that the Senator Owens is going to need a new aide.” He grunted and ran a finger up his helmet strap. “Maybe this goes right up to the senator . . . I don’t know,” he said as if thinking aloud. He shrugged. “Anyway there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Why not send your suspicions up the chain?” Wheeler touched the bruise near his eye.
The colonel looked into the sky for a long silence moment and then asked, “Would you?”
“No.” Mr. Wheeler grinned.
Soft flakes began to drift down, assisted by a strong breeze.
“What? More snow?” Colonel Dorrance gave a weary shake of his head. “Well, you people better get going.” He pointed west. “You know the way.”
We gathered our weapons, and Corporal Deeds helped Uncle Ray and me gathered the antibiotics scattered over the floor of the mini-mart.
“Nothing broken,” Deeds said, handing Uncle Ray the last box.
“You take care, Corporal.” Uncle Ray shook his hand.
Goodbyes were said, all around, but the words also meant we’d never meet again.
We headed down the road, and again, snow fell, thick and fluffy, but the air wasn’t bitter cold and each breath tingled, crisp and clean.
After some distance, I looked back. All of the vehicles were gone, except for one Humvee and a single figure. The person waved and got into the military transport, which vanished in the hazy snow thrown up by a gust of wind.
***
Back into the Demarcation Zone I went, tugging up my collar, complaining along with Dan Hansel about the renewed snowfall. We trudged on, moving over familiar and friendly ground, making our way back to Jerry Senkow’s home. When we arrived, he was holding the front door open as if expecting us. He looked just as sickly, his shoulder slouched and his arms like sticks, but he offered a smile. It didn’t take much prodding for him to decide to go with us, and he cried. I believe he cried from relief. What remained of his home was a stripped-down hulk, a skeleton held together by painful memories.
Malnutrition made travel difficult under the best conditions but the snow made it impossible. Mr. Wheeler volunteered to stay with him until arrangements were made for transportation. The plan was for us to work our way through the deep snow until the distance was closed between us and the town, and radio contact could be made.
While we prepared to head out, I said, “It’s been something, these last two days—two days and so much has happened. How’s your face?”
“Well, it doesn’t tickle, I’ll say that.” Mr. Wheeler reclined in a chair in Jerry Senkow’s living room. He gently touched the deep purple bruise which showed through the white of his beard.
A fresh supply of wood sputtered in the fireplace, flames leaped up the flue. Mr. Senkow rested comfortably in his chair next to the fire. Warmth sparkled in his eyes. “You’ll have some stories to tell,” he said. “Going through the Zone and coming back . . . you’ll have some stories.”
“We’ll tell it all,” Uncle Ray said, tugging on his camo jacket.
“And give the warnings, too.” Dan Hansel said, already suited up and cap on he was at the front door. “Like, don’t go beyond this point, right?”
“I think that’s reasonable.” My uncle headed to the door.
“Anyway, maybe, a sign that says, stay on your side of the Zone,” I said.
That pretty much said how everyone felt and hoped. And for me, I still had the map, which weighed heavily like guilt and was hard to shrug off. Colonal Dorrance was right about getting rid of it, but I wasn’t ready to get rid of it. I needed to remind myself of what a disaster I had primed by having it with me. Going back to the valley and seeing Sara made me mindful of how the world had changed and was still changing. And how danger was always so close by.
After an hour’s hike through the snow, Uncle Ray worked the walkie-talkie and contacted the town receiver. The voice of Mr. Marcus sounded out from the speaker with a short static-distorted chuckle of relief. Even with his bad leg, he’d made the painful trip to town, having to walk part of the way, when Uncle Ray’s truck gave out. He’d manned the radio for most of the time we’d been out of range.
With our message received, we waited in an abandoned house nearby. In the early afternoon a dozen people arrived. Joey came with the rescue party. He extended a hand, I gave him a hug.
Joey gave me a funny look and wanted to know what was up.
“Later,” I said. “I’ll tell you everything.”
I pressed a palm to my jacket and felt the map secure in the zippered pocket. It was good that no more people died that day.
Epilogue
Winter came early and hard, and stayed. Over the countryside everything fell fast asleep under the blanket of white to escape the bitter cold, but the people. They still visited from house to house, from valley to town and our two-day trip became an odyssey, a great winter tale.
That was how Mr. Wheeler referred to that harrowing journey through the Demarcation Zone as if it was some grand adventure. He enjoyed pointing to the bruise on his face, even after it faded. He talked of how he stood up to Stack and took him down. He told the story with gusto like he was some village elder regaling the rest of the tribe with a wondrous mythical tale.
After one of those late evening retellings, Sara sat with me, hand in hand before the warmth of the cabin’s fireplace. Mr. Wheeler sat on the other couch with Jerry Senkow, and Mr. Marcus shared drinks with Uncle Ray from a bottle they passed back and forth. Sara and I listened and watched red and yellow flames dancing over the burning logs in the hearth.
“So, is there more to the story?” Sara asked in a whisper.
“Are you being funny?” I looked into her wide blue eyes.
“Well, no.” Expectantly, she peered.
“A lot happened and that’s really all of it. Nothing new was added.” I chuckled and snuggled closer.
No, nothing new was added, but Mr. Wheeler, my uncle and Dan, they didn’t tell everything. They didn’t talk about the woman, Koenig, or how she died. Or about the map I kept tucked in my pocket to remind me of how the past can be a dangerous mirage.
But like all great stories, those who listened to them knew and understood how serious the tales were, what dangers lie underneath, and how the Demarcation Zone, that border be
tween everything we’d built is more important to us, than those on the other side. We continued to keep a watchful eye and widen our patrols.
***
Winter passed away. Spring came. Leaves budded on trees and bushes. The grass grew tall and lush. But there was little time to enjoy the warmth and the stark beauty of all the green.
Mr. Harper cracked the whip, making preparations for planting corn, and families tilled their gardens.
The scent of the dark earth rose pungent in my nose. My hands worked the soil and thick clots of dirt stuck to my fingers. I looked into the blue and cloudless sky.
Sara worked in the next furrow; her long, straw-colored hair tied in a pigtail with a strip of red fabric. The morning sunlight flowed over her and she seemed to glow with a delicate white aura.
I reached into the back pocket of my jeans, and pulled out the map. I unfolded it, and saw a trail of near disaster leading right to the valley.
“What’s that?” Sara stood, put her hands against her lower back, and stretched. “Oh, the map.”
“Yeah, just looking at it.” I shrugged. “I don’t need it anymore.”
I tore the sheet to confetti, and tossed it into the air where the bits drifted like snow, but only for a moment. A breeze came and took it all away.
Table of Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Dark Land: An Apocalyptic Novel Page 21