by Paul Kirk
"I most certainly was not."
"Put a sock in it, captain. You too, Scott. Major, where are we?"
"Flight plan’s laid in, ma’am. We’re set to track Phoenix at first light before we approach into Youngstown."
"The water?"
"Good to go.”
“Any difficulties?”
“Not at all, ma'am. Secured twenty-eight portable plastic three-gallons. You know, it still pisses me off we had to leave so much of our supplies back in Cleveland. I shoulda figured—"
"The economics professor, what’s his name? He gave up that many?"
"Yes, ma'am. Dr. Schwartz. Most are good quality. Not flimsy. We already filled 'em up."
"Excellent."
"I did hafta trade a rifle and 300 rounds for ‘em."
"Oh, I see…why?"
"Well, ma'am, didn't think it was right to simply take the stuff, you know? Don’t want to tarnish the image of you being president and all."
"A good move, major. I see your point." Colonel Starkes smiled at the thought and watched Amanda begin to sway slightly.
The pull of sleep after such a large meal was taking hold. Amanda took center stage at the table, leaning hard into Scott's shoulder for support. The colonel smiled at the shock this physical contact had when Scott stiffened to support her gentle weight. Recovering after a few seconds, Scott slipped his arm around Amanda’s shoulder, ignoring the amused expressions of those around him. He was content for the moment. Amanda closed her eyes, almost out of it, spent by her effort. Several minutes of conversation went by finalizing the logistics of leaving Allegheny College. Amanda was definitely out.
"Damn, I hate to wake her. Amanda,” whispered Colonel Starkes.
There was no response from Amanda.
“Ma’am?” Scott was loathed to interrupt Amanda’s nap on his shoulder.
“She would appreciate a full bath, Scott.”
“Right.”
"Amanda?"
"Hunnh?"
"Would you like to take a hot bath? Tonight, before we head out tomorrow?"
"Umm..."
"It’d be a good idea.” The colonel turned to Cassie.
“Can you set it up Cassie?"
"Sure, ma’am."
‘Okay, thanks. Amanda?” The colonel persisted, her hand touching Amanda's sleeve.
"Umm..."
"C’mon. Let’s draw you a nice warm bath? Huh?”
“Umm.”
“Then we'll set you right up back to bed. Okay?" suggested Cassie.
All at the table noticed that Amanda’s hands had slipped to her belly, softly rubbing across the small bump in the fabric. She began to come around.
"Oh, uh, umm…"
"We need you rested and ready for the trip to Youngstown. Tomorrow at dawn, you understand?" The colonel's tone took on more energy and it was obvious she was becoming slightly inpatient.
Scott released his gentle hold and with both hands straightened her upright, whispering into her ear.
"You'll feel better if you do. Okay? A hot bath’s not likely to come around again anytime soon."
At the repositioning, Amanda snapped awake into an incredible wash of anxiety and fear. Panicked, she glanced around at the faces surrounding her, momentarily confused.
"What day...is it?"
Colonel Starkes recognized the confusion and answered immediately. "Umm, it's September sixteenth."
"Where am...oh...yeah...never mind, sorry."
"You okay?" asked Colonel Starkes.
"Um, yeah…let’s leave now. Can we go right now?"
"C'mon, Amanda, remember, you’re weak as a newborn kitten…”
“Umm...”
“We're leaving at first light. End of story. Now work with us here. Let's have you take a nice, hot bath and off to bed. One more night of rest is definitely what the doctor ordered." Colonel Starkes stood next to Scott. They both helped Amanda to her feet.
''Yeah, okay."
Cassie took over for the colonel and whispered soft, consoling words to Amanda as they slowly walked to the door. Amanda, to her credit, moved fairly steady on her feet, though she drifted from side to side. Stopping abruptly, she turned back to Major O’Malley, Captain Daubney and Scott.
“Umm...Scott? Can you bring my rifle to my room? Please.”
“Sure, Amanda.”
Scott chose to ignore the soft snickers of both men as well as Captain Daubney’s poorly done imitation of her request.
CHAPTER 7.14-Answering the Obvious
"They went east yesterday. About mid-morning."
"You're sure about that?"
"Sir?"
"Never mind. Go on," said Phoenix. Resting in a hammock inside the command tent, he was in a rare good mood, content to listen to Luke Killington without rising. The naked pre teen was sprawled on the blankets nearby and was unaware that Luke had entered the command tent. A loud moan prompted both to glance in her direction before continuing. The bruised and bloodied face of the young blonde girl moaned once more in a disjointed effort to find some solace behind closed and swollen eyelids. Phoenix smiled at Luke and nodded. “Thanks again for seeing to my needs last night, Luke. It’s duly noted.”
“No problem, sir.”
“Where the hell you find her, anyway?”
“Small house ‘bout a mile back. I found her hidin’ there.”
“Alone?”
“She is now, sir.”
“I see.” Impeccably dressed in freshly creased fatigues and a tailored brown shirt, Phoenix lounged eating a spicy deer kabob sent in for breakfast. Always close by, his Taurus Judge .45 rested on his stomach, ready for immediate use. Luke stood, somewhat stiff and mildly awkward, intent on delivering his search assessment of Connor MacMillen and the events near this Youngstown mill.
"They have four or five horses with ‘em, easy to track. There's probably ten of 'em total from what I can figure."
"We're tracking ten men, then?
"No sir, nine men and a woman. And one’s young, maybe a boy in his early teens."
"And you can tell all of this how?"
"Sir?" Luke Killington stared directly into the air to the left of Phoenix, waiting.
"Right...never mind. You just know. Where's my uncle?"
"Working with the cavalry command."
"Doing what?"
"Sir?"
Phoenix smiled at the inquiry, realizing Luke did not like to repeat himself or track the behavior of others. In some ways, Phoenix respected that and wondered what impact this had on the men Luke commanded. He waved his deer kabob as if to dismiss his last thought. "Yeah, okay, right…not your concern. I guess we’ll let that one slide for now, being as I’m in a particularly good mood. You’re a unique one, Luke. Carry on. Excellent work."
"Thank you, sir."
"Tell Larry to come talk to me when he's done."
"Yes, sir."
“Oh, and in the meantime, send three advance scouts out east to track this Connor MacMillen and his men.”
“Already put that in place, ‘fore dawn.”
“Excellent. Find Larry for me, Luke.”
“Yep. Yes, sir.” Luke Killington left the cooler air of the command tent. The warmth of the windy September morning blasted his face as the tent flap closed. He sniffed deeply. Smiling, he enjoyed the pulsing wind wafting so many subtle smells into his nostrils. Gear oil. Rusted steel. Red-clay dirt. Roasting campfire meat. The stink of clustered men. He walked toward the west end of camp where the horses were stabled. Glancing around, he caught sight of several men furtively glancing his way, before they broke off eye contact. He ignored them, knowing his recent promotion to third in command was a cause of envy for many of the men.
“Fuck ‘em,” Luke said under his breath.
Most men of Phoenix’s army were much older than Luke and had lived in Cleveland for many years, fighting. But he knew he was different. He knew he scared most people simply by the fearless and animalistic way he moved, like a ca
ged lion, and the fact that his fierce, nearly colorless gray eyes had a piercing quality that refused any outside exploration into his soul. His well-trimmed black beard covering a strong, lupine jaw gave further credibility to his having grown up wild, surviving in the woods. Awkward and ill at ease with any social probes, he’d always distanced himself from most humans; never had a true friend of either sex. On the other hand, he knew men and their purpose and general intent; he knew how to control them when needed. He’d found the solution simple: men respected power and fearlessness, and such men were now under his orders within the new command structure established by Phoenix.
“Fuck ‘em all.” Luke stopped, again, scanning the area out of ingrained habit. The wind brought new smells of algae and rotting pond gas, quickly reminding him of growing up as a young boy in the deep woods of Wisconsin. There, he’d fully perfected the art of tracking animals and men under the intense scrutiny of Muddy, a crazed Vietnam vet and the only man he’d ever truly loved. And there, deep in the woods, he discovered his desire for deep silence and distance from people, especially his drugged out mother and alcohol sodden, abusive father. Growing older, he left his parents for good at ten, living full time in Muddy’s woods, spending his days tracking and hunting throughout the next eleven years. And, it was here, that he’d refined his almost supernatural ability to detect prey.
“You got the good eye and the nose for this kinda work there, Twiggy,” said Muddy on one rainy day near his twenty-first birthday. “Plus, you got the brain pan and ain’t afraid to use it.”
It was grudging praise that a wiry Luke Killington held dear to his heart, but kept hidden from the prying eyes of others. In fact, this remembrance of the solitary praise he’d ever received in his life would only rise in his mind when the smells in the air were just right. Coming upon the stables, he cleared his head. He sought and found Larry Reed.
"Sir?"
Larry Reed was talking with four cavalry commanders who had, essentially, encircled him and were each seeking to gain favor. Mildly annoyed at their obvious fawning efforts, Larry relished the interruption. "Hey Luke."
"Phoenix wants to see you when you can."
"Okay. Thanks."
“Sure, sir.”
Luke turned to leave, but was stopped.
“Anything going on?”
“Not much, sir. I told ‘im that this Connor MacMillen fellow went east yesterday. Mid-morning. Had a crew of about ten.”
“You sure about that?”
“Sir?”
Larry waited for an answer. The four battle-hardened cavalry soldiers looked on, interested in the exchange. Clearly, they’d yet to accept the young upstart as one of their new masters. They were wondering how Larry Reed would handle the new third man in charge. Especially, when it became apparent that Luke Killington felt it unnecessary to respond. Looking into those cold, colorless eyes, Larry Reed sensed the obvious challenge to his command. Posturing, he decided to push for an answer.
“Luke?”
Sensing the rising tension, the commanders waited. The tension in the barn increased. A horse snort behind them was the loudest sound nearby. Staying calm, Larry forced himself to wait for an answer. With building irritation and feeling a newfound need to establish himself, he brought Luke’s subtle defiance out into the open.
“Luke, I just asked you a question.”
“Sir?”
“Don’t pull that ‘sir’ bullshit with me. Answer the damn question.”
Initially, Luke was outside the circle of men, five feet from Larry Reed. In a split-second, he closed the distance to less than a foot, never losing eye contact. And, he never brushed against the cavalry commanders on his way into the tight inner circle. Calm and focused, he stood face-to-face with Larry Reed. “Ain’t used to answering the obvious...sir. But, yes, I’m sure, sir.”
“I’m...”
Luke left as quickly as he entered. Stunned and intimidated, Larry lost the opportunity to call Luke back before the four cavalry commanders scooted away to find other matters to attend to. Larry refused to shiver in front of the men, but sensed a determination rising inside. He knew he would have to kill that boy soon.
CHAPTER 7.15-Seeking Aldonza's Hand
“All weapons must be checked at the door before entering,” said Brad Greencastle.
“That's not going to happen,” said Terry.
Andy smiled at the firm conviction in her voice. Ryan and Kevin stood behind them, keeping emerging grins well hidden.
“I understand your concern, but don’t worry, Terry, we’ll take good care of them, ma’am.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will, but not yet, Mr. Greencastle...we’ll not relinquish our weapons...not until I speak with Mark about it.”
“Mr. Harmon’s inside. You know the rules as well as anybody...no one comes onto Nemacolin property until all weapons are safely stowed at the door.” Ten fully armed men behind Brad Greencastle listened to the exchange. Sensing a potential conflict, they increased their watchfulness. Ryan nodded in greeting to a few men that he knew fairly well. All waited and watched the verbal exchange. Ryan winked. Terry continued to insist.
“Yeah, I think me and my men will keep to ourselves and ours, Mr. Greencastle. That is, until I gain a bit more confidence in you, you know, based on our last visit with you guys.”
“I’m—”
“You do recall out last encounter, Mr. Greencastle?”
“Sure. But, I’m now in charge of security, ma’am. I can assure you your full safety.”
“I believe you, Brad.” Smiling, Terry extended her open hand and Brad Greencastle stared for a second before releasing the two-handed hold of his Uzi. He sensed she was messing with him for some reason.
“You know the rules, ma’am. Why give me a hard time?” Brad took Terry’s slim hand, shaking it gently. A slight bead of perspiration settled above his brow and the top of his bald brown head glistened. Slowly, Terry pulled her paddle holster from her belt, relinquishing her 9mm. Andy, Ryan, and Kevin quickly did the same with their weapons, handing them to the men nearby.
Terry slipped closer to Brad and stretched toward his ear. “It was Ryan’s idea to bust your balls,” whispered Terry.
“Ma’am?”
“What, you think I shouldn’t talk like that?”
Greencastle stared hard at Ryan, hiding in the back of the bunch. “No, ma’am. It's not that.” Feeling more at ease now that obvious weapons were not in play, the tension left his demeanor and the men beside him relaxed. Ryan took the initiative, walking up to Brad and held out his hand. Immediately, Greencastle grasped and they embraced like brothers. Under his breath, Greencastle whispered, “You prick bastard—”
“How’s it going over here since we last met, huh?” Ryan ignored the obvious reference to giving him a hard time.
“We’re getting by. You know.”
“Kev tells me you’ve done an excellent job of leading the men. They've taken a shine to you. Or, so he thinks.”
“Hmm.”
Impatient with the delay out on the main steps of the Caddyshack restaurant, Mark Harmon and his two primary bodyguards exited the front doors to stand, waiting.
“You going to let them in Brad? Or are you going to strip search them like that crew last week?”
Brad Greencastle laughed at the comment. Terry smiled at Andy. Ryan glanced to Greencastle, raising an eyebrow. Meanwhile, Kevin was distracted by the huge size of the two handpicked, stern men standing next to Mark Harmon. It was easy to see how strong and capable they were, weapons held ready for anything.
“Damn, Andy those are some big bastards,” whispered Kevin.
“Yep. That they are. And ex-special forces from the looks of ‘em.”
“Mark, how are you?” Terry approached Mark Harmon with genuine affection. Mark took the opportunity to embrace Terry in a full hug, as if they were long, lost cousins.
“I’m good, Terry. Please, come on in and sit down. I got a good breakfast for yo
u guys.”
“Oh, I see.”
“C’mon, have a seat. Andy. Ryan. Kevin. Good to see you all.” Mark exchanged greetings and handshakes at the doors while the bodyguards scanned the property grounds. As a group, they entered the small Caddyshack restaurant strategically situated near the main entrance of the Nemacolin Woodlands Resort. In fact, based on proximity to Route 40, the restaurant had become Mark Harmon’s main entry checkpoint onto his resort; and for the more informal business meetings held with the Fayette County community at large.
“Always a pleasure,” said Andy. The others nodded in agreement.
The restaurant was well maintained in its pre-Sickness style. The only deference to post apocalyptic times were the quarter inch metal plates hidden behind the drywall, sturdy metal entry doors, gated windows, and a fortified twenty by twenty foot armored decking built atop the roof that was patrolled by armed men. While lightly guarded compared to the newer Chateau Hotel and the older main hotel of the gorgeous property complex, the guards at the Caddyshack reassured visitors that safety was a main concern.
“Everyone have a seat, please.”
Easing further into the restaurant, the MacMillen clan settled into chairs at the roughly hewn wooden tables. Quickly, they were served a huge spread of eggs, bacon, sausage, waffles and pancakes by a team of waiters, all armed but hiding that fact well.
“Eat. C’mon everybody. That means you too, Pete and Jake." Mark pointed to both men. "These are my personal bodyguards." Both men ignored the request to sit and remained in place behind the seated Mark Harmon.
“Oh? I hadn’t noticed,” said Terry. She playfully ignored the obvious reference to the two huge men. Mark chuckled and glanced toward Brad. He felt the need to explain.
“Those two came here about two weeks ago. Traveled as a team since the bird flu hit. Greencastle assigned them to me then, didn’t you?”
“That’s right, sir. Only the best.”
“Airborne Rangers. Brad and I had ‘em both checked out best we can.” Mark nodded to both Andy and Ryan, an obvious reference to learning a few things after the Spider fiasco. Neither Pete nor Jake moved or acknowledged the obvious compliments. They continued surveillance of the area outside the restaurant and, less obtrusively, the patrons at the table.