There were a few other rare treats held in store, like extra bottles of wine, but Forrest held these items secret in the cargo bay—where none of the civilians were permitted for security reasons—and told them they would have to wait for Thanksgiving and Christmas to find out what they were.
One morning three months after impact, Danzig stepped into the cafeteria where Forrest and Veronica were working on a large jigsaw puzzle with some of the children. “You’d better come have a listen to this, Jack.”
“What’s up?” Forrest said, getting up from the table. Veronica followed them out of the room and down the hall toward Launch Control.
“Picked up an odd radio signal,” Danzig said. “In Morse code, all numbers.”
“An encrypted code, probably military.”
“Maybe, but Wayne says it’s a conversation.”
“That is odd.”
They stepped into Launch Control, where Michael and the rest of the men were standing around listening to the steady stream of electronic dots and dashes. Ulrich was sitting at the console scribbling down the numbers as fast as they were being transmitted.
“Hey, dude,” Forrest whispered into Danzig’s ear. “You’re getting a little ripe.”
Danzig smelled his pits. “It’s that crappy deodorant we bought. I’ll switch to antiperspirant.”
“What do we got, Stumpy?” Forrest said, putting a hand on Ulrich’s shoulder.
Ulrich waved at him to shut up, trying to keep up with the telegraphers. “It’s a conversation,” he said during a brief pause. “Two different hands, both experts.”
“Different hands?” Michael asked.
“All telegraphers have a different pace,” Kane explained. “Their own rhythm.”
“You mean he can tell the difference between who’s tapping?” Michael said. “It all sounds exactly the same.”
Ulrich shushed him as the transmission began again, and a couple of minutes later the conversation stopped completely. “Looks like that’s it for now,” he said, sitting back and looking at the stream of numbers on the pad. “They were deciphering during all those short pauses, so they’re probably using an agreed-upon text, but we don’t have the software to crack a code like that.”
“Can I see what you wrote down?” Melissa asked from where she stood in the doorway with Laddie.
“Sure, honey.” Ulrich reached between the men to hand her the pad.
“How did you find the signal?” Forrest asked.
“They’re using such a high frequency, I almost didn’t. It was an accident, really.”
“Could they hear us if we tried talking to them?” Michael asked.
“Not sure,” Ulrich said. “I’ve got no way of knowing how far away they are. But it doesn’t matter. We’re not breaking radio silence.”
“We’ll continue to monitor that frequency,” Forrest said. “You never know.”
Later that night Forrest was down in the electrical room preparing for his ride on one of the bicycle chargers when Veronica came in and shut the door, standing with her back against it.
“Come to take a spin?” he said.
She shook her head. “Missed you at cards tonight.”
“I felt like hanging out alone in the LC.”
“One of those nights?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
She pushed away from the door and walked over to him, putting her hands on his chest. “I’ve decided what I want.”
“Oh? And what’s Michael have to say about it?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters!”
“Why? You said I needed to figure what I wanted . . . Now I have and you’re flipping the script on me.”
“Flipping the script?”
“Don’t dodge the question.”
“Much as I wish I felt otherwise, Veronica, I’ve got a lot of respect for the man. He’s a huge part of why we’ve been so successful to this point. His counseling sessions have probably averted two or three nervous breakdowns already, and I can’t believe how popular those stupid jigsaw puzzles are.”
She stood looking at him. “Jigsaw puzzles? I’m trying to give myself to you, and you’re talking about jigsaw puzzles?”
“I’m talking about respect, honor, integ— No, check that. One man’s integrity is another man’s bullshit excuse. Loyalty. The man’s earned my loyalty.”
“So loyalty’s what’s changed since three months ago when you jammed your tongue down my throat?”
He frowned. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“You know, you’re a real piece of work,” she said, stepping back. “You promised me, Jack. Remember? Remember all that bullshit about not repeating or breaking promises?”
“Unfortunately I do,” he said, lowering his gaze. “And I’m sorry.”
“So I don’t rate the same respect that Michael does. Or is it a guy thing? Bros before hos?”
He looked at her. “It sure as hell isn’t that.”
“You’re the only reason I’m even down here, Jack. And now I find out it’s been one big mind fuck.”
“Okay, stop! That’s taking it too far. I’ve never been anything but kind to you.”
“Until now. Until you made me feel like a complete fucking idiot.” She turned around, walked out of the room and shut the door behind her.
Forrest stood looking at the door. “An absolutely impossible situation,” he said in frustration, reaching for his shirt to fish out his pack of Camels.
Veronica came back in just as he was about to light up. She turned to close the door and stood with her back to him, as though she were unsure if she should speak.
He waited, suspecting that she was really going to let him have it this time.
“Do you know what?” she asked quietly.
“What?”
She turned around looking very serious. “You just got punked so fucking bad.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he said, the cigarette dangling from his lip.
“Michael and I split up, you dope! You haven’t heard? He wants to be with Karen.”
“I’m the last one to hear about everything down here, and it’s giving me a case of the red ass.”
“Oh, stop whining. You wanted to be in charge.” She came flouncing toward him and fell into his arms. “I’m yours at last,” she said dramatically. “Yours at last, Jack.”
He stood holding her with a stupid grin on his face, and took the cigarette from his lips. “You laid me lower than whale shit a second ago. That was cruel.”
“I couldn’t resist,” she said, smiling, gazing into his eyes. “I had to see how you’d react. And I’d have been disappointed if you hadn’t turned me away, by the way. I’d have kept you but I’d have been disappointed.”
“Kept me?”
“You’ve been mine since the day you set eyes on me, Jack Forrest, and don’t even try to deny it.”
“I seem to remember turning you away a minute ago,” he said, his lips only inches from hers now as he stared back into her soft brown eyes.
“And it killed you. I could see it on your face.”
“You’re the most beautiful goddamn woman I’ve ever seen,” he said, kissing her.
“I want you right now,” she said, suddenly wanton. “Right here!”
“But I need to go get—”
“I’ve come prepared,” she said with a grin, pulling a condom from her pocket.
They dropped their pants and Veronica turned around, taking hold of the handlebars on the bike.
“Take me now,” she whispered. “Hurry, before I fucking scream.”
He entered her from behind and she reached back with both hands, pulling him against her. “Oh, my God!” she whispered.
She began pushing back and forth.
After a couple of minutes they were both breathing heavily, their rhythm growing clumsier with each stroke until Veronica gasped in climax, sinking toward the floor barely able to grip the handlebars. Forrest held her up the best he could, finishing only a few seconds behind her, groaning deeply, both of them dropping to the floor where they lay in one another’s arms on the cold concrete, their pants bunched up around their ankles.
“Holy shit,” she panted. “I almost passed out.”
He was holding handfuls of her hair, still breathing hard into her chest. “I never came so hard in my fucking life,” he chuckled. “It actually hurt. Fuck, that was a long time coming.”
“Again,” she said, laughing as she tried clumsily to get up. “We have to do it again.”
“Not here,” he said. “In the missile silo. I don’t want to be interrupted.”
“That seems to be the popular place,” she said, working her pants back up over her thighs. “Just don’t take me to your usual spot.”
“What usual spot?” he said, standing and pulling up his pants. “I haven’t been with anybody but my wife in twelve years.”
“Really?” She grabbed his face and kissed him. “I thought that you and Andie . . .”
“She’s never asked and I didn’t think it would be appropriate for me to.”
“So how long has it been for you?”
“More than two years. Almost two and a half.”
“Oh, you poor baby,” she said, hurting for him. “Well, let’s get you caught up.”
They stopped at the door and had a long, tender kiss. “I’m so fucking glad you found me,” she said softly.
“It’s not fair,” he said. “The world’s dead and we’re down here feeling like this.”
“Isn’t it what you planned?”
“This? Hell, no. I didn’t think we’d survive the fucking impact!”
Thirty-Two
The next morning, Marty awoke in his own motel room beneath a pile of musty smelling blankets and lay staring at the ceiling. He had slept fitfully the night before, and he was feeling incredibly guilty for not having killed himself when he’d had the chance. That was an easy situation to remedy, however. The first chance he got, he would grab a gun, shoot a couple more bikers—if he could manage it safely this time—then kill himself.
He couldn’t get over how badly they had smelled the night before, all of them crammed into the Humvee together for the ride back into the city. He had also been able to smell what he was sure was human flesh cooking on the way up the stairwell.
He got out of bed, took his winter coat from the chair and pulled on his shoes, then went to the window, seeing the same gray world as the day before, dark and dim as before a heavy rain. There were spits of dirty snow in the air, and it was only late August. He considered jumping off the balcony but thought better of it. That was just too scary.
The door flew open and he spun around, half expecting someone to attack him.
“In the hall,” Gig told him.
Marty obeyed and stood in the hall waiting to see what the man wanted.
Brutus stepped from a room a few doors down, pulling a female soldier with dark red hair and stocking feet along behind him. The soldier’s hands were tied behind her back, and Marty recognized her immediately as the medic from the highway.
Brutus came up to him and said, “You can go. You killed the sorry fuck who killed my brother, and we made you kill your old lady. Makes us even.”
Marty wondered how in the hell that made them even. It was obvious from the look in Emory’s eyes that she recognized him, but she didn’t say anything or acknowledge him in any way. “Well, can I have my guns back? I won’t make it very far without them.”
“Gig, get him his shit when we get downstairs,” Brutus said, towing Emory toward the stairwell. “Then bring the truck around front . . . but don’t make it obvious.”
“Is something wrong?” Marty asked.
“There’s some shit comin’ down,” Brutus said. “So keep your mouth shut.”
They hurried him down ten flights of stairs to the lobby, where a couple of other bikers sat around in blue parkas, each of them with a biker chick in his lap for warmth.
“Hey, Brutus man, is that the dude who killed the Jeeper?”
“Yeah,” Brutus said, shoving Emory down in a chair. “Don’t get up, bitch!”
“What’s goin on, Brutus man? Somethin’ up?”
“I’m lettin’ this cat go,” Brutus said. “Gig’s gonna give his ass a ride outta town.”
Gig led Marty behind the counter and into an office where they kept the weapons.
“What’s goin’ on?” Marty asked again, seeing a number of machine guns on the table. He slung Joe’s carbine over his back and tucked his .45 into his belt.
“It’s time to ditch the rest of these dudes,” Gig said. “It’s gettin’ too hot here.”
“Oh,” Marty said. “Hey, suppose I can have one of these too?”
Gig thought it over for a second then shrugged and gave him an MP-5 submachine gun, showing him how to operate it. “Ain’t hard,” he said.
“No, seems easy enough,” Marty said, blasting Gig across the room. He grabbed some extra magazines and dashed back into the lobby where the other bikers were jumping up and grabbing for their weapons. He sprayed them with automatic fire and in short order had either killed or wounded each one, the house mice included.
Emory was already running toward him. “Cut me loose!”
He found a pair of scissors in a drawer behind the motel counter and cut the lace that was bound so tightly around her wrists that her hands were a deep crimson.
She flexed her fingers and took the MP-5. “Let’s get the fuck out of here!” She ran to where Brutus was crawling on his belly toward a shotgun, hit through both lungs and his spleen, and stepped on his back, taking the hunting knife from his belt.
“Remember me?” she said, grabbing his golden braid and jerking his head back. “This is your last fuck!” She stabbed the knife into his anus and he let out a shriek. Then she gave the blade a twist and jerked it free, using it to scalp him before stomping on his head. She threw his scalp to the floor and whipped around in time to gun down three more bikers who came scrabbling into the lobby to see what the hell was going on.
“Ammo!” she called as they ran for the exit.
Marty gave her the extra machine gun magazines, and she jammed them into the cargo pockets of her trousers.
“What about your feet?” he asked as they burst through the doors and ran down the outside wall of the motel.
“I got worse shit to worry about,” she said, dumping the spent magazine from the weapon and inserting a new one. “Like how the fuck I’m gonna tell my kid I scalped its father.” She checked around the corner and pulled her head back.
“You mean he got you . . . ?”
“I’m pretty sure,” Emory said. “I’ve been puking every morning for a week.”
“Why were they in such a hurry to get out of here?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “They were spooked about something, though. I think a lot of their people are still asleep. Let’s see if we can find a car with some gas.”
There was a loud blast, followed by a secondary explosion that took out the lobby of the motel. They spun on their heels to see an M60 tank at the end of the street, a cloud of smoke dissipating before it.
“All right!” Marty said. “We’re saved!”
She looked at him. “No, hon, we’re in twice the shit we were ten seconds ago.”
They took off down the block and hid inside a ransacked Starbucks as troops began surging toward the motel.
Emory crouched inside the door, watching the soldiers fanning out. “Is it true what he said upstairs about your girlfriend?”
“Yeah,” Marty said. “I was suppo
sed to kill myself right after . . . but I decided to kill some of those guys first and that Brutus guy jumped me.”
“Don’t feel bad. She’d want you to live.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“Don’t be stupid. You only killed her to keep her from ending up like I did. Imagine how you’d feel if they’d taken her. She wasn’t tough enough to live through what I’ve been through . . . trust me.”
“We got married,” he said proudly.
“Really? Who’d you find to do that?”
“We did it ourselves.”
“Aw, that’s the sweetest thing,” she said, turning to look out the window. “Oh shit, get back! Those two are coming in here.” She dragged him behind the counter. “Stand here with your hands up. I’ll stay down until I hear what they’ve got to say.”
“But—”
She grabbed his carbine and dropped into a crouch.
The two soldiers came into the shop and stood looking at him with his hands in the air.
“Where’s the woman?” one of them asked, glancing around the shop. “The GI with long hair.”
“She’s my sister,” Marty said.
“I didn’t ask you who the fuck she was!” the soldier said. “I asked where.”
“She’s in the restroom.”
The first soldier went to the back of the shop and stepped into the ladies’ room.
Emory stood up and gave the second soldier a six round burst through the neck and face, missing his body armor entirely, then emptied the rest of the magazine through the ladies’ room door as the other soldier was scrambling back out.
“Quick!” she said. “Strip that one’s armor and ammo . . . and check his boot size!”
Marty ran to the ladies’ room and Emory went to the window to make sure no one else had heard the shots.
“These clowns are Air Force troops,” she said, checking the dead airman’s boot size and seeing that it was nine. “Boot size, Marty, on the bottom of the sole!”
“Eleven!”
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