But the cane didn’t come down. The blow was not begun.
“Trace?”
It was Lacy.
Trace blinked. “Yes, my love?”
Trace bent his ear to her mouth, and Lacy whispered some sentence in his ear which Josh could not hear. Trace nodded.
“A good point well made, my dear.”
Trace turned back to Josh, his hand back on the silver head of the cane. The death blow had been averted. At least for now.
“It seems there may be something you can still help us with. Mr. Standing. Now, isn’t that a surprise?”
Poppet lay curled on a mattress under a filthy blanket when Josh was placed in the room with her. She was still sweating from withdrawal and shaking from the DTs, but there was color returning to her cheeks. The illness hadn’t entirely run its course, but being without alcohol for this long was at least giving her a chance.
“What… what are you doing here?”
Josh sat on the floor cross-legged. They still hadn’t bothered to handcuff him, knowing that there was little point—the room they’d put them in had no windows, the floorboards were solid, and he knew that after their last escape, there was someone waiting outside the door with a gun. And, anyway, why would he try to escape now? If he did, he would be consigning those children in the cage to Trace’s whims, and Josh wouldn’t do that until he knew how he was going to rescue them.
“In all honesty, Poppet, I don’t know. I thought Trace was going to kill me where I knelt, and he got mighty close.”
Josh shivered at the thought. The precariousness of life now hurt him. He was being held at the fulcrum between the madness caused by the supernova and the scourge of the sadism exemplified by people like Trace, who seemed above all to be using the advantage presented to them by this strange apocalypse to build power bases, subjugate populations, and live out whatever sick fantasies they might wish to. As a cop, Josh had met a number of evil people who’d truly been living across the line—but they hadn’t been the majority, the prevailing condition. They’d been the exception. All that Josh had seen from the moment the supernova had become apparent was the entire flipping of society. Nature, they say, is red in tooth and claw, but mankind had lifted themselves above that with morality, philosophy, laws, and understanding.
In a night, that had all been swept away.
And what was left in its wake was terrible and profoundly troubling. Josh had had no time until now to rationalize any of this to himself in any meaningful way, but now, after coming so close to meaningless death, he felt acutely the sense of meaning that had been sucked out of the world. No longer was everyone just working to improve the lot of their own or the world’s people; it seemed now that all that mattered was who you could kill or steal from.
Josh felt the hollowing in his soul. All established norms had dissipated, and his family had been scattered in that uncertainly.
“I wish Trace would kill me,” Poppet said sourly. “I feel like a burning train that fell off a mountain into the middle of an explosives factory. Just make it stop.”
Josh held out his arms.
Poppet said nothing, but understood. She crawled off the mattress and put her arms around Josh. He hugged the shivering gangster’s moll as much to comfort her in her withdrawal as to comfort himself in the intense swirl of uncertainty that surrounded him.
He didn’t know where his children were, where his wife was, or how he was going to get out of this mess.
All he had was this hug.
It was a start.
13
Dale Creggan, ex-bloodstock agent, was brash, beautiful, and blond. He could have been anywhere between thirty and sixty years old, and exuded a macho charm, but he also had an impressive flair for emotional intelligence. He knew how to act soothing and appear entirely calm—even gentle—so that he appeared nothing less than authentic. In fact, Maxine thought that if he hadn’t taken it upon himself to be a politician before the supernova, he certainly made a plausible one now. He sat in his office in the Pickford town hall, which had been built in a faux classical style, with Romanesque columns, a raked portico, and stylishly antique windows. It was a building that had not suffered the severe burning many of the other buildings Maxine had observed in her walk through the town. It was almost unique in that.
“We defended this building first and last,” Creggan explained in answer to Maxine’s enquiry. “It was some battle, but a bunch of like-minded folks congregated here as it became apparent that many in the town had become infected with the biological weapon dropped on the U.S. by foreign powers unknown. We fought a battle and then hunted down the stragglers. I see public health safety as my number one priority, Ms. Standing, I’m sure you understand.”
“I see a difference between public health safety and protection racketeering, myself,” Maxine told him, not bothering to correct his assumption that she wasn’t married. Whether he was being polite or not, she didn’t care—she had no plans to make this man her friend.
Creggan held up a slim hand that was protruding from a fine Armani suit. His shirt cuffs and collar were stiff and white, his skin scraped clean. His eyes bright and his lips moist. “Now hold it right there, madam. I was given to understand that you came here to fix a problem, not make one. We here in the Pickford Regional Government want to protect everybody in the area, not just ourselves. We can’t have pockets of people just hoarding their resources to themselves. How is that fair?”
“It’s true, I am here to try to smooth things over, but if you’re so interested in fairness, is it fair for your men to sneak up to our ranch and steal ten head of our cattle, just to put the fear of God into us?”
Creggan blinked, his face aghast. Maxine couldn’t help thinking that it was the politician’s version of horror. The kind of expression carefully cultivated for the audience, but also, she had to admit to herself that Creggan was good. He could fake authenticity with the best of them.
Creggan shook his head. “You have had cattle stolen? That’s abominable, and I shall happily help you with the resources to find the culprits and bring them to justice.”
Maxine shook her head. “Please understand, Mr. Creggan, that we will not stand by if our stock is taken in this way again. We will defend ourselves. We are putting contingencies in place to ensure it can’t happen in the same way again.”
“And I am glad to hear it. Truly. I mean to get a strong handle on crime in the district. We don’t know how long it might be before the federal government is in a position to take control of the state, let alone the country. Until then, it is everyone’s duty to maintain order and to equitably share the resources that we have.”
Maxine put her hands on the desk and riffled her fingers. “In that case, Mr. Creggan…”
“Dale. Please.”
“In that case, Dale, what are you willing to share with us?”
“I’m glad you asked. I’m setting up an administration here of the best talents in the area. We will have logistic skills, administration skills, law enforcement skills, and management skills.”
“It doesn’t sound like you have much beef, or pork, or eggs.”
Creggan gave a thin smile. “No, indeed we do not. But how many cans of beans do you have? How many bottles of cooking oil? The Pickford Wal-Mart will have enough unperishable foods in its warehouse and shelves to share out to everyone.”
“I saw the Wal-Mart as I was walking in this afternoon. It looked half burned. Like so much of Pickford.”
“There was some stock lost, it’s true, but, Ms. Standing, we saved enough. Enough to share.”
Creggan pulled a ledger from a drawer on his side of the desk and took a pen from the pocket inside his jacket. “Why don’t you tell me what it is you have and what it is you need, and I’ll make sure it’s delivered to you in the next few days when Mr. Laurent comes to take the full inventory of your ranch.”
“We don’t need anything. We’re fine. And we’d like to be left alone, please.”
“Ms. Standing, I’m sorry, I don’t know if I’ve made myself clear, but this isn’t an opt-out or opt-in scheme. This is about how we deal with the realities of life now. We don’t want to pull rank on you.”
“Then don’t.”
“Then don’t make us. Ms. Standing, all we want to do is make sure everyone is provided for. We have children here. We have frail people here. You must realize they need your help, too.”
Maxine had thought Creggan would take this tack. The emotional blackmail play. She told herself firmly not to be taken in by it. “Dale, if you were so concerned for us, I don’t think you would have sent your men to steal our cattle.”
“And we come full circle. Please, Ms. Standing, listen…”
“No. You listen. My father is not going to let your men waltz in and threaten us again. I’ve come here to try to warn you. I’ve come here to let you know we don’t want to be part of your club.”
“It’s compulsory, I’m afraid.”
“As I said, we have contingencies.”
“Then I think we’re done here, Ms. Standing. Would you like to borrow a horse to go back? It’s a long walk.”
Maxine wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. She’d walked there and was going to walk back. “No, thank you. The exercise will do me good.”
Maxine stood, turned, and made for the door.
“Oh, Ms. Standing, I must apologize for not saying anything sooner….”
She looked back, her hand on the doorknob to the outside. “Saying what?”
“Please give my kindest regards to your mother. Maria was one of my mother’s best friends when they were growing up. You knew that, I take it?”
“No. I’m sorry, I didn’t.”
“Well, my family did move away for a time, of course. My mother died so young, when I was but four years old. I would so love to come to the ranch to hear your mother speak of my family. In these troubled times, the links we have with our past are so important. So, I know we have our differences, but would I be able to come over to speak with your momma one evening? I would so value that opportunity. And I’m sure your momma would enjoy telling me all about mine.”
Maxine’s heart cracked with panic, but she managed to hold her face together. “I’m sure she’d enjoy that.”
“Good!” said Creggan. “I’ll drop in as soon as I can.”
The screams woke them at four a.m.
The fire had burned itself out, and although the night was close and humid, the sound sent a chill through Tally’s body. The night had been warm enough for them to sleep out under a nylon survival sheet Henry had tied between trees to keep any unexpected rain off them in the night, and the loam in the trees west of Fairfax, South Carolina, was comfortable enough to sleep on. They’d made good progress over the last two days. Henry had told Tally they were now sixty miles north of Savannah, and if they continued in this way, they could be in West Virginia and at her grandparents’ ranch in another twelve or thirteen days. Even faster if they could acquire horses.
Traveling parallel to Route 321 out of Georgia and into South Carolina, they’d been avoiding towns and keeping off the road for the most part. Henry had stopped wearing the gas mask due to Tally’s insistence on what had caused the world’s changes, but it was still hooked to his belt as a contingency, bouncing there like the deflated ghost of the Ant.
They’d picked up cans of meat and beans where they could, from wrecked or partially burned-out houses along the way. For the most part, it seemed people who had been affected had left their homes in the initial frenzy, and what they hadn’t destroyed or burned, Henry and Tally could take. Henry had insisted they didn’t stay in any of the deserted houses overnight. They didn’t know who might come back to them, and keeping away from people seemed to be the best policy right now. They may have been out of the reach of Trace and his men, but who knew what was going on in the rest of the country.
Henry’s knowledge seemed sound enough to Tally, and to be honest, she was still too worried about what had happened to her dad to argue with him. The further she got from Savannah, the more heavily she felt guilt welling up in her, but Henry’s logic was as sound as his knowledge of survival, and she’d decided to ride out the guilt. When they got to the ranch, and were hopefully reunited, then it would be a different matter. The thoughts skidding around her head had made it more difficult for her to get to sleep, but the hours of walking had exhausted her, and her full belly had made her want to curl up under her space blanket. After an hour of hard thinking that night, she’d drifted off.
But… the screams.
They snapped her eyes open. Henry was already up, SIG Sauer in hand, and he’d put his ant mask back on.
“What… is that an animal…?” Tally began, but Henry shushed her with a wave of his hand and then shook his head. He reached down to where Tally had left her own gun, took it from the holster, and pressed it into her palm.
More screams.
Not animal. Definitely. And confirmed when a woman screamed “No! Stop!” and there came a volley of shots that echoed through the woods, cutting off the scream with grim finality.
Henry pulled Tally to her feet by the arm and motioned her to get to cover against the rough bark of a tall and thick loblolly pine. With her face pressed against it, the citrusy aroma of the tree got into her nostrils and went some way to calming her thumping heart. Henry had moved forward in a crouch and was nearly out of sight.
Tally racked the slide on the SIG in the way Henry had showed her yesterday—“Push the slide, don’t pull it”— and chambered a round. She understood the basics of firing the handgun but hoped that she wouldn’t have to. Theory and practice were two different things, after all.
The night was as quiet as a wood might get but for the wind rustling the tops of the trees, the occasional hoot of an owl, and chatter from a nocturnal bird. But right now, the absence of the screams and gunfire pressed a heavy silence into her ears and raised the anticipation of more of those supremely frightening sounds coming again.
She breathed in the smell of the pine through her nostrils and then exhaled through her mouth in the time-honored way of calming oneself further by taking control of her breathing. She’d learned that particular skill from Storm, who’d been full of neat techniques to help in situations of high anxiety—Tally had used them when things got hairy on a cliff climb and she’d needed to focus, and Storm had used them to calm himself when things had gotten on top of him after his diagnosis of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.
Tally could hear Henry moving off. He hadn’t told her to follow him, and so she stayed put. The sharp snap of a twig in the loam, far off to her left, was followed by the heavy flutter of birds’ wings as something took off from between the trees and flapped up into the sky.
Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth.
Another crash through brush. A flutter of wings, and a howl. But the howl was human. Male. Not Henry.
A voice.
“No!” Male.
Shots.
The branches of the loblolly pine she was sheltering behind vibrated as two bullets slammed into it above her head. Other shots rang out. Crashing through branches, smacking into trees nearby, and further away in the dark. The firing was random. Wild and desperate.
Another yell.
Tally raised the SIG, finger in the trigger guard. She pushed her spine against the bark, ready to react the second she saw something.
But she didn’t see anything.
A body running at full pelt smashed into her from the side. Someone had run blindly into her, coming out of nowhere in the dark.
Arms flailing. Breath hot. Crashing her to the ground with all their weight on top. Trapping her hand on the gun. Pushing her trigger finger down….
Firing off a shot into the howl of another scream.
The explosion, the concussion, and the clink of the spent cartridge trying to exit from the firing chamber of the SIG, then the body on top of Tally going
suddenly limp.
14
Savannah was an open sore.
The gold-leafed dome of city hall, seventy feet high and dominating the skyline between Yamacraw Bluff and the twin pillars of the Talmadge Memorial Bridge, sat blackened with soot from fires which had been from within. The windows set in the white stone façade looked like eyes that had cried into too thickly applied mascara, completing the impression that the building, like the rest of the city, was bitter, beat-up, and broken.
The trawl through the city, following Harve’s crazy instructions, had brought just one gun battle, that being a mile from Thunderbolt, which Josh and others had overcome with their superior firepower and solidly motivated desperation.
The dead bodies of the five they’d had to fire upon, who had come for them out of the shadows of a burned-out gas station, had been as emaciated and unhealthy looking as those Josh had seen before. It hadn’t been so much a battle as his own party shooting fish in a barrel. To even call it an ‘attack’ was crediting it with more authenticity than it deserved.
‘Suicide mission’ would have been more accurate.
They’d made it all the way into the city without being attacked further, which at least offered a crumb of comfort on a day when they’d been told by Harve that, if they came back empty-handed this time, the consequences would be unfortunate… for them and the children. And, this time, they were after specific, non-negotiable items.
Items that just added to the crazy and made Josh wonder whether the madness was rising around him in a drowning tide.
Josh had been taken from the room that morning, leaving Poppet sleeping and very much on the mend from her withdrawal symptoms. They’d both been allowed from the room under guard to see to some meager washing up the night before and then been given food. Josh hadn’t been summoned to Trace for orders or more of his prissy grandstanding, and therefore he’d had to deal with Harve taking him down to a room in the mansion where seven other men, three of whom Josh recognized from the Home Depot debacle, had been assembled to get their orders.
Supernova EMP Series (Book 2): Deep End Page 12