Trevor said, "Let’s get you back to the estate, stitch you up, then come back later."
Shepherd refused. "That won’t do. It’ll be dark in a couple of hours."
Jon suggested; pleaded, "Trev, I’ll handle this. Steal a car and take him back. Me and Sal here can go with the dogs and keep searching."
He stared at Jon and wondered; he wondered what Jon felt he needed to prove.
"I can live with that," Shepherd said. "For now."
Trevor worried Shep's obsession with finding this Nina would cost lives. He understood survival came down to an equation: save people without losing ones already saved. Adding Shep and Sal to the growing estate would be a net win; losing one or both of them-and possibly Jon and several K9s-in a hopeless search did not serve the interest of survival, no matter how noble.
Yet he agreed because it did not seem he had any choice.
"Okay. I’ll take Shepherd back. You and Sal start searching. Let the K9s sniff her and this Scott guy out. We rendezvous here at 7."
– After hot-wiring a Grand Cherokee, Trevor drove Shep through Plymouth, over the mountain, and to Harveys Lake, avoiding a Devilbat and a slithering Jellyfish along the way.
The estate and the K9s impressed Shepherd as much as Trevor hoped. He introduced the policeman to Lori (who berated Trevor for leaving Jon behind) and Sheila (who whispered hello before running to her room).
With Lori’s help, Trevor properly stitched the wounded leg and wrapped the injury in a more secure bandage, reaching the extent of his medical knowledge. At that point, Captain Jerry Shepherd demanded to return to the search. Trevor stalled as long as possible but that became difficult with Lori glaring at him.
For the return trip, they eschewed the Grand Cherokee in favor of a Humvee. On their way into the city, they dodged the same Devilbat, shot dead a large other-wordily snake, rammed through a trio of Ghouls, and succeeded in meeting Jon and Sal at seven o’clock.
Jon informed Trevor that two German Shepherds died during the search. Trevor knew many K9s would be lost in the weeks, months, and years ahead. Still, two of them dying while not under his command did not sit well with Trevor.
They retrieved a piece of Nina's clothing from the helicopter and gave the K9s a good whiff, then the hunt continued starting with a floor-by-floor search of the hospital that was cut short when a red blob enveloped another K9.
As evening turned to night, they resorted to a bullhorn to call her name, attracting a swarm of cat-sized beetles with razor-sharp mandibles. Scratch another dog.
Trevor insisted they withdraw and succeeded only by convincing Shep that if this girl were as good a soldier as he claimed, she would find shelter for the night.
The next morning-the first day of October-they left before dawn with reloaded weapons, twice as many K9s, and three different vehicles: the RV and two Humvees.
They swept through residential neighborhoods, an elementary school, and several churches. Four more dogs died by late afternoon and Sal suffered a mild concussion when the tentacles of an eight-foot tall carnivorous flower knocked a garage wall on his head.
Round after round of munitions burned away in firefights: First, an elephant-sized beetle beneath the bleachers at a high school football stadium. Second, a mob of Ghouls rousted from a restaurant. Third, small balls of slimy feelers that, while preferring carrion, decided to try a live meal when Jon stumbled upon them in the dining room of a retirement home.
None of that deterred Jerry Shepherd, but as night fell on the second day Trevor felt their luck running out. Certainly, this super-soldier-this Nina Forest-had been something’s dinner.
On the morning of the third day, Trevor decided if they did not find anyone by nightfall, the search would end; at least for him and Jon. Besides, the weather offered a bad harbinger: a cold breeze turned a light rain into icy daggers; a reminder that October had arrived. Some leaves already erupted in fiery colors, meaning the first snow of the season could not be far behind.
Around mid-day, Shepherd took shrapnel from a Mutant’s flintlock in his shin. Although only a minor injury, the blow demanded a run to the estate for more stitches. Trevor took Shepherd to the compound and left Jon and Sal with several K9s.
Late that afternoon, the Norwegian Elkhound named Odin caught a scent. The animal barked and yapped until grabbing their attention, then led Jon and Sal through an old scrap yard to an abandoned warehouse where the roof had partially collapsed.
A hand stretched out from beneath a pile of sheet metal and wooden beams.
"It’s her," Sal said as he checked for a pulse. "It’s Nina, and she’s alive."
9. Nina Forest
Moments before sunset, Trevor hurried in the front door of the mansion having just returned from a fuel run to William and Eva Rheimmer’s farm.
During the trip home, he received a radio transmission from Jon Brewer announcing the successful conclusion of the search for Nina Forest. Somehow, she had survived in that infested city for three days. The other officer, Scott, remained unaccounted for.
"She’s unconscious," Jon said as he met Trevor inside the front door.
Stone noticed Jon beaming. And why not? He had searched unfriendly territory and not only survived but also completed his mission.
Originally, Trevor anticipated problems with Jon, and sought to earn that man’s respect. Now Trevor wondered, perhaps it might be Jon seeking respect. Or something else.
Lori Brewer came along carrying a first aid kit and added her voice to the discussion.
"There’s some dried blood on her noggin’, a few cuts and scrapes, but from what I can tell she’s in good shape."
"But unconscious?"
"That’s how we found her," Jon said. "She was under a collapsed roof at the scrap metal yard a quarter mile from the crash."
"A quarter mile? And it took this long to find her?"
Jon's beaming faded as Trevor's words inflicted a wound.
Stone immediately mitigated, "Still, good job and all. I can’t believe you found her."
Captain Jerry Shepherd and Sal Corso emerged from the first-floor guestroom and the five people shuffled into the living room. A chill seeped in from the early-Autumn evening. Jon piled kindling in the large fireplace and Trevor pulled the tall red drapes closed to keep light from escaping.
Shepherd sat in a tobacco-colored wing chair and said, "I told you she’d make it."
"But she’s unconscious, right?" Trevor spoke as if the woman’s unconscious state made her survival less remarkable.
Lori, noticing the tone in his voice, countered, "Other than that, she’s fine."
"One tough chick," Sal used the word chick with lots of respect.
"I see," Trevor absently inspected a collection of porcelain carousel horses displayed in a corner curio cabinet. "Let’s hope she wakes up soon. Anyway, I’m not sending any more people in town for now."
A glare from Shepherd reminded Trevor that the police officers had not yet conceded to take orders from him.
"When Nina wakes up she’ll tell us what happened to Scott. Seems to me we’ll just have to go from there."
The kindling crackled as the fire started. Jon stoked the blaze with more logs. Heat billowed across the living room as the flames grew.
"I suppose so," Trevor acquiesced.
He did not need to extend an invitation again. He did not need to remind Shepherd that the invitation came with conditions. He had done so a dozen times already. Each time Shepherd told him they would wait and see.
Trevor left the living room with the intention of going upstairs to change clothes. He stopped and gazed toward the first floor guestroom. Curiosity got the better of him.
She looked nothing like he expected. In fact, he almost laughed.
Nina Forest lay in bed on top of a checkered comforter. An oil lamp cast the unconscious woman in a soft glow and filled the room with a subdued smell of kerosene. She wore black BDU pants and a white top. A series of small cuts and bruises d
ecorated her arms, the only trophies she displayed from nearly three days in Hell.
The petite, early 20s girl sleeping silently on the bed contrasted sharply with his expectations of an Amazon warrior. She had medium length blond hair with naturally curly waves yet pulled it into a tight, short ponytail clearly designed for function, not style.
She did not resemble a warrior.
More like a cheerleader, he thought.
Except not a cheerleader as Sheila had been. More like the strong and agile cheerleader charged with performing the gymnastic stuff.
His eyes drifted across her shoulders and arms, all sculptured by a kind artist’s eye: no bulging muscles, but chiseled tone with nary a hint of body fat. She matched the stereotype of the all-American girl: attractive and physically fit with small but well-proportioned breasts.
But a warrior?
Trevor chuckled quietly at the difference between expectation and reality. Having debunked the legend, he turned to leave.
The arm seized his neck. How did she move so fast?
The cheerleader held him in a headlock and it felt as if she might crush his larynx. He grabbed at her arm futilely. The wind to his lungs clamped off.
The All-American girl spoke evenly but forcefully, "Where am I? Who are you?"
Her vice grip allowed only a grunt.
He felt lightheaded. The walls spun. Blurry figures entered the room.
"Nina! Nina let him go, it’s okay!"
The grip released. He collapsed to the floor on his back gulping air. Sal Corso bent over and looked down at him.
"You okay, Chief?"
– The fire waned. Jon Brewer placed his bottle on the mahogany coffee table and stacked more logs in the flames. Lori Brewer curled on the couch while Trevor sat in a walnut-framed easy chair massaging his bruised throat and dealing with a burgeoning headache.
Sheila Evans long ago retreated to her room while the guests from Philadelphia accepted temporary shelter in apartments above the garage. Shepherd promised a decision by morning.
Lori teased for the third time, "You got beat up by a girl."
Trevor pinched his nose. He could not decide if credit for the headache lay with the trauma dealt to his throat or Lori’s ribbing.
Outside, the wind whistled, rattling the windows. The people inside felt secure knowing K9s watched the grounds beyond those rattling windows.
Jon drank from his beer and asked, "What’s the story with Sheila? You two goin’ rabbit?"
Lori slapped her husband on the knee.
"No," Trevor answered.
"Where did you find her?" Lori asked.
"She was being chased by Mutants. I helped her out."
Jon mocked, "Trevor Stone to the rescue."
"Something like that, I guess. But…well I don’t know."
Lori pushed, "What? What is it?"
"It’s just…I was hoping she’d have it together more. All she does is sit in her room. She’s afraid to do anything, to go anywhere."
Lori shrugged, "I think we all are."
"No, not like this. If she had her way we’d just sit here behind these walls and hope to God nothing ever finds us."
Lori pushed again, "Sounds like a plan to me."
Trevor had enough pushing.
"You don’t really mean that. Don’t play games. I’m serious. She’s useless."
"Useless? Do you hear yourself?"
"Lori, you know what I mean."
Jon broke in, "That’s right. People have to carry their weight. No room for lazy bones."
She asked, "Are you sorry you saved her? Like it’d be better if she died?"
Trevor pinched his nose again.
"Forget it."
Lori took a long drink and then set aside her beer. She leaned forward and crossed her arms on her knees. Her eyes drooped a little, then narrowed, and her head tilted in the slightest. Trevor recognized her counselor’s face.
"What happened to Ashley?"
Trevor ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes.
"She disappeared into thin air. Her whole neighborhood I think. Just like Wrigley Field. Just like West Point. Nothing but clothes left." Trevor asked Jon, "Did you ever hear any more about what they thought caused that? Still just vaporized?"
Jon’s posture on the couch stiffened and his eyes darted fast for the floor. He occupied his hands and mouth with the beer bottle.
"Go ahead, tell me. Did your cousin hear something more?"
Jon sighed and said, "Last I heard the only new info was that there was some sort of strange radiation left behind."
"And?"
"So…so they figured it was like a neutron bomb."
Lori did not understand. "A neutron bomb?"
Trevor said, "Designed to kill only people. A massive burst of radiation that would leave buildings and stuff in place."
Jon figured, "Makes sense. If someone wanted this planet and just wanted us out of the way, then that’s the perfect weapon. No structural damage. Just the people…gone."
The fire crackled and popped loudly as the flames devoured the fresh logs.
Lori consoled, "I’m sorry."
Trevor said bluntly, "You never liked her."
Her head cocked and she blinked. Her voice wavered with defensiveness, but she did not take well to playing defense.
"No, I-"
"Don’t lie to me. You didn’t like her. You never did."
Lori puffed in frustration.
"I tried. I really did. I’d talk to her, I’d invite her over…she was never interested, not in any of your friends."
"She wasn’t marrying my friends."
"Oh no?" Lori said. "Well I got news for you. To know a person, you have to know the people they grew up with. Their family and their friends. No one was closer than you and me. She didn’t care why."
"I didn’t know her friends well," Trevor countered.
"That didn’t matter because Ashley was-" she stopped but not in time.
Jon placed a hand over his eyes.
Trevor lunged, "What? Ashley was what?"
Lori tried to retreat, "Never mind, nothing,"
"Answer me, Lori. Ashley was what?"
When backed into a corner, Lori Brewer came out swinging. She knew no other way.
"Okay," her bottom lip stiffened. "She was the first girl you ever had sex with."
Jon drank deep from his bottle. Lori broke eye contact by retrieving her own bottle of beer. She took a long drink, too.
Trevor stood.
His throat hurt and his body tired. He needed rest to be ready for tomorrow, an important day. Tomorrow the police officers would decide whether to accept his invitation, with all the strings attached.
"I’m going to bed."
"Rich…" Lori started, stopped, and then rephrased, "Okay. Good night, Trevor."
He started toward the door and then stopped.
"You’re wrong. I loved Ashley. It was more than…more than that."
Lori lied in a gentle voice, "I know."
Trevor ascended the stairs. Jon and Lori cuddled in front of the fire.
– While unsophisticated, Trevor’s backyard shooting range served its purpose.
An old boiler filled with sand made a decent backstop. Human-shaped targets poorly cut from cardboard hung on clothesline.
He fired another round from a nine-millimeter pistol. Despite a near-perfect grip as well as a complete understanding of ballistics and shooting technique, Trevor shot good but not great. Nonetheless, before Armageddon he would have shot his foot off.
Tyr, hovering several paces behind, barked loud enough to penetrate the protective ear guards his Master wore. Stone turned to see Shepherd approaching with a slight limp, the only trace of his leg injuries.
"Hate to interrupt, but I thought it was about time we spoke."
"Yeah, well, it’s okay. Don’t want to fire too many shots. Don’t want things knowing where to come looking for us."
Shepherd waite
d as Trevor dropped spent cartridges into a small container set in the post built at the firing line. After clearing away the casings, Trevor wiped gunpowder residue from his hands with a handkerchief.
The men walked to the main house under an overcast morning sky. The temperature still held in the fifties, but the wind carried a colder note.
They entered through the rear door, crossed the large kitchen, went along the hall, and joined Corso and Jon Brewer in the living room. The charred remains of the previous night’s blaze lingered in the fireplace.
Shepherd found a chair and began the conversation.
"For us it started when we had to kill some thing inside the Constitution museum at Independence Hall. That was a couple of days before Philly went to Hell, and believe you me, Philly went to Hell real quick."
Corso, pacing by the fireplace, added, "Momma mia, that was nothin’. They was seein’ monsters in the sewers and diavoli on the streets."
"How’d you survive?"
"I reckon’ we got lucky with the calls we drew. We put down things that could be put down with what we were packin’. Things like what you call ‘Ghouls’ and the like. Didn’t matter though. After two weeks, the city was FUBAR. Then we were sent to guard a rescue station."
Shepherd closed his eyes and shook his head slow as he recalled unpleasant images.
"What about your friend, what’s her name, Nina?" Trevor asked.
"Donna forte," Sal spoke Italian with his hands waving.
Shepherd provided more useful information.
"We’re all on the same SWAT team. Nina’s also a Blackhawk pilot in the National Guard."
Jon surveyed the room from his seat on the couch. "Where is she?"
Shepherd told a transparent lie, "She’s not feeling good."
Trevor strolled to one of the tall, thin living room windows.
"Tell me about her."
From the window, he saw the porch pillars and the front lawn. In the distance, the waters of the lake lapped the shoreline.
"Nina? She’s something else, never met no one like her," Shep said. "She’s a great shot, a decent pilot, and got a head for fighting. If she were a guy, she’d probably have been in the Rangers or something along those lines. As it is, the force stuck her in the chopper half the time, but she’d rather be on the ground with the grunts."
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