Time to get to work before it's too dark.
He opened the driver's door and found hasty leavings: bits of paper, a scribbled note that looked like it had once been taped to the steering wheel, some food wrappers, and a soda can. The small truck contained little else of value.
Erik watched the last of the gas drip into the red container. He yawned. There were a few more cars up the road and around the corner, there could be who knows how many more. They might find a few bits of food or maybe a water bottle somewhere out there. His eyes returned to the field across the road.
Somebody farmed that. There had to be a farmhouse nearby. The gears in Erik's mind started spinning. Without electricity, the farmer probably couldn't get fuel to run his equipment. Without machinery, the fields had to be left unattended. Would someone be out there now? Maybe something happened to the farmer? There might be a farmhouse somewhere on the other side of the field just waiting for someone to move in.
Shelter, food, probably water too. He couldn't imagine any self-respecting farmer living without a well and the means to power it. He licked his dry lips at the idea of clean, fresh water and stores of food put away for a long winter.
Brin walked over to him. "You okay?" she asked, handing him her newfound backpack. "I just finished telling you I found some candy bars, road flares, and a sweet multitool along with some gloves and other stuff…" She stared at him. "Earth to Erik?"
Erik looked over her head and watched the wind ripple through the leaves in the field across the street. "I know…I'm sorry…I was just thinking…" he whispered.
"Clearly," Brin said sourly. "You totally missed that joke I made about the pizza…"
Erik looked down his wife. "What pizza?"
A smile threatened to pull up the corner of her mouth. "Never mind." As quick as it appeared, the half-smile vanished. "You get much gas?"
Erik stepped aside so she could see both full containers on the pavement beneath the truck. The amber liquid continued to drip from the wounded gas tank. "We should take the gas back to Ted."
Brin nodded. "It doesn't look like much, does it?" she asked, picking up one of the 5 gallon jugs.
As they strolled back toward the van, Erik pointed at the field. "What if we just stopped right here?"
Brin did just that. She peered up at him. "You mean stop right here?"
Erik turned, careful not to splash the open container of gasoline in his hands. "I mean, look at the field right there. Right in the middle of nowhere. We haven't seen anyone recently—there's not even that many cars on this road. We're definitely out in the country."
"Yeah…" Brin said noncommittally. "So?"
Erik took a step toward the side of the road, closer toward his imagined farmhouse. "Okay, so hear me out. What if on the other side of those trees over, past the field—what if there's farmhouse somewhere? Farms usually have a well, right? I mean, everything in this part of the country's older than dirt. Somebody's probably been living here since the 1700s and farmers usually have food stocked up for winters and—"
"Hold up," Brin said, raising a hand to interrupt him. "First, you’re not supposed to talk that much. Second, are you telling me you think it'd be a good idea if we just stopped and tried to find a farmhouse in the woods?"
"Well, yeah…maybe,” he whispered.
"You want to just to stay here? You're giving up on New York?" she scoffed.
Erik paused, unable to find the words to express his emotions. He clenched his jaw in frustration. "Nothing I've done has turned out right."
Brin stepped up next to him. "What? Stop whispering."
Erik shot an angry glance over his shoulder at her. "I said, nothing I've done has turned out right on this trip. I've been pushing us so hard to get north—maybe too hard. Maybe we shouldn't go any further. Before something worse than Lindsay spraining an ankle happens..."
Brin sighed. "Erik, this is not your fault…"
"Isn't it?" he asked rounding on her. "I was the one who pushed us to head for my parents place in New York. I was the one who got us captured by the Russians. I was the one who suggested the minivan in that little podunk town in Georgia." He kicked at the dirt. "And I was the one who pushed us so hard through the Carolinas that Lindsay got hurt and almost died!"
"Erik…"
"Everything I do is pushing us toward New York and it seems like everything we encounter is telling me that's a bad idea. I'm starting to get the feeling we should stop." His eyes returned to the field.
"Think about it—what are the odds that right in the middle of nowhere we find this. We haven't seen anyone for hours, then there's suddenly a farm. Right here. It might be abandoned—"
"And it might not," Brin snapped. "You ever think of that?" She put the gas down and stepped in front of him. "What's going on?"
Erik's frustration boiled over. He could stand it no longer. "That's the question I've been dying to ask you ever since we left Florida!" he hissed. The words tumbled out of him like an avalanche, unstoppable, destroying everything in its path, including his voice and possibly his marriage. But God damn it felt good to finally clear the air.
"You give me the cold shoulder every time I try to look at you, you won't talk to me—when you do it's just grunts—you act like I did something to you!" Erik threw his arms up. "What the hell happened back in that prison camp? Why won't you talk to me? You're my wife, Brin! I'm supposed to be the one you turn to when things get rough and you're supposed to be my best friend but I feel like we're strangers!" His arms fell limp, his anger spent. He shook his head and massaged his throat.
"I can't do this without you."
Erik took a deep, cleansing breath and looked in his wife's tear-filled eyes. I went too far. Dammit. He raised a hand to touch her shoulder, "Oh God, Brin, honey—I'm sorry—"
She stepped back from him as if he were a stranger. "No, it's okay…" She shook her head, and angrily wiped her eyes. "It's not your fault. Erik, I am so sorry…I never meant for it to get like this. It just sort of happened…"
"What is it? What aren't you telling me?" He paused, waiting for her to respond but she buried her face in her hands instead. Erik watched her shoulders shake with the effort of trying to stop crying.
"Was it…Did they…" Even after the torrent of emotion had exploded, Erik still found it hard to say what he'd really been thinking the past few weeks. "The Russians…did they…?"
"Did they what?" Brin asked, looking up between her hands. Her eyes suddenly grew large. "Oh my God, you think they—you think they raped me?"
Erik suddenly felt very foolish." I…well, I mean I heard…when they were beating me—"
He staggered back as Brin collided with his chest and enveloped him in her arms. "I'm so sorry!" she wailed, her words muffled by his chest. "I knew I should have said something sooner, I knew it!"
Erik closed his eyes, torn between conflicting emotions. On the one hand, as his arms snaked around his wife's shoulders, he felt more at peace than he had since before the collapse. On the other, her reactions seemed to confirm his worst fears. Anger filled his body and his arms trembled. A murderous rage developed like a blossoming thunderstorm in his chest. He needed to kill a Russian. What they did to his wife—
"They didn't rape me," Brin said quietly.
The anger evaporated. Erik blinked and looked down at the top of her head. "Wait, what?"
She shook her head and nuzzled deeper into his chest squeezing tighter. He smoothed the silky black hair on the back of her head.
"It's okay…whatever happened, I just want you to know I'm on your side—you can come to me, you can talk to me. I'm here for you Brin. You know that right?"
Brin sobbed. At last she looked up at him, tears slicing through the dirt smudged on her face. "I know that, silly." She smiled and wiped at her nose. "Erik, this is all my fault, I'm so sorry."
Erik disentangle himself from his wife and pulled her over to the guardrail. They sat. He swung his backpack around and dropped i
t between his feet, rummaging for a bottle of water and handed it to her. "Here, take a sip."
Brin handed the bottle back and wiped his mouth. "They didn't rape me." She stared across the road at the tree-covered hill. "They beat the living hell out of me but they didn't touch me…that way."
Erik shook his head, forcing himself to go back to the dark place in the beginning when the Russians had captured him and believed him to be in the special forces.
"I don't understand. I heard you. I heard them…"
"You heard them hitting me?"
Erik nodded, looking at the gravel at his feet. "They had me in this dark room tied to a chair as they took turns hitting me. They put me up against the wall and forced me to listen. I heard you cry out more than once." He closed his eyes.
"And then I heard this…" He shook his head. "I can't even describe it—but it was clear someone was being..." He shook his head again, trying to wipe his mind of the nightmarish memory. "It was you—I heard your voice. I heard you cry out in pain."
Brin's hand found his and squeezed hard. "They were hitting me all right—and I couldn't for the life of me figure out why this one guy was dry humping a table." She laughed. "He was smashing it against the wall and grunting like...I was more confused than anything." She closed her eyes. "But now it makes sense…"
Erik stared at her. "They didn't…? I mean, you don't have to tell me until you’re ready—it's up to you, but—"
Brin smiled again and rested her head against his shoulder, gripping his arm tight. "They didn't do anything like that to me. I think they were hitting me and making noises to try to break you." She squeezed his arm harder. "But you didn't."
Erik grunted. "I couldn't—I didn't know anything…" He laughed bitterly. “They thought I was in the special forces.”
Brin cried again and held him. "I'm so sorry…" she whispered. "You mean you thought…all this time you thought they…?"
Erik's silence was her answer. He stared at the abandoned truck across the road. "I was ready to kill every one of the sons of bitches with my bare hands."
He looked down at his arms, the angry, half-healed wounds on his wrists glared at him just past the sleeve on his sweatshirt. The Russian ropes had cut deep during his frantic attempts to tear himself free. Brin watched him look at his arm and her fingertips traced the outline of the raw wounds. She leaned in and kissed his left wrist, her lips cool against the new skin. The sensation sent a small shiver up Erik's arm.
"I'm sorry…" Brin started crying again and wrapped her arms around him. "They didn't rape me, nobody touched me other than that first day. I heard rumors they'd mistreated a few of the girls, but nobody could figure out who. I think it was just talk. The Russians treated us pretty good, actually." She wiped her nose and sniffed. "If you don't count locking us up in a prison camp—or that stuff they called food."
Erik shook his head. "I don't understand…" He rubbed his eyes. "Why haven't you talked to me? Why have you been so distant?"
"You haven't been very outgoing yourself, you know," she said accusingly and pulled away from him.
"Hey, at least I tried."
Brin nodded and wiped her face again. "You're right. The Russians didn't do anything to me but they did make everybody go through a medical screening process. They separated all the people who were wounded and gave them…I guess what they called treatment. That's why Susan was in that little back corner by herself. They agreed to let me stay with her and the kids, to try to take care of her. But they didn't give us any medicine all."
Erik waited for her to go on.
"I…"she took a deep breath and clasped her hands to her stomach. "When they checked me over, one of the doctors was suspicious. He made me take a test."
Erik clenched his fists. "Test? What kind of test?"
Brin looked at him with big eyes. "I'm pregnant." She exhaled and looked down at her hands. "There, I said it. Oh boy, I said it."
Erik jumped to his feet and paced a few moments. He stood there staring at the truck, the words she'd just spoken going through his mind like a shout in an empty cavern. Clenching and relaxing his fists, he stood there, his body a coil of raw energy. He wanted to jump and shout, he wanted to scream to the heavens. He had so many questions. Excitement, fear, surprise—they all swirled around inside him creating a vortex of emotion.
"Erik…?" Brin's soft voice called behind him.
He spun around and rushed to her. Dropping down to his knees he embraced her in a hug, then realized he might be squeezing too hard and abruptly let her go and stepped back. "Oh—I'm sorry, did I hurt you? I—"
"You haven't said anything about…" Brin looked down and put both her hands on either side of her stomach protectively.
Erik placed his head against her chest, wrapping his arms around her. "This is the best news I've ever heard," he whispered.
"Really?" Brin asked, voice high with hope. "You're not just saying that?"
"No!" Erik barked. He raised himself up, grabbed both sides of her head and kissed her. "This is the happiest day of my life!" He stepped away from her and threw his arms up. "A baby! We're going to have a family!" He laughed and ran back to her again.
He felt the tension leave her body as Brin collapsed into his arms and wept. The two of them sat on the guardrail again, holding each other as the sun dipped below the horizon and twilight retreated into full darkness.
"But…" Brin said at last, "I was so scared…I mean, look around us. Look around us! It's the end the world!"
Erik shook his head and wiped the tear away from her cheek. "It doesn't matter—I don't care about the rest of the world right now," he rasped. A smile spread across his face and he lowered his voice to a whisper. "We're going to have a baby."
"Well, I'm going to have a baby," Brin corrected him, "I don't know about you."
Erik laughed. "You know what I mean."
"Erik, I'm sorry I've been distant. It's just that ever since I found out I was pregnant, I’ve been so worried. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to even think about us being happy with a baby and a family…in case it never…I mean, the whole world is going batshit crazy. What if…what if the baby doesn't make it? There's no more hospitals, what if I don't make it? Even if we do both survive—"
"Hey, don't talk like that—" Erik began.
Brin pulled back a little. "No, I need to talk like that. Both of us need to think about it. Seriously, there's no hospitals, there's no doctors, no medicine, no nothing! We're using honey as antibiotics and you have to be my midwife! This is like some sort of medieval nightmare…"
"Well, it's a good thing we brought Lucy with us then isn't it?"
Brin rolled her eyes. "Lucy! I don't even want to think about her right now. To think I was jealous—”
“Jealous? Hey, I never—”
“I know,” Brin said, a calming hand on his chest. She laughed. “Trust me. I know.” The smile faded from her face.
“She does have a crush on you!” Erik laughed.
Brin shook her head and tried not to laugh. “Not funny! Lucy’s got her own baggage. Seriously, though—even if everything works out and I have the baby—"
"You will," Erik said.
"Let’s assume everything's okay," Brin said, playing the fabric of her pants without looking at him. "What then? Is this going to be a world that we even want to bring a child into? We don't even know if your parents’ house is still there. What if—"
Erik kissed her again to stop the what-ifs. "We'll figure that out when we get there."
Brin looked up at him, the whites of her eyes glistening in the darkness. "So you want to keep going?" she whispered.
Erik smiled and kissed her again. "More than ever. Whatever's going on Upstate, they have to be safer than we've been since we left our apartment."
It took a few more minutes of cuddling and kissing in the darkness, but they were finally ready to stand and head back to the van. She wiped her eyes and tried to make herself presentable
as they walked. Erik hardly noticed the weight of the 5 gallon gas cans he carried.
"Don't say anything to anyone yet, okay?" Brin asked in a small voice. She squeezed his arm.
Erik stopped about ten yards from the van. "It'll be our secret," he whispered. He leaned down and kissed his wife once more. As they approached the van, Erik felt happier than he had in all the days since the power went out.
For once, for one shining moment, things were looking up and he felt like they were going to make it. He believed it in his soul. Erik turned and stared into the northern darkness.
I swear to God, nothing is going to stop me now.
Chapter 60
Death From Above
RIGGS PUT HIS F-35C into a tight starboard turn. He ignored the cacophony of alarms going off in the cockpit. The Russians were lighting up his fighter squadron with anti-aircraft radar and he didn't have time to listen to his targeting computer complain.
The battle began at dawn and everything below looked like a complete Charlie-Foxtrot. His screens showed the American line was holding, but the Russians were still advancing. Hawk flight screamed north out of Jacksonville Naval Air Station at Mach 1.6 right into the enemy's rear flank.
"There's a lot of Russians down there," muttered Jonesy. "Where are the fighters?"
"Don't know, but it means more mud for us to move. Hawk Lead to Hawk flight," he said. "Let's get to work—this is a target rich environment, folks. I don't want any wasted shots. We're on our own here, so fly tight. I want a few solid runs before Hammer get here, then we transition to CAP." He paused to flip the fire selector switch and arm his missiles.
"Weapons free, gentlemen."
"Fox three!" someone called out as soon as Riggs stopped speaking. Two more announced missile launches on top of the first.
"Hawk Lead, Hammer Lead," crackled over his radio.
Riggs answered, "Go ahead, Sledgehammer."
"We're five minutes behind you—you guys cheated with that VTOL shit. There better be some Russians left when we get there or you're buying the beer."
Dux Bellorum (Future History of America Book 3) Page 37