Clouds Before Rain

by Marco Etheridge

  ED BUKOWSKI MOVED UP the line of rental vans, his feet scrunching in the gravel of the parking lot. He held the butt of the rifle to his shoulder, barrel angled down. Dammit, I should have just shot the little bugger. Okay, let’s get this over with. His voice rang out across the quiet lot.

  “Hey Kid, you hear me?”

  There was no answer. He looked behind the vans, saw Jake moving on the other side. Ed raised a hand to Jake, motioning him forward. The man nodded. A shotgun held at the ready, Jake disappeared behind the row of vehicles.

  “Listen Kid, we know you’re in there, okay? We just want to talk to you, that’s all. Don’t do anything stupid with that goose gun, you hear me?”

  There was the faintest sound of feet crunching against gravel, then nothing. Ed edged toward the kid’s hiding place, keeping the front of the van between them.

  “Hey Kid, listen, it’s cold out here. I don’t feel much like playing hide-and-seek. And I damn sure don’t want to shoot you. What do you say we just have ourselves a conversation, civilized like, no shooting?”

  Ed saw Jake slide into view, creeping into position behind the van. He looked back to Ed, nodded, then raised the shotgun to his shoulder.

  “Dammit, Son, there’s a guy behind you with a shotgun, and I’ve got a rifle on you. Let’s just stop this foolishness and talk a bit, how’s that? Otherwise, we just shoot you and go back where it’s warm.”

  A disheveled figure rose from the side of the van. His face was smeared with dirt. A filthy watch cap was pulled low on his head. A long, double-barreled shotgun dangled from one of his grimy hands. Ed took in the sorry sight, easing the rifle down a bit.

  “Why don’t you set that goose gun up there on the hood of that van? Damn thing must weigh a ton.”

  The young man shrugged. The shotgun made a hollow thump against the sheet metal of the hood.

  “Don’t even know if the damn thing works.”

  The boy’s voice sounded thick in his throat.

  “What’s that?”

  “I said I don’t even know if the damn thing works. I’ve been lugging that heavy bastard around for weeks.”

  “Is it loaded?”

  “Yeah, but it’s old, the damn shells are old, probably wet, too. I never even shot the thing. Just been hiding.”

  “I see. What’s your name, Son?”

  “I’m Bobby.”

  The young man reached up to wipe at his nose. He looked down at the ground, then raised his eyes to face the man with the rifle.

  “It’s good to meet you, Bobby. I’m Ed, and the fella standing behind you is Jake.”

  The pale figure half-turned, raised a hand towards the man behind him, then dropped his hand to his side.

  Ed shook his head, then slung the rifle over his shoulder. Jesus Wept, the poor kid is scared to death. How the hell did he manage to survive at all. Then he heard Jake’s voice.

  “Hey Bobby, you like hot chocolate?”

  The young man blinked his eyes, looking confused. He turned towards the voice.

  “Ummm... yeah, I like hot chocolate. I haven’t had anything hot in a long time.”

  “Yeah, I sort of figured that. Tell you what, why don’t we head on over across to the clubhouse? It’s warm over there, and we can make you a cuppa chocolate, warm you up a bit. You look half-froze.”

  “You guys aren’t going to shoot me?”

  “Hadn’t planned on it. Is it okay if I walk over there? I’m getting sorta chilled myself.”

  Ed saw the boy nod, saw Jake walking towards him. Jake’s hand came out, hovering in front of the boy. The boy stared at it for a long second, then he reached out to shake Jake’s hand.

  “Pleased to meet you, Bobby.”

  Jake steered the young man forward, grabbing up the goose gun as he passed the van. The boy shuffled along, Jake’s hand resting on his shoulder, guiding him. Bobby stopped in front of Ed, eyes on the ground. Ed saw that he was shivering.

  “Damn, son, you’re shaking like a dog shitting peach pits. Let’s get you inside. C’mon now, it’s just across the road there.”

  The two men walked on either side of the boy called Bobby, guiding him across the empty parking lot. Jake turned to the boy, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

  “Hey Bobby, let me ask you a question. Do you play cribbage?”

  The boy looked into the older man’s face, not comprehending. He shook his head no.

  “You want to learn?”

  Chapter 9

  The Boat

  The lean man climbed the steel ladder with the fluid grace of a man accustomed to such things. He stepped from the top of the ladder, stopping just inside the hatch to the bridge. Diffuse winter light flooded the sleek, modern space. Thick glass panels wrapped around three sides of the steel room. Through them he could see the heavy, wet clouds pushing down across grey waters of Elliot Bay.

  The lean man raised a hard-knuckled hand, rapping twice on the steel of the bulkhead.

  “You wanted to see me, Cap?”

  An older man sat at a wide chart table that bisected the room. A pen scratched across the surface of a notebook on the table. He raised his head at the knock, close-cropped grey hair almost white.

  “Good afternoon, Riley, come in, take a load off.”

  The old man’s voice carried a sharp, loud edge; the voice of a man with hearing dulled by the sharp crack of many firefights.

  The man named Riley walked to the table. He sat ramrod straight in his chair, eyeing the man opposite him. I bet Cap’s seventy if he’s a day. He’d have to be. A green jarhead in ’67, not so green after Tet in ’68; sure, that puts him at around seventy. And old man, but he doesn’t look it; and you know he’s hard as coffin nails. He’s carrying fifteen more years than you are, but he carries them well. What do you think, could you take him? Yeah, eventually, but it would be one tough-ass fight, that’s for damn sure. Not worth it, and Cap deserves more respect than that.

  “What’s the status on the Armory mission? That’s the first thing I want to hear about.”

  Riley looked past Cap’s hard eyes, past the dead skyline of Seattle, seeing the giant fog-shrouded skeletons of the container cranes on Harbor Island. Then he focused on the man across the table.

  “The boys got ‘er done, Cap. It took longer than I hoped, but it wasn’t a worst case scenario. The Guard fellas at the armory, they died just like everyone else. Fortunately for us, they left the vault door open. That was a lucky break. If the main vault had been closed, I’m not sure we could have gotten in, not without tunneling. The bad news was that the cage was locked tight; serious security cage. We had to raid the BN railroad yard for some heavy cutting torches. That got the job done, finally. A bit of work, but mission accomplished.”

  “And what, exactly, did we accomplish, Riley?”

  “Lean, just like you called it, but still a solid inventory. Most of the weapons were already issued out. By now they’d be in the hands of dead national guard troops, or in the hands of scavengers. We got everything that was left.”

  Riley paused, looking up at the steel paneled ceiling of the bridge. Then his eyes snapped back down to face the man across the table.

  “Thirty-two M-4 carbines, older models, but solid, and, you’ll appreciate this, an even dozen of the old M-16’s.”

  “That takes a fella back, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, Sir, damn things are almost as old as I am. So, forty-four carbines all told. We found about fifteen-thousand rounds of 5.56 ammo, not exactly an arsenal, but better than what we had. I should have a more accurate count on the ammo by tomorrow.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Affirmative. Ten cases of CS grenades, enough to lay a cloud of tear-gas from here to Ballard. Might come in handy for something. And there was one case of fragment grenades, live, not trainers. What the hell the guard was doing with them, I have no idea. Things got out of hand after that whole Homeland Security fiasco.”

  “Yes, those brave b
ureaucrats at Homeland Security, passing out weapons like candy at Halloween.”

  Cap half turned in his chair, waving a hand at the dead skyline across the water.

  “Didn’t do them much good at the end, did it?”

  “No, it did not. But it might do us some good. We also recovered enough body armor to make about nine full sets. I will have an update on that.”

  Cap made a tent of his hands, elbows on the table. His eyes were a hard blue. A single nod, as if completing a thought.

  “Based on the weapons that we have, and the size of our crew, I’d say we now have enough arms and ammo to cover us for the foreseeable, even accounting for attrition. Which brings me to item number two: We’ve got the arms, but do we have the men?”

  “We could have done a lot worse, that’s sure. We have twenty-seven men, not counting the two old grizzled vets sitting at this table. Of those twenty-seven, I’ve got two guys with hardcore time, and five guys with combat experience. The rest are a mix of civilians with some weapons training. The two Scotts, they’re the best we have. Scott One is ex-marine, probably the quietest man you will ever meet. I swear, he doesn’t say two words a day. Scott Two, he’s ex-army, a happy badass, talks a blue streak. I’d say, based on what I’m seeing now, I could field two competent rifle squads. Not up to Corps standards, not yet, but the guys are willing to learn.”

  “And the others, they’re willing to pull their share?”

  “Affirmative, Cap. These guys have seen what it’s like out there. They know a good thing when they see it. For the most part they are all hard-working men. They get the job done. The ship is all they have, and it’s worth fighting for. We have food, water, fuel, and, most importantly, security. Once the gangway is raised, no one gets onboard, not unless they can fly.”

  “Sounds good, Riley. There is no room on this ship for slackers, none at all.”

  “Roger that, wouldn’t have it any other way. In fact, the word is that it’s Cap’s way, or the highway, and the highway goes straight to hell.”

  The older man chuckled, shaking his head.

  “Well, let’s just let them keep saying that. How about a drink? Then we can go over some of the other items on the list.”

  Not waiting for or expecting an answer, the man stood and walked to a cabinet. He removed a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, pouring two fingers in each glass. Returning to the table, he pushed one glass across to Riley.

  “Mud in your eye.”

  “Mud in your eye, Cap.”

  They sipped at the whiskey and set the glasses back on the table.

  “How’s the morale level down below? It’s been about three weeks now, for most of them anyway. Any signs of cracks?”

  “Honestly, Cap, there were a couple of guys that I was worried about. They seem to have come around, though. Mostly, we have to give the credit to Scott Two. That fellow could talk a dead man back to life, or damn near. Then there was the loss of a few guys. That brought the point home to the rest of the crew. Overall, I’d say we are as solid as could be hoped for, but I’m keeping a close eye on it.”

  “I am sure you are, Riley. What about the normal stuff, barracks bitching?”

  “Not too bad, just the usual background static you would expect. There is some carping about the alcohol ration, but they know that it is what it is. Women, of course, but that can’t be helped. I suppose it’s better that there are none at all. A few women, that would be a big problem. As it is now, everyone is in the same boat, pardon the pun.”

  “I’ve been pondering that one a bit. Do you think the die-off took the women, or was it the aftermath?”

  “No clear idea, Cap, but if I was going to offer up a theory, I’d say it was the aftermath. Things got ugly fast, real fast. We’ve got some hardcore guys in our group, and those guys barely survived. Those first days after the die-off, people just lost it, lost their moral compass altogether. Scott One, he told me about taking out a few of the bad bastards; but too late to save the women involved. Damn shame, men acting like animals.”

  Cap looked across the table, held up his glass, contemplated the whiskey. He sipped at it, lowered the glass.

  “Even after all these years, I expected better of folks, I truly did. You and I, we’ve both seen people at their best, and we’ve seen them at their worst. But even at their worst, I never expected us to go from society to barbarians in a matter of days.”

  “You’re right, Cap, that’s the word. The survivors, most of them anyway, they turned into barbarians. Like I said, damn shame.”

  “What about children? That’s another mystery that’s been nagging at me. Did any of our guys see any kids?”

  “Not a one, Cap, not a single mention of any child surviving. If I had to guess, I’d say that none of them made it through the die-off.”

  Riley noted the genuine look of pain that ran across the other man’s face. Grandkids, maybe, he had grandkids somewhere; but no, not anymore. Maybe being a bachelor wasn’t such a bad choice, not now, looking back across all of this. Cap’s voice brought him back from his thoughts.

  “A world without children, that is truly a damn shame, to use your words. All those years of fighting the good fight, or at least hoping we were fighting the good fight, and this is what we’ve got. I just hope I live long enough to find out what happened.”

  Another shake of the grey head.

  “So, next item on the agenda: what more do we know about the area, and how are we monitoring things?”

  “We have the regular patrols, of course. No changes there. The guys have run into a fair number of stalkers. Magnolia Hill seems to have the highest concentration, followed by the strip along the bay in Myrtle Edwards park. Things have tightened up since we lost those two guys. The boys are a lot sharper now.”

  “Yes, seeing an empty bunk will sober a man right up, won’t it.”

  “Roger that. One of the guys has some solid experience with radios. I guess it was his hobby. So I tapped him to set up some radio monitoring. There is a good bit of radio gear on the ship, naturally. It’s still a work in progress. If someone is talking over the airwaves, it would be good to know about.”

  “That is an excellent idea, good work. What about other survivors in our proximity?”

  “Aside from the obvious, we don’t know very much to be honest. Based on the gunfire we’re hearing, there are still some survivors out there, but it is getting quieter each day. I would say that they are killing each other off. In our close proximity, there seem to be a few survivors up on Queen Anne. I don’t have anything definitive, just a few sightings by the patrols. Maybe the guys were mistaking stalkers for humans, maybe not. I haven’t seen any survivors up there myself, but I did find some signs.”

  “What sort of signs?”

  “I was taking a few of the greener guys out on a patrol, mostly a training exercise. We didn’t see anything upright, no humans, no stalkers. But we did find a dead stalker, very recently dead.”

  “Okay, and there’s more or you wouldn’t waste our time talking about it.”

  “It was the head wound that caught my eye. The stalker’s forehead was shattered, but not like it was bludgeoned. There was a nice, big dent in the front of the skull, and an entry wound inside the dent.”

  “An entry wound makes sense, but not the part about the dent. No bullet is going to dent the skull on its way in.”

  “Exactly, that’s what caught my eye. We’ve both seen our share of poor bastards shot, but this was different. I got curious, so I dug around in the wound. Damned if I didn’t find a steel ball, big one, about fifty caliber.”

  “I know I’ll regret asking this, but are you sure the ball was steel, not lead?”

  “My exact thought when I was holding the thing in my hand. There was no deformation at all, couldn’t score the thing with a thumbnail, steel for sure.”

  Cap pursed his lips, blew out a breath.

  “Well, that does beat all, doesn’t it? No one is fool enough to shoot
steel balls with a black-powder musket, at least not more than once. And who the hell would be monkeying around with a musket? The only thing I can think of is some kind of throwing device.”

  “Exactly, some wacko out there using a sling, like David against Goliath.”

  “It is very much a strange new world, Riley. Which brings us to our more immediate problem, this settlement on the golf course. What’s the status there?”

  “Low level armed standoff, that is the status. We stay south of the Whole Foods, they stay north of the Whole Foods. Both sides manage to avoid bumbling into each other on scavenger runs.”

  “No one has gotten shot over this foolishness, correct?”

  “No Sir, some shots fired, but no wounded on either side. Straight up, Cap, it could have been our guys who shot first. They say no, but they don’t say it in a real convincing way, if you know what I mean. At this point, it doesn’t really matter. Our guys shot at them, their guys shot at us, now everyone’s edgy. At least our guys followed protocol. Even if they shot first, they kept it to warning fire. The protocol still stands, until you say different: No killing of humans unless it is absolutely unavoidable.”

  “So we have a tribe of armed civilians living at the golf course, less than two miles away. What else do we know about them?”

  “Armed civilians sums it up pretty well. I put their numbers somewhere between twenty and thirty. Scavenged weapons, maybe a few guys that know how to use them. They post a guard, but the whole show is sloppy. It would be easy enough to get around if we needed to. Some of our guys claim there are women in the golf course group. I haven’t seen them, but that’s the word onboard.”

  Cap tossed off the last of the whiskey and placed the tumbler on the table.

  “Okay, Riley, protocol stands, for now. If the threat level goes up, we may have to alter that.”

  “Roger that, Cap. If you don’t have anything else, I need to shake a leg, sort through the swag from the armory.”