by Schow, Ryan
She was referring to losing family. They mourned the loss of Ice’s wife and two kids, the loss of Ice and Fire’s dad, and then the loss of Rock to his shame, anger and embarrassment.
“I try to think less about what we lost and more about what we gained,” she said, wiping her eyes. “We got you back, and Ice, too.”
“We’re together now,” Rock said, not unaffected by her grief.
When he left Chicago, he told himself he’d left his family behind, that he was okay with it, but the anger was beginning to diminish, even before all this occurred. He was so angry at Ice for killing their father, and he was livid at his dead father for getting his older brother’s family shot on the street like dogs. He wasn’t as mad at Fire as he was at his father and Ice, but Fire was the bearer of bad news, and sadly, he’d shot the messenger.
“I never thought this was even possible,” he said. “But here we are.”
“Here we are,” Fire said.
“I’m grateful every day for the three of you,” Rock said, taking his brother’s hand. “How’s Brooklyn holding up?”
“She’s not sleeping well,” Adeline said.
“And she’s cursing a lot,” Fire added. “F-bombs right and left. We figure…we think maybe it’s a phase, so we just let her go. But then when we do, it always turns into long bouts of silence.”
“I saw her working in the garden,” Rock said.
“Yeah?” Adeline asked, wiping her eyes again, to the point where they were getting red and swollen.
“She looks…normal.”
“Thanks for putting us up here,” Fire said. “And thanks for calling me. It had been too long.”
“At least we had an apocalypse to bring us together,” he laughed.
They all laughed.
“Where’d you guys get all these barrels?” Adeline asked.
“Pepsi factory. They held the syrup. We found a dozen pickle barrels in an industrial food hub in Sacramento a few weeks back, too. That’s what we’re using for rainwater catch now. The open tops allow us to use screens on top for filters. The scum settles to the bottom, which is why we tap the barrels an inch up. Most of the water is pretty clean.”
“That’s when you boil it?” Fire asked.
“We keep the charcoal for the fires to filter it further. That and the hay. Seems to catch most of the things we can’t boil out.”
“That really works?” Adeline asked.
He nodded, then said, “None of us knew what we were doing at first, but you figure it out along the way. You have to.”
“What about the other barrels in back?” Fire asked. There were six other fifty five gallon drums in the back of the house they were staying in, but no one opened them because they were sealed pretty tight.
Just then Brooklyn walked in, smiled when she saw him and said, “Uncle Rock!” He gave her a big hug and it was surreal. Almost like nothing happened and everything was back to normal.
“Did you ask him about the barrels in back?” she asked her father.
“Just did,” Fire said.
“Those are lined with Mylar paper for long term food storage. It’s a reflective paper that keeps out oxygen and harmful gasses. There are a lot of mouths to feed around here and it isn’t easy.” It got quiet for a moment. He glanced outside and saw Gregor putting the cleaned barrel under the angled downspout and felt like it was time. “Well me and Gregor and a few of the guys will be heading out for a bit, but we’ll be back and I’ll head up here to check on you.”
Fire nodded and said, “Look man, if we hermit out a bit, it’s just…you know we…”
“It’s okay, big brother,” Rock said, seeing his brother’s expression change. “Take whatever time you need, just know we’re all here for you, and we all know what it is you’re going through. That means, if you need to, you can talk to us. To me and Ice first, of course, but to the others, too, in time.”
He stood and hugged Rock and that’s when he met Gregor outside.
“So we’re really doing this?” the former cop asked.
“We are.”
On the way to Homestead One, Gregor said to Rock, “Listen man, I was thinking maybe if we can find Maria and take her out for good, maybe I can find some peace with that.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Rock said. When they weren’t around Jill together, it wasn’t awkward between them.
“After that, I’m thinking maybe I’ll head back to LA.”
Now Rock stopped.
“Brother, LA is most likely in ruin. Worse than this because of the size and population density.”
“I know, but…I’m not sure there’s much left here for me.”
“But what about Jill?” Rock asked.
“I’m just a ghost that filled your shadow,” he said. “She’s still in love with you.”
“She’s in love with the idea of us,” Rock said. “Just make her transfer that idea to you. It’s hard, I know, and it takes time, but you two get along like we never did.”
“That’s because it’s not serious for her.”
“And it is for you?”
He looked down as they trudged through the dew glistened, knee-high grasses toward Homestead One.
“Well?” Rock asked, nudging him on the shoulder.
“It could be, I guess, but only if she could get past you,” Gregor finally admitted.
“The more she sees me with Maisie, the more she sees the permanence of what we have. This is what she needs to do. She needs to see it’s over. After that, when this becomes abundantly clear and she lets go, she’ll move fully in to you. That’s how she works.”
“Yeah, but she’s blockheaded,” Gregor said.
“I’ve never met a woman who wasn’t, but that’s not a bad thing. It just means she knows what she wants and isn’t huge on compromise. She’ll learn though. The mistakes she made with us, she won’t make them with you if I know her.”
Gregor shrugged his shoulders and said, “Well if you can explain the twisted logic that rules the female mind, I’m all ears.”
“That’s a longer, ongoing conversation you’ll have to be here for,” Rock said as they walked past the original garden. Hagan and Ballard were checking the rows of tomato plants for aphids and tomato worms. Ballard looked up and waved.
“Let’s see what happens with Maria,” Gregor said, waving back at Ballard. “After that, I don’t know, I guess we’ll just take it a day at a time.”
“That’s all we can do,” Rock said.
They found Marcus and Rider at one of the outdoor tables with one of the newer homesteaders, a man who’d been helping them set up Homestead Three before Maria struck. The guy’s name was Beau and he lived a mile and a half up the street, closer to town.
“Someone heard someone say the markets went into free fall after the collapse in America and it’s economic ruin everywhere else,” Marcus said to Rock as he and Gregor walked up.
The two men sat down at the table. “So this national event became a world catastrophe?” Rock asked.
“It was inevitable,” Beau said. He was an older man, former Navy, with big arthritic knuckles, a head of white hair and peachy skin that had no business being in the sun. Still, he was competent, likeable and anxious to help others. “With global unity, you lose the national strength and security that individualism was designed to create.”
“So when one market falls,” Rider said, trying to understand because global economics wasn’t his thing, “the rest of the world falls with it?”
“Exactly,” Beau said.
“The double edge sword of global collectivism,” Marcus said.
“So what are we going to do about this cyborg twat?” Gregor asked. “Because I’m voting for full scale annihilation. I’m talking about decommissioning her, decapitating her, desecrating her.”
“I haven’t told them yet,” Rock said.
“Oh,” Gregor replied. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know.”
“So we’
re doing this?” Rider said.
“Yeah,” Rock replied.
“Just the four of us, or are you thinking others?” Marcus said. “Because the four of us can do this, don’t you think?”
Everyone nodded and that’s when Rock said, “My brother gave me a little something from Eliana’s stash.” He pulled an Army green hand grenade from his jacket pocket and said, “Just in case things need to get sticky.”
With that, the four of them put together a rough plan, then told the others they were going to the hospital to see if there were any more supplies left for them to restock the infirmary.
“I want to come,” Indigo said.
“Me, too,” Eliana replied.
“Sorry ladies,” Rider said. “It’s a recon run, but it’s also male bonding stuff. It’s hard to do if there are two attractive ladies leading the charge.”
“We don’t have to lead anything,” Indigo said. “We can pull up the rear if you want.”
“We’re good,” he said. “But thank you.”
“I feel bad lying to them,” Rider told Rock as they were heading out.
“We all do,” Marcus replied.
“I don’t,” Gregor said. “I just want to put her out of my mind.”
The anger boiling under the surface of the former cop was becoming a palpable thing. It was also familiar. Each and every one of them had lost people. And they’d all seen unforgettable, unfathomable things. As a result, in one way or another, each of them suffered the same dreams of vengeance Gregor was dealing with now.
As they made their way into downtown, up ahead, Rider spotted a couple of trucks, older by the look of them, one pulling over on the side of the road. A head popped out the window, as did a short, black muzzle.
“Gun!” Rider says, ducking to the side.
Machine gun fire cut through the silence. Rounds smacked the truck as Rider cranked the wheel and stomped on the gas. The plink, plink, plink of these idiots shooting without provocation made no sense. Then again, this was becoming a shoot first, ask questions later kind of world.
Up ahead, a beige Hummer blocked their escape route, forcing Rider in to a rather large parking garage. Marcus grunted something; it wasn’t a word. This was more like an acknowledgement that they’d been corralled in to a pen.
Rider launched up the first ramp, slid around the curve, bouncing the rear bumper off the concrete wall on the way to the second floor. From there he zig-zagged up one more flight to the third floor where Rider pulled in to a stall.
All around them there were scattered cars parked here and there, the ones destroyed by the EMP that no one ever came back for.
This was all they had for cover.
It wasn’t ideal.
“Spread out,” Rock said as they all got out. “Rider, take the high ground, if you can.”
Rider and Marcus took off, both fanning out. Gregor headed back down to the second floor even though Rock said, “Wrong way.”
The ginger cop didn’t stop. It was clear he was out for his pound of flesh. They heard the whoop and holler of men from down below, but even this didn’t deter Gregor. Rock found a place to hide and he dug in. From where he was at, he could see that Gregor took cover, too. A moment later, five men moseyed past Gregor carrying knives and guns.
Gregor slipped out behind them and made his way from trunk to trunk, heading right for the Hummer, which was closer to street level.
The five of them headed straight for Rock. All he has was his blade. That’s really all any of them at the homestead had now that everyone was out of ammo.
As the pack walked by, they begin spreading out. Three of the guys begin going car to car on the second floor while two more scaled up the side of the ramp and moved to the third floor.
The two men split up, each going the opposite way.
Rider was the first to get spotted. The guy saw his feet. Gunfire echoed in the garage, eliciting shouts of excitement from the others. Suddenly, however, rounds were bouncing around his ankles, ricocheting into the undercarriage of the car and barely missing him.
Rock tried to get to Rider, but there was no way to move without giving away his position and becoming an easy target. Rider danced to the tune, though, and when the man exhausted his mag, Rider peeked his head around the bumper and faced the guy.
His assailant set down his gun, kicked it aside then stood up and said, “You want to do this, old man?”
“I do,” Rider said, stepping out in to the open.
“It’s just you and me,” he replied, hands out. “I’m out of ammo, so you don’t need to cower back there like some little girl.”
Rider saw the man was unarmed so he walked out. That’s when the guy drew a big blade and started to move. Rider pulled out his blade as well, which took a little giddy-up out of his assailant’s step.
Rock looked around and was about to shadow Rider when he stopped at the sight of an approaching man. He ducked behind an old Mercury, crouched at its six, his eyes peeled.
“You know in a knife fight, whether you win or lose,” Rider said, his voice echoing throughout the garage, “someone always gets cut.”
“Today it’s going to be you.”
“Today is the day I disprove that statement,” Rider said. “I’m not getting cut.”
The guy charged him. Rider ducked the swinging blade, slipped by the man, drew a firm line right up his side. The cretin winced, blood blooming in his shirt.
“One for you, none for me,” Rider rumbled with confidence.
“We’re just getting started,” the guy said, seemingly unconcerned.
“I’m just getting started cutting you,” Rider said, moving in a half circle, “and you’re just getting started bleeding.”
He went after Rider again, turning the blade over, making fists, like this was going to be a street fight with only fists for weapons.
Rider turned his blade over, too. The man jabbed at Rider twice, then tried to check the outside of his leg where the nerve lines run close to the surface.
The former soldier, former homeless vet dodged both jabs with minimal movement, and lifted his leg to absorb the kick. He never took his eyes off the man’s chest. With his focus there, Rock knew that Rider could see everything.
The guy watching this went off, like maybe he’d spotted something, and that’s when Rock moved in, just in case. Stalking each other in a circle, Rider’s opponent smiled, but Rider had been saving his spit.
The second the guy moved in, Rider caught him right in his face with a wad of saliva, the glob of it coating his opened eyes.
The half-second misstep of the man was all Rider needed. While the guy swiped at his eyes, Rider rolled in hard and grabbed his attacker’s wrist, controlling the knife hand, while at the same time sinking his own blade in the soft flesh beneath the man’s sternum.
“Two for you, none for me,” he growled.
The blade fell from his attacker’s hand, clanked hard on the concrete floor. He staggered backwards, almost like a dance where Rider was in control. Face-to-face, almost nose-to-nose, the silver haired warrior stared into his opponent’s eyes, focused and intent, never once blinking.
Finally he dropped to his knees, but that’s only because Rider ripped out the blade and let the man fall. In one fluid movement, Rider slid behind him, grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked his head back. The throat exposed, he drove the knife in one side and sawed him open from ear to ear, just above the Adam’s apple.
“Die with a smile, cocksucker,” he said.
Seeing he was fine, Rock set out to look for the others, see if he could get his own piece of the pie.
While Rider was all but giving the man an Italian Neck Tie, Gregor was downstairs with his hands full. The two men in the Hummer had emptied their mags trying to hit him. The way they were so gung ho and not great shots, they were lucky to even be above ground and breathing this long into the collapse. Finally, Gregor felt the odds were in his favor. The two men were brawlers, though. Gre
gor hadn’t counted on that.
The ginger gave as many shots as he got, but there were two of them and one of him, and they were starting to wear him down. That’s when Marcus joined the party. He had arterial blood spray all up the front of his body and a grin on his face that would have scared even the most seasoned of fighters.
He looked like a giant psycho.
He walked into the fight with his hands at his sides, took a nasty shot to the face and didn’t even shake it off that’s how soaked with adrenaline he was. He grabbed the man’s head, kneed him in the groin, kicked out his leg, then drove him to the ground where he slammed his skull into the pavement over and over again as his friend ran.
Gregor grabbed the knife, threw it end-over-end at the coward, hit him right in the scapula, but with the butt and not the blade. The handle hit the pavement with a loud clack and the guy bowed his back, grunting. He then turned around, spotted the weapon, and smiled.
He picked it up and threw it back.
“Marcus!” Gregor warned as he turned sideways to make his profile thin. The bearded hulk looked up, but the blade didn’t hit him; it sunk into Gregor’s shoulder, halfway to the guard.
Gregor cried out, more out of rage than pain, although it clearly hurt. The man who threw the blade, the coward with a sudden burst of luck, he took off running.
“You idiot,” Marcus said, leaving the dead man’s head in the pounded out pool of blood.
Gritting his teeth, Gregor said, “I saw it going different in my head.”
“These things never play out the way you think. Hold still.” He ripped off the dead man’s shirt sleeve and said, “When I pull out the knife, I’m going to wrap this thing tight. Just tell me when it’s tight enough, but not too tight.”
Gregor nodded.
“Okay then,” he said, looking into the ginger’s eyes, “here we go.”
He pulled out the blade, gave a tight wrap, stopped when Gregor said to stop, and then tied it off.
“Move your arm around,” Marcus said. “Tell me how it feels.”
He moved his arm, but slowly. Marcus saw the pain in his face, but then the man removed all expression and said, “It’s a little stiff, but manageable.”