River of Night

by John Ringo

  When he was set up.

  * * *

  “Fine, I will do it!” Risky heard Kohn declare, and the woman darted a hand into a drawer, withdrawing a pistol. That hadn’t been part of the plan. Risky began to react before she heard Astroga laugh delightedly.

  It was so incongruous that the two other women froze for a moment, looking at the new arrival, before Kohn aimed the Glock pistol at Astroga and pulled the trigger.

  Risky winced, and heard an audible click.

  “Well, what do you know?” Astroga said happily. “The loudest sound in a gunfight is the sound of a gun going ‘click’!”

  Risky exhaled with relief, then darted a look at Kohn to see her reaction.

  Kohn looked flustered and fumbled a moment, slapping the magazine and manually cycling the pistol. One round flew out and clicked on the floor as Kohn aimed again and pulled the trigger, squeezing the gun so hard that the muzzle perceptibly jerked downwards a bit.

  But the gun didn’t shoot.

  “Hey Kohn, you forgot that I told you I was a combat administrator,” Astroga said, waggling a small tube of adhesive. “Krazy glue. Bonds anything, even firing pins!”

  Risky and Astroga both turned to see how Kendra was taking it.

  Kohn followed their eyes and stared in horror when she saw Kendra’s pistol was aimed squarely at her own face.

  “Kendra, she is lying to you!” Kohn said, her voice rising a full octave. “Paul died for us, but he did die. Shoot her! Shoot her now, right now!”

  Risky could see that the knuckles of Kendra’s left hand were white, the chain of the medallion dangling from her fist.

  “Really?” Kendra said, almost sobbing. Then her voice became even and strengthened with each word. “What, she dug up a grave at random, happened to find Paul’s body, saw this medallion, intuited that Paul and I talked about it, and then saved it just in case, because she predicted that you would have me do your dirty work?” Kendra lips twisted. “You lying, backstabbing murderous cunt!”

  Risky noted with professional interest that despite her emotional response, Kendra’s one-handed shooting stance was remarkably steady.

  “Kendra, stop!” Kohn urged, her voice breaking. “She lies! This bitch is lying to save herself.” The pen made a flat sound as it hit the desk blotter. “Give me the gun, I will do it.”

  Kendra didn’t react.

  “Listen to me!” Kohn insisted. “Everything I said was true!”

  “Nothing you say is true,” Kendra said and carefully lined up the front sight. As she slowly, carefully squeezed the trigger Risky could see the hammer easing back, a moment away from slipping off the sear and sending the well-deserved bullet home.

  Risky raised a hand in Kendra’s line of vision.

  “Stop!”

  Kendra’s gun muzzle was unwavering.

  Kohn’s shoulders had slumped a bit in relief when Risky had intervened, but she sobbed when she saw the dark eye of the gun still staring, holding the promise of oblivion even more surely than the poisonous hate in Kendra’s bright, feral eyes.

  “Kendra, no!” Kohn almost sobbed. “We are on the same side! We can skip the same mistakes that others made for us! Please listen, this way is better. My way is better. We can—”

  “SHUT IT, BITCH,” Kendra’s replied flatly, but no less venomously than her earlier profanity. “This little slice of heaven has sucked but I hoped that you were real. I really hoped. As long as there was a chance, any chance, that your patter about a better world, from each according to ability and to each according to need might come true, I was willing to wait. Christ, I even hoped you had an alternative to the shit system that I was a part of. I murdered for you. I don’t like Smith, particularly, but at least he never lied. He never blew sunshine up my hoo-ha.”

  Again, her trigger finger tightened on the double-action pistol.

  “Don’t shoot!” Risky repeated. “Really!”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” Kendra replied. Her eyes never left Kohn. “Give me a reason.”

  Risky reached for Astroga’s shovel.

  “Russian lesson. Shovel is quieter.”

  * * *

  “Hoo-ha?” Astroga said with a grunt, adjusting the slippery plastic-wrapped bundle. “Who the hell calls their lady parts a ‘hoo-ha’? Way too Rangerific, if you ask me.”

  The bundle slipped from her grip, almost dropping.

  “Would you just shut up, hold the roll steady and walk?” Risky said, her voice strained. “We don’t need to attract attention.”

  “Who the hell knew this bitch was so heavy?” grumped Astroga. “Coulda sworn she wouldn’t fetch more than a buck twenty, wet. Here’s a bright idea, why don’t we ALL carry?”

  “Someone has to carry the shovel and the bleach to wash down with after,” Kendra replied primly. “And keep watch.”

  “Keep watch for what?” asked a new, deeper voice.

  Kendra leveled her pistol, and Astroga dropped her end of the bundle, reaching for her waistband. Risky held on, but glared as Tom Smith loomed out of the shadows. Kaplan paced his boss, backed by Copley and Randall, who was carrying a bucket.

  “Um, for…” stuttered Kendra.

  “For zombies, sir, zombies,” caroled Astroga. She stopped pawing at her blouse hem and looked guiltily down at the slumped bundle that trailed from Risky’s grasp, then looked up again brightly. “So…you made it back. Uh, where are the guards, Gunner?”

  “Not an issue, if you’re doing what I hope you’re doing,” Smith replied, taking in Risky’s little group. “We took the dam and then Kap and I hauled ass here. The gate guard was persuaded by Schweizer to sit this one out.”

  “Where is Schweizer, Tom?” Risky asked urgently.

  “Ken Schweizer is in the bucket,” Tom replied. A smiling Randall held a blood-smeared bucket up and gave it a helpful shake. “The next few folks we saw decided that they didn’t want to get caught in an intramural fight. Which brings me to…where are you three going at night?”

  “The night air is refreshing?” Risky said, trying for “butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth.” The butter melted. “The humidity isn’t so bad.”

  Tom looked pointedly at the thick, tapered roll of plastic that was still carried by Risky, half slumped to the ground. Astroga was suddenly fascinated with her own boots.

  “What’s all the plastic for?”

  “You were taking too long to get back and I was tired of the color of my, how you say, CHEW interior,” Risky said, shifting her grip on the bundle as the slippery plastic threatened to unroll. “Joanna said that I could paint it. Before you ask, the bleach is for cleanup, after.”

  “And the shovel?” Smith asked.

  “I like shovels,” replied Risky quickly, a sparkle in her eye.

  “For a smooth liar that was surprisingly bad.”

  Two of the women just stared at him. The third, still gripping the heavy plastic-wrapped roll, leaned her head back and laughed merrily.

  “In the history of illicit corpse management,” Tom said, putting his hands on his hips and fighting a smile that was threatening to bloom across his tired face, “no one has looked more like they were about to surreptitiously get rid of a dead body than you three. You impatient gits just couldn’t wait, could you?”

  “Am strong independent woman,” Risky said, squinting at the bundle and then at her audience. “I don’t need prince to rescue me. I pick prince. Also, Cathe, come over to me. Help me on this side.”

  Tom glanced at Kendra’s load of tools and bleach as Cathe trudged over to stand beside Risky. Kendra just stared back, wide-eyed.

  Risky blew her bangs back from her face and grinned at Tom.

  “Okay, prince, now we have someone for the heavy end. Grab the head, would you?”

  * * *

  As another gray dawn lit Site Blue, Tom stood in the dining facility. He was flanked by Paul Rune, Risky and a rebandanged Sergeant Major Pascoe. One bloodshot eye was visible in a puffy but cheerful face.<
br />
  Tom’s audience was nervously attentive. There had been some changes in the last twenty-four hours, not least of which was the number of weapons in view.

  And who was carrying them.

  Fully rigged up, Astroga, Worf and Gunner had made the circuit, waking the occupants of every CHU and announcing the camp-wide meeting. After that chore, they had deposited the remains of the previous management team in the open pit beyond the wire that served the camp as a garbage dump.

  “My name is Smith,” Tom said. “I’m the person responsible for the establishment of this facility. Please hold your questions till I finish my statement. At this point, you could say that Joanna Kohn is no longer in charge.”

  “You could say that,” Astroga said not so quietly to Randall. “You could also say she’s wrapped in eight mil vinyl acetate and buried outside the perimeter.”

  For once Randall didn’t perform the head chop, instead offering her a fist to bump, to the horror of a few of Kohn’s former cronies within earshot.

  Smith continued as though he hadn’t heard the exchange.

  “Next to me is Paul Rune, whom all of you should recognize. He’s not infected with H7D3 and never was. The attempt on his life was an elaborate scheme intended to further isolate any remaining bank personnel and entrench Kohn in power—”

  “What did you say?” yelled an angry committee chairwoman in the back row, who hadn’t quite heard the byplay. “Where’s Miss Kohn?”

  “Dead,” Tom answered, not mincing words this time. “Which might be better than she deserved considering her manipulation of this camp in the months since the Fall.”

  “You killed her?” Christine yelled, genuinely aghast. “You bastard!”

  “My mother would be surprised to hear it,” Tom looked to his right. “And no, I didn’t kill her.”

  “I did,” Kendra Jones said, standing up in the front row. She spat. “Fairness. A new start. A better world, eventually. All these things Kohn promised. Well, now maybe we can get them.”

  Tom watched as Kendra stepped towards Christine. The little group around the former administrator’s head of the Culture Committee shrank back from the object of Kendra’s ire.

  “Y-you?” Christine stuttered. “Why? We were about to have everything.”

  “We had nothing and we were on a path to even less,” Kendra said, looking towards the low dais where Smith’s party stood. Her eyes sought out Paul. “I believed in her. We all did. She took everything she could and killed anyone that she couldn’t manipulate. Which is why she had Paul killed. Then to cover up her murder, she aimed me at the expendable men who carried out her orders. So, in the end, I stove her head in with a shovel, while you all slept.”

  “How could you!” Christine was genuinely in shock. Her face was white and drawn and she trembled. “You’ve killed us all! Don’t you feel anything!?”

  “If I’d killed you, you’d know it.” Kendra looked back towards Christine. “As for feeling? Kohn made me a murderer. I don’t much feel anything anymore. Wanna see?”

  She stalked a few steps closer to the suddenly isolated Christine.

  “Kendra, why don’t you and Paul talk about…things,” Tom said, electing to interrupt the early stages of a homicide in progress. Risky had given him the whole story regarding Kohn’s demise, and as attractive as it was in the short run to eliminate problems like that, it came with a downside too.

  Sooner or later, the rule of law would have to return. It would be easier to reclaim if the spilled blood didn’t lie any deeper than it had to.

  “As I was about to say,” he said, raising his voice to address the group once more. “We have a potential enemy that has threatened to attack this facility. Fifteen miles away is a dam and a hydroelectric power plant. They have electricity and a town secure from the infected. We’re going to move the camp there. You can stay, or you can come with me. If you stay, you’re on your own. If you come with me, you’re committing to Site Blue.”

  “What makes you different from Kohn?” a voice called out.

  “For one thing, you can call me out and the worst that will happen is that I will reply,” Tom replied. “Which should answer your question. However, if you come with me, there will be work. It won’t be easy. It will be about rebuilding civilization, not about building a bank. That means access to electricity, it means more people, and it means a different plan.”

  Loud murmurs greeted his announcement. Below, he could see Paul and Kendra hugging each other tightly.

  “For the moment, the Commissary Committee will remain in charge of the dining facility operations. Rations are doubled, effective immediately. All other committees are suspended. Paul will run security. Members of the Bank of the Americas team will post new information here throughout the day and we’ll meet again at the noon meal. No other questions for now.”

  EPILOGUE

  Watts Bar Dam

  December 1st

  “Thank God for the cooler weather,” Tom Smith remarked to his companions, passing his binoculars to Kaplan. “Even so, we need to keep getting as many bodies underground as we can.”

  Below the balcony on the third floor of the powerhouse, an unbroken chain of Tesla coils guarded the repaired fenceline. Beyond that, a yellow, medium-sized backhoe was digging yet another long trench adjacent to one that was already in use. As they watched, a grimy skip loader, its white paint mostly covered by a disgusting blend of muck and other organic debris, was dumping a load of corpses into a communal grave. Tom couldn’t make out who it was; the driver’s identity was hidden by a full face mask and coveralls. Despite the discomfort of working long shifts completely covered by protective equipment, no one had complained. Each driver had learned the hard way to avoid raising the bucket overhead. They tended to…drip.

  Behind the action, several more dark stripes of soil scarred the earth, marking previously filled trenches.

  “The ones in the river are bad enough,” Kaplan said, scanning the field in front of them. “And no, I’m not volunteering to clean them up.”

  “Speaking of clean up, we’re still getting a couple dozen kills each night,” Brandy offered. “I know that they’re working as planned, now that we’re baiting the coils and induced-current traps with strobes. Still, we’re going to need more trenches.”

  “How about we bait the trenches and set up traps inside them?” Kaplan asked.

  “Sure, but we’ll need power to do that, which means running even more cable. Which we don’t have,” she answered, reaching for the binoculars. “Gimme.”

  “Speaking of which, did you review the surveys on Nickajack and Chickamauga?” Tom asked, referring to the next dams downstream. “We need to get as many plants back into operation as we can before spring, if at all possible.”

  “Fires at both, according to Mike,” she replied. “Fixable, if we have enough parts, time and talent.”

  “Tell Mike to ask me for anything but time,” Tom said, sighing. Mike Stantz had cautioned the rest of the consolidated team about the expected conditions at the other dams. Neither had been in working order and very few surviving personnel had been found. Despite that, Stantz’s daily messages had clearly signaled his glee at eventually having two further multi-hundred megawatt dams under his control. “Paul, get with Brandy and figure out what they need, then do a search on any records for bits and pieces that we can repurpose from anything else.”

  “On it, Boss,” Paul replied, rubbing his stubbly, but mostly bald head. Tom could see him carefully avoiding the inflamed, stapled crease that started at the corner of one eye and splashed diagonally upwards. The intelligence expert paused before adding, “Anyone else think that the river is even higher than yesterday?”

  Tom, like the others, looked upstream. The brown water that was swirling a mix of branches, brightly colored plastic garbage and dead bodies against the stained, upstream dam face did in fact look a bit higher than before. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. They had to get the dams bac
k into operation in order to generate power, and they needed power in order to get the dams fixed. Both had to happen in order to continue clearing out the infected and reestablishing a permanent, defensible city.

  None of that could occur if this dam failed or flooded. He fought the urge to sigh again.

  “Brandy, can you look into a way to get more of the spillways back in operation?” he asked. “Just in case.”

  “So long as you can loan me some of your soldiers for security,” she replied. “Just because we haven’t seen them doesn’t mean that some of those psycho Gleaners aren’t still around. I’ll need to access the far end of the dam and the lock system.”

  “None of the Gleaner prisoners seem particularly loyal to their organization,” Robbins offered from the end of the group that was looking over the gray cement balcony. “I think that they will likely just drift apart without a leader like Green. Without organization, the bits and pieces that are left are a nuisance, not a danger.”

  “Not right away,” Tom said, flicking his eyes over taller man. “But they will be if we leave them alone long enough. They stay on our to-do list, but meanwhile we provide heavy security for the lock repair team.”

  Before Robbins could reply, Tom heard Kaplan carol out, “Hey, look who decided to join us. Something at breakfast not agree with you two?”

  Smith turned to see Risky and Astroga approaching. Risky looked a little pale, but both women were smiling.

  Tom felt his heart give a little lift, like it always did when he saw his woman. Even wearing her hair in a simple ponytail and bereft of makeup, Risky was the most beautiful thing in this world.

  “Hello gorgeous,” he said, holding out a hand. “You’re late.”

  “Yes,” Risky replied, her smile widening. “I am.”

  “What?”

  APPENDIX

  Private Specialist Cathe Astroga’s

  Do’s and Don’ts

  RULES FOR A ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE