Earth Zero: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Next Book 2) (16 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

K.C. had done quite well for herself in the apocalypse.

She lived in a Colonial-style home two miles above Stonewall with high white columns on the portico and ivy climbing the lattice surrounding the porch. The black-shuttered house had a green tin roof and, aside from the peeling paint and the grid of metal bars over the windows, it looked like the well-appointed home of a Southern senator or industrialist. A brick wall surrounding the two-acre property was also covered in ivy, and wrought-iron gates at the front and rear entrances provided protection from two-legged and four-legged beasts.

“Can’t do much about the birds, but the window bars at least keep them out of the house,” K.C. said as she unlocked the front gate and let them enter. Princess clopped along the brick driveway like a show pony before moving out to try the ankle-high grass on the lawn.

“Somebody so rich they were afraid somebody would break in and rob them blind,” Franklin said. “Nice.”

“I only had to clear out two deaders. I’m guessing one was a servant. The old man was probably the owner.”

“Did you at least give him a decent burial?”

“Oh, hell, no. I just dumped him over the wall. Let them eat cake.”

Franklin had to chuckle at that. A little of the old subversive zeal still ran through both of them, and taking back from the oligarchs was a libertarian wet dream. Especially when you didn’t even have to shed blood to do it.

A cherry-red Jaguar XJ sat in the driveway near the porch, lovingly polished and the windshield sparkling clean in the sun. “Sweet ride,” Franklin said.

“I’ve always wanted one. Fact is, now that I have it all, I finally understand why rich assholes wanted to be rich assholes. Too bad it gets zero miles to the gallon, but I figure if all this is ever over, I got legal lien on it. Finders keepers, right?”

“Seems to be the lay of the land.”

“Princess should be just fine out here. If anything swoops out of the sky, she can hide herself in the garage. Come on in and make yourself at home.” K.C. spoke with a great deal of pride, like a nineteenth-century belle hosting a cotillion.

Just as they were climbing the porch steps, they heard the helicopter
thropping
in the distance and moving away. As they glanced at each other, K.C. said, “Third time this week.”

“You think the military’s on the move?” Franklin said.

“More likely that’s the only one they got in the area. I ain’t seen much else.”

“We ran into some troops on the mountain. Saved their asses and then they seized our bunker. And after we’d gone to all that trouble of stealing it fair and square from the government.”

“Guess nobody told them about ‘Finders keepers’ yet, huh?” K.C. opened the door and led him into the foyer, which featured antique tables and sideboards as well as high mirrors positioned to enhance the natural light. Evidently she spent a lot of time housekeeping, a discovery that surprised Franklin, considering how she’d been perfectly at ease wallowing in the Tennessee mud for weeks at a time.

“If they’re an example of what’s left, I’m guessing it’s going to be a short war.”

“I see you didn’t enlist,” she said, leading him down a hall and into a living room with a vaulted ceiling. Plush velvet couches and settees projected a decadent Queen Anne feel, and silver candlesticks and urns were arrayed across the fireplace mantel. A large portrait over the fireplace featured a scowling old coot in a hunting cap who likely was an ancestor of the home’s owner. Franklin followed K.C.’s lead and leaned his rifle against the wall.

“The only company I got these days,” K.C. said, seeing him study it. “I had a dog for a while, but some critter carried it off. What are you doing in these parts anyway, if you had a nice, cozy bunker?”

“Long story.” Franklin held his watchman’s cap in his hands, nervously twirling it, as uncomfortable as if he were a delinquent sharecropper called to the master’s plantation house. “The rumor you heard was true, like they usually are. I built a compound and got by real fine, and then my granddaughter showed up—”

He didn’t want to get into the whole half-mutant business. “Anyway, she had some people with her, and they ended up living in the bunker after a rogue unit abandoned it. Shielded, solar power, rations, weapons, the whole bit. She and her boyfriend came to Stonewall on a supply run and never made it back. That’s why I’m here.”

“Well, I might’ve seen them.”

“Serious?” Franklin anxiously tugged his beard. “When?”

“A couple of times this year. But not lately. She’s dark-haired and pretty with funny-looking eyes and he’s a black fellow?”

“That’s them.”

“You let her date a black man?” K.C. raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Our old buddies back in Wings of Eagles might take exception to that.”

“Well, fuck them. Rachel and DeVontay are happy, which is one thing those miserable sons of bitches never managed to be.”

“I got no problem with it. Truth is, I almost shot her. Because of her eyes. But then I figured, if she was with a man, a human man, she must be all right. I don’t kill for no reason.”

“So you never said anything to them?”

K.C. shook her head with a wry grin. “You never did know me too well, did you?”

“I guess nobody knows nobody, really. When you get right down to it.”

“I don’t say hello to anybody unless I’m going to invite them to dinner or shoot them, and if I shoot them, I don’t say hello until after they’re dead. That’s kind of like Reclusive Wacko Survivalist 101 right there, first page of the playbook.”

“I could’ve written that myself,” Franklin said.

“Except then, you’d be more famous. Either a cult leader or else have so many grungy groupies banging on your bunker door you’d never get a wink of sleep.”

She parted a tall set of brocade drapes that revealed a wall of windows that allowed the treacherous sun to pour through. “Have a seat,” she said, motioning at a little breakfast table near the glass. “You look a tad fidgety.”

“I’m a little out of sorts,” Franklin said. He didn’t want to share too much, but it had eaten him all morning and he wanted to be shed of it. As he settled into a chair, he said, “A boy was with me. A teenager. I lost him last night.”

“Oh, Franklin.” The hard planes of her face softened and her wrinkles melted away. She scooted a chair beside him and took his hand. “I know how much it hurts.”

Of course she did. Everyone had lost people, especially anyone still alive five years after the Great Shitstorm of the Ages. He was a little uncomfortable accepting her sympathy, but no pity was inherent in her words or posture. She wasn’t out to leech from his pain due to her own neediness. She was genuinely concerned.

It had been so long since Franklin had shared a truly human moment with someone that his eyes went dewy with tears. When he sniffled a little, K.C. smiled gently at him but didn’t rub it in. Then she looked away politely until he’d somewhat recovered.

“We were attacked by a herd of…I don’t know, I reckon it was deer. They cornered us and the only escape was down. I pushed him off a cliff into the river and never saw him again.”

“Survivor’s guilt. But if the tables were turned, you wouldn’t want him feeling bad, would you? You’d want him to sack up and keep rolling. Right?”

“Reckon so.”

“And that’s just what you’re going to do. Move on.” She looked out the window at the back lawn. “When the time comes.”

She expects me to stay a while.

He looked around at the fancy furnishings and the set of oak stairs that probably led up to bedrooms with white curtains and linens and lots of candles on the dressers. He couldn’t afford to stay too long, or he might be tempted to stay too long.

As if reading his mind, she said, “At least stay for lunch. Been a while since I had some company.”

“What’s on the menu?”

“Cold coffee and fried catfish, some sauerkraut I made myself, and some boiled red taters.”

“Where’d you get catfish? I’d be afraid to dangle a worm in the water these days.”

She waved to the back lawn, where a greenhouse sat near the rear of the property in full midday sun. “That was the all-season swimming pool. The rain had flushed out all the chemicals so I just stocked it with some cats I snagged in a local pond. Didn’t take them long to breed. They don’t get over two or three pounds but that’s plenty for me.”

Franklin gazed at her with renewed admiration. He felt a tug of regret that maybe this was the woman he should’ve spent his life with. Except he’d liked her too much to inflict his love upon her.

“Grow most of my garden in there, too,” she added. “Had to rig a wind turbine out of a ceiling fan to circulate the water and air, but this is my third year here so I got most of the kinks worked out.”

“And nobody’s stumbled onto you yet? This seems like the kind of paradise plenty of people would kill for.”

“I’ve had a few…encounters,” she said, with a reticence similar to Franklin’s. “Like I said, I don’t kill for no reason.”

“What about Zaps?”

“They come through now and again. A lot more of them at first. You know how they do, gathering up bodies and hauling them off. But lately I’ve hardly seen any.”

“Guess there’s nothing for them to grab now but bones and dust,” Franklin said. He was tempted to tell her about Kokona, but decided that, too, was a secret best left for another day.

And this is your only day here, pardner. Don’t go getting any ideas.

“I’ll be grateful for the grub,” Franklin said. “And then I’ll have to get on with my search. She’s my granddaughter.”

K.C. nodded, doing a real good job of hiding her disappointment. She removed her fedora and her hair glowed in the sun as she shook it. She gave her hat a spinning toss across the room and it landed flush on the sofa. “Might as well make ourselves at home in the meantime.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

When the helicopter landed in the middle of the intersection, its tail dipping down first like a long metal wasp settling on a flower, Rachel’s first thought was that the Zaps had somehow developed a new and terrible replication of the human hovercraft.

It
looked
authentic enough, but the Zaps had proven themselves masters of fabrication. The figures in the cockpit resembled silhouettes of insects, with rounded heads and big bubble eyes. It wasn’t until she saw the lower half of their faces, one of them wearing a mustache, that she realized this was the United States Army.

“Big bird,” Squeak shouted as she peered out from the row of shelves they were hiding behind.

“Good bird,” Rachel said over the din. “It’s on our side.”

The helicopter vented black smoke from its exhaust and the engine chuffed as it died, the rotor blades stirring the air with a high, keening turbulence. A side door slid open and three soldiers in camo gear hopped out, hunched low as they swept their rifle barrels around the intersection. Rachel was torn between welcoming their arrival as rescuers and fearing the shoot-anything-that-moves fever pitch they likely operated under.

Rachel had another concern: her glowing eyes.

To them, she was a Zap that needed to be put down. Especially if she appeared to have a young human hostage.

And Bright Eyes was also in danger. She hoped DeVontay realized this and kept him hidden. The best thing for everyone would be for the helicopter to rev up and lift off.

But the soldiers scattered and explored the parking lots as if they had been here before and this was some kind of routine patrol. She’d seen no sign of recent Zap activity, but it wasn’t like a hoard of thousands had rolled through like six-foot locusts razing the prairie.

One of the soldiers approached the store and Rachel debated whether to show herself or try to sneak out the back. But the soldier veered away fifty feet from the door and moved out of sight. They were obviously looking for something.

The two pilots in the cockpit removed their helmets and gloves and exited the helicopter. They stayed where they were beside it, one of them lighting a cigarette as the rotors slowed with a metallic groan. After a minute, the clatter of gunfire filled the air, causing Squeak to tense.

Rachel wrapped the girl in a hug and murmured, “Shh, honey. It’s okay.”

“The bird people are bad.”

“No, they’re not bad. They’re doing a loud job.”

“I don’t want to see any more blood. I want my mommy.” The girl shuddered and Rachel was afraid the dam was about to break. So much horror and misery and pain could only be held back for so long.

Rachel looked around at the items on the floor of the convenience store. Lying among Bic lighters and cell phone cards were several pairs of sunglasses with price tags attached. She plucked up the set with the largest and darkest lenses and slid them on her face.

“Okay, Squeak, we’re going to go talk to them. But if they ask, I’m your mommy, okay? And don’t say anything about Bright Eyes, okay?”

Squeak’s blue eyes looked as big as jawbreakers. “Would they hurt him?”

“Maybe, but only because they don’t understand. Sometimes it’s better to say nothing than to tell the truth. Okay?”

The girl vigorously nodded her head, and Rachel felt a sting of guilt knowing she’d just twisted the girl’s mind even more. With luck, Squeak would live long enough to make sense of the world. Or maybe she already grasped the most basic tenets of catastrophe and survival, and it was Rachel and the other adults who were in denial.

Rachel jammed the Glock in her back pocket, covering it with her shirt tail, and took Squeak’s hand. They walked together out of the station, Rachel forcing herself to stroll even though she should probably be elated at encountering a helicopter and fellow survivors.

She remembered what Franklin had taught her:
A little paranoia never hurt, and a lot of paranoia hurt even less.

“Hey!” Rachel shouted, waving an arm.

One of the pilots drew a sidearm as she approached while the other folded his arms. She kept walking, hoping the sunglasses and the distorting reflections of sunlight would disguise her burning eyes.

“Hold it right there,” the armed pilot said.

Rachel took one more step and stopped. “You’re Army. Thank God.”

The other pilot glanced around. “Anybody else with you?”

That was a tricky question. If Rachel said they were alone and DeVontay also decided to come out, the pilots would be suspicious. She hedged her bets with vagueness. “We were with some other people but we got separated.”

He bobbed his head at Squeak. “That your girl?”

“Yes. She’s scared but otherwise fine.”

The man with the pistol looked around as if expecting the rest of Rachel’s gang to suddenly appear. “You’re lucky to make it this long, especially in this area. Heavy Zap activity. We dropped in for a sweep.”

Rachel glanced at Bojangles, seeing no movement behind the restaurant’s gray windows. She considered some sort of signal to DeVontay that would make him stay where he was, but decided that would be too obvious. “Where are you from?”

The pilots exchanged a glance. The one with the mustache and the officer’s insignia said, “That’s confidential, but generally, we’re from New Pentagon in Virginia.”

“So there
is
still a government.”

“Yes, ma’am. We’re mobilizing to take back the South, or at least as far as we can push. That’s not really a secret. Zaps retreated to the cities but we’re cleaning up the outskirts before we go full assault mode.”

“You’re attacking Wilkesboro?”

“Awaiting orders on that. Have you been there?”

Rachel debated sharing what she knew. On the one hand, the Zaps’ savagery made it clear they should be exterminated, but also the soldiers might take a closer look at her in the process. And she couldn’t stand up to inspection. All they needed was to see her bare face.

Her true nature.

Squeak squeezed her hand, her slim fingers sweating.
So much for pledges of honesty.

“We were near the city,” Rachel said, again choosing a tale that skirted the truth without revealing too much. “Lots of Zaps. And they’ve got some weird machines. Metal birds and stuff.” She pointed at the flickering column of aurora to the east. “And that’s some kind of energy source, from what I can tell. They use it to run their machines and probably their weapons.”

The pilot with the mustache dug into his pocket and pulled out one of the silver handheld devices. “Seen one of these before?”

“That’s what they used,” she said. “I didn’t really see any bullets or rays or anything, but I saw them knock down a building. Took a lot of them to do it, maybe a dozen Zaps aiming.”

“We’ve got our eggheads working on it,” the pilot said. “Nobody can figure out the operating system but we think it’s some kind of offshoot of the EMP energy.”

He grinned at her as if she was an airhead who probably wouldn’t understand science and physics because of her gender. “I’d rather just go bullet to bullet with the bastards. I don’t give a damn if they outnumber us a hundred to one.”

“You said ‘New Pentagon,’” Rachel said. Even though she’d heard some of the radio transmissions that spoke of the plans, this was the first time she’d beheld solid evidence of a larger social structure. “So we still exist? The United States? The human race?”

The pilot spoke with a blend of bravado and pride. “Yeah, and it’s not just us, either. Other countries are fighting back, and bands of people all over this fine country. The Earth Zero Initiative.”

One of the reconnoitering soldiers returned to the helicopter, flashing an all-clear sign. The pilot with the mustache waved him to go find his comrades. The soldier jogged off, giving Rachel and Squeak a curious look.

“You better find your friends,” the pilot said to Rachel. “Zaps are stirred up since we’ve been making scouting runs. It’s a wonder they haven’t snagged you yet.”

“We’ve made it so far. Right, Squeak?”

The girl nodded, unsure if she was supposed to say anything.

The two soldiers emerged from a side road fifty yards away, dragging a silver-suited corpse by the legs. The third soldier reached them and provided cover as they returned to the chopper. The other pilot climbed into the cockpit and eased his helmet into place.

DeVontay’s head appeared through the restaurant glass. The officer’s attention was on the soldiers and their quarry, and the pilot inside the fuselage appeared to be focused on the controls. Rachel gave a subtle waving motion and mouthed, “
Stay down
.”

As the soldiers drew closer with their quarry, Rachel could see the mutant had been shot in the head. Obviously the army had figured out the suits were impervious and had some knowledge of their enemy. The Zap sported a deep gouge above one ear, blood trailing out onto the asphalt and glistening in the sun. It lay on its back, staring at the sky with sexless eyes as cold and dead as marbles.

The two soldiers loaded their grisly cargo. Rachel was reminded of the Zaps’ behavior of dissecting the dead and exploiting the organic tissue. Maybe the government was conducting its own autopsies and experiments to learn more about the mutants.

“What are you doing with it?” Rachel asked.

The officer looked back at her, impatient and gruff. “Bait. They always come for their dead. And we stack them up and wait.”

He made a circular motion in the air with one finger, and the pilot in the cockpit fired up the twin engines. The rotors made a slow turn and then gained speed.

“All right, mount up,” the mustached officer shouted. He settled his half-lidded gaze on Squeak as if appraising her and said to Rachel, “Sorry, we’re not authorized to bring in civilians.”

They use all this firepower and resource to kill one mutant?

“We can help,” Rachel said. “I can map out what we saw in Wilkesboro.”

“We’ve made some flyovers. Not much we need to know. The Zaps are there, and we’ve got some Hellfires for them.” He slapped the side of the helicopter where the model number UH-60 was painted in white. “Good luck to you and hang in there. We’re winning this war.”

“Don’t leave us. I can…”

The pilot smiled like a lizard as if she were offering personal services in exchange for her life. He drew some aviator shades from his breast pocket and put them on as if that would allow him to see her eyes better behind her sunglasses. “You can do what?”

“I can give you a live one.”