Radiophobia: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Next Book 3) Page 17

  He collected the knife with his sole functioning arm as Colleen ushered the girl through the hole. With one last, grief-twisted glance at Antonelli, she vanished from the rest of his short life.

  He kept her freckled face and bright green eyes in his mind as he propped himself into a sitting position to seal off the tunnel. His lungs were freezing up from poison. The cold gripped him, the numbness almost welcome now.

  If he were a philosophical man, he might’ve reflected on nature’s cruelty and kindness and then come to the conclusion that nature didn’t really give a shit. It just was.

  But he had no such higher thoughts.

  Those belonged entirely to the teeming, twitching mass of spiders pouring from the hole.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Are we dead yet?” Franklin asked when the wave of smoke and heat rolled past them and the last of the dust and gravel rained down.

  “If we are, you were wrong about God,” K.C. said.

  “Why’s that?” His mouth was dry and grit coated his tongue.

  “Because you always said God had a sense of humor.”

  “Won’t be the first time I’m wrong.” He snaked an aching arm around her, wishing they’d stayed on that foam mattress at her mansion in Stonewall.

  “But maybe the last.”

  They lay huddled together in the ragged grass of the churchyard, stunned by the sudden raw power of the blast. Franklin wasn’t even sure what had happened—if he’d been alone, he would’ve assumed he’d suffered a stroke. The sky was a swirl of gray soot, threads of green aurora sewn through the contaminated fabric of the night.

  All around them came the groaning and clatter of collapsing structures. Franklin conducted a slow assessment of his body, and no part of it was unduly aching more than the rest. He took that as a positive sign, but it also meant he’d have to stand up eventually.

  First, he looked around in awe. The church belfry had been sheared off, huge sections of stone heaped around the ruins of the building. Most of the grave markers had been knocked over or tilted crazily away from the blast point. All of the glass had been blown out of the buildings that he could see, although many of the structures still stood with fractured façades and sagging roofs.

  “Looks like that light source was Ground Zero,” Franklin said, daring a deep breath of the foul air.

  “Nuclear?”

  “Some kind of Zap science bullshit, probably. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve changed the laws of physics just to spite us.”

  “But why would they destroy their own city?”

  “Maybe they had some help.” Franklin didn’t think the army had enough ordnance to create such an explosion, but if they’d launched an attack on the energy source without understanding its nature or function, then unintended consequences were likely.

  “Munger might’ve killed most of his people in the process, too.”

  “Like that’s a consideration? You just saw what he did to his militia. What he tried to do to us.”

  Franklin rolled onto his belly with a grunt, and then attempted to push himself up. He spat dirt from his mouth. Soot caked his nose, and the air smelled of charred chemicals and hot metal. Even a mile from Ground Zero, the ruins were spectacular, and the destruction-worshipping Zaps could drink their fill if any were still alive.

  In the gloom, he could see where vehicles were pushed together along the boulevard, the trucks with higher profiles flipped on their sides. Their tires burned with oily orange flames, and other fires were scattered here and there throughout the surrounding blocks. They must’ve been right on the edge of the blast radius, because intact buildings were visible five hundred yards away.

  “So the Zappers had their own Hiroshima,” Franklin said. “Just look at this mess,”

  “I can’t,” K.C. answered quietly.

  He looked at her face, where grime lay in black lines along the wrinkles. Her eyes were shut tight. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m blind.”

  Franklin experienced a surge of emotions, and most pathetically, the first one was fear. Not for her, but out of his own selfishness—now she was helpless and he was obligated to take care of her. He’d dodged responsibility for decades, and now it was right here tugging on his superhero cape.

  I was right after all, K.C. God really does have a sense of humor. A real sick and twisted one.

  He considered the best response and settled on, “Maybe it’s just temporary. Flash blindness.”

  She reached out and felt the air until she brushed the leg of his blue jeans. She clenched the fabric in a fierce grip. “I’m scared, Franklin.”

  Me, too, honey. Me, too.

  “You’ll be fine soon.” He helped her up. “We need to get under some shelter. No telling what kind of toxic crap is floating around.”

  “What does it look like?”

  “Like a hurricane and a tornado made mad monkey love on the back of an atom bomb.”

  “Is anybody else still alive?”

  He collected his Remington, but then tossed it aside and picked up her M16, deciding the automatic-fire option might come in handy. “If we made it, somebody else probably did, too.”

  “Zaps?”

  “Considering how tough those suits are, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  He led her toward the remnants of the church, not even bothering to look for Kleinmann. If the man was trapped under rubble, Franklin had no problem letting him dig his own way out.

  The main sanctuary of the church was more or less intact, although a large portion of the roof had been stripped away and the pews and altar were strewn with plaster, stained glass, and scrap metal. The wooden support beams were splintered and scorched, but the building looked in no immediate danger of collapse.

  The church was crowded with shadows and didn’t really offer much defense from contaminated air, but Franklin was more concerned about the mutants than slow death. Dozens of skeletons dangled along the front pews, evidence of either a mass suicide in the immediate wake of the solar storms or a coincidental gathering of like-minded people who all caught the same elevator to heaven. His hunch about the corrupt smell had been right.

  He cleared off one of the padded pews and sat K.C. on it. Even though the October night wasn’t particularly chilly because of the unnaturally warm wind, he yanked down an altar curtain and tucked it around her for comfort.

  “Where are we?” she asked, feeling the edge of the wooden pew in front of her.

  Franklin nudged aside a yellowed rib cage before she touched it. “Church.”

  “I haven’t been in one in a long time. Maybe I should pray for my vision back.”

  “You’ll have to shout. It’s cloudy with a chance of fallout tonight, so there might be some atmospheric interference.”

  She uttered a raspy laugh, both of them trying too hard. “Some Doomsday preppers we are, huh? Stepped right in it like a big old pile of cow flop.”

  “Hey, we get the benefit of a doubt on this one,” Franklin said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “A world without technology, you figure nukes are the last thing you have to worry about.”

  “That wasn’t exactly a nuke, and the Zaps have their own technology. Maybe we’ve been underestimating this whole situation.”

  Her eyelashes flickered and she opened her eyes with obvious effort, then immediately closed them.

  “Anything?” Franklin asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.”

  “Yeah. Lots and lots of black.”

  “Give it time. Flash blindness is supposed to be even worse at night, because your pupils are larger to let in more light.”

  “Got plenty of that. It was my own fault for looking back at the belfry to see if Kleinmann was there.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. You just happened to be looking the wrong way at the wrong time.”

  Franklin tried to imagine the fatalistic panic and claustrophobia he would suffer if he couldn’t see. He even closed his eyes for a moment in empathy,
but the knowledge that he could open them and view all the wreck and ruin he wanted was always there.

  “I lost my pack,” Franklin said. “Let me see if I can find you some water.”

  She gave that creaky laugh again, which worried Franklin more than if she’d broken into sobs. “I’m not going anywhere, handsome.”

  “You only call me ‘handsome’ when you’re blind. Charming.”

  Franklin gave her a reassuring kiss. He then checked the various entryways and alcoves, making sure no Zaps were around, and headed back to the churchyard. The weeds weren’t quite knee high, but they made the search difficult even after he found their path leading in. He’d just located his pack, the straps torn and some of the contents scattered, when he heard the grinding drone of an engine.

  He instantly dropped the pack and ran toward the sound, keeping low. The vehicle was headed this way, moving slowly along the boulevard where the militia members lay dead or unconscious, its headlights cutting twin cones of white light in the murk. Franklin crept along a fence that ran parallel to the street in front of the church, and then clambered over a guardrail, the ache in his joints and muscles amplified by the tension.

  Franklin ducked down just as the Hummer ground to a halt with a familiar squeak of its brakes. The vehicle’s canvas top had been removed, and Col. Munger stood up on the passenger side, gripping the windshield as he bellowed. “Sgt. Kleinmann!”

  You jar-headed son of a bitch.

  Franklin flipped the lever on the M16, switching it from semi-auto to full. He slunk along the edge of the road until he was near the idling Hummer. It abruptly rolled forward another fifty feet, where it was blocked by a jumble of crumpled cars. Munger cupped his hands and yelled again, evidently looking for his partner in mass homicide.

  Franklin emerged from between two sedans, approaching the Hummer from behind. If the driver happened to glance in the rearview mirror, the jig was up, but there was zero chance of a car zooming out of nowhere to rear-end them.

  Franklin waited until he had both Munger and the driver in sight. Munger’s sidearm was holstered and a rifle sat between them in the cab, but Franklin could shred them like parmesan cheese if they tried any sudden moves.

  “Sgt. Kleinmann!” Munger called again.

  “He’s gone AWOL,’ Franklin said, keeping his voice steady so none of them—including himself—would panic. As much as he loathed the officer who was willing to sacrifice others for his own strategic goals, he didn’t really want to kill him in cold blood. That would make him no better.

  But Munger’s instinct was to reach for his sidearm, so Franklin released a short burst, aiming just a few feet to the side so the bullets stitched the roof of an overturned truck. “Don’t. Even. Think about it.”

  The driver raised his hands, apparently either smarter or more cowardly than Munger, but the colonel only smiled, the weird aurora glinting off his aviator glasses.

  The asshole even wears shades in the dark.

  “Wheeler,” he said. “You’re like a fucking cockroach.”

  “That’s a good thing, since you made sure nothing can survive except us cockroaches.”

  “I didn’t do that,” Munger said. “Capt. Antonelli’s task was to destroy the plasma sink. None of us knew the capabilities or side effects.”

  “I see you were out of the blast zone. Convenient, huh?”

  “We didn’t plan on—” the young, nervous driver said, but Munger waved him to silence.

  “That little show of yours, shooting the bullets, just alerted every Zap within three miles of our presence,” the colonel said. “So I suggest you mount up and let’s roll out of here.”

  “I’ve got a different suggestion. You and your wingman get your asses out of the Humvee and start walking.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  Franklin gave his most psychotic grin, and it didn’t take much exaggeration. “You really want me to answer that right now?”

  Munger nodded to the driver, who climbed out and eased his way around the Humvee. Franklin half expected him to duck out of sight and either run for it or make a play for a weapon, but apparently Franklin’s grin was convincing enough. Munger hopped out of the Humvee with a scowl and joined the driver at the rear of the vehicle.

  Franklin waved the rifle to usher them down the boulevard, where some of the dead militia were visible, a few metal birds and Zaps scattered among them. “Take off and don’t stop until you knock on the gates of hell.”

  “We did it,” Munger said. “We kicked their asses.”

  “Maybe.” The center of the city was likely little more than a blackened stack of rubble, but not all the Zaps had been downtown. Munger’s attack had drawn some of them out. And even if the battle was won, the war was far from over. “Give yourself a medal.”

  “I did my duty,” Munger said. “Directive Seventeen. I had no choice.”

  “There’s always a choice.” Even Franklin didn’t believe that, but he needed some kind of comeback. He just couldn’t let this asshole win.

  Munger shook his head and started marching down the boulevard, his posture rigid as if he awaited a shot in the back. The driver hesitated, then jogged to catch up, glancing anxiously back over his shoulder. After they were out of sight, Franklin cut the ignition, pocketed the keys, and went to collect K.C.

  Rachel and the others were dead if they’d been downtown, and any radiation would be worse the closer to Ground Zero they got. He had no reason to search for them, and no curiosity to survey the immense damage triggered by the eruption. Everything he’d hoped and worked for was gone.

  All he could do now was take K.C. home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The trickle of grainy powder swelled into rivulets of grit and gravel.

  After Rachel took Kokona and abandoned him, DeVontay had tried to dig his way out on his own. But instead of widening the tunnel, he triggered a series of tiny cave-ins that now constricted him. He couldn’t work his way back down to the stable part of the elevator shaft, a closet-sized airspace that was likely much smaller now. His body seemed to be the only thing keeping the entire heap of rubble in place.

  Marina offered encouragements as she dug from above, but since she couldn’t even stand, the best she could do was lie on her stomach and pluck a stone at a time. She mostly just accomplished more dirt falling onto him. It was as if he were trapped in the bottom of an hourglass and the sand would soon run down and suffocate him.

  “She betrayed us,” Marina said.

  “Don’t say that,” DeVontay said, although he’d rather preserve his breath. “She saved your life more than once.”

  “But Rachel didn’t make me a slave. Kokona saved Rachel and now she owns her.”

  “They’re mutants. We can’t really understand. And we can’t blame Rachel.”

  “Why didn’t you kill Kokona when you had the chance?” Marina was both angry and confused, probably asking herself the same question.

  “If she and Rachel are linked, I don’t know what would happen. What if Rachel died, too?”

  “You’re probably going to go looking for her if we manage to get you out of here.”

  DeVontay looked past Marina’s cinnamon-colored face at the gathering gloom overhead. The black smoke undulated in fat, wispy tendrils, parting here and there to reveal the dark clouds and brilliant aurora. He had no real concept of the expansive power of the explosion, but he assumed the rest of the world remained much as it was before—a wild, hostile landscape ruled by mutants and populated by increasingly strange and dangerous creatures.

  Of course he’d hunt for Rachel. What else did he have to do?

  Die. You can die very easily, and Kokona’s not here to revive you.

  Marina looked away for a moment, and then painfully rose to her knees and shouted.

  “What is it?” DeVontay asked.

  “People!”

  “You sure they ain’t Zaps?”

  “No. One’s a woman soldier, and there’s so
me freaky-looking guy with a beard and glasses, and a little girl.” Marina resumed shouting and waving her arms.

  Squeak, Millwood, and Colleen Kelly. Where’s Antonelli and Bright Eyes?

  “I know them,” DeVontay said. “They’re on the home team.”

  “I hope so, because I can’t get you out without help. And I need somebody to carry me out of this mess.”

  Her shouts were soon answered, and DeVontay relaxed a little. He’d been unconsciously keeping his breaths very shallow so the pressure wouldn’t prevent his lungs from expanding. He thought of how a python slowly constricted its victim, tightening a little each time the prey inhaled, until there was no room left for the next breath. That sounded like a horrible way to die.

  But when DeVontay relaxed, he slid downward a couple of feet, and much of the hole closed above him. If not for the steel bar Rachel had wedged in the gap, he would’ve been completely buried alive. Muffled voices above him told him the others had found Marina, and the scraping and grating over him signaled that they all worked to free him.

  He sagged in relief, afraid to do any excavating from underneath lest he trigger a larger collapse. He spent his time in the near-darkness thinking about the last five years with Rachel and the strange twists and turns of their shared journey.

  And now she’s even further removed from me. No telling what kind of abilities she has now, since Kokona transformed her even more into a mutant.

  He’d held on for the wild ride, overcoming his natural fear of her. She was the Other, at least partly—the enemy, part of the tribe that wanted to exterminate the human race.

  Yet she was brilliantly and distinctly human in so many ways, too. And he found he actually loved both halves of her, the comforting and passionate woman and the intelligent, mysterious, and occasionally threatening Zap.

  And Mama told me to stay away from white women. If she only knew…

  But he didn’t like to think of the past, at least the part of it that came Before. All those people were gone from his life. As screwed-up as it was, this was his reality now: To cheat death one more time so he could track down the unknowable soul that had stolen his heart.