Afterburn: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Next Book 1) Page 17

  DeVontay’s canoe was waiting when she broke water, grabbing her, leaning to balance the boat, and pulling her aboard. Lars, nearly pulled under again by the weight of his axe, did a one-handed dogpaddle until he reached waist-deep water, then he waded to shore coughing up water.

  “What the hell was that thing?” DeVontay asked.

  In the scientific tradition of the pre-Doomsday Planet Earth, scientists were usually allowed the honor of naming any new species they discovered. Rachel hoped she’d just discovered a species at the same time it was going extinct, because she didn’t want to see another as long as she lived.

  “Sushi,” she said.

  “There goes your canoe,” Tara said, as the other vessel vanished into the distant darkness downstream.

  “Never mind,” DeVontay said. “We’re here.”

  He pointed to the bridge that was just barely visible in the rising mist.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Huynh looked like he was molded from wax.

  He was unconscious, his nostrils flaring with each uneven breath. Antonelli didn’t want another death on his conscience, but he also didn’t want to delve into the Zap world of unfathomable science. According to Franklin, mutants took “alternative healing” to a whole new level.

  “What’s the prognosis?” Antonelli asked Randall, although Colleen was the one tending the stricken soldier.

  “McCracken is bird bait,” the lieutenant said, referring to their dead medic. “If you add up the medical knowledge of the rest of us, you might get enough to prescribe two aspirin.”

  “He probably won’t make it until morning,” Colleen said. “Pulse is low, and he’s probably suffering organ failure from the shock. If that doesn’t get him, then infection is going to set in. As the saying goes, ‘Septicemia always wins.’”

  “And that’s not even counting what that thing pumped into him,” Randall said, pointing to the bird “neck” they’d extracted from the wound. It lay on a towel draped across a card table amid splotches of blood and whatever bizarre fluid leaked from the manufactured fowl. Antonelli couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw the clotted silver beak part and close again.

  “All right,” he said to Randall. “Check on the sentries at the door. Then meet me in the telecom room for a briefing at oh-twenty-three-hundred hours. Close the door on your way out.”

  Randall glanced from him to Colleen as if he expected them to take off their clothes and crawl into one of the bunks the moment he left. But he saluted and left without comment.

  Antonelli knelt so that he was face-to-face with Colleen. Her green eyes were bright with concern. He wished he was just a normal man back in the old world, getting ready to kiss his girlfriend in a meadow. But in the old world he was a military man, with the requisite wife and children, and he never would have considered a younger woman. In the old world, he was a straight arrow, a no-nonsense, by-the-book officer committed to the larger mission of preserving a certain way of life.

  Under existing conditions, he allowed himself some weakness, at the very time when weakness was the worst possible quality.

  “I have to make a choice,” Antonelli said. “It’s not just for Huynh, and it’s not just for me. It’s for what we want out of this new world. The one we have, not the one we want.”

  She took his hand and squeezed it. “I’ll support whatever you decide. I always do.”

  “I don’t want to make it alone.”

  “You’re not alone.” She gave him a kiss, not a romantic or sexy kiss, just an “I am here” kiss.

  He briefly explained Kokona’s offer, including his own total ignorance of the process and outcome. “I’m not worried so much about not comprehending the quantum principles. I’m not even worried that it might fail. I just don’t know what will happen to Huynh if he does survive. That’s the part that scares me the most.”

  She wiped a moist towel across the man’s sweating forehead. “If I was Private Huynh, I’d rather live and take my chances.”

  “Yeah, I guess I would, too. But this crosses a line. This is accepting aid and comfort from the enemy. It’s a kind of surrender, and I’m not sure I have the authority for that kind of decision.”

  “Can you radio HQ? Or the field command in Wytheville?”

  “Not with the EMF screwing the atmosphere. Auroras are spectacular tonight. Too bad we can’t go out and enjoy them.”

  He thought of the dead soldiers scattered around the ridge line and forest and whatever night scavengers might be licking their bones clean.

  “Besides,” he added. “How would I ever explain the situation? We’re supposed to avoid enemy contact, but if we do make contact, orders are to kill without mercy.”

  “But she’s just a baby!”

  “Yes, but not any baby we can understand. She’s probably got an IQ that’s exponential to mine, and she has abilities we can’t even contemplate, much less hope to measure. She might even have orchestrated the bird attack.”

  Colleen shook her freckled head in disbelief. “She can barely crawl. And she’s so goddamned cute. If not for those creepy-as-hell eyes, you could picture her on a jar of mashed bananas in the grocery store.”

  “I can’t even picture a grocery store anymore.” Antonelli pulled the sodden cigar from his chest pocket. It was falling apart, but he couldn’t resist fingering it like a talisman that would guide him onto the right path. “But if this Kokona Zap has that kind of power, then I’m putting all of us at risk by even staying here, much less letting her live.”

  “Maybe staying here would be the right move,” Colleen said, knowing full well the implication of her words. They were treasonous, and if even a shred of the old-school, brass-balls Marine Captain Mark Antonelli existed, he would arrest her for insubordination and failure to obey an order, likely throwing a sedition charge in there for good measure.

  But she was only guilty of voicing what Antonelli had already been mulling.

  “We’re supposed to link up with the Fourth Division in two weeks,” he said.

  “That’s just your rah-rah bullshit pep talk for the troops. That’s talking out of your ass, not out of your heart. Don’t you think saving a dozen lives is worth something?”

  Antonelli crumbled the wet cigar between his fingers.

  Colleen gripped his head between her two palms and brought his face close enough that she could feel her whisper across his lips. “What about saving us?”

  Antonelli looked past her at Huynh, who trembled slightly, seemed to skip a breath, and then lapse back into his stupor. He stood, avoiding Colleen’s eyes, because that would sway him.

  Yeah, right, you old son of a bitch. She had you before you even walked in the door.

  He left without a word and found Kokona, who insisted that Marina accompany her. When Franklin tried to join them, Kokona’s tiny brows knitted and she said, “Alone.”

  Franklin shrugged and put an arm around Stephen. “Let’s go check the monitors.”

  Marina carried Kokona back to the makeshift medical ward, and when Antonelli tried to follow them inside, Kokona said, “Alone means alone, Captain.”

  “That’s my man in there. I’m responsible for his life.”

  “Not any more,” Kokona said. “Now I’m the one responsible.”

  “Can PFC Kelly stay, at least?” He resented bargaining with this little mutant brat, and he struggled to retain whatever sense of military comportment he had left to project.

  “Is she good?” Marina asked.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Colleen came up behind Marina and smiled down at Kokona. The radiance of the baby’s eyes made Colleen’s eyes even more brilliant, like multi-faceted emeralds encased in ice. “Hello, Kokona. I’m the patient’s nurse. I want to help him, too.”

  “She’s good,” Kokona said to Marina, who nodded.

  “Trust me,” Colleen said to Antonelli, closing the door. A moment later, the small, wire-reinforced window was covered with a pill
owcase.

  Trust you? I can’t even trust myself anymore.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The bridge rose maybe forty feet above the water, its pillars mighty enough to support multiple lanes of traffic. The bordering forest was equally dense on both riverbanks, so DeVontay paddled to the side where Lars sat gasping and catching his breath.

  “I guess…I need to say thanks,” he said to Rachel as she climbed out of the canoe onto shore. “Saving my life’s getting to be a habit, huh?”

  “I’m not keeping score,” she said. “But I lost my sunglasses. Think you can handle it?”

  The horrifying plunge seemed to have sobered him up. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Hey, there’s a path over here,” DeVontay called, and Rachel hoped it wasn’t a corridor for Godzilla beavers or some other mutant atrocity. Tara followed him, and Rachel helped Lars to his feet. His forearms bore a series of circular splotches from the suckers, and she hoped they weren’t the harbingers of a venomous swelling.

  “Your pistol and DeVontay’s rifle are the only firearms we have left,” she said. “I hope we don’t run into an army.”

  He held up his axe, which glistened with water and the viscous leakage from the tentacle. “Don’t worry. It’s my turn to save you. You might not keep score, but I do.”

  Rachel followed with her machete, and shortly they were alongside the road, which looked silver under the aurora. They decided to wait beneath the pines just off the highway, since DeVontay figured they’d made good time and were well ahead of the Zap who had taken Squeak.

  “What if it stopped, or else went in another direction?” Tara said, repeating her worry about the flimsy plan.

  DeVontay was both patient and confident. “It will come. We’ve dealt with Zaps before. They don’t stay separated from their kind for long.

  Except Kokona. Thinking of the mutant infant led Rachel to wonder how the others in the bunker were faring. They were probably worried sick, since she and DeVontay should have been home that afternoon at the latest. Now it was likely near midnight.

  If Stephen listens and does what we told him, they’ll be all right. But that’s a big if.

  They’d only waited twenty minutes or so—Lars had dozed off sitting against a sticky tree trunk, but Tara was wired and anxious—when Rachel spotted the tiny twin specks of light in the distance. She nudged DeVontay, who rested against her with his eyes closed although his breathing didn’t indicate sleep.

  When he saw what she was pointing at, he woke Lars. “Showtime.”

  The lights grew larger as they moved closer, flickering yellow and orange and red, casting a halo against the darkness. Soon they could discern the Zap’s outline, as well as the angular burden in its arms. The glow of its eyes reflected off the silvery suit like molten metal.

  They also heard it.

  The sound rose and fell in a rhythmic pattern, and then Rachel realized it was speech. In the early post-Doomsday era, Zaps learned by imitation and echoing, but they likely knew so much more now, after five years of assimilating and sharing knowledge.

  The voice carried a precise pitch, although the quality of the sound was hollow. It was a song, but oddly lacking in any musical or poetic quality. It hit all the right notes, but it had no soul.

  They all recognized the centuries-old lullaby:

  Rock-a-bye baby

  In the treetop

  When the wind blows,

  The cradle will rock.

  When the bough breaks,

  The cradle will fall.

  Down will come baby,

  Cradle and all.

  It timed its steps to the rhythm of the song, and even rocked the listless Squeak back and forth in its arms in a mockery of motherhood. The little girl’s eyes were open, but she stared glassily off into the distance.

  The Zap was perhaps forty yards from them now, coming up on the bridge, keeping a steady pace and showing no sign of exhaustion. After it finished the lullaby, it talked to the girl. “How are you, honey?”

  The words were chilling because of their aloof blandness. But the girl responded, looking up at the blunt face with its ugly haircut and uttering a short burst of ululations—the “squeaks” for which her mother had named her.

  She’s talking to it!

  Tara nearly burst from their hiding place, whimpering in fear for her daughter. DeVontay held out an arm to block her. “It hasn’t hurt her,” he whispered.

  The mutant then imitated her peculiar series of squeaks, which delighted the child. She even laughed a little, and the Zap’s passive face creased in a pathetic, almost frightening attempt at a smile.

  As if it’s learning emotions on the fly.

  Or at least learning to fake them.

  In her old life, she’d known more than a few people who could fake their emotions. She’d been fooled by some of them, including a couple of men. Somehow the talent seemed like it should be reserved for humans only. It was a kind of lying, a kind of sin, and only a cruel God would allow that sin to be dishonored.

  The Zap stopped walking and stood in the middle of the road, rocking the girl whose face looked beatific in the radiance of its eyes. It sang the first line of the lullaby again.

  Then it repeated the word “Baby” very slowly.

  Squeak uttered her throat-rattling sound and then said, “Buh.”

  “Yes. Baaaay-beeee.”

  “Bub,” the girl said.

  “Babeeeee,” the Zap said.

  “Baaaa.” Squeak paused a moment, biting her lip as if piecing together a jigsaw puzzle of air. “Bee!”

  “Yes,” the Zap said. “Baby.”

  “Baby,” the girl said, triumphantly.

  Rachel realized with horror what was happening. The Zap was teaching the child to speak, a girl who’d been deprived of any real, human communication her entire life by a psychotically overprotective mother. Even more horrifying, the child was responding to the nurturing.

  Tara couldn’t contain herself, as she must have recognized what was happening, too. She emitted a choking sound and ran from the forest into the road. “Squeak! Squeak!”

  Both Squeak and the Zap watched her approach, the girl’s face scrunched in uncertainty. The Zap remained as impassive as ever.

  “Damn it,” Lars said, sprinting after her, his axe swinging by his side.

  “What should we do?” DeVontay asked.

  “I don’t know, but I hope it doesn’t summon the birds.”

  Tara reached the Zap and tried to rip Squeak from its arms. The Zap pulled back but made no violent moves toward the frantic mother.

  “Buh!” the girl yelled, apparently hanging on to the word she’d just been taught as if it were a lifeline. “Baby!”

  When Lars arrived with the axe, the Zap must have recognized the threat, because it released the girl who wobbled unsteadily on her feet but made no move toward her mother. Lars bellowed a Viking battle cry and stormed in, chopping at the Zap, which deflected the blows with its forearms.

  Tara leapt into the fight, almost getting her arm severed by the wildly swing blade. She grabbed Squeak and dragged her away, crying and pleading. Squeak mostly seemed overwhelmed by the whole matter, as if the creature in the silver suit had been a fun friend who had slipped out of a fairy-tale book and taken her for a walk.

  The Zap dodged Lars’s blade and came up underneath him, grabbing for a throat hidden under the unruly beard. With its other hand, the Zap caught Lars’s forearm and squeezed until the axe dropped.

  “Shoot it,” Rachel said to DeVontay.

  “I don’t know if—“

  She plucked the M16 from his grip, knelt beneath the branches of the pine, and steadied the sights. She took a breath and exhaled, then gently caressed the trigger and felt the recoil. Three muffled pops punctuated Tara’s shouts.

  The Zap’s head jerked, a great red dot at its temple, the far side of its face ruptured. The eyes smoldered and went dark. It gradually relaxed its grip on Lars and folded to
the ground.

  The girl let out a mournful yowl, and Tara nearly smothered the child, yelling “Hush,” only as a command and not a lullaby.

  When Squeak couldn’t be consoled, Tara shook her and screeched, “Bad girl. You have to be quiet. Bad.”

  DeVontay noticed the look on Rachel’s face. “What’s wrong?”

  “I might have blown up the wrong head.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “If they’re not back by morning, we need to go after them,” Stephen said.

  “DeVontay and Rachel can take care of themselves,” Franklin said.

  “Under normal conditions.” Stephen tried not to make a smart-assed comment, because conditions hadn’t been anything close to normal for a long time. “But if the army’s out there on the move, and these bird-things are flying around, that might mean the Zaps are stirred up.

  “We can’t leave Marina alone with these assholes,” Franklin said.

  They were in Rachel and DeVontay’s room, one of the few spaces not currently occupied by soldiers. Stephen felt a little uncomfortable being in here, considering what lengths they all went to in respecting one another’s privacy. The walls were bare except for a few scenic nature photographs torn from magazines and taped into place. On the rear wall, Rachel had painted a window frame and a view looking out on a sun-splashed meadow full of perpetually blooming daisies, black-eyed susans, and bright blue bachelor’s buttons.

  A gun rack in the corner spoke to the reality of this cozy little love nest.

  “You’re probably right,” Stephen said. “That captain looks at Kokona like she’s the spawn of the devil. I think he even hates her more than you do.”

  “Hey, now,” Franklin said. “I don’t really trust her, but I’m not going to throw out the baby with the bathwater. When it comes down to it, Rachel loves that child, and I trust Rachel, so that’s that. Family first.”

  “Then let’s go after our family. We can be in Stonewall by afternoon if we hurry. Better yet, maybe we can get the captain to send a military escort.”