Radiophobia: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Next Book 3) Read online

  “No,” she said. “We need every warm body that can hold a gun. Although I’m curious why he’s not on active duty.”

  “I’ll check it out.” The general peered into her face. “What’s wrong?”

  “Helen.” She allowed grief to wash over her.

  Alexander gave her a stiff, awkward hug, careful not to let her breasts press against him. “You didn’t cry until the show was over. I’m proud of you. But those tears aren’t very presidential.”

  She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “I would’ve cried for you if you’d died in D.C. And I don’t even love you.”

  Alexander nodded. “I know. Let’s go bury her.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Heading toward the column of light made the most sense.

  Franklin had little evidence to suggest Rachel and DeVontay were in Wilkesboro. But he was pretty sure he would’ve encountered them if they’d returned to the bunker, since he’d covered most of their usual route for supply runs. And because K.C. hadn’t seen them, they likely hadn’t passed through Stonewall. Something about the beacon drew him, and he believed Rachel would succumb to that same compulsion, despite her concern for those she’d left behind in the bunker.

  They’d loaded Princess with supplies, but both of them were too stubborn to ride the horse while the other walked. K.C. had plenty of provisions on hand, and they carried enough food, ammunition, and camping gear to take care of them for a week. If K.C. harbored any resentment over leaving behind her fine and secure homestead, she didn’t mention it, and Franklin didn’t ask.

  “What do you think is happening there?” K.C. asked. She sported her fetching brown fedora, which would come in handy if the rain fell. She wore holsters on each hip, a Sig Sauer semi-automatic on the left and a .32-caliber revolver on the right, an AK-47 slung over her shoulder. She’d had a difficult time choosing from her extensive armory, but Franklin was happy enough with his single-shot Winchester.

  “Take your pick,” Franklin said. “The Zaps drilled down to the center of the earth and made an elevator shaft to hell or they stuck a straw in the sky and are sucking some more juice out of the sun. Or it could be a natural phenomenon, some kind of weird atmospheric effect of all the radiation and static.”

  “My money’s on the worst possible explanation,” K.C. said. “Try some kind of Godzilla breath on for size, melting everything it touches from radioactive halitosis.”

  “I’ll pass on that bet. I only gamble on things I can control.”

  “But you can’t control anything.”

  “That’s why I don’t gamble.”

  They kept to the main highway, Highway 421, which connected Stonewall and Wilkesboro. Because they’d seen no Zap activity, they considered mutant creatures of hoof and wing to be the biggest dangers, and walking out in the open would give them plenty of reaction time. They generally walked on the edge of the road so Princess could use the grassy shoulder, passing dozens of stranded or wrecked vehicles along the way.

  Franklin’s heart raced when he saw K.C. glance up, the cloudy sky reflected in her glasses. He braced for the screech of a shitterhawk or the silent dive of a metal bird, but he saw nothing.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Don’t you hear it?”

  Franklin listened but only made out the wind stirring in the autumnal trees, the heavy breathing of Princess, and the buzzing of flies. It was a full two seconds before he made out the soft, distant thrumping of a helicopter, its blades oscillating in the air.

  He realized K.C.’s hearing was better than his. Probably her other senses as well, which made him glad she was accompanying him. She was a deadly shot and practical and inventive with her hands. He glanced at her. She was pretty damned cute to boot.

  The helicopter appeared over the treetops in the north, cutting a long arc as if making an orbit around Wilkesboro. Or perhaps the pilot was wary of the funnel cloud of colored light.

  “Think that’s the same one we saw yesterday?” K.C. asked.

  “I doubt if the Army has a whole lot of them in the fleet. You’d need a pretty big shielded bunker, not to mention plenty of fuel. Then again, you know how the government is, always taking care of business on the backs of the taxpayers.”

  “‘Was,’Franklin. The government ‘was.’ I think we can drop that particular little complaint now. We haven’t paid a penny in taxes in five years.”

  “Make that twenty,” he said. “Cheating on taxes is the highest form of patriotism.”

  The helicopter swooped lower in the sky but it was at least two miles in the distance. Franklin doubted the pilot had spotted them even though they were out in the open due to the sheer clutter of cars that lined the roadway for miles.

  The helicopter’s engines steadied and it hovered for a moment, then began slowly settling to the ground. When it dropped below the tree line and out of sight, K.C. said, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “That we ought to crawl in the back of that van there and give it another go?”

  She giggled like a school girl. “You dirty old man. I was wondering why the helicopter was landing. Supply run, dropping soldiers, or swooping down on some Zaps?”

  “Well, my last run-in with the military didn’t turn out so well, but it’s possible they know about Rachel and DeVontay.”

  “Since Rachel’s eyes are Zappy, wouldn’t they shoot her on sight?”

  That was a worry Franklin had buried, but now that it was aired, he acknowledged it. “Maybe. But she’s smart. And she can be an asset for them.”

  “She can be an asset for the Zaps, too. What if she turns? What would you do?”

  Rachel had been in her semi-mutant state for so long that Franklin had taken it as a permanent condition. But he no real reason to believe so. She was a human long before she became a half-Zap, and even over the last four years her behavior had fluctuated—sometimes it seemed her glowing eyes were the only mutant quality remaining, and at other times she seemed to harbor an intuitive connection to Kokona. Rachel simply hadn’t encountered enough Zaps to establish a baseline for a new normal.

  “I’d put her down if necessary,” Franklin said.

  “Could you really do it, or are you just talking a good game?”

  “Well, I hope it doesn’t come to that, because I don’t trust myself at all. That’s not really a decision I’m qualified to make.”

  Princess whinnied and Franklin looked at the sturdy mare. “You know what? I’ll bet she’d let us double up until we reached the landing zone. What say, girl?”

  Princess tossed her head and snorted, amused with the world. Franklin took that as agreement. They spent a couple of minutes adjusting their gear, and K.C. climbed aboard. Franklin had to walk the horse over to a vehicle so he could mount by stepping off the hood of a car.

  Princess broke into an easy trot. The ride was a little jarring, but Franklin enjoyed having K.C. pressed against him. There were few businesses along the highway, but the number of houses and churches increased as they neared the city. The terrain here was a little less rugged and steep than Franklin’s usual haunts among the Blue Ridge Mountains, the forests golden and bright with October’s glory.

  They made good time, Franklin handling the reins and K.C. providing surveillance. They talked little, the tension rising as they approached the city. Franklin occasionally glanced into the vehicles as they passed, finding most of them unoccupied but some navigated by skeletal figures on the eternal road to nowhere.

  They soon heard more engines, and then shouts. “Sounds like a whole damn army,” Franklin said.

  “Are we going to sneak up on them or ride in like the heroes of a western?”

  “I never miss a chance to show up the government,” he said. “And if we tried to sneak up on them, you can bet they’d shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “So you’re saying they’re as jumpy as we are?”

  He leaned back and gave her a kiss on the mouth. “Speak for yourself. I’m
ready to rock’n’roll.”

  Despite his show of bravado, he nearly fell off the horse when the voice shouted, “Stop right there and identify yourself.”

  The soldier stepped from behind a truck, sighting down his rifle. Franklin could feel other unseen weapons on him as well.

  Knowing K.C. was keeping score, Franklin drew himself up as if he were Teddy Roosevelt leading the Rough Riders up San Juan Hill. “We’re the U.S. Cavalry and we’re here to save the world.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The tunnel was dark and wet, and every time Rachel heard scratching or rustling, she braced for more giant rodents.

  Millwood led them to the rear exit of the building, into a narrow service alley, and between a series of trash dumpsters where a rusted grate covered a storm sewer. He levered the grate aside using a metal bar propped on a cinder block. Then he slithered through the narrow opening like a lizard.

  Capt. Antonelli followed, barely fitting through, and DeVontay passed down a hurricane lamp that burned lavender-scented oil found in the office of a Bluestone practitioner. DeVontay and Bright Eyes followed, and Rachel helped Squeak down into the dank subterranean air.

  They’d discussed leaving Squeak behind with an adult, but Antonelli clearly didn’t trust Rachel or Bright Eyes, and DeVontay might be needed. Rachel secretly acknowledged that Antonelli was willing to kill any of them to keep the entire group in line, assuming the odds of betrayal were much smaller if Squeak was at risk. And if they were separated, they were unlikely to ever reunite, given the turbulent circumstances.

  He doesn’t trust us, yet he’s perfectly fine with following a schizoid UFOlogist down a hole in the ground.

  When Rachel climbed down, she was immediately beset with a cloying claustrophobia. Even though she’d lived in a bunker for years, she’d never experienced such a sense of constriction. She froze on the series of metal rungs that led down into the sewer, looking up at the daylight above and the two faces peering down at her.

  Then she felt DeVontay’s hands on her hips. “It’s okay, Rachel. Come on down.”

  She actually felt better once her feet were touching bottom, even though a quarter-inch skin of gummy liquid was covering it. The thick, rotted aroma was tinged with lavender smoke, and even with her eyes illuminating the tunnel a few feet ahead, she could barely see DeVontay and Squeak. The tunnel was too narrow to travel any way other than single file. Far ahead Millwood’s lamp bobbed back and forth.

  Bright Eyes descended the access ladder and Kelly brought up the rear. Rachel relaxed a little more once her back wasn’t exposed, and she focused on Squeak ahead of her sloshing through the muck. The dull murmur of voices ahead came from Antonelli gathering information from Millwood.

  Squeak turned and waited for Rachel, then took her hand. “I don’t like it in the dark.”

  “Just stay in the light of my eyes,” she said.

  The tunnel was cool, although the air was still. They passed beneath another storm grate and Rachel looked up to see a pair of silver-encased feet walk across it and a shadowy form rising up. Kelly called out from the rear, unaware of the threat on the street above. Bright Eyes nudged Rachel ahead and then eased backward until he blocked Kelly from entering the wedge of light in which they’d be visible from above.

  Rachel pressed against the slimy wall of the concrete tunnel, looking back at Bright Eyes as her heart pounded. She put a protective arm around Squeak, silently willing the girl to remain quiet. A few moments later, another Zap passed the grate, although Rachel saw only the top of its head. The mutants were still heading toward the center of the city.

  Bright Eyes and Kelly crossed the stretch of exposing light and they all hurried on. Soon they came to an intersection where the tunnel widened into a relative boulevard and split off in four directions. Conduit tubes ran along the walls, housing electrical and phone lines, and overhead ran eight-inch pipes with shut-off valves interspersed.

  “How much farther?” Antonelli asked.

  “Time and distance is relative,” Millwood said.

  “In your mind, maybe. But the rest of us live in the real world.”

  Millwood laughed, the abrasive sound echoing hollowly in all directions. “We’re visiting aliens with the mothership on the way and you call this ‘real’?” He pointed at Bright Eyes and then Rachel. “And what about them, huh? Were they ever dreamt of in your philosophies, man?”

  “It’ll be dark soon. That doesn’t matter down here, but I want to get a read on the landscape while we can still see.”

  Millwood seemed oblivious to the man’s anger, collecting a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lighting it with the lamp. Kelly ventured down one of the offshoots and called back to them: “Looks like a grate here. I can climb up and take a look.”

  Antonelli nodded to DeVontay. “Back her up.”

  DeVontay glanced at Rachel, who nodded her approval. They were part of a team. If the alliances shifted later, they’d deal with it, but for now, Antonelli offered the best chance to destroy the Zap city and make a small dent in the mutant dominance. And she sensed that every step brought them closer to Kokona and Marina.

  Rachel ventured down the tunnel on the opposite side, weapon at the ready. They’d encountered no overgrown or deformed vermin, but Rachel didn’t want anything sneaking up on them. Off by herself, the voices of Millwood and Antonelli reduced to a low murmur, she listened to the faint ticking and dripping of the storm sewer. An almost inaudible rumble suggested they were near the plasma sink.

  “Rachel. I know you’re there.”

  Kokona’s voice was louder this time, and so clear that for a moment Rachel thought the infant was in the tunnel with her. She whirled around, looking behind her, but she saw only the others talking, Squeak in silhouette watching after her.

  Rachel tried to answer, but she couldn’t be sure if any words got through. Perhaps with the plasma sink near, she could draw on its energy the way the Zaps did and use it as a psychic amplifier. But she felt no special power or strength. If anything, lassitude rippled through her as the vibrations rose from the tunnel floor into her body.

  She moved deeper into the tunnel and away from the others. Squeak called her name but the voice sound faraway and drifting. That other voice lured her like a pied piper’s haunting tune.

  The lamplight was gone and she was surrounded by darkness now except for the illumination cast by her eyes. It came to her with more force: “Rachel.”

  She broke into a run, feet splashing in the muck. Something tugged at her, imploring her to turn around, but that other voice was stronger, a gravitational pull like a tiny black hole at the center of her personal universe. She lost track of time, aware only of Kokona’s incessant calling.

  She arrived at a collapsed section of the tunnel, jagged slabs of concrete and asphalt spilled down from the street. A twisted signpost protruded from the rubble, folded like a paperclip. A black Honda sedan was among the wreckage, a skeleton belted behind the steering wheel, thin ivory arms wrapped around the sagging air bag. Daylight streamed through a gap as big as a barn door, a foul thread of mist drifting in the air above.

  Rachel scaled the pile, skinning her hands on the rough edges of concrete and metal rebar. As she ascended, the pulsing within her grew stronger as the sky took on a kaleidoscopic array of colors, like a rainbow of auroras tossed into a cosmic blender. The hum and whir of the plasma sink wrapped her in a snug blanket of noise, but even through it she could hear Kokona summoning her.

  The tops of the surrounding buildings came into view as she climbed, rising toward the swirling clouds. She recognized the tallest, although she’d seen it from different angles during her captivity in Wilkesboro and on the morning’s helicopter ride. One side of the building was caved in, the charred shell of offices showing the ravages of weather and time. Kokona was waiting inside it.

  She emerged to find the street full of Zaps, all facing the building and looking up toward the top floors. There must have been a co
uple hundred mutants, standing silently among abandoned cars, burned-out rubbish piles, and fallen utility poles. The funnel of charged energy flowing down and around the plasma sink appeared even larger now, as if charging up for some monumental chain reaction. It cast dizzying colors against the shattered glass, streetlights, and the chrome suits of the mutants.

  As she crawled from the hole, the Zaps ignored her, all their attention focused on a point high above them. A shadow passed over one of the high windows, and a ripple of anticipation passed among the mutants. The mutants were coldly uniform in their aspects, despite some differences in size, skin color, hair, and posture. As during her earlier captivity, Rachel saw Zaps barely old enough to walk while others were gray and wizened, but their expressions were what she could only describe as rapt, eyes sparking with wild intensity.

  Maybe Millwood’s perception of some sort of awesome spiritual happening wasn’t far wrong after all.

  Rachel stood among the Zaps, one of them yet apart. They’d responded to the same summons as Rachel, all drawn to the center of the city, a Zap Ground Zero.

  The Zap beside her vocalized a small explosive sound. She heard it repeated farther ahead, near the rusted shell of a newspaper dispenser. Then elsewhere, and soon it grew into a syllable.

  “Ko. Ko. Ko.”

  When the figures appeared behind the coruscating face of the glass high above, Rachel couldn’t make them out but she instantly knew it was Kokona and Marina.

  The Zap tribe confirmed her hunch as their voices rose in unison: “KO-kona, KO-kona, KO-kona.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “A woman with Zapper eyes and a one-eyed black guy?” The colonel gave them a dismissive scowl. “Yeah. They’re assets. And we employed them.”

  “Employed? What does that mean?” Franklin wasn’t up on his military gobbledygook but he didn’t like the sound of this. All around them, troops were climbing into trucks, checking their weapons, and cramming gear in their backpacks. The controlled chaos was charged with a faint electricity of tension, fear suppressed by camaraderie and brisk attention to detail. Franklin was impressed by the number of operational motor vehicles, but he figured they’d come from the same shielded storage as the helicopters and represented the best the army had left.