Savages, page 8
part #5 of Surviving the Dead Series
“I have four hard and fast rules,” I said near the end of the interview. “One: Miranda Grove is off limits. You can be friends, but that’s as far as it goes. You make a pass at her, and I’ll throw you out on your ass. And I mean that literally. We clear?”
A nod. “Crystal.”
“Two: you steal from me and I’ll fucking kill you.”
He almost laughed, then realized I was serious. “Mr. Riordan, I’ve never stolen a thing in my life. Not since I was a little kid, anyway. My dad caught me putting a pack of gum in my pocket and whipped my ass something fierce. I was too young to even realize what I was doing was wrong, but I never did it again.”
“Keep that attitude. Okay. Rule number three: be nice to the customers, even when they’re being assholes to you. This job requires a thick skin. People are going to get mad at you, call you names, curse at you, all kinds of shit. Smile and take it and make the trade. If someone tries to put their hands on you, you have a right to defend yourself. Anyone attempts something like that, you tell me and I’ll ban them for life. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough.”
“Last, but definitely not least, rule number four: Be. On. Time. When you show up late, I miss out on trades. That costs me. This is a business, not a pastime. The purpose is to turn a profit. Don’t interfere with my ability to do that.”
“I learned all about punctuality in the Army,” Johnny said. “It won’t be a problem.”
We worked out a few more details. His work schedule, the half hour he had for lunch, and lastly, his pay. We decided to negotiate his compensation on a weekly basis based on how productive he was. I told him I paid my employees well, but expected them to earn it. He said he was okay with that. Finally, we stood up and shook hands.
“Mr. Green, I think you’ll do. Come by tomorrow morning at six and Miranda will show you how the inventory system works. Keeping the books will become part of your job eventually, but we have to get you trained up first.”
He smiled. He had good teeth. That would help him with the customers. “Sounds good to me, sir.”
“Knock off that sir shit. Call me Eric. Or Mr. Riordan if it makes you feel better. Anything but sir.”
“Will do.”
He left and I reopened the store. I had a good feeling about him. It was the last good feeling I would have for a long time.
TEN
Word came down a week after Gabe and I met with General Jacobs.
We rode horses to Fort McCray. The guardsmen had cleared out most of the infected left over from the attack, but we all knew more would come. They always did. Luckily, things were relatively quiet that day. Gabe sat astride Red, while I tottered unhappily on a rented pony so short my feet nearly scraped the ground. On the way over, the big man finally got around to asking me why I accepted the mission so quickly, and why I showed no physical signs of the thrashing Allison must undoubtedly have meted out. I explained how Allison had overheard Captain Harlow on the sat-phone, and our conversation afterward. I left out the part where she seduced me.
“Three things occur to me,” Gabe said. I looked up at him. Between his height and Red’s, he looked like a skyscraper. “For starters, Allison is being very understanding. She usually tries to murder you when you take on a dangerous mission.”
“Must be the baby. Hormones.”
“Maybe. The second thing is someone really needs to have a conversation with Captain Harlow about operational security. Loose lips sink ships.”
“Why don’t you do it? He probably wouldn’t listen to me.”
“I think we should keep this one under our hats. Which brings me to my third point.” He looked down the arm’s length between his head and mine. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I had no verification.”
“You don’t trust Allison?”
“I do, but I wasn’t there when she overheard Harlow on the phone. She may have misinterpreted something. I didn’t want to send you into the meeting with preconceived notions that might be wrong. I figured I would hear the general out, and if anything he told me didn’t jive with what Allison heard, I’d tell you as soon as we were out of earshot.”
“So everything Jacobs said was in line?”
“Exactly.”
Gabe turned it over for a few hundred yards. “Okay. You have a point there. I’m not mad, but I still think you’re an asshole for not telling me.”
“You think I’m an asshole no matter what I do.”
“Good point.”
A ghoul emerged from the brush ahead of us, howled, and started in our direction. “You want it?” I asked.
Gabe drew his pistol, screwed on a suppressor, and fired one-handed. The ghoul dropped. “Come on,” he said, urging Red to a trot. “There’ll be more.”
I kicked the pony. The dumpy little thing picked up to a frustrating canter that left me looking at Red’s hairy ass all the way to Fort McCray. Once we were through the gate, I was not sorry to see the pony go. I hired a runner to ride it back and arranged with a civilian quartermaster to get a proper horse for the return trip. Gabe told me I was wasting time and trade. I told him to go smoke a turd in hell.
Wally led us up to Captain Harlow’s office. He was not there, but General Jacobs was. He looked up from behind the desk. There was a stack of manila folders in front of him. “Come on in,” he said. “We have a lot to discuss.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “This is the boring part where we go over the mission specifics in exacting detail until my brain melts and oozes out of my ears.”
Jacobs smiled. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”
*****
Three hours later, I was standing fifty yards from the helipad and wishing I had brought a flask filled with some of Mike Stall’s surprisingly smooth grain liquor. The mission briefing had been interesting at first, then turned mind-numbing as we went over the details again and again. I knew the mission inside and out, but the effort had earned me a headache and my eyelids felt like sandpaper. Gabe did not seem much better. Jacobs looked like he could do it all over again and smile the whole way, the bastard. Afterward, we went outside to wait for the operative from Central Command to arrive.
“So who is this guy?” Gabe asked. “What’s his background? SEAL, Green Beret, what?”
“He’s what you might call an independent operator,” Jacobs replied.
Gabe looked at him. “Like Eric here, or from the intelligence community?”
“Just wait until he gets here. All your questions will be answered.” Jacobs wore a little smile.
“What’s with the smirk?” I said. “You look like you just banged the preacher’s daughter.”
He laughed, but said nothing more. A few minutes later, the distant thumping of rotors reached my ears and grew steadily louder. I turned and saw a small dot slowly become a Blackhawk helicopter. The Blackhawk bathed us in dust and rotor wash as it touched down.
I covered my eyes out of instinct even though I was wearing goggles. Through the maelstrom, a figure emerged from the chopper’s cargo bay. Goggles and a scarf covered his face, but I could see his hair was shaved into a narrow black mohawk. Immediately, I thought he looked familiar. Tall, about six-three, maybe two-thirty, broad shouldered. He wore black fatigues and tactical gear with no insignia of any kind. In his hands was a SCAR 16 rifle. A shotgun was strapped across his back and he had a pistol in a holster on the left side of his tactical vest. At his waist, tucked through his web belt, was a tomahawk that looked roughly two centuries old. I had seen that tomahawk before.
The helicopter took off with no fanfare. No one else got out. As it thumped away, the operative removed his goggles and scarf. I smiled and held a hand out to a man I never thought I would see again.
He said something that sounded like ‘ya-a-tay’, and shook my hand. “It is good to see you again, Irishman.”
“Well if it isn’t my old pal Lincoln Great Hawk,” I said. “How the hell are you?”
*****
Great Hawk had already been briefed. Gabe and I had planned to go back to Hollow Rock immediately after meeting with General Jacobs, but decided to stay on base for a while. The three of us reconnoitered to the enlisted club, took a booth, and ordered drinks.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” I said, “But that haircut does not look regulation.”
The big Apache nodded slowly. “You are correct. It is not.”
“Your enlistment up?” Gabe said.
“Yes. Six months ago.”
“Who you working for now?”
Great Hawk waved a dismissive hand. “Some government agency with an acronym for a name.”
“The same one I used to work for?”
“Possibly. I honestly am not sure. It is hard to tell who is who anymore.”
“How’d they rope you into signing on?”
“There was no rope involved. The lord high shitbird of whoever visited me personally. Made the usual promises. Better pay, more autonomy, contract work. You know how they do things.”
Gabe almost smiled. “Yes I do.”
“I had planned to go home to Arizona. Try to find my people. I am still not sure why I did not. Perhaps I am afraid I will find only infected that were once my family and my nation. Perhaps it was all the people who told me going to Arizona alone was suicide. Perhaps, like all people, I am afraid of being alone.”
He took a bite of stew and chewed it without haste. I had seen Great Hawk in action, and knew the slow act was just that—an act. He was like a desert snake, only expending energy when it really counted. And when he did, it was swift and deadly.
“It is entirely possible,” he went on, “that I am the last of my people. I hope this is not true, but I acknowledge the possibility. Perhaps the reason I have not returned home is because I do not want to know for certain. If it is true, and I am the last, I do not know if I would want my life to continue. So I took the job. Perhaps it makes me a coward. Right now, I do not care.”
I pointed my spoon at him. “You are a lot of things, Lincoln, but a coward is not one of them.”
The face did not move, but somehow the obsidian eyes looked amused. “That is kind of you.”
“So how are things in Colorado?” Gabe said.
“Improved. The first time I was in the Springs it was a dangerous place to live. Now, things are better. Safer. Too many refugees, though. Not enough resources. Salvage hunters have taken everything between Denver and New Mexico. There would not be much work for you two. Not unless you like to travel.”
“Caravan guards?” I said.
“Yes. It is still a lucrative occupation, assuming you survive the journey. Many do not. Other than that, unless you are a doctor, tradesman, or engineer, work is scarce. Even farm work. The Army does very well during recruiting drives.”
“I heard a whole new city has sprung up around the perimeter wall,” Gabe said.
“That would depend on your definition of a city. If a squalid collection of shacks built from scrap can be called a city, then yes. Otherwise, it is an unwelcome refugee camp that refuses to go away. The kind of place you can indulge any vice.”
Gabe grunted. “Sounds lovely.”
“It is not.”
“What about farming?” I said. “Isn’t the government issuing land grants?”
“Yes. There is ample land between the Springs and the Illinois border. Not all of it will grow anything. If it does, there is the constant threat of infected and no walls to keep them out. If you know how to farm, can obtain seeds, dig irrigation ditches, survive if your crops do not, and are comfortable being anywhere from ten to three-hundred miles away from the nearest government outpost, you can do well for yourself. Some people have banded together to work large plots and are managing. There are many subsistence farmers who scrape by. Far more have made the attempt and failed. And this new world punishes failure harshly.”
“What about ranching?”
“A slightly more viable option. Slightly.”
“And here I thought they were doing brisk business out there.”
“I am not saying the land is not productive. It is. I am simply saying it is not nearly as easy as some would have you believe. You have done well for yourself here in Hollow Rock. I suggest you stay.”
I stared at him in silence. Gabe gave me a funny look. I said, “You’re probably right,” and turned my attention back to my stew.
ELEVEN
I got home late.
Allison was getting ready for bed. She met me in the kitchen and put her arms around me. I hugged her back and said, “Honey, I love you, but if I don’t eat this sandwich my stomach will climb out and eat it for me.”
She let go and leaned against the counter. “So when do you leave?”
“Three days.”
I put leftover chicken, lettuce, and hard white cheese on flatbread, folded it, and took a bite. Now that I did not live in a world overrun with salt, fat, and every spice known to man, I found I had learned to appreciate the more subtle tastes of natural food.
“That’s not much time.”
I let out a sigh. “No it isn’t.”
“So tell me about the secret government operative.”
“Turns out it’s not such a big secret. I bet you can guess who he is.”
“Based on what?”
“I’ve worked with him before.”
“Hm. Grabovsky?”
“Good guess, but no.”
She tapped a slender finger against her lips. I found it distracting. Her lips were very interesting. “Is it Great Hawk?”
“Got it on the second try. Nicely done.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Surprised the hell out of me. I got to say, though, he seems to be going through some personal issues.”
“Really? Great Hawk? Does he even have feelings? I only met him once, but if he stood still I would have mistaken him for a statue.”
“Evidently he’s deeper than you give him credit for. He’s worried about his family in Arizona. Seems to think he might be the last of his people.”
“The Apache?”
“His sect of them, anyway.”
“Poor guy.”
I looked at my wife in amusement. Only Allison, she of the infinite compassion, would call a hardened killer like Great Hawk ‘poor guy’.
“And that’s why I married you.”
“Huh?”
“Sorry. Thinking out loud. How was your day?”
She closed her eyes, shook her head, and showed me the palm of one hand. “Don’t ask.”
“That bad?”
“I told you not to ask.”
“Yes you did.”
I poured myself a cup of water, took my sandwich into the living room, and sat down on the couch. The sandwich was gone in four bites. I washed it down with the cup of water and sat back. My eyes closed on their own and I felt sleep begin to pull me under.
“Hey.”
“Yes dear.”
“You just started snoring.”
“Didn’t realize I was asleep.”
Allison grabbed my chin and pointed my face toward the clock. “It’s been ten minutes since you sat down.”
“Son of a bitch. All right, let’s go to bed.”
Allison put the moves on me once the lantern was out, but it was no use. I was just too damn tired.
*****
The days leading up to a mission are strange ones. They go by in a blur. I tried to make the most of my time, but it slipped by so much more quickly than when life was relatively normal. I lay awake at night, usually after some gymnastics with Allison, and wondered what I could have done differently. If it turned out I was amidst my last days on Earth, had I used them like I should have? There was never an answer. What could I do but live my life as if I had a future? I had to assume the world was going to continue its warbling spin around the sun and I was going to be a part of it. If I did not, I would wind up doing the worst thing of all, which was nothing.
During the daylight hours, I helped Miranda train Johnny Green while Allison was at the clinic. She issued a decree to her coworkers that she was leaving at four o’clock the next few days because her husband was going out of town. She did not need to point out I was headed into danger. Anyone who left town did so at enormous peril. And I had a reputation for throwing myself into awful situations at every turn.
Work continued on the north gate. Gabe and I managed to salvage some of the trade locked in storage there, but most had been destroyed. Volunteers cleared away the rubble, while the engineers from Third Platoon figured out a way to shore up the gap. The shipping containers were a good temporary fix, but something more permanent was needed. Rumor had it the plan was to erect a wooden palisade between the salvageable sections of concrete and reinforce it with the dirt-filled containers. There was certainly enough lumber around to make it work. But the townsfolk who had helped build the gate were unhappy about the engineers’ solution. They had worked hard in those hectic early days, all their hopes pinned on building a wall around their home to keep the infected out. The tree-trunk poles would look hopelessly fragile next to the concrete pillars, reinforced or not. The new gate would be a constant reminder of what had been lost, and how much more they had to lose.
Finally, the morning arrived. I woke up early and made breakfast. It turned out to be a waste of time. Allison and I sat across the table from one another with not a scrap of appetite between us. My wife’s eyes were red from crying the night before. Her hand strayed often to her stomach.
“This is ridiculous,” I said.
“Which part?”
“All of it. Let’s go sit down on the couch.”
“What about this stuff?”
“Fuck it.”
“Okay.”
We sat on the couch and did the best thing either of us could think of, which was to hold each other and wait for the knock at the door. I pulled my wife close and put a hand on her stomach.
