Cannibal Reign (21 page)

“You’re right,” Marty said, chastened. “It won’t happen again. You’ve got my word.”

They put half the MREs inside the Jeep and lashed the other half to the roof with the fuel cans. At first light they decided to stop for some rest and parked the Jeep off the road beneath an overpass in the desert. Emory volunteered to keep first watch because she was too wired to sleep, and soon Sullivan was snoring away behind the wheel with the seat back. Marty sat with Emory on the hood of the Jeep for warmth.

“You should try and get some sleep,” she said.

“I’m too wound up.”

“I’m getting to know you. You lied earlier. Why’d you really go into that trailer?”

“I heard someone hurting a woman,” he said. “Are all military men fucking psycho?”

“No,” she said. “And not all those guys back there are psycho either, but if the good-natured guys are outnumbered, what are they going to do? They have to eat.”

“They could take off like Sullivan did.”

“And I’m sure plenty of them have, Marty. You’re talking about a lot of young guys with guns and no worthwhile leadership. It starts at the top. That’s what was wrong with our unit. We had a wife-beater for a C.O.”

“Think we can trust Sullivan?” Marty asked.

“He made a cute pass at me back there before your little show. I’m pretty sure he’s a gentleman.”

“Does he have a chance with you?”

“I dunno,” she said with a shrug. “Like he said, I might get desperate.”

“Can you do that? I mean . . . you know.”

She put her arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer. “It’s like this, Marty. There’s two kinds of lesbians. Those who like intercourse and those who don’t really care for it.”

“Which are you?”

“Well, I
used
to like it once in a while with the right guy. Now, I dunno. It’ll take time . . .”

“Plus you might be—”

“Oh, thanks for reminding me,” she said, letting go of him. “I’d actually managed to forget about that. With any luck, I’ll have a goddamn miscarriage.”

“And if we make it the whole nine months?”

“Well, you’re gonna have to deliver the goddamn thing.”

“Me? I don’t know shit about birthing babies.”

“There’s plenty of time for me to teach you all you need to know. Now, do me a favor and don’t bring it up again.”

They sat quietly for a while, then Emory slipped down from the hood and stood looking out across the dim morning expanse of Arizona. “Marty, I don’t know what I’ll do if it looks like him . . . I might kill it.”

“Nine months is a long time to grow attached, Shannon. Let’s wait and see how you feel by then.”

“What about you? Do you have any kids out there anywhere?”

He smiled sadly and shook his head.

An hour later Marty was dozing in the passenger seat of the Jeep when something woke him up. It was the sound of a rotary winged aircraft, the first aircraft he’d heard in the sky since the impact. Sullivan was still snoring, but Emory was nowhere to be seen. He walked out from beneath the bridge to see her come sliding down the embankment.

“Fuck me!” she shouted. “Gunship coming in along the highway, flying snake and nape!”

“Snake and what?”

“Nape of the earth, Marty. Get outta sight!”

They listened to the helicopter come thundering overhead and on up the highway to the north.

“They’re taking a serious risk,” Marty said. “There’s still too much particulate matter in the air. They’ll burn the turbines up.”

“Must be why they’re flying so low,” she said. “That and they gotta be looking for us.”

Sullivan had awoken to the sound of the rotors and joined them, watching after the helicopter. “Blackhawk, loaded with rockets. They’re definitely pissed.” He turned around and pointed at Marty. “This is on you, cowboy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well . . . forget it, we just gotta deal with it.”

An hour later the helicopter came back. By now its engines were smoking from sucking in so much dirt and ash, but it swung wide of the highway by a hundred yards for a look beneath the bridge, where Marty had gotten out of the Jeep and stood hidden behind a column. The door gunner immediately opened fire on the vehicle.

Sullivan stomped the accelerator and tore off in the direction of the helicopter. “Don’t miss, Shannon, or we’re fucking dead!” he shouted.

They had removed the hard top, and Emory was standing in the backseat braced against the roll bar. She opened fire on the door gunner even as machine-gun bullets were hitting the fender of the Jeep. The gunner fell back into the aircraft, and the helicopter swung around to face them directly. Sullivan swerved right against the direction of its turn, hoping to throw off the pilot’s aim. The first rocket struck the ground to their left and just behind them, leaving their fate in Emory’s hands.

Sullivan straightened the Jeep and she fired the M-203.

Even as the projectile was arcing toward the windscreen of the aircraft, Sullivan was swerving hard to port. The pilot overcorrected and the second rocket struck the ground to their right. A fragment hit Emory in the hip and she fell down in the back of the Jeep as her 40mm grenade detonated against the windscreen of the Blackhawk, killing both pilots.

The aircraft went into a violent spin, whirling around four times before smashing into the desert floor, breaking apart on impact and bursting into flames. Sullivan raced back toward the bridge where Marty stood waiting and locked up the brakes. The three of them raced to reattach the hardtop and quickly tied down the supplies, only to find the front left tire had gone flat. They changed it as quickly as they could, then Sullivan drove back up the embankment onto the highway.

Marty noticed Emory’s leg for the first time. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s shrapnel. Come back here and help me.”

He climbed into the back with her and she gave him the curved hemostat she had taken from the medical bag, which was basically a pair of locking forceps normally used for clamping off a bleeding artery or vein.

“Use that to pull the shrapnel out,” she said, shrugging her trousers down over her rump to expose her bleeding right hip.

He took hold of the jagged piece of metal and tugged at it, causing Emory to wince. “It’s in there pretty tight,” he said.

“Don’t play with it, Marty. Pull it out!”

He clamped the hemostat onto the metal and gave it a jerk, but it held fast and Emory grabbed the roll bar, shouting in pain. “Fuck!”

“I’m sorry. It’s really in there, Shannon.”

“Need some help?” Sullivan asked.

“You just wanna play with my butt . . . keep driving.”

It was getting too dark to see inside the Jeep, so Marty took the red filter from his light and held it in his teeth while he examined the wound.

“You’re going to have to do a cut-down,” Emory said, digging in the bag for a scalpel.

“A what?”

“You’re gonna cut it out.”

“Oh, jeez!” He gripped the light in his teeth and pressed against the wound with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, holding the skin taut as he drew the razor-sharp blade along the ridge, drawing blood and exposing the blackish metal.

“Okay, good job, hon. Now pull that fucker outta me.”

Marty took hold of the metal with the hemostat and had it out with one tug. The piece of shrapnel was half the size of a trading card, cut corner to corner, slightly bent. He tossed it on the floor and Emory poured peroxide over the open wound. Then she took a packet of sutures from the bag and clamped the curved needle between a smaller pair of hemostats. “Sew me up.”

He sat looking at her.

“It doesn’t have to be pretty. Just keep it as straight as you can.”

Marty was sweating. “Can you turn the heat off, Sullivan?”

“It’s not on.”

“Come on,” Emory said. “It’s not that tough.”

It took him nearly twenty minutes, but Marty got the wound sewn closed and then Emory dressed it and pulled her trousers back up. By then it was total darkness once again, and Sullivan was driving with his night vision.

“Is there enough ambient light for those things to work out here?” Marty asked as he climbed into the passenger seat.

“Not real well,” Sullivan said. “I’ve switched to infrared.”

It was a bizarre feeling racing into total blackness, and Marty found it difficult to look out the windshield without feeling terrified they were going to hit something. “You’re sure you can see?”

“I can see.”

He plugged one of the other NVDs into the charger then closed his eyes and leaned his head back. A second later Emory was tugging at his arm.

“Come back here,” she said.

“Something wrong?” he asked, moving into the back again.

She lay over on the seat and put her head into his lap, taking his hand and setting it on her head. “Pet me. I don’t feel good.”

Marty began to run his fingertips through her hair.

“Somebody talk to me back there,” Sullivan said. “Keep me awake.”

Marty lifted his head again and drew a deeply disappointed breath, smiling blandly in the dark. He really needed to sleep, but he was apparently in too great a demand.

Thirty-Five

“R
ats?” Ester said in disbelief. “I ask your engineers for new technological ideas and they come up with
rats
? Good lord!”

“It’s only a stop-gap, Madam President,” Admiral Longbottom tried to assure her. “And the little bastards will eat damn near anything, so breeding them won’t be difficult.”

“I can’t take rat meat to the people,” Ester said. “My God, Barry, tell the man!”

“Well, I think it may well be a matter of presentation,” replied Vice President Hadrian with the same calm demeanor that had served him so well as President. “If you present them today with some wounded black wharf rat as the answer to our future, they’ll throw bricks at you, and understandably so. But if you wait until the food has begun to run low and everyone is afraid . . . and then present them with an entire cash-crop of clean, white lab rats with pink eyes . . . you’re a hero.”

“Exactly right,” said Longbottom, grateful for Hadrian’s presence in the Islands.

“Nothing says we have to take the project public. But we are talking about avoiding starvation. And if we start a breeding program now with the lab rats we still have here on the island, we can have a good head start by the time the fish supply begins to run out.”

“Okay,” Ester said. “So where do you propose we raise these things?”

“Well, we can raise them on the hangar decks of our carriers,” Longbottom said, abhorring the idea but feeling the need to offer the concession. “That will keep the population off the island and out of sight. And there are ways the meat could be processed so that eating it won’t be such a distasteful idea.”

“It’s as bad an idea as Soylent Green,” Ester muttered. “Anyway, I don’t like the idea of using your ships. I’m sure another place can be found, one of the other islands may be perfect. What else do you have for us?”

“I saved the best news for last,” Longbottom said with a smile.

“Thank God,” Ester said.

“First, my engineers are confident that we can use the reactors aboard our nuclear vessels to supply electrical power to most of Honolulu for twelve hours a day,” the admiral began. “On a revolving schedule. It will take time to construct a new power grid but this is a work-ready project. And we won’t have to worry about replacing the atomic fuel for a couple years. And by then we should be running largely on tidal power.”

“Tidal power? That requires industry.”

“Which the Australians have agreed to help us with,” the admiral said. “They have been developing the technology for a number of years now.”

“What are they asking for in return?”

“Our friendship,” the admiral said. “Our future help with any problems they may have. Exchange of engineers and ideas. All of the above. Like you, they view this crisis as an opportunity to get it right.”

“But you still don’t see it that way, Admiral?”

Longbottom sat back. “I’ve done as you asked, and I will continue to do my best, but no, I don’t agree entirely with the steps we’re taking. I think we should be concentrating our efforts on the remaining oil platforms out to sea. The longer we wait, the more they deteriorate out there in the salty air.”

“Oil is the past,” Ester said. “There’s no future in it. We want the sky to clear, not to continue polluting it. I’ve promised the people a different way forward. It looks like you’re making an effort, Admiral, and I thank you for that.”

“We still need fuel for our vessels,” Longbottom said. “And I’m not sure how much oil the Australians can afford to share.”

Ester could sense that Longbottom was expecting a quid pro quo in exchange for his efforts, so she gave it to him, as she and Hadrian had previously agreed she would.

“Very well,” she said. “Reopen the closest platform.”

“Excellent,” he said. “I believe this to be a very wise choice.”

“How soon do you expect to see the first tidal turbines installed?” Hadrian asked, making sure the admiral knew that he would be expected to carry through.

“Within twelve months,” Longbottom replied. “There’s a lot of work to be done.”

“And the new power grid will be constructed in such a manner that we will be able to hook the tidal generators right into it,” Ester said.

“Well, that will be more difficult,” the admiral said. “It would be better to wait until—”

“That wasn’t a question, Admiral. Nor was it a request. That was a statement. The new power grid is not going to be a jerry-rig. I want it purpose-built for
future
use with the tidal generators. And whatever ‘adaptations’ your people come up with will be to accommodate the nuclear reactors. Not the other way around. From now, we build with the future in mind. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Longbottom said, pissed because now his engineers would have to go back to the drawing board.

“And I would appreciate it if you would send daily reports to my office,” Hadrian added.

“
Daily
, sir?”

“Yes, daily.”

“Well, sir, you do realize that we may go for weeks at a time without any real changes in—”

“Daily reports,” Hadrian repeated. “And there had better be
some
kind of progress made on every one of them.” Then, offering the admiral some wiggle room, he added, “Even if it’s only the sketch of a new idea one of your engineers has put forward.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, I understand you also have security concerns,” Ester said, continuing their combined assault.

“Yes, well, on the issue of security, Madam President, we have located a site where a number of the pirates seem to be congregating on one of the lesser islands. I would like to know what, if anything, you’d like for me to do about this threat.”

Ester had heard these reports already, and though she knew the piracy problem was growing, she pretended not to be concerned. “What would you suggest, Admiral?”

“Cleaning them out, ma’am.”

“Then do whatever you deem necessary . . . so long as it doesn’t impede the Navy’s progress elsewhere.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Longbottom said, finally feeling some sense of accomplishment.

“Your list of responsibilities seems to be growing, doesn’t it, Admiral?”

“It does indeed,” Longbottom said.

“And to think you were worried about losing your importance,” Ester said with a chuckle. “Will there be anything else?”

“Not right now, Madam President, no.”

“I thank you again for your diligence,” she said. “And please pass my thanks down the chain of command.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

When the admiral was gone, Ester rose and went to the window, where she stood leaning on her cane. “Barry, how would you feel about being president again, of the Islands this time?”

“Excuse me?” Hadrian said.

“I’m tired,” she said, turning from the window. “And I wasn’t kidding about me not making a pimple on Golda Meir’s backside. I’m an astronomer, Barry. A novelty act. I wasn’t born to lead a society into the new era.”

“The Islanders love you, Ester. You’re gruff and tough, and that’s what they need in a leader right now.”

“But what if I die?” she said. “It’s better that you’re already in office by then. Andrew Johnson had a lot of trouble after Lincoln’s death. I think it would better for me to claim ill health and to step aside soon. We’ll tell the Islanders that I’m staying on as one of your advisers, and I’ll make regular appearances if they really feel they can’t live without me, but I worry I may cause more trouble in the long run by remaining in office.”

“The people elected you, Ester, and you agreed to take the job for six years. They believe in you. And if you’re really that worried about dying in office, I promise right now to do my best to make sure all of your visions come to fruition.”

“That’s the problem, Barry. This was never my vision. It’s the vision of some poor dead idealistic astronomer.”

“Don’t abandon these people now, Ester. There’s nothing that says a lawyer makes any better leader than an astronomer—and you’re learning. He didn’t show it, but giving the admiral permission to shell that pirate stronghold out of existence bought you a lot of capital with the Navy. Nothing makes a military man happier than getting to take military action.” He laughed. “He’s probably getting ready to sortie the entire fleet as we speak.”

Ester nodded grimly. “He may be, at that.”

“But after he takes this pirate stronghold down,” Hadrian cautioned, “pretend to lose interest in the pirates we have left. It’s too soon to tell, but we may need an enemy to help keep us unified. So we should allow these pirates time to recover a little bit before sending the admiral back out. It’s a fine balance you need to strike, Ester.”

“See?” she said, pointing at him with the tip of her cane. “That’s the type of political evil that would never occur to me.”

Hadrian grinned. “That’s what you’ve got me for, Ester.”