After: Whiteout (AFTER post-apocalyptic series, Book 4) (25 page)

You
deserve to get shot for being such a dumbass.

“You
look like you’re used to this,” DeVontay said, hoping to buy some time while
glancing around at the trees and terrain. The pistol was holstered on his hip,
and in no Wild West fantasy could he envision himself performing a daring
quick-draw. “I’ll bet those two guys who went AWOL with you ended up on the
wrong end of your gun, too.”

“They
had their little plans, and theirs didn’t fit mine. Somebody’s always got to
lose, and it’s not going to be me.”

DeVontay
lifted his chin and bellowed, “Hey.”

Kreutzman
laughed. “Nobody’s going to hear you. We’re nearly a mile from the compound and
three or four miles from Shipley’s bunker. But I can’t risk shooting you right
here. Hilyard or Wheeler might see your blood in the snow, and I’d have to drag
your body to a hole somewhere. But the creek ought to take care of the mess. So
get walking or start praying to whatever burr-headed African god you worship.”

DeVontay
stared down at the gun’s barrel and was the first to blink. As he sloshed
through the four inches of snow, he thought of Rachel’s last words to him.
I
don’t want to lose you again.

His
senses heightened as they took stock of their final impressions. He’d never
realized so much was going on all at once: the brittle tinkle of water falling
over stones in the creek, the soft sigh of the wind batting tiny pellets of
snow against the trees, the soothing texture of the moist air on his cheeks,
and the clean scent of the snow above the rotting autumn beneath his feet. This
was so beautiful and peaceful, and aside from the penetrating chill, it wasn’t
so bad as an image of heaven. He could easily die here amid the stark trunks of
trees, the deep evergreen fronds, and the water that spilled crystal mysteries
dredged from the deepest cracks of the Earth.

But
not this way.

Not
by the hands of somebody who didn’t value the—

“
Hey
!”

The
call came from somewhere above them, and DeVontay’s first thought was that
Hilyard must have followed them. But then other voices repeated the word.

“
Hey!
Heyheyhey. Heeeey!
”

“The
fuck?” Kreutzman spun, seeking the source of the words.

DeVontay
kicked at Kreutzman’s rifle, and it went off with a muffled
crack
.
Kreutzman screamed and curled his shooting hand, dropping the weapon. His
trigger finger was twisted at a grotesque angle, and as he grabbed his wrist,
DeVontay lunged at him. They tumbled down the ravine toward the creek, bouncing
off trees and rocks, their feet slipping when they scrambled for purchase.

DeVontay
ended up on top of Kruetzman when they sloshed to a stop at the water’s edge.
His wounded shoulder shrieked with raw nerve endings, and the fall had knocked
the wind out of him. He fumbled for a rock, intending to knock Kreutzman out
cold and mash his face into the shallow creek until the bubbles stopped. But
their grunts echoed back at them from all round.

Kreutzman
twisted his face away from the icy water. “Get off me, you black motherfucker.”

“Motherfucker!
Motherfucker!” chanted the voices.

DeVontay
released Kreutzman to go for the pistol, but Kreutzman exploited the opening to
drive an elbow in DeVontay’s wounded shoulder. It was like a steel spike had been
driven into his collarbone. The scab busted and oozed juice down his biceps,
and his arm went numb. With only his good arm to keep Kreutzman pinned, he
drove a knee into the base of Kreutzman’s spine. The soldier groaned in agony
and flopped into the creek.

DeVontay
clutched the back of Kreutzman’s scalp and drove his skull into the wet stones.
The resulting moist
sloosh
, like the dropping of a watermelon, horrified
DeVontay so much that he released his quarry and rolled onto his back, staring
at the silver and black lines of branches overhead as he fought to catch his
breath.

“Motherfucker!”
someone said, and DeVontay turned to see a man with glittering eyes, holding
Kreutzman’s rifle like a walking stick.

More
silhouettes came out of the chiaroscuro of the wintry forest.

They
gathered in the mud around the two men, their eyes glinting with tiny orange
slices of fire, white smoke boiling from their mouths as they chanted
“Motherfucker, motherfucker, motherfucker.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE

“I
bet they’re coming,” Stephen said.

Rachel
peered into the forest, but all she saw were the stark lines of trees and
swelling shadows as dusk crept in from the four corners of the world. The storm
had eased, but the ground was coated with a new skin of snow. Up on the lookout
platform, the air was so cold it worked through the layers of Rachel’s clothes.
She only owned two outfits and she’d donned both to take a turn as watch.
Stephen insisted on coming with her, and Franklin agreed, saying the boy should
take on more responsibility.

“I
can’t see the forest for the trees,” Rachel said. “And I can’t see the trees
because these branches are in the way.”

Stephen
lowered the binoculars and rubbed the foggy lenses on his coat. “Do you think
the Zapheads are evil?”

“I don’t
know. I don’t think people can decide such things. Only God.”

“But
if God made them, and God has a divine plan like you said, then they’re
supposed to be just the way they are, even if it means they want to kill us.
God put sharks in the ocean and they eat people.”

Rachel
had dwelt a lot less on theology since the solar storms. She’d made a
half-hearted effort to inspire Stephen, hoping the idea of a loving God would
provide comfort and strength. But Stephen now seemed more interested in
spiritual matters than Rachel did.

Zapheads
have no use for a god. They don’t care about right or wrong, good or evil. Like
nature, they simply ARE.

And
why should I believe in God if He’s willing to let me become a Zaphead?

“Maybe
the Zapheads are like the people in
Fahrenheit 451
,” Stephen said.
“They’re burning the cities because they want to erase the past.”

Stephen
had devoured the Ray Bradbury classic that posited a future where books were
outlawed and firemen burned books instead of saving buildings. He declared it
“probably almost as good” as
Animal Farm
. By the time he worked his way
through Franklin’s library, he would be one of the smartest little boys in the
world. Franklin challenged him with themes and ideas from the books, and
Stephen was bright enough to apply those lessons to their current bleak
situation.

“I’m
not sure they know or care about the past,” she said. “Maybe they just act on
instinct.”

Stephen
lowered his voice. “What’s it like?”

“What’s
what like?”

“When
you act like a Zaphead. When your eyes glow and stuff. How do you feel?”

Her
instinct—her
human
instinct—was to lie. But she had a responsibility
here, didn’t she? If she wanted the group to understand the mutants, she was in
some ways an ambassador for their kind. She wondered if the Zapheads would be
as welcoming, or if they would burn her for her human traits. A Halfling Joan
of Arc.

“You
ever had one of those dreams where something’s chasing you but you can’t see
what is, and you run and run and you’re not getting anywhere?”

“Yeah,
and you wake up tired.” Stephen peered through the binoculars again and scanned
the woods.

“Like
that, except you also…you want to hurt people.”

“Oh.
Is that the real reason you ran away from us?”

It’s
impossible to fool a child
. “Yeah,
but I was wrong. The farther away from the Zapheads I got, the less those kinds
of thoughts came to me.” She put an arm around his shoulders and gave him a
hug. “That’s why I’m better off sticking with you guys. You remind me of who I
am and what’s really important.”

“DeVontay
will be glad to hear that.”

She
tried to keep the worry out of her voice. The two men were supposed to return
an hour ago. She didn’t want to think of them lost in the dark. “Well, as soon
as he gets back, you can tell him.”

Stephen
let the binoculars drop to his chest and pointed. “There they are!”

He
cupped his hands to yell but Rachel grabbed his wrist. “Wait. We have to be
sure. Did you see their faces?”

“No,
but there’s two of them.”

She
squinted into the gloaming, looking for shadows to separate from the larger
blackness. “Why don’t you climb down and tell Franklin and the lieutenant?”

“Maybe
they got a deer.”

“You
like deer better than Slim Jims now, don’t you?”

“I’m
getting used to not having store stuff. But maybe we can go visit some towns
sometime.”

That
was something DeVontay had suggested, but Franklin favored waiting for spring.
Even if they raided remote cabins, they probably wouldn’t find much usable
food. Not many items were worth carrying for miles. Occasionally someone
returned from a scouting trip with a few cans or bottles, and the group
celebrated the arrival of those treats like a holiday. Maybe the men had
wandered far afield in search of such processed treasures and lost track of
time.

Stephen
wielded the binoculars again. “That’s weird. They didn’t come any closer.
They’re heading toward the big rocks.”

“Let
me see.”

Stephen
wrestled the strap from around his neck and passed the glasses to Rachel. She
focused in the direction he pointed and saw immediately that the two men
weren’t DeVontay and Kreutzman. They both carried rifles and DeVontay had taken
a pistol.

She
whispered, “Hurry, go tell the others. Code Yellow.”

“Zapheads?”

“I
don’t think so.”

Stephen
hurried to the wooden foot pegs and scuttled down like an agile monkey. He
dashed to the cabin, which was revealed only by a soft amber rectangle where
firelight leaked from a window. Rachel hadn’t brought a weapon with her, mostly
because she didn’t fully trust herself. Fortunately the two intruders didn’t
seem to know the whereabouts of the compound and their current course would
take them farther away with each step.

Rachel
rubbed her hands together, hoping friction would generate some heat inside the
knit wool mittens.
I wish DeVontay was here to warm me up.

What
if DeVontay and Kreutzman had encountered these men? DeVontay could be out
there bleeding his life away. She hadn’t heard any gunshots, but the mountain
terrain could swallow noise or exaggerate its origins, especially with muffling
layers of snow draping all surfaces.

The
door to the cabin opened and Rachel climbed down to meet the others. Franklin
and Hilyard were armed, and Stephen waited in the doorway. “Which way did they
go?” Franklin asked her.

She
pointed west. “They missed us.”

“They
might circle back. Did you see any others?”

“No,
but I didn’t really look. It wasn’t Zapheads or…I would have seen their eyes.”

“Could
be Shipley’s bunch on patrol,” Hilyard said. “Or it might be some hunters who’ve
wandered off the beaten path. We’re not the only ones who head for high ground
when things go to pieces.”

“Maybe
we should just lay low and let them go on past and get lost in the dark,” Franklin said. “We’re not at full strength.”

“It’s
often a good idea to avoid a fight,” Hilyard said. “But I’d like to go out and
take a look anyway, just in case there are more. If Shipley’s men surrounded
the compound while there was just the four of us, it could get ugly fast.”

“He
could burn us out with grenade launchers anyway,” Franklin said.

“Yeah,
but he has no idea what we have. With your reputation, I don’t think anyone
would be surprised if you had a couple of nukes wrapped in tin foil and
squirreled away somewhere.”

“In
the old days I could have scored some Napalm and TNT, but I was too liberal for
the patriots and too constitutional for the radicals.” Franklin patted his
rifle. “Now all I have is Bessie here. Good enough to take care of business.”

“So
I’m supposed to stay here with Stephen and keep the home fires burning?” Rachel
asked.

Franklin
gave her an affectionate look, his beard and wild
hair like that of some fantastic wizard. The dusk made his features seem even
sharper. “We’re old. You guys are the future. That makes you more important
than us.”

“Whatever
happened to your old saying that everybody was equal, even assholes and
astronauts?”

“All
of you should stay,” Hilyard said. “I’m trained for this. And if those are my
men out there, I want to give them a chance to surrender before I shoot them.”

“Fine,”
Franklin said. “But I’ll be up on the platform if you need backup. And like
you said, better to avoid a fight if possible. Rachel, take Stephen inside and
wait.”