Ragnarok Rising: The Crossing (The Ragnarok Rising Saga) (30 page)

Southard climbed out of one Humvee and Sanders from another one. Corporal Winston exited the third one while Webber got out of the fourth. Each Humvee had a weapon on the turret and a person behind it. The two Hemmitts were driven by Bowman and
Sergeant McDonald. I noticed that they were the two Hemmitts that Bowman had nicknamed the "Honey Badgers." There was a person manning both min-guns.

"Looks like you've been busy," I said, as I shook Chuck's hand.

"Damned busy," he agreed, smiling broadly.

"Is everyone here?" I asked, glancing around.

"Yeah," he said, grinning. "We've emptied the underground. Everyone is inside the bunker."

"Does Karen and the boys know we're back?" I asked, returning the grin.

"I'm sure they do, by now," he said. "No one seems to be able to keep a secret around here."

"We need to get everyone back inside the bunker," said Gunny, stepping up and slapping me on the shoulder.

"Still having trouble with the
Stalkers
?" I asked, flashing him a smile.

"You might say that," he said. "There are a lot of the
gawdamned
things around here."

"We picked up
a few new people," said First Sergeant Gregory.

"Yeah," said Gunny. "They showed up at the Underground, right after you left. They were looking for
Matthews. Friends of his, from before this all started. Some guy named Gage and a group of survivors."

"Good," I said. "We can always use more good people."

We loaded everyone into the vehicles as quickly as we could, then headed back for the bunker. There were several large semi-trucks with trailers parked in the parking lots. When the bunker came into view, I noticed that the doors down inside were open, now. We drove right inside and they began shutting behind us. In seconds, they were closed and a security team began to sweep the area and vehicles to make certain nothing got in. It was efficient and well done. I could see Gunny and First Sergeant Gregory had been busy, too.

The next few hours were a blur of introductions, hugs, handshakes and people welcoming us home. Karen was too happy to see both Elliott and me to be too angry. I wasn't looking forward to explaining everything that happened,
but I was glad to be here to explain it. We had to be alive in order for her to be pissed off at us.

"Dream no small dreams for they have no power to move the hearts of men."

-
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

We spent that first day just getting everyone settled and our wounds treated. Maddie was right on the money, checking everyone for wounds and for any sign of being bitten. Despite the beating we’d given one another, Snake and I both didn’t look any worse for wear. In fact, I felt pretty damned good. We’d rescued my son, found a group of survivors and had added two engineers to our group. All in all, it was a big win for us.

Karen and I spent a long time talking. She wasn’t happy with the story, but I didn’t leave anything out. I didn’t want to lie to her. The truth is everything. With the world falling apart around us, your word is really all you have. I knew she wouldn’t be happy, but I also knew that she trusted me. If I was always honest with her, then I had nothing to hide.

I caught up on my sleep in our quarters. Karen had found my gear in the Commanding Officer’s quarters and staked out a claim. There was room for all of us. She had turned the attached office into a private bedroom for the two of us, and the boys had bunk beds in the main part of the room. It also had a private bathroom. It was as much of a home as she could make it in only a few days.

15 May

It was early the next morning when Snake came to see me. He’d been welcomed into the group, but not everyone had taken to him. His gruff demeanor, tattoos, beard and long hair had instantly set him apart from the military/law enforcement crowd. While no one was hostile towards him, no one was particularly inviting either. I knew it would just take time. Snake would prove himself, I was certain.

“You got a minute?” he asked, stepping into my room.

“I’ll let you two talk,” said Karen, slipping out of the room.

Karen blamed him as much as she did me for my near miss with Spec-4. She might let it go and change her mind about him
, given time. The sky might turn green, too. Karen could hold a grudge like no other. Considering the fact that we all needed each other, she’d just have to learn to live with it. At least, I hoped she’d learn to live with it.

“What’s up?” I asked, once Karen was out of the room.

“You still want that tattoo?” he asked, grinning.

“How are we going to do that?” I asked.

“I have a tattoo kit in my bag,” he said, smiling. “I made the gun out of an alarm clock.”

“Where did you get that idea?” I said, surprised.

“I read about it in a book about Russian prison camps,” he explained. “The prisoners in the Gulags would make tattoo guns out of alarm clocks and ink out of the burnt soles of boots and whatever else they can think of.”

“What did you make the ink out of?” I said, a little worried.

“No worries, man,” he said. “My stuff is clean. It’s actual ink. I used to work in a tattoo shop. I’ve been inking people for years.”

I thought about it for a bit. Karen didn’t care about me getting tattoos. She never did, so long as they had meaning behind them. No odd drawings or weird designs. Each tat
too had to be significant. Snake was right. Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse was a major event. It was worth commemorating.

“Alright,” I said, smiling. “But it has to be something relevant. No bullshit.”

“What do you have in mind?” he asked, unpacking his gear.

“I don’t know,” I said, thinking. “It needs to be something that fits the theme of the rest of them. Something significant to my beliefs and my life.”

“So…,” he said, pausing, “something Viking themed or about the Gods.”

“Exactly,” I said.

He took out his tat gun and started winding it. Then he used alcohol and a lighter to sterilize the needle.

“It’s a new needle,” he assured me. “It’s never been used.”

“OK,” I said, removing my shirt. “How about a piece on my back?”

“Alright,” he said, slipping on a pair of gloves. “I have an idea.”

“What?”

“Let’s let the skin tell the story,” he said,
solemnly. “I’ll just see what appears when I draw.”

“Just so long as it’s nothing cheesy,” I said, frowning.

“I’ve never done any cheesy art in my life,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not about to start now.”

I lay down on the floor and he began. The
click-click
rhythm of the homemade gun was oddly soothing. The pain of the needle faded quickly, and soon I didn’t even notice it. The time seemed to blur as he continued to work on my back. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when I knew I had a fever. I knew I had to be having a bad reaction to the ink, but I couldn’t seem to move or say anything to stop him. As my head swam, I felt myself blacking out. The dreams returned, more vividly than ever before.

I knew it was a dream because everything had that odd feel to it.
I was also no longer in my room. I was alone and standing somewhere that I didn't recognize. The edge of my vision was just swirling shadow. I was walking in darkness. Somewhere in that darkness, I could hear the ringing of steel on steel. It was rhythmic and steady.

BING…ting…BING….ting.

Loud then soft. It droned on and on. Even though I couldn’t see any shapes in the darkness, I moved towards the sound. Slowly, the sound grew louder and I began to make out a small point of light, ahead. Using that as a focus point, I continued to walk directly at it.

BING…ting…BING….ting.

As the sound grew louder and the light became larger, I began to notice shapes in the swirling shadow. Sometimes they were like smoke, but other times they almost took on a form. I strained to make out any details, but it was just smoke and darkness. No clear images appeared.

BING…ting…BING….ting.

The light now was becoming a reddish glow, almost like the embers of a fire. I could see the shape of a man leaning over those coals. His back was to me and he held something into the coals until it too glowed like them. Then he removed it and placed it on a darkened surface. Raising a large hammer over his head, he began striking the heated steel.

BING…ting…BING….ting.

The shapes in the darkness became more distinct as I grew closer. At first, I saw the shapes of the Vikings I had dreamed of. I was seeing their spirits in the smoke. I could tell who they were, but their features were blurred from the smoke. Every time I could make one out, it would vanish in the swirling smoke. Then another would form in another place.

First there was Hjalmar
. I knew him instantly. Next came the others that had stood on that dock with me as we held the line against the dead. Skeld, Bjornigar, Wulf, and others whose names I knew but could not recall. They each appeared in the smoke and vanished. Others joined them. Faces I knew from this life.

There was Ian Shane, Sergeant Daniels, Matthews, Shu, Sheriff Hawkins, and many others.
They appeared in the smoke and disappeared as I saw them clearly. It was the honored dead. Friends and warriors who had given their lives fighting this evil. I was proud to know each and every one of them.

BING…ting…BING….ting.

I could now see that there was a small hut or barn that the glow was coming from. The person that was hunched over the steel was old and looked frail, but I could see muscles like coiled steel rolling beneath the weathered skin. I could smell the forge and the hot metal as whoever it was continued to work the forge. In the glowing metal, I could see the shape of a great war hammer.

BING…ting…BING….ting.

I moved around the edge of the fire to stand on the other side of the smith. When he looked up at me, I recognized him instantly. I couldn’t mistake the pale, dirty hair. He still had a bandage over one eye, and his good eye blazed with an intensity that matched the burning embers in front of him. It was the old man from the barn. The one who had saved me from the
Freemen.

“You…,” I stammered.

“Yes, me,” he said, his voice, stronger now. Deeper and more powerful.

“You’re dead,” I said, not sure what else to say.

“Alive, dead,” he said, smiling. “It matters, not.”

As I leaned in, I could feel the searing heat of the forge. It was so hot, I had to lean back or be burned. I knew that this was a dream, but it was so r
eal I could feel it. I could feel the heat, smell the forge, even taste the sweat that was pouring down my face. It was only a dream. Or was it?

“How?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“
How
simply doesn’t matter,” he explained. “
Why
is more the question.”

“What do you mean?”

“So many questions,” he said, tauntingly. “So few answers.”

“Alright,” I said, “Why? Why are you here?”

“
Brjótanir!”
he exclaimed. “You named him. Now it’s time to
make
him.”

“How?” I
asked, stunned.

“
You forge it, of course,” he explained, like he was talking to a small child.

“
But we don’t have a forge,” I said, shaking my head.

“
Not yet,” he said. “But you will.”

“
Why do we need a forge?”

“
There will come a time,” he explained, “that your guns will do you no good. Your best chance will be in weapons that you wield in your hand.”

With
that, he gestured for me to follow him. We walked back out of the shed and into the darkness. I could feel the coolness of the air as we left the forge behind us. When I turned to look back, the building and the forge were gone. They had disappeared in the smoke, like the spirits of the warriors. When I turned back, the old man was gone.