I knew right off that my reasoning was seriously flawed. For some stupid, inexplicable reason, I was still holding fast to the idea that not everyone left was a potential killer. What was wrong with me? After what had happened in Orlando, St. Cloud, and on the trip up here, I still found myself struggling to remain optimistic. And after escaping the underground government facility, I still held out hope for the survival of the human race.
Even after this morning’s events, I still felt this way. I knew I shouldn’t, but I did. And though Fields and I were hiding from a gang of bikers, I struggled to convince myself that it might be possible to walk out there and talk to them.
I quickly dismissed that notion, knowing full well that it would be certain suicide to show ourselves. Nothing and no one was safe anymore. No matter how anything looked or felt or seemed, we had to assume the worst. These were bikers, and everyone knew what they were like. In this new age of death and destruction, we faced roving gangs doing whatever they wanted. I could only assume this group was heavily armed, and would not hesitate to kill us.
Except something told me they might not want to kill Fields.
Not right off, anyway.
The choppers stopped idling. In moments, a heavy, eerie silence dropped over us like a smothering blanket.
My nerves twitched as Fields and I heard heavy footsteps.
“Hey! Anyone hangin’ around?”
The footfalls sounded like heavy boots. The sounds grew louder and stopped abruptly near the loading dock doorway. I heard what sounded like glass being broken farther down, in the back lot. Someone chuckled. Someone else coughed wetly and spat. The heavy footfalls resumed, growing louder before stopping again. “Anyone here?”
More glass shattering. It sounded like someone was smashing bottles onto the concrete. Another cough; someone hawked loudly. The clicking of a gun hammer issued near the doorway, making us both shudder, and we heard another cough.
The heavy footfalls resumed, moving toward us. Several steps later they stopped, around twenty feet away. A hissing sound, followed by a loud, barking cough resonated so loudly that it hurt my ears. A loud hawking sound preceded a
splat
! onto the concrete floor in front of the barrels. Another cough, then the clearing of someone’s voice.
“Hey, Trapper! Where the fuck didja find this shit? Jammed up a dead dog’s ass?”
“You’re smokin’ it, ain’tcha?” came the distant reply.
“Only ’cause we can’t find nothin’ better!”
A heavy whiff of marijuana smoke drifted our way as it crawled over the barrels. I lowered my head so I wouldn‘t sneeze. Fields lowered her head as well.
“Ya don’t like it?” The distant voice grew louder as the second biker approached the dock. “Take a dump and snort it instead.”
“Funny, asshole. Real funny.”
A different voice out back said, “Anything in there worth takin’?”
The footfalls started up again. It sounded like whoever was in the room with us was looking around. A loud bang resonated, and something slammed into the barrels. Fields stiffened. The biker had probably kicked one of the barrels lying on its side. “Just horse feed, dog food, straw—nothin’ but farm shit.”
More footfalls. A second biker climbed the slab leading into the dock. Fields pressed her right side against the wall.
“There’s gotta be a chick around here somewhere. I’m so fuckin’ horny, my balls are gettin’ all swollen and fucked up, rubbin’ against my knees.”
“Use your fuckin’ hand, ya wuss.”
“Tired of that shit.”
“Get used to it, dude. Ain’t no fuckin’ chicks around here. We been lookin’ for two days.”
“
Got
to be...” More footfalls.
Fields tensed up, pressing harder against the wall. I felt badly that I couldn’t reassure her. I didn’t want to jump up and start blasting away. I had no idea how many bikers were out there or where they were, and didn’t want to start up a firefight. The .357 carried six; Fields’ .45 held eight. The Beretta in my pocket also had eight, but was useless for anything beyond ten or twelve feet, and would probably take most of the mag to stop one big biker wearing heavy leather.
The footfalls stopped. Someone was sniffing. “I can always tell when there’s pussy around.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“What the fuck’s
that
have to do with anything?”
“You’re losin’ it, dude. Suck it up.”
“That last bitch wasn’t worth the trouble, couldn’t even remember she even had a pussy.”
A chuckle. “She just needed reminded. Didn’t take much.”
“Ain’t no fun doin’ a chick when she don’t even know what’s happenin’”
“The way it is, dude. Gotta nail what we find while it’s fresh. Wait too long and they get so fuckin’ stupid, they ain’t even worth the time.”
“Ain’t nothin’ fresh no more, goddammit.”
More coughing and hacking somewhere out in the back lot.
“That fucker Morgan’s gettin’ it bad.”
“Leave ’im alone. He don’t have long.”
“I say cap ’im now, before we head for Pittsburgh. Excess baggage.”
“Then they’ll only be four of us.”
“So? He ain’t no good no more, and he’s gettin’ worse. Pissed his pants last night, didn’t even know it. I had to tell ’im, smelled so bad.”
“So? It happens.”
“Ain’t happenin’ to
this
boy.” A snort.
“Wanna bet?”
“Hey, I piss my pants? That’s when I eat a bullet.”
“Lemme know when you’re ready for chow, dude.
I’ll
serve it up for ya.”
“You’re all fart, Trapper.”
More coughing and hawking out back.
“Fucker’s gross. Real gross, coughin’ up his insides so much.”
“C’mon, we gotta check the store. Then we’ll get some gas and head on back to camp.”
“What about Morgan?”
“What about ’im? He’s a brother, dude.”
“He craps his pants,
you’re
the one beddin’ down with ’im.”
“Go fuck yourself.” The footfalls resumed.
“Gonna have to. No fuckin’ chicks around no more.”
“Stop your whinin’. They’ll be chicks in Pittsburgh.”
“Ya sure?”
“Course I’m not fuckin’ sure, dude. Who the fuck ya think I am? One of those fuckin’ mental dudes they used to show on the TV?”
The footfalls grew fainter.
About a minute after the two left the dock, someone came back and tossed something at the palettes of horse feed. I couldn’t make out what it was but decided it was something large and fairly heavy, like a strip of rebar, or a piece of fencing. Then silence. We waited tensely, but no one else came back.
Outside, the bikers yelled to one another near the gas pumps.
“Hey, Trapper ... What the fuck’s
this
?”
“No tellin’, dude. If ya can’t eat it or smoke it, leave it be.”
“Looks like a strip of beef jerky some dickhead tossed in the dirt.”
“Eat it, then.”
“Kinda funky.”
“Then
don’t
eat it.”
“Where ya goin’ Morgan? Get back here.”
A loud, wet cough. “Wanna check out those trucks in the back!”
Fields and I tensed up.
“Forget it, dude. We gotta get back to camp.”
“Pops, you gotta quit tellin’ me what to do. I don’t wanna go to school no more!”
“I ain’t your old man, Morgan. How many times I gotta tell ya?”
“Shit, he’s losin’ it again, dammit.
Told
ya he’s a fuckin’ fruitcake.”
“Billy ain’t eatin’ his peas, Moms. Can I have ’em?”
“Get your fuckin’ ass on that hog right now!”
“Comin’, Pops.”
A chopper exploded into rough idle. A few seconds after that, another chopper fired up, followed by a third.
A gunshot rang out, slamming through the area and causing the walls and floor to vibrate.
Fields and I both cringed.
More shouting, but the idling of the choppers drowned it all out. It sounded like a heated argument but didn’t last very long.
Then, one by one, the shifting of gears lowered the volume of chaos. The cycles eased back out onto the main road, quickly opening up as they roared south on Saxonburg Boulevard.
After about a minute, the wonderful silence returned, sweetening the air while lifting our spirits. Fields eased out of her crouched position and let her head fall back, causing her hair to slide down my thighs. I left my gun in my lap and rubbed her shoulders. She was warm and damp with sweat, and still trembled.
“Think they’re really gone?” she whispered.
“I think so.” I was hesitant about saying anything else. We’d been through a lot in just a few hours.
“They left ... someone behind, didn’t they?”
“Yeah.”
She was silent for a few moments. “I wonder where they ... left him.”
I didn’t want her to see another corpse so soon after the incident with Don, but I couldn’t very well protect her from the horrors of daily reality.
“I’m sure we’ll find out when we get ready to drive out of here.”
“They might have ... he could be lying there ... in the middle of...”
“We can’t sit here and worry about this. We’ve got things to do.”
We both got up. For me, it was slow-going and painful. We’d both been wedged in a tightly cramped position for close to an hour and I’d lost the circulation in my legs. I used the edge of the barrel for leverage to push myself up. Then I shoved the .357 under my belt in the small of my back and leaned against the wall for support while waiting for the feeling to return in my limbs.
Fields got right up and shoved the .45 in the Uncle Mike’s holster above her hip. She vigorously rubbed feeling into her thighs and alternately raised her feet and shook them. Then she began moving around again and waiting for me. She was, after all, several years younger than me, and in better shape.
Once the tingling in my legs and feet had subsided, I took a few tentative steps and stretched. Soon I began feeling more like myself.
We went over to the open doorway and scanned the lot. Other than the shattered shards of glass made from the bottles the bikers had tossed, the place looked no different. Most important, the truck remained where we’d left it.
Without warning, Fields wrapped her arms around my neck and clung tightly to me. She was shivering. I put my arms around her waist and hugged her back. I could tell she was coming to grips with our close call. Needless to say, the sudden contact made me feel much better.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her hot breath in my ear.
Despite my own ebbing tension, I couldn’t help becoming aroused. But this wasn’t exactly the right time or place for romance.
“For what?” I asked.
“For being there ... with me.”
“I just happened to be in the neighborhood, so...”
She rested her head on my shoulder. “You were right there, beside me. You didn’t come apart. You ... well, you’re always strong. You’re always thinking. You never panic or let things overwhelm you. It helps.”
“Everything’s gonna be okay.” The military had taught me that keeping a clear head can mean the difference between life and death. In this new world, there could be no room for panic. Daily horrors and tragedies had become commonplace. Zoning out, along with instant denial, meant death.
Fields sighed. “Are we still doing the propane?”
“Since we’re here, we might as well.”
“Still want me to check the pumps?”
I could tell that she didn’t want to go around the building. The dead biker probably lay in plain sight.
“No need. The bikers used them, so they’re probably still working. Stay right here and keep watch while I hunt for a dolly. If you see or hear anything, let me know right away. Then get out of sight. Unless something else happens, I’ll let you know when I need you to help me load up.”
“No. I can’t see anything from here, and by the time I hear something, it’ll be too late. I’ve got to be out front, near the road.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes I do. I really do.”
“Fields, there’s no need...”
“I’m a big girl. I’ve already seen three bodies today. I even made one of them, remember?”
Despite my fears, I couldn’t tell her not to do this. We all had to fight our own demons in our own way. “Just don’t spend too much time looking at the body. His problems are over. Concentrate on keeping an eye on the road.”
She kissed me lightly on the cheek and mussed my hair. Without another word she went down the steps and crossed the lot, keeping away from the broken glass and other things scattered on the ground. While she went up toward the gate, I went over to where the tanks sat in their fenced-in pen on the slab.