Dredd saluted; the general waved his gesture away – as he always did – because rank meant very little and Pimlico was not the kind of guy to stipulate respect; he just
got
it.
'So I take it you didn't come across a bus-load of day-trippers since the last time we spoke?' He shook Dredd's hand so viciously that it felt like his shoulder had come unhinged.
Dredd nodded dissent. 'I didn't come across anything out there,' he said. It was time, he thought, to saddle up and ride into the sunset; any remaining survivors would have made themselves known as he flew over, and he'd seen nobody. If there were people in hiding – perhaps at the mall or in some derelict apartment-complex – there was nothing he could do to help them now.
'So we're just about done here,' the general said. He was staring at the ground, at the loose sand which blew on a breeze around their feet. 'Pity.'
It
was
a pity, because come tomorrow, the jets were making a delivery; six B61 nukes, 340 kilotons each, were to be launched strategically from three planes, leaving nothing between Louisiana and the Delta National Forest but smouldering rubble and enough radiation to make Chernobyl look like a gas-leak. It was a manoeuvre meant for only one thing: Destroy all living – or dead – things within a thousand miles. In doing so they would be free of worry for long enough to complete their assignments. Just knowing that all undead close enough to cause problems had evaporated would satisfy the survivors no end.
It was for the good of humanity; for the success of a controlled regeneration of mankind. Excessive, but necessary.
Like taking missiles to a cockroach-infestation.
'Have you seen Emma?' Dredd asked, sensing the moroseness of the atmosphere and needing to be a way from it.
Pimlico brightened. 'Ahhh, the good lady wife. She's been working on a special meal for you over by the base. I don't know what you did to deserve her,' he smiled, 'but you've damn well got the only decent woman left alive in this godforsaken place.'
As Dredd walked away from the general, nodding, his stomach growling to remind him just how hungry he was, he knew that Frank Pimlico was not far wrong with his elucidation.
*
The food was amazing, though it would have been just as delicious if it had been beans and rice again. Dredd didn't know where Emma had managed to find ripe apples, and because he was enjoying himself too much forgot to ask.
Gabriella ate with a few of the other children a little farther down the beach, which made the meal he shared with Emma somewhat romantic. There was a candle in the centre of the table, which continued to flicker even now they had finished their food. It was, Dredd thought, one of the nicest things to have happened to him since the nightmare began.
Emma was without make-up, as she had been for weeks, and Dredd was thankful for it. She was naturally beautiful, the kind of woman who would turn heads just wandering around the cereal aisle of a supermarket. She didn't need any artificial beauty to enhance what she already possessed.
As she sat opposite, the wind flowing through the gazebo causing her hair to flutter, Dredd could see that she wanted to ask something. She had that look about her; the eyes were up and she was chewing the inside of her lip, awaiting the best way to approach whatever it was that needed asking.
He would have to pre-empt her.
'They're doing it tomorrow,' he said, guessing that that was what bothered her so visibly.
She nodded, reached for her glass – water, since wine had become something of a rarity – and proceeded to quaff thirstily from it.
Dredd waited. There was no point embellishing until she responded.
She placed the glass down, keeping hold of the stem so that she had something to play with while they talked. 'And nothing's going to delay them?' She shook her head. 'Shit, James, there could be survivors back there. Hundreds of people, hiding away from those things—'
'I
know
. Don't you think I
know
that?' He paused. 'I've been out there scouring the streets for days, and I haven't come across anybody. I don't like the idea of the bombs any more than you do, but they want to neutralize any potential threat from the north, and that's the best way to do it.'
Emma rotated her glass nervously. 'They don't need to make certain, not like this. We're going to the island; those fuckers can't swim. The nukes won't make any difference . . .'
Dredd relaxed back into his seat. It was raining heavier, now, pattering on the polyester above, a rhythmic drum-roll that seemed to ease the tension beneath the canopy.
'Those things terrify me,' Emma said.
'The snipers are doing a good job of—'
'No, the
bombs
,' she said. 'When we were kids, that was the only thing that frightened me. My dad would tell us about Russia, about how they had more nukes than we did and were more likely to use them. I remember sitting in my bedroom listening to the radio, and thinking to myself just how little we would know about it if someone launched one of those things. If the Russians actually nuked us. I'd seen videos, and it always frightened me how massive the destruction was.' She sipped the last of her water before lowering the glass. 'And tomorrow we're going to launch six of them. Forgive me for freaking out a bit.'
Dredd didn't know what to say; her father's scaremongering had obviously affected her. He reached across the table and grabbed her hands in his, enveloping each tiny digit and stroking the wedding-band with his thumb.
'You know I would never let anything bad happen to you, to Gabriella, to us. Those bombs will be detonated so far away you won't even see them. Honey, we'll be on a boat down the Mississippi this time tomorrow, and when we reach that island we're gonna build us a new life, a fresh start, and everything that's come before won't matter. The future is all we have left, and I know that as long as we have each other, then there is absolutely nothing to be scared of.'
The torrent of rain was dripping all around them now; they were surrounded by their own personal waterfall. Dredd wondered if people could see in, see what they were doing. He sure as hell couldn't see out.
'You been practising that?' Emma asked, her lips curling slightly into a smile.
'All improv, babe,' Dredd said. 'Did it sound scripted?'
'Kinda.'
Dredd squeezed her hand and let go. He glanced around at the cataract beleaguering them. 'At this rate we won't need to get on the boat.'
Just then, Gabriella appeared, rushing through the rain into the gazebo. She was soaked to the bone; her hair was painted to her face. She must have been freezing.
'Honey, what are you doing?' Emma stood and picked their daughter up. She pushed the clingy bangs away from her face and dried her – albeit unsuccessfully – with her palm.
'Lizzie says we're leaving on the boats tomorrow,' Gabriella said. 'Does that mean we're going to our new home?'
Emma shot Dredd a glance, and he shrugged, which pretty much meant the show was all hers.
'If Lizzie says so,' Emma said. She placed Gabriella down on the ground and began to wipe at her with the side of the tablecloth. 'I've told you not to listen to everything people tell you, darling, but this time your friend might be right.'
'So do I need to start packing?'
Gabriella could be a pain in the ass at times; but she could also be adorable, and this was one of the latter.
'How much stuff do you have?' Dredd sniggered. It was true; their daughter had one bag, which she had been living out of since they arrived at the base. There should have been nothing to pack.
'Daddy, a woman needs her luxuries,' Gabriella said, deadly serious. She turned to Emma, who was rubbing the one remaining corner of the tablecloth around Gabriella's forehead. 'Isn't that right, Mommy?'
Emma laughed. 'Don't put me on the spot. Your daddy thinks this apocalypse is the best thing to ever happen. Stops me from going out shoe-shopping.'
They all laughed; even Gabriella, though she had no idea why.
She ran off wearing the tablecloth over her head, back to that little loudmouth friend of hers.
'She doesn't need to know about the bombs,' Emma said, watching Gabriella race through the rain. 'It'll only frighten her, and I don't want her growing up with that fear.'
Dredd leaned in and kissed Emma tenderly on the earlobe, pulling her towards him. 'Shall we finish this the way I've been dreaming all day long.'
Emma laughed. She knew exactly what he meant, and she didn't want to tell him that she had been thinking it too, in case he began to take it for granted.
They headed to their tent, satisfied on food and soon to be sated entirely.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
'Holy shit!' Marla said as they crossed the first row of tracks. 'Have you ever seen so much . . . so much rail?'
She was right; it was spectacular. There were eight tracks in the first block, three of which were clear but the others had static trains sitting on them. This was marked as a receiving yard. Opposite, across a thin platform, were a further eight tracks. Two trains were parked up there, which led them to believe that the other six were still out there, perhaps halfway between destination and here, maybe stuck at the other end.
'Says Departure Yard,' Shane said, pointing across to the battered sign on the cabin wall. 'I guess these two never made it.'
Terry was examining the first train, whistling – which was something he hadn't done in a long time – as he dropped to his knees to check beneath.
Abi and Lukas were sitting on the platform, smoking. Once again, Shane had a strange feeling that these newcomers were going to bring nothing but trouble, with the exception of the kid, Saul.
'Any supplies?' Marla asked Terry as he straightened up and stretched his ageing back.
'These could be full of stuff,' Terry said, pointing to the huge stack of multicoloured containers at the end of the track. 'I'd say they were meant to go somewhere and never made it out. Shit, we might have dropped lucky, here.'
'We can't carry any more,' Shane reminded them. 'I'm struggling as it is.'
'I didn't mean dropped lucky with the containers,' Terry said. 'I used to work for the rail company, back when I was a whipper-snapper. I never really grew out of it, either. This thing's like a big train-set to me.'
Shane shrugged. 'I have no idea what you're trying to say.'
Sighing, Terry jabbed a finger in the direction the two trains on the departure yard were pointed. 'We need to be going that way, huh?'
Shane nodded.
'If I can get one of these things running, we could make it to the coast in a couple of hours, provided the track's clear all the way through.'
Shane heard the words; he just couldn't comprehend what Terry was saying. 'Couple of hours,' he mumbled, though not as a question or acknowledgement, but because it was the last thing he'd heard of any worth.
'I ain't saying I can do it, mind,' Terry added, but Shane wasn't interested in the disclaimer.
'Are you telling me that you might be able to get one of these things running?' Shane asked, still letting it soak in.
'I'm sayin' I can
try
,' Terry said.
Marla stepped in. 'Hang on a minute. Can I remind you that we've been without electricity since the prison. How in the hell—'
'Diesel locomotives,' Terry interjected. He appeared to be pleased with himself, too. 'These two – or at least that one there,' he pointed at the second, larger engine, 'don't run off electric. They've got a driveshaft, just like a car. So long as there's a couple of thousand gallons of diesel in it, we may be able to get it running.'
Shane placed both hands behind his head; this was the best goddamned news he'd had in weeks. 'What do you need to get started?'
Terry huffed. To Marla he said, 'Well, I'm not counting on a nice massage from this here beauty, so I guess I just need some tools, an hour's rest and a lot of luck from the guy upstairs.'
Shane didn't know about the last one, but he was pretty sure there would be tools; a place like this would have a maintenance departments, a stores where they kept spare parts and refurbished components.
'You go take a nap,' Shane said, knowing that the old man would do nothing of the sort. A rest, to him, meant finding somewhere quiet to sit and read a few passages from his bible. 'When you're ready to take a look, I'll have found you some tools.'
As Terry hobbled across to the separating platform, Marla edged a few steps closer to Shane.
'You think he can do it?' she asked. The tone of her own voice implied that she wasn't sure.
'We need to rest, anyway,' Shane said, rubbing at the soreness across his shoulders. The thought of being without the pack for a few hours was euphoric. 'If, when he takes a look, he can't, then at least we'll be ready for a few more hours on the road. No harm in trying.'
Marla followed Shane along the track to a small industrial unit. A place that looked, to Shane, a dead-cert for maintenance implements.
*
Lukas watched the prick and his bitch walk towards the unit. His cigarette had burned so low that it singed his fingers. When the pain finally registered, he flicked the butt onto the track in front of them and sighed.
'Did you hear the way that bitch talked to me?' he grunted. 'I swear, if she hadn't had her
Imperial-fucking-guards
standing beside her, I woulda slapped the shit outtta her.'
Abi was miles away; Lukas waited for a response, but it never came.
'Hey! Fuckface, I'm talking to you.'
Her head snapped across. Upon her face was an expression of fear and annoyance, as if she couldn't decide whether to be angry with him, or apologetic.
'Do you think she's pretty?' Abi asked.
Lukas had been expecting an apology, an
I'm sorry, I fucked up for not paying attention when I shoulda been
, and so when the question fell from her mouth he was a little more than surprised.