The Survivors Book III: Winter (23 page)

"
True," I agreed quietly.  "Let's just hope that works in our favour.  For now, keep following this street."

Michael just nodded and fell silent, apparently sensing that I was in no mood to be reassured.
 He was right.  My run-ins with gangs over the years had been frequent and mostly unpleasant, and I didn't really want to have another one.  Suddenly, I realised that I was clutching my shotgun with a death-grip, and my knuckles were turning white.  I forced myself to take a deep breath, and relaxed my grip.

At least this time I had some control over the outcome of what felt like an inevitable conflict.
 I had people to watch my back.  Not just one person, either.  Now, I had twenty-three people, one feline, and an elderly sheepdog on my side.  I couldn't exactly rely on the kids or animals in a fight, but I trusted most of the adults.  The thought made me smile; how far I'd come, that I could use the t-word so freely.

"
Something up ahead," Michael said suddenly.  "I see a car."

I stuck my head out the window, and looked through the binoculars.
 There was an intersection coming up, where a car waited patiently at the stop sign.  After a few seconds, I shook my head.  "That car isn't going anywhere.  No driver.  You're getting as paranoid as me, honey."

"
Better safe than sorry," he said sheepishly.  We drove past the abandoned car and continued deeper into the city.  Well, town.  It was certainly bigger than Ohaupo and Arapuni, but not by much.

The trees on the roadside began to get thicker, interspersed with an odd mixture of vegetation.
 Shrubs and flower beds that had once been well-loved and tame had gone wild without the gardeners to care for them.  Now, they encroached on the road and were engaged in a brutal, silent battle with the larger trees for dominance and sunlight.

Every few meters, there was a gap in the foliage and a flash of colour beyond that told me that we'd entered suburbia.
 Faded weatherboards, broken fences, and the odd piece of discarded refuse paid testament to the people that had once called this place home.  They were gone now – or were they?  A brief movement caught my eye, but by the time I focused on it, it had vanished.

"
We're being watched," I concluded, trying to keep from sounding too morose; the last thing we needed was for me to make everyone else nervous.  Nervous people made mistakes.  Luckily for me, Michael wasn't the kind of man that disturbed easily.  He just nodded silently, and accepted my warning for what it was.

A few minutes later, the roads began to widen and the foliage thinned out, letting me finally get a clear look at the
buildings.  Most of them were in fairly decent condition, but there was one thing that immediately leapt to my attention.

"
Is that graffiti over there?" Michael asked suddenly.

"
Stop reading my mind," I scolded, though there was no genuine irritation in it.  "Yes, that's gang sign.  Like cats pissing on the furniture to mark their territory."

"
That's a lovely thought," he answered dryly.  "Should we start worrying about your cat doing that?"

"
Of course no," I said, putting on a mock-haughty tone.  "I'll have you know that Tigger is a lady.  She'd never do such an improper thing."

"
Oh, I see!" Michael responded by putting on a haughty tone of his own.  "Very good, then.  Carry on."  He returned to his normal tone of voice to ask a question.  "Do you know what they mean?"

I lifted the binoculars to my eyes and studied the markings for a moment before it started to make sense to me.
 "'Aua le sau i totonu'.  Looks like the Samoans.  That sign looks pretty old, though.  The paint is chipped and faded."  I studied the various words painted on the buildings nearby for a few minutes, then lowered the binoculars and looked back at him.  "If the Samoans are still here, that's potentially good for us.  I've had dealings with them before.  While they don't trust outsiders, they're unlikely to attack us unless we provoke them."

"
I'm sensing a ‘but' coming on," Michael commented, his brow furrowing in concern.  I nodded grimly and set the binoculars down in my lap.

"
But the sign is really old, and I'm not seeing any fresh tags," I replied.  "The Samoans are usually quite diligent about keeping their territory markers up-to-date.  It's unlikely that they'd let their tags fade that much."

"
Unless they've been displaced," Michael said, finishing the thought for me.

"
Or wiped out."  I shook my head and shrugged helplessly, then I grabbed my GPS off the dashboard and checked our position against it.  "Take this right, and keep following the road.  We should be coming up to a level crossing in a minute."

"
Follow the road?  That may be easier said than done," Michael commented dryly.

I glanced up, and promptly swore beneath my breath.
 I heaved a long-suffering sigh, grabbed my walkie-talkie, and spoke into it, "So, I know you guys are just dying for some exercise.  Who feels like wrestling a train?"

An assortment of groans and complaints came across the connection.
 I waited until the noise died down, then continued, "Yeah, yeah, whine all you want, but it's the fastest way to get where we want to go.  Little kids and animals stay in the car with the doors locked.  Teenagers and walking wounded, you're on guard duty.  Watch the rear and sides.  I want every able-bodied adult up at the front of the convoy.  It's time to get wet.  Sorry."

There were more groans, but I ignored them.
 Michael and I exchanged a smile as we climbed out and locked the doors behind us.  I put my shotgun over my shoulder on its carry strap, and made my way over to examine the train.

"
How on earth are we supposed to move that?" Michael asked, his voice raised to carry over the sound of the rain.  "That thing has to weigh tons, and the wheels are rusted solid."

"
We don't have to move the locomotive," I replied.  "If we uncouple the last carriage, then that should give us enough space to get through.  Cover me for a second while I take a closer look."

"
Okay," Michael agreed, though I could tell from his voice that he was dubious about the integrity of my plan.  I heard his footsteps behind me as I headed up to the train, and squeezed myself into the narrow gap between the last two carriages.

The coupling looked like a road map written in a foreign language.
 Still, I was pretty much used to working out all things mechanical based on pure logic.  After a minute or so, I figured out which lever would raise the pin that was keeping the carriages together.  I grabbed the lever and pulled, but it was rusted firmly into place.  A glance back over my shoulder told me that the others had gathered behind me, waiting patiently for instructions.

"
Hemi, can you please go find Skylar?" I asked.  "I need a can of CRC, a hammer and chisel, and a crowbar.  She should know where the tools are."

"
Got it!"  Hemi sketched a salute and raced off.  I turned to look at the others.

"
Okay, the plan here is that we're just going to get the last car loose," I explained.  "Then, we muscle it about three meters down the rails.  We should be able to squeeze through, no problem.  I'm going to need a couple of you strong blokes over here to open this lever.  Volunteers?"

Just about everyone stepped forward to volunteer, much to my amusement.
 I just grinned and beckoned Tane and Iorangi to my side.  Just as they joined me, Hemi reappeared with the tools we needed.  It took a few minutes of coaxing and a few teeth-grating shrieks, but eventually the lever began to move.

"
That's it, we've got it!" I cried victoriously, waving the crowbar to the waiting group.  "Okay, everyone.  Pick a side, and find something to grab."

Eager to follow my own instructions, I raced up to the far end of the carriage and braced my shoulder against an ancient hand railing.
 I felt a warm body join me, and looked back to see Michael right behind me, his strong hands flexing on the railing above my head.  He glanced down at me, smiled, and nodded his encouragement.

"
On the count of three," I cried, loudly enough for everyone to hear me.  "One, two, three – push!"

On command, I threw my weight against the train carriage's bulk.
 My feet slipped in the gravel for a second, then one of them struck a sleeper, giving me something to brace against.  Michael growled deep in his throat, a noise of determination more than frustration.  I felt him straining along with me, using every ounce of his strength to move the stubborn cab.  

For ten long years, it had stayed in exactly the same place, waiting for an engineer that would never return.
 For ten years, it had endured the elements, exposed, slowly turning to rust.  That much rusted metal didn't move easily – but, eventually, it did move.

At first, it was only a centimetre.
 Then another.  Then five centimetres.  Ten.  Twenty.

"
We're doing it!" I cried breathlessly.  "How far are we?"

"
About half way!" someone called back; I wasn't sure who.

"
Keep going," I gasped, throwing my weight against the railing with renewed enthusiasm.  "We can do this.  It's coming a little easier."

And it was.
 The farther we managed to move it, the more those rusted wheels began to loosen up on the railings.  Stars began to dance around the edge of my vision but I ignored them.  I was intensely focused on the task, and oblivious to everything except that one more millimetre.  Just a tiny, tiny bit more…

"
That's it!" the voice cried from the end of the line.  "That's enough, we can get through."

A collective cheer went up from the people around me.
 Overwhelmed by a sense of team victory, I shoved myself upright again – then promptly stumbled and fell against Michael's side.

He caught me before I could hit the ground, and turned a worried look on me.
 "Honey?  You all right?"

"
Yeah, I'm fine," I lied, waving away his concern.  "Just over-extended myself, that's all."

"
Okay…" he said softly, but his expression said that he didn't believe me.  He gently helped me back to my feet and released me.  I smiled at him and went to take a step back towards the others, except that my body didn't want to obey.  Before I quite realised what had happened to me, my feet had once more gone out from under me and I was on my way down.

Michael caught me again, but this time he didn't let me go.
 Despite my protests, he scooped me up and carried me back towards the convoy, past a row of faces that turned to watch with concern.

"
Put me down!" I demanded, thumping a fist ineffectively against his broad shoulder.  "I just need to sit down for a second, I'm totally fine."

"
You have a broad definition of 'fine' and we both know it," he answered, his voice deep, firm, and commanding.  It was a tone that I rarely heard from him since I'd taken command, but it was one that brooked no nonsense.  Before I could even think about forming a counter-argument, he'd carried me back to the car where Doctor Cross was standing guard over the children.

"
What did she do this time?" the doctor asked.  Without waiting for an explanation, Doc shoved his gun back into its makeshift holster, and stomped over to examine me.

"
Hey, I don't injure myself that often," I complained, but I didn't even bother trying to fend off the examination.  Doc was stronger than he looked, and I knew better than to resist his ministrations.  "I just got a little light-headed after we finished moving the train.  I keep telling him I'll be fine, but you know how much he worries about me."

"
And with good reason."  Doc stood back and gave me a sharp look, one that instantly made me feel like a naughty child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.  "Ms McDermott, need I remind you
yet again
that you suffered a concussion not even a week ago?  You are one of the walking wounded, and you know that you're not supposed to be exerting yourself."

"
I needed to," I answered sharply; it always made me a little bit cross when he used that tone with me, and now was no different.  "It was all hands on deck.  We needed everyone."

"
Did you let them try without you first?  Are you sure that they needed you?" he countered, his eyes narrowed to slivers behind the scratched lenses of his glasses.

"
Well, no," I admitted, then swiftly rose to defend myself, "but I didn't want to.  A leader should always be willing to do anything that she asks her followers to do.  It wouldn't be right for me to ask them to muck in, and not do it myself."

"
And yet you were perfectly happy to assign the other walking wounded, myself included, to guard duty," he pointed out.  His voice softened suddenly, and his expression turned almost fatherly.  "Ms McDermott – Sandy – the most important thing about being a leader is learning your own limitations, and knowing how to follow your own rules.  I know that you want to contribute so that the others don't think that you're using your position to slack off, and I understand that.  I really do.  But, it simply isn't necessary."