Will to Survive (5 page)

And that's when our conversation really began.

 

5

After my session with Maureen, I went back home and, to my surprise, actually fell asleep for an hour or so. Then I woke up to the sound of the twins' voices coming from downstairs, low murmurs at first, like they were trying to be quiet, then rising in volume until they were in a flat-out argument. I couldn't tell what they were arguing about. And then after a couple of door slams there was silence.

I sighed, and decided to go check out the Cessna.

Like everything else of strategic importance, the plane had been relocated to a new storage area. Using a couple of our lawn-mower-engine-powered go-carts, it had been ferried from the parking lot of the strip mall to the driveway of an abandoned house a few doors down from mine. This was much farther into the middle of the neighborhood, farther from the runway, and nowhere near where Brett thought it was stored.

Presuming he was still alive—I could only imagine the reception he'd received when he got to the compound.

I opened the door of the plane and inhaled. There was still an odor—the acrid scent of gunpowder—but it was much fainter. If I hadn't known what it was, maybe I wouldn't have even noticed it. The backseat had been scoured thoroughly by a cleaning crew. Again, if I hadn't been there for the gunfight I never would have suspected anything. Even the bullet holes had been patched up by Mr. Nicholas or one of the mechanics so they weren't as visible anymore. I reached over and touched one of the repairs. They'd done a great job. Some things could be patched over.

“Do you and your plane want to be alone?”

I spun around. It was Todd.

“The way you're fondling that machine makes me think Lori has reason to be jealous.”

I laughed and took my hand off the fuselage.

“Not that I'm going to tell her,” Todd went on. “You know we have the bro code to uphold, so I won't be telling Lori nothing about your abnormal sexual attraction to metal objects and how you—”

“Shut up or you won't be coming up with me.”

“Is that because you want more
alone
time with the plane?”

“Always the funny guy,” I said. “I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want you along.”

“Because, while you are my best friend, I draw the line at getting involved in some sort of twisted three-way thing with you and your plane.”

I pulled the door open. “Get into the backseat.”

“The backseat? What sort of guy do you think I am? I've already told you I'm not interested in any kind of—”

“You're in the backseat because
he's
in the front seat.” I gestured to Herb, who was coming toward us. “Unless you want to fight him for it.”

“James Bond Senior there is almost four times as old as me, and I'm twice as big as him, but there's no way in the world I would even
consider
getting into a fight with him.” Todd hustled into the backseat and the whole plane shuddered lightly under his weight.

“Good afternoon for a sightseeing trip,” I said to Herb as he neared the plane. There was no cloud and an almost unlimited horizon in all directions. “I hope you don't mind that I invited Todd along.”

“No problem. It's a four-seater and, by chance, I also invited someone.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Quinn.”

“Quinn … the prisoner?” Todd asked.

“Yep.”

Quinn had been a Division member before we'd taken him into custody. Before they attacked us, they'd attacked Olde Burnham. We'd heard the attack in the distance, but before we'd been able to do anything it was over. By the time we'd arrived all that remained were smoldering ruins and a few survivors who had remained hidden. Mostly what we found were the bodies of the residents they'd killed in battle and those they'd captured and then executed. It was then that we discovered how deadly, ruthless, and cruel our enemy could be.

Among the casualties had been Quinn. He had been shot by Olde Burnham's defenders and then left for dead by his supposed friends in the Division when they'd retreated. He'd been rushed back to our neighborhood, undergone an operation, and then received treatment that allowed him to live. Saving him hadn't been an act of kindness by Herb and the committee but rather a way to find out more information about our enemy. Ultimately that information had allowed us to survive.

Now Quinn, recovered, had become a member of our community. Many people still didn't trust him; but Herb did, and I decided that had to be good enough for me.

“We're going to be flying over the compound. Nobody knows better about what goes on down there than he does,” Herb explained.

“Are you sure you can trust him?” Todd asked, voicing my own concern.

“I've trusted him enough to take him with me the last two nights when I went out on recon,” Herb replied.

“I didn't know he was going out with you,” I said.

“Your mother knows, and the committee agreed to it, although reluctantly.”

“But isn't that dangerous? What if he ran away and tipped off his old friends somehow, or did something to you?” Todd asked.

“First off, we weren't alone.”

“Howie had your back?” I asked.

“I made sure of it,” Herb admitted. “I always take care. You know that. But, still, Quinn's been a very helpful resource.”

“Really? How can you be sure he isn't sympathetic to them?” Todd asked.

“Sympathetic?” I asked.

“Sure, you're not the only one who can use big words.”

“No fear of that,” Herb said. “He hates the Division even more than we do.”

“How can that be?” Todd asked.

“It's complicated,” Herb replied.

“No, it isn't,” I said. “It isn't just what they did to him but also what they made him do to others that's behind his hate.”

Herb nodded ever so slightly. “We'll go as soon as he arrives.”

*   *   *

A half hour later we were airborne.

At Herb's direction, we weren't going straight toward the compound. He wanted to check all major routes leading into the neighborhood just to make sure nothing was coming toward us as we were heading to the Division's home.

“I can see the hospital,” Todd said. “Or what's left of it.”

From this distance it really didn't look too bad. I'd been closer, though, and knew that parts had been set on fire. Some of the windows were smashed out, and there was no telling what the inside looked like.

“Judging from the security fence, there must be people living down there,” Quinn observed.

All around the perimeter of the hospital grounds a primitive defensive wall had been constructed. It looked like it was made of scrap wood and metal, as well as overturned cars and a couple of ambulances. It didn't look very formidable even from this height, but any wall was better than no wall.

I had to assume two things—there were guards on the wall and there was something worth guarding down there. It might be simply where a group of people—a cluster of families—had come together to live and provide mutual protection. I could also see that some of the hospital's lawn had been turned into gardens that were now semi-harvested. The inhabitants were making a go of it, although definitely not on as a large scale as we were.

“It's good to see so many little communities springing up,” Herb said.

“Good if they're on your side, bad if they're against you,” Quinn commented.

“There are a lot of them, but I haven't seen any that would be large enough to hurt us or in any other way be threatening to us,” Herb said. “Adam, from what you've seen from your flights, how many would you say there are?”

“I guess it depends on how you define them. You're right—there's none nearly as big as our neighborhood, but there are dozens and dozens that could have thirty or forty houses each, and hundreds smaller than that.”

“People have either left, dug in, or died out,” Quinn said.

“Died out?” Todd asked.

“Less than half the people who lived in this area before live here now,” Herb commented.

“And the ones who aren't here anymore—they've all died?” Todd asked.

“Died or left,” Herb said. “It's worse in the cities. Probably only twenty percent of the people in larger cities have stayed and survived.”

“I guess we've seen a lot of the people from the cities walking by our walls,” I said.

“But I've noticed a lot less people on the road now, you know, walking by,” Todd said. “The guards on the wall say that now they're seeing the same people again and again, first going one way and then coming back the other way.”

“Those are people living close by going about their daily business. Things have stabilized,” Herb said.

“That makes it sound positive,” I said.

“Not positive or negative, just neutral. And that's the best most people can hope for.”

“Will it get better?” Todd asked.

“Not before it gets worse.” Herb paused. “Winter will be hard. Food supplies will dwindle, sickness will spread. Simple things like flu and pneumonia without medication and treatment will result in high mortality rates.”

“Should we be worried?” Todd asked.

“We have food, shelter, fuel, doctors and nurses, medical facilities, and enough medication to combat simple illnesses. We're as prepared as we can be,” Herb said.

“But most people down there don't have those things,” Todd said.

“Most are unprepared or underprepared. They're waiting for someone to save them.”

“And that someone's not going to come, are they?” Todd asked.

“Probably not.”

“They should be more worried about who else
might
come,” Quinn said.

There was no need to say anything more. We all knew. Quinn had been part of it. I couldn't forget that. I didn't know if anybody could. I knew that certainly the survivors from the Olde Burnham community would never forget and probably never forgive.

“But I guess in some ways it's good that there are so many small communities out there,” Quinn added.

“How do you figure that?” Todd asked.

“Predators go for the weakest. That's why I think they'll leave us alone,” Quinn went on.

“Us?” I asked—and then suddenly felt bad for the tone of my voice.

“I guess that's how I think of it,” Quinn said. “I'm not
them
anymore. I hope people in the neighborhood will eventually come to realize that.”

“I have,” Herb said.

“Thanks. I really appreciate that,” Quinn said.

“And you're right. As sad and tragic as it sounds, the weakness of others makes us less vulnerable,” Herb said.

“Maybe it would be better if we could help them become less vulnerable,” I said.

“You know we aren't equipped to protect everybody,” Herb said.

I wanted to argue, but I knew he was right. It wasn't like we could extend our walls. But still, could we do more?

“Can you please swing us down farther toward the lake?” Herb asked, pointing in the direction of the giant body of water twenty miles to our south.

“Of course. Do you see something?”

“It's got more to do with what I
want
to see. Do you know where the oil refinery is?”

“I know exactly where it is. It's at the bottom of Southdown Road, on the lake.” I banked sharply to take us farther south, away from the direction of the compound and away from our neighborhood.

Quinn leaned over the seat. “We also knew about the oil refinery being there. That place was on the radar as a potential spot to hit.”

“But you didn't get around to it,” Herb said.

“There were closer and easier ways to get fuel than taking on the people there.”

“Obviously, your recon knew that it was well defended,” Herb said.

“I don't know how well defended the refinery is, but there's still enough fuel out there that's closer and completely undefended. Along with our Cessna flights, there were always recon groups out on the ground searching for targets,” Quinn confirmed. “I guess we're doing the same thing here today.”

“No, we're not!” I snapped. “We're not setting out to kill people!”

Everyone on the plane went silent.

“I guess I deserved that,” Quinn said after a minute or so. “I'm sorry I offended you … You're the last person in the world I want to offend—after you saved my life and all.”

Of course I hadn't saved his life—it was all part of an elaborate con to trick him into giving us information that he knew nothing about. I wondered whether I should tell him the truth about what happened, but then decided not to. It was good to have Quinn feeling indebted to me. Still, I felt lousy about my outburst.

“I'm the one who should apologize,” I said. “I'm just … just edgy. It's not your fault. You probably saved my life, too.”

“How do you figure that?” Quinn asked.

“If you hadn't helped us find out about Brett and his men, they probably would have been successful in taking the plane, and me with it, or killing me before we found out about them. I guess that makes us even.”

I turned around in my seat, reached over, and offered him my hand. “Sorry … Friends?”

“I'd like that.”

We shook.

We continued to fly until first the lake and then the refinery came into view. It was big, a tangled mess of pipes and towering metal superstructures. Catwalks and gigantic tanks all painted white surrounded it. I counted fifteen tanks, ranging in size from big to huge.

The complex took up almost as much acreage as our neighborhood. It had always been an eyesore, and people who lived around it had objected to the fumes. Now someone had planted crops between the tanks. The plants looked sickly and small, and I couldn't imagine how bad it would be to eat food grown in soil that was probably contaminated with petroleum and other pollutants. I guess it beat the alternative of not eating at all.