Earth Zero: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Next Book 2) (12 page)

The girl appeared unharmed and blissfully ignorant of her mother’s fate. One small blessing, at least. But Rachel sensed the reprieve was only a short one.

She met DeVontay’s gaze. She should’ve listened to him and escaped while they had the chance.

So much for saving the world.

The machine whirred back to life and the descending arms slid quietly along their tracks toward her.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Franklin wasn’t sure how long he’d walked, but his feet were blistered and his legs cramping.

He didn’t find a house until nearly dawn, and he’d broken in to discover that it had already been looted. Two bodies lay under a sheet in one of the bedrooms, tangled bones whose owners might have been engaged in lovemaking when the solar storms brought them to a premature release. He found no weapons, but the kitchen cabinets held a few cans of the stuff that even scavengers rejected: hominy, pickled beets, and mustard greens.

Franklin sat on the couch so he had a good view of the road and the edge of the forest, then jimmied open the tops of the cans with a butcher knife and ate his fill. He was miserable over Stephen’s loss. It was possible the boy had been swept downstream ahead of him, but that would’ve only increased the odds of his drowning. Franklin hoped the boy had died instantly, maybe cracking his head on a submerged rock, rather than falling victim to one of the less savory options.

As the aurora faded and the sun seized the dawn, Franklin oriented himself. Stonewall was due almost directly east of the bunker, and he couldn’t be more than an hour or two away. He lay down on the couch to rest his aching muscles for a moment, but before he realized it, he fell into a heavy nap.

He awoke with a start, dreaming he was back at his compound.
I should’ve stayed there and none of this would have happened.

But that wasn’t true. The situation would’ve played out differently, sure, but probably for the worse. All of the bunker’s occupants might be dead, along with Capt. Antonelli’s unit. Even though Franklin was no fan of any government before or since the end of the world, he saw no reason to cheer the deaths of his fellow humans.

If you look at it that way, Stephen would be dead no matter what I did.

He pictured the young boy that Rachel had brought to the compound nearly five years ago, and how Franklin had imparted all the proper ideals needed to become a self-reliant and free-thinking person. The boy had grown but had been interrupted before he could become a man. What a waste.

Franklin sat up, more sore than before he’d taken a rest break. He felt old as hell, too worn down for the job ahead. If life was fair, he would be dead and Stephen would be looking for Rachel and DeVontay. But life had repeatedly proven itself a massive fraud and cheat.

Franklin went outside, scanning the sky for metal birds. A flock of crows wheeled to the west, looking purplish-black and normal beneath the sun. A few high clouds scudded across the blue ceiling above, carrying no threat of rain. In the distance was a faint, colorful haze like a smudge of neon rainbow. Franklin staggered off the porch and across the yard, working the tightness from his ligaments. He might as well check the outbuildings. Even though guns were unlikely, he might discover a useful hand weapon.

The first structure was a garden shed, containing nothing but clay pots, rubber hoses, sacks of potting soil, and a crumbling pair of leather gloves. The second structure was a small barn, its rear door leading into a fenced pen and small pasture beyond. Before entering, Franklin noticed some manure on the ground. It was moist and green, fresh, in rounded clumps.

Horse?

He eased open the heavy wooden door, which creaked as the interior darkness shrank inch by inch. When he heard the animal snort, his guess was confirmed. He wasn’t much of an equestrian by nature, but Marina’s family had arrived at his compound by horseback shortly after the solar storms. They’d kept the animals a while before releasing them into the wild, and Franklin had mastered the basics of riding.

The only question was whether this animal was a horse or a freaky-eyed four-horsed monster from the depths of hell.

The animal whinnied, and it didn’t
sound
like a creature that was just waiting for some two-legged morsel to walk in for breakfast.

The morning sun poured into the barn to reveal a beautiful chestnut mare, its flanks thick and healthy, black eyes clear. The pointed ears were inquisitively peeled back. The horse had no bridle girding her long head, but the only outward sign of wildness was the tangled tail and mane.

“Easy, girl,” Franklin said, putting out his hand and slowly approaching. He wished he’d plucked some weeds in the yard, but the horse had easy access to the pasture. A large mound of hay had long since turned black with decay, and a pitchfork handle protruded from its depths.

The horse snorted and whipped its head back and forth as if sizing up escape routes. Franklin didn’t want to be caught beneath eight hundred pounds of thundering animal, nor pinned against the barn wall in a solo stampede. But he also didn’t look forward to walking another ten or fifteen miles to Stonewall.

“My name’s Franklin,” he said in a soothing voice. “And I’ve never hurt nobody that didn’t deserve it.”

The horse scooted back two steps as Franklin took three steps forward. He could see the coiled tension in the mare’s body. He kept talking in a low voice, easing closer little by little.

“How come you haven’t been munched by monsters yet, girl? You must be pretty smart, or else faster than the wind. Yeah, that’s right. It’s okay to be scared. That’s what keeps both of us alive.”

He put out his hand again, keeping it below the horse’s face so it wouldn’t feel threatened. The horse backed to the edge of the barn, then turned and trotted in a circle, whinnying.

Something stirred in the loft overhead, fluttering and thumping against the eaves. A shape swooped down and Franklin’s first thought was of the dive-bombing metal birds that had devastated Capt. Antonelli’s unit.

He turned to flee, but he wasn’t going to leave the horse defenseless. There were precious few survivors left from the old world, and every one that died pushed the past that much further away.

He plucked the pitchfork from the hay pile and swung around, jabbing the rusted tines out before him. The fluttering shape was black and leathery, with beady red eyes.

A bat, not a Zap-bird.

But it wasn’t like any bat Franklin had ever seen. This one had wings that were almost translucent, and its eyes burned like backlit rubies. The pointy mammalian nose fronted two large, curving incisors that were like something out of a Transylvanian freakshow. It was as large as a turkey but sleeker and far more aerodynamic.

It squeaked and flapped toward him, and Franklin jabbed at it, trying to track its flight. But the bat’s pattern was too random and it dodged and veered, swooping around his head. He heard more thumping against the barn’s tin roof, and soon three of the bats orbited him in erratic ovals. The horse reared back and kicked with its front forelegs, and Franklin realized the mare must have figured out a way to live peacefully with the winged mutants.

Or maybe they’ve already sucked its blood and turned it into a freak, too. Maybe it will sprout wings and a forehead horn like an ass-backwards unicorn.

One of the big bats grazed the back of his neck, and he wiped at his tingling flesh with one hand. The teeth hadn’t broken his skin. He swung the pitchfork like a tennis racket and the tines
whanged
against the wing of one of the bats. It spun and tumbled to the ground, awkwardly beating against the dirt, straw, and horse chips.

Franklin lunged forward and pinned it to the ground, pleased by the distraught squeals coming from that buck-toothed mouth. “Eat shit and die, birdbrain.”

His mind bifurcated so that a remote part of it was musing on whether this was actually a bird or a mammal, and then settled on “
If THIS fucker doesn’t even know what it is, why should I worry about it?
” All the while, the primal instinct inside him drove him to skewer the predatory threat.

Once it was reduced to a quivering bundle of leathery skin, Franklin flung it from the pitchfork and turned the tines to the other bats. The horse’s kicking legs drove them toward the barn door and Franklin swatted one so hard that it slammed into the wall and then winged brokenly toward the sky.

When the last bat fluttered out of sight, Franklin leaned his weapon against a fence post in case he needed it again. “So, girl, looks like we make a pretty good team. What say we make it official?”

The horse snorted and neighed as if expelling the last of its adrenaline. Franklin sat on an empty feed box and caught his breath, gazing out at the pastoral landscape that so successfully hid its monsters. Soon the horse calmed down, too, and barely ten minutes passed before it approached Franklin.

This time when Franklin held out a cupped palm, the horse sniffed at it to see if it held any food. Even after five years alone in the apocalypse, it hadn’t forgotten the treats its former owner must have bestowed.

“Stick with me and maybe we can find some apples, huh?” Franklin stroked the horse under the chin and then along the side of its head. The horse tensed but didn’t run away. If the bats returned at that moment, Franklin would likely be trampled to death. But by the time he scratched its ears, the horse had decidedly succumbed to companionship.

Wish it had been this easy with women. Maybe I wouldn’t have been divorced so many times.

Franklin couldn’t find a saddle, but he found a nylon bridle and leather reins in a wooden box of gear and tools. He draped a moth-eaten blanket over the back of the horse and put some weight on the mare to test its reaction. The horse’s head lifted but it didn’t bolt. It took the bridle and bit, working her mouth sideways in annoyance at the intrusion.

“I’ll take it off as soon as we get to Stonewall,” Franklin said. “I promise.”

His track record of keeping promises to his wives wasn’t so hot, but his life had never depended on any of them. Plus the apocalypse had a way of changing a man. He was certainly going to die, one way or another. That was just a matter of time. He could afford to keep promises now, because forever might be measured in hours, not years.

Franklin opened the pasture gate, giving the horse one more chance to flee if it so chose. Its chestnut flanks rippled in the morning sun, the star-shaped white patch in the center of her forehead giving her a regal appearance. He decided to name her “Princess” even though she was probably ten years old or more. By the time he led the horse over to a sodden stump so he could mount her, she was an old friend.

As they trotted into the wide world, one of the horse’s front hooves clopped down on the dead mutant bat with a satisfying crunch.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Capt. Antonelli awoke with a headache and soreness caused by more than just the hardness of the concrete floor beneath their bedroll.

The only light in the room was cast by the three functioning video monitors, and in the dim gray wash, he watched Colleen’s freckled breasts rise and fall with her breathing. This had been a moment of weakness. But that was just fine. He accepted his frailty now, and the emotional relief was almost as palpable as the physical relief she’d provided.

As he dressed, he debated how he would break the news to the troops. If Lt. Randall wanted to kill him for treason and dereliction of duty, Antonelli wouldn’t blame him. Hell, he’d even respect it.

When he stepped into the hall, he immediately sensed something was wrong. He took a breath. There was a faint but sickening odor, but also the movement of air.

Fresh air.

A breeze not pushed by the bunker’s ventilation system.

Antonelli drew his pistol and hurried to the entrance. The steel door was ajar, with no sign of Andrews, the man assigned to guard it. Antonelli shouted and ran to the nearest bunk room, flipping on the lights. The room’s occupants lay amid bloody blankets and pillows.

“Randall? Tidewater?” He banged on the doors as he ran the hall, wondering if he should’ve shut the steel door first. What if monsters had entered? What if Zaps—

Kokona!

He sprinted to the end of the bunker and turned the corner to see Tidewater dead on the concrete floor, staring up at the riveted metal ceiling, half a cigarette protruding from his lips. The door to the makeshift brig was open.

Kokona was gone.

Antonelli shouted again, the narrow confines of the subterranean chamber swallowing his words. All his previous resignation, his desire to retreat from the battlefront forever, were now gone. He’d lost more men and had fresh blood on his hands. His lapsed patriotism veered toward an unhinged and dark desire for revenge.

Should’ve killed the little bitch while I had the chance.

The mess hall was unoccupied, but the next door down was unlocked. He kicked it open, ready to fire, and found four more corpses. He was just beginning to accept that they were all dead except him and Colleen—unfairly spared due to their selfish carnality—when a deadbolt slid open and Randall staggered into the hallway in his underwear, carrying his rifle.

“What the hell?” Randall asked, still confused in the throes of sudden consciousness, hair frowsy and eyes crusted with sleep.

“Seven dead. The front door’s open and the Zap’s gone.”

Randall muttered a curse and sprinted barefoot down the hall to the entrance. Antonelli banged on another locked door.

“Who is it?” came a muffled voice from the other side.

“Your captain. Open up.”

The door swung open to reveal two soldiers, Privates Matthews and Stankowitz. Both of them were pale with fright. “We didn’t know who was out there,” one of them said.

Antonelli hid his anger at their cowardice. Their behavior was no worse than his. “Get your gear and be ready to move out in five minutes. Pack what supplies you can carry.”

“Where are we going?”

Antonelli didn’t even resent the questioning of his orders. After all, just a few minutes earlier, he’d been prepared to abdicate his rank and betray his country. “Zap hunting.”

As he returned to the hall, Colleen emerged from the telecom room, her face tense and searching as she tucked in her shirt. “What is it, Mark?”

“The enemy within.”

She followed him to the entrance, where Randall stood looking out at the forest. “No sign of anything,” the lieutenant said. “No metal birds, no Zap baby, no Andrews.”

“What about the girl?” Colleen asked. “Marina?”

“She was sleeping in the room beside us,” Antonelli said, not caring that he was acknowledging their affair in front of Randall. With almost everyone dead, secrets seemed foolish.

As Colleen raced to the girl’s room, Antonelli shouted, “Be careful. She might be in on it. The baby might even be in there.”

Colleen ducked into the telecom room and retrieved her rifle before banging its butt against Marina’s door. “Hey, Marina? Are you okay?”

After helping Randall secure the entrance, Antonelli hurried to join her. He tried the door knob and was surprised to feel it turn in his hand. He nodded at Colleen, who leveled her muzzle, and then he swung open the door and lunged into the room, prepared to fire.

The room was empty. Amid the mussed blankets on one bunk were a pink makeup compact and a hair brush. Several wrinkled magazines and catalogs were fanned out across the floor, and a guttering scented candle was burned down to a nub. A limp backpack hung from one of the bunk bed posts.

Randall conducted a reckoning of the dead while Antonelli revisited Kokona’s cell and searched for clues to her escape. As he stepped over Tidewater’s corpse, he regretted not letting the Zap infant leave with Franklin and Stephen.

If you’d quit yesterday, all of us would still be alive. Is duty really that addictive, or did you just love the self-image? You thought you were the martyr, but it turns out all you’re good at is sacrificing other people.

Antonelli found nothing except a couple of soiled diapers, some empty foil packets of milk, and decorations that the teen girl had posted on her walls. Antonelli was fixated on the idea that the baby had somehow lured Tidewater to open the door and then had killed him, but the damage to the corporal’s skull was the work of a very strong and driven killer. He had little doubt of Kokona’s ruthlessness, but her physical limitations made such carnage beyond her power to inflict.

He threw a blanket over Tidewater as he returned to the others. The two soldiers who’d locked themselves in during the tumult stood near the entrance, talking quietly and fidgeting. Randall came out of the room containing the four dead soldiers.

“They’re all accounted for, except Andrews and Huynh.”

Antonelli and Colleen exchanged looks. Antonelli recalled Colleen’s misgivings about the Vietnamese soldier’s miraculous recovery. He wasn’t willing to consider the ramifications yet, not while other explanations remained.

“What about Franklin and the boy?” Randall said. “They could’ve returned, talked their way past Andrews, and decided to retake the bunker. They might even have brought back those two they were out looking for, giving them a numbers advantage if they caught us off guard.”

“Maybe,” Antonelli said. “And when they found out some of us were locked in, they decided to grab their people and go.”

Colleen shook her head. “I don’t know. These men were killed with a knife. That doesn’t seem like Franklin’s style, and it’s hard to see the boy having the stomach for it. I could see them shooting up the place, but a sneak attack seems a little—”

“Japanese?” Antonelli said. “Like at Pearl Harbor? Andrews was a weak link, to be sure, but opening the door was a huge risk, given the types of creatures roaming around out there.”

“If someone had been watching the monitors, maybe we’d know,” Randall said, his brow lowered in a challenge.

“We were…asleep,” Antonelli said. “All of us are worn out and pushed to the edge. I was hoping some down time would allow us to recover.”

“What about Field Command?” Randall said. “We’ll have to radio and let them know what happened.”

Colleen stepped forward. “There’s nothing but static,” she lied. “Must be some solar activity screwing up the ionosphere.”

“Great. Our unit’s down to five, we’re cut off from contact, and we have no idea what our next move is,” the lieutenant said.

“Our next move is we track down that little Zap shitter and whoever took her, and then we nail them all to the cross and let the crows pick their bones clean,” Antonelli said.

“And leave the bunker?”

“Well, they’re not in here, are they?”

“What about Asheville and the Fourth? That was our orders.”

“We’ll swing down that way after we finish this job. Nobody wipes out my command and gets away with it.”

Antonelli’s anger was a little forced. He’d lost plenty of troops during the Earth Zero Initiative. If he ever made it back to Luray Caverns and New Pentagon, they’d probably give him a whole fresh batch to take out and bury.

“Maybe Huynh and Andrews are behind this,” Colleen said.

“Going AWOL together, sure, I can see that,” Antonelli said, well aware of his own desire to do the same thing. “But why kill everybody? And why take the girl and the baby?”

“You should’ve killed her,” Randall said. “When we first took the bunker, you should’ve killed them all. Directive Seventeen. No need to ask permission. Just do what needs to be done.”

“She might have provided some intelligence,” Colleen said. “And she was just a baby.”

“Intelligence?” Randall snorted in derision. “She just proved she’s smarter than all of us.”

“Pack up, Lieutenant. We’re moving out at oh-ten-hundred hours.”

Randall shook his head ruefully and went to his bunk room. Colleen moved closer to Antonelli so the other two soldiers couldn’t overhear.

“This is my fault,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“No. I’m the captain. These deaths are on my head.”

“No. About Private Huynh…I should’ve known better. Something was off, and I just didn’t want to accept it. I was just so relieved to have this place and enjoy some peace and quiet.”

“There can be no peace in this world,” Antonelli said. “That was our mistake. We wanted a fantasy. But the truth is we’re living on borrowed time, at the mercy of the mutants. We play by their rules. We never had a chance to conquer them. It was all just chest-thumping and macho bullshit.”

“It’s not over yet,” she protested.

“It’s been over for five years. We just don’t have the decency to drop the curtain.”