Monsters: The Ashes Trilogy (46 page)

No, he couldn’t wait, wouldn’t stop, not just yet, maybe not ever.
Go go go.
His head was the size of the sky, the panic in his chest a
claw.
Get out, get out, cut the wire, go!
Tom kicked his horse again. Felt
the mare dig even deeper. The world streamed: snow and choking
red funnel clouds from rotor wash; evergreens and the
thump-thumpthump
of helos; fingers of oaks scratching blue sky; body parts falling
to earth in a ghastly rain; and that dead dog, careful, careful, they put
bombs in everything, in dogs, in trash, in dead kids, and
go go go
.

If he’d stayed one more second, he might’ve put a bullet through
Mellie’s head. That he imagined what her head would look and sound
like if he did frightened him even more.

Can’t let it get me.
He swept past a stack of burning tires; bloated
dogs bobbing in sewage; a pile of rubbish, and that bottle that might
not hold water at all; rubble where, five seconds ago, there’d been a
house with children and laundry snapping on a line.
Can’t let it take
over.
Past a phalanx of screeching, wailing women,
shut up, shut up, shut
up
—and Jim: Jim, in the Waucamaw; Jim, bellowing, charging . . .

“Tom!” Weller bawled. “Hold up before you lame or kill that poor
horse, goddamn it!”
Of course, Weller was right. This was a bad move, stupid. A
single, powerful jab through the diminished hard pack into a tangle
of branches or rocks would cripple the mare. He’d have to put it
down—
shoot it like Jim
—over something he could’ve prevented.
“Ho, girl, ease down, ease down.” Hearing his own voice helped.
He pulled left, enough to turn the mare’s head and break that gallop. Beneath him, he felt the horse’s chest strain for breath. Gobs of
thick foam lathered its face to the poll. “Sorry, girl,” he said, patting
the animal’s shuddering neck, feeling the thrum of blood under his
own, still-healing flesh. He was panting, too, and couldn’t tell if that
was only sweat on his cheeks. To his right, a Humvee wallowed at a
near-ninety-degree angle, the driver’s arm only just visible in yellow
canal water because body armor was that heavy. He looked away.
“Ease up, girl. We’ll be okay.”
But only if you get control of yourself.
Turning the mare, he watched
as Weller slowed his own horse to a trot.
Get it together, Tom, or you
won’t be able to help anyone.
“Jesus.” Reining in his blowing animal, Weller armed his forehead,
then shrugged his bum right shoulder. “I won’t ask what the hell you
think you’re doing.”
There was brown blood caked on Weller’s neck below the jaw he
didn’t have anymore, and Tom could see the useless worm of a blue
tongue.
Not real.
Averting his eyes, Tom pulled in a breath that reeked
of diesel fuel and burning oil. “I had to get out. I couldn’t think . .
.” He gathered himself.
Come on, Tom; look at him; Weller is fine; the
rest is a damned flashback.
He forced his eyes back and thought, to his
immense relief, that Weller could use a shave. “What Mellie wants
makes no sense. You
have
to know that.”
“I do.” Weller threw him an irritated look. “But there are better
ways to get your point across than challenging her in front of the
kids. Only puts her back up.”
“I know. I left because I didn’t want to completely lose it in front
of them.”
“Oh no, it was so much better for the kids to see you tear out
of camp like a crazy person.” Screwing up his mouth, Weller spat,
sighed, then prodded his silvery-white gelding north. “Come on,
might as well walk the horses the rest of the way to the church and
pick up Cindi and Chad. We can talk this out. You and me, Tom, we’ll
figure a way.”
“How? Mellie won’t listen. She thinks you’re better off without
me. Maybe she’s right.”
“Don’t be stupid, Tom. Those kids need you, and I think you need
them just as much.”
“Then we have to stop her.” After five seconds, he realized that the
smell of fuel and oil had vanished, and he no longer heard the ululating wails of women. “She’ll push those kids until there’s an accident,
Weller, or worse. Mellie will keep going until those kids are dead.”

“Tom, take a breath.” Mellie’s tone was that of a playground monitor heading off an eight-year-old’s tantrum at being forced off the
jungle gym. “I hear you, but aren’t you supposed to be heading for
the church? We’ll talk when you come back, all right? Now is not the
time for this discussion.”

“No, Mellie, you
don’t
hear me and this
is
the time.” Tom tossed
a glance at a clutch of some two dozen kids. Only Luke stood apart,
throwing worried looks, clearly wanting Tom to put on the brakes.
The rest excitedly milled around the concrete cap of a cistern behind
an all-metal equipment shed where Tom had set up shop several
weeks before.

He’d been afraid this would happen. Kids loved a
ka-boom
. It was
why he hadn’t allowed anyone to watch him put together the penetrators they’d used in the mine. Gathering what was left—the det cord,
the C4, caps, detonators,
everything
—he’d divvied it up, stashing most
where no one would think to look. He only wished he’d remembered
the aluminum powder and magnesium ribbon. And that bottle of
glycerin. Stupid.

“Yes, it’s great that Jasper’s motivated. I agree he’s smart. But
Mellie . . . seriously? A ten-year-old monkeying around with thermite? Trying to slow the reaction?”

“Are you saying it can’t be done? It was your idea, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, for the time delays at the mine, when I thought we might
need it.” Thermite was a great primary incendiary. The problem was
the reaction was very fast. He’d hit on the goofy idea of using fire
retardants to stretch the reaction time, and it had worked. The last
time he tried, he got nearly ten minutes, but the ratios had to be just
right and he was still uncomfortable with an unpredictable incendiary whose temp topped over three thousand degrees. “Unless you’re
planning to rob a bank, I can’t think why you need something that
can melt steel. Mellie, these are
children. I
know what I’m doing.”
“You do? Have you taken a good look in the mirror?” She flipped
a dismissive hand at the Uzi, on a retention strap so his hand was on
the pistol grip at all times. Jed’s Bravo was slotted in a back scabbard.
The Glock 19 rode in a cross-draw on his left hip, and he carried two
knives: the KA-BAR in its leg sheath and a boot knife as a last resort.
“Armed to the teeth. Riding out to the church every day as an escort?
You look ready for Armageddon.”
“I . . . what I do is . . .” Was
what
? Only common sense? That was
a lie. Never far away to begin with, all the old horrors—flashbacks,
nightmares, that awful crushing panic—had roared back after the
fight on the snow to fuel the black monster growing in his chest.
Whenever he walked into the farmhouse or barn now, he immediately
scanned all the exits, tried to work out the fastest way to egress.
Get
out, move, go, evade.
Two days ago, when a group of kids got between
him and the door, a flood of adrenaline drowned his mind and then
he was in a cold sweat, heart pounding, thinking,
Thirty-two rounds
in the Uzi, nineteen in the Glock, five in the Bravo
, as he methodically
devised an escape route, which children to shoot and in what order
he should kill them. That scared him so badly he’d bolted, shoving
Luke aside and banging out into the snow where he’d run, fast, air
ripping his lungs until the razor panic dulled.
To Mellie, he said, “Don’t twist this around to be about me, all
right?”
“But this
is
about you.
You
want us to move.
You
want us to find a
more secure location. You hide
our
det cord,
our
C4, everything, and
all of a sudden,
you
have decided we don’t need to go to Rule. These
are not your decisions, Tom.
I’m
in charge, not you.”
“Last time I looked, I was in charge, too.” Weller had been so
quiet, Tom forgot he was there. “Tom’s right. Maybe there are better
things we should be teaching those kids.”
“Oh, how perfect.” The frost in Mellie’s tone was unmistakable.
“A convert.”
“Those things were
out
there,” Tom said. “I
fought
one. I
saw
more.
We need to
move.
”
“That was two weeks ago, Tom, and where are these monsters?
Don’t you think that if there were something to be worried about
we’d have seen it by now? Now, I’m sorry about the mine. I’m sorry
about Alex. But you need to get over that already.”
“Mellie,” Weller said sharply.
“If I had a nickel every time someone suggested I should just get
over Afghanistan already, I’d be a millionaire five times over,” Tom
said. How could you get past a splinter that had worked into your eye
and scratched deeper every time you blinked? “Hear me out, all right?
Let’s leave”—his throat tried to knot—“let’s leave Alex out of it. Let’s
talk reality. Luke is fourteen, Cindi is twelve, Chad’s thirteen. That
leaves, what . . . three other twelve-year-olds?”
“Yes.” Mellie’s eyes were as testy as her voice. “And?”
“Do I need to spell this out? For God’s sake, Mellie,
napalm
? These
are
children
. They can’t fight, and they certainly shouldn’t march off
to war. There’s no reason to go to Rule.”
“Oh? I know you said to leave Alex out of this, but tell me, Tom,
would you have had this sudden change of heart if Alex hadn’t been
in the mine?”
“Yes. Wait . . . let me finish.” He was honest enough to know this
would come, but it still sent a knife through his heart. “Of course, I’d
go to Rule. Nothing would stop me.”
“So now that there’s nothing you stand to
gain
. . .”
“I said
I
would go. Getting Alex out would be
my
fight.”
“Really. You were happy enough for Luke to go with you, and
Weller.”
Tom opened his mouth, then closed it.
Happy
was the wrong
word. But she was right.
“Uh-huh.” Mellie nodded when he remained silent. “Don’t pretend you’re more noble or any better. Think about how you used
Luke, risked his life for your gain—and then tell me I’m so much
worse. There is only
one
person you truly care about, Tom, and she’s
dead
. So get over it, Tom, or get out.”
“Mellie!”
Weller said. “Let’s all just calm down, all right?”
“Oh, shut up, Weller.” She rounded on him. “I’m tired of you taking his side.
Look
at him. He’s unpredictable and dangerous. He’s not
fit to be around these children.”
“I . . . I know I’ve had a few . . .” Tom stopped again. What was he
going to say?
“Yes, a
fe w.
Go.” She made a shooing motion. “Get out of here.
Take your little ride to the church, escort Chad and Cindi, go play
soldier, do
something
useful, but both of you, get out of my sight. Oh,
and Tom? I’ll thank you to return my explosives.”
That was the moment his forefinger twitched and he imagined his
bullet drilling her eye and fragging her skull—red mist, pink brain—
and for him, how sweet the sound.
“Under the horse trough,” he heard himself say. “Take it all. I
never want to see or make another bomb as long as I live.”
Then he got out of there, fast, afraid that he might just prove how
dangerous he could be.

“You’re human. But she did rip you a new one. Don’t understand
what got into her.” Weller shook his head. “Stressed out like the rest
of us, I guess. So what’d you have in mind?”

“I’ve said it: forget about Rule.” To his left, the Lutheran church’s
bell tower rose from a far knoll hemmed by evergreens. Through
gaps in the trees, Tom thought he saw Chad and Cindi’s horses
tethered to a bicycle rack. But were they lying down? He wished
he hadn’t left his binos back at camp. In another few feet, the trees
closed in again. He looked at Weller. “This isn’t a novel or movie
where they can move from town to town and scavenge. Eventually,
everything will run out. Take Jasper: he’s smart enough to make
thermite, but he’s got no idea how to farm, hunt, keep himself
warm, build a house that won’t fall down. We have to help these
kids create a life.”

Wouldn’t that also mean giving up on Alex? If he meant what he
said, he would have to let go of the idea of searching for her. He
didn’t want to. Caring for these kids didn’t come close to easing the
ache. But Luke had come to
him
. Cindi had skied out to this church
every day to be with
him
. He couldn’t let them down. And, yes, he
was
still afraid of going to Rule. Of what he might do if he ever met
Chris Prentiss face-to-face.

“Can’t argue that,” Weller said. “You have an idea where?”
“Yes.” Jed’s cabin, a stone’s throw from Michipicoten Island, was
a place Tom always imagined taking Alex. Thirty kids made that a
nonstarter. Forget an island’s limited resources; simply
getting
them
all there would be a feat. He liked the
idea
of a large island, though.
“We go west or north, and stay far away from Rule.”
“Not much north, except the Waucamaw,” Weller said, still staring
straight ahead.
“There’s Oren and an Amish settlement west of that. They’re
farmers, right? Arable land is exactly what we need.”
“Finding seed will be tough,” Weller said. “Trying to grow enough
to feed all those kids, figuring out how to preserve it for winter—”
“Will be hard,” Tom said. “I understand that. But we have to do
it sometime, and that might as well be now. The growing season up
here is short. The longer we wait, the more difficult this will become,
and before we know it, it’ll be winter again. For all we know, there’s
still livestock to be found, and horses. We have to get to those animals
before they die, too, or get so wild we’ll never chase them down.”
Weller’s hand snuck to his mouth, a gesture Tom always associated with a man mentally rehearsing what to say next. “Maybe,”
Weller said. “But Amish . . . if there are any left alive, they tend to
keep to themselves. Don’t want outsiders—” Frowning, the old man
abruptly straightened in his saddle and craned. “Tom . . . you get a
good look at that horse? Up there by the church?”
Tom switched his gaze from Weller to the near bend in the road
and the church, on its bald knob, just now coming into view. They
were still a quarter mile away, but from this approach he could see a
wedge of snow to the rear beneath which must lie a parking lot. In
front, the snow was broken from horses, skis, and boots. The bike
rack, where he’d seen the horses, was to the right of stone steps, and
only just visible.
As was the single horse, on its side, in a bowl of shadow. Even
then, it was on the tip of his tongue to observe that horses could lie
so still it was easy to think they were dead.
But then, Tom saw the blood.