Rocky Mountain Die (25 page)

The chopper dives straight for the tank and if I thought tank shells were loud, the impact from some chopper-on-tank action puts that right out of my head. It also nearly puts my head right out of my head. It makes sense. Shut up.

Stella and I roll and roll until we are in a ditch next to the Turnpike. Burning hunks of metal rain down around us, but luckily we avoid getting hit by the fiery shrapnel. We stay there, our arms over our heads, for quite a while until we think the coast is clear.

It’s a painful struggle to get up on our feet, but we make it. Holding on to each other, we stumble back towards the barricade, our mouths hanging open at the sight of the burning wreckage of chopper and tank.

“You okay?” Reaper yells as he comes up to us. He pats us down, which is a little invasive, then nods as he realizes we aren’t wounded. Well, not anymore wounded than usual. He sprints off to find those that are.

We make it around the wreckage and through the remains of the barricade. It’s probably not the best idea, heading back to the fighting, but neither of us hesitate in the slightest. We have to see what’s happening.

There are moments in your life that will always be etched in your mind. Like a photograph has been permanently exposed against the grey matter of your brain.

The dead lie everywhere, ours and theirs. There are a few people standing and I am more than glad to see that they are our people. Some of the Consortium soldiers are still living, but they are sitting on the ground in groups with Lourdes’s people covering them with whatever firearms are handy.

None of the soldiers look like they have the strength or will to put up a fight anymore. I have a feeling they have figured that the glory that Camille promised them isn’t going to happen. They just marched halfway across the continent to get their asses handed to them by a rag tag group of survivors. Yes, we are badass, but we’re still rag tag.

I want to cheer and whoop and holler at what I’m seeing, but the tone of it all stops me. The mood isn’t celebratory. The mood is tense and frightened. Our feet scrape along the cracked asphalt, making enough noise that some people turn and see us coming. The looks on their faces tell me more than I want to know.

Ahead, as the smoke clears, stands our son. Charlie. But he’s not alone. He’s standing there next to a woman that I haven’t ever seen in person, only spoken to on the phone, which was surreal enough. What else is surreal is that I know her face even though I’ve never seen it.

It’s Elsbeth’s face.

Or close to it. It’s much older and there are specific differences like a sharper nose and different eyes, but damn if I’m not looking at Elsbeth thirty years from now.

“Hello, Jace and Stella Stanford,” Camille says, one arm wrapped across Charlie’s chest, the other holding a pistol which is pressed against my son’s temple. “It is good to meet you finally. I am sorry it couldn’t be in a more hospitable environment. And warmer. Why would people want to live up in these mountains? The wind is like a weapon itself.”

“Charlie? Are you alright?” Stella asks.

“Seriously?” he replies.

“He’s fine,” Stuart says, limping up behind us. “Still a smart-ass Stanford.”

“Yes, he is,” Camille says. “I thought you would have raised a more polite southern gentleman, but his mouth and the things he has said to me. Tsk-tsk-tsk. Not gentlemanly at all.”

“How’s this for gentlemanly, you fucking cunt ass bit—”

“Charlie,” Stella snaps. “Be. Quiet. Now.”

He shuts up.

A woman with a 9mm pressed to his head doesn’t scare him, but his mother does. Now that’s a good southern boy.

“What do you want, Camille?” Stella asks.

“Two things,” Camille says.

“You only have one thing to trade,” Stella says. “So choose.”

“I don’t think so,” Camille replies. “I am fairly certain that you’ll give me both in exchange for your son staying alive.”

“Talk,” Stella says.

“First, I want safe passage to the Stronghold,” Camille says. “I get there and inside and I’ll let Charlie go.”

“Why wouldn’t we just kill you once you let him go?” Stella asks. I hiss. She glares at me to shut the fuck up. I do.

“Once I’m inside the Stronghold, I’ll be safe,” Camille says. “I’ll lock it down tight and you will never be able to get to me.”

“Assuming we say yes to that, what is the second thing?” Stella asks.

“I want my daughter with me,” Camille says. “You know how hard it is for a mother to be separated from her child, don’t you, Stella? While I am a goal-oriented woman, I am also a person with a heart. My heart would be broken if I had to spend the rest of my days alone.”

“Will someone just shoot the cunt?” Charlie asks. “Seriously. We have like a dozen perfectly trained snipers. Blow her fucking head off.”

“Charlie,” Stella growls. “Let me handle this.”

“A sniper may be able to get a shot off and end my life, but not before I pull this trigger,” Camille says. “That’s why they haven’t taken the shot. They can see through their scopes that I have the hammer cocked back and even the slightest movement on my part will result in young Mr. Stanford’s death.”

“I know,” Stella says. “That’s why I haven’t told them to blow your head off. And Charlie? Shut up. No more talking. Not a goddamn word out of your mouth until after I kill this bitch.”

“That there is why I admire you, Stella,” Camille says. “You have a strength and confidence that few women have these days. The apocalypse comes along and suddenly it’s a crazy man’s world all over again.”

“Excuse me?” Stella asks, looking around. She catches the eye of each of the sisters as well as Melissa who is standing off to the side, a shotgun in the crook of her arm. “A man’s world? Could you have more of a chip on your shoulder? Do not project your feminine insecurities onto my world, Camille. At no point has this apocalypse turned into a man’s world. You are insane to think so.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Camille says and shrugs. I gasp at the shrug since it jostles the gun in her hand. A wicked grin grows on her face as she catches my fear. “But, I guess having to take care of a man like Jason Stanford may be why you think it’s not a man’s world. He’s hardly a picture of strength and virility.”

“Go fuck yourself, you slimy, privileged psychopathic cunt nugget,” I say. I know it sounds nothing like that.

“Oh, dear, and his wit is gone now too,” Camille mocks. “Just another burned-out moron waiting out his days. How sad for you.”

“I can let you get to the Stronghold,” Stella says.

“Stella,” Stuart warns.

“Be quiet, James,” Stella says. Ouch. First name slap down. “I can let you get to the Stronghold, but there is nothing I can do about Elsbeth. She has to choose if she wants to go with you or not.”

“I know she will,” Camille says. “My sources have said she is quite fond of this boy. He is family, as she has put it.”

“Sources?” Stella asks.

“Did you think I just left you all alone in your mountain town?” Camille laughs. “Did you think there weren’t people following you and reporting back to me? You’ve seen the resources at my disposal. Simple surveillance equipment was hardly an issue.”

“Then you know she won’t let you live the second that door to the Stronghold closes,” Stella says. “She’ll slice you open and then join us.”

“No, she won’t,” Camille says. “She’ll come with me and she’ll stay with me. Once that door closes, it will not open again for a very long time. I doubt she’ll want to spend the rest of her days with my rotting corpse.”

Stella doesn’t respond. Camille doesn’t add anything. Arguments have been made on both sides, so now we just stand here in the middle of a scorched street-slash-battlefield. There are two powerful women holding the fate of my son’s life in their hands.

Actually, make that three powerful women.

“Camille,” Elsbeth says as she walks across the road.

Where the hell she’s been, I have no idea, but she sure has taken her sweet-ass time getting here.

“Carly,” Camille beams. “You have no idea how wonderful it is to see you.”

“Elsbeth,” Elsbeth says. “That’s my name, Camille.”

“That is not your name,” Camille says. She’s not exactly angry about it, but there is a tone in her voice that says she is not to be argued with on the point. “Your name is Carly Michelle Thornberg.”

Elsbeth sighs. It’s a true, full body sigh. Her shoulders lift and fall, her body goes slack and I can see the exhaustion coming off her in waves. Yet, as there always is, I can also see that spark that makes Elsbeth Elsbeth.

“My name is Elsbeth,” Elsbeth says. “Call me that or do not call me anything, Camille.”

“I refuse to address you by a name that some perverted, backwoods redneck gave you,” Camille snaps. “You are from a family that has deep history in this country. You will not belittle that by accepting a false name.”

“Not a false name,” Elsbeth says. “It’s my name, Camille.”

“No, it is not,” Camille says and that calm is long gone. Nothing but venom in her voice now. “And stop calling me Camille! I am your mother! You will call me Mother!”

“No,” Elsbeth says. “I won’t, Camille.”

“Stop that!” Camille shouts.

“El…” Stella cautions.

Elsbeth’s hand twitches slightly and Stella backs off.

“I will not call you by a name you do not deserve,” Elsbeth says. “You gave me away, Camille. Just like all the parents of my sisters gave them away. You sold us to a program that would make you greater, not us. Our greatness wasn’t your concern, was it?”

Camille’s face is red. She’s itching to respond, but she holds her tongue.

“You used us,” Elsbeth says. The sisters move in closer to her. “You used us all and left us to die when the world fell apart.”

The twang in Elsbeth’s voice is slowly going away. I can start to hear the person she used to be before Pa found her. There is a distinct Yankee accent coming forward.

“You let us be warped by that man,” Elsbeth continues. The sisters are all now shoulder to shoulder with her. “You let us be cut into and brainwashed us. He drugged us, tortured us, made it so we wanted the pain, so we wanted the agony of his voice around us at all times. He did the dirty work, but it was all you in the end, Camille. Do not think for one second I don’t know that.”

“Stop calling me Camille,” Camille whispers, almost too quiet for us to hear. “Say it again and I kill the boy.”

“Fine,” Elsbeth says and I tense. “I won’t say it again.” I relax. “But I will not call you Mother either. I have a mother. I have someone that has been true and kind and has risked her life for me this past year more times than you did my entire life.”

Elsbeth looks at Stella. My wife has tears in her eyes that spill down her dirty, soot coated cheeks.

“Family isn’t blood. Family is love,” Elsbeth continues, this time with that Elsbeth accent we all know. “And I do not love you. Goodbye, whatever your name is.”

There’s a single gunshot and Stella screams, her hands going to her mouth as Charlie tumbles forward onto the pavement. Camille staggers backwards and I can see that half her face is missing and her hand is clutched to her chest. The one eye she has left focuses on Elsbeth then slowly closes as she falls to her knees then collapses face first (half-face first?) onto the ground.

“Fuck!” Charlie yells, his hand to his ear. He pulls it away and it’s covered in blood. “My fucking eardrum burst! Jesus Christ!”

“Oh, my baby!” Stella yells as she sprints over to him and takes him in her arms. “Oh, my God! Oh, Charlie! Oh, my baby!”

No one moves except for me and Elsbeth. We both walk up to her mother’s body. El looks at me and I look at her then we look down at Camille. I hook my foot up under her, but she’s dead weight and I don’t have the strength to flip her over. Elsbeth does, though. She gets a foot under and kicks.

Most of Camille’s face is gone. There’s only bone and blood and a gaping hole. If I was expecting some last second villain come to life startle, it sure as hell isn’t coming from this stiff. He he, I sound like I’m in a noir novel. Cool.

Finally, the others move. Stuart limps around us and picks up Camille’s pistol, holding it up so I can see how the muzzle is shredded and looks like one of those cartoon guns when someone puts a cork in it. It’s torn apart and most of it is ripped back. I’m guessing the rest of it is what ripped into Camille’s face. Stuart points at where a bullet hit the pistol, knocking it away from Charlie’s head.

Elsbeth stares at it and nods then turns around and nods again. I look over my shoulder and see Marcie walking up, a very large sniper rifle over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” Stella says as she finally lets Charlie go. She smiles at Marcie. “Thank you so much.”

“No way that bitch was taking out Chuck,” Marcie replies. “Not a chance in frozen hell.”

“Frozen hell?” I ask.

Everyone looks at me and frowns. I shake my head.

Stella hurries up to Elsbeth and takes the woman by the face, she leans in close and kisses her forehead.

“I love you,” Stella says. “Do not ever think I don’t. I love you like a daughter, I love you like a friend, and I love you like an equal. You complete this family.” Stella pulls back and looks around. “All of you do. I don’t care if your name isn’t Stanford. Fitzpatrick, Stuart, Torres, Baptiste, Billings, Stillwater…” She looks at Marcie then the other sisters and laughs. “Whatever your last names are. I don’t even know. And I don’t even care. You are all my family.”