The McClane Apocalypse Book Three (43 page)

Everyone laughs. It's a good tension
reliever. Plus, it is genuinely funny to think of a dairy cow
having a whole golf course to herself.

"I don't see why not, Derek," Doc agrees. "I
think it's a good idea to start establishing a trade flow within
our small community."

Kelly starts in again. "Paul said that he
could come out to their farm in the spring and work for them. You
know, plowing, milking whatever they need help with."

"That's perfect," Grams says.

This is a positive feeling that everyone
shares. Establishing a sense of community is going to be the first
step toward rebuilding their country.

She continues, "And he could bring his wife
sometimes, too. Bertie could sure use some company now and
then."

"I know," Sue laments. "I feel bad that
she's over there by herself with just the men."

"Until it's safer, you can't go over there
just yet, honey," Derek puts in quickly.

Sue just nods. Doc reaches over and gives
her hand a squeeze. The benevolence of the McClane family never
fails to humble John.

"It'll get better, Sue," Doc tells her, to
which she gives a pained grin. "I think that things will get
better. People trading with one another, trusting each other again
is a good, first step forward."

"I agree, sir," Kelly adds.

"And with that, I'm off to bed," Doc informs
them.

His white hair is standing on end. There is
a full day's growth of gray stubble on his chin and cheeks. He
looks exhausted as all get out.

He rises, everyone follows suit, and they
all leave the dining room. Hannah and Grams relieve Simon with the
kids. Derek goes upstairs to catch some sleep while Kelly heads out
to the shed to relieve Cory. It leaves him and Reagan alone in the
kitchen.

Today she wears baggy jeans with the knees
ripped through completely and a slim, long-sleeved white t-shirt.
She looks fresh and adorable to John. Even the black socks aren't
as offensive as they used to be. She tosses her work onto the
island, not bothering to take it up to the attic. She's also a
slob, which used to bug him, as well. Some things about her just
make her the quirky Reagan he loves.

"Wanna' get in a run before I go to the
shed?" she asks while looking at her feet.

She's never actually asked him before. He
has to bite the inside of his cheek to suppress a smile.

"Sure," he says with a nonchalant nod.
"Probably should just to do a perimeter check, right?"

"Yeah," she agrees. "Let me just check on
Huntley real quick and I'll meet you out behind the horse barn near
our path."

"Ok," he tells her and they separate. John
likes it that she calls it their path. That has to mean something.
It does to John.

Ten minutes later Reagan runs up to him near
the back of the horse barn.

"How's Huntley?" he asks, and they start off
at a fast walk. Naturally. She's not the sort to slow walk.

"He's doing great. I wasn't sure when Sue
brought him in if he'd pull through, but I think because we caught
it so early on with him that he's going to be ok. It gave the
medicine more time to kill the virus."

"Good. Thank God," John says as they come
closer to the edge of the forest. Her springy curls are coming
loose of her ponytail.

"Yeah," she says quietly.

As they head up the first incline on the
path, Molly yips and barks at their heels.

"Go on! Go back, Molly," Reagan scolds.

The mutt hangs her head and stops. She wags
her tail with hopeful expectation.

"Aww, be nice, boss. She just wants to go,
too. Don't ya,' girl? Come on, Molly," he calls to her. Reagan just
huffs at him and continues on while shaking her head.

John reaches over and takes her hand. It
would be nice to just walk their path today.

She asks with a great deal of disbelief,
"What are you doing?"

"Holding your hand. What's it look like?" he
teases with a smile. She tries to pull back, but John holds
fast.

"Let's just get our run in, ok?" she says
uncomfortably.

John just laughs once before they break
apart and start jogging. Here and there the path is muddy and more
deeply rutted from the bad rains the other day, but they still make
fairly good time. When they come to the high meadow where the green
grasses of summer and the rainbow of wildflowers are all turning to
tans and browns with the colors of fall, John tugs her arm, pulling
her to a stop.

He feigns the need for a break. "I need to
walk for a while, boss. Getting out of shape," he jokes.

"Didn't seem out of shape last night," she
jokes bawdily.

John laughs and sweeps her into his arms for
a long kiss that ends with them in the meadow grasses rolling
around like a couple of teenagers. The sun is warm and high today,
unlike the rainy, chilly weather of the last few days. It caresses
her tan skin delightfully, making it shimmery and lovely.

John kisses her deeply, pressing her into
the natural flora around them. Reagan takes his hand and slides it
under her white shirt. She doesn't seem to mind that it will be
grass-stained and soiled from rolling around on the ground. Her
curls tickle his nose and cheeks as he buries his face in her neck.
Reagan's hands are at his back, clawing and pulling him closer. His
hand closes around her breast, squeezing gently and teasing under
the lace edge at the top of her bra.

"Yes," Reagan tells him.

It's more of an order than a request, and
John knows it.

He grins against her mouth before answering,
"Not here, sweetie."

"Yes, here," she argues.

Of course she argues. Somehow her solid
logic seems to make sense as her mouth presses against the base of
his neck and then near his ear. It sends a shiver through him. John
has never felt like this with another woman, this desperate or
frantic for another person in his life.

Reagan's hand slips under the hem of his
white t-shirt where she runs her cold fingertips over his stomach
muscles, making them jump and flex under her touch. Her cheeks are
flushed to a lovely, deep pink. She whimpers against his neck as
his hand moves over her hip to cup her bottom, tugging her against
his erection. Her leg hooks around his like a coiling snake. John
is about to unbutton her jeans when Molly's soft mewling jerks him
from these thoughts, these thoughts that would lead to their nudity
and satiated appetites for one another.

The dog is standing maybe twenty feet from
them. Her hackles are raised with apprehension of something in the
woods to their west. Perhaps it's just a deer.

"What is it?" Reagan asks.

John has leaned back slightly from her and
has his head turned to look at Molly. Reagan is unaware of what is
going on. He doesn't want to frighten her.

"John?"

"Not sure," he whispers and tugs her top
back down, straightening it for her. Reagan leans up on her elbows,
but John doesn't sit all the way up yet. He's still lying half on
top of her, which also keeps her down below the long grasses.

Molly growls low in her throat. It's a
foreboding yet threatening sound. John listens intently but hears
nothing. He doesn't have the benefit of canine ears—or Hannah's.
His mutt is on high alert.

"Do you think it's something?" Reagan
whispers.

She's also feeling the dog's tension. John
places his index finger to her lips.

"Stay low," he orders to which she nods.

They are far enough away from the wood-line
that if someone would be in there, they shouldn't be able to see
him and Reagan in the tall grass. This is also the reason he
doesn't call to the dog.

John pulls his .45 from the holster on his
hip, rolls off of Reagan, takes the binoculars out of his cargo
pocket and scans the area carefully. Molly is still discomfited
about something in those woods. Her head swings back and forth, to
and fro. She is clearly upset. John doesn't hear or see anything,
but it sure doesn't mean that nothing or nobody is out there.

After another two minutes, the dog comes
back to John, licks his hand and lies on the ground near his feet.
If someone or something was in the woods, they're gone now. Her
usual calm demeanor is restored, and she even wags her tag
once.

"Stay here. Keep her here with you," John
tells Reagan and rises. She looks worried but does as she's told.
John sprints into the woods at a wide angle, trying to flank any
would-be trouble.

He runs for about a half mile but finds no
one. It's frustrating but also a relief. On his way back to Reagan,
John does spy a deer about a hundred yards to his south through his
binoculars. He's not sure if Molly would react so strangely to just
a deer, though. She's had to have seen hundreds since coming to the
farm and he's never noticed her behave like that over anything
before. He doesn't believe for a second that the doe he'd spotted
has spooked his dog. She's smarter than that. When he takes Reagan
back to the shed, John fully intends to grab Kelly and do a full
perimeter check on horseback. If they have to go five miles out and
track with Molly, then that's what he's willing to do. The safety
of the family is the only thing that matters. The safety of Reagan
being most important.

He collects her, all thoughts of sex in the
open air long forgotten. She is also visibly shaken and afraid.
John holds her hand as they head back to the farm. This time she
doesn't pull away from him. This time he's more relieved that she
doesn't, and John doesn't holster his weapon again, either.

When they finally get to the rear of the hog
barn, having followed the path that leads there, they run into
Weird Willy—as Derek has nicknamed him, and Bobby, the young punk.
John is instantly uneasy and does not put his pistol away. The two
men are loitering suspiciously behind the barn.

"What are you two doing back here?" John
barks angrily. He's on edge after the hectic encounter in the
meadow. Bobby's eyes are dazed and there appears to be the tiny end
of a smoked blunt stamped out at his feet.

"Nothin,' what's it to you?" Bobby expresses
out with a bad attitude.

"I don't see apples in your hands, so I'd
say you're where you shouldn't be, kid," John tells him with more
force. Reagan stands quietly beside him. Bobby's eyes travel up and
down the length of her curvy, small figure more than once.

"We was just havin' a smoke is all," Willy
answers, offering the remnants of what is left of another marijuana
joint.

Where had they hidden their drugs? John and
Kelly had checked that RV from top to bottom and not found drugs.
Of course they'd been looking for weapons, but surely they
should've found drugs, too. If these people have been crafty enough
to hide drugs and possibly alcohol, too, had they also hidden
weapons? This thought unnerves John.

"No, we don't want your drugs!" Reagan
screeches at him.

"You shouldn't be back here," John tells
them the obvious. "Get back to your camp."

"Yeah? And who's gonna make us?" Bobby
taunts. "You and little hot ass there?"

John cannot believe his ears. He wraps a
protective arm around Reagan's waist.

"Excuse me?" John demands with righteous
disbelief.

"Sweet peaches," Willy remarks with wild
eyes and a big grin.

Reagan and John look at each other. What the
heck is he talking about? What a freak.

"Hey, Doc, I think I'm sick. Can you help me
with that?" Bobby asks.

The punk is speaking to Reagan, completely
ignoring John. She steps closer to John. The kid is jeering her,
but John doesn't find it appropriate. She is apparently not fond of
this kid.

"I don't think so," she returns.

Is she afraid of Bobby? John knows of the
confrontation between the two of them over Sam.

"Really? You're supposed to be a doctor,
took an oath and shit to help the sick. I think I need a special
serum," Bobby hints.

Reagan smirks and answers, "I don't have a
magic serum for little dick syndrome."

Or perhaps she isn't afraid of him.

Willie laughs loudly, but John does not. He
is too busy glaring at Bobby who is looking like he'd like to slap
Reagan. It's the same look he's probably given Sam many times right
before he did so.

"Peachy, just peachy peaches," Willy adds to
no one in particular.

Does he even make sense in his own head,
John wonders? He's now tapping his fingers against the side of his
temple and muttering incoherently. Freakshow.

"You think you're funny, huh?" Bobby asks
with a sudden coolness in his black eyes.

Cory was right in his assessment of this
jerk. He is psychotic. And Willy is definitely nuts. He's mumbling
to himself and bobbing his head in a strange, jerky motion.

"Sure, why not?" Reagan pushes. John's not
about to stop her. This kid is a little creep who deserves her
wrath if not just for Sam's defense.

"I can show you what I like to do with
mouthy, little bitches like you," Bobby informs them both.

Molly growls beside John. Her hackles have
risen again. She bares her top row of pointy, sharp teeth. Even she
doesn't like this kid, and she likes most everyone. John clicks off
the safety on his .45. However, Reagan stays his hand with a soft
chuckle. She knows all too well what he's capable of.

"Don't you talk to her like that, you piece
of shit," he swears heartily. It's against his religion, but John
figures that the situation warrants it. Kelly was right. It does
work more effectively sometimes.

Bobby just gives a smart aleck chortle to
John before brushing past him. He doesn't apologize to Reagan, but
neither does he say anything else.

"Gotta go pluck some peaches," Willy tells
them.

They have no idea why he is talking about
peaches. 'Weird Willy' is now the most apropos nickname ever given
to someone.