The Stranger (29 page)

Michaela started to walk back to the bikes. “How far away to the cabins?”

“About an hour’s ride.”

I threw the flashlight back to Ben. “Ride up there and warn them about the well.”

“There’s a chance it might still be all right. The place hadn’t been touched by hornets.”

“It might be sweet as a nut,” I agreed. “But the hornets could be getting cute. They might be content with dropping a corpse down the well and leaving it to do their dirty work.”

They started to walk back to the bikes but paused when they saw I’d squatted down by the fire.

Ben looked back. “Greg? You’re coming, too?”

“I’ll wait for you here.”

“Why? We’ll be staying at the cabins.”

I shook my head. “You can’t guarantee the water will be fresh. You’ve hardly any food. You’re low on ammunition.”

Ben looked bemused. “Yeah, I know . . . but what do you suggest?”

I shot him a smile that he must have read as crazed. “Well, old buddy, I’ve decided it’s high time we went back home to Sullivan.”

Forty-four

They were back within three hours. And when they saw I’d found one of their precious stores of gasoline—a niggardly thirty gallons stored in cans beneath a mound of motel debris—they were pissed—really pissed.

Tony roared up first on the Harley in a cloud of swirling dust. He glared at the fuel cans lined up against the remains of the motel wall. There was no,
“Hey great to see you, buddy . . . glad you made it back alive.”
Instead: “What the fuck are you doing, man? Michaela told me you’re going back to Sullivan.”

“That’s right?”

“So, you’re running out on us, huh? Going back to a nice soft bed . . . man, you are a pile of shit, you know that?”

“I need to go back.”

“Yeah . . .
need
. You need to save your yellow neck.” Climbing off the bike, he rocked it back onto the stand. “And how the hell did you find that gas? That’s ours.”

“I followed my nose. Look.” I pointed at one of the Jerry cans. “It’s leaking. I could smell it twenty paces away.”

“What do you need all that gas for? There’s thirty gallons there.”

“Twenty-five now. You stored it in cans that leaked.”

“Hey, but we need that.”

“But I need it more.”

Tony’s hand went to the butt of his pistol. “There’s no way on earth we’re going to let you take what’s left of our gas so you can go running back to your soft, pussycat town.”

I looked at him. “ ‘What’s left of our gas’?” I repeated his exact words. “You mean this is all you’ve got?”

Tony looked uneasy, as if he’d let some secret slip. “Sure, we’ve got more gas. We’ve got a store up at the cabins.” He slapped the tank of the bike. “What do you think we run these on—morning mist?”

“How much gas? Ten gallons? Fifteen?”

“Enough, Valdiva.”

By this time the others had killed their motors and had climbed off the bikes. Ben looked puzzled. Michaela and Zak were angry. They immediately replayed the conversation I’d just had with Tony. Why did I need the gas? It wasn’t my gas. It was theirs. Why was I scuttling back to Sullivan like a whipped puppy?

Ben chipped in. “You’re crazy, Greg. You know what happened last time. They’ll lynch you if you go back there.”

Michaela shook her head. “You rat. After last night . . . I mean, I thought we had something together. Now you’re leaving?”

Tony spat. “He’s got a yellow streak up his back . . . this wide.” He held his hands apart.

Disgusted, Zak swept his hat from his head to strike it against his thigh. “Go back to Sullivan, homeboy. But don’t expect a lift from us. And don’t think you can take that gas, because we—”

“ ‘Because we need it,’ ” I mimicked. “I know.”

“So what are—”

“Just listen to me for one minute, OK?”

Grudgingly they looked at each other, then Zak nodded. Michaela still glowered.

“First answer some questions.”

Zak sounded suspicious. “What kind of questions?”

“How much gasoline do you have?”

Michaela shrugged. “With what you’ve found around fifty gallons.”

Tony added defiantly, “But we’ll find more.”

“OK. Where?”

“We’re good at finding supplies.”

“Yeah.” Zak nodded. “See for yourself. We’ve done all right so far.”

“How much ammo have you got left?”

They shrugged.

“OK, don’t give me an audit down to the last shotgun shell,” I said. “Give me an approximate figure.”

“OK, OK.” Michaela held up her hands. “We have around a hundred shotgun shells. Maybe three hundred rifle rounds and a few dozen rounds for handguns.”

“That’s not much, is it? Not if you’re going to keep twenty people alive over the next few months.”

“Like I said”—Tony rested his hand on the pistol butt where he’d pushed it into his belt—“we can find more.”

“But where? The towns are picked clean.”

“We’ll do it.”

I moved in close to meet him eye to eye. “Tell me: When was the last time you found some gas? Some ammunition?”

Tony glared back. “Two weeks ago. A stack of rifle shells.”

Michaela sighed. There was a defeated look in her eye. “Greg, it was three weeks ago, and we found three rifle shells in the trunk of a wrecked car.”

“Three shells won’t win a war, will they?”

“Michaela.”
Tony glared at her as if telling her to keep her mouth shut.

“What have we got to hide, Tony? It’s looking like crap. We haven’t found any gas in a month. In a couple of weeks we’ll have to dump the bikes and go on foot.”

“We can manage, Michaela. We got by in the past.”

“ ‘We got by in the past’?” I echoed. Boy, oh boy, this time I let them have it. Words came out like machinegun bullets. “What good is that? Don’t you see? You can’t live like this, grubbing for cans of beans in ruins and running from place to place. Listen to me; it’s time to stop living like hobos. It’s time to start living like Vikings!”

“Like Vikings?” Tony gave a dismissive laugh. “Yeah. What do you suggest, Valdiva?”

I took a deep breath. “Do you have any dynamite?”

“Dynamite! Hell no.”

“What do we need explosives for, Greg?” Michaela asked, astonished. “We carry what’s essential. Food. Ammunition.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“And what’s this talk of Vikings?” Ben asked, be-mused. “What do Vikings have to do with anything?”

“Because, Ben, we’re going to start
taking
what we need to survive.”

Zak scratched his bald head. “Well, Valdiva, you talk the talk, I’ll grant you that. But how we going to
take
what we need?”

I looked ’round at the faces that were either puzzled or downright hostile. Only Michaela’s had softened. I sensed she trusted me to offer some kind of hope. Jesus, I prayed I could. “Listen: This is the plan. There’s a Jeep back at the garage I’ve been staying in. All it needs is gas. Once I have a full tank I drive to Sullivan. There, I’m going to pick up explosives. I’m sure they’ve got dynamite and detonators, haven’t they, Ben?”

“Sure, there’s a place that supplied the quarries, but—”

“Once I’ve got the dynamite we open up that nuclear bunker. There’s a crazy guy there who’s sitting on enough gasoline to float a ship. There’ll be military hardware. Mortars. Rocket launchers. Grenades. Machine guns. And probably a million rounds of ammunition. See? We’re going to start living like Vikings. We’re transforming ourselves from losers to winners. We’re taking control of our lives again.”

Michaela’s face lit up. Zak nodded, a grin breaking across his face. Even Tony’s expression changed to one of excitement.

Only Ben looked worried. “Greg, that’s a great idea. But everyone in Sullivan will hate our guts. How do you propose to get them to hand over dynamite? All you’re gonna get is a bullet between the eyes.”

I shot him the devil of a grin. “Trust me, Ben. We’re Vikings now. We can do anything.”

Forty-five

When people—or the goddam world in general—push you around it makes you unhappy. When you lose control of your own life you feel powerless. You feel dead from the neck up. Believe me, that’s one thing guaranteed to saturate your life in complete and utter misery.

Live like Vikings!
So far that was all I’d been able to tell them, but as they funneled gas into the Jeep back at the garage their faces shone; they laughed, cracked jokes. They were happier . . . they were taking control of their lives again. Suddenly they were optimistic about the future.

After the confrontation over those paltry gallons of gas, they’d really locked themselves into the dream I’d sold them. By now it was evening. Zak had already ridden back to the cabins with the news: We were going to crack open the Aladdin’s cave stocked with more food than we could ever eat. Those half-starved devils had cheered him. With an almighty grin pasted across his face he’d returned with more guns and ammo. For a while we worked on the Jeep, pumping air into the tires. I greased up the cable linkages in the engine. Michaela and Ben checked the guns.

Tony still tended to question everything I suggested. But it seemed now more from habit than any real desire to wreck my scheme. “Why don’t we use the bikes? They’re more maneuverable than the Jeep. They’ll use less fuel as well.”

I slapped the hood of the Jeep. “Because I’m going to need dynamite—lots and lots of dynamite. More than the bikes can carry.”

“How’re you going to blast a way into the bunker, Greg?” Michaela’s dark eyes looked searchingly into my face. “The walls are thick enough to withstand nukes.”

“There’s a way, trust me.”

The question bug catching, Ben looked up from where he loaded a rifle. “And I still don’t see how you’re going to just turn up in Sullivan and ask for dynamite. Those people aren’t going to hand over their stuff because they’ll be too busy ripping your head off.”

I smiled. “You’re thinking like a nice middle-class boy, Ben. You’ve got to think like a warrior who drinks his enemy’s blood from his shattered skull.”

“Yeah.” Ben grinned. “Silly me, I never thought of that.”

Michaela chipped in. “So who is the enemy, Greg?”

“That’s easy.
Everyone.”
I wiped my hands on a cloth. “Everyone who stands between us and survival. . . . Now, let’s see if this little beauty’s going to deliver.” With the battery long dead I slotted the starting handle into the engine socket that exited through the radiator grill.

“You think it’s really going to start?” Ben asked.

“It’s going to have to,” Zak said, looking through the open door. “Here come the bad guys.”

Got to make this work, Greg
, I told myself. We’re using the last of our precious supplies on this venture. At best we go hungry if it fails. At worst . . . well, fill in the blanks.

There they were. Hornets. Lots of fucking ugly hornets. Big, bad and monstrous, just like they’d come lurching out of your worst nightmare.

“Jesus,” Ben breathed. “There are hundreds.”

Zak looked at me, then at the Jeep. “Is that old junk pile ready to run?”

“It’ll work. These babies were built for battlefields.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.”

“Don’t worry about me. You get the bikes.” I ran to the front of the Jeep. Glancing out through the doors, I saw the road that ran up through the forest. It was thick with hornets. They shuffled forward in the evening sun. If the wind had been in the right direction you could probably have smelled their greasy hair alone. In a little while the Twitch would set my stomach muscles jumping. Ben, Zak and Tony fired up the bikes and eased them through the doorway onto the driveway that led to the road. Michaela hopped into the open-topped Jeep in the driver’s seat.

“Make it quick,” Tony shouted. “They’ve seen us!”

I glanced back through the doorway. They were still two hundred yards away, but all those feet were raising a dust cloud nearly as high as the trees. They’d spotted us, all right. They were coming this way. And as the saying goes, they were walking like they meant it.

I swung the starting handle. It made a puttering sound.

“Lightly press the gas pedal,” I called. “The carb’s dry.”

I tried again. This time it made a sharp coughing sound. Only it didn’t fire properly. Instead, the misfire yanked the starting handle from my hand and whipped it backward so the iron handle cracked against my forearm. Pain blistered white hot through the bone. Shit. I whispered a little prayer to my guardian angel that the blow hadn’t snapped a bone.

“Are you OK?”

I glanced up to see Michaela anxiously looking through the windshield. I shook my hand. My fingers tingled like crazy.

“Fine. She misfired, that’s all.”

I wish.

Once again I took a grip of the starting handle. My arm didn’t hurt any more intensely. Come to that, it didn’t hurt any less, either, so I figured I hadn’t broken a bone.

“I reckon you’ve got fifteen seconds to get moving,” Zak called. He cocked the shotgun.

“Fifteen seconds is plenty, buddy.” Gritting my teeth against the pain, I swung the handle again. This time the engine roared. With a thumbs-up to Zak, who sat astride the Harley, I jumped into the passenger seat. Michaela hit the gas and the little ’Nam vet Jeep bulleted out the doorway like it was rocket-powered. The three bikes kept just a little ahead as we swung onto the main road, then powered away. I glanced back to see a dozen or so hornets break away from the pack to run after us. The rear wheels of the Jeep flung dirt into their faces and we were gone.

As soon as we were well clear of the hornets we settled down to around forty. Now I had a chance to sit in the open-topped vehicle and enjoy the breeze shooting through my hair, and to feel a good meaty slice of satisfaction. I’d done good work on that old engine. OK, so it ran with a throaty roar, but everything functioned a hundred percent. Every so often Zak or Tony or Ben would glance back to give a thumbs-up sign. The roads were clear. What debris the Jeep couldn’t ride over it nimbly sidestepped. Beside me, Michaela’s dark eyes locked onto the road. She had the concentration of a hawk. There wasn’t a stone or a bottle on the road she missed. I found myself gazing at the waves of dark hair rippling in the slipstream. In fact it was so wonderful it was hard for me to look away. And here’s the craziest thing: I felt this big, goofy smile on my face. Michaela was something else.

When she realized she was being watched she turned and shot me a warm smile. Once she even reached out to rest her hand on my knee.

For a while I allowed myself my reward: to ride in an open-topped Jeep through a forest wilderness. Beside me, a beautiful woman with raven feather hair and eyes black as onyx. Now that’s a good enough reward for any man. I took that hour’s ride as the sun set and cut it free of a lousy past and a dangerous future. I just wanted to live in that moment.

But here’s the brutal part: I couldn’t for long. Because I knew I’d lured these people into something called hope. At the best of times hope is as fragile as a butterfly’s wings. Sure, I knew we were headed to Sullivan to collect the dynamite. Sure, I knew I planned to bust my way into Phoenix’s concrete fairy castle, with its treasure house of food stocks that would keep our bellies full for years. But by doing that I’d forced this little bunch of hunted teenagers to gamble what little resources they had. They’d use up their gas and their ammo on this scheme of mine. If it failed, at best they’d go hungry. At worst . . . well, you’ll recall what I said about filling in those blanks . . .

We camped out on a hill overlooking Sullivan. The town was probably no more than ten minutes’ ride away. There were no hornets in the neighborhood to give us a sleepless night. And no way would we get any surprise callers from Sullivan. That little community was locked down tight. No one went in, no one came out; those were the rules. They were broken on pain of death. After we’d made camp beneath the trees I noticed Ben standing on the edge of a bluff, looking down over the lake toward the town. With the time before midnight, Sullivan’s lights still burned out of that vast sea of darkness. Hell, that darkness had encompassed the whole country. Because make no bones about it, every other town and city that had ever existed had been shattered to their foundations. Only Sullivan had streetlights that lit the roads. Across the black lake water there’d still be some kids in the diner. Or maybe some held a party by a pool, complete with a barbecue and a tubful of cold beers. Maybe a little of Mel’s weed was being smoked, too. Just for a moment I thought I heard music. Any night could be party night in Sullivan. Hypnotized, we stood there in the warm night air and watched

At last I saw Ben shiver like something cold had just crept over his grave. “You wish you were still back there, Ben?”

“Of course I do. I wish I was sipping a beer and listening to Hendrix. That would be enough right now.”

“Sounds like paradise!”

“You can say that again.”

“But you know the place was going rotten, Ben.”

“Maybe it would have held together.”

I shook my head. “The people are so paranoid they’ll wind up burning each other in the streets. Remember what happened to Lynne?”

“They were just scared, Greg.”

“Yeah, so scared they were prepared to murder their own neighbors.”

He still stared out across at the town’s lights. “You can’t go back there. You know that, don’t you?” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “I can dream, buddy. I can dream.”

Lightly, I slapped him on the back. “Come on, buddy. Time to turn in. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”