After: Whiteout (AFTER post-apocalyptic series, Book 4) (27 page)

“Humans
value their freedom.” The child seemed almost bored now, her nostrils flaring
and sending steam into the night. “Or at least your illusion of freedom. That’s
nothing but pride dressed up as ignorance of your own insignificance.”

“She
gets like this,” the woman holding her said. “I blame the people in Newton.”

“Newton? What’s in Newton?”

“The
beginning,” the infant said. “We’d like you to join us.”

Some
of the Zapheads eased back into the darkness, carrying Kreutzman with them.
DeVontay was relieved that they were heading downhill following the creek
instead of ascending toward the compound. But several dozen mutants remained. And
DeVontay would have to fight them all.

He
glanced at the Zaphead holding Kreutzman’s rifle, and the move was so obvious
the infant didn’t even need telepathy to read DeVontay’s mind. The child
erupted in a gleeful giggle. “You don’t want to fight us. And you refuse to
surrender. So what shall we do?”

DeVontay’s
toes were numb from the cold, and his fingers ached. One way or another, he’d
have to make a decision. He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets and found the
flare Hilyard had given them. “I’ll go with you, as long as we all go
together.”

“Your
plan to lure us away from the compound is admirable,” the infant said. “I
accept. Because Rachel is coming regardless. And your other friends…there’s no hurry.
We learn more every day.”

DeVontay
followed the line of tracks in the snow made by the Zapheads who had already
left. The woman carrying the dark-skinned infant walked just behind him. The
Zapheads held back a moment as if to make sure he wasn’t playing a trick, and
then they all fell in behind them. The combined luminance of their eyes lit up
the path just enough to keep DeVontay from bumping into trees or falling into
the creek.

The
volley of gunfire ahead was so sudden and sharp against the wintry silence that
at first DeVontay couldn’t place the noise. Then more shots erupted. Judging by
the volume, they could only have come from Shipley’s Army unit.

“They
die,” the infant said, with no more emotion than if she was talking about a
sand castle being swept into the sea.

“Those
men will kill all of us.”

The
baby almost sighed. “Death is not important. The New People will last no matter
what. It’s your own kind you should be worried about.”

DeVontay
noted the infant naturally assumed DeVontay was concerned about the Zapheads.
Maybe
I’m not the only one who suffers from pride
.
Maybe that’s a flaw I can
use later.

“But
we have no choice,” the infant said loudly enough for the others to hear.
“Violence creates discord, and we can’t tolerate discord. Ease the suffering.
Make peace.”

That
was apparently an order of some kind. The Zapheads around them dissolved into
the night like a stealthy pack of panthers, muttering jumbled combinations of
the baby girl’s words. They wouldn’t have a chance against armed soldiers,
especially since their eyes made them easy targets.

But
DeVontay didn’t care which side won. The chaos created an opportunity.

Only
he, the woman holding the bundle of swaddling, and the infant remained by the
creek.

He
headed into the woods away from the popping of gunfire, already bracing for the
utter darkness that awaited.

“What
would you like me to tell Rachel?” the infant called after him, stopping him in
his tracks.

Someone
screamed in the distance.

And
Zapheads didn’t scream.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE

“What
the hell were you thinking?” Hilyard said. His night-vision goggles reflected
tiny twin wedges of the moon.

“You
don’t know her,” Franklin said. “I do.”

The
gunshots peppered the slopes below them in a staccato rhythm. Once in a while,
a scream or cry pierced the night in the distance. Franklin could only imagine
the battle being waged out there in the darkness. From the platform, all they
could see was the occasional muzzle flash in the distance.

“Sounds
like all hell is breaking loose, and DeVontay and Kreutzman might be in the
middle of it.”

“We
just have to stick it out. We can’t go out there with Stephen, and we can’t
leave him here by himself.”

“Judging
by the gunfire, I’d guess maybe a dozen soldiers out there. The bunker is vulnerable
right now, and if enough Zapheads are swarming, they might take us all down.”

“How
many Zaps do you think it would take to beat a dozen trained and well-armed
men?”

“Under
normal circumstances, maybe a thousand,” Hilyard said. “In conditions like this,
a hundred might do it. Casualties don’t matter to Zaps. They can stack them
like cordwood and keep on trucking.”

“So
you don’t think Shipley was coming to get us?”

“I
suspect one of his scouts spotted a mass movement of Zapheads. If he’s gone so
loco
that he thinks he’s fighting a holy war, he won’t employ the soundest strategy.
The book would say fortify the bunker and hold a defensive posture. But he
might be too impatient for that.”

“Guessing
the thought process of a lunatic is as foolish as understanding what the
Zapheads are after.” Franklin glanced back at the cabin, where the boy was
waiting, probably watching from the window.

“Then
why did you let Rachel go out there alone?” Hilyard asked.

Franklin
could never explain. He’d seen the signs, the erratic
behavior, and the occasional gleam in her eyes—a literal gleam. She had never
fully come back from whatever had happened to her in Zap captivity. There was a
restlessness sleeping inside her, and although her instinct had won out enough
to bring her here, she couldn’t stay for long. And although it broke Franklin’s heart, he couldn’t keep her caged. That would go against everything he ever
stood for and every principle he believed in.

Freedom
doesn’t just mean that you get to be free, but you have to let everybody else
be free, too.

“I
didn’t let her do anything,” Franklin said. “We all have our callings.”

A
brilliant burst of red light burned a hole in the darkness. “Flare,” Hilyard
said, peering through the binoculars in frustration.

“Is
it ours, or theirs?”

“Can’t
really tell. But Shipley’s men wouldn’t use it unless they were calling in
reinforcements and showing their location.”

“I’ll
bet it’s our guys.”

“It’s
suicide to go out there now,” Hilyard said. “Bullets flying, God knows how many
Zaps wandering around, and it’s black as tar. You’d be more likely to trip and
break your neck as to take a slug or get your heart yanked out of your chest.”

“This
is my home. I have to protect it. And Rachel will come back when she’s finished
with whatever she has to do.”

Hilyard’s
face was largely hidden by the darkness, but his eyes reflected the moonlight.
“Yeah, you’re right. And those are my men out there getting slaughtered. It
wasn’t a battle I would have sent them into, but that doesn’t matter now. I
should be with them.”

“Even
though they kicked you out in the cold?”

“I’d
guess most of them are praying for a little spit and polish by now. Anarchy
isn’t such a good foundation for a new world order.”

As if
to punctuate his words, another volley of gunfire erupted. Franklin tried to
picture the soldiers with their night gear and automatic weapons against an
enemy that didn’t care whether it lived or died. Maybe everybody—and every
thing
—was
fighting for its home.

“So,
once an officer, always an officer, huh?” Franklin said.

“Those
are my men,” Hilyard repeated.

Although
he couldn’t see the lieutenant’s eyes, the determination in his face was
evident. Franklin nodded and shook the man’s hand. Hilyard climbed down from
the platform.

“I
took an oath,” Hilyard called after reaching the ground. “I know you have no
use for governments, but I still believe in the United States. At some point,
we’re going to win. And it’s worth dying for.”

“We’ll
agree to disagree on that one, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wish you the
best.” Franklin flipped him a casual salute and watched until Hilyard worked
his way into the thick shadows of the forest. Then he descended and entered the
cabin.

“Stephen?”
he called.

He
expected the boy to be watching from the window, or perhaps sitting by the
woodstove reading a book. But the cabin was empty. It was too small for hiding
places.

He
was about to open the door and yell into the compound, thinking the boy might
have gone to the outhouse or the animal pen, when he saw the note on his desk,
written in a careful but uneven hand:

Mr. Wheeler,

Thank you for your hospi—hospa—for being nice and
letting us stay here. I hope we can come back real soon. Rachel needs me out there.
She took care of me when I had nobody else. I owe her.

Please don’t follow me. And please tell DeVontay
thanks for all the candy and Slim Jims.

Stephen

P.S. I borrowed your copy of Animal Farm but I promise
to take care of it and bring it back one day.

“Shit,”
Franklin said.

He
glanced around the cabin that had gone from overcrowded to barren in just a few
hours. The dream that had sustained him for years now looked plain foolish and
delusional in the candlelight.

So
much for utopian compounds removed from the troubles of the world.

The
muffled gunplay was barely audible now, as if the war was taking place in a
foreign land. DeVontay and Kreutzman would arrive soon, and they could form a
plan. Running off into the night would help no one.

Maybe
Hilyard was right. Anarchy wasn’t sustainable. Franklin’s highest purpose was
to stay here and maintain an outpost of sanity and reason in a world turned
sideways.

He
pulled out a copy of Benjamin Franklin’s autobiography and sat by the
woodstove, hoping some wisdom would strike him like the great patriarch’s
legendary bolt of lightning.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX

The
guns popped around him.

DeVontay
realized that, even with the moonlight reflecting off the snow, the soldiers
wouldn’t be able to tell him from a Zaphead.

Maybe
they could see that his eyes didn’t burn, but would any of them bother to look?
They were likely shooting anything that moved. DeVontay had ignited the flare
to get a sense of the terrain, but the red incandescence had merely served to
trigger a volley of gunfire.

Worse,
the battle had spread along the slopes around them, and he couldn’t tell which
direction offered the safest way out. Not that he could risk leaving now. Until
he found out what this smug mutant brat knew about Rachel, he was staying.

But
he had no desire to serve as target practice, either, so he squatted behind a
tree in the darkness. Not that he could hide from the baby girl. Her human
porter held her close, apparently unfazed by the bullets whizzing around.

“Don’t
be afraid to die,” the baby said to DeVontay. “It’s only temporary.”

“What
do you know about dying? All your kind does is kill.”

“We’ll
learn to fix you,” the baby said. “We’ll make all of you new. Right, Lisa?”

The
face of the woman was illuminated by the intense brightness of the infant’s
eyes. The blank expression was replaced by slight animation, and Lisa smiled.
“The newer, the better.”

DeVontay
saw a pair of glinting eyes maybe fifty feet to his left, and then a muzzle
flash erupted.

That
Zaphead—it’s shooting a gun.

So
they finally figured it out. Took them long enough, considering how many people
they’ve seen shooting at them. And each other.

“We
don’t want to kill, you see,” the baby said. “But if we must make peace, we may
as well do it quickly. You Old People have taught us much.”

“Well,
if you weren’t trying to bash our brains in all the time, you might have seen a
better version of us,” DeVontay said. “When humans get backed into a corner,
they come out fighting.”

“I
look forward to talking with you when peace is made,” the baby said. “Once
we’re in Newton, we can explore these differences. Not that it will change
anything.”

“I’m
not going to Newton.”

A
three-round burst trimmed a branch overhead and it dropped into the snow. The
armed Zaphead returned fire.