Desert Angels (16 page)

"Yeah, I know you're here," Jack chuckled, then offered a finger or two for battle. The fight was half-hearted, though, as Jack stared off into the room and sighed.

His thoughts turned abruptly to Angela. He had not been with a woman since his wife's death four years earlier. Nor did he feel especially deprived; the divine art of staying alive demanded most of his energy and was not an especially effective aphrodisiac. The implications of the Angel's discovery had not sunk in for Jack until now; the shock value in finding someone who was, like himself, perfectly healthy and uncontaminated was extraordinary, but it was magnified all the more by the gender of the survivor. After Angela, Jack had divorced himself completely from the outside world and such a separation did not allow for an occasional encounter with intimate female companionship. And, of course, with the War's arrival and the festivities begun in earnest, what little libido had heretofore loyally clung to Jack took an immediate leave of absence, perhaps never to return. Haunted then and still by the ghost of Angela's memory, he had never entertained plans for the future with another mate in mind.

Until now. Against his will.

For now, there was Laura.

Jack fought with Walter and ruminated. For a moment, he felt childish. School boyish thoughts (even now, he laughed inwardly!) flashed into his head.

Laura, Laura, Laura.

I've just met a girl named ...

Will she be pretty?

Will she like him?

How will she feel about being Eve?

"Ouch," Jack barked, as Walter successfully pecked a chunk of skin away from his finger. Such contests between Man and Bird were not always without pain. Walter, Jack noticed, took the finger-fights to heart and was obviously unaware of his own strength.

Or was he? Jack looked into Walter's eyes. Walter returned the stare. Every now and again, Jack thought he could see something almost – human. He shuddered a little and shook his head. Walter, he affirmed for the hundredth time, was a remarkable little mystery indeed.

"You win, partner," Jack said, tossing Walter into the air and getting up.

Walter flapped, circled Jack, then took a firm purchase on the man's shoulder as Jack marched for the door, maps in hand, his thoughts returning to Laura.

She was out there. . .somewhere.

And he was going to find her.

Since Blast Day, he had entertained no compulsion to explore past a perimeter of three miles from the Dome and Eden. What lay beyond could only be speculated on – and surmised as hellish. Yet beyond, Jack now conceded, held hope; hope for himself and for humanity. He felt a little presumptuous, assuming already that he was, perhaps, the only
uncontaminated
man left in the world – and that
she
, Laura, was the only woman remaining; the only woman for him. But the presumption was not quickly dispelled.

Because perhaps there
was
nothing left; perhaps Eden was
it
. In two years, he had found no one like himself. Granted, he occupied a pitifully small patch of earth on the planet and he had insulated himself from as much outside contact as possible; to assume so easily that out of five billion souls, only he (and Laura) had emerged unscathed, was preposterous if not unrealistic.

But how many had prepared as carefully as he? How many would have that kind of paranoid foresight and discipline?

How many had had a wife like Angela? A clairvoyant whose talent for predicting the future had been one hundred percent accurate?

Perhaps no one, except the extraordinary scientist, Victor Talbot, and his daughter.

Jack stared into the ferocious darkness, spotting one of the Edenite sentries waving to him. He waved back then loaded up the remainder of his supplies into the Humvee.

How many, indeed?

He could not even begin to guess how extensive the bombings had been, which countries had been affected, or effectively wiped out, what the scope of devastation to the planet had been and what the long term projection promised regarding the viability of life, in any form at all.

How many?

With sudden insight, Jack realized that Laura or no Laura – sooner or later, he would have had to chance the exploratory voyage he had so long been dreading into the land beyond Eden's valley. Such a voyage might kill him; but he would have had to make it nevertheless. The Angel and Laura had simply given him a starting impetus.

Jack closed the door, clucked to Walter and thought of sleep.

Tomorrow began the adventure.

Jack grabbed at Walter suddenly, holding the bird so that it could not hope to escape or flap. Jack stared at the pigeon, as it struggled ineffectually.

"I'd be doing you a favor by keeping you here. But I guess you wouldn't forgive me if I did that," he said, frowning.

Walter made a noise of disapproval that vaguely sounded like a growl.

"I didn't think so," Jack muttered, then put the bird on its favorite shelf, overlooking Jack's sofa and bunk.

Jack fell into his bed, then stared up at the ceiling.

Despite his very best efforts, he did not fall asleep for a long time. Walter quieted down and crouched on the ledge, blinking a tired eye or two at Jack. Jack couldn't help but smile.

On second thought, he would have hated to make the journey without Walter. At least Walter was something he understood; a thing from his old world that had not somehow been hideously transformed into something strange and horrible. Walter, at least, represented some kind of normalcy.

It was this last comforting, if completely inaccurate, thought that finally allowed Jack to sleep.

* * *

Like mourners at a funeral, the small populace of Eden gathered solemnly around Jack's fortified Humvee, awaiting the dreadful moment of his departure.

Jack exited the Dome, bags slung over his shoulder and an extra .45 automatic buckled to his side, in addition to his AK-47 already placed and strapped to the passenger seat. Walter fluttered behind him, then winged on ahead to light on the Humvee windshield.

Rebecca, the little girl whom Jack had taken blood from a day earlier, forced her way through the forest of adults and stood in front of Jack.

"You be careful, Dr. Jack," she said firmly, pointing a finger at him like a little mother.

Jack stopped, stooped down and looked into the girl's eyes. He then stared at Gleeson and the Edenites. He hugged Rebecca gently.

"Promise," he whispered, so only she could hear.

"Happy birthday," Rebecca whispered back. "I forgot to tell you that yesterday."

Jack paled as he felt the girl's fragile torso, devoured from within by bone and blood cancer. He pulled himself away from her and stood. He burned the thought out of his brain that she would be dead before he returned.

"I'll be back in a week. Remember the rules. Stay sharp and listen to Gleeson."

Brandon, Jim Rosen, Denise, Mimi and Aunt Sheila stood together. Aunt Sheila was waving happily. Except for her mad good wishes, the eyes that came his way all said the same thing, the tacit accusation that Jack had read in Gleeson's eyes and heard in Brandon's voice the day before:

You're abandoning us, they said. You – who we need and trust. Probably, you'll die out there. And in turn, we will die. Dr. Calisto. Our savior – and now – our executioner.

Stop it, Jack pinched himself mentally. Or you
will
go crazy.

Gleeson moved forward and took one of Jack's bags. Jack let him, allowed himself one more look at the Eden camp then crawled into the Humvee. Walter flapped his way into the passenger seat next to him.

"There's nothing you can't handle, Gleeson," Jack urged. "Even if I don't come back, you have more firepower than the 82nd Airborne. And twice the meanness!"

"Have a good trip, doc," Gleeson replied tonelessly, keeping whatever reservations he had concerning Jack's impending journey to himself. “I suppose what you’re doing you think you have to.”

"Yeah," Jack muttered, starting the engine. "If I’m lucky, when I return, you’ll understand why I had to do this. Be good."

The crowd moved away – reluctantly – from the Humvee. Jack found Rebecca's eyes again; those eyes that said so much with so little. There was no accusation in them this time, real or imagined. There was only concern and worry, for his sake. She stood there now, watching him, doubting, fearing, loving.

Love.

Yes, that's what he saw now. Love, selfless and giving.

Because you're going to save us, Dr. Jack, Rebecca's eyes said. Do what you must now and be careful, but come back soon; to help us. To keep us from dying. Because you love us and we love you. Come back. Promise?

Prom –

Jack turned away quickly, gripping the wheel in front of him.

"Let's find her," he said to Walter in a strange, gravelly voice.

The Humvee moved forward and slowly out the gate.

EIGHT – LAURA

LOG; TALBOT, VICTOR, Personal

December 26.

Third day.

Laura and I, shaken; but holding up. Hot outside. Completely dark. Radio non-functioning. Internet is gone. We play cards and listen to the wind and rain.

December 31

No change. Greenhouse Effect worse than previously anticipated. Minor power failure on generator 2. I read and pace; Laura cleans her guns.

January 5

No change. We sleep most of day.

February 11th

Nothing to report. Thought we had something on the radio on a military frequency; but it fizzled. Still alone.

February 12th

Ferocious winds; frightening. Structure still secure; outside shelter for Ball Job still intact. We try to sleep despite the wind.

February 14th

Valentine's Day. I pull out candy from rations; first time I see Laura smile since End Day. Still dark out; winds died down; but now hail.

February 28th

I write again today. I have a beard. Skies clearing; but no sun. Don't expect to see one for awhile. Strange lights outside; they come and go; an anomaly. Radiation still too high for closer observation. Laura stares out the window most of the day. As if she's expecting something. I tell her not to expect anything. She mentioned something about a shadow moving independently across the land. An optical illusion.

She doesn't believe me, I think.

March 1

Life! Incredible (see Official Entry; Analysis). Creatures; fantastic; a whole new strain of human, I think. Mutations on a different order; they've attacked facility, but appear uncoordinated and sluggish. I tell Laura not to worry; again, she does not believe me. She conducts target practice in the garage. She has taught herself to be a crack shot. Something I never wanted for her.

March 2.

Vampires, Laura calls them, as she reports large fangs, incisors. We disagree. I count 10 or 20. Amazing; accelerated mutation. Nothing on radio; all quiet except for mutant activity. Skies clearer; still no sun. Outside temperature around 20 degrees centigrade. I shaved beard; decide that I like it; plan to grow it back.

March 3

Same as yesterday; we're restless, irritable.

March 23

Three month anniversary of End Day. Not much to celebrate. Radiation levels dropping; I talk to Laura about going outside.

We argue.

March 31

I walk on the moon for five minutes. Attacked by vampires; Laura kills three. I decide to construct deterrent.

April 14

Tax day. I decide not to file. Fence completed. I electrify it; holds up fine; vampires hate it.

May 1

I take soil samples (see Background Digest/Analysis). I worry for Laura; she's getting wild, so soon.

June 15

Vampire population, around 30. Beard is back.

July 31

God, I just now realize how alone we are! Still no sun; I worry about Ozone collapse, potential exposure threat (See Background; Analysis Digest).

August 30

Laura kills vampire inside wire; I dissect. (See Background Digest; Analysis). I am confounded by findings.

Vampires are animated corpses.

Incredible.

September 15

Vampire tissue practically indestructible; gamma and ph levels off scale; brain activity negligible; all physio-neuro response unmotivated.

I feel sadness. And horror.

These are people.

All dead.

October 3

Laura insists I learn how to shoot. She teaches me. She kills vampires at random, against my wishes.

November 15

The days pass; we are well, but despondent. Glowing lights return (See Background Digest; Analysis). The world has changed. So much I do not understand. I worry for Laura.

I say a prayer.

December 23

One year since End Day. Fencing fails; over twenty vampires in compound. Laura fights bravely; we kill almost all with flamethrowers. I am sad; we kill so many. No other way; creatures incommunicable.

December 25

Merry Christmas.

December 26

Laura's birthday. 25 years old.

God, I love her. Have I done right?

What have I saved her for?

The strange lights come back again; anomaly.

January 14

My birthday. Too damned old.

We're bored; we sulk, we argue; Laura has changed.

So have I.

February 3

I have begun to read Robinson Crusoe; sounds familiar.

March 15

The Ides are upon us. We hang on still.

* * *

"One day you'll have to leave this place," Victor Talbot told his daughter. "Find other people."

Laura snapped a butane canister to her flamethrower. The gun had a custom look to it; a creation personal to Laura Talbot. It was light, ugly and effective.