Iron Mike (9 page)

Hershey

Hershey was happy to be going back to work. His human still cried some, and she still talked to hailmary, but not as much as she did the day before. When morning came and she got up to do her morning things, he followed her from room to room again, but he didn’t crowd her as he had the day before, so she didn't scold him. She knew now the Badness had happened, and since his human knew about it, everything would be okay. Hershey jumped up into the truck, wagging his tail with enthusiastic happiness when she was finally ready to go. It was later than when they usually left for work – the sun was higher in the sky – but Hershey was still excited.

It took a long time for them to get to work. His human stopped the truck and turned it around several times, each time going a different way. But finally, Hershey could smell that they were on the right road, close to work. His nose wrinkled several times as they pulled into his human’s spot. He knew there were dead cats and dogs inside. But there were also ones still alive, and they needed his human to give them food and water, clean their pens, and tap her fingers on her desk. They needed Hershey to come up to each of them, sniff politely, and wag his tail at them. Work was important –his human told him that frequently, and he always listened to her.

Clare cried again when she found the dead animals, but she set about the work of taking them out of their pens and moving them back to the room where the trucks came in. She handled each one as lovingly as she ever handled Hershey, and she talked to them as she carried them. If they weren’t already dead, Hershey would have growled at them to tell them she was
his
human, but he didn’t see the point now. When she finally finished moving the dead ones, most of the pens were empty. His human smelled sad, even though she stopped crying, and Hershey stepped up close to her legs so she could rub his head if she wanted to. She did, and she spoke to him in her serious, thoughtful voice.

“I don’t guess we’ll be getting any deliveries, boy, so I think we need to go to PetSmart and Pet Warehouse. I imagine we’ll be having more than our share of strays soon enough. I need to see about the generator, too.”

Hershey wagged his tail in enthusiastic agreement. He understood “boy,” and sometimes when she said “boy” in her serious, thoughtful voice, she gave him a treat. He didn’t smell any treats in her pockets, but she kept some in her desk drawer, too. She didn’t offer him one, though, not even when he wagged his tail harder.

She didn’t tap her fingers on her desk at all that day. In fact, they didn’t stay at work for any time at all. Once she moved the dead animals, she fed and watered the rest of them. It didn’t take long because there weren’t many left. Hershey was glad the big black Lab had made it. They were friends – they always touched noses and sniffed each other when his human cleaned the cages.

Hershey was surprised his human stopped work so soon. She called him into the truck and they drove for a long time, sometimes stopping and backing up like she did when trying to get to work. They could have been home three times before she finally got where she was going. Hershey didn’t mind; he loved the truck, since he never had to ride in a cage in the back anymore. She put his window down halfway, just like always, and he stuck his head out, straining to get as many smells into his nose as he could. A lot of the smells were unpleasant now; dead things, only just beginning to ripen in the cold air.

His human arrived at some big buildings. Hershey went with her to these buildings on a pretty routine basis. She backed her truck up almost to the doors, which was a new one, though. Usually, she parked out further in the blacktop field, and made Hershey wait in the truck until she came back. This time, though, she put his leash on his collar and told him to “come.” Hershey knew that word, so he jumped down from the truck and walked beside her, “heeling” of his own accord. He was a good dog!

The glass doors didn’t open for them. Hershey was used to seeing the doors open themselves while he waited patiently in the truck, and it always startled him when his human approached and the doors moved of their own accord. He always growled softly in his throat, warning the doors they had better not harm his human. These doors didn’t move, though, and his human pushed against them to make them open. Hershey’s nails clicked on the floor, and he kept his tail tucked tightly between his legs. He could smell the dead humans, but he didn’t think she could. She didn’t cry this time, at least.

He followed her to the very back of the store. She unclicked his leash and put it in her pocket, and then she and Hershey played a game they had never played before. She got a long, flat cart on wheels and began moving big bags of dog food onto it. Hershey recognized dog food, so he wagged his tail encouragingly. He wasn’t hungry – he ate that morning before they went to work – but he approved of dog food on general principles, so he liked the game.

His human was puffing hard by the time the long, flat car was stacked high with bags. Hershey didn’t know why she was puffing – they weren't jogging in the park like they sometimes did when it was sunny.

Hershey followed her to the front of the store and watched with keen interest as she moved the big bags of dog food from the cart into the back of her truck. She played the dog food game twice more, although Hershey saw her cheat and add some bags of cat food, too. Hershey wasn’t sure why she did that – cats were useless. But it was a fun game, and he liked following her back and forth, even though his nails clicked on the floor and the sound annoyed him. He was surprised his human decided to play today instead of work; she was very dedicated to working.

He knew his human was tired – “plum beat,” she said to him – and honestly, he was tired too, even though they didn't work today. Hershey slept on the seat of the truck all the way home.

“Tomorrow, we get containers and start siphoning gas out of cars,” his human told him, her voice quiet with fatigue. Hershey wagged his tail happily. He loved it when she talked to him.

Kari

Everyone fit into the SUV, though not legally. Mike carefully put the handgun into the console between himself and Kari, and locked it while the children found seats. Kari said nothing about his gun or the Sig in her pocket. Stephen sat behind Mike on the middle seat, sharing his seat belt with red-haired Anthony. Jenn sat next to them on the bench seat, sharing her belt with Ariel and keeping her arms protectively around the little girl. Nathan occupied the third seatbelt and immediately began chatting with Jenn.

The other six children, Sasha, Kayli, Brittany, Danny, DeShawn and Cindy, filled the back bench seat. Backpacks and heavy outerwear were stuffed into the cargo area, the overflow effectively blocking Mike’s rear view. He adjusted the side mirrors to compensate and eased back out onto S.R. 44. Ariel began to cry, and then scream in earnest. Mike’s knuckles went white against the steering wheel, so Kari turned in her seat, looking back at the kids. It was time to play nice again.

“Who knows a song we can sing?” she asked, her tone overly chipper. Mike’s shoulders relaxed a bit as the children went through off-key renditions of “London Bridge” and “Row Your Boat.” Ariel’s screaming gradually subsided to quiet sobbing.

The wrecked vehicles on Highway 44 were considerate enough to crash into ditches or trees, and there were no other moving vehicles in either direction. They made good time, and Kari was beginning to breathe easier when they finally reached Dixie Highway. Mike turned south, toward Fort Knox, and Kari resisted the impulse to hug him! They’d been driving less than a mile when Ariel started fussing again. Kari looked at Jenn, hoping for help. She loved kids, but she’d never been stuck in a vehicle with eleven of them before!

Before Ariel got fully cranked up, Mike began singing loudly, enthusiastically, and with a
horrible
German accent:

Ven der Fuehrer says ve is de master race,

Ve heil!

*Pppffft*

Heil!

*Pppffft*

Right in der Fuehrer’s face!

Not to love der Fuehrer is a great disgrace

So heil!

*Pppffft*

Heil!

*Pppffft*

Right in der Fuehrer’s face!

                                                        (c) Spike Jones, 1942; The Walt Disney Company, 1943

The children laughed, as Mike intended, and within minutes were eagerly raspberrying at all the appropriate points and demanding the song again and again. Ariel stopped crying, giving Mike a quizzical look that made Kari laugh even more. Several of the children were picking up the words to the song, and everything was going really well, so much so that Mike finally started to relax.

That’s when the alien ship attacked.

It came from nowhere. The road in front of them was completely clear. An instant later the large, jet-black craft was in front of them, moving in for a collision kill. Mike reacted more quickly than Kari would have thought possible, pulling the wheel to the right to avoid a head-on crash. There was the sound of shattering glass – Kari was certain she heard that sound first – and they went into a skid, donutting in the middle of the road. Kari braced, staring in fascination as the world spun frantically – trees and sun and highway and trees – and finally they came to an abrupt stop, off the road, the front end of the SUV buried in a ditch. Kari sat for a moment, stunned, her seatbelt locked tight around her chest, the deflated airbag drooping onto the floorboard in front of her. The ground outside was tilted slightly, making her think of a roller coaster just as it crested the peak.

“Is everyone okay?” Mike asked. His voice sounded raw and harsh, and Ariel immediately began screaming. Anthony and Brittany joined her, and the sound was bliss to Kari’s ears. Screaming babies were not dead babies.

Mike got out of the vehicle, slipping a bit on the slick ground, and jerked Stephen’s door open, looking in at the children. “Anyone hurt?” he asked. Stephen shook his head and checked on Anthony.

“I have a scab on my knee,” Nathan offered helpfully. “I got it during playtime at ‘Morro’s Child.” Mike smiled at him, trembling with relief and the cold. It amazed him no one was hurt.

“You’re bleeding, Iron Mike,” Stephen said.

Kari got out of the car when Mike did, and she opened the opposite passenger door. At Stephen’s words, she followed his gaze, drawing in a sharp breath. A shard of glass about an inch wide and three inches long was stuck through Mike’s t-shirt, embedded in his upper arm. It had missed his armpit and the bundle of brachial nerves by an inch or more, but it was still a puncture, and Kari couldn’t remember where the arteries were.

“Don’t touch it!” she said sharply, as Mike reached toward the glass. “It’s a puncture – we have to pack bandages around it and leave it in place.”

“Yep. Basic first aid,” Mike agreed amiably. “Jenn, will you dig out the kit – I think it’s under the chicken.” He looked up at the setting sun and the shattered driver’s side window. “We should probably sleep in the car tonight, and start out in the morning.”

Kari looked then at what Mike had already noticed. The Suburban’s front two tires were buried deep in the snow and mud. Nothing but a tow truck was going to move them. Kari’s head spun. They were still about twelve miles from the front gates of Fort Knox. It would be an easy hike, if it were earlier in the day and if Kari were to start out on her own, but with eleven children … she considered the thought and rejected it in the same moment. They would set out in the morning, as Mike suggested.

“What can I do to help?” she asked.

“Can you bandage this up while Jenn passes out chicken and brownies?”

The children brightened quickly at the mention of food. Kari remembered Miss Annie saying they were short on supplies, so the kids probably didn't have a big lunch. Come to think of it, she was pretty hungry herself.

She took the first-aid kit Jennifer handed to her, closing her door and the passenger door to keep some of the cold air out.

She moved around to Mike’s side of the vehicle. He closed Stephen’s door and leaned back against it, facing her and giving her access to the wound. She bit her lip for a moment, considering how to proceed.

“This t-shirt was a classic,” Mike grumbled. “My dad got it at a KISS concert before I was even born!”

“Sorry,” Kari murmured apologetically as she took the scissors from the first-aid kit and quickly cut up the left side of the shirt, carefully pulling the fabric away from the embedded glass. Blood oozed from it, dripping down Mike’s chest, but at least it wasn’t pumping out. She frowned. The glass stuck out from Mike’s arm by about three inches. That was going to be a lot of gauze.

She set the first-aid kit down on the snow and began pulling out the small packages of 4”x4” sterile gauze pads. There should have been wrapping in the first-aid kit, but there wasn’t. Even using every bandage in the kit, there wouldn’t be enough.

Kari stood, several bandages in hand, just as Mike looked her in the eye and reached up, yanking the shard of glass out of his upper arm. Kari gasped as it immediately began bleeding heavily.

“That was stupid!” she yelped, slapping the gauze bandages onto the wound and pushing hard. The blood pooled, and those bandages were soon soaked through. She grabbed Mike’s right hand and slapped it over the wound before she removed her own bloody hand. “Hold that, press as hard as you can!”

Mike grinned at her, completely unrepentant, and did as she said while she quickly unwrapped more gauze pads. She was going to need a lot more than they had.

“Stephen,” she snapped, grabbing Mike by his good arm and moving him away from the boy’s door. “Can you get me something clean – maybe some socks from the blue backpack? Fast?”

Stephen nodded and jumped quickly out of the car. He opened Mike’s door and popped the lock to the cargo space, something Kari herself wouldn’t have thought to do. By the time Kari unwrapped the rest of the sterile gauze pads, Stephen was by her side, unrolling three pair of her thick winter socks. He waited while Kari added more gauze. The wound was bleeding heavily, but she couldn’t see or feel the rhythmic spurting of a cut artery. The stupid boy had gotten lucky.

“Press hard on the wound,” she told Stephen.

He nodded and moved Mike’s hand away, pressing his palm flat on the gauze and laying his other hand above that, pushing firmly. Mike’s jaw was clenched and sweat was pearling on his forehead despite the frigid temperatures. Kari added the socks on top of the gauze, surprised at how efficiently she and Stephen worked together. He maintained direct pressure, moving his hands only long enough for Kari to add packing. Finally, the last sock stayed lime green instead of saturating with blood. Kari thought it might have been Stephen’s efforts more than her own. She began tearing strips of medical tape, but she was reluctant to have Stephen move his hands.

After several minutes, Mike nodded to the boy. “Thank you, Stephen,” he said quietly. He looked up at her and smiled. “And thank you, Kari.”

She wanted to snarl at him. He knew better than to yank out the glass, but he’d done it anyway.

“Don’t fucking mention it,” she snapped as she applied the medical tape tightly over the wound. Stephen drew his hands away, and they both looked at the injury, waiting for the blood to seep through. After several moments, Kari began to breathe again.

“There are sleeping bags in the back,” Stephen said, when it looked like Iron Mike might live after all. He bent to the snow, picking up a handful and washing the blood off his hands. “We can use those to stuff in the broken window, and keep some of the cold out, at least. You’ll need your coat back on, and some of the wind will still get through.”

Mike grinned at the boy. “You’re a genius, Stephen!” he said happily. “I was wondering how to fix that. How old are you?”

Stephen grinned, the praise clearly welcome, even as he ducked his head in embarrassment. “I’ll be eleven on March 1
st
,” he said. “Well, actually, it’s February 29
th
, but we don’t have one of those this year.”

Kari smiled, leaning forward and kissing Stephen on the cheek. “You keep a cool head, Leap Year Kid. I was more panicked than you were.”

She and Stephen helped Mike back into the driver’s seat, and he adjusted the seatback to recline a bit more. Jenn handed Mike his red Louisville Cardinals jacket, which he carefully worked into, hissing as he moved his left arm. Kari and Stephen used both sleeping bags, stuffing them into the broken driver’s side window as tightly as they could. Luckily, the front windshield was only spiderwebbed, not broken.

There was silence – much welcomed, Kari thought – for about fifteen minutes as the children ate. Even Ariel ate half a chicken leg and drank some Gatorade before she spilled it. When everyone was finished and Kari collected all of the trash in a bag, she and Stephen helped the older kids walk a bit into the woods to relieve themselves. The baby wipes in Ariel’s diaper bag were going fast, Kari knew. When the older children were all back in their seats, Kari changed Anthony and Ariel on the floorboard between the front and second seats. Ariel was much happier, and her eyes were closing almost as soon as Jenn wrapped her arms around her.

Mike started the engine and ran the heater for a few minutes after Kari got back in and closed her door. It didn’t take long to warm the SUV up, and with all those little bodies keeping the heat in, it was actually comfortable. The sky darkened around them, and the talking gradually subsided as the children fell asleep. The temperature dropped, and Mike periodically turned the vehicle back on, warming them for five to ten minutes.

“Why did you pull it out?” Kari asked finally. The deep breathing in the back seats told her the children were sleeping comfortably.

Mike looked over at her, his face serious. “We have at least ten miles to hike tomorrow.” His voice was quiet in the darkness. “Ariel and Anthony won’t be able to walk any distance at all, and I’m not sure how long Brittany will last. I can’t have a shard of glass sticking out of my arm with a kid on my shoulders.”

Kari absorbed that. It was annoyingly logical. “It could have been arterial,” she said finally. “You could have bled out.”

“I didn’t,” Mike replied.

“You could have,” Kari insisted stubbornly.