Operation Z-Day (The Raven Falconer Chronicles) (12 page)

“Nothing, absolutely nothing,” Mick yelled from the front seat.

As they sped away from the encounter, Hannah asked the obvious, “Any chance this mutt is infected?”

Mick ran her gloved hands over the animal’s coat and felt no injury and found no blood.  “Risk is almost zero,” Bobi answered.  First indications at the lab
oratory were all negative for animal contamination, but I guess it could be possible that he’s a carrier.”

“That’s not exactly what I wanted to hear,” Hannah replied, edging a few inches closer to the driver’s door.

“Yeah, but even if he . . . ” Bobi continued, but Mick quickly corrected her.

“You mean, her.  It’s a female,”

“Oh, sorry.  Even if she were a carrier, you’d probably have to ingest her blood to get sick.  Kind of like AIDS, there’s a viral load in the spit and tears but not enough to overwhelm the immune system and take hold.  She seems pretty healthy, owners probably just ran out of food and didn’t have any choice but to set her free.”

“What’ll we call her, Mick?” Rave asked, reaching with her own gloved hand to scratch behind the dog’s ears.

“I don’t know, I . . . ”

“What was it you called her when she was running for it?” Hannah asked.

“Ah, I don’t . . . you mean pooch?”

“Yeah, that’s a perfect name for her, Pooch,” Hannah appraised, also taking a quick second to touch the 70-pound canine.

“Well then, Pooch it is.  You like that girl?” Mick asked in a child-like voice.  The dog responded with a wet lick that caught Mick off guard, the tongue leaving a moist trail up the side of the teacher’s face.  “I guess she likes it.”

Two hours later and with the afternoon sun getting dangerously low on the horizon, the women headed out of town for
 the relative safety of the cabin.  On the front seat, Pooch stood over Mick, the dog’s head thrust out the window with her ears flapping in the wind.  The teacher tried to hold the lab and rifle and see where they were going, managing to do all three things badly.  Bobi and Raven were enjoying the show from the backseat, each taking turns firing funny one-liners at Mick and enjoying some levity after the events of the day.  In the cargo area, now full to capacity, sat a small, gas-fed generator that looked like it’d never been used.  A gas can and siphon hose bounced along beside it as they skirted the few cars on the roads and sailed for home.

Pooch stretched her long, lean legs on an old throw rug before a bristling fire, enjoying the radiant heat that reflected off the rear of the fireplace and filled the space.  For the first time in days the lights burned brightly in the little cabin, shooting rays beyond the windows and into the surrounding trees.

“What’s
gonna happen, Mick?” Hannah asked.  The women sat on the floor in a semi-circle around their new pet, munching popcorn and drinking Dr. Pepper.

“Like I know?” she said.  “What I do know is we have to look after ourselves first and worry about all the other stuff second.  We’re in a safe place: we have food, a watchdog, and each other.  If we’re careful and hold out, the government will soon regain control and they’ll restore some sense of normalcy.”

“You really believe that?” Raven asked.

“I have to, Rave.  I just have to.  It’s the only thing that keeps me going.”

There was a moment of silence as each struggled with their most private thoughts.

“You think I killed that guy today?” Rave questioned.

No one immediately spoke up but each looked at their dark-haired friend and shook their heads.  It was Bobi who answered her directly.  “You did what you had to do.  Mick’s life was in danger and you stepped up.”

“It was the virus that killed him; pla
in and simple,” Hannah suggested, followed by a quick agreement by Bobi and Mick.

“Yeah, guess so.  Still harder than I thought, not so much pulling the trigger, but thinking about it now – I can tell it’s going to haunt me.  I mean he looked like he could have been anybody: a teacher, politician . . . father.”  Raven hung her head and fought back a torrent of tears that were brimming
at her lids and ready to flow.  She twirled her thumbs in her lap, drawing the courage to continue her thought.  “I’m not saying I regret what I did; I’d do it again in a heartbeat but I still feel sorry.  Somehow I feel really sorry.”

Mick reached to her friend and placed a comforting hand on her knee but it was Pooch who truly helped to bind her broken heart.  Something innate and beyond human understanding spoke to the dog, who sensed Raven’s grief and crawled to her, laying her big head in the Falconer girl’s lap.  The animal’s large, dark eyes looked to her rescuer and begged her attention with a few quick thumps of her tail against the wooden floor.  She whimpered and pushed her muzzle under Raven’s rotating thumbs.

“You silly mutt,” Raven said, giving in to the coaxing and providing the needed loves the animal wanted.  Suddenly Pooch’s ears perked up and her tail stopped tapping the floor.  “What is it girl?  What do ya hear?”  As if prompted by an unseen power, the dog jumped to her feet and ran to the door, barking an alert.

“Hannah, grab the shotgun and watch the backdoor.  Raven and Bobi get the AK’s,” Mick ordered, as she crawled to the window near the front door.  “I can see light.  A car’s coming down the road.”

“Maybe it’s Ziggy,” Bobi suggested.

“Nope, not a police car, too light.  Looks like a tan SUV, kind of like your dad’s, Raven.”

“What?” Raven yelped.  She ran to the front door and swung it open, sending Pooch onto the porch to continue her out-of-control barking.  “It is!  It’s my dad!  It’s my dad!”

The Lexus slowly pulled into the muddied area at the front of the cabin and came to a stop next to the Jeep.  Pooch bounded down the few steps
, taking up an aggressive stance at the front of the foreign vehicle.  Raven was close behind but was halted when her father hollered through the open window.  “Stop!”

“Dad . . . Dad, what’s wrong?”

The lights of the Lexus illuminated the entire area at the front of Smugs’ cabin.  A distinct cough carried from the inside of the car to the women standing on the porch.  “Oh no!  Dad, no . . . this can’t be!” Raven cried, tears now running, unending down her face.

“Raven, step on the porch with your friends.”

“No Dad, I can’t.  We can help,” she said, flashing an anguished look at her roommates.

“Honey, you can’t.  No one can.  Step away and I’ll get out.”

Reluctantly Raven withdrew to the waiting arms of her friends and buried her face in Mick’s shoulder.  Hannah called and then restrained Pooch, when the hound jumped to the woman.  The friends wept as Eli stepped from his Lexus and stood behind the opened door.

“I had to come, sweetheart.  I had to see you one last time and know you’re safe.  Are you well?  Are you all well?” he asked.  Beads of sweat formed on his brow in the cold of the night air, his face flush with fever but he shook, as if chilled.

“We’re good, Dad.  How . . . how?”

“Doesn’t matter. 
Nanna . . . ” His voice trailed off and he dropped his chin to his chest to regain his momentum.

“No, no,” Raven moaned into Mick’s shoulder.

“She’s gone, Rave.  She loved you so much and her last words were of you: playing in her backyard when you were little, splashing in her pool and chasing her dog.  She was happy and she went peacefully.”

“I loved . . . ”

When she was unable to complete her thought, her father assured her with his ever-calming voice.  “I know you did and her death doesn’t change that.  Listen girls, it’s bad out there.  Worse than you can imagine.  That’s one of the reasons I had to come.  Took me a full day to run every dirt road and cross-country trail to avoid the native blockades.  You’re better where you’re at.  Stay put as long as you can or until the military shows up.  They’re stretched thin . . . ” He coughed and spat a great yellow ball of phlegm to the ground.

“Dad, stay here, we can take care of you . . . please.”

“Raven, I’ve had a good life.  You know how much I’ve missed your mom.  I’m okay with it, really I am.  You need to know how much both your mom and I love you and in the coming days when I hold her again, I’ll let her known that you’ve fulfilled all her dreams.”

Raven sobbed uncontrollably, unable to run to his arms and hold him close one last time.  “Where will you go?’ she whaled.

“Someplace quiet and beautiful.  You won’t need to worry about me.  I’ll soon be going home.”

“Mick, you watch out for this motley crew.  You hear me?”

“Yes sir, I’ll do my best.”

“Rave, you endure this.  All of you, get through this.  There has to be a better world . . . ” He expelled another glob of sputum from his throat before he could go on.  “Hang tough,
Smugs will come when he can.”

“Okay, Dad – I’ll try, I’ll try to be strong.  You know I will.”

“I know dear.  I had no doubts.  Promise me that you won’t follow me.”  There was no reply as Raven contemplated doing just that.  “Rave, promise me.”

“Fine.  Dad, I won’t . . . ”

“I need to go.  I’ve already put you all at risk by just being here.  Do everything you can to survive and be careful who you trust.  I’m so grateful that you have each other.  Raven, there’s nothing more I can say other than I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything.  Please remember that.”

“I know, I know . . . I will miss you so much.  I love you, Dad.”

“We’ll take care of her, Mr. Falconer.  You can count on us,” Hannah called out.

“Thank you girls
, good luck.  May God be with you.”

Eli slipped behind the wheel of his SUV and waved to the women as the window electronically rolled up and sealed him in.  The Lexus slowly backed from the obscure drive and into the road.  Tears streamed down his face, a relentless tide of sadness; not for himself, but rather, for his daughter and her friends and the unbearable hardships he knew they would have to endure.  “She’ll be strong,” he whispered under his breath, as he moved his hand to rest on the handgun sitting on the seat next to him.

Steel-blue eyes watched from the shadows, the young husker recognizing, at least on some level, the degree of danger that awaited him should he expose himself.  Like a lioness with a full belly, he patiently observed the gathering, content to examine and avoid.  The display of grief, although apparent, was foreign to the boy, who lifted his hand to his cheek, mimicking the crying women.  He felt no moisture, no pain and no loss, as the girls did in bidding their loved one goodbye.  His skin was cold to the touch, but the sensation of his fingertips raking crudely down his face sparked a distant memory, a flash of someone or something had touched him in the same manner before.  A flicker of memory and smell suddenly encompassed him and for the first time in days, he felt.  The fleeting sensation was gone as quickly as it had come and he gave it no further thought.

Benny continued his surveillance of the scene until the SUV backed from the drive and proceeded down the road.  He chased alongside the vehicle, concealed by thick brush and trees.  Given the right opportunity, hunting and taking one human would be easier than confronting four.  Tonight he sensed no overwhelming compulsion, but a simmering aggression stewed just below his psyche’s present calm.  If his twilight hunt was unsuccessful he could always fall back on the slowly deteriorating bear carcass, which he’d violently convinced a skinny coyote to abandon earlier in the day.  Driven, he leapt over fallen logs, slipping and struggling to keep up with the moving vehicle.  Without warning the SUV slowed, lights swinging as it cautiously maneuvered a tight curve in the mountain road.  The youth clutched a hand-sized rock and prepared.

Moments later, as the young women settled back into the comfort of the blankets, a muffled, echoing shot reverberated through the cold night air, striking their hearts.

Amber moonlight cast off from snow-covered rooftops angled through the museum's windows.  The stray light cut dully through the glassed exhibits, ultimately casting a ghostly halo over Nathan's sleeping form.  Hours had passed since he'd dropped into the chair, weary and restless.  He grudgingly opened his eyes, the blackness of the room divided by moonbeams, sharply delineated and projected at odd angles.  Straightening his back against the padded cushion he rubbed his eyes, clearing the crystalline matter away.  As he withdrew his hands, something wispy and featherlike caught his attention.  "What?" he grunted, standing and taking two stiff strides to the window.  It was then that he noted the body and vaguely remembered the tussle with the red-haired demon.  Holding his right hand outstretched to be bathed in the streaming glow; he twisted and rotated the appendage, fascinated by the way the few long, red strands clung to his flesh and glistened against the light.  Nathan brought his left hand to join the slow-motion display; it was equally red but not entwined with the same fibers.

Minutes passed as disjointed thoughts bounced about in his diminished brain.  Ideas moved in and out of focus like a telescope in the hands of a meth addict without a fix.  They would form, teasing and just beyond his reach, then vanish only to reappear and be gone again.  Nathan closed his eyes, channeling his limited faculties and narrowing his neurological resources.  He suddenly opened his eyes, reached for the severed head that was long since cold, and wound his fingers through the wiry tresses, lifting it to hi
s side.  "More . . . more," he slurred, the utterance louder in his head than through his ears.  He descended the narrow staircase, the head bouncing and banging against his leg, leaving traces of blood in a grisly trail as he left the museum and wandered down the street.  He'd seen it, for a moment he'd envisioned his destiny . . . survival of the fittest, kill or be killed.  He would thrive . . . become king of his domain.

The faint
hum of random generators buzzed in his head, distracting but meaningless.  Periodically, light burst from a home’s window only to be extinguished seconds later.  Nathan walked northeast, stopping to peer through narrow gaps in the plywood that covered storefronts and windows.  Nothing stirred for a time, the night tranquil and eerily quiet.  To his left, waters of the Bow River flowed, rushing to crash down the falls just a few kilometers away.  Reaching Wolf Street he hesitated at the curb, distracted by a cluster of dark shadows that moved oddly through his central vision before dropping from view, obliterated by his peripheral vision loss.

The former athlete swung his head to keep up with the creeping horde, catching random shapes
, shifting and undulating in the landscape.  He felt at his waist for the well-used weapon and unsheathed it, gripping it tightly while still dangling the head near his thigh.  Nathan watched and waited, following at a distance, content to observe.  There appeared to be six individuals, a mix of men and women, silent but for the occasional grunt that breached the night’s hush.  The group crossed a small park, some stumbling to maintain their footing in the fresh mud and melting snow.

They were following someone or something; the pursuit becoming more obvious as the Huskers picked up their pace.  Perhaps the need to satiate their hunger or anticipation of fresh meat heightened their ability to hunt, but in either case Nathan had to surge forward, matching them stride for stride.  It was then, as they neared the river’s edge, that he spotted their prey.  Two small shapes, hardly visible against the black of the water, bobbed and weaved between the trees and shrubs desperate to avoid detection.  The game of cat and mouse continued until the frantic stalkers pinned and surrounded two adolescents in a park’s gazebo.

Nathan watched from the shelter of a bricked public washroom, obscurely hearing but not recognizing the shouts emanating from the encircled structure.  The youth, a Jewish boy named Shlomo and a smaller girl, stood defensively on an elevated deck, their backs together with what appeared to be makeshift weapons in their hands.  The gazebo’s platform was ringed with a reticulated wooden railing, painted to enhance the park’s appearance and invite vacationers to enjoy festival performances in a more subdued time.  Two staircases of four steps each led to the children, who were in their early teens.  The pair, both tertiary cases, were brother and sister and had left their home in search of food when their parents had succumbed to the virus and lapsed into comma.  The children’s parents had done their best to care for the infected, then recuperating siblings, before they contracted the infection and were unable to cope.