The McClane Apocalypse: Book One (22 page)

“Didn’t you want to be an officer, too?” she asks with budding interest.

“Nah, wasn’t for me. I liked getting in the trenches, going on different missions and mostly blowing crap up,” he says on a laugh to which she snorts. He’s so weird.

“Were you two already girlfriends or did you become bff’s in the Army?” Reagan asks. She’d meant it to be crass and hopefully insulting, but they both just laugh.

“No, I met Kelly on my second tour in Syria.
Then
we became bff’s,” he teases right back.

“He saved my ass twice, and I saved his once, so you could say we’re more like blood brothers,” Kelly adds.

“And where did you grow up, Tiny?” Reagan asks.

“Missouri, born and raised, ma’am. Then my parents split when I was twelve, and I left with my dad for Arkansas. My mom was... well, kind of interesting to say the least. More of what you’d probably call a drug addict whore actually. My dad remarried my stepmom, Janet, a year late, and she was pretty cool. They had Cory and then Em came along.”

“Where are your parents? Why didn’t you bring them here, too?” Reagan asks and they slowly come down a steep hill that will take them back to the other side of the farm where the cows are kept.

“My dad and stepmom were killed while they slept. It was about three months after shit fell apart in the U.S. That’s why I have the kids. I assumed everyone knew. People were starting to get more desperate, looting farther and farther away from the cities and moving into the suburbs and even out into the country. I told Dad to get out of town, but he wouldn’t listen. Said things would calm down and that I was worrying too much. Then one night Cory said he woke up and thought he heard men in the house and went to get my dad up. But when he got to their bedroom, they’d already been killed. He said he could hear the intruders downstairs ransacking and then out in the garage. So Cory took Em and hid in a crawl space that was at the back of his closet. Thank God they didn’t find them, too. Unless you’d been in his room you would never know that the crawl space door was there,” Kelly explains, and Reagan can tell that this is still raw for him to talk about. She may be the only one at the farm who doesn’t know this. She tends not to hang around the house a lot. And no wonder. This shit is depressing.

“How did you find out about it?” she prods. If he needs a shoulder to cry on about the loss of his parents, then he’ll have to get with Hannah or Grams on that one. Reagan is not capable of that kind of person to person interaction. She never really was.

“Cory called me the next day on the satellite radio that I left with Dad and told me. That’s when we met up with Derek and started heading this way. I guess technically we’re deserters, but hell, everyone else was quitting, too. Our own general told us to leave. He was gonna leave that night, too. So I told Cory to hide out in the woods behind the house at night and only come home for clothes and food when the sun came up till I got to him. And he did. He kept himself and Em safe for four and a half days until we got to them. I mean, hell, they’re just kids, ya’ know?” Kelly tells her.

“Tough kids,” Reagan corrects. His story makes her sick. Children should never be touched by such evil darkness. She’s also not sure how Cory had kept himself and his little sister alive. He’s so quiet and reserved.

“Tough world,” John adds.

“No kidding,” Kelly answers. “Sad, though, that all these kids won’t get to grow up and have a normal life like we got.”

“Sue and Derek’s new baby won’t even know what our normal was like. Guess it’s strange if you think about it,” John expounds.

“Yeah, no more rock concerts or pizza shops or fighting wars on foreign sands that you could give two shits about,” Kelly says.

“Or amusement parks or going to the movie theater on a date,” John adds in. As if he could get a date, Reagan thinks to herself. Then she tells him as much, and the men laugh again.

“Or forty-eight hour leave to go to the beach and surf,” Kelly reminisces.

“Or no more beaches period,” John adds remorsefully.

“Or med school, or my surgical residency, or my lab research,” Reagan adds seriously and gets strange looks.

“Or beer!” Kelly calls out with another laugh that John returns. Reagan doesn’t find this particularly funny, though, as she’d never been a drinker, not even in college. They all three ride in reflective silence for a couple of miles through the woods.

When they reach the back paddock, Reagan once again opens the gate and tells John about the different breeds of beef cattle and how they have cross bred for more tender meat. Kelly is all too familiar with the different dairy cows. He says he enjoys hanging out with the cows and doing the milking. Now she knows there’s something a little off about him. What a creep.

When they reach the barnyard, they all dismount and lead the horses back into the barn. The men are complaining about their hind ends and legs. Reagan supposes that a three hour ride their first day may have been a bit much.

“Good workout?” Hannah calls from the chicken coop area. She leaves the children to finish with the chickens and joins them in the horse barn. John and Kelly groan long and loud and grumble about not being able to walk. Hannah’s sun bonnet hangs from her fingertips by the satin ribbons.

The three riders hook their horses to their own stations in the barn and begin the untacking process which Reagan oversees. It goes fairly smooth since they’re fast learners. She orders them to both give their horses brush downs, and Kelly finishes first. Reagan guesses that it’s so he can leave with Hannah, who is still lingering in the wide barn door’s opening, holding a basket of eggs. She looks like some kind of lovely painting depicting quaint farm life.

“Just turn her out in the right paddock; Hannie can show you,” Reagan calls after them. Kelly’s stiff walk is comical. As she turns back to Harry, she catches Hannah placing her hand lightly on Kelly’s behemoth forearm. It’s only somewhat understandable since the terrain is especially uneven and rutted in this area from the horses.

She is left with the one person on the farm that most unsettles her.

“Here, let me take that for you, boss,” John suggests and takes her saddle in one arm and carries his own in the other. So unfair, she thinks. Why couldn’t she have been born a man and strong, or at least not a small, weak woman? It took all she had to lug her saddle with both arms. Reagan glowers after him and follows in his wake with the bridles.

In the tack room, she shows him where she keeps soft rags that she uses to wipe down the equipment. The leather conditioner she uses is in a metal can and has the consistency of firm petroleum jelly.

“See? Just swipe your rag over the top of this stuff and then rub it into the saddle. It will keep the leather from cracking and getting ruined. You don’t have to wipe it off, just rub it in until it doesn’t look white anymore,” she instructs him. Her stomach rumbles in protest of missing lunch.

“Yuck, this crap kind of stinks. And it’s messing up my manicure,” he jests. Reagan almost grins but instead rolls her eyes at him.

“I think you’re just smelling yourself,” she chides. John laughs aloud. Reagan doesn’t. “Run your rag over the bridle, too. It’ll keep the reins soft, and it helps to keep your hands from getting chafed. I know you worry about stuff like that.” He does not actually smell bad at all, but... different.

“Yeah, I do. The ladies like my soft hands. I wouldn’t want to disappoint,” he says and catches her eye. He winks. She grimaces back. His hands look plenty rough to her.

“Mm hm, what ladies? Grams? We don’t exactly have a plethora of women around here, genius,” Reagan mocks with derision as she hangs her finished bridle on its hook.

“No, not Grams,” he says slowly, deliberately. Reagan looks up at him again because his tone has become more serious. He’s looking directly at her and there is no trace of the usual lopsided grin on his mouth. He has also finished and is leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. It bothers Reagan that his biceps look so huge. She’d prefer it if he was scrawny and skinny, capable of her kicking his ass if she needed to. Perhaps she should tell Grandpa to lighten up their work load. He is bound to get even bigger with firewood cutting.

Reagan’s cheeks begin to burn, and for some odd reason she wipes at the dirt on the front of her black shirt. Why should she care what he thinks of her dirty clothing? This angers her, so she scowls at him until he stands aside to let her pass.

“Come on, Romeo, we still need to turn out our horses,” she mutters as she slides past him in the doorway, making sure to not make any contact with his body. He gives a small chuff of a laugh and follows.

They retrieve their horses and make their way to the paddock, walking side by side between them. When John opens the paddock gate, the horses practically burst through. And when they are freed from their lead lines, they take off at a bucking, playful gallop kicking up dust. Reagan bends to put her head between the partially rusted, metal tube of the gate to better see. She’s not tall enough to see over top. John, of course, stands erect and also watches as the proud beasts strut and prance and play with the other horses as if they are long lost friends reunited.

“They sure are something, eh boss?” John states.

“Mm,” Reagan agrees. The breeze coming out of the mountains lifts the strands of hair that have come loose of her ponytail. It tickles her cheek. There are times like this; quiet, simple moments that she can still feel that there is good left in the world. Horses frolicking, a wind carrying the scent of an impending storm, children’s laughter as they play tag in the yard- yes, there has to still be good somewhere, right? Doubtful, indeed.

When she glances sideways, John is staring at her with bold directness. It’s annoying and more than a little unnerving.

“Well, pretty boy, we’ve got chores. So if you’re done being lazy...” Reagan scolds and walks away. When she’s about fifteen feet from him, he calls out to her.

“You think I’m pretty?” and laughs loudly. Obnoxious!

Reagan walks faster, ready to put space between them and by the time she reaches the house, she is nearly sprinting. But somehow by the time she’s kicked off her dusty Converse onto the back porch he’s already beside her and also removing his combat boots. She hadn’t given it much thought, but both Kelly and John only wear their combat boots. Apparently they are the only shoes they own now. Sue had brought clothing and shoes for Derek when she’d come to stay with their grandparents in the hopes that he might get a leave weekend. However, Kelly and John had come with almost nothing but the clothing on their backs and a duffle bag that could not have carried much. And as he stands beside her, she can tell his jeans could use a good washing.... or burning.

When they walk in the back door, they are greeted by Hannah, Kelly and Grams. Kelly is seated at the island eating lunch time leftovers. Reagan grabs an apple out of the pantry and heads for the back door.

“Where do you think you’re going, young lady?” Grams asks with warning in her voice.

“For a run, Grams. Didn’t get it in this morning ‘cuz I had to babysit,” she sneers. John has joined Kelly at the island and is scarfing down roasted chicken and potatoes. It doesn’t even look like it’s been heated. He chokes.

“Running? Are you serious? After that four hundred mile long ride you’re going running now?” he spits out as he recovers. She just frowns at him. Barbarian.

“Yeah, pretty boy. Got a problem with that?” she demands and bites a big chunk of crunchy apple.

“You most certainly are not going running. Your grandfather will have a fit if he finds out. Your stitches aren’t even healed. Not only that, they aren’t even clean!” she chides as she physically hauls Reagan to the island.

“They’re fine, Grams. I’ll shower later, after my run,” she pleads.

“You will sit here and eat something and then you can relax before evening chores, Reagan McClane,” Grams dictates. Reagan simply frowns and takes a seat at the other end of the island, not sitting beside John in the only available seat on that side.

“Grams, I’m not hungry. I’m gonna eat this apple, and then I’m going out for a run and to work on the cattle fence. I saw the other day that it was getting loose on the east side,” she says.

“Don’t believe her, Grams. I heard her stomach growling earlier,” John tattles. Reagan’s eyes grow as wide as saucers. What a snitch! She gives him a warning glare and shakes her head slowly at him.

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me that, John. She never eats. That’s why she’s skinny as a rail. I used to tell her all the time. If you want to grow bigger, then you gotta eat,” Grams lectures as she heats Reagan a small plate of the same food the men are eating.

“Grams, there is no scientific proof that your growth-eating theory has any merit, you know,” Reagan informs her superiorly while gesturing wildly with her hands.

“Well, my theory has merit where you’re concerned. You’ve always been a scrawny runt, and it’s ‘cuz you don’t eat,” Grams nags. She places the plate of food in front of Reagan and stands there, hands on hips, until she takes a bite.

“Grams!” Reagan complains.

“Reagan is small but mighty, Grams,” Hannah softly comes to her defense. She’s so clean. How the hell does she do chores and cook all day and stay pristine in white?

“You got that right!” Kelly says with a chuckle. Reagan glares viciously at him.

Thankfully the conversation turns to milk production, cheese and butter. Bor-ing. She swallows four or five bites of food and splits before Grams can catch her again.

“Where we headed, boss?” John asks as he comes trotting up beside Reagan on her jogging path. She stops dead in her tracks and stares open-mouthed at him. How did he catch up to her so quickly?

“
We
aren’t headed anywhere, moron. Now, go back!” she yells at him. Why was it that God hadn’t seen fit to give her a loud voice? She’s always had sort of a gravelly voice, but after being choked out by her attacker it had become worse.

“Nope, going with ya’ whether you want me or not,” he returns. He’s still wearing his filthy clothes and has the combat boots back on. But he has picked up a navy blue baseball cap from somewhere that reads ARMY in yellow letters across the front.