With Lori’s help, Trevor properly stitched the wounded leg and wrapped the injury in a more secure bandage, reaching the extent of his medical knowledge. At that point, Captain Jerry Shepherd demanded to return to the search. Trevor stalled as long as possible but that became difficult with Lori glaring at him.
For the return trip, they eschewed the Grand Cherokee in favor of a Humvee. On their way into the city, they dodged the same Devilbat, shot dead a large other-wordily snake, rammed through a trio of Ghouls, and succeeded in meeting Jon and Sal at seven o’clock.
Jon informed Trevor that two German Shepherds died during the search. Trevor knew many K9s would be lost in the weeks, months, and years ahead. Still, two of them dying while not under his command did not sit well with Trevor.
They retrieved a piece of Nina's clothing from the helicopter and gave the K9s a good whiff, then the hunt continued starting with a floor-by-floor search of the hospital that was cut short when a red blob enveloped another K9.
As evening turned to night, they resorted to a bullhorn to call her name, attracting a swarm of cat-sized beetles with razor-sharp mandibles. Scratch another dog.
Trevor insisted they withdraw and succeeded only by convincing Shep that if this girl were as good a soldier as he claimed, she would find shelter for the night.
The next morning-the first day of October-they left before dawn with reloaded weapons, twice as many K9s, and three different vehicles: the RV and two Humvees.
They swept through residential neighborhoods, an elementary school, and several churches. Four more dogs died by late afternoon and Sal suffered a mild concussion when the tentacles of an eight-foot tall carnivorous flower knocked a garage wall on his head.
Round after round of munitions burned away in firefights: First, an elephant-sized beetle beneath the bleachers at a high school football stadium. Second, a mob of Ghouls rousted from a restaurant. Third, small balls of slimy feelers that, while preferring carrion, decided to try a live meal when Jon stumbled upon them in the dining room of a retirement home.
None of that deterred Jerry Shepherd, but as night fell on the second day Trevor felt their luck running out. Certainly, this super-soldier-this Nina Forest-had been something’s dinner.
On the morning of the third day, Trevor decided if they did not find anyone by nightfall, the search would end; at least for him and Jon. Besides, the weather offered a bad harbinger: a cold breeze turned a light rain into icy daggers; a reminder that October had arrived. Some leaves already erupted in fiery colors, meaning the first snow of the season could not be far behind.
Around mid-day, Shepherd took shrapnel from a Mutant’s flintlock in his shin. Although only a minor injury, the blow demanded a run to the estate for more stitches. Trevor took Shepherd to the compound and left Jon and Sal with several K9s.
Late that afternoon, the Norwegian Elkhound named Odin caught a scent. The animal barked and yapped until grabbing their attention, then led Jon and Sal through an old scrap yard to an abandoned warehouse where the roof had partially collapsed.
A hand stretched out from beneath a pile of sheet metal and wooden beams.
'It’s her,' Sal said as he checked for a pulse. 'It’s Nina, and she’s alive.'
9. Nina Forest
Moments before sunset, Trevor hurried in the front door of the mansion having just returned from a fuel run to William and Eva Rheimmer’s farm.
During the trip home, he received a radio transmission from Jon Brewer announcing the successful conclusion of the search for Nina Forest. Somehow, she had survived in that infested city for three days. The other officer, Scott, remained unaccounted for.
'She’s unconscious,' Jon said as he met Trevor inside the front door.
Stone noticed Jon beaming. And why not? He had searched unfriendly territory and not only survived but also completed his mission.
Originally, Trevor anticipated problems with Jon, and sought to earn that man’s respect. Now Trevor wondered, perhaps it might be Jon seeking respect. Or something else.
Lori Brewer came along carrying a first aid kit and added her voice to the discussion.
'There’s some dried blood on her noggin’, a few cuts and scrapes, but from what I can tell she’s in good shape.'
'But unconscious?'
'That’s how we found her,' Jon said. 'She was under a collapsed roof at the scrap metal yard a quarter mile from the crash.'
'A quarter mile? And it took this long to find her?'
Jon's beaming faded as Trevor's words inflicted a wound.
Stone immediately mitigated, 'Still, good job and all. I can’t believe you found her.'
Captain Jerry Shepherd and Sal Corso emerged from the first-floor guestroom and the five people shuffled into the living room. A chill seeped in from the early-Autumn evening. Jon piled kindling in the large fireplace and Trevor pulled the tall red drapes closed to keep light from escaping.
Shepherd sat in a tobacco-colored wing chair and said, 'I told you she’d make it.'
'But she’s unconscious, right?' Trevor spoke as if the woman’s unconscious state made her survival less remarkable.
Lori, noticing the tone in his voice, countered, 'Other than that, she’s fine.'
'One tough chick,' Sal used the word chick with lots of respect.
'I see,' Trevor absently inspected a collection of porcelain carousel horses displayed in a corner curio cabinet. 'Let’s hope she wakes up soon. Anyway, I’m not sending any more people in town for now.'
A glare from Shepherd reminded Trevor that the police officers had not yet conceded to take orders from him.
'When Nina wakes up she’ll tell us what happened to Scott. Seems to me we’ll just have to go from there.'
The kindling crackled as the fire started. Jon stoked the blaze with more logs. Heat billowed across the living room as the flames grew.
'I suppose so,' Trevor acquiesced.
He did not need to extend an invitation again. He did not need to remind Shepherd that the invitation came with conditions. He had done so a dozen times already. Each time Shepherd told him they would wait and see.
Trevor left the living room with the intention of going upstairs to change clothes. He stopped and gazed toward the first floor guestroom. Curiosity got the better of him.
She looked nothing like he expected. In fact, he almost laughed.
Nina Forest lay in bed on top of a checkered comforter. An oil lamp cast the unconscious woman in a soft glow and filled the room with a subdued smell of kerosene. She wore black BDU pants and a white top. A series of small cuts and bruises decorated her arms, the only trophies she displayed from nearly three days in Hell.
The petite, early 20s girl sleeping silently on the bed contrasted sharply with his expectations of an Amazon warrior. She had medium length blond hair with naturally curly waves yet pulled it into a tight, short ponytail clearly designed for function, not style.
She did not resemble a warrior.
More like a cheerleader, he thought.
Except not a cheerleader as Sheila had been. More like the strong and agile cheerleader charged with performing the gymnastic stuff.
His eyes drifted across her shoulders and arms, all sculptured by a kind artist’s eye: no bulging muscles, but chiseled tone with nary a hint of body fat. She matched the stereotype of the all-American girl: attractive and physically fit with small but well-proportioned breasts.
