“If you think there’s a real chance you’ll be out past dark, I want some of my men to go with you. I’m really not comfortable with you doing this run alone.”
Hatcher stood and stretched his back. He glanced up toward the mountain, then back to Hollis. “I’m not expecting trouble, but your men would just slow me down. I know those trails like the back of my hand.”
“That was before the top of the mountain was blown off and scattered down the sides.” Hollis shook his head. “I’d just feel better if you had an escort.”
Hatcher groaned and reached for the rifle he had carried off the helicopter. “This is all I need.”
Hollis groaned and reached to his thigh holster. He pulled the Beretta 9mm and handed it to Hatcher. “Just in case.”
Hatcher slipped it into the back of his waistband and gave the man a curt nod. “The sooner I hit the trails, the sooner I’m back. As soon as I find a trail clear enough to drive through, I’ll be back.”
“And if they’re all blocked?” Hollis walked beside him as he exited the building and mounted the ATV.
“Then we’ll have to figure out something else.” Hatcher pulled his sunglasses on and revved the engine. “Either way, I’ll be back by dark. If something happens and I don’t make it back…don’t send your people out to find me. There’s no sense in losing more for a lost cause.”
Hollis stepped in front of the ATV, blocking him. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“We’ve got little choice at this point, captain.” Hatcher glanced to the woods again. “It’s been long enough that the Zulus have either moved on or starved to death. I doubt I’ll run into anything out there that isn’t on four legs.”
Hollis raised a brow at the comment, but stepped aside. “Be safe, Ranger.”
Hatcher gave him a mock salute then kicked the ATV into gear. He tried not to throw dirt as he accelerated and disappeared into the thick woods.
Hollis watched him for a moment then glanced to the sky. “What I wouldn’t give for a drone right about now.”
Squirrel lifted the lid on the tank of the toilet and dipped the rag into the cool water. He squeezed out the excess and dragged the rag across his forehead, trying to wash away the grit, grime, and memories of Slug.
It didn’t work.
He pulled the sliding glass door open to his third-floor balcony and closed his eyes as the desert breezes blew fresh air into the stale room. He could still see Slug’s eyes wash over with blood and hear him scream just prior to the bullet making mush of his brains.
With a heavy sigh, he kicked off his boots and fell back onto the king-sized bed. He stared at the ceiling as the twilight grew dim. He could almost see designs form and dance across the ceiling as the wispy curtain liner bounced in the open doorway of the balcony. He stared at the dancing figures as the light slowly faded.
In the distance, he could hear the crazies warming up. Like coyotes in the distance, they barked and sang to other groups, letting them know they were there, standing vigil in the darkness. Warning others not to encroach on their territory, or perhaps calling to other crazies in some weird, ancient mating call.
Squirrel didn’t know, and he didn’t really care. He just wished they’d shut up.
He curled onto his side and closed his eyes, forcing the memorized photo of his wife to appear. He could see the outline of her jaw, the shape of her lips. He could almost see her hair blowing in the soft breeze before the photo was snapped. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost remember her voice.
Almost.
With a groan, he rolled from the bed and walked out to the balcony. He stared out into the darkness, wondering how far out the crazies were as he unzipped his leather biker pants and relieved himself through the wrought iron railing.
For the briefest of moments, he could almost imagine one of his crew, or even a few of the crazies below, dancing in the yellow rain. He almost cracked a smile at the thought.
Once finished, he leaned against the railing and stared toward the horizon. There had to be more than just this. There had to be. Of all of the creations in the universe, allowing humankind to die out because of an ancient bug? He shook his head in disbelief. What kind of God would allow the extinction of His greatest works because of a virus?
He pushed off the rail and fell back onto the bed. As he closed his eyes, he suddenly wondered, Who says we’re God’s greatest creation?
Maybe this damned bug that is killing us all off was His perfect creation. He recalled the panicked news reports when people first began getting infected. The hurried voices trying to explain each new discovery, hoping beyond hope that a cure could be found. He remembered the excited news casters explaining how the CDC and World Health Organization were working diligently to find a treatment, a cure, or a vaccine against the virus.
He also remembered his wife begging him to come home and stay. Or better yet, come home, pack their gear, and head for the mountains. Any place where people were scarce and they might could ride out the worst of it.
He squeezed his eyes shut as he remembered telling her it couldn’t be as bad as the news stations reported. They always make things seem worse than they really are. That’s why the weather men invented a heat index to make it hotter outside. Or the chill index because cold just isn’t cold enough without the chill index. Or the numerous cases of flu outbreaks or rioters or any other bad thing that happened in the world, it
