Anthony DeCosmo - Disintegration

"No, I-"

"Don’t lie to me. You didn’t like her. You never did."

Lori puffed in frustration.

"I tried. I really did. I’d talk to her, I’d invite her over…she was never interested, not in any of your friends."

"She wasn’t marrying my friends."

"Oh no?" Lori said. "Well I got news for you. To know a person, you have to know the people they grew up with. Their family and their friends. No one was closer than you and me. She didn’t care why."

"I didn’t know her friends well," Trevor countered.

"That didn’t matter because Ashley was-" she stopped but not in time.

Jon placed a hand over his eyes.

Trevor lunged, "What? Ashley was what?"

Lori tried to retreat, "Never mind, nothing,"

"Answer me, Lori. Ashley was what?"

When backed into a corner, Lori Brewer came out swinging. She knew no other way.

"Okay," her bottom lip stiffened. "She was the first girl you ever had sex with."

Jon drank deep from his bottle. Lori broke eye contact by retrieving her own bottle of beer. She took a long drink, too.

Trevor stood.

His throat hurt and his body tired. He needed rest to be ready for tomorrow, an important day. Tomorrow the police officers would decide whether to accept his invitation, with all the strings attached.

"I’m going to bed."

"Rich…" Lori started, stopped, and then rephrased, "Okay. Good night, Trevor."

He started toward the door and then stopped.

"You’re wrong. I loved Ashley. It was more than…more than that."

Lori lied in a gentle voice, "I know."

Trevor ascended the stairs. Jon and Lori cuddled in front of the fire.

– While unsophisticated, Trevor’s backyard shooting range served its purpose.

An old boiler filled with sand made a decent backstop. Human-shaped targets poorly cut from cardboard hung on clothesline.

He fired another round from a nine-millimeter pistol. Despite a near-perfect grip as well as a complete understanding of ballistics and shooting technique, Trevor shot good but not great. Nonetheless, before Armageddon he would have shot his foot off.

Tyr, hovering several paces behind, barked loud enough to penetrate the protective ear guards his Master wore. Stone turned to see Shepherd approaching with a slight limp, the only trace of his leg injuries.

"Hate to interrupt, but I thought it was about time we spoke."

"Yeah, well, it’s okay. Don’t want to fire too many shots. Don’t want things knowing where to come looking for us."

Shepherd waited as Trevor dropped spent cartridges into a small container set in the post built at the firing line. After clearing away the casings, Trevor wiped gunpowder residue from his hands with a handkerchief.

The men walked to the main house under an overcast morning sky. The temperature still held in the fifties, but the wind carried a colder note.

They entered through the rear door, crossed the large kitchen, went along the hall, and joined Corso and Jon Brewer in the living room. The charred remains of the previous night’s blaze lingered in the fireplace.

Shepherd found a chair and began the conversation.

"For us it started when we had to kill some thing inside the Constitution museum at Independence Hall. That was a couple of days before Philly went to Hell, and believe you me, Philly went to Hell real quick."

Corso, pacing by the fireplace, added, "Momma mia, that was nothin’. They was seein’ monsters in the sewers and diavoli on the streets."

"How’d you survive?"

"I reckon’ we got lucky with the calls we drew. We put down things that could be put down with what we were packin’. Things like what you call ‘Ghouls’ and the like. Didn’t matter though. After two weeks, the city was FUBAR. Then we were sent to guard a rescue station."

Shepherd closed his eyes and shook his head slow as he recalled unpleasant images.

"What about your friend, what’s her name, Nina?" Trevor asked.

"Donna forte," Sal spoke Italian with his hands waving.

Shepherd provided more useful information.

"We’re all on the same SWAT team. Nina’s also a Blackhawk pilot in the National Guard."

Jon surveyed the room from his seat on the couch. "Where is she?"

Shepherd told a transparent lie, "She’s not feeling good."

Trevor strolled to one of the tall, thin living room windows.

"Tell me about her."

From the window, he saw the porch pillars and the front lawn. In the distance, the waters of the lake lapped the shoreline.

"Nina? She’s something else, never met no one like her," Shep said. "She’s a great shot, a decent pilot, and got a head for fighting. If she were a guy, she’d probably have been in the Rangers or something along those lines. As it is, the force stuck her in the chopper half the time, but she’d rather be on the ground with the grunts."

Trevor mused, "Just an all-American girl."

"What’s that?" Shepherd did not hear.

Trevor ignored him. "So what about Scott? Does she remember what happened to him?"

Shepherd closed his eyes again as he shook his head ‘no’. His disposition answered Trevor’s next question before asked: there would be no more search parties.

Trevor asked, "Why can’t she remember what happened?"

Sal said, "Yo, a bump on the head can mess you up good. It’ll come back to her."

Trevor, through the window, saw Nina appear and stroll along the driveway with an HK MP5 on her shoulder. She walked slow, almost sluggish, with her head bent down as if trying to slip by life unnoticed which, he thought, might be why she kept otherwise attractive hair pulled tight in a boring ponytail.

She knelt to pat the head of a curious Rottweiler.

Lori Brewer entered the scene from the opposite direction. She approached Nina with the aim of striking a conversation. Trevor watched but could not hear.

"You’re thinking of staying and she doesn’t like that."

Shep eased in his chair, scratched his chin, and told the truth.

"She thinks we need to keep moving. She doesn’t think there’s anything here for us."

"And you?"

"Like I said, Nina’s got a head for fighting. But she’s still just a kid, you hear? Seems to me she don’t always see the big picture."

Trevor surmised, "She looks to you."

Sal cut directly to the heart of the matter: "Shep is the only person she’ll listen to."

Stone understood. "She’d have a tough time here; a tough time following."

"Not just her."

"Oh," Trevor swung about pulling his eyes from the window.

Shepherd told him, "I’ve been in the force for twenty odd years. I led a platoon in the Army. I’ve fought for guys with medals on their chests. So you can see my point."

"Why should you follow me?"

Jon broke in, "How about ‘cause we saved your ass?"

Trevor raised a hand to calm Brewer.

"Fair question. You’d be an idiot not to ask it."

"Nothing personal, you understand," Shepherd replied.

Trevor asked, "The estate, the stock piles, and the K9s aren’t enough?"

"Well, I am impressed. Lots of planning went into this. As for the thing you can do with the dogs, that’s a pretty neat trick. But to be honest, that’s likely to make me more jittery."

"Sure," Trevor admitted. "Not something you’d expect in the old world."

Brewer asked, "So you’re not going to stay?"

Trevor answered for Shep, "He didn’t say that. He wants me to convince him I’m a guy worth following. I mean, they made it all this way on their own. Why hand it over to a stranger now, right?"

The old policeman nodded as he listened.

"I’m not going to roll over and do tricks. I can’t call lightning from the sky or part the waters of the lake. The only thing I can do is tell you what’s going on here."