Anthony DeCosmo - Disintegration

She shut her eyes, held a breath for a long second, and then walked outside alone.

– BLAM!

The sound of the gunshot rang out. More specifically, the first shot. The one that missed.

Nina pounded her fist against the tile as the shower drizzled over her.

The pressure and the temperature of the "hot" water did not impress. Still, even the light drizzle beat weeks of no showers at all when her team had been on the run.

She soaped her body and rinsed for the fourth time; the dirt from the morning's battle clung tough. Nina turned the squeaky faucet knob and the shower stopped. Steam filled the bathroom and coated the mirror thus hiding her reflection.

After wrapping herself in a tight towel, she walked the short hall into the orange and green 70s-styled living room where the cooler air against her hair and skin felt refreshing.

A stranger’s living room with a stranger’s furniture. She had already thrown away everything overtly personal: photos, CDs, clothes from the previous occupants. That did not help, though, because she lacked any mementos to fill the empty space. She realized she possessed nothing overtly personal of her own.

Yet…yet maybe some day she could make it feel like home.

She shook that thought from her mind. She reminded herself how she wanted to leave. What had Shep been thinking when he decided to stay?

Nina walked to the front windows and looked out at the long driveway and the waters of the lake. Her view included the boathouse and dock across the road from the main estate. Shep sat on that dock, a fishing rod in one hand, a beer in the other.

Her stomach fluttered. Had she pushed things too far today? How he had looked at her…

Nina decided to talk to him. She needed to talk to him.

She hurried to the bedroom to find some clothes. Her clothes. A soldier’s clothes.

– As Trevor crossed the dock, the planks creaked with each footfall while waves lapped lazily below. The warm afternoon, the blue sky, and the docile waters conspired to paint a picture of summer. The lie would not last, but it remained an enjoyable lie for the time being.

Jerry Shepherd relaxed in a patio chair at the rim of the small pier. The business end of his fishing pole drifted in the water hoping some unlucky trout would nibble. One empty and one half-full can of beer waited in arm’s reach. Next to the beer rested a shotgun. These days, who knew what might come out of the lake?

Trevor found a chair by the boathouse door and dragged it next to Shep. He sat and stared at the water, too.

"Catch anything?"

"Not a damn thing. Say, how's that fella we pulled out of harm's way this morning? What was his name? Evan…Evan something?"

"Evan Godfrey," Trevor said. "He's shaken up. Physically he's fine but he's starving and pretty freaked out right now."

"Funny," Shep flashed a wry smile. "That seems to be the only type of folks we get around here these days."

"Ain't that the truth? In any case, he's not talking much. It's going to take some time for him to come out of his shell. It'll be a while before we know much about Evan Godfrey."

The water swooshed and gurgled. A bird sung an enthusiastic song, perhaps also deceived by the weather.

Shepherd, still looking into the distance, said, "We wouldn’t be having this conversation if she were a man."

"What?"

"Now c’mon Trev, you know I’m no idiot."

Neither of the two noticed Nina Forest as she approached the boathouse, but when she heard Trevor's voice, she stopped. She turned to leave but did not. Instead, she listened.

Trevor said, "You’re right. If she were a guy, we’d think he was some sort of Rambo."

"But because she’s a woman, I reckon it’s hard to accept what the eyes see."

Trevor asked. "What is she like when her defenses are down? When she’s not being Mrs., Godzilla?" Shepherd chuckled. "Well now that’s a new one. Mrs. Godzilla?"

Trevor watched the older man's eyes sharpen to pencil thin as he focused on something out over the sparkling waters of the lake.

"I don’t know if Nina’s defenses have ever been down. I never met anyone like her."

Shepherd turned his head slowly to Trevor and drove the point home: "I reckon that’s why I think she’s special. Not just the fightin’ and all, but whatever else is inside there…well it hasn’t come out to the world yet. Like the hard parts of her have grown up faster than the rest."

"I see."

Shepherd corrected, "No you don’t. You’re too busy trying to pull this together and here she goes giving you trouble. Seems to me you’re wondering if it was worth it, asking us to stay. Seems to me you’re worried that one loose cannon could muck up the whole works."

Trevor smiled. Damn, he liked this old timer.

"I can see why she looks up to you so much."

"Then that makes one of you. Personally, I haven’t been able to figure it myself. I met her when she was a trainee. I put her through Hell. As soon as I figured out she had a way about her, I made it even harder for the girl. Ever since, it seems I’m the only person that gets through to her. Half the time she’s this shy little girl that won’t say a peep. But when the action heats up…well, seems I’m the only person that can keep her from going off half-cocked. Can’t say I mind it, though. Sometimes I feel like I got that kid I never had."

Trevor said, "Because you didn’t treat her like a girl."

"What’s that?"

"Why she took to you," Trevor went on. "When you put her through Hell, you put her through the same Hell you put the guys through. Maybe you were even tougher on her. You were probably the first person she’d ever met that saw a warrior first, not a cute chick."

Shepherd stroked his gray mustache, "I suppose that’s something worth thinking about."

"Think all you want," Trevor stood. "Just keep her from going off half cocked."

"I understand. You can’t have one person screwing things up."

Trevor gave him an entirely different reason. "No, I can’t go losing her."

"What?"

Nina, from her listening post, grew confused.

"I realized something today as I watched her fight," Trevor explained. "I realized that we can’t lose her. We need her to win this whole thing. Without her, we’re toast. I’m toast."

"That surprises me, after the shit she pulled today."

"Oh, she just wanted to show me up. That hand signal thing was just a kids’ game. I’m a big boy. Taking that risk with the hostage…that was a problem. She’s got to start understanding what this is all about. She’s got to do that fast because I can’t afford to lose her now that I know what she is."

" What she is? And what is that?"

"Well, if I'm the knight in shining armor in all this," Trevor said, "then she's my sword."

– A window and a wide counter separated the kitchen from the rest of the church basement hall. The equipment in that kitchen recalled 1960s styling but had been solidly built and well maintained over the years.

The dirty white paint of the kitchen walls differed dramatically from the dark paneling lining the rest of the basement. Dull brown linoleum, with patches of bubbles and rips, covered the floor throughout and a series of fluorescent lights radiated flat illumination over rows of long tables and metal folding chairs.

Despite the aged styling and boring ambiance, the basement offered a cheery, homey feel due to crayon sketches drawn by pre-Armageddon Sunday school kids. Tacked around the room were drawings depicting the church and its small steeple, crude portraits of Jesus and Mary, angels, disciples, and many that were no more than jumbles of colored lines from tiny hands.

The early breakfast crowd sat around the hall and included Lori Brewer. She had stationed herself alone at the end of the table furthest away from the stairs that ascended to the outside world. She held a paperback mystery.