Anthony DeCosmo - Disintegration

"Trevor? Nah, I didn’t know ‘Trevor’ before. I knew Richard Stone."

Nina's head tilted. "Richard?"

"Before the world went up in smoke, he was Richard. Sometimes ‘Dick.’ His middle name is Trevor. That’s what everyone calls him now, seeing how different he is these days."

"Different?"

"Well, yeah," Lori spoke as though it should be obvious. "I mean, who isn’t different after everything that has happened?"

Nina fidgeted but did not respond.

"But you know what? I don’t think he so much changed as he found something from inside. I mean, he was always a nice guy. A smart guy, sort of. Never really pushed himself; did what he had to do to get by. I always thought he could do better, at a lot of things in life."

Lori did not say that Richard Stone could damn well have picked a better girl to want to marry but Lori did not want to mention Ashley. Certainly not to Nina. After all, Ashley had never asked Lori anything about her and Jon. Already Nina asked, and the girl did not even realize her interest in Trevor. Or, at least, she refused to admit it.

Lori heard-in her mind- her husband imploring her to ‘stay out of it’. As usual, she ignored him.

"Take his job: here’s a smart guy with a college degree and he was a car salesman."

"A car… salesman?"

"I know, funny isn’t it? The guy who’s leading the fight to save humanity sold Chevys before all this. I bet if you asked Trevor back then, he’d tell you he would be selling cars for the rest of his life. Probably thought it was the only thing he knew how to do. Yet here we are and he found a lot more inside of him than he thought was there. Don’t you think?"

Nina absently nodded. Lori could not tell if the girl heard the message or grew bored.

The counselor finished, "Goes to show you, doesn’t it? You don’t know what you’re capable of if you go around afraid to take chances."

The wind rustled a herd of dried leaves. More of that syrupy smell carried through the air.

Nina said, "I guess you do learn something new every day," and she turned to leave.

Lori thought up something quick: "I could use help with my shooting. Maybe I could take target practice with you next time?"

"Sure. Nothing to it."

Crunches and snaps underfoot announced Trevor Stone's approach.

Lori saw Nina's eyes look anywhere but at Trevor. She also saw him do the same.

Nina said, "Well, I got to go," and moved off at a quick pace.

Lori sighed.

Trevor arrived and said, "I didn’t know you two were such good friends."

"You're just not very observant. A lot of things get by you these days."

Then Lori punched him in the shoulder.

"What was that for?"

"I heard how you sent her on that mission. You-are-my-sword. What kind of shit is that?"

"That was serious. Besides, Nina lives for that kind of stuff."

"No, she thinks she lives for that kind of stuff. She thinks there’s nothing for her but shooting and killing. Look at her."

They watched Nina walk by herself toward the front grounds. She was no lumbering warrior but a petite blond girl hiding curly hair in a short ponytail to avoid any hint of style. She plodded along as if trying to go unnoticed.

Lori said, "She's just a lonely little girl."

"That little girl is the best soldier we’ve got."

"Great, but she’s also a person. Giving her orders like that, what does that do? It tells her that no one thinks of her as anything but a killer. That maybe you only think of her as a killer."

"I have to think about…I mean, she’s the best soldier we’ve got and I need her to-"

Lori turned her back to him and walked away from the barn calling, "Keep it up, Dick."

"Hey! That’s not my name anymore."

Lori waved her hand dismissively. "I was using it as an adjective."

– Two weeks past without incident, yet a feeling of unease remained: the Red Hand raid had shaken any feeling of security or isolation.

During those two weeks, patrols found another eight people scattered throughout the outlying neighborhoods of the valley. They added to the sixteen people Nina’s Red Hand raids had liberated and thus grew the community significantly. However, two of the prisoners rescued from the Red Hand tribe died. One, an elderly woman, succumbed to what Reverend Johnny diagnosed as a respiratory infection. The other, a middle-aged man, could not overcome the internal wounds inflicted by his captors.

The remaining newcomers included young and old, men and women, and a cross section of ethnic ancestries. They occupied more houses along the rim of the lake, most relying on candles and wood-burning fireplaces for light and heat.

A scouting party led by Jon Brewer found a floral nursery a few miles away. Anita Nehru and a group of volunteers converted the space into vegetable gardens. Of course, the lake and streams provided catfish and trout while deer and wild turkey fell to human and K9 hunters.

Dante ran a fever for the better part of a week but eventually recovered. Reverend Johnny proclaimed the man free of any of The Order’s implants.

Tooth aches and vision problems arose, each solved with either home made remedies (such as pliers) or by raiding a dentist or optometrist’s office.

Just before nightfall on November 14 ^ th, a squall of flurries blew through and coated the ground in a glaze of white snowflakes.

– It had not moved all day, hiding its small body in the underbrush and shadows of trees.

It followed the signal ingrained into the fabric of its being. It existed for one purpose. Moving too quickly would jeopardize that purpose. The clever creatures nearly caught its scent twice in recent days. Fortunately, the wind had changed at the right moment.

Night fell again. The small, three-legged creature rose from under a blanket of fallen leaves and powdery snow moving…oh…so…slowly…through the forest.

To fulfill its purpose.

– Trevor spent hours on his laptop adjusting the 'hostiles database' derived from information brought by newcomers, including Stonewall and liberated Red Hand slaves.

Some of that information proved useful: "Yes, I saw it eat only eyeballs."

Some less so: "I’d say it was round, and purple. Sort of like a square. Oh yeah, with orange things coming out of its sides."

His stomach grumbled, echoing through the library-turned-Command Center. The noise served as Trevor’s cue to call it a night, after a quick stop at the pantry.

He closed his computer, clicked off the desk lamp, and walked from the room. He tried to put everything aside, but thoughts ricocheted.

The lack of medical supplies…the looming fuel shortage come spring…

Nina.

…the need for more heavy weapons…Omar’s lack of support staff…

Lori and Nina have been spending time together. I wonder what they're talking about.

As he came to the stairs, he noticed the door to one of the many second-floor guestrooms standing slightly ajar and a soft light eking out from within. Trevor knocked lightly and entered, finding Dante Jones sitting in bed playing solitaire.

Dante grunted and brushed the cards away.

"Losing again?"

"Yeah, man, I suck at this."

"Solitaire?"

"Sitting around."

"Oh," Trevor said. "Well you were sick and starving, remember?"

"Rich-I mean, Trevor-it’s been three weeks. The most I’ve done is carry firewood or clean up the mess hall. I want to do something."

"You mean, like carry a gun and shoot things?"

"Damn straight, buddy. I’ve been target shooting. I’m ready."

"Okay then, I’ll get you out on some patrols. See what you’re made of."

Jones smiled but it looked painful. "See what I’m made of? Listen to you. Man, the last time I saw you, you were talking about going to work selling cars while the world was falling apart. Now look at you."