Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

Route 51 was a wide four-lane road through the South Hills of Pittsburgh, meandering lazily through what had once been suburban neighborhoods mixed with commercial strip malls. Connor’s intent was to continue this brisk pace for five hours through the night, stopping only for five minutes every hour. He projected that this general speed would put them close to the small town of Perryopolis near dawn. If feasible, they would camp for a more significant rest of two or three hours near there before moving on to Uniontown.

Connor knew this road well, having traveled this way many weekends over the past fifteen years. Easily, he pictured what would be around the next bend or over the crest of the next hill and, usually, he was right, though the images in his mind didn’t include the aging and abuse of the scenery due to the neglect of the past five years. Nature had certainly taken the opportunity to reassert itself in the overgrowth and decay. It was sad to see the burn piles and mounds of bones, sometimes five or ten feet high, in parking lots or empty fields—efforts of a surviving population to rid the area of the dead.

This was the way to the cottage; a modest dwelling left to him by his father fifteen years ago and located in Farmington, Pennsylvania, a little town nestled comfortably in the Laurel Mountains. His family had always called it the “cottage”, though there was nothing Hansel-and-Gretel-esque about it. Originally, it was a two-story modified A-frame with two small bedrooms on the top floor and a living room with a fireplace, a bathroom, and a large kitchen on the ground floor. But a few years after his father had died, Connor expanded the ground floor on each side of the house creating two huge additional bedrooms and an elevated porch that wrapped neatly around the perimeter of the house. He hoped that the house was still there. He hoped that his family inhabited it. When these memories threatened to overwhelm him, he suppressed his rising emotion and refused to think about anything other than his current tactical environment.

It was a relatively warm night, the dullness of the full moon indicating the haze of humidity and the portent of an uncomfortably hot day to follow. Connor glanced behind him when he heard one of the horses approaching. John McLeod led his horse with BB and Marty close by, unwilling to allow any greater distance to separate them from their packs.

“How’s it going, Mac?”

“Okay, I guess. I’m trying to figure out our next move. Have you heard anything from the rear guard?”

“No, other than nobody appears to be following us—at least, not closely.”

“I guess that’s good news. I’m hoping that Top’s explosion slowed them down from a psychological perspective and more than simply the debris blocking the road. Additionally, I know Marty and BB gave them more to think about. That army has to be moving much more cautiously than we are at this point. We gotta put some miles between them and us.”

“Yeah, Mac, I agree. The more miles, the better. Besides, I don’t think this pace is bothering anyone yet. Everybody understands the importance of moving quickly.”

“We gotta good group here, John. Nobody shirks their responsibilities—even the kids pitch in without complaint.”

“Well, they certainly understand the life-and-death struggle going on. At least, at a subconscious level. Gabriella and Renaldo have certainly lived most of their lives with the threat of death hanging over their heads. And they’ve come this far with only the comfort of one another the past few years. I’ve suggested to Rhonda and Roger that they not question those children about their past—eventually those children will open up about it, but I suspect that won’t happen for a while yet.”

“They’re extraordinary kids, John. Cody had something of a taste of what the other two experienced. Have you seen the way Gabriella has taken a shine to Mickey?” They both turned briefly to catch sight of the burly first sergeant carrying the little girl piggyback style. Renaldo was walking close by, eyeing Mickey warily, but the big man ignored the boy, choosing instead to stay close to his backpack, carried by Jason’s horse a few feet away. The little girl was sleeping peacefully, her head lying comfortably on Mickey’s broad back.

“I don’t think that girl could be more comfortable if she were on a feather bed,” said McLeod and Connor chuckled in agreement. “Mac, do you think there’s hope for us?”

“Hope? How do you mean?”

“I don’t mean for the human race. The human race will probably survive for a long time, but so will human tendencies—the bad stuff and the good. I ask the question about our group specifically. The people with us here and now.”

“I’d put the eighteen men in our group up against anyone else. And Rhonda and those three kids can carry more than their own weight. The only problem is that Phoenix has a well-equipped force of five or six hundred men bearing down on us—I don’t like the odds.”

“Yeah. That is a problem.”

“It’s a problem we’re dealing with pretty well, I’d say. Less than twenty-four hours ago, I didn’t know that sick fuck was on our ass, John.”

“I’ll admit that seeing that army in Pittsburgh was a bit of a shock. The implications were stunning.”

“It was that. But right now, we know Amanda’s alive and we need to concentrate on getting to that rendezvous with Starkes without Phoenix getting too close to our ass. We certainly can’t bring this shitstorm down on Starkes at the rendezvous. I’m thinking we might need to gather up some allied forces to slow Phoenix down.”

“Allies? To go up against Phoenix and that army?”

“Yeah. Somebody has to take that maniac down and fast or he’ll carve up every small town he meets—besides, I owe him one.” Connor’s voice turned deadly at the last statement.

“Where would we find such a fighting force right now? Captain Daubney tells me that Starkes has only gathered up and trained about a twelve hundred men as a full-military unit. She’s got a thousand protecting Mt. Storm and another two hundred at Camp David. It would take too long to position any of her men back out here after we rendezvous. Besides, Phoenix is probably adding troops along the way. We haven’t asked anyone to join us, Mac. He’s probably telling anyone they come across to join or die. The miscreants will likely see the prospect as a positive change in their life—a safer existence. But anyone who would find Phoenix and his army repugnant wouldn’t have much of a choice if it were join or die. And, even if Colonel Starkes were willing to commit more men, Phoenix would be on us before they could arrive. That is, if she would issue the orders.”

“Well, I have some ideas on the subject.”

“Such as?” asked John.

“I need some more facts before I’m willing to talk out loud about it, John. My strategy is still evolving in my mind. And around here, there’s only one place that I can go where there might be allies I trust.”

“In the mountains?” asked McLeod.

“Correct. In the mountains. I used to know some very good people there before the Sickness hit. If some of those people are still alive, there may be a formidable fighting force there—if the right leaders are in place.”

“And they would come to your aid? Simply by you asking?”

“It’s a strong possibility.”

“I see. You truly think so?”

“Like I said, John, I need more facts on what’s going on up there on the mountain.”

John thought on the topic for a few seconds. “And your family’s there.” He knew he was taking a risk to bring up the subject, but his psychological training and curiosity made him broach the issue.

Connor’s voice turned deadly. “John, I would not jeopardize the men under my command just to see my family.”