Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

There wasn’t much conversation throughout the room—the guests were too immersed in the food. A German chocolate cake laced with caramel and topped with fresh strawberries was served as desert. A small aperitif of almond schnapps accompanied it.

“I can’t remember the last time I had such a meal,” commented Edgars.

“An army succeeds based on the contents of its stomach,” said the major.

“If you’re quoting Napoleon, major, he said that ‘an army marches on its stomach.’ Keep your eyes sharp, Edgars. Keep up your guard until you know who your true friends are.” She met the eyes of each man around the table.

“Of course, ma’am,” said Edgars.

“I was talking with my family, Connor Mac,” said Roger. “We all agree that we’d like to travel with you and Marty and Amanda—if that’s all right with you.”

“Have a seat, Roger,” said Connor, indicating a large flat stone next to the pond. “Why didn’t you bring a rod?”

“Well—”

“You shoulda brought one from the shed,” he said, reeling in his line, readjusting the bobber height, and reloading the hook with a fat nightcrawler. Roger settled comfortably on the rock and Connor cast again, eyeing the bobber for a telltale dip indicating a bite. He was enjoying himself immensely—the only thing missing was a cold beer. It was early dawn and he waited a moment for Roger to make his intent known.

They had spent three days at this location and Connor, usually one who wanted to be on the move, enjoyed the brief respite. “You’re welcome to travel with us, but why the change of heart, Roger? I thought you were taking your family west.”

“Percentages,” Roger answered.

“I’m not sure I follow you,” said Connor. The abundance of game, wild vegetables, and fruit in and around the house had produced a flurry of activity. Rhonda and Jackson showed an expertise in the art of food preservation and they both were exceptionally busy the last two days.

“The way I figure it,” explained Roger, “the likelihood that my parents or Rhonda’s mom are still alive is slim to none. Dad’s seventy-six and Mom’s seventy-four—neither one of them was in great shape the last time we visited. And, Rhonda’s mom is seventy-two and insulin dependent.”

“Oh, my.”

“Yeah. Rhonda and I were talking about it last night. We figured that their age, the Cuckoo Flu, human predators, animal predators, and their medical conditions all add up to a disappointing ending.”

“That had to be a tough decision, Roger.”

Roger picked up a flat pebble at his feet and prepared to launch it across the pond. Realizing at the last minute that it might disrupt the fish, he hesitated and took a moment before speaking any further.

“I hate to sound callous, Connor Mac, but it wasn’t terribly difficult. I did the hard percentages. We had a serious wake-up call a few days ago when those scumbags caught me out—if it hadn’t been for you guys, I would’ve had a bullet in the head and Rhonda—well, I don’t like to think of that.”

Connor stood and offered his hand to Roger who stood immediately. “We’d be happy to have you and your family, Roger.”

Roger’s shy intensity suggested he wasn’t accustomed to asking for anything. “Thank you, Connor Mac. I know Cody will be thrilled. I’m sure you’ve noticed that he has a huge crush on Amanda.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” said Connor dryly. They laughed together at the boy’s infatuation. Connor slowly reeled a few yards of line in.

“I understand from Jackson that McLeod and his men are joining you for their return east.”

“That’s right,” answered Connor.

“You’re in charge?”

“Yep.”

“And McLeod’s okay with that?”

“We’ve hammered it out.”

“It sounds like it was easy.”

“I dunno,” said Connor, thinking about it. “Maybe it became easier after Snuff and Surf Boy told them who I am. I know that BB and Marty spent some time talking about it—they didn’t have any problems. And I get the impression that McLeod’s boy figures that my rank as a full bird earns me the right to lead if I know what I’m doing.”

The two men tracked a half dozen geese landing in the center of the pond. “There’s a boatload of geese around here—we could live for months just from the meat landing on this pond,” said Roger.

“Yeah. Most people haven’t figured out that they’re okay to eat. And, that’s not any news that we should spread around.” The bobber dipped slightly and Connor tensed, waiting for the right moment to set the hook, but whatever was nibbling became disinterested. He resisted the urge to reel in and check his bait. “Do you have any problems with me leading this group, Roger?”

“I talked with Rhonda about that, too, Connor Mac. We agree that you’re probably an excellent leader. As far as we’re concerned, you’re in command, period.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Roger.”

“I know you say that, sir, but I feel differently. Let’s just say our decision to join up with you has nothing to do with what happened a few days ago.”

“Okay, I see.”

“Plus, I have a feeling that hanging with you might lead to some very interesting times.”

“Is that right?”

“Ronnie… Rhonda thinks you’re something special—I’ve learned to trust her judgment when it comes to gauging people’s character.”

“She’s an intriguing woman, Roger. I’d like the opportunity to get to know her better.”

“The better you know her, the better you’ll like her.”

“That’s already true,” agreed Connor.

“And Cody’s sure excited about the prospect of joining up with you—he already looks up to you.”

Connor nodded. “Okay, Roger, welcome aboard,” he said, reeling in his line. “We leave in three days.”

“Okay.”

“It’s good to have you along, Roger. I’m sure I’m gonna need your help before this trip is over.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know how, but it’s just a feeling. I’ve learned not to ignore that feeling.”

“What kinda feeling?”

“It’s just a feeling that you and your family might prove useful to me and the team in the future.” The fishhook was empty and Connor had no more worms. He clapped Roger on the back. “Welcome to the team, Roger.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Why do we have to bury ’em, Mom?” asked Liam. “They were gonna kill us—just let the rats and coyotes have ’em. They’re garbage.”

Terry climbed out of the freshly dug grave, her pink t-shirt streaked with sweat and dirt in the fierce August heat. She laid the shovel next to the hole and removed her leather gloves. There were forty-two bodies buried in this unofficial cemetery. It was a burial ground for those who came here with malice in their hearts and they added plenty of bodies to it for the past five years. Indeed, protecting their home turf became a full time job since the Sickness; human predators had only become more creative and sly with each passing year.

“Liam,” she said, exasperated with the boy, “we bury ’em ’cause we’re not animals. Humans bury their dead when they can. Any dead.”

“Yeah, right. They’re garbage , you said so yourself.”

“Yeah, Liam, I did say that. That’s true. But that’s because of their behavior. They were trying to take what was not theirs with plans to use violence and intent to kill—but, they’re still human beings.”

“So which is it then, mom?”

Anger building, Terry worried about his petulant attitude—perhaps he was whining so she would dismiss him from the gruesome task of grave digging. That wasn’t going to happen. Informal clan rules were clear that those who were involved in the kill helped bury the dead. Today, Liam was brought along for the first time to familiarize him with the repugnant task. “Liam, jump down in there and dig another six inches outta that grave.”