Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Yeah. I saw that when he took out those guys on my momma.”

“No, that was Mac comin’ in careful and methodical and having… um… fun. You’ve never seen him mad.”

“Oh.”

Continuing their steady progress on the small, rarely used deer path, they moved together in tandem. Amanda tread carefully on the soft forest floor a hundred yards to the south of the ribbon of Interstate 80. She took a pleasurable moment to smile at Cody and his innocence. Though at the same time, she subconsciously swept the terrain, keeping an eye for any movement near the abandoned highway vehicles that often served as ambush points for less suspecting travelers. Everywhere, the obligatory brown rats rummaged in and around the vehicles scrounging for that last morsel of greasy processed food left over from the devastation.

“I hate them damn rats,” said Cody. He scanned the Interstate, seeing the large bunch of noisy rats gathered near a blue truck.

“Me, too.”

Confidant that BB, Marty as well as Jason on horseback were in overwatch and covering the position of the unit; and that Connor and Roger were on point, Amanda still found it unacceptable to let her guard down. Burned into her psyche, the hard lessons she’d learned in Kansas remained forever fresh; she knew she would never place herself in such a despicable and vulnerable position again. And, she knew Connor demanded extreme vigilance during any travel into unfamiliar territory; she planned never to disappoint him.

“It’s pretty here,” said Cody.

Studying Cody further, she liked how he moved beside her. Perhaps a bit careless with his feet, at times, and not so quiet when excited, but even so, there was a natural woods craftiness that would blossom into true forest mastery.

“It is. It’s very pretty.”

Amanda considered the rest of their squad, each keeping sensibly close and within the established defensive perimeter as they mirrored I-80 on their easterly trek toward the I-90 corridor and, eventually, Cleveland. The new crewmembers were a good addition, given the limited supply of qualified people and the current survival circumstances. Indeed, Rhonda, walking in the company of McLeod, was a particular surprise, as she moved like a hungry wolf hunting prey, yet still took time to snatch up the occasional wild mushrooms or other edible plants that might make it into the dinner pot that evening. Jackson, she noticed, moved with an enviable covertness well beyond her own skills and she wondered if BB and Jason were better or worse. Jackson would be hard to beat despite bringing along both his and McLeod’s horse on foot. Always, Jackson moved smoothly and she was often surprised to find him ahead of where her ears expected him to be. But, it was too early to tell about BB and Jason. Though, from Marty’s take, BB was the true “ghost” of their outfit, even suggesting he had the ability to run circles around Connor.

“Keep an eye out,” said Amanda.

“I am.”

“Good.”

Though the pace was hard, they’d made good time since they set off August twenty-ninth on the ‘Cleveland Mission’ as everyone now called it. And, today, September fourth, meant they were fast approaching the outskirts of the city with plans to stop this evening for final approach, reconnaissance, and clearly assigned execution tactics.

“Amanda?” whispered Cody, sensing her solitude, yet hesitant to interrupt.

He did so anyway.

“Yeah?”

“The president wants Mr. Mac ’cause he can make babies?”

Reflexively, Amanda’s left hand slid to her belly and she thought of the tiny life it held. A warm wash of pleasure nearly overtook her before she spoke.

“Might be the reason, Cody. We’ll hafta see.”

“Okay.”

Seemingly satisfied with the answer, they walked together for a while listening to the noises of the forest.

“Amanda?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think I can make babies?”

“Mr. Harmon, what a pleasure!” said Terry.

Standing with Andy in the middle of Dinner Bell Road near the second perimeter line, they greeted Mark Harmon and his new arrivals like long lost guests late for dinner.

“Terry! Great to see you again!” said Mark Harmon.

His genuine pleasure brought a pink blush to his pale face and his crystal blue eyes brightened. Slowing to stop his horse on the two-lane blacktop, he smiled.

“And, c’mon, you know better than that! How many times do I have to ask? Please call me Mark.”

“Oh, right, sorry.”

“Andy.”

“Mark.”

Each nodded in greeting, before Terry jumped into the fray.

“What brings you here this lovely summer day?”

Riding in the center of nineteen, well-armed men on horseback, Mark and his men were an imposing sight, each clearly experienced in horsemanship. Mark, himself, was a big man, burly and good-looking in a ‘mountain man’ way, but with a well-trimmed red beard and perfect white teeth. Easily, his natural charisma overshadowed the other riders, though a few of the horses they rode were impressive enough to warrant a strong glance or two.

“Oh, I dunno. Just needed to ride for a bit.”

Calming the beautiful palomino beneath him, Mark made subtle adjustments to his seat and shifted toward Terry and Andy. Whether in deference or training, the men spread out across the road to give them room and protection.

“That right?” asked Terry, smiling.

“Yeah.”

One muscular man, wearing a black patch across his left eye, stayed put, never separated from behind Mark by more than ten feet. Coming across as stern and unyielding, the man had a thin facial scar on his left side from chin to eye. White and jagged, the scar stood out against the eye patch. Confidently, he scrutinized the horsemen separating to his apparent satisfaction. That done, he used hand signals to instruct the Quads to split into two teams, taking up protective detail fifty feet down the road. At the man’s further signal, the remainder of men covered their flank and the two Humvees disgorged men to disperse silently several yards into the surrounding woods.

“Lotta men for a neighborly stroll down Route 40, Mark,” suggested Andy. He studied the dispersal of men, interested.

“Yeah, well—”

“Something we should know about?”

“No. No, I’ve recently been told I need to be more cautious on my trips out of Nemacolin.”

“I see.”

“Can’t ride alone anymore. Need a ‘protective detail’ so I’m told.”

Watching the action, Andy took a special interest in the one-eyed man. He was a new, first time addition to the equation and was efficient, concise and in command of the men. Before any further pleasantries continued, Andy interrupted.

“Who’s the new guy, Mark? I’m thinking I might know him.” Andy gestured at the one-eyed man.

“Who? Oh, you mean, Spider?”

“That his name?”

“No. His name’s William Parker. He’s new, came ’bout a month ago—”

“Call me Spider,” said the deep, baritone voice.

“Call me Spider,” said Andy. He kept his voice just as deep in mocking imitation, but with an unimpressed tone.

Terry caught the tight tension in Andy’s shoulders and slight change in stance.

“Where you come from, Spider?” asked Andy.

The question was none too friendly. Confused by Andy’s behavior, but sensing the harsh tone, Mark intervened, dragging his eyes from Terry and the curves of her breasts.

“Spider’s military, Andy,” said Mark, “He’s Army Ranger. Served in Iraq and Afghanistan, three tours.”

“That right?”

“Yep. He was a captain up for promotion before the bird flu hit everywhere.”

“I see.”

“Right. And, he’s pretty much taken control since he showed up last month.”