Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

Exhaling a held breath, Kevin shook hands. “Thank you, sir.”

“Not a problem, Kevin.”

“Okay. Great.”

“But, I do have one condition I’d like you to consider.”

Emotionally spent simply asking for Aldonza’s hand, Kevin sought Terry’s help with a glance her way. She nodded that he continue and that he was doing fine.

“Umm, sure. What condition is that, sir?” asked Kevin.

“Well, would you mind if we had the wedding here?”

“Here… at Nemacolin?”

“Yeah. Here at Nemacolin .”

“Umm…”

“You know, I’m told I can put on quite a show when I want to.” Mark chuckled at his own comment. He seemed in good spirits.

“But, ahh… I don’t think I can afford that,” said Kevin.

Terry laughed loudly and Andy and Ryan joined in. She stood, walking to Mark. Standing in front of him, she sensed his mind churning as to the logistics of putting on a special wedding reception for Aldonza.

“It would be on my dime, Kevin,” suggested Mark.

Terry interrupted his thoughts. “Which brings me to my second request.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s a similar situation.”

“Alright.”

“It concerns Andy and I.”

Mark stared at Terry for a moment. Making the connection, his eyes lit up. A second later, the deep creases of concern etched his brow. “Oh. Aww… shit, Terry… you mean… really ?”

“Yeah. Tell me about it.”

“Crap! Our straight shot to Liberty Bridge and into the Tubes isn’t gonna pan out,” said Connor. He let the binoculars drop gently to his chest.

“Why not?” asked John.

“The Liberty Bridge connection to the Veteran’s bridge into the city’s ripped out. Shit!”

“We make our way around then,” said Marty. He edged toward John and Connor for a better view.

“Yeah, but that means we’ll have to slip through into downtown proper and back around to reacquire the Liberty bridge and the Tubes.”

“Let’s do it, then,” said Marty.

“More exposure.”

“We’ll avoid most of it.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. We can try.”

“This team’s ready for that kinda heavy shit, Surf Boy? This is a city center we’re talking about.”

“I know.”

“Lest you forget, we got us a few new non-coms.”

“I know. But, they’ll do it. They did good in Cleveland, right?”

“Yeah, they did okay.”

“And responded near perfect to the wolves attacking, right?”

“Yeah. Not bad.”

“So, don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on them.”

“Good idea, you do that. John, let’s draw up a route together through this mess to arrive at the Liberty Tubes by 17:00 today.”

“Okay. Jackson? Give me that map,” said John McLeod.

Like a soft wind, the team slipped through Pittsburgh street-by-street and building-to-building in the early morning light. They patiently waited for the occasional strangers to clear before advancing.

“Keep an eye up top. Everyone.”

“Uh, huh.”

“Got it.”

“Yep.”

“Understood.”

“Copy that.”

Uneasy, all incorporated a slow scan of the upper level windows of the buildings nearby; no one wanted to feel the impact of an unannounced bullet. Walking slowly, they spread out with the horses held in reserve by Jason and BB covering the rear. With care, they eased their way through cars, trucks, and vans rotting where they sat. Huge rats ran around in heavy wave-like concentration and strewn junk was scattered everywhere.

“This city’s dead,” said Marty.

“Yeah, this particular section hasn’t fared well,” said Connor.

Broken office desk chairs with flaking paint and rusting Swingline staplers dappled the streets in a weird theme of corporate decay. Downtown center was a dusty ghost town.

“More rats! Check it out,” said Jackson.

An agitated wave of fat brown rats cruised in and out of several buildings nearby, making the horses fairly nervous. The team made every effort to avoid the larger clusters scurrying about.

“I hate rats!” whispered BB to no one in particular.

They all knew rats were prolific, dangerous carriers of many diseases, especially in the broken-down cities.

“Be glad we don’t have to eat ’em,” suggested Marty.

“I’d die first,” said Rhonda.

“You’d eat it,” challenged Roger.

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“I’d feed them to you to keep you alive.”

“Then you’d be doing me a disfavor.”

“You’d eat it.”

“Honey, I’d eat just about anything, but if it comes down to eating rats or living, I’m dying.”

“So you say.”

Connor studied the two and their discussion. “Quiet up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sorry, Mac,” said Rhonda.

The team slipped past endless buildings with blown-open doors, many ripped off hinges. Nearly all glass storefronts were bashed open to the weather, and probably had remained so for many years. The majority of skyscrapers and smaller, multi-story buildings were dark inside. Hard trash, like battered cash registers and dingy, gray-metal shelving billowed out around many entry doors and into the streets nearby. The city had not fared well, at least in this sector. Though, occasionally, at a few of the older storefronts, plywood or metal sheeting boarded up windows or doors along with a subtle detection of a cautious human presence.

“Cody. Shit!” whispered Roger. Furious, he glared when Cody stumbled, kicking a small board across a huge piece of broken sheet glass. The loud wood scraping, probably due to an exposed nail or two, etched a high squeak until it ceased.

“Sorry.”

“Sounds more like a rat squeal that anything, Roger. Nothing to worry ’bout.” Connor winked at Cody.

“Yes, sir.”

They slipped carefully toward the crumbling businesses near a large building with a sign designating it as the David Lawrence Convention Center. Once near, they discovered the formidable presence of armed guards all dressed in makeshift uniforms, possibly old Pittsburgh Police outfits based on the shoulder insignias. The armed men moved about with rifles or shotguns, a few pistols, and were fairly well purposed. On the other hand, the casual swagger and sloppy dress of most suggested discipline, hygiene and the honor of the uniform were not priorities.

“I don’t think those guards are in the habit of upholding pre-apocalyptic laws in the ’Burgh,” said Connor.

“There’s a full squad heading away from us, west, 200 yards,” said Marty. With his sniper rifle snug to his cheek, he scoped the area.

“Roger that,” said Connor.

“Two squads are heading east in the same uniforms,” said BB from behind the team. His Bosch & Lomb’s carefully scanned the area.

“Got it, BB. I see ’em. There’s ten more men and a few woman hanging out near the river,” said Connor, “The convention center’s probably their central command.” With a quick hand signal, Connor waving all down into better cover. “Let’s hold up here for a moment. Decide our workaround.”

“Will do,” said McLeod.

“Marty, slip close as you can with BB to secure a better activity assessment.”

“Copy that.”

“Roger, you’re ridin’ overwatch.”

“Got it.”

“Cody. Stick with BB, Jason and the horses.”

“Right, Mr. Connor Mac.”

“Judy, you’re with Rhonda.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Jackson, keep scanning up top.”

“Yes, sir.”

So far, they’d avoided a few token patrols, as they glided deeper into the city. With determined success, they kept exposure to an absolute minimum. Though, this was not as hard as expected, since most people they crept upon moved in pairs or groups of three, seemingly unconnected to any larger group. Studying their paths through the street, most seemed intent to be making their way toward the Point, the geographical juncture of flat land where the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers merged into the Ohio River. It was not terribly hard to figure out their destination. Since early morning, a repetitive beat, a pounding of large drums, pulsated from the Point as a veritable siren call.