John Barnes - Daybreak Zero

Around the next bend in the road, she found Harry’s Chop House, a ruined roadhouse. She hadn’t heard the dogs or men in about an hour; perhaps there would be some unlooted food, or something she could use. She staggered up to where the door hung off its hinges.

The kitchen, pantry, and bar were looted down to the last bite; a big pile of empty potato-chip bags lay in the dust in one corner, testifying to how thorough everyone had been.

But there was a two-pound box of cayenne pepper. She tore the top off, dumped it on the soles of her moccasins, threw handfuls across the floor, and went out the back door and along the frontage road, scattering cayenne behind her for a mile or so. At least the damned dogs will be sneezing their heads off.

Just at dusk, she found a dead fawn in the ditch, and dragged that behind her till dark, finally towing the deer’s remains into a borrow pond, swimming across to come out on a storm culvert. The dim blue moon was coming up as she regained the road and resumed her travel; perhaps she’d just wasted time, but maybe she’d slowed them down.

But long before the moon was overhead, she heard the distant baying; prolly I can’t put’em off, ever, totally, ’cause they know where I’m going and there ain’t really no other way to get there. Though her body from the waist down was one big streak of pain, she had picked up her pace. All I can do is get there first.

By morning twilight, Pauline thought she’d gained some ground, after the dogs and men had flushed her in the middle of the night; she’d started out almost in bowshot of them, diving out the broken window of the abandoned Subway when she heard them, but she’d doubled around and lost them, zagged over to another road, and probably put a solid mile between herself and them.

The gray light let her see the sign: ENTERING WYNOOSE IL.

Her heart sank.

When she had gone off with the tribe, on their way out they’d sacked and burned Wynoose. That was when they chained me, after I tried to run away.

If I had known, one mile before we came here, back then…

If I had realized where I was the first day we were at Montezuma…

If I had just kept moving after getting away…

She’d rather have gone around Wynoose, but she needed that bridge. The Little Wabash is much smaller than the Wabash, but in this hill and ridge country, the Little Wabash’s channel was often narrow and its current swift, and if she got in trouble trying to swim it, she didn’t have any energy or strength left to recover.

Twilight brightened. Many charred buildings gaped, their insides gone, but with concealment for fifty men behind those black, ruined walls.

She passed among the dreary black shells of Wynoose at as much of a run as she could manage. Thick, leafy trees closed in around the road, dense and still black as if some of the night had stuck to them, but a pale red light was reaching down to the road.

She was hurrying down the slope to the bridge when the arrow struck her calf. She cried out and staggered; another arrow flew through the space where she had been.

She broke the arrow’s shaft off with both hands ( oh God no oh God don’t shoot me in the ass ), leaving its point in her calf, and tried to run on, despite the searing pain shooting up her leg. Another arrow passed an inch from her head, but she was going to cross this bridge, cross it, one more river to cross —

She heard them running behind her, and the click of the dogs’ toenails on the pavement. She was going to take at least one fucker with her— make them kill me now, not what they did to Steve Ecco.

The bridge deck was under her feet now, the other bank just a sprint away, if she could only sprint instead of hobble. She heard the man’s breathing behind her—

A flash from the opposite bank, a thud and moan behind her. She gained a step on her pursuer; another flash. The other man behind her screamed.

She heard a clatter of dog claws on the bridge behind her, and then a yelp as something sailed past her; more yelps, and she realized someone over there is throwing rocks at the dogs. She hobbled forward, and a man burst out of the brush by the opposite bridgehead and ran toward her, still chucking rocks, his slow-to-load gun slung over his shoulder.

The dogs yipped at each other, broke, and ran; prolly dog-ese for “I didn’t sign up for this.”

The man raced past her, but she knew by the coonskin cap who it was. She looked back and that tripped her. Sitting up, she watched with satisfaction as Freddie Pranger finished off the first, unconscious Daybreaker with a hatchet blow to the forehead. Pranger walked up to the other one, who was still clutching his torn belly, planted his boot on the man’s neck, and as the man shrieked “Please!” Pranger whipped his hatchet over his head and brought it down in a deep chop into the back of the man’s skull.

Pranger wiped the ax on the dead man’s pants and hurried back to Pauline. “Was’at all’at was chasing you?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then, let’s fix you up and get you home.”

Poor old Freddie looked so bewildered when she started to cry, but she couldn’t seem to stop to tell him it was okay.

It had been a colder, wetter summer than anyone in Pueblo could remember, so the old Pueblo Courthouse’s lawn was still green even in August, and volunteers with weedwhips had been needed to make it presentable, but the dense green was pretty; the blue sky and crisp air, more like October than August, was delicious; and it could hardly have been more perfect for Bambi and Quattro’s wedding.

Heather was easily the most comfortable person there; they’d given her a chair, with a pitcher of water and a glass beside her. Leo was continuing to show promise as an extra-quiet baby, occasionally squirming just enough so she had an excuse to look down and gently touch his face; otherwise, she had about fifteen words to say at the appointed time and could just sit and watch the crowd. Gee, other than the watch and militia on duty, I think the whole town must be here.

Colonel Streen performed the ceremony; they were going to miss him, as the TNG was sending him over to the former Cedar City to head up a joint punitive expedition against tribals who had set forest fires, smashed irrigation systems, and burned out some isolated homes.

To maximize the political benefits, Arnie had written a short speech playing up hope for the future, union between people and among peoples—not heavy-handed, relying more on the context of the scenery, because, as Arnie said, you didn’t have to look far in Colorado to realize it was the state where “America the Beautiful” was written.

Larry Mensche stood proud and tall beside Quattro. He’s such a changed man ever since he brought his daughter back; he was already our best, but now he’s sort of… magnificent. Weird. Larry seemed like kind of an average FBI agent, dead-ended, had his last promotion, serving his time out… and now his name’s going to live with Kit Carson and Daniel Boone… .

Bambi looked great in an antique wedding dress, and Quattro was splendid in his tuxedo; at least the fashion for all-natural materials across the last fifty years or so had left some good clothes in good shape.

Heather rose and said the brief sentences Arnie had created for the matron-of-honor speech; there were more speeches than was normal at a wedding because this was a major news event and news went out via the Post-Times , so the more words to report, the better. To her relief, Heather got the words out without stumbling, sat back down, and was done with her active part. This might be the longest break I’ve taken without being asleep since we came to Pueblo.