Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending (42 page)

Walter stood in the doorway and offered me the tribute
of Dr. Pepper. I took it, instinctively opening the cap in a Pavlovian
response. He took a sip of his own soda; some generic version that I couldn’t
quite make out the label of behind his hand.

“Is now a good time?” he asked.

I’ve never been a fan of beating around the bush or
mincing words. It’s a habit—one of many—that I picked up from my uncle. “I’m
sorry Walter, but Marty is gone.” I gave that a few seconds to sink in as I
struggled with the decision for my next words. They came out soft and steady,
almost as if someone else was speaking them.

“I shot him.”

Walter’s face remained stone except for a slight bob.
“Tell me.”

So I did. I gave him the whole story from the time we
entered the campground to the time we crash landed in the lake. When I was
finished, he walked toward me and put his hand on my shoulder. I could see a
single wet trail from the passage of a tear on his left cheek.

“You did the right thing, Eric, and I’m grateful that
you had the guts to pull the trigger.”

I said nothing . . . just nodded . . . and he turned
and plopped down on the bench seat beside me, earning him a low grumble from
Max.

“Max, hush.”

We sat there in quiet reflection for several minutes
as the fine particles of dust danced and swirled through the shaft of sunlight
that angled down from the window high on the wall.

“You’ve been through a lot in the last few days. Take
an old man’s advice and stand down for a bit. Get some rest.”

“That’s not going to happen, at least not anytime
soon.”

“Do you want to tell me what you’re thinking?” I had
known Walter long enough to know that wasn’t a question.

“I want you to keep it to yourself, at least for a
little bit.”

He said nothing, but gave a slow dip of his nose.

“There are two things that I need to do . . . one,
really, but in order to do that and have the best chance of . . . surviving . .
. there’s something else I need to do first. And if that isn’t enough, I’m
going to need your help.

“Anything you need, I’ll burn down the world to make
it happen.”

“I know.”

He sat on the bench, perfectly still, as he waited for
me to speak.

“Michelle and I are going to make a run to Devils
Lake.” I watched as his eyebrows arched upwards, crunching his forehead into a
series of wrinkles at the same time as the corners of his mouth dropped. “There
is a chance that her mother made it to her dad’s cabin before things got out of
hand. I’m not letting Michelle go alone.”

He grunted and shook his head. “You . . . and her . .
. need to think this through. That lake is the vacation spot for thousands and
thousands of people every year. It’s also one of the first places that people might
think of as a safe destination outside of the cities. It could be crawling with
sick people.”

“Yeah, I know, but that doesn’t change my decision . .
. maybe my tactics and planning—but not my determination. I will not,” I slowly
and heavily emphasized those words, “let her go alone. And you know she would.”

“I know.”

I stood and stretched, flexing myself sideways to ease
out the beginnings of a cramp in my rib cage. “However, before we go there, I’m
heading to the cabin. Don’t get me wrong, I greatly appreciate the M2 from Uncle
Andy and the accessories from you and Bernice, but there are a few other things
at the cabin that I want to take with me when we head to Devils Lake.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Shortly. For the cabin, I mean. I know that every
second counts, but I want to give some serious consideration to our plan. So,
my goal—right now, anyhow—is to leave the day after tomorrow.”

“You should take some more people with you.”

“I thought about it, but that’s not the answer. I’ve
got an idea creeping around in the back of my head, but it shouldn’t really
depend on additional firepower. If that’s what it comes to, well, then we’re
probably SOL. Besides, you may need as many people as you can get right here.
We must have wiped out the majority of those things at the campground, but
there may still be some left.”

“What do you need from me?”

“I’ve got a list already started . . . in my head
anyhow. I’ll work on the rest of it later today. Keep a radio with you—we’ll figure
out a private channel—and I’ll contact you later. There is one thing I’d like
to know right now.”

“What’s that?”

“Michelle said that you gave her and Uncle Andy a
Ruger pistol with a suppressor.”

“Yep, they took it with them when they went to Fort
Hammer.”

“I’m guessing that it’s sitting in my uncle’s pickup
truck at the cabin. What I’d like to know is if the threads on the suppressor
will mount up to the threads at the end of my 10/22 barrel.”

“Is your barrel threaded?”

“Not the one that’s on there right now, but there’s a threaded
stainless steel barrel sitting in the safe at the cabin. I ordered it from
Tactical Innovations with the faster 1-9 twist ratio so it would stabilize the
heavy
Aguila
 
SSS ammunition.”

“What’s the TPI?”

“Threads per inch are one half by
twenty-eight on the stainless barrel.”

“That’s standard. The suppressor on the
pistol is a Sparrow model by SilencerCo. Probably one of the best ones out
there. It’ll match up to your barrel like a glove.”

“Can I borrow it?”

“Only if you promise to bring it, and both
of you, back.”

“I’ll try.”

We talked
a
little more, and then he got up to leave. I followed with Max, but called out
before we’d gone five steps. “One more thing. I’m not sure if Michelle is going
to the cabin with me. It might put her in a difficult situation, given the
memories she may be holding of what happened there, so if she doesn’t go with
me, don’t let her leave for Devils Lake until I get back.”

I could see the wheels turning as he considered the
unlikely possibility that he’d be able to prevent her departure if she set her
mind to it, but he nodded and said, “I’ll try.”

So, shortly before 1:00 PM I was up at Walter’s house,
heading down the hallway for the promised, and much needed, hot shower. It felt
so good I wanted to stay there for the rest of the day. As it was, I settled
for a good ten minute soaking. When I got out I found my BDU’s had been washed
and dried, and were folded outside the bathroom door along with several of my
shirts. Most of my clothes were still at the cabin, so I went with a long
sleeve thermal base layer topped with my Tennessee sweatshirt. My next stop was
the door to the bedroom where Michelle was napping. A few soft
taps
on
the door accompanied her name.

“Michelle.”

There was no response, so I quietly cracked the door
open. She was lying there on top of the bedspread, dressed in an old fashion,
button down flannel nightgown. It practically hung in drapes off of her lean,
lithe form, and her hair was splayed out in a giant fan-shaped pattern that
looked like she had tossed her head through a series of wild convulsions before
going to sleep. A pair of miniature headphones were covering her ears, and I
could hear the faint treble vibrations as the music sprang forth. I walked over
and sat on the edge of the bed. Her eyes stayed closed, and she gave a small
wheezing snore. I sat there, just watching her breathe for at least five
minutes. I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve been with a lot of women—some
rather plain, others pretty cute, and still others pretty dang . . ., well,
pretty. But as I sat there looking down, it just stunned me how absolutely
gorgeous Michelle was. I reached down and gently touched her hand, and then her
eyes flew open with a yelp and she practically clobbered me with her other
hand, the one holding the hard, plastic MP3 player.

“Ouch!”

“Eric, what the heck are you doing? I could’ve killed
you.”

I touched the area of my jaw just below my left ear
and felt a little dent in my skin from the corner of the MP3 player. “Yeah,” I
added with a wince, “that music you listen to is deadly.”

“Not that,” she moved her pillow, revealing the Glock
underneath, “this.” She groaned sleepily and flopped back down on the bed.

“That’s a . . . nice . . . nightie.”

“It’s one of Bernice’s.”

“I thought it looked a little bit large. Just a bit
though.”

Her eyes narrowed and she mumbled a quick “thanks a
lot” before rolling over on her stomach. I reached a hand down and pressed into
her shoulder blades, twisting my wrist back and forth and earning a muffled
“Uhhmmm.” She shifted underneath my hand, flattening out and stretching her
arms under the pillow. I continued to rub her back in small circles, and then
walked my fingers up to include her neck and the base of her skull.

“Do you remember where my Glock is?”

“Under your pillow.”

“Yeah. I just want you to know that if you stop
rubbing, I’m going to shoot you.”

“Well, I don’t want that.”

She laid there, sprawled and relaxing as I worked at
the muscles in her upper back and neck. “I need to talk to you about
something.”

I felt her immediately tense up. “Relax,” I said,
“just relax.” She didn’t.

Michelle spun underneath my massage until she was face
up. “What?” It was a single word, but her tone conveyed everything from curiosity
to fear, doubt, hope, and apprehension.

“I promised you that we’d go after your mother, and I
meant that. However, before we go, there’s something that I need to do . . .
probably alone because of the . . . circumstances.” I stumbled over the words as
I finished. Her eyes shifted from wide open uneasiness to slender windows of
confusion, but she said nothing.

“Michelle, I need to go back to the cabin. I don’t
know what kind of . . . memories . . . that may trigger for you . . . with what
happened . . . and what might have happened.” I paused, hesitatingly tripping
over my own tongue as I searched for the right vocabulary . . . the right
empathy. She pushed herself into a sitting position; her eyes never leaving
mine as I bumbled forward. “What I’m trying to say is that I want you to
understand . . . that I understand . . . that Uncle Andy’s cabin might not be
the best place for you. Because of the memories.”

Still locking her eyes with mine, she scooted on to
her knees and pulled my face close. Then, it was my turn to be confused and she
tilted forward and kissed me. It was probably the best kiss I’ve ever had in my
life.

When I recovered, she was seated Indian style on the
bed, staring over at me. The fire in her green eyes was blazing intensely, like
looking into twin emerald suns. “Wow . . . that was . . . nice.”

She smiled, “There’s more where that came from. I’ve
been saving them up for you.”

“I’ll take them, but what was that one for?”

“Because you care enough to try and relate to me on a
much deeper level than just what’s on the surface.”

I gave a weak smile, still somewhat confused by her
reaction. Not that I was complaining. At all.

“So,” I began, “I’ve got to go to the cabin and pick
up a few things. I’m going to take Max, and we should be back before dark, or
maybe a little bit after.”