The day after: An apocalyptic morning (43 page)

              Skip continued to look at the map for a moment. "We need to catch him before it gets dark. He must not be allowed entry into the subdivision where we'd have to do a house-by-house search to track him down. Someone's gonna have to go outside and get him."

              "Who?" Paul asked.

              "Me," he said. "I'll grab one of the AK-47s out of the supply room."

              "You can't go out alone," Paul told him. "I'll grab a rifle and go with you."

              "No," Skip said. "You stay here. Paula is in position 1 with Cindy. They have one of the M-16s up there. I'll have her go with me."

              "Why her?" Jessica asked, seemingly happy about the idea of Paul and Skip both going out into danger.

              "Because that's what she's trained to do," he said, picking up the microphone again. "Position 1, this is Skip. Are you there, Paula?"

              "Right here," she said. "We haven't seen anything so far."

              "Copy that. Paula, grab the 16 and meet me at the front gate. We're gonna flush this fucker out. Don't go out until I get there. Cindy, keep a sharp eye outside while Paula is gone and I mean a sharp eye. This is the real thing."

              The front gate of the complex consisted of a thirty-foot gap in the concrete wall through which the main road of the subdivision passed. Directly in the middle of this gap was a small structure that had once served as a guard booth where a uniformed security officer - his salary paid for by the homeowner's association - had controlled access to the subdivision by raising and lowering a small railroad crossing type arm over the roadway. The exit lane of the road was guarded by a set of steel spikes that would rupture the tires of any vehicle trying to enter from that side but that would allow the safe egress from the inside. The front gate, which was the most likely avenue of entry by stragglers, was watched over by the guards of position 1 during the day and by an infrared equipped video camera at night.

              Skip found Paula, the M-16 rifle in her hands, standing just to the side of the gate when he arrived. She was wearing one of the black rain slickers, complete with hood and a pair of heavy-duty boots. Her face was nervous but determined.

              "Do we have any idea where he is?" she asked him as he trotted up to her and put his back against the wall next to the gate.

              "No," he said, patting the walkie-talkie attached to his belt. "Other than that he's still along the wall somewhere. If he would've left, one of the position guards would've seen him."

              "If they're watching what's going on," she said cynically.

              "Yeah," he agreed. "If. I'd like to think that they'd at least put their extra-curricular activities on hold for the few minutes it takes us to clear this asshole out of here."

              "I'd like to think a lot of things," she said. "But they don't usually happen, do they?"

              "No," he said. "They don't. But you work with what you got. Are you ready for this?"

              She looked at him doubtfully, her eyes dilated in fear, her knuckles white on the grips of the M-16. "I don't know," she said. "To tell you the truth, I'm scared shitless to go out there."

              "So am I," he said. "It's never fun to go out where someone with a gun is waiting for you. But it's our job, Paula, so let's do it."

              "Why don't you take the 16?" she suggested. "You're better with it."

              "But it's your assigned weapon," he told her. "And it would be insulting for me to take it away from you."

              "I don't mind," she said. "This is not like writing articles on how to masturbate or put on make-up! I'm not sure I'm cut out for this!"

              "You are," he told her. "And maybe you can write an article about it later. Now let's go." He pointed to the gate. "I'll clear the wall just around the corner and you step out to cover me. Ready?"

              "Skip," she pleaded, actually trembling now.

              "You'll do fine," he said. "Remember, this is our job. It's time to get your cherry popped."

              "My what?"

              "I'll explain later," he said. "Let's do it."

              Without giving her any more time for self-doubt, he poked his head around the corner of the concrete wall, looking at the other side. Along the Route 63 side of the subdivision the concrete wall curved back and forth, following the twists of the road. This meant that only about a hundred feet or so was visible at any given point before a blind spot intruded. Skip saw nothing in that first length. "It's clear," he told Paula. "Move!"

              She moved, her doubts and fears pushed to the back of her mind now that the moment was at hand. She trotted sideways through the gate, her feet squishing in the mud, and trained her rifle along the wall, eyes searching for the intruder. "Clear," she said, just loudly enough for him to hear.

              Skip then slipped around the corner, hugging the wall. Holding the AK-47 at the ready, he moved forward, edging out sideways so that more and more of the wall came into view. Paula, as she had been taught, edged out even further, covering his advance with the automatic weapon, her eyes taking everything in at once.

              They continued to move sideways, crossing over the highway and squishing through the mud on the other side until all of the blind spots along the western wall were visible. They could now see all the way to the point where the wall turned the corner. There was no straggler visible.

              "Okay," Skip said. "He's probably still on the north side somewhere. Let's move up to the corner real carefully, keep a sharp eye on the bend in case he comes around it."

              "Right," Paula said. She began to move forward.

              It took them almost twenty minutes to cover the distance from the front gate to the northwest corner of the wall. They stayed to the west side of the road, keeping close to the rolling hills and the trees that marked that particular approach. As they drew closer they began to move from tree to tree, trying to keep their bodies hidden from view. First Paula would move forward and then Skip would leapfrog past her, then the cycle would repeat itself. As such, it was Paula that was first in position to peer around the corner.

              The northern stretch of wall was perfectly straight and she saw their quarry immediately. He was about a hundred and fifty yards from the corner, crouching in the shadows, his back to the wall, his rifle held tightly against his chest. He had seen her last dash from one tree to the next and he reacted to it. He stood and turned towards her, bringing his weapon down into firing position.

              "Shit," Paula gasped, training the M-16 on him. She began to shoot, squeezing the trigger in short bursts of three and four rounds apiece. The sharp cracks of gunfire sounded off and reddish-orange flashes exploded from the barrel. She saw specks of concrete chip off of the wall next to the man and she adjusted her fire, swinging just a hair to the left. Just as he got his own rifle into firing position, it suddenly fell from his arms and he dropped to the ground, rolling into a shallow gully. He didn't move. "He's down!" she yelled at Skip.

              He leapfrogged around her and pulled himself behind a tree, looking in the direction that she had been shooting. It took him a moment of searching but finally his eyes locked onto the prone man.

              "He was gonna shoot at me, Skip!" Paula said, near the verge of hysterics. "He was pointing the rifle at me! I swear!"

              "It's okay, Paula," he said softly.

              "I didn't want to shoot him, but he... he..."

              "Paula," he barked, a little louder this time. "Chill out, baby. We're not done out here yet. Let's move up and make sure he's not playing possum."

              "Move up?" she said.

              "Right," he told her, his eyes never leaving the man on the ground. "Take the lead please."

              "But... but..."

              "Take the lead, Paula," he said. "Keep that 16 trained on him. If you see him move, shoot him again. Let's finish our job, okay?"

              She took a few deep breaths. "Okay," she said, nodding. "Let's move up."

              As they started to move forward, Skip took a brief moment to report what had happened to Paul and the other guards that were monitoring the walkie-talkies. "We're moving along the northern wall now," he reiterated to them, "so you guys in positions 2 and 3, hold your fire. If you see movement it's probably us."

              They reached the man a minute later. He was not playing possum. He had a series of holes in his chest and even one in his throat from the bursts that Paula had fired at him. His eyes were open, unblinking, staring upward. His mouth was locked forever in an expression of panic.

              "He's dead," Paula whispered in awe. "I killed him."

              "You sure did," Skip agreed, bending down to take a better look. "That was damn good shooting. You did well."

              "I've never killed anything before," she said, unable to take her eyes from him. "I mean... I mean..." She shook her head a little. "I mean, he was just alive a minute ago and now he's not."

              "And he was just about to shoot at you a minute ago, wasn't he?" Skip asked. "And he was also trying to sneak into our town with a gun."

              "Well... yeah... but..."

              "But nothing," he said firmly. "You did what you had to do, what you signed up to do." He stood up, turning towards her. He took her face in his hands and forced her to look away from the body and up at him. She was trembling all over. "It's okay to feel guilty about it," he told her gently. "It's a natural reaction among those of us that have morals. Just don't feel too guilty about it, okay? He played the game with us and he lost. Too bad, so sad for him. We get to go back to town now, and he gets to stay here and contribute to the future ecology. And that's the way it should be."

              "I never thought it would be like this," she said, her eyes trying to look at the dead man again. "So... so... fast. It was all over in a second."

              He put his arms around her, pulling her against him. "That's the key phrase," he said, patting her back comfortingly. "All over. You reacted just like you should have and now it's all over, right?"

              "Right," she said doubtfully, letting her head fall to his shoulder. "All over."

              He held her that way for a minute, feeling her body tremble with adrenaline overload, knowing that embracing each other in this hostile environment outside the wall was a bad idea but doing it anyway. Finally she calmed a little and he was able to release her. He could see a few drops running down her cheeks that might've been rainwater but were probably tears.

              "Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to freak out like that."

              "As long as you do it after the shooting stops and not during it, don't sweat it. I think we should head back in now though."

              "Okay." She gave him a weak smile.

              They quickly stripped the man of his weapons and ammo and then began to walk back the way they had come, their pace a little more hurried. Skip reported over the radio that the subject was dead and that everyone could return to normal alert status. As they reached the surface of the highway and began to walk south along it, towards the main gate and the safety of the subdivision, he noticed that she was trembling even worse then she had been back at the body.

              "It takes a while to get it out of your system," he said, putting his arm around her shoulders again and pulling her against him. "We'll get you some dinner and you'll feel a little better."

              "I don't think I could eat right now," she said, leaning into him. "I already feel like I'm about to lose my lunch."

              "Well how about a drink first then," he suggested. "We'll get Paul to break loose a little whiskey ration from the supply room. There's nothing like a few shots to help put killing someone into perspective."

              "Now that sounds like a plan I'd be happy to participate in," she said.

              Meanwhile, back at the community center, dinner was in full swing and most of the town population, oblivious to the events going on just outside their wall, was contentedly chomping down on bowls of stew that had been made with cans of beef and vegetables and more than twenty packages of Top Ramen noodles. They sopped up the juice of this soup with pieces of freshly baked bread that had been cooked in large ovens powered by propane piped into the kitchen area from a series of tanks that had once stood outside every home.

              Jack, his belly full, finished up and carried his dishes up to the large cafeteria rack that stood in the corner of the gym. Stacy was there, just removing a fresh batch of dirty dishes so she could carry them to the trough that was used as a sink. His arrival there at the same time as hers seemed like a coincidence but was not. He had timed it carefully in advance.