The McClane Apocalypse: Book Two (45 page)

“Oh, sorry. I just assumed it was from the accident. I love your strange, different-colored eyes,” he says as he kisses the top of her head. Hannah allows her hand to travel lower on his stomach, but he seizes it before it goes any further south. “Let’s get you back to your own room. I start watch in twenty minutes, baby.”

Kelly finds her gown and helps her into it as well as her discarded panties and then has her wait by the door for him while he throws on some sort of pants. She gasps in surprise when he sweeps her off her feet and into his arms.

“Kelly, I can walk back to my room. You don’t have to carry me,” she insists and gets a kiss to her forehead in response as he opens the door. Of course, he ignores her.

“Hannah, we can’t let everyone know about this, ok?”

“I kind of figured that,” she says.

“Just not yet. I don’t want to anger your grandparents. This isn’t exactly the logical order that things are done, and I don’t want your grandfather to think I’ve disrespected him by defiling his granddaughter.”

“
I
defiled
you
,” she corrects with a broad smile as they come to the top step leading out of the basement.

“I have a feeling you’re never gonna let me live that down, either,” he jokes and kisses her cheek.

“Nope,” she agrees and nuzzles into his neck as he continues on and carries her the rest of the way to her bedroom. He sets her on the floor at her door like he’s just walked her to her front door after a date. She leans up for a sweet, unhurried kiss which leaves her breathless and half off the ground as he holds her so close to his front.

“Goodnight,” he says and Hannah goes into her bedroom, her body fatigued but floating on euphoria.

What neither of the two lovers knows is that Herbert McClane has been standing at the other end of the grand, first floor hallway near the front door and has witnessed the giant soldier carrying his granddaughter back to her own bedroom in a disheveled state.

Chapter Twenty-five

John

The next morning before the sun is completely up, John rises before Reagan and the baby and starts packing their belongings for the trip home. He had awakened before his alarm to find Jacob curled into his side, and Reagan spooned into the baby’s back. It had felt so normal, like they were a family. But they aren’t because the child is an orphan of the sickening new world, and he and Reagan are his newfound custodians and she hates his guts most of the time. Sounds like most of the marriages he used to know and probably the reason he never thought he’d give that a go himself.

He loads the weapons with full magazines, having used eleven rounds from his rifle last night and packs the bags that the extra horse will carry. They’ve confiscated more from the city than he’d originally thought. But if she had been shot and killed, then none of it would’ve been worth it. John had decided last night as he’d watched Reagan sleep that he’d never bring her with him to the city again. Maybe short runs around their small town or through their suburban areas, but never back there again. It had just been too dangerous, and he’d had to kill four more men in that park on their exit. If he’d missed one, if he’d not seen one, then Reagan could’ve been killed or worse. They could’ve taken her with the same intentions in their sick minds as the first team of scumbags in the Home Depot. These were the times that tried men’s souls? No, these were the times that made some men barbarian scum, and the other men kill them just to protect the women. Nothing is worth risking her safety ever again. He’d had trouble falling asleep just thinking about it. He’d never before been stressed out about a battle or skirmish he’d been in and had never before been so filled with tension long after it was over. Some men suffered from PTSD but not John. Some men lost sleep and were tormented with guilt and stress but not John. He didn’t give a crap about the enemy, and he’d always had the ability to shut down, turn off his emotions and move on and forget it. More times than he cared to remember he’d even had to kill women and a few teenagers who were terrorists in disguise with enough c4 strapped to them to take out entire shopping centers. However, with Reagan in harm’s way he’d become so physically sick he had sneaked outside the cabin last night for fresh air to quell what felt like an anxiety attack. His chest had felt like someone was sitting on it, and he couldn’t draw in a full breath. His palms had become clammy, and his heart had raced like he was back in basic training again doing his first ten mile march. John knows the signs of PTSD. They’d been drilled over and over into their heads throughout the years on some dumb mental health initiative or another. This was PTSD on a whole new level, and he never thought he’d feel like this over a woman being in danger. The funny thing was that he didn’t even feel any of this because he was in danger, just her.

When the bags are finished, John carries them out to the horses and sets them on the ground and then returns for the saddles. He’s working on the second horse’s tack when Reagan comes out to stand next to him. She’s clothed herself in jeans, a white tank top and her dirty black Converse. The air has taken on a cool breeze for so early in September, and a thick fog has set in on the mountainous region around them. He notices her shiver, so John jerks his hoodie over his head.

“Here, take this. You’re cold,” he tells her, but she shakes her head at him.

“No, I’m ok. I just need to find my jacket. It’s in one of these bags.”

“It’s in the cabin on the card table. Just take mine and we’ll wrap Jacob in yours. It’s too cold out for him, and I have no idea where the baby clothes are that we got. Probably buried under a million things. So just take mine. I don’t need it. Really,” he tells her as she finally takes it from him. He turns so that she doesn’t get pissed at his smile because his hoodie just about hangs to her knees, and she has to roll the cuffs back three times.

“Squirt still sleeping?” he asks as he turns back to her, trying to take his mind off of thinking of her being shot. Reagan jumps at the sound of his voice because she has her nose buried in the collar of his sweatshirt, sniffing it, not paying attention to him.

“Oh, sorry if it smells bad like b.o. or something,” he apologizes.

“It doesn’t; it’s fine,” she tells him quickly.

If it doesn’t smell bad, then why had she been doing that? And why had she acted like he’d just caught her doing something she shouldn’t be doing? Does she think it smells good? Does she think he smells good? These are questions John would really like to know, but he’s pretty sure he never will.

“Yeah, he’s still out,” she returns finally and puts the bridle on John’s mount for him and then the saddle blanket and pad.

“Good, maybe he’ll sleep for a while and we can make some progress. We’re taking a different route back,” he tells her, forgetting about the hoodie sniffing for now, and in the light of the lantern he notices her head jerk up in surprise. Her crazy hair is standing out in all directions like she’s holding her hand on one of those static globes at a children’s science center exhibit.

“What do you mean? I only know the way we came,” she says with confusion.

“That may be but it’s not safe to keep riding that same trail till we’ve got a path worn because it could lead people to the farm. We’ll go a different way that I think will shave off some time, too. Derek and I looked at a topographic map of Doc’s before we left when I planned this out,” he says and tightens the cinch strap which makes her horse grind his teeth in anger.

“Thanks for discussing it with me,” she replies sarcastically as she hefts the saddle to his horse’s back.

“Sorry. I suppose I just didn’t think to. I won’t get us lost. I promise. You aren’t the only coonhound in the family.”

“Yeah, some coonhound. I couldn’t even find my way around the city without you,” she laments with a purse of her lips.

John just smiles at her. “Why don’t you check on the baby and I’ll finish that,” he says as he stands next to her, having finished his own job. She doesn’t say anything but retreats back inside the cabin.

She returns a few minutes later carrying more of the bags that the horses will transport and hands one to him as he has started fastening them to the third horse again with heavy metal clips.

“Thanks, I’d like to get moving as soon as possible. Do you want to eat first?” he asks, knowing full well what her answer will be.

“No, we can stop at... well, wherever you decide since I don’t know where we’re going,” she answers but this time it is without judgment over his decision. Perhaps she’s seen the wisdom in it, or perhaps she’s too tired to argue.

Together they finish loading down the horses with their heavy bags of loot and then head inside where the fire has died down. There isn’t much light left from it, but the lantern helps considerably. She’s pulled her mess of golden curls into a haphazard ponytail and still wears his sweatshirt which somehow manages to make her look even more adorable. She’s drowning in it which again reminds John of how small she is, how much bigger that he is.

Reagan carefully moves the baby so that she can get to the sheets and blankets, repacks them in the plastic containers and closes up the supply cabinet. John wraps the baby carrier around his front and bundles Jacob in the hoodie belonging to Reagan before he slips him into the cotton sling. The kid just snuggles deeper into the carrier and doesn’t stir.

They’d fed him again when they had arrived at the cabin last night. They’d all three shared in the canned vegetable soup that Reagan had heated on the stove top of the wood-burning fireplace while John had tried to remove some of the grime and blood on himself and in his hair with a bucket of ice cold water from the pump. The baby had even nibbled a few bites of the homemade cookies Grams had made and packed for them. Reagan had watered down another protein shake and given it to him, as well, for added nourishment. She’d proceeded to explain how the liver functions and digests proteins and the slower developmental stages of a baby’s digestive system and molecule whatevers. He’d been lost about ten seconds into that conversation, but he’d pretended to listen anyways. It’s rare that she speaks very long to him, and he likes listening to her. She is so smart it is sometimes intimidating, but somehow Reagan never makes the people around her feel inferior in knowledge or ability, unless of course she was calling him an idiot. Doc had even said that she’d surpassed him long ago with what she knew. He’d also learned from her grandfather that Reagan speaks four languages, plays the guitar, which she’d taught herself, and the piano and studied Molecular Physics as a second hobby. Seriously? Who does that? She had taken the time to get into her medical supplies last night and listened to Jacob’s lung function, heart rhythm and other things that John hadn’t a clue what she was doing even after she’d explained them. And he’d sat with a stupid grin on his face the whole time, watching her do her doctor thing and secretly thinking how sexy as hell she was. Even for a little nerd.

She walks past him, looks at Jacob and gives John the nod, her nod. John closes the door on the wood-burning stove and extinguishes the lantern. They pull down their night vision gear and prepare to move out. He takes a second to help get hers adjusted more comfortably and has to squelch the feeling of wanting to toss her on the mattress in the cabin and kiss her senseless because she smells so good and looks even better. He needs to find a cold creek somewhere and dive in for a good half hour.

Reagan will bring up the rear and the extra horse as John is carrying Jacob and will need to be especially careful on his own horse. He’s hoping that they’ll shave a lot of time off their trip going home. He’s also hoping they don’t have to ride this time in bad weather. The route she and her grandpa took may have been the most direct, but it was up one mountain and down the other. The route he and Derek have laid out will be less direct, taking them out around most of the mountainous areas. The new terrain will be much flatter, many more pastures and meadows instead of hills and woods. Besides, it will bring them in to the other side of the farm, the exact opposite of the way they’d left which should help to divert people from the existing trail. Maybe someday they’ll be able to just drive to the city like normal people and not this pioneer crap, but he highly doubts it after seeing the state the country is still in.

For about three hours they travel in silence, mostly because the paths are too narrow to ride side by side, until Jacob decides to awaken shortly after the sun rises. He’s a cute little dude. His big, brown eyes stare up at John with trust even though he doesn’t know him from Adam. Of course, maybe kids are like puppies. If you feed them, they like you or something. It doesn’t take but another hour and a half before he starts fussing and sticking his fingers in his mouth and then whacking John on the chin with those slobbery digits. He’d sucked his thumb all night while he’d slept and when they’d carried him around the city. John had always thought it was bad to let a kid do that, but Reagan had said he was fine and had gone into a long dissertation of the palate and teeth formation and theories until he’d forgotten what the heck they’d even been talking about.

“We need to stop, boss. Kid’s hungry I think,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Ok, where do we stop?” she asks and draws in beside him.

They are on oil land as most people called it. The terrain has been bulldozed and smoothed back and reclaimed with planted grasses and pine trees. But there are plenty of four-wheeler trails for the oil company men to use- and the local trespassers and hunters- and John plans to use many of them to get back to the farm. He points to an area up ahead of them a hundred or so yards, to where an open meadow filled with late summer wildflowers are sprouted everywhere against the green of the long grasses. If their situation had been different, it might be a nice place to take a picnic with her. The situation is very different because the world as they knew it had ended, and they are fighting for their own survival.

They take cover near six giant oil storage tanks painted grass green to blend in more with the natural landscape of the countryside. They don’t, though. The faded white pipelines that pop up all over out of the ground near the tanks kind of give them away.