Gift from God: Hunter Wars Book Four (The Hunter Wars 4) Page 11

  “That sounds more like you.”

  Turning his attention to the van Kray’s men were hiding behind, he pulled open the back and found it was filled with food and ammo. Shaking his head, he wondered why they used their own van as a shield. Thanks to his shooters the van was now riddled with bullet holes, and the shattered glass from the windows was scattered across the boxes and bags inside the truck. He guessed they hadn’t expected any resistance. Being a country with strict gun laws meant there were probably few well-armed people able to defend themselves.

  The van had some boxes of MREs, a black garbage bag full of clothes, a few leather coats and some old tattered looking boots. None of it interested him, but what caught his attention was a dirty, off white towel carefully wrapped around something. He pulled at the edge of the towel, but it seemed to be jammed under the boxes. Where the bullet hit him was aching, but feeling stubborn he grabbed the towel and felt something hard inside it. Gripping the hard center inside the towel, he tugged at it again feeling it move slightly, but it was still trapped under the boxes. Now getting irritated, he unshouldered his gun and began roughly shoving boxes from the towel.

  His determined work attracted TL’s attention. “What are you doing, Gears?”

  “There’s somethin’ wrapped in this towel, but the damn thing’s stuck,” he replied, as he continued to push boxes and bags away from the towel.

  Whatever was wrapped in the towel, it was long and thin. Finally freeing the towel and its contents, he triumphantly pulled it out of the van.

  Shaking his head, TL asked sarcastically, “Are you happy now? You’ve got yourself a dirty towel.”

  “Shaddup, TL,” he replied distractedly, as he pulled at whatever it was that was so carefully wrapped inside.

  As he unwound the towel the handle of a sword appeared. Gold colored, it had a grip of twisted metal etched in a pattern he thought he recognized. The crossguard was a darker metal and had four jewels in a line. The first was a deep red ruby, the next a diamond, then a cream-colored stone he didn’t recognize, and the last was jet black. The blade was nestled into a simple black leather sheath which, judging by the scuffs and deep scratches, was well used. Holding the sheath in one hand, the handle of the sword in another, he pulled out the blade. The highly polished blade had the same intricate patterns running down it as the handle, and it finished at a sharp and savage looking point. He ran his calloused thumb down the edge of the blade, and as it sliced lightly through his thumb drawing blood, he immediately wished he hadn’t.

  “Woah,” he said, impressed by the design and the lethality of the blade.

  TL looked at the blade closely. “Wow. How old do you think it is?”

  “Ya know what I know dumbass.”

  Sighing, TL said, “I miss Pax. He knows how to deal with you.”

  Axel had joined them and he said, “Their other van is around the front. It looks like they’re an on-road crew.”

  Nodding, TL said, “We should harvest their goods and get the hell out of here.”

  Re-sheathing the blade, he said, “Peter, you should take their supplies, but I’m keepin’ this blade.” Turning to TL and Axel, he said, “Prepare to bug out. We should head up to the ammo site before we go back to Heathrow.”

  Ip had left with the hunters and he assumed she would take them a short distance away before letting go of control of them. He headed into the house to grab his pack and check the bruising he knew he had under his armor. Once in the bedroom on the third floor, he removed his tactical vest, shirt and undershirt. Standing in front of the large mirror, he inspected his back and he had a deep purplish mark on his left side. Poking it gingerly, he could feel a slight swelling and the area was tender to touch. While he prodded the bruise, Ip walked into the room and seeing his injury, she ran her hands softly over his back. In his mind he heard and felt her speak.

  Ip speaks: Careless my love, you could be hurt. Good thing you wear that strange shirt.

  Enjoying the sensation of her hands caressing him, he smiled. “I found somethin’ for ya.”

  Turning back to the bed, he picked up the sword and was about to show it to her when she pounced on it, squeaking in delight.

  Ip speaks: This is mine. It is Death’s to bear. Who it kills it does not care.

  Seeming familiar with weight of the sword, she held the sheath and pulled it out in one graceful fluid motion. Dropping the sheath to the floor, she ran her hands lovingly across the blade, before lifting it to her lips and kissing it. Sighing with pleasure, she turned to him.

  Ip speaks: Horseman of War, my love you are, but this is a close second by far.

  “Just so long as I come first, I don’t care who or what comes second.”

  Holding the sword in front of her, she turned to face the mirror and then stopped. Her hand holding the sword dropped until the tip rested on the carpeted floor. She looked confused and more than a little surprised.

  Glancing at the mirror, but seeing nothing other than the two of them standing together, he asked, “What is it?”

  Ip speaks: The noisy one’s wife has come to me. Very worried is she.

  Knowing she called Pax the noisy one, he frowned and asked, “You mean BD? Are ya sayin’ you can see BD?”

  Ip didn’t reply, but continued to look at the mirror. Looking around their reflection, he saw nothing that shouldn’t be there. “Honey! Are ya sayin’ you can see BD in the mirror?”

  Ip speaks: I am Death you know that well. I only talk to the dead, it is where I dwell.

  Now becoming frustrated, he replied sharply, “That’s a little creepy, honey, but you ain’t answered my question.”

  Ip speaks: She holds the noisy one ever dear. He is in some danger, or so she fears.

  He felt a sharp jolt of worry, and asked anxiously, “Pax is in trouble? Are ya sure?”

  Ip speaks: His wife is anxious I can tell, but I cannot hear what is not well.

  Being so far from his bases had worried him ever since they’d left eleven days earlier. He repeatedly, reminded himself that Pax, Captain Ted and Nelson were perfectly capable of managing the bases. Although he couldn’t see what Ip thought she could see, he knew she was sincere when she said she could see BD and that Pax needed him.

  His face tightened into a grim expression. “We’ll skip the recon of the ammo base and head back now.”

  Pulling his earpiece from his pack, he said, “TL, we gotta head back home now. Ip says Pax is in trouble.”

  “How does she know that?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “No.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: In silence there is no peace (Gerry)

  The cafeteria on the cruise ship was noisy. Children were running between the long tables. Combat shooters and scavengers were boasting about their latest escapades, and people were clanking cutlery and dishes in a cacophony of endless, jarring sound. He tried to shrink into himself, forming a bubble around his small portion of the table as he gobbled his food quickly without tasting it. Not that it was very nice anyway. While they struggled to maintain supplies for the heaving population of survivors, the quality of the food had been deteriorating for months. Sighing, he remembered the good days when food was plentiful and the people were better mannered. Since Ip died, Gears, TL and Pax barely spent any time on the ship, and without their stern presence, people were becoming less disciplined and, in his view, louder.

  Hurling himself into the seat opposite to him, Hatch asked, “Whatcha doin’, Gerry?”

  Not wanting Hatch to spit on his food and share his germs, he pulled his plate closer. “Umm…I’m umm…” Feebly, he left the sentence hanging, unable to explain what he was doing other than trying to stay away from people like him.

  Hatch began stuffing large mouthfuls of food and chewing loudly. “Place is getting to be overcrowded. I used to like stayin’ on the ship. Used to pretend I was on a cruise. Ya know, goin’ somewhere exotic. It’s crap now. Look at all these noisy assholes messin’ up our home.�
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  Putting his fork down, Hatch took a long slug from a can of soda and belching loudly, he added, “Foods gone to hell too. Harry can’t keep up with the cookin’ no more, and he ain’t got anythin’ worth cookin’ anyways.” He resumed his methodical eating and loud chewing. “If it weren’t for the birds, I’d be goin’ crazy stuck down here with this lot.”

  Realizing Hatch didn’t need him to speak, his mind drifted off and he half-listened to him, while he pondered what he was worried about this time. As a kid he was diagnosed with Asperger Syndrome, which meant he tended to misread people’s signals, and become obsessed with subjects no one else was interested in. He was given the diagnosis when he twelve years old and was deeply offended. He figured they’d effectively told him he was boring. He didn’t think that was a fair assessment, and he failed to see what was so interesting about everybody else anyway. He looked balefully at Hatch, who was chewing so loudly he could hear him over the noise of the cafeteria. If he cared to look, which he didn’t, he could watch the food rolling around his open mouth. As Hatch spoke, little bits of food and spittle landed on the table in front of him, and he wrapped his arm around his plate, protectively drawing it closer to his body.

  Hatch was complaining loudly about pretty much everything. Mentally sighing, he returned to exploring his own mind and trying to understand what was bothering him today. Along with his Asperger diagnosis, he was also told he suffered from General Anxiety Disorder. Using his Asperger’s productively he researched GAD extensively, and it turned out, not only was he boring, but he was also a worrywart. It was a lot to absorb as a twelve year old and it damaged his self-confidence. That lack of self-confidence meant he never had the courage to leave home, and even at the age of thirty-seven, was still living in his Mum’s basement when the virus struck. Funny how things turn out, he thought. Thanks to living in his Mum’s basement, surrounded by his precious HAM radios, he’d survived the end of the world very well.

  Being a HAM radio enthusiast he formed a strong network of radio buddies, who also happened to be survivalists. For some reason he never understood he didn’t stammer when he was on the radio. Through his interactions with the survivalists he was convinced to build up an array of supplies, and when the end of the world did come, he was able to survive for months without ever leaving his safe underground nook. He kept himself amused by scanning frequencies and chatting with the various people who were on the air at the time. That was how he’d come to know Nelson and Izzie and introduce them to Gears. He mused to himself, for someone with Asperger’s and GAD, he’d proven to be quite a success in this post-apocalyptic world. The very things that made him useless before were the very things making him indispensable in this new world. Amused by the irony, he smiled.

  In his usual good-natured way, Hatch asked, “Whatcha grinnin’ at, Gerry?”

  Startled by the direct question, he stammered, “Umm…I was…umm…thinking that…umm…nothing.”

  Hatch regarded him with narrowed eyes. “That’s a weird answer, dude, but hey, whatever.” Noisily scraping his plate clean, he asked, “Whatcha worryin’ about, Gerry?”

  He looked up in surprise. People usually found his stammering annoying and avoided asking him questions, so he didn’t know Hatch or anyone else very well. They’d shared a few trips together when he was setting up the radios at the bases and on the islands, but he was always with TL or Pax and Hatch seemed to ignore him.

  Noisily dropping his fork onto his now well-cleared plate, Hatch looked him in the eye. “Somethin’s buggin’ ya. What is it?”

  He scratched his face nervously, then he waved his hand at the room. “Umm…the noise…umm….”

  “Yeah, well, ya can’t hear yourself fuckin’ think in here. Let’s go.”

  Following Hatch through the cafeteria, they both returned their dirty dishes and cutlery to the kitchen, and left through the swing doors. Climbing to the deck, he found things were no quieter than the cafeteria, and he let Hatch lead him to the silent bird sitting on the helipad. Climbing into the cockpit, he sat next to Hatch in the co-pilot seat.

  “I know I gotta conserve fuel, but I’m the boss of this crappy fleet, so do ya wanna ride? There’ll be no one in the skies but us.”

  Nodding nervously, he put on the headsets Hatch offered and buckled himself into his seat. Feeling the headsets against his ears and hearing Hatch’s tinny voice, he felt himself relax for what seemed like the first time in months. Not a confident flyer, he clutched the edge of the seat as Hatch lifted the bird into the air. Caught by beauty of the sea and the boats that bobbed around the ship, his mind calmed and he smiled. Flying the bird low and slow over the water, Hatch headed towards the mainland and he peered out of the front window, awed by this fresh view of the world.

  Now he was on a radio, his stammer was completely gone. “I’ve never flown upfront before.”

  “Amazin’ ain’t it.”

  They flew in silence and feeling calmer and steadier than he had for months, he began to unpick the worries in his mind.

  Gears, TL, Pax and Ip no longer lived on the ship and that upset him. They were the focal point of the ship, and when it was centered so were all the bases. The ship was important. It symbolized their escape from the hunters and their determination to survive. It turned them from a large, disorganized group, into a well-governed and managed team with a clear mission to kill all hunters and restore order. He felt that, although the original people were committed to their mission, the new people were directionless.

  “I think the mission is getting lost in the logistics. Gears, Pax, TL and Ip need to be back on the ship. When they were on the ship, they gave the mission a stable core. And Gears needs to start talking to the new people. He needs to inspire them the way he inspired us.”

  “Yep. I hear ya.”

  He filed the thought and his mind wandered to a new woman, called Candy, who’d joined his radio team. She was in her late thirties, a bit of a hippy, with wild red hair, and she always wore long earrings that she removed whenever she was on the radio. Never having had a girlfriend, and still being a virgin at the age of thirty-eight, he was confused about his feelings for her. Just the other night, he’d woken up with his mind still full of a very intense dream about her. I should ask her out, he decided.

  Feeling a little flutter of excitement, he said firmly, “I really like this woman who works on my team. I think I’ll ask her out. You know, like on a date.”

  “Good plan. Women like to be asked out and you’re a good guy.”

  In his mind he filed that thought away with the other one. Still sifting through his addled thoughts, he imagined sitting down at his desk and putting his headsets on, starting to scan frequencies. Recalling his most recent communications, he ran through the messages. One of the transport ships was due to pick up fresh supplies from the main island, but was running late. The Naval base was supposed to load an ammo run out to the Navy submarine base, but one of the trucks had broken down on route. The CDC was complaining they were short of beds and wanted to send some patients to the main island to free up space. Mentally he ticked off the status of each of his radio messages, and between the boats, aircrews, bases and islands, there were a lot of messages to remember. They’re the usual messages, he thought, nothing worth worrying about.

  “Nothing much happening on the radio. Just business as usual.”

  “Good to know.”

  He began to think through his key contacts. Gears and TL were in the UK and unlikely to make radio contact. Pax was on a long supply run in South Carolina and he never expected to hear from him. He was always unreliable that way. Captain Ted was at the Ranch and he’d radioed he wouldn’t be back for a week. Nelson was on the main island, and other than yet another funeral, he was happy. Mom was at the Ranch with Lydia and everything was fine. Pop was on the island with Nelson, and aside from asking him if he’d heard from Pax, he said all was well enough.

  Realizing that he’d promised to radio Pop as s
oon as he heard from Pax, he frowned. “No one’s heard from Pax and his scavenger team.”

  “When did ya last hear?”

  He felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. “Over a week ago.”

  “That’s not good. Pax is a dumbass, but even he never stays outta contact that long.” Shooting him a worried look, he asked, “Have ya tried callin’ him?”

  An all too familiar flutter of panic ran through his gut. “Yes, of course I have, but he’s on a long scavenger run.”

  “Who was with him?”

  He didn’t know. He’d gotten a list of the names of the people who were on the scavenger run, but he hadn’t recognized any of them. Feeling lightheaded with anxiety, and thinking he had missed something he shouldn’t have, he said, “I didn’t know them.”

  “That’s not right. They must be some of the new people.”

  “I have a bad feeling about this. Pax has never been gone for a week. I haven’t heard anything from anyone about him. Usually Gears would be hassling me every day about chasing Pax until he responds, but he hasn’t been around. I think I should have tried harder to get in contact with him.”

  “Is that what’s been botherin’ ya, Gerry?”

  It was what was bothering him. Since he’d become their radio guy almost a year ago, he spoke to Gears and TL more than once a day and Pax at least once every three days. With the additional people at the bases there was considerably more radio contact, and with Gears and TL out of easy reach his habits had fallen apart and he’d lost track of Pax.

  Now his anxiety was unleashed, he said rapidly, “I don’t know what to do. Maybe I need to go back and radio Nelson. I really want to talk to Gears. What should I do?” The more he thought about it the greater his anxiety became. “I think Pax is missing, Hatch, I think something bad has happened.”

  “Steady on, Gerry,” Hatch replied calmly. “We’re already in the air. I’ll refuel at the base and we’ll head out to the Ranch and pick up Ted.”

  Chewing on his thumb nervously, he asked, “Do you think that’s the right thing to do?”