Sever, p.4
Sever, page 4
The waitress reappeared with Asher’s check and he handed her his debit card. Rachel ordered another drink and then muttered, “Wow. That went down quick.”
“It’s okay, I’m driving. You deserve it,” Carly said.
She nodded and placed a hand on Asher’s arm. “I’m so scared of all this stuff. I mean, what can you do to protect yourself against it?”
“You could always prepare for it. The two most popular ideas in preparing for something like this are to hole up somewhere with a bunch of supplies and let the disaster pass or to run. Staying put seems like you’re just waiting for your own inevitable death to me. I think the key is to stay mobile. Have plenty of supplies and keep moving from place to place in order to stay ahead of them.”
“Wouldn’t that be more dangerous than staying in one place that you can fortify and defend?” Rachel asked as the waitress returned with her drink and Asher’s card. “Thanks.”
Asher picked up the pen and added a tip to his bill. “I don’t know,” he replied while he signed. “I think the zombies are a very real threat, but from everything that I’ve read, if you don’t let yourself get trapped, then you should be okay. The biggest problem is going to be the other survivors who need your supplies. You may be able to zombie-proof a building, but there’s not much that can keep a determined human being out of someplace, especially if society has collapsed and there’s not a police presence to deter them from doing violence.”
“Do you really think people would be that petty?” Carly asked. “They’d all be survivors and people tend to join together in times of crisis.”
Asher took a small sip from his still mostly-full beer and glared at her. “How much time have you spent in the Third World? Or even closer to home, have you been in a hurricane or tornado disaster area before the government arrived?”
The woman sniffed and leaned back, crossing her arms over her breasts. “I haven’t ever been to any of those types of places.”
“You’re lucky. I’ve spent a lot of time in shitty little backwaters and human life means absolutely nothing there. If you have something that they want and they have the means to take it from you, then you’re done.”
Rachel cleared her throat. “So, what were you doing in all those bad places?”
Asher tore his stare away from Carly and smiled at Rachel. “I negotiated natural resource extraction contracts for a little more than thirty years—mostly oil and metals in the worst possible environments that you could imagine. You’d be surprised how far companies will go to further their interests.” He’d used that cover the entire time that he was with the CIA. Over the years, Asher had learned quite a lot about the processes after telling the story. If pressed, he could even give a quick down and dirty lesson on how an international company would move into an area, dazzle the locals with promises and small payments, devastate their lands to mine whatever they wanted, then leave the area without cleaning up their mess. It was a terrible practice, but nobody gave a shit when it happened outside of the United States or Western Europe. Plus, most people thought that sounded like an extremely tedious job, so they tended to not ask any questions and his cover held up.
“Wow, that’s fascinating,” Rachel said. “Do you have a plan? If they can’t stop them in New York, I mean?”
“Yeah, I’m gonna bug out. I’m planning to head west to give myself some time to figure out what’s happening back east. I’ve got a little pull-behind camper in storage over at the E-Z Store that I’m gonna pick up tomorrow after my test. I’ll get that filled and ready to go in case I have to leave in a hurry. If things turn out okay, then I’ll just chalk it up to a good workout.”
Rachel drained her glass again and leaned over toward him. “I know how much you like to work out…” her voice trailed off and she circled one fingernail across his forearm.
Asher stood up and Boomer jumped to her feet. “Alright ladies. I’ve gotta go to bed so I can be ready for my test tomorrow.”
“Aww, it was just getting interesting,” Carly stated.
“Yeah. Well, school’s important, you know. It was nice to meet you, Carly.”
“Likewise,” she smirked with a glance at her friend.
Rachel stood up a little unsteadily and hugged him. “We should do this again. I loved talking to you.”
“Okay, I’d like that,” he replied and leaned back.
She planted a kiss on his cheek, “Bye.”
“Bye.” He waived back at the women and led Boomer out the patio’s gate.
Well, that couldn’t have gotten more uncomfortable.
*****
19 September, 2337 hrs local
Asher Hawke’s Residence
Rocky Mount, North Carolina
Asher took a sip of his beer. He’d decided to let it go tonight in case it was the last time that he was able to get drunk for a while. He absently wiped the foam from off his moustache. He had to shave off the beard that he’d worn for most of his adult life last spring so he could wear the gas mask when he went into DC. Allyson liked him clean-shaven, so he’d kept it shaved while they were together. He’d let it grow back out after her death, although he kept it neatly trimmed now versus the unruly mess that he’d allowed it to become before meeting the FBI agent.
What the hell was going to happen? The news out of New Jersey wasn’t good and he was confident that the Army wouldn’t be able to stop the horde if it made it past them into New York. If that happened, it was adios North America. His time serving his government had taught him to rapidly lay out the pros and cons of a situation and make snap decisions based on the evidence at hand. Everything told him that if New York fell, he needed to start moving and get out before others got the same idea and the roads became clogged with people trying to escape. The best way to do that would be to prep everything and be ready to go.
He picked up the notebook that he’d been writing notes in all night from beside him on the old, worn couch that he’d bought secondhand after he retired. He’d take food—there was a ton of prepackaged meals in the garage from when he worked at the hiking store—and water. Those weren’t optional; without them you were toast. He’d likely end up as one of the scavenging maniacs that he warned the women at dinner about, and that wasn’t in his nature. He was a legitimately bad person to meet in a dark alley if you were one of the bad guys, but he also had the unfortunate character flaw that made him want to help people. Damn morals.
He also planned to take weapons. A lot of them. Asher had his weapon of choice, an FN Herstal MK-17 Special Operations Forces Combat Assault Rifle (SCAR) with an attached sound suppressor for short and intermediate range engagements—he had two of the rifles in case one got damaged. He also had a Lapua Magnum .338 sniper rifle with 32Xs IR scope so he could reach out and touch someone, three Heckler & Koch HK45 pistols—one for his drop-leg holster, one for his camper and one for the glove box in the truck—several knives of various lengths and a tomahawk to take off limbs at extremely close range. He wanted to keep the different types of ammunition to a minimum so he wouldn’t be sorting through boxes and boxes looking for the right thing if he needed to reload in a hurry. He also had more magazines than he knew what to do with, but if shit hit the fan, then he’d need them all.
Besides the food and weapons, everything else he planned to take was basically the same supplies that people would take on an extended hiking trip. He’d listed rope, twine, a sleeping bag, compass, several road atlases with close-up maps of the major cities, some cooking gear and spices, clothing, a camp shower, toiletries, solar charger for his cell phone and a separate backpack filled with a small amount of supplies in case he had to haul ass from his vehicle.
He needed to go to the store on the way home from picking up the camper and buy a shitload of dog food for Boomer. He didn’t have nearly enough to last the month or so that he figured he could potentially be on the move for. About the only thing that he wanted, but made a conscious decision not to pack into the camper tomorrow, was beer. Asher decided that he wouldn’t need the alcohol; it would be stupid and potentially deadly to drink too much and allow his senses to dull during a time like this. He planned to take the home beer-making kit that Allyson had given him in any case, both for sentimental and practical reasons. The jug would hold water initially and in the future, if things stabilized, he could brew some beer with all the supplies that he hadn’t gotten a chance to use after that first brew last July.
He took a large gulp of his beer. The only time that he’d used the beer kit was the day that Allyson was killed. He’d been busy making beer and then he’d helped Rachel in her garden, so he didn’t find out that she was dead until hours after it had happened. Reston had told him that she died instantly, but he doubted it. Unless it was a legit headshot, people often suffered for a while until they bled out or their heart stooped. Did she ask for him as she lay there dying?
Boomer’s ears perked up and she lifted her head off of Asher’s lap. A low growl escaped her throat as she stared at the front door. “What is it, girl?” he asked as his hand drifted over to the .45 on the end table. She whined in response.
The doorbell rang and Boomer started to bark. “What the hell?”
He stood up and crammed the pistol in the waistband behind his back, then pulled his shirt down over it. He sauntered drunkenly over to the door and pulled the side curtain away to reveal Rachel Robertson standing on his front porch. He looked down at Boomer and muttered, “Shit.”
He unlocked the door and opened it. Rachel smiled hugely at him. “Hi, Asher!”
“Umm… Hello, Rachel. What’s up?”
“Carly just dropped me off and I saw that your lights were still on. Can I come in?” she asked with a slight slur to her words.
He did a quick mental check of his home to ensure that everything was put away. Except for some generic photos of his SEAL team in front of concrete barriers and jungles, there wasn’t any incriminating evidence inside on display. “Sure, come on in.”
Asher stepped wide to allow her to come inside, then he closed the door and locked it behind her. By the time he turned around, she’d already made her way into the living room and stared at the pictures on the wall. “I didn’t know you were in the Army,” Rachel said as she pointed at the picture of his deceased friend Matthew Henderson and Asher in East Timor with a squad of Australian Commandos.
“Navy. When we went ashore, we wore the same type of uniforms as the Army guys.”
“Hmm, I never knew that. Does the Navy go ‘ashore’ a lot?”
“Sometimes, to make repairs and things like that.” He really had no clue what the regular fucking Navy did, but she was obviously drunk—as was he—and she would probably be easy to lie to.
“Wow, look at all these pictures of you with guns. And beards. I thought the Navy had to be clean-shaven?”
“Yeah, but we could grow it every once in a while… So, what do you need?” he asked, changing the topic.
She glanced at him and then dropped her eyes. “This is embarrassing. Don’t think I’m stupid or something.”
“Okay, I won’t,” he said flatly.
“It’s just… Well, since Jim left me, I’ve been all alone over there and then tonight when you were telling us about the zombies… Asher, I’m scared. Like, really scared.”
“Don’t worry, Rachel. They’re hundreds of miles from here and moving northward. Even if they came this way, we’ve got plenty of time to react.”
“Can I sit?” she asked.
“Sure, of course. Here, let me move this,” he replied and picked up his bug out list.
She sat on the couch and he fell onto the cushion beside her. “Oh, fuck…” he groaned.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Hey, I’ll be right back, gotta go to the restroom.”
“Okay. I’ll just watch the news,” she jutted her chin toward the television that displayed the horrific scenes from the northeast.
“Alright, I’ll be right back.” He pushed off the couch and moved stiffly toward his bedroom.
When he got there, he pulled the pistol from his belt and slipped it into the bedside drawer. He’d forgotten that he had it in his waistband and sat down onto it hard. Stupid, he chided himself and rubbed the spot where the hammer had dug into his back when he sat down. Just for good measure, he decided to go to the bathroom and flush the toilet.
He returned to find Rachel reading his list. “Wow, you’re really planning on doing this, huh?”
“Yeah, well I plan to stay alive. The way I see it, the only way to do that if this goes bad is to be prepared to go and then just go,” he replied as he walked over and picked up his beer glass, draining it in one gulp. “I’m gonna get another beer. Do you want something? I have water, juice and beer, but I don’t have any wine, sorry.”
“Do you have any vodka?”
Asher considered lying to her and telling her that he didn’t. This is gonna go bad, he told himself. You’ve been drinking and you’re lonely, she’s been drinking and has lusted after you for almost two years… “Yeah, I’ve got some Grey Goose.”
She jumped to her feet and followed him into the kitchen. “That’s the best kind,” she said. “What kind of juice do you have?”
“Mmm, I think I have apple and maybe some orange juice.”
“The orange juice wouldn’t mix well with the wine I’ve had. I’ll take the apple, please.”
He grunted and opened the refrigerator. Inside were two more six-packs of his favorite IPA, the two bottles of juice, a couple dozen eggs and a leftover quiche that he’d baked. Everything else was empty. He pulled out the juice and another beer for himself. Then he selected a glass for Rachel from the cabinet, set it on the counter and walked to the pantry where he kept the liquor. The ice machine churned behind him as she got ice for her drink.
They sat down together on the couch and she sat cross-legged with her feet on the cushion. Boomer looked back and forth between them, likely wondering where she was supposed to sit, and settled for lying across Asher’s feet. “Thank you for letting me come over to talk.”
“No problem, it’s what friends are for,” he replied as he stared at the words scrolling along the bottom of the television.
“Hey! What time is it?” she asked in sudden alarm.
“Um, looks like 12:04. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s just… now that it’s the 20th I’m officially divorced,” she muttered.
He looked over at her. She was staring at the top of her glass. “Hey, I’m divorced. Twice. It’s not so bad.”
She looked up and smiled at him. “Thanks. I never knew you were divorced either. We’ve never really talked about personal stuff very often, y’know?”
“No, I guess we really haven’t. It just never came up.”
Rachel took a sip of her drink and set it on the coffee table. She shifted on the couch and leaned over into him. He lifted his arm and let her rest against his side. “Asher, I’m really scared. I know that I said that already, but it’s the truth. There’s a damned zombie outbreak. Zombies… I can’t believe it.”
He realized suddenly that he’d been absently stroking her blonde hair and stopped himself. “They’ve been in DC for years. I thought that we should have wiped them out while they were cooped up behind The Wall, but now they’re loose and we have to deal with it.”
They watched the news quietly for a few minutes until Rachel spoke in a quiet voice, “You know, Jim and I have been separated for more than a year. Every time you mentioned him in conversation, I always just lied and said he wasn’t home or whatever.”
“Oh wow, I’m sorry that I didn’t ever notice, Rachel. I didn’t… I was just busy with school and other things. I had no idea.”
“We married after high school. People change so much over time. One day you just wake up and realize that if you’d waited a few years until you grew up, then you would have never been with that person. Strange, huh?”
“Yeah… Shit, sorry,” he said when he caught himself running his fingers through her hair again. “I didn’t mean to paw all over you. I was just being absentminded.”
Rachel pressed herself into him more and slid her head down into his lap. “No, please, it feels good,” she murmured sleepily. “It’s nice to have a man touch me again.”
He hesitantly placed a hand on her hip and let it rest there for a moment. Then a soft snore made him look down. Rachel had fallen asleep.
What the hell am I doing? he thought. She was a married woman. Actually, she’s a divorced woman, his mind answered back. Was he ready for a relationship with this woman? He was still messed up in the head about Allyson’s death. It had only been three months. And, even if they’d been separated for a year, Rachel just got divorced today. Of course, maybe neither of them was looking for a relationship. Maybe they both just needed something physical to help ease their pain.
The television beeped several times and he stared blurry-eyed at the reporter. “The U.N. has declared all of North America to be quarantined. No flights or ships will be authorized to land on another continent if they left the United States or Canada within the past forty-eight hours. They will be forced to turn around or risk being fired upon.”
“Well shit,” he muttered and shifted his hips forward a little bit so he could lay his head back against the couch’s headrest. He lay back with a beautiful, vulnerable woman’s head resting on his crotch, exactly where he would have wanted her on just about any other occasion. Damn morals, he thought as he closed his eyes to go to sleep.
TWO
21 September, 0348 hrs local
The Lincoln Tunnel, Manhattan Side
New York City, New York
“Keep it up, goddamn it!” Mike yelled into his helmet’s microphone.
“Sir, the barrels are gonna burn up. We’ve gotta let them cool down or else they’ll be useless,” Sergeant Gilstrap answered in frustration.
