CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“Fuck.” Nick pulled the pickup to the side of the road out of habit more than anything. It wasn’t like anyone would need to pass.

The front half of the huge plane sat embedded in a house, torn apart on impact. Bits of blackened metal were strewn across the road in front of them. Its ass was a burned-out husk in the garage across the road. Little remained of the actual brick and tile dwelling the Hercules had hit, the walls having caved in around the wreckage. The Humvee it had been carrying lay further down the street, smashed to smithereens. Bodies were scattered around, most of them too badly decomposed to be identifiable. But their equipment he recognized just fine. These boys had been Special Forces. The Minimis, M4s and other fancy toys confirmed it. All of it was the sort of stuff that would be useful for buying Roslyn’s way into Blackstone.

“There’s something you don’t see every day,” Roslyn said, gaping at the wreckage.

“This isn’t going to be pretty. But I’ll feel better if we have more weaponry.” He’d also feel better if she kept her lovely self in the car, but small chance of that.

Right on cue, the woman threw off her seatbelt. “Yeah, me too.”

Shit. He hated the idea of having her out in the open, but they needed those supplies. “Okay.”

A cold wind sent ice down his spine. Everything seemed calm, still. There were no signs of life nearby. Another perfect blue-sky day in a typical suburban street, near the edge of yet another country town.

Ros pushed her sunglasses further up her nose and held her gun in a good grip. She seemed to know what she was doing. Fuck, he hoped she did. In the years to come, her knowing how to handle herself would mean everything. She’d been having entirely too much fun when they’d been meant to be training last night. Not taking it seriously enough.

He handed her an empty backpack, care of the country store yesterday, and shouldered one himself. “Collect anything of use.”

“Got it.”

He gave her a hand up over the decimated concrete garden wall, helped her skirt a rose bush. The stupid thing was covered in more than flowers. Thorns cut into his hand when he held back a branch. It stung like shit.

“Damn it.” Blood dripped from a deep scratch on his palm and a slice across two fingers. It had gotten him good.

“Are you alright?” Ros leant over and tugged on his arm, trying to get a look.

“I’m fine. You concentrate on you.”

“Hold still.” She ignored him and pulled a clean tissue out of a pocket, pressed it into his hand. Her forehead furrowed. “We should put some antiseptic cream on that.”

“Later. Come on.”

He’d never admit it, but she’d been right about his being confused. Discombob-whatever. Things had changed too fast. Twice today she’d turned and caught him frowning at her. She’d given him hell when he refused to talk about it.

Women … you didn’t need to discuss everything. Besides, things would sort themselves out soon enough. Blackstone was now only three or four hours’ drive away at most. He hadn’t changed direction. Instead, he’d slowed them down, dragging out the time he had left with her. Tomorrow he’d give her up. One more day wouldn’t hurt anything.

“Come here.” He nudged the remains of a soldier, skin sunken and gray. “You check they’re properly dead, then grab everything off their belts. Any packs strapped to their legs or chests.”

“This is so craven.”

“No, Ros. This is survival.”

Her mouth pursed, but she nodded in understanding. “Yeah. We should bury them.”

“You could spend the rest of your life burying the dead. Just concentrate on keeping yourself alive.”

Her gaze moved between him and the dead soldier, a heavy frown on her face. He almost asked her what she was thinking. And then he spied it, tucked beneath the corpse’s foot. “Here we go. This is a H&K Tactical. It’s got all the bells and whistles.” He dusted off the dirt and ejected the clip. It all looked to be intact and the cylinder didn’t appear to be jammed. “I’ll clean it tonight and then it’ll be yours. Grab any ammunition.”

Obviously curious, she stepped closer. “That’s a silencer, right?”

“Right, and this is a flashlight. But it's the silencer that's crucial. Noise attracts infected. These boys came prepared.”

The Hercules had been torn in half, leaving the internal floor sitting almost at ground level. It was easy enough to walk in. Several chairs were still intact. So were several passengers. The stink of rotting bodies messed with him, even after this long. Every time he thought he’d gotten used to it, a corpse came along that proved him wrong.

Wiring and other assorted shit hung down. The nose of the beast lay in semi-darkness ahead of them, cockpit door open.

“Stay back,” he said.

Carefully he picked his way toward the front, watching his footing. Shit had been tossed everywhere, smashed laptops and other equipment, parts of the plane’s interior. A decapitated body hung over the back of a chair. Interestingly enough, it wore a skirt and a suit jacket. Several of the other corpses still buckled into their seats wore ties.

“They were moving VIPs. Politicians, probably. Getting them west, away from everything.”

“I thought they’d have a bunker or something,” she said.

“This might have been the back-up plan.”

Ros nodded and stopped beside the remains of a soldier sitting upright in a seat. She started stripping the equipment with her face screwed up. So long as she did it she could make as many funny looks as she liked. This was life now, scavenging for supplies amongst the dead. Doing what you had to, to survive. Dirty and horrible as it was, it wouldn’t be changing anytime soon.