"What the f.u.c.k does that mean?!"

"Hold on."

Like that needed to be voiced, might as well have said 'Evacuate your bladder now!' We were probably still a good thirty or forty feet up when the blades seized. One second they were whirring along and the next it sounded like someone had thrown rocks inside a dryer, then they just stopped, not even lazily spinning, just complete stoppage. We went from 'Coming in hot' to 'Sinking stone' in a matter of milliseconds. John was able to do some piloting magic to get us to coast a bit, it wasn't much, but I think it was just enough. My spine felt like it compressed to half its length when we slammed into the ground. What air I had been holding onto because I couldn't breathe was punched out of me from the impact. The undercarriage of the copter had completely caved in on itself. The gla.s.s bubble we were sitting in had shattered much like a car windshield.

Then we were airborne again as the chopper bounced, my guesstimate later would be somewhere in the eight or nine foot range, but I didn't even realize it was happening at the time. Except for the list to my side, I almost stuck my hand out to the side to brace for impact. I'm glad I was too petrified to peel them away from my seat I would have shattered my arm in a dozen places. The gla.s.s sh.e.l.l completely dissolved as we again became earth bound. I was completely on my side strapped in to the seat; my face was mere inches from the gra.s.s. An ant carrying what looked like a cricket leg walked right under my watchful gaze. The only noise was the knocking of the cooling engine, the slamming of my blood through my arteries and John the Tripper moaning.

I scrambled with my harness and finally found the release b.u.t.ton I fell the rest of the way to the ground. My body ached, I felt like a giant baby had used me as a rattle. I couldn't get my equilibrium to come back to center for long moments. When I could finally get my feet underneath me with some semblance of balance I went back to the copter, blood was pouring from John's head.

"f.u.c.k," I said as I cradled him in one arm and released his harness with the other. I put him as gently to the ground as I could. "John, you alright?" I asked as I gingerly moved his tin foil hat and his hair to the side to a.s.sess what kind of damage he had incurred.

He started to move his hand up to his head. At first I figured to hold his aching head, but it was actually to put his hat back on. The cut was on the top of his forehead right below the hairline. The pale white of his skull shone through dully as blood filled in the void. His skull looked intact and his head was bleeding like all head wounds do: profusely. But he was in no danger. He'd have a killer headache, but I figured he had enough self-medication to take care of that anyway.

I would have taken my shirt off and used it as a bandage, but between the dirt and my earlier vomit, he was more likely to catch a staph infection and die from my ministrations than anything from the head wound. I started rooting around in our destroyed flying machine until I found what I was looking for, a small first aid kit tucked under the pilot's seat. Although, on further reflection, I had to wonder what the makers of this craft were thinking when they put that there. I mean really, would you be in this little flying beer can and realize you needed a Band-Aid or what? That this little pack of bandages was really going to come in handy during a crash?

Then, yup, it dawned on me...it was coming in handy during a full scale crash. I did a small 'hat's off' gesture to the brilliant engineers.

"Oh, flying monkeys...I get it," John said as I had propped him up against the wreckage and was finishing dressing his wound.

"We should get going," I told him. The noise of the crash was going to attract attention, whether zombie or human didn't matter, both were to be feared equally. "Can you walk?"

"Been doing it since I was a baby, I don't know why that would change now."

I helped him up. He wobbled for a moment. "Nice! Cheap buzz. My head is killing me."

"I can't imagine why." I looked one last time at the copter; it now resembled something more along the lines of what some modern artist would make with sc.r.a.p metal. G.o.d had again shown his hand, we should not have survived that crash. "Listen, I'm starting to understand that whole 'I am your instrument' thing," I said to the heavens. "But is there any chance I could get some upgrades? Like maybe laser beam eyes, or the ability to fly? No, wait, I take that last one back. How about some wicked strong telekinesis so I could push things out of my way."

A slight breeze that sounded awfully close to a slight sigh wisped past us.

"Who are you talking to?" John asked as he was fishing around in his pockets to light the joint he now had in his mouth. "That's much better," he said with a sloppy smile as he took a big hit from the herbal medication.

"Do you mind?" I asked as I reached over. We walked away from that field, I was happy to be alive. I had survived being under the ground and then being above it. I was content to be right where I was for the moment.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

Maine "Mom, the baby kicked!" Nicole said excitedly. She had been sitting on the couch pretending to read a story, but in reality she had been daydreaming about Brendon and what could have been.

Tracy was in the kitchen washing up. She had just come in from the garden in the back. When she was confident her hands were clean and dry enough, she went over to feel her daughter's belly. Nicole shifted her mother's hand around to the 'sweet' spot.

"There! Did you feel that?" Nicole asked, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

Tracy was about to respond when a dirty, sweat-riddled Justin walked in. "Wow, when'd you get so big?" he asked his sister as he brought his bottle of water up to his lips.

"Justin!" Tracy exclaimed. "You can't say stuff like that."

"Why not? She's like double her size."

"Mom," Nicole wailed on the verge of tears.

"Even I know better than that," Travis said, coming in after his brother. "That's like poking a killer whale."

"Mom!" Nicole wailed again.

"Why are you boys in the house?" Tracy said, standing up and facing them.

"Lunch, and Uncle Ronnie didn't want us around while they were laying the explosives. He said we were distracting," Travis explained.

"You should see some of the stuff that Mad Jack's got planned, it's pretty impressive." Justin said already forgetting he had barbed his sister.

"Almost seems like a waste...haven't seen a zombie in at least two weeks," Travis said in response.

"Oh, they're coming," Justin said as he absently rubbed his head.

"You know something we all should?" Tracy asked her son, all too aware of the connection he had shared with Eliza.

"Don't worry, mom, she isn't there anymore. (Mostly) It's a feeling I keep getting."

"I hope you're wrong," Nicole told her brother as she protectively wrapped her arms around her burgeoning belly.

"Me too." He shuddered in response.

"I'm starving, is there anymore of that venison Aunt Nancy cooked up last night?" Travis asked.

I love teenagers, Tracy thought. What other creature on the planet could forgo just about everything else for the sake of filling its belly? Then she thought of her husband and laughed, he could do the same thing. She ached for his return. There were unfathomable depths that yearned to have him back by her side, the warmth of his touch, his humor in the face of evil, his protection of the family, his loyalty to his friends. She could not imagine walking through the world without him by her side. She wanted to believe with all her being that he was still alive, that it would take more than death itself to rip him from her side. But until she had true proof, the sound of his voice, or his hand on her cheek she could only go with Henry and his connection to Mike. It had some comfort value, because somehow, the dog seemed to know. She still longed for more, though.

"Mom? I'm hungry remember," Travis goaded her.

"You know you are eighteen and completely capable of getting your own meal, right?" she replied.

"What fun would that be?" Travis asked, leading the way back into the kitchen.

"You alright, sister?" Justin asked Nicole.

"I miss Brendan, and I'm not sure if I believe dad is still alive like mom...and I miss him so much. I'm as big as a tractor trailer and my ankles are killing me. Other than that, not so good."

Justin, in an unfamiliar role, went over to his sister and gave her hug.

"It's that bad?" Nicole asked him.

"What do you mean?" he asked as he pulled back.

"You picking on me I'm used to, you offering comfort...not so much."

"I don't know about dad either, sis. And if he isn't coming back, then maybe it's time for me to maybe step up and be the man of the family."

Nicole's first reaction was to snort out in laughter, but his serious tone and the nature of the topic did not warrant it. This was serious business they were dealing with, and she was more than a little pleased that some of her father was bleeding out of her brother.

"Thank you, Justin," she said tenderly.

"For what?" he asked, thinking she might be setting him up for something.

"Just for being there." Then she did laugh a little as his chest puffed out.

"I can keep us safe," he told her. "Or I'll die trying."

"Just stick to the safe part, brother, the baby is going to need his uncles."

"I know I don't say it often, Nicole, but I love you. Brendan was my friend, and I miss him, too. I'll do whatever I need to so that we all stay safe."

"Thank you, baby brother. I love you, too."

"Now move your fat a.s.s over so I can sit down."

"There's the Justin, I know and love."

Travis came in carrying some plates loaded with sandwiches and bread.

"Thanks, man," Justin said to his brother.

"These are mine, go get your own," Travis said as he sat down across from his siblings.

"Travis!" Tracy called from the kitchen.

"Fine," he said as he stuffed a handful of the chips from Justin's plate into his mouth before handing it over.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

D, G & BT.

"I'm running low on cigarettes," Deneaux said.

"Good, because I don't know how much longer I had before black lung kicked in," BT said as he drove the big truck down the near empty highway.

"We need to stop for fuel and clothes for Gary anyway," Mrs. Deneaux pleaded.

"What's wrong with my clothes?" Gary asked.

"Please, I've smelled dumps on hot summer days that are pleasantly aromatic compared to you," she told him.

"I can't imagine you ever going to a dump," BT said to her.

"I've had reason," she replied flatly.

"I don't even want to know," BT said.

"I wouldn't tell you anyway. All I know is that if I run out of cigarettes I plan on making your life a living h.e.l.l," she told him.

BT laughed. "Ah, as if I'm living the dream right now."

"I do kind of smell bad," Gary said, pulling his shirt up to his nose.

"I know you do, buddy. I just didn't want to give her the satisfaction." BT paused before speaking again. "I hate pulling off the highway, all the s.h.i.t happens when we do."

"Beats walking," Gary said.

"Barely."

"We're coming up on some gas stations," Mrs. Deneaux said with some excitement as she pointed to the blue information highway sign.

"Everyone locked and loaded?" BT asked as he got over to the right lane and put his blinker on. "Habit," he said aloud when he noticed Gary and Mrs. Deneaux looking at him. BT got to the bottom of the exit ramp; there were two stations to the right and one to the left. "Any preference?" he asked the group.

"More chance of supplies with the two stations," Deneaux said.

"And more chances people have been there," Gary answered.

BT put his blinker on, signaling his intention of going left. "Sorry, it's difficult to break a twenty-year old habit." BT stayed on the roadway, with the truck idling as they looked closely at the gas station.

"It's definitely had visitors," Gary said, looking over Deneaux's shoulder.

"Would you mind not getting too close?" she asked him with no small measure of venom in her voice. She had smoked her last cigarette over five minutes previous and she was already feeling the effects of withdrawal-whether real or imagined-it didn't matter. She was getting as angry as a republican at a tree hugging ceremony. "You just going to sit here?" she asked BT, not hiding her hostility. Before he could even answer, she had opened her door and was climbing down. When her feet hit the ground she pulled the revolver from its harness.

"I feel sorry for whatever poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d gets in her way," BT said.

"I think I see some t-shirts." Gary peered into the store's smashed front windows. The gas station was more of the variety store that just happened to sell gas than an outright petrol server. It was resplendent with cheap souvenirs made in China reminding travelers that they had visited the great state of Virginia. Gary climbed down also.

BT swung the truck into the station. When he shut it off, it was the quiet more than anything that unnerved him. It just wasn't a natural silence. "Gary. Diesel?" he asked when he got the other man's attention.

Gary pointed to the large side tank on the truck, outlined in crisp yellow letters was the word 'diesel.'

"Yeah you can kiss my a.s.s, too," BT said as he went over to the underground filling tanks. Maybe we should just steal a d.a.m.n fuel truck, he thought as he pulled the small metal disc up. Then he remembered the old Mel Gibson movie Road Warrior and rethought his plan. "Yeah that didn't work out so well either."

BT walked into the store. It looked a lot more intact than he would have expected. Not perfect, but there were still some supplies left and at least half of the shelving was still up. Gary had found a five gallon jug of water and a bar of soap. He placed the water carefully on top of one of the remaining standing shelves. He then stripped off most of his clothes before popping the top on the water. BT turned away quickly when he realized Gary's tightie-whities were going to be see-through as soon as they got wet.

Deneaux was rummaging in the back of the clerk counter. "They only have f.u.c.king menthol!" she fumed. "Do I look black!" she was full-on shouting now.

"That's kind of racist don't you think?" BT asked.