“Derrick and I did a lot of research on it, reading old newspapers, magazine articles. Plus, my dad left a detailed letter explaining what he knew. What we could come up with was that the pandemic was unique in only one way. It not only attacked the respiratory system, but the very immune system itself.”
“But, that’s not right. I thought our immune system actually defended against such things.”
“Normally, it would. This strain wasn’t natural. It was a man-made variant.”
“Hold on,” Kel said. “Are you saying that man created the very thing that killed everyone off?”
“Yep.”
“Why? Why in the hell would we do something like that?”
“That’s what I’m going to find out.”
I reached up to the pegboard on the wall in front of me and clicked a latch underneath a Sig Sauer .357, and opened a small compartment. Inside, there were some papers, the letter my dad had written me and a faded cardboard pencil box. I retrieved the papers and then set the box on top of them.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Memories. Clues. Keys.” I opened the pencil box. Inside were several old photos of a large man in a uniform, a lady in a blue dress and a dark-haired little girl. There was a plastic key card for an office building and, lastly, a few faded pages folded double. I laid them all out.
“Wow. Is that you as a little girl?” Kel reached for one of the photos, but my hand covered his in a flash. He looked up at me. “Sorry.”
I let go of his hand and sat back, staring at the items. “No. I’m sorry. It’s just that -“
“No problem,” he replied, cutting me off. “I get it.”
“It’s just that this is all I have left. Everything, everyone, else is gone.” I got up and went to lay down on one of the beds. I laced my fingers behind my head and stared at the ceiling. “He saved us,” I said, after several long moments. “Somehow, he saved us.
“Uncle Derrick was only seventeen when everybody died. It was years before I ever got around to questioning why someone else in my family would have survived. But, he did it. I know he did.”
“I’m sorry, Rock, but I’m confused. You say he saved you. You’re not talking about your uncle, are you?”
“My Dad. The Colonel. He saved us.”
“How?”
I looked over at Kel. My mouth was set in a firm straight line. My mind was made up. There was no sense putting it off any longer. I stood up and walked back over to the bench. “That’s exactly what I want to know. Let’s get these holsters in shape, clean the weapons and get packed.”
“Where the hell are we going?” he asked, reaching for a rag and some leather oil.
“White Sands Missile Range.”
CHAPTER 4
It was a quiet drive on Interstate 70, heading southwest toward White Sands. We had loaded the trunk of the Ford with everything from bottles of water to a few hand grenades. Kel was smart enough not to ask about my choice of supplies. He seemed willing to help me, to just go along for the ride.
My attention was focused on the road, even though there were very few wrecks there were numerous natural obstacles, places where soil had drifted across the pavement. No washouts, which was lucky, but wherever a culvert under the road had been blocked by debris, the result was usually a fan of dirt and rocks across the tarmac. I drove cautiously to avoid the worst of the debris, the tires on the Ford were probably older than I was, and I didn’t trust the spare either.
Every once in a while I would catch Kel staring at me. He played it off, but I felt that he was looking for something in particular. What it was though, I had no idea. I really wished I could remember him, from before. I wondered to myself why I didn’t. If he wasn’t lying, and it didn’t seem like he was, then there must be a damned good reason why I had blotted him from my memory.
“So, what’s the plan?” Kel asked, noticing that I was slowing down to turn off the highway. A few small buildings sat alongside the road and the sign read Trap Club Road.
“Time to see if you really can take care of yourself,” I replied. We drove along the narrow road, through an expanse of desert shrubs, down into a large area of lower elevation that used to be an old shooting range. Kel dry washed his face and took a deep breath.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Hey, I’m not taking you into a situation where my life might end up in your hands only to find out you’ve never even fired a gun before.”
“But…“he began. I cut him off with a wave of my hand.
“Let’s knock this out and then get back to business, ‘kay?”
“Fine,” he replied.
“This doesn’t have a silencer,” Kel said a few seconds later, as he grasped the Beretta, pointing it in a general downrange direction.
“No one’s sneaking up on us here. Shut up and shoot.”
I’d already placed a hand-drawn target on one of the posts about twenty-five meters downrange. I had drawn a large smiley face as the head, placing a smaller bull’s-eye right between the cartoonish eyes.
He slowly took aim and fired one shot. I frowned. There was a hole in what would be the arm of the smiley-faced target. I was not getting a good feeling about this guy’s ability to watch my back. He lowered the pistol, shook out his shoulders, rolled his head about on his neck. Without warning, Kel jerked the pistol up toward the target, squeezed off five rounds in rapid succession and holstered his pistol in one smooth movement.
I stood there staring at the target, not quite grasping what had happened. I shook my head and double-checked the target. I admit I kind of lost it. I stepped forward, grasping Kel by the back of the neck, guiding him toward the target. As we got closer, I cleared my throat.
“What. The fuck. Was that?” I said.
“What?” he asked. Feigned innocence fell over him like a blanket over a newborn.
“That!” I stated, pointing at the five holes in a neat circle, all within the quarter-sized bull’s-eye I had drawn.
“I told you I could take care of myself.”
“You son of a bitch.” I stepped back a few feet, drawing both .45s in a smooth, fluid movement. They were pointed unwaveringly at Kel’s forehead. He raised his hands, making no attempt at the gun in his holster.
“You need some serious work in the whole ‘people skills’ department,” he said, a slight grin etching his face.
“Spill it. Spill it now, or I shoot you where you stand.”
“Calm down, Rock. I’m not your enemy.”
“Who the hell are you, then?” My hands were steady and unwavering. If Kel even flinched the wrong way, he’d be dead by the time he hit the ground.
“Honestly? I’m just some rich kid who was left to his own devices, with no one to rein him in for the last 13 years. My father was a real estate developer in Phoenix. He owned a quarter of the city by the time the pandemic hit. Like I said, my mom died when I was born, so when he was taken by the super flu, not much changed for me. I was still alone. I still had all my toys. But I had his, too.”
“What are you saying? That you just never had to worry for anything? That you taught yourself how to shoot like that? I’m not buying it.”
“I started martial arts classes when I was six. Then it was fencing. Then it was skeet shooting. Each class was just one more way for dear old Dad to keep me out of his hair. I had all the time in the world before the end of the world to do as I pleased. Afterwards…” He shrugged his shoulders, a fleeting mask of sadness appearing and then fading from his expression. “Same ol’, same ol’.”