Omega Days (Volume 1) - By John L. Campbell Page 0,72

steady, measured rounds, still rotating through the points of the clock. When the .45 was dry she ejected the magazine and inserted a new one in a motion so fast and fluid that the firing didn’t seem to stop.

When Bud reached her in the street, she was already on the way back, the boy in her arms as she soothed him. Twenty corpses lay crumpled in a circle behind her, all with head wounds.

“He doesn’t know his mommy or daddy’s name, or at least he can’t remember right now. He hasn’t said anything about what happened to them. He’s eating okay and he gets along well with the other kids.” She smoothed his hair, and Ben tilted his head into the touches. “He has nightmares, though.”

Bud looked at the boy, then at Sophie. “I’m glad you’re here with us.”

She smiled. “Me too.”

Bud went to the garage bays. Angie insisted on leading the raids, and wouldn’t even discuss Bud going in her place, despite his repeated offers. She was good at it, always bringing back plenty of food and vital supplies like camping equipment, fuel, clothing, first aid supplies and batteries, as well as toys for the kids and the occasional paperback or board game to keep the adults occupied. Bud couldn’t claim he would do better, and although it still didn’t feel right, he was mature enough to admit that it was misplaced, masculine pride talking. She was younger, faster, more fit and without question a better marksman. It was the right decision.

The bays held three vehicles, with space for the Excursion which was currently out. The Angie’s Armory van faced towards the front, next to the empty slot. Facing the rear roll-ups was an extended white passenger van with six rows of seats, Bayside Senior Care on the side in blue letters. Parked next to it was Maxie’s Cadillac.

Maxie was in here, the smell of cigarette smoke strong. The man was sitting on the rear bumper of Bud and Angie’s van, legs stretched out, puffing away.

“I thought you were out.”

“I am. Found a stale one in my glove box, though. Lucky for me.”

“You’re supposed to smoke on the roof.”

Maxie ignored him and slapped a hand against one of the van’s rear doors. “Why you keep this rig locked, Mr. Bud?”

Bud walked to him slowly and folded his arms. “How do you know it’s locked?”

Maxie smiled with the cigarette clamped between his teeth, flashing a bit of gold. “You afraid someone’s gonna steal your guns?”

“It’s safer for everyone this way. There’s kids around.”

The man seemed to consider that for a moment. “Don’t want all that firepower falling into the wrong hands, do we?” He crushed the butt out on the cement.

“That’s absolutely right, Maxie.”

The man flashed a gold-capped grin and stood. “Smart thinking.”

For one crazy moment Bud knew the older man was going to pull the .32 out of his waistband and shoot him right in the chest. Instead he started towards the firehouse door, just as the Excursion’s engine rumbled up into the driveway out front. “Mama’s home.”

“We’ll need help unloading.”

“I’ll send someone out.” Maxie went inside.

Tanya didn’t have much longer and they knew it. She was lying on a bunk upstairs, her arm tightly bandaged, beads of sweat standing out on her face. Her eyelids fluttered and she groaned, rolling her head back and forth, trying to find a cool spot on the pillow. Margaret Chu sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her face with a wet wash cloth, trying to keep her comfortable, while Sophia – wearing heavy rubber gloves and a clear plastic face shield – cleaned vomit off the floor, putting the rags in a red bio bucket.

“You can’t tell me who to see, Nana!” Tanya’s words were slurred. “I love him!”

Margaret pressed the wet cloth to the girl’s forehead and hushed her, but Tanya was beyond noticing.

“Maybe this will pass,” said Larraine, the old woman whose husband had MS. She stood behind Margaret, her lined face revealing that she didn’t believe her own statement.

Angie looked sideways at her uncle. The communication equipment in the small room up front had delivered only static for days straight. Then one afternoon there was a brief transmission, a few garbled sentences where the only words they could make out were “national, “evacuation centers” and “compromised.” It wasn’t encouraging. Later that day another message came through, this one as clear as if the speaker was in the same room, a recorded Emergency Broadcast System announcement. It