– While Nina had been flying a fruitless patrol, Trevor helped pile bodies of enemy attackers on to a pick up truck that drove them to a field where the carcasses were burned. In contrast, they would inter Sal Corso and Frank Dorrance in a cemetery not far from the estate.
As for the K9s, Trevor had started a burial ground in the forest for man’s guardians.
In the midst of clean-up duty, the Grenadier war party returned from their mission, during which they slew two large frogs that posed little threat. Their big mission had been a waste.
Conversely, Omar’s team reported initial success in rigging a solar power grid at the new farm. Still, it would take several more days to complete.
Suddenly it hit Trevor that Sal and the Maryland Terrapins guy were the first people to die under his command. That thought stopped his walk right outside of Sheila Evans’ room. He realized he had nearly forgotten about her. He opened the door and stepped inside what had been her private little world.
A mess greeted him: candy bar wrappers, cups, and well-paged glamour magazines on the nightstand, a heap of clothes in front of a full-length mirror.
Sheila had been doing something in here; living some sort of life.
He sat on the bed and found a notebook poking out from beneath a pillow. Sheila had not recorded any dates in the book, but it apparently served as a diary. Trevor read from the pages.
I have not done one of these since eighth grade. Funny how I thought crushes and junior high dances were so important back then. Now I cannot remember what a normal life was.
I try to dream about it when I am awake. I daydream about eating at Milano’s. Sometimes I put on a nice dress and pretend I am going out for a night on the town.
I stole a bottle of wine from the pantry. If Trevor finds out, he will probably kick me out. Sometimes I sit here and sip the wine and I can almost hear the voice on the other side of the table or the questions from the maitre de.
Trevor turned the page.
More people keep coming. I do not think there is room for every one. What happens if the food runs out? They will probably want to get rid of me so there is more for the rest of them.
They act tough with their guns and talking like soldiers. I think they are really scared. I think they are just hiding. But I know that Trevor is not afraid. He does not have any thing to be afraid of. He is the biggest monster of them all. He hates me.
Again, another turn of the page.
I just want to stop being scared. I just want to stop crying every night. Is that too much to ask? No one else cries. Maybe I was not supposed to live through this. Maybe I should just die.
A break in the writing. The ink changed from black to blue giving the impression a significant amount of time elapsed between entries.
I thought I would have bad dreams all the time. But I keep dreaming about when I was a little girl. When my father would tuck me to bed and pull the covers up to my chin and kiss me on the forehead. I would feel safe. And I knew I belonged there.
I love you daddy. I miss you.
I hate that I do not belong here. I hate being afraid of the monsters and of Trevor and what he might do. He might kick me out.
I just want to be happy. Just for one day. I want my daddy to come and tuck me in and give me a kiss and tell me everything is going to be all right. To tell me that he loves me.
Trevor could not read any more. His rear end slid off the mattress and he fell to the floor.
Oh God, what have I become?
– Trevor stormed through the woods retracing his steps as best he remembered. He found the faded game trail, not nearly as clear a path as that day in late June.
"Come out! I know you can hear me! I don’t care about the rules!"
"Ah, what’s wrong now? Took a little bloody nose and you be lookin’ to turn and run."
Trevor swiveled around and saw the Old Man, the campfire, and the white wolf.
"Screw you!"
"I am pretty darned sure I told ya’ not to come lookin’ for me like I’m your high school guidance counselor."
"What have you done to me? I'm turning into a monster!"
The flames intensified. The Old Man’s eyes widened.
"Monster? I expect you’re right on that, Trevor. Seein’ the ways in which you go blastin’ the baddies. I suppose them things out there, they thinking you a monster. Now ain't that a hoot? Any-who, Trev, you go thinking that all this was my doing, if that’ll help you sleep the night. But the truth, Trevvy, is that I did nothin’ to you. All this has been down there the whole time, waiting to be let out. Buck up, Trev, you’re a natural born leader, makin’ the hard decisions and whatnot, knowin’ when to sacrifice some to save others. I am mighty pleased."
Is that who I am? Am I glad that Sheila is gone because I thought her useless?
"No! I’m going to make it right. I’m going to get Sheila back. Even if I have to kill every goddamn thing in my way! Even if I have to…"
…show compassion…make her belong…
"Wow," the Old Man grinned. "You are hoppin’ mad. A regular fury. You stay angry. Wake up every morn asking you-self, what can I kill today? But Trev, you gotta change the way you doing business. Now that you went and got all these fine folks around you, don’t go rushing in when you got plenty of folks who can die first. I think it's about time you started-what’s that fancy word? — oh yeah, 'delegating' your authority. You still gotta survive."
Trevor cursed him. Trevor cursed himself, too.
– A Humvee and a Suburban raced along a country road avoiding a fallen tree, a flipped garbage truck, and scaring away a six-legged fury red thing resembling a dog-sized anteater.
"Faster, faster," Trevor insisted from the passenger seat in the Suburban.
As had been the case all morning, Trevor's eyes burned red and he growled words. His hands fidgeted constantly and he spoke in sharp, machine-gun-like bursts.
Now he focused his boiling emotions to action. Thirty minutes ago Nina, during airborne patrol, spotted a group of people on Route 11 about twelve miles from the lake and half that distance north of Wilkes-Barre. He knew the odds that the group might be Red Hands with Sheila were remote, but he could not pass any chance to avenge yesterday's raid on the estate.
According to Nina's last sighting, the group approached a small town along the western bank of the Susquehanna.
Trevor’s team included himself, Jon Brewer, and six K9s in the Suburban. Stonewall McAllister, "Bear" Ross, and Dustin McBride (the 'Second Brigade' leader) rode in the Humvee.
The cars turned onto Route 92 and headed east under a sullen dull blanket of cloud cover threatening rain. They passed isolated homes and trailers. Shadows moved on the edge of the forest and around those dwellings but time did not allow for investigation.
Ahead of them lay the small town of West Pittston, founded in the mid-1800s as a result of the anthracite boom. The 1959 Knox Mine disaster flooded shafts, entombed workers, and left the town with no more mines but a host of mom and pop shops, a strip mall, a convenience mart, and two bridges crossing the Susquehanna into the mirror town of just plain old ‘Pittston.’
Massive Oaks lined the riverbanks while home styles ranging from colonial to modern, from rich to poor, lined the streets. Armageddon made them all the same: empty.
They came to an intersection where Rt. 92 met Rt. 11. The latter approached from the south, merged with 92, and then went east across the river via a concrete bridge. Homes, a small shop, and big trees surrounded the junction while a tangle of destroyed cars cluttered the roads.
A group of ten human beings stood together near the bridge. One of them held the attention of the rest. He wore black clothes and carried something in his hand.
The Suburban halted at the edge of the intersection behind the remains of a chain-reaction crash leftover from last summer.