“I swear it,” Kirsten replies, deadly serious. “And you take good care of yourself, and Tacoma, and Maggie, and everyone else. I expect you all to be there, and happy, when we get back.”
“Count on it. I’m a Rivers.” He thumps his chest proudly. “We wear away mountains, given enough time.”
“That I don’t doubt,” Kirsten returns, finally breaking into a smile. “I mean it, Manny. Be careful, alright?”
“Will do, Ms. Prez.” He sketches a cocky bow, grins, winks at his cousin, and, in the blink of an eye, disappears back into the cockpit of his Picasso-nightmare inspired ‘copter. A second later, the thing is airborne and over the horizon.
In its wake, a silence so profound that not even the ever-present wind soughing through the boughs of the large pines surrounding them can penetrate, descends, and Kirsten shivers.
“You alright?” Koda asks, stepping closer and slipping an arm around her lover’s shoulders.
Leaning her head against her lover’s strong chest, Kirsten takes in the world that surrounds her. Trees, trees, and more trees, as far as the eye can see. The wind, now coming to her, carries with it the sweet scent of life, underlined with a darker, richer, almost secret scent that she can only identify as decay. And amidst this, she stands alone, save for the strong body at her back, promising her protection and comfort. And love beyond measure.
Not so alone now, she thinks. The thought brings with it a small, secret smile, and a tiny thrill of joy suffuses her chest, warming her from within even as Koda’s radiant head warms her from without.
“Yeah,” she says finally. “I think I am.”
“Good.”
They stand that way, body pressed to body, for a long span of moments, content to allow the forest carry its secrets to them, one at a time, absorbing the peace and contentment that seems to be theirs for the wishing. She can almost…almost…forget what lies ahead, and behind, and resolves to take full advantage of this small slice of peace for as long as it is gifted unto them.
Finally, though, the words push forth from their place in her chest. “So, what now?”
Koda smiles and slips her arm away, digging her hands deep into the pockets of her jeans. “How do you feel about camping?”
Kirsten pretends to give the question serious thought. “The Beverly-Hills-‘cabin’-with-all-amenities-and-you’ll-never-see-so-much-as-a-mouse-dropping kind of camping, or the ‘let’s grab us a pup tent and a couple cases of beer and shoot us up something to mount on the wall’ kind of camping?”
“I’d say the second,” Koda responds, chuckling, “minus the beer, unless you’re suddenly partial to the stuff.”
“Nah. Never developed much of a taste for it. A little of Maggie’s sipping whiskey might go down real nice on a cool night, though.”
Koda’s grin broadens. “I’ll see what I can come up with, then.” She looks around, getting her bearings. “I’m pretty familiar with this area. My grandfather used to take us out here sometimes when the woods around our place got a little too easy for us kids to figure out. Unless it’s been torn down in the interim, there should be a pretty good camping and hunting shop not too far to the north of here. We can stock up on the supplies we’ll need and start off from there.”
“How will we get around?”
“Walking seems the best bet, for now at least. I want us off the main roads as much as possible. We don’t know how many unfriendlies are still around patrolling, and we’re prime candidates for a trip to the local rape ward if they don’t recognize you. And if they do….”
Kirsten doesn’t need Dakota to finish that particular sentence for her. She well knows the size and shape of the axe hanging over her head, but is determined to push through, no matter how thin the thread holding it up there might be. “That’ll be pretty slow going, though,” she muses.
“We might be able to rustle up a couple of mountain bikes. Horses, if we’re lucky. That should speed things up some, but for now, our feet are our best bet.”
“Lead on, then, MacDuff,” Kirsten jokes, passing the leadership of this particular part of their quest on with a sweeping hand gesture that earns her a fond swat on the backside. Her happy laughter is answered by the chirping of birds, and for this one second in time, all is right in Kirsten King’s world.
*
“Wow,” Kirsten remarks to the woman standing before her, grinning. “If we were playing ‘Cowboys and Indians’ right now, I’d be mighty confused.”
“Good thing we’re not, then,” Koda replies, chuckling and looking past Kirsten into the mirror that hangs along one wall. A soft flannel in red and black hangs open over a tight, white ribbed tank top, which in turn is tucked into soft bluejeans whose cuffs are, in their turn, tucked into calf high moccasins with thick treads. A gun is holstered and hanging low on her right hip, a hunting knife at her left. A rifle strap crisscrosses her chest with the strap that holds her arrow quiver over her back. Her black Stetson is in its customary position atop her head, though a hank of braided hair hangs down, twined with the two hawk feathers she’s yet to remove. Her medicine bag lays close against the hollow of her neck, completing the picture. Leaning against one leg is a vacu-sack, all the rage in hiking equipment before the androids had made such a pleasure an outright necessity for so many. Clothes and sundries are stored in the roomy sack, then vacuum sealed, cutting their total bulk down to almost nil. The pack would fit easily over her hips and lower back, leaving her easy room to reach her weapons, should she have need for them. The tent is similarly stored.
Kirsten is dressed a bit more conservatively, in jeans and a T-shirt with a Gore-Tex jacket rolled in her pack. “Hey, look what I found back there!” She grins as she holds up her prize: a fully loaded solar laptop with all the amenities. “Damn thing’s about five pounds lighter than my old one and damn, it’s fast!!”
“Only you,” Koda grins, shaking her head.
“Yeah, well, get used to it, Vet. You’re marrying a geek. Our toys come with the territory.”
“Just as long as you’re the one carrying ‘em,” Koda jokes.
“Don’t you worry about that. I always carry my weight.”
“We’ll see.”
*
Already dressed in her flight suit, Maggie runs out to greet Manny as he swings out of the copter, instinctively ducking low to avoid decapitation by the still slowly spinning blades, thought in this particular model, that really isn’t much of a danger. The roters are high above her head. “You get em down safe?” she shouts.
“And sound,” Manny returns, giving her shoulder a quick, calming pat. “For better or worse, they’re on their way.”
“Good. One less thing to worry about.” Turning, she begins to walk back toward the command post, Manny at her left heel like a well trained dog at a show.
“How are things on this end?”
“Ten minutes to the deadline. We still can’t read em on radar or GPS. Line of sight only, and it’s not good.”
“Has anyone figured out where the hell they came from?” he asks. “I mean, where the fuck were they when the rest of their little friends were getting shredded?”
“Don’t know, and at this point, I don’t care,” the General retorts, dragging a hand through her hair. “We’ve gotta take em down as fast as they put em up. It’s the only way.”
“Got a plan for that?” Manny asks slyly.
“Don’t I always? C’mon.”
*
“You hungry yet?”
“Is supper gonna be MRE’s?”
“’Fraid so. Unless you want to stop and fish. I haven’t seen a whole lot of small game around here, yet, and I’m not too keen on lugging around sixty pounds of venison from killing one of those big bucks you keep scaring.”
Kirsten’s face brightens for a moment. Then the smile fades. “It was a nice thought. We’d better keep going as long as we have light, though.”