Madness Rules - 04 (25 page)

As much as he wanted to disagree, she was right. He sighed and reached up to take her hand.

“I’m sorry if I caused you some trouble,” she said, helping him back onto the stage.

He nodded. What was left to say? Whether or not he agreed with her methods, she’d had her revenge. The matter was closed.

“What do you say we get out of here?” he said, swinging the flashlight beam over to the stairs.

Bowie offered a short
woof
from the pit below, staring up at them.

“Yeah,” he said, “you too.”

Four hours later, Connie and Mason stood in front of her small farmhouse in Prestonsburg. He hadn’t felt right leaving her in Ashland, or even Ironville for that matter. Her little family farm was isolated and safe, and that was about as much as anyone could really ask for at the moment.

She leaned in and gave him a warm hug, pressing her breasts firmly against his chest.

“I know you’re upset with me,” she said, staring up into his eyes.

“You did what you felt was right, and nothing I say or do is going to change that.”

“I couldn’t let it go. Not for you or anyone.”

“I get that,” he said, thinking of his own personal quest for justice.

“Now, I’m free though. It’s like a weight is off my shoulders.”

He nodded. “I get that too.”

“Someday, when you find it in your heart, I hope you’ll come by and see me.” She looked out at the farm behind her. “Like I said before, it’s going to take more than just me to make a go of it here.”

He smiled and kissed her lightly on the lips.

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

“Maybe, but I do hope to see you again, Marshal.” Bowie raced from around the corner of her house, chasing a squirrel. He had no chance of catching it, but it was the chase that mattered. “Bowie too,” she said, laughing.

Mason couldn’t quite reconcile his feelings for Connie. She was beautiful, loving, and full of life. Those things were all important. But she had also shown herself capable of an almost sociopathic detachment. And that was something that went to the core of any relationship—trust.

Despite her shortcomings, though, as he looked at her lightly freckled face and bright green eyes, he felt more fondness than concern. They had traveled on a journey together and come out to see the other side.

“I’m sure we’ll cross paths again,” he said. “Besides, if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

“Are you going on to Lexington?”

He nodded. “That’s right.”

“For
your
justice,” she said, not hiding the fact that she considered their pursuits to be roughly equivalent.

“To get answers.”

She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips, long and slow. It didn’t take long for him to feel the heat of lust begin to warm his belly. When Connie finally pulled away, she reached down and grabbed his hand.

“Before you go,” she said, glancing back at the house, “do you think we can find a way to make amends?”

There was a look in Connie’s eyes that told Mason this was more than a simple offer of makeup sex. This was about defining their relationship going forward, perhaps even their memory of one another.

He cupped her cheek with his hand but said nothing.

“Maybe another time,” she said, not hiding her disappointment.

He smiled and gave her one final kiss goodbye.

CHAPTER

17

“We’ll have to go on foot from here,” Tanner said, staring out across the Arlington Memorial Bridge.

The bridge was six lanes across, lined with lampposts and ten-foot-wide sidewalks, and packed from edge to edge with hundreds of cars, trucks, buses, and tractor-trailers. About midway across, a dump truck had smashed through the stone railing and was teetering on the edge of the bridge. A good gust of wind was all that would be needed to send it crashing down into the Potomac.

“Look at the way the cars are facing.”

She studied the traffic. “They’re all coming out of the city.”

“And what does that tell you?”

“That it must have been pretty bad.”

He nodded. “We’ll need to hurry if we want to get out before dark. And believe me, we want to get out before dark.” Tanner hoisted his backpack over his shoulder and started walking across the bridge.

“Right,” she said, grabbing her own gear and hustling to catch up to him.

The bridge was nearly a half-mile long, but they made good time, crossing it in about fifteen minutes. When they got to the far side, they stopped to study an enormous bronze statue sitting on a stone pedestal. It depicted a naked warrior riding a warhorse. Beside him walked a nude woman carrying a shield, also equally buff and set on battle.

“You know,” she said, looking up at the statue, “he sort of looks like you. If you lost a little weight, I mean.”

“And I suppose you’re the beautiful warrior goddess walking beside him?” Tanner said with a grin.

“Of course not.”

“No? Why not?”

“I don’t have my boobs yet,” she said, looking down at her chest.

Tanner raised both hands, completely exasperated.

“Are you trying to freak me out?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He turned and studied the street. He would rather face a hundred bloodthirsty banshees than have a conversation with a twelve-year-old about her missing breasts.

“Please,” he said, “let’s just move on.” He pointed toward the back of the Lincoln Memorial, which was only a few hundred yards away. “The shortest way is to follow the National Mall and then cut up 15th Street to get to the White House. Sound good?”

She shrugged. “If that’s what you think is best.” She raised her hand to her eyes and stared off in the distance. “How far is it?”

“I thought you lived here.”

“I did, but I never really got to go out and see the city. Being the President’s daughter isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Did I ever tell you that people used to guard me when I took a bath?”

“That sounds weird.”

She nodded. “Believe me, it was. Sometimes I would float face down on the water just to see whether anyone would think I was dead.”

“And did they?”

“No, but I think it’s because I couldn’t hold my breath long enough.”

“Come on,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s only a couple of miles, but I doubt it’ll be easy going.”

They started across the grassy field behind the Lincoln Memorial. The huge Doric temple stood before them, surrounded on all sides by tall white marble columns.

“Do you ever feel like we’re archaeologists?”

He looked at her and wrinkled his brow.

“What?”

She stared up at the huge structure in front of them.

“You have to admit it feels like we’re approaching the ruins of Atlanta or some other lost civilization.”

“Atlanta is a lost civilization?”

“Sure, it was buried under the sea like a million years ago.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

As crazy as it sounded, Tanner thought that she might be right—not about Atlanta, of course, but about them being explorers of a lost world. Modern civilization had been destroyed, and he wasn’t at all sure that it was going to recover. In a few hundred years, the historical monuments might well be overgrown and crumbling in on themselves, no different than those of ancient Rome.

They climbed onto the raised platform surrounding the Lincoln Memorial and made their way around front. As they neared the entrance, they heard voices coming from inside.

Tanner raised his finger to his lips.

Samantha nodded and slid the rifle off her shoulder.

Together, they crept to the edge of the doorway and peered in. Two men were directly in front of Lincoln’s statue. One sat lighting a cigarette, and the other had his pants down as he urinated at the foot of the monument. The first man had a machete propped beside him; the second, a sniper rifle leaning against the statue. The monument itself, once having epitomized the leader’s strength and compassion, was now covered with graffiti and splashes of paint.

Tanner stepped around and raised his shotgun.

“Hands!” he shouted.

Both men froze and slowly raised their hands. The man who was peeing left his pants hanging down by his knees.

“Zip up and turn around,” ordered Tanner.

He pulled his pants up and slowly turned.

Tanner took a moment to look them over. Both were probably in their early thirties. The man with the cigarette wore jeans and a ripped t-shirt, and had a small mustache that any respectable man would have shaved off. The other man was stocky and bald, and had a web of tattoos going up his neck. Tanner would have bet money that both were convicts.

“Hey, brother,” said the first man, “no need for the hostility.”

Samantha stepped out from behind one of the pillars, and both men’s eyes were drawn to her like a magnet.

“Lookie what we have here,” said the bald man.

Uncomfortable with his stare, Samantha looked down at the floor.

“I’m going to ask you both a couple of questions,” said Tanner, “and I expect honest answers.”

The two men looked at one another, as if trying to decide which story to tell.

“If you lie to me, I’ll kneecap you for the disrespect you’ve shown our twenty-third president.”

“Sixteenth,” corrected Samantha.

“What?”

“Lincoln was the sixteenth president.”

“You sure?”

She nodded. “Pretty sure.”

Tanner turned back to the men.

“Whatever. The point is you’d better give it to me straight.”

The man with the cigarette took a drag and then tossed it away.

“What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with what you’re doing here.”

“We’re doing what everyone’s doing—trying to keep our bellies full.”

“As well our other needs met,” his partner said, his eyes drifting back toward Samantha.

Seeing Tanner’s hands tighten on the shotgun, the first man quickly cut back in.

“I’m Lars and he’s Yo-Yo.”

“Yo-Yo?” said Samantha. “Like the toy?”

The bald man smiled at her.

“It’s just a nickname, baby doll. I bet you got a nickname too.”

“What about you folks?” asked Lars. “Where you headed?”

“We’re going over to the White—” she started.

Tanner cut his eyes at her, and she fell silent.

“Where’s the rest of your gang?” he asked.

“Gang? No, brother, you got it all wrong. It’s just the two of us.”

He lowered the shotgun’s point of aim to the man’s knees.

“Hey, hey!” Lars said, dancing around. “Don’t be like that. All right, you got me. We may have a few friends in the vicinity, but it’s not like we’re a gang of criminals or nothing.”

“Right, I’m sure you’re just a couple of choir boys out distributing bibles.”

“Well…”

“Kick over the rifle and machete.”

Lars reluctantly did as instructed.

“You can’t leave us without no way to defend ourselves,” said Yo-Yo. “It’s dangerous around here, especially after dark.”

“You mean without a way to defend ourselves,” corrected Samantha.

“What?”

“Without no way would mean that you have a way, which of course you don’t.”

Yo-Yo turned back to Tanner with a confused look on his face.

“What’s she talking about?”

“It’s a unique form of torture that only she has mastered.” He leaned down and slung the machete out into the grass. “Sam, unload the rifle.”

She hurried over and picked it up. The weapon took her a moment to figure out, but she finally found the magazine release. After tossing the magazine over to Tanner, she pulled the slide back and ejected the round from the chamber. It clattered away into the corner.

“Do you want me to get that one?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She set the rifle down and scoured the floor until she found the missing round.

“Girl’s good with her hands,” Yo-Yo said, licking his lips.

“Both of you turn around a couple of times, nice and slow.”

They did as they were told. Tanner didn’t see any additional weapons or ammunition on them.

“Stay here ten minutes. And I mean ten minutes. I’ll leave your ammunition over by the Vietnam Memorial. Friendly word of advice: don’t come looking for us.”

“Sure, brother. Why would we come looking for you? Just don’t forget to leave the ammunition. Bullets are hard to come by around here, DC being what it is and all.”

“They’ll be there.”

Tanner and Samantha slowly backed out of the structure, neither of them confident that this would be the last they would see of Lars and Yo-Yo.

They hurried along the edge of the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool. It was the first time either of them had ever been close to the two-thousand-foot-long body of water. There was no temptation to drink from it, however, as there were dozens of bloated corpses floating on the surface.

Tanner tossed Yo-Yo’s magazine out into the pool.

“Hey,” she said, “you told them—”

“They should be thankful I sent them on an Easter egg hunt instead of beating them to a pulp. I chose the softer, gentler approach that you’re always hounding me about.”

“I wouldn’t have minded so much with them. Especially Yo-Yo.”

Tanner snorted. “Now you tell me.”

“Do you think they’ll follow us?” she asked, looking back over her shoulder.

“Not if we hurry.”

They broke into a jog, and a few minutes later were stepping into the World War II Memorial. The elliptical memorial consisted of forty-six pillars adorned with bronze wreaths, all surrounding a pool of stagnant green water. They quickly ducked into a small walled-off service area and turned back to watch the Lincoln Memorial.

After a short time, Lars and Yo-Yo came out, took a quick look around, and hurried off to the north, presumably to find their ammunition.

“I think we’re clear,” he said.

“Look at what Yo-Yo did.”

Tanner turned to see Samantha squatting down next to what looked like a doodle on one of the granite walls. The cartoon showed a bald-headed man with a long nose peeking over a wall. The words “Kilroy was here,” were scribed above his head.

He chuckled. “Yo-Yo didn’t do that.”

“Are you sure? It looks a lot like him.”

“I’m sure. Ask an old veteran someday, and maybe he’ll explain. Right now, we need to move.”

They hurried through the World War II Memorial, heading straight for the Washington Monument, a stone obelisk that towered more than five hundred feet into the air. A tractor-trailer had sideswiped the monument, taking out a corner of the base before flipping over and catching fire. Black scorch marks licked their way up the side of the distinctive two-tone white marble structure. Despite the damage, however, the monument stood straight and true. They slowed and walked past the architectural marvel, staring up at it like it was a monolith meant to reach the gods.

“This was always my favorite monument,” she said. “It reminds me of a giant pencil.”

“A giant pencil?”

“You don’t think so?”

He looked up at the enormous structure.

“Are you kidding me? It’s like six hundred feet tall.”

“Right. That’s why I said ‘giant.’”

“Fair enough.”

They pushed on, turning north on 15th Street. Cars were absolutely everywhere, filling the street, jamming the walkways, and stuck in deep ruts in the adjacent grassy field. People had been desperate to escape the city, but most had become trapped in the exodus.

“It’s amazing how many people got stuck here,” she said.

“That’s because they forgot the golden rule of evacuating.”

“Which is?”

“Get out early, or don’t get out at all.”

She looked into one of the cars and saw the dried corpses of two middle-aged women. Sisters, she thought. Both of them were leaning back in their seats as if they had simply given up and gone to sleep.

“Yeah,” she said. “I see your point.”

They worked their way through the maze of cars, finally approaching Pennsylvania Avenue. The street was filled with M113 armored personnel carriers, M2 Bradley Fighting Vehicles, and light armored HMMWVs. Nearby cars were burned and riddled with quarter-sized bullet holes, some still containing charred bodies inside. Lying around the cars were hundreds of decaying bodies, most of them civilians. Dried blood was spattered all across the walls of an adjacent office building, further evidence of their horrific end. A plaque out front identified it as the Department of Commerce.

“What do you think happened here?”

“Looks like a massacre to me.”

“I know that. I mean why did the army shoot all these people?”

“My guess is that they demanded answers from their leaders. That doesn’t usually end well.”

“You don’t think my mom could have ordered this, do you?”

He shook his head. “This looks more like the work of frightened soldiers.”

Samantha suddenly grabbed Tanner’s arm and pulled him behind one of the Bradley Fighting Vehicles. The rear ramp was down, showing the infantry seats and internal workings of the vehicle.

“Someone’s coming,” she whispered.

He peeked around the vehicle. A group of four armed men were making their way down the middle of the street. Tanner turned and looked for a way out. Huge government buildings lined both sides of the street, offering no alleyways or obvious escape routes. They could retreat back down 15th Street, but that would put them at risk of overstaying their welcome.

Going into the Bradley didn’t make sense either. There was no way to close the rear ramp without hydraulic power, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to try to start the vehicle. The heavy vehicle was equipped with a 25 mm chain gun, 7.62 mm machine gun, and anti-tank guided missiles, none of which he had the foggiest idea of how to operate. It was perhaps a perfect fighting vehicle, but in his hands, it was nothing more than a bulletproof box with a gaping hole in the back.

He turned to Samantha. “Go inside and hide at the front of the vehicle.”

“You sure?”

“No, but it’s what we’ve got. Stay there until they pass.” He tossed his pack on the floor of the Bradley.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to give them something to chase.”

“How do you know they’ll chase you?”

“They’ll chase me.”

“And you’ll come back for me?”

He tipped his head. “Do I really need to answer that?”

“No.”

“Ten minutes, fifteen tops.”

She looked less certain.

“Just stay put,” he said. “I don’t want to have to tear this city apart looking for you.”

Tanner stepped out from behind the Bradley Fighting Vehicle and overturned a couple of garbage cans on the sidewalk. The four men took notice and quickly veered in his direction. Once he was sure that he had their undivided attention, Tanner bolted across 15th Street and ran east on Pennsylvania Avenue. He heard the men shouting for him to stop, followed by the distant popping of gunshots. Bullets ricocheted off the wall of the nearby building, and a car window shattered about ten feet to his left, but nothing was close enough to really worry about.

He ran hard for several hundred feet, finally reaching 14th Street. A Round Robin, Café du Parc, and a host of other restaurants lined the street. More gunshots sounded, but they were even further off their mark. Tanner glanced back and saw that all but one of the men had fallen behind. The fastest of the bunch was tall and fit, probably on the high school track team at one time. With his thick wavy hair and high steps, he looked a bit like Bruce Jenner in the 1976 Summer Olympics.

Tanner turned north, passing a Marriott Hotel on his right as he dodged his way through another thick maze of cars and military vehicles. He made it all the way to F Street before finally accepting that he wasn’t going to outrun Jenner. He hustled around the corner and ducked into a doorway of a small café. Sweat dripped down his face, and his heart pounded as he tried to catch his breath.

Thirty seconds later, his overly sprite pursuer raced past the open doorway. Tanner stepped out behind him, hoping to catch him by surprise. Unfortunately, Jenner spotted him in his peripheral vision and skidded to a stop. Before he could turn around, Tanner smashed into him from behind, driving him into a cement pillar. The rifle in Jenner’s hands flipped free, clattering under a nearby newspaper delivery truck.

Tanner tried to sideswipe him with the butt of his shotgun, but Jenner spun away with his hands at the ready. It would have been easy enough to put a load of buckshot into the man’s chest, but he didn’t want the rest of the gang knowing which way they had gone. Then again, he didn’t want them catching up to him either. This had to be quick.

He set the shotgun down a few inches in front of his feet.

The man eyed the weapon.

“I know what you’re thinking. It’s the old come-and-get-it trick. But still, you gotta try.”

Jenner immediately dove for the weapon, and as he did, Tanner dropped both knees down onto his back, driving him into the pavement. Vomit erupted from the man’s mouth, splashing across the concrete. Jenner struggled to get free, panic setting in as he discovered that he was not only trapped but also unable to breathe.

Tanner shot a couple of quick blows to his ribs, but it wasn’t really necessary. Jenner was unconscious within twenty seconds, bubbles of vomit spewing from his nose. Tanner bounced up and down a few times, cracking ribs and otherwise causing all sorts of internal damage. Satisfied that the man was out for the count, he dragged Jenner over to the doorway and tucked him out of sight.

The whole confrontation had taken less than a minute.

From the front of the Bradley, Samantha had heard Tanner bang the trash cans and the sound of the men shooting at him. He ran, and they followed, exactly as he had said they would. A couple of months earlier, she would have worried that he might be killed or, worse, that he would decide to leave her behind. She felt no such fear now. Common criminals would not best Tanner Raines. There might be something out there that he couldn’t handle, but they had yet to encounter it.

So, rather than worry, she spent her time exploring the armored vehicle. Everything was hard and uncomfortable, and she bumped her head three different times. There was a steering wheel with two black handles, lots of gauges and buttons, and foldable seats in the back. There were also large round hatches that looked like they belonged on a submarine, as well as angled windows that allowed her to see outside.

More gunshots sounded in the distance. She assured herself that it was nothing to worry about. Tanner was running, and they were shooting at him. Not something he hadn’t done a dozen times before. Despite his size, Tanner was pretty darned fast. There was no way they would catch him, and if they did, they’d be sorry.

Afraid to touch anything that might give away her position, Samantha settled onto one of the jump seats, laid the rifle across her lap, and waited. Tanner would be coming soon. It was only a matter of time.

Seventeen minutes later, Tanner stuck his head around the edge of the Bradley and found Samantha napping on one of the jump seats. Her head leaned back against the steel wall, and her rifle and pack rested on her lap. She looked like a paratrooper riding out to a drop zone, calm and indifferent to the dangers around her.

Never one to startle someone with a gun, he bumped lightly on the wall of the vehicle. Her eyes fluttered a few times and then finally opened.

“What took you so long?” she said, yawning.

He slipped back on his pack.

“Come on. Let’s go get what we came for.”

She grabbed her rifle and followed after him.

“Did you get rid of those men?”

“More like I gave them the slip.” He looked up at the sky. “We’ve got maybe three or four hours until dark.”

“And we don’t want to be in the city after dark,” she said, finishing his sentence.

“Correct.”

“Because the zombies come out at night.”

“Let’s not be around to find out.”

They hurried west along Pennsylvania Avenue, cutting across a courtyard barricaded with concrete posts. Several more Bradley Fighting Vehicles and even a couple of M1 Abrams tanks were parked in the square. As things had deteriorated, the military had apparently been deployed to protect key national infrastructures, as well as the politicians and bankers who worked at them.

Tanner pointed to a bank that was so majestic in appearance that he wouldn’t have been surprised to see Jesus chasing out the moneychangers.

“Think they still have money inside?” he said, hoping to get a rise out of Samantha.

“Really? We’re bank robbers now?”

“All right, Bugsy,” he said in his best gangster voice, “you take the vault, and I’ll watch for the coppers.”

She giggled. “You’re funny.”

It warmed him to see her laugh. Even after all that she had lost, Samantha was finding ways to smile. He took that as a good sign.

They continued past a string of cafés designed for Ivy Leaguers hoping to close business deals over expensive lunches. Tables were overturned, and chairs had been tossed into the street. What had at one time been a quiet place to enjoy clam chowder and chocolate mousse now resembled the aftermath of a Pacers-Pistons game.

As they passed the Department of Treasury, they began to see the top of the White House peeking out from between the thick trees covering the North Lawn. Torn and ragged, the Stars and Stripes still flew from the rooftop flagpole. Whether it had been left behind as a symbol of national strength or simply abandoned in haste, no longer mattered.