Blindside
Calvin Ptolemy did not sleep, in the conventional sense. Instead, he relied on a set number of calculated micro-sleeps to refresh his mind and body. Anywhere from five to fifteen minutes, at staggered intervals throughout the day. He had trained himself to conduct a number of repetitive tasks while engaged in these micro-sleeps, including disassembling and cleaning weapons.
Unfortunately, he found it difficult to enter the necessary state of relaxation in an unfamiliar place.
The lodge was quiet. As he walked out onto the deck, he heard nothing save the chirp of insects and the quiet murmur of those on guard duty. Sayers was sitting on the deck rail, her legs kicking idly as she stared out over the water. She was engaged in demolishing a can of beans that she’d gotten from somewhere.
He stood behind her, saying nothing. He started to speak several times, but the words wouldn’t come. His hands clenched. Then he reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a stick of jerky. He held it out to her.
She looked at it. “Yours?”
“Latest batch, yes.”
She took it and sniffed it. “Smells better than the last.” She took a bite. “Tastes better, too.” She gave him a smile, and he felt a familiar flutter in his chest. “Why are you here, Calvin?”
“Ramirez and Westlake explained…” Ptolemy began. Sayers shook her head and offered him the can of beans.
“I didn’t ask why they’re here. I asked why you’re here.”
Ptolemy took the beans, automatically scanning the expiration date stamped on the bottom of the can. Sayers raised an eyebrow. “I’m not trying to poison you.”
“Just making sure.”
“The expiration date is only a suggestion.”
“Often a good one,” Ptolemy said. He took a bite of the beans to be polite and handed the can back. Sayers took it and continued eating.
“You haven’t answered my question,” she said, mouth full.
“Fitness is only another name for survival,” he quoted. “Darwinism: that survivors survive. Charles Fort.” He adjusted his glasses. “Things are less than optimal. Resources are dwindling. Something must change.” He studied the water below, and the forms bobbing in the shallows. The floaters clutched at the fence-line like drowning men, their mouths moving noiselessly. “We are running out of time. We are losing the war before we even have a chance to fight back.”
Sayers snorted. “Still thinking of it as a war?”
“What would you call it?”
“The end of the world.” She finished the can and set it down beside her. “We’re done, Calvin. Why get stressed about something you can’t change?”
“Who says it cannot be changed?” He paused and looked at her. “We have had this conversation before, I think.”
“We have.”
“Right before you left,” he said, his tone accusing. Sayers tilted her head back and looked up at the roof.
“I had to get out of there, Calvin. I needed space.”
“So you went to hide in the forest.”
“Not well enough.”
“You did not have to answer the radio.” He paused. “Why did you?”
She was silent for a moment. Then, “I wanted to see you again.”
“You could not have known I would be here.”
“If anything could drag you out of your bunker, it would be something like this,” she said, smiling thinly. “You don’t believe there’s really a mafia hideout in the mountains, do you?”
Ptolemy scratched his chin. “No. I think this Westlake is a former government agent, and we are heading to a secret Federal installation. Or maybe not. The fate of all explanation is to close one door only to have another fly wide open.”
“Fort, again?”
Ptolemy nodded. “There is truly a quote for every occasion.”
Sayers stared at him. “I’ve missed you,” she said.
Ptolemy blinked. “I have missed you as well. Is that why you agreed to help?”
She turned back to the water. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Whatever the reason, I am glad you are back. I am glad you are helping us.”
“I’m not doing it for you, Calvin, as hard as that might be for you to believe.” She turned, slid off the deck railing to stand, and looked up at the lodge. “This is going to be a waste of resources these people don’t have. You’d be better off moving into one of the ski resorts over near Lake Placid.”
“Those places are no safer than here.”
“Then go away. Head towards Lake Champlain, or better yet the Canadian border.” She looked at him. “They’d listen to you, Calvin. Maybe not Ramirez, but the others would.”
“If this place is real, is it not worth seeing if it could be made viable? A true redoubt, where some seed of humanity might yet find soil fit to grow?” He made to reach for her but stopped himself. “I believe the risk is worth the reward.”
“And you trust this Westlake?”
“No. But I trust Ramirez.”
“Even though she’s a government agent?”
“So were you, once upon a time,” he said.
“I was a government employee, Calvin. There’s a difference.” She glared at him. “You shouldn’t put so much faith in Ramirez. She’s always been trouble.”
“Why? Because she wishes to help people?”
“No. Because she talks other, more impressionable people into acting against their best interests. Like you.”
Ptolemy paused. It was an old argument. The same argument that had driven them first together and then apart in the months after the apocalypse. Sayers had seen the rising of the dead as an opportunity to abandon a world that had never treated her well. Ptolemy had seen it as a catastrophe – a natural disaster of epic proportions, but in the end no different than a flood or a wildfire. Sayers had argued that they were under no obligation to help anyone; Ptolemy had known better.
Now, more than ever, people needed to stick together. Disagreements needed to be put aside in the face of a common enemy. An enemy that threatened to overwhelm them all, regardless of how cleverly they might hide themselves away. Ramirez understood that. That was why he’d volunteered to come. If she said there was hope, then there was hope.
But he said none of that. Sayers understood his position, and he understood hers. There was nothing more to be said on the matter. They stood awkwardly in silence for a time. Then, when he could no longer stand it, Ptolemy asked, “What were you doing up there? After you left, I mean.”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” He raised an eyebrow.
Sayers sighed. “I wanted to enjoy myself, Calvin. To read books and grow beans and not have to worry about anything.”
“Unfortunately, the world is never that simple, Elizabeth.” He reached for her hand, but she avoided his touch. He frowned, puzzled, but continued. “Even so, I respected your decision. I did not agree with it. But I respected it.”
“You mean you were too busy to come after me.” She looked him dead in the eye. “The camp came first. I knew that, even before I left.”
“Sustainable isolationism is a fantasy concocted by fringe libertarians and religious fanatics. Humans are social animals and work best in groups.” He took off his glasses and began to clean them. “I calculated the odds and made my decision.”
“So did I.” Sayers paused. “Germ warfare.”
“What?”
“Germ warfare. That’s what caused all this.”
Ptolemy laughed.
Sayers frowned. “You give me a better explanation,” she demanded.
“A conspiracy within the government, obviously.”
Sayers laughed. “It’s always the government with you.”
“Not the government. A conspiracy within the government.”
“What’s the difference?”
“The more moving parts a conspiracy requires, the less likely it is to be effective.” Ptolemy adjusted his glasses. “A conspiracy by the government would necessitate the participation of hundreds of individuals, any one of whom might give the game away.”
Sayers shook her head. “Got it. No conspiracies.”
“I didn’t say that.” He shook his head, warming to his topic now. “Many conspiracy theorists prefer the idea of a large conspiracy because it lends a sheen of organization to an otherwise chaotic world. I, however, am more inclined to a less tidy theory – that of the gambit pileup. Not one conspiracy or even a dozen, but hundreds – all competing for resources. And when they come into conflict – tragedy is the inevitable result.”
“Like the dead rising, you mean?”
“A definite possibility. Regardless, I do not think this was anyone’s intention. Cui bono – who benefits? No one. Therefore, it was a mistake, or maybe even random chance.” He frowned. “Of course, that does not preclude a conspiracy forming to take advantage of the current state of affairs…”
Sayers kissed him. Ptolemy stood there frozen for a moment, images of germs swarming across his mind’s eye. Then he relaxed. Sayers had always been the only one he didn’t mind touching – or being touched by.
They stood pressed against one another for long moments. Then she broke the kiss and Ptolemy felt something press against his abdomen. He looked down and saw the thin barrel of a Mauser C96. His eyes widened slightly. “Is that your father’s gun?”
“It is.”
“I thought it was lost.” Her father had collected antique weapons, mostly from the world wars. The Mauser had been one of his favorites. Sayers had once confided that her father’s collection could have outfitted an army. They’d made plans a long time ago, to collect it from his home near Lake Champlain and put it to use. But when they’d arrived, they’d found it gone – or so she’d claimed.
“I know.”
“You lied.”
“I did,” she said, somewhat sadly.
He began to step back, but she stopped him with a look. “Don’t move.”
“What are you doing?” he whispered.
“Don’t say anything,” Sayers murmured into his ear. “I will shoot you, Calvin. I don’t want to, but I will. I want you to listen to me. We are going to leave. Now. Tonight. You and me. We’re going to go back to my cabin, collect supplies, and vanish.”
“Vanish?”
“Yes. There are places we can go. Places to hide.”
Ptolemy stiffened. “Why?”
Sayers stared at him. “What do you mean why?” she asked, softly. “You know why.”
Ptolemy read something in her gaze. Understanding cascaded over him. “You already knew.”
Sayers hesitated. “Yes.”
“Why did you never say anything?”
“Because you don’t want to find that place, Calvin. Trust me.”
“Strange words from a woman who has a gun pressed to my abdomen.”
Sayers shook her head slightly. “God, I’ve missed you.” She looked into his eyes. “I’ll explain everything, I promise. Now, let’s take this slow. Me and you. Turn around.”
Ptolemy turned, searching for any avenue of escape. None presented itself. They started towards the steps that led down to the docks. But as they reached them, the door to the lodge opened and Hahm stepped out. “Hey, Ptolemy, there you are. I wanted to ask…” The woman’s voice trailed off, and her eyes grew wide. Ptolemy realized that she’d noticed the gun in Sayers’ hand. She opened her mouth.
Sayers gripped Ptolemy tight – and fired. Hahm fell with a cry. Ptolemy turned, trying to tackle Sayers, but she deftly avoided his lunge. As he tried to recover, she cracked him on the side of the head with her pistol. He slumped against the rail, clutching his ringing head. Through pain-addled eyes he saw Sayers race down the steps. He heard shouts as the sentries hurried over. “Stop her,” he croaked, waving a hand towards the steps as he staggered towards Hahm. The woman was alive, but badly hurt.
“She shot me,” Hahm panted in disbelief, her hands pressed to the wound in her side. “Why did she shoot me?”
“I do not… I don’t know,” Ptolemy said, apologetically. He looked back towards the steps, and heard more shouting – no, cries of alarm. He turned his attentions back to Hahm. “I need help!” he called out. “Someone! Anyone!”
Ramirez burst out onto the deck. “What’s – shit.” She dropped to her knees beside the injured woman. “What the hell happened, Ptolemy?”
“Elizabeth… Sayers, she…” He trailed off, shaking his head, unable to complete the thought. Why had she done this? What had she meant?
Ramirez grabbed him, startling him. “Where did she go, Calvin? Where is she?”
Before he could reply, he heard the Mauser bark again, somewhere below them, and a sound like a chain snapping.
Then the wet slap of dead flesh against the wood of the dock.