Final Winter

Brian was dismissed. So what? He got up and left without a word, the bad feeling leaving an even worse taste in his mouth. The Rat Squad membership was to continue. How joyful. Out in the hallway he looked at the folder and thought, Adrianna. My apologies already. What a fucking job.

And as he was walking down the hallway, something odd came to him, what the Director had said back there. Or hadn’t said back there.

About Final Winter.

With Final Winter breathing down everyone’s neck, you’d think that the Director would have given him a pass about looking into Adrianna’s background.

Yeah. You would think that.

But the Director had almost brushed aside Final Winter. Like it wasn’t as important as finding out whether or not Adrianna Scott had really, truly lettered in soccer when she was in high school or some damn thing.

Odd.

And before Brian could think about that anymore, his pager started vibrating at his side.

~ * ~

Darren Coover woke up, groggy and tired, mouth sore, body sore, whole damn body aching. Last night had been a wild one, he had just felt the need to let loose, so it meant a night of clubbing and drinking and…well, a few minutes of fumbled passion in the back seat of a Toyota 4Runner, like he was a college kid or some damn thing.

He just stayed quiet in bed, let his eyes rest, let the seasick feeling in his gut ease. He probably shouldn’t have gone out last night, but with Final Winter and the thought of what was out there pressing against him…he’d just needed it. That was all. The next few weeks were going to be hell and he needed all his energies and focus to pay attention to that. Nothing else.

Darren opened his eyes, looked up to the white plaster ceiling. He rolled over, checked the clock. Damn. He was late. He reached over to the phone, knocked over a pill bottle, picked up the phone and dialed.

It was going to be one hell of a day, and he could hardly wait to see this man’s face when he was done.

~ * ~

Montgomery Zane yawned as he left the bathroom after a nice long shower, rubbing his head and back with a soft white bath towel. Charlene was sitting before her vanity unit, running a brush through her hair, and he bent over and kissed the back of her neck. She had on a bathrobe and he enjoyed the view of her freckled cleavage as he brought his head up.

Charlene noticed the gaze and gently thumped him with her elbow. ‘Get your eyes where they belong and get dressed. You’re gonna be late for work.’

Monty smiled and tossed the towel back towards the bathroom. ‘Babe, you’re the best excuse for being late there ever was.’

‘Hah. Hush and get going now.’

He started dressing and thought about the day ahead, and about how much he had enjoyed that long motorcycle run, out into the countryside. Probably the last piece of relaxation he was going to have for a long, long time, and he felt queasy for a moment, remembering what he had thought about, out there in the deserted countryside.

A deserted country. For years and years to come.

He quickly finished dressing and went back to Charlene. He rubbed her shoulders, kissed the top of her head, did some quick calculations and said, ‘Four weeks from now. What’s going on with you and the kids?’

She lowered the hairbrush. ‘Four weeks? Hell, hon, trying to figure out what’s going on four days from now is a hell of a stretch. Why four weeks?’

Monty tried to keep the tone light. ‘Thought you and the kids might go on a trip. Visit my aunt in Georgia, at Miller’s Crossing. That’s all.’

He noticed her hand tightening around the handle of the hairbrush. ‘Aunt Clara? Honey, God bless your aunt and all, but she lives in a town with one street light and four stop signs, and…’

Monty kept quiet. Charlene was a very bright woman.

‘Georgia,’ she breathed. ‘There’s a reason, isn’t there?’

Not worth trying to fool a military wife. ‘Yes.’

‘Good enough reason?’

Final Winter. Suppose that damn vaccination program didn’t work? And suppose the children got sick from whatever stuff was going to be sprayed from overhead? Then those obscure men in rental cars would start driving around his country, dropping off plastic baggies of death in his cities, and…Jesus.

‘The very best,’ he said.

Tears came to her eyes. ‘Can you tell me anything else?’

‘No. And you can’t ask any more questions, Charlene.’

Her hand went from her hairbrush up to his hand on her shoulder. A gentle squeeze.

‘Yes, my love,’ she said through the tears. ‘I think a visit to your aunt will be a wonderful idea. Can you come, too?’

A pause.

‘No. No, I can’t.’

Charlene squeezed Monty’s hand tighter as her tears continued to flow.

~ * ~