Free Season of Rot by Eric S. Brown, John Grover Page B

time to do
everything we need for once.” Steven saw the way O’Neil was glaring
at him. “Yes, it’s more of a risk to the raiding party if the dead
do notice them, and it’ll mean less supplies brought back overall
because we won’t be loading straight onto the Queen , but I’m
willing to take the gamble in hopes that it will save us some
lives. If it works, it’ll give the raiding party a better edge than
they’ve ever had before, and, well... if the Queen does
become engaged, I think she can handle herself. We have before, and
we’ll do so many more times, I’m sure.”
    “Sir,” O’Neil said, “I think you should know
most of the crew and the people onboard still just want us to take
some little island, put down some roots, and finally get off the
waves.”
    Steven grinned. “No, our mobility is what’s
keeping us alive, Mr. O’Neil. Perhaps you should remind these
people that if we lose it, we’ve lost the war.”
    O’Neil changed the subject, avoiding an
argument. “How many men will be needed for the lifeboats in this
plan of yours?”
    “I was thinking about sixteen, total. That
should give them the firepower and the free hands they’ll
need.”
    “But who’s going to lead them?” O’Neil
asked.
    11
    Scott hadn’t stopped moving for nearly twelve
hours, pushing his underfed and exhausted body far beyond its
limits. He nearly fell into a tree, grabbing its bark to keep his
balance, but finally he dropped to his knees and vomited into the
wet grass.
    So far he’d seen no signs of his pursuers.
When he’d first started running, it had been like something out of
a nightmare. Jeeps full of the dead had come roaring out of the
breeding complex. The first two hours of the chase had been the
roughest, ducking in and out of the trees, zigzagging his path,
eluding both those chasing him and the normal patrols in the area.
He hadn’t seen or heard a jeep or dead man in the past seven hours
though, and he couldn’t force himself to go any farther at this
point. He needed rest desperately.
    Scott wiped the vomit from his lips and
rolled over onto the ground, stretching out. The noise of a rifle
chambering a bullet snapped him out of his thoughts.
    A woman stood over him with the barrel of a
.30-.06 aimed at his chest. She was covered in blood that wasn’t
hers. Long red hair was matted to her face and shoulders by sweat,
blood, and dirt. She appeared healthy and well fed, but every inch
as tired as he felt.
    “Hello?” Scott greeted her weakly.
    “Are you a doctor?” she asked in a voice
filled with both anger and deep sadness.
    Scott’s mind raced. What the hell was he
supposed to say? “I know a little,” he answered quickly, lying very
still so that the woman didn’t feel threatened.
    She took a step away from him. “On your feet.
My husband and son are hurt. They need help.”
    “Okay.” Scott pushed himself up, despite how
much his whole body ached.
    The woman led him about a fifth of a mile
east. He knew instantly something wasn’t right, even before they
entered her makeshift campsite. He could see a young boy gagged and
tied to a tree, straining against the ropes; the body of a man lay
stretched out nearby.
    Scott wondered if the woman had kidnapped the
child—until he saw the massive gunshot wound on the boy’s chest and
began to realize just how much trouble he was in. He forced himself
not to stare at it as it twisted under the ropes, tearing its flesh
as it tried to get free.
    Scott knelt down beside the man, who was
alive, just barely.
    “Can you help them?” the woman pleaded, the
barrel of her rifle still aimed at Scott.
    He doubted very much he could fool the woman
into letting her guard down. She was too on edge. “Why did you gag
the boy?” he asked, hoping to lead her mind back to Earth.
    Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. It was
clear she couldn’t rationalize her behavior without admitting her
son was dead. “He... he was just gibbering. Saying horrible