The Survivalist: Madness Rules Part 27

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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s 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 l.u.s.t 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 s.e.x. 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 G.o.ddess walking beside him?" Tanner said with a grin.

"Of course not."

"No? Why not?"

"I don't have my b.o.o.bs 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"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 gra.s.sy 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 compa.s.sion, 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."