The North (#wattys2016)

Chapter 16

We ate on the fly.

Individual Meal Packs, or IMP’s, taste pretty lousy even when they’ve been heated. Eating them cold does little to kill the nasty flavor of the damned things. The aluminum pouches are often half-filled with liquid, so depending on what your meal is, it might be dripping wet. Naturally, I got another ham omelet which looked more like an over-stretched hockey puck – assuming hockey pucks are yellow disks with flecks of mystery meat inside. I washed it down with a cup of instant coffee - again, cold. We’d decided early on that we’d have our hot meal after we secured a safe zone in Dinsmore. Usually a hot meal would be something to look forward to, but IMP’s leave little to the imagination, so you need to pretend you’re eating something else entirely or you’ll go nuts. Still, I think everyone in my carrier was thankful for being together as a group, and for having survived another day.

It took us a good 20 minutes to arrive at the electrical tower. The steel and iron skeleton stood five storeys high and if you followed the power lines, you’d see another electrical tower every 1000m or so. The ground was flat and relatively free of obstacles, though we had to cross over a number of grid roads. I fought the urge to use them, even though it meant everyone in our two APC’s bounced around like they were ping pong balls. We didn’t want to raise massive plumes of dust that would attract creeps or survivalist nut jobs.

Cruze’s APC pulled up next to mine, and together we surveyed the ground. We were perched atop a small ridge, a dusty breeze blowing through the steel girders of the electrical tower. Cruze kept her eyes fixed on Highway Two. The good news was there weren’t any pileups, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be dangers to face, once we found a suitable spot to cross.

“What do you think?” I asked, as I lowered my binoculars.

“It looks clear enough,” she said as she climbed onto our carrier. “Mind you, we’re up on high ground, so it’s hard to know for sure. How far do you figure we have to go to cross? I’m thinking about five or six clicks anyway.”

“That’s what I figured,” I replied. “There’s probably going to be cattle-fencing on both sides of the highway. We’ll have to cut the wire if we’re going to get both carriers through. I’ll do it.”

Cruze snorted. “I thought the rule was, never volunteer for anything.”

I shrugged as I gazed out through my binoculars. “Someone’s gotta do it. Might as well be me. Listen, about what happened this morning … I fucked up royally.”

She cocked an eyebrow and said, “I know. And everyone else knows, too. You can’t afford another screw-up either. This team is looking to you to get us to Sanctuary Base alive, so at least when it comes to navigating, double check with Dawson or me. I don’t think anyone is going to question you on tactics if we wind up knee-deep in the shit again. You proved yourself as a good tactical leader with the nut jobs that attacked us.”

I nodded and I felt my face begin to flush. At least Cruze was still backing me. It was the only positive aspect of our near miss a few hours earlier.

“I didn’t want to be in charge, Cruze,” I said quietly, deliberately avoiding her gaze. “Christ, why the hell would anyone want to be in charge? I’m a freaking military strategy book worm. I read tactical manuals and military history stuff.”

She shrugged. “You’re the guy who helped Sergeant Green come up with Plan Z in the first place. You were his 2IC – he picked you to back him up.”

“And I picked you to back me up,” I replied.

“Which I am doing to the best of my ability. But for fuck sake, Dave, if you have doubts about our next move, talk to me. Talk to Dawson if you have to. You can’t bear all this shit on your shoulders, got it?”