Zombie Fallout 14: The Trembling Path
Date: 2020-04-09 09:19:34+00:00
Keywords: Fiction; Science Fiction; Action & Adventure; Apocalyptic & Post-Apocalyptic; Horror; General; Humorous; Military
Description: Control of Etna Station is balanced on a knife's edge. A daring mission to rescue a hostage will shake the foundations of the already crumbling command structure, making way for enemies to emerge from outside, and from within. Dewey, the advanced zombies, begins to assert his dominance and reveals his ploy to master all humankind, while Vivian Deneaux shows her hand, rigging the complex to blow if she's not given the keys to the city. Alliances will be strained and loyalties tested as lines drawn in the sand become blurred and must be remade. Events are set in motion that will forever alter th
Publisher: DevilDog Press
Rights: Copyright 2020 Mark Tufo. All rights reserved.

Zombie Fallout 14

The Trembling Path

Mark Tufo

Copyright © 2020 by Mark Tufo

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Created with Vellum

To my wife, even though we’re stuck inside, she hasn’t once, I mean twice, threatened me with physical harm! I love you!

I want to thank Sheila Shedd my editor, she always brings out the best in these stories.

Also a hearty thank you to my beta readers, Tiffany Naiman, Amanda Walker and Patti Reilly, you always catch stuff before release and for that I am grateful.

As always to the men and women of the armed forces, first responders and care givers. All of you are the reasons why this nation is so great.

And lastly to you my dear readers, thank you for your support. I hope you enjoy the book.

Contents

PROLOGUE ONE - CHARLIE

PROLOGUE TWO – GUNNERY SERGEANT FORSYTH

1. Mike Journal Entry 1

2. Mike Journal Entry 2

3. Mike Journal Entry 3

4. Mike Journal Entry 4

5. Rescue

6. Mike Journal Entry 5

7. Mike Journal Entry 6

8. Mike Journal Entry 7

9. Mike Journal Entry 8

10. TOMMY and JUSTIN

11. Mike Journal Entry 9

12. Mike Journal Entry 10

13. Mike Journal Entry 11

14. Mike Journal Entry 12

15. Tommy

16. Mike Journal Entry 13

EPILOGUE - OBSERVATIONS

About the Author

Also by Mark Tufo

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PROLOGUE ONE - CHARLIE

Charlie Blaylock, along with his wife Laura and fifty others from the Texas Initiative Militia, sat on a hill some two miles away and peered down at the scene laid out before them.

“You know, Captain, I kind of thought you’d lost your mind when you said we needed to come to Washington state to find some needle in the haystack base,” Staff Sergeant Plankard said.

Charlie was peering through a pair of powerful binoculars and rolling a piece of hay in his mouth. He put the binoculars down, pulled off his wide-brimmed jungle hat, and grabbed a blue handkerchief from the back of his camouflage pants to wipe his head and brow. His long, dirty blonde hair and full beard were rippling with the breeze. Plankard often thought his leader looked somewhat like the ill-fated Custer. However, unlike that vain, narcissistic man who thought he could do no wrong, Charlie was very thoughtful and weighed out all the input from his advisors before deciding on a plan of action. Intrinsically, he knew his commander would never leave any of them out to dry.

“And now?” Charlie asked his second in command.

“The proof is right there in front of us! Now I know you’re crazy,” he said.

“I loved you the first time we met,” Laura said. She’d grabbed the binoculars and was looking. “Don’t believe you’ve ever purposely lied to me once, the entire time we’ve been married. Having said that, I always thought that story about how something in the Colorado mountains ‘told you’ to come out here after a zombie invasion was likely something dreamt up by your time in the Corps, or maybe out of the various drugs you did before and after, but there it is. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

“Don’t worry my love; I doubted myself right up until this very minute,” Charlie replied.

“So, you really think Mike, Tracy and the kids are down there?” Laura finally turned away.

“The base is there; it makes sense that whatever that person said all those years ago is true too.” Charlie put his hat back on.

“Lovebug?”

“Laura, you know I’m not a fan of that in front of the team.”

Plankard turned to the side and coughed, doing his utmost to ignore the exchange.

“Lovebug?”

“Yes, Princess.” Charlie looked over to Plankard, who just happened to be checking out the color of his boots.

“I love Tracy, and I love Mike. I love the fact that you two kept each other alive when you were deployed; all of that means something. But we’re not even sure they’re down there, and God help them if they are…what are we going to do against that?” She pointed her chin at the ten thousand-strong horde of zombies standing just outside the gates to the base.

“I owe him.”

“You said that when you brought this expedition up, but you’ve never said why you owe him,” Laura said. She knew something traumatic had happened in Afghanistan all those years ago but Charlie had never once spoken any details about it—not during his waking hours, anyway, though many a night she had been jolted awake as Charlie cried out.

He wore a tortured expression on his face as he warred between bringing up something he never wanted to relive again and the desire to tell her everything.

“Could you excuse us, please?” Laura asked of the staff sergeant.

“Of course, ma’am. Sir,” Plankard said to Charlie as he went back to where the rest of the platoon was.

“I get that you feel there’s some form of debt owed, and if you don’t want to talk about it, I’m not going to press, and where you go, I go, always. But can you risk the men and women under your command for this? Do they owe him too?”

“I could ask for volunteers.”

“My sweet, you know how that’s going to go. Most of those people are Texans and they’ve been under your command for over a year. You’ve personally saved the majority of them at least once. You ask for volunteers and they are going to beat each other up in an effort to be first. You have to ask yourself if that’s fair.”

“Laura, I’d just as soon go it alone if I thought I was risking lives. I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you, and Plankard will flat out refuse to let me go without personnel by my side. So, there’s the quandary. I’m going down there, hell or high water. I’ll be a Marine until the day they lay me down, and we never leave one of ours behind.”

Laura stood on her toes and kissed him on the lips. “I don’t know why I find your steadfast unwillingness to yield so endearing.”

“It got you to marry me, didn’t it?”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. I knew I was going to marry you the first time I met you.”

“Then why’d you put me through all that?”

“Wasn’t it worth it?” she smiled.

“And then some.”

“I’ll set up a briefing once we get more information from the drones.”

“Thank you,” Charlie said, though he did not turn to watch her go. “Mike, you’d better be in there, or I’m going to have some serious explaining to do.”

Two hours later, Charlie, Laura, SSgt. Plankard, and Sergeant Jill Kendall were standing at the back of the Ford F-350. The tailgate was open, and they were looking at a series of high-resolution images shot from the RQ-7 Shadow drone. They had larger craft at their disposal, but this one, with its twenty-foot wingspan, was perfect for transporting. With a range of nearly seven hundred miles, it was an ideal reconnaissance tool.

“Haven’t seen this many zombies since I left Houston,” Sgt. Kendall said, looking at the laptop.

“And more coming,” the staff sergeant said. “It’s weird they’re amassing…it’s a lot weirder they’re not doing anything.”

“It’s like they’re waiting,” Kendall said.

“Yeah, but for what?” Charlie asked.

“What we do know is that the personnel down there know about it. They painted our drone but did not fire,” Plankard said.

“Jesus, Plankard! Why am I just hearing about this now?” Charlie looked up from the computer.

“I just found out about it, sir. Gimble said he hightailed it out of there as soon as he got the warning.”

“We know they have capabilities. Do we believe they can handle this threat on their own?”

“There is every indication to believe this is a fully functional military base.” He pointed at his schematic. “Here are the guard towers. Aircraft hangars, tanks, and what we think are barracks.”

“Not only are the zombies waiting, so is the base. Why the stand-off? Makes no sense.” Charlie was stroking his beard as he contemplated.

“I think it makes perfect sense from the standpoint of Etna,” Laura offered. “The zombies have so far done nothing; why initiate a battle? Let the enemy do that.”

“You know I normally agree with you, Laura,” Charlie said, “and when I don’t, I say I do anyway. With a normal enemy, I would say absolutely; if they haven’t fired, then don’t start. But zombies…they don’t know any other way. It could be they’re just waiting for reinforcements before they attack. We’ve seen that from them before. They’re waiting for the tactical advantage of numbers. It would make more sense for Etna to deal with the situation they have than the one they must know is coming.”

Laura moved in closer to the laptop. “Did you see that? Rewind the playback.”

“Can’t see anything with your head in the way,” Charlie quipped.

“Too far.” She was referring to the recording. “Right there,” she said after a moment. “Back up and freeze.”

She highlighted the area she was talking about with a stylus. There was a foot and a half long flash of light.

“Gunfire,” Plankard said.

“Could be why they’re not fighting the zombies; they have their own battle going on,” Charlie said. “Shit, Mike. What have you gotten yourself into? Hell. What have you got us into? This changes things.”

“How so, sir?” Kendall asked.

“They look capable of dealing with the zombies, but if they’re having a civil war inside, there’s no telling how much time they have.”

“Charlie, hon, you know Mike’s penchant for authority.”

“I know Mike’s penchant for those that abuse authority. Plankard, did the drone find a way in?”

Plankard looked from Laura, who was growing angrier by the minute, to his commander. “Um, yes sir. The northwest corner, the far side from the zombies. It looks the least guarded, as it butts up to a natural zombie barrier, a river. And with whatever is going on, it’s very likely it’s not staffed at all.”

“Then that’s where we’re going in.” Charlie made sure to avoid eye contact with his wife.

PROLOGUE TWO – GUNNERY SERGEANT FORSYTH

“Are you sure you’re reading that right?” Gunnery Sergeant Forsyth asked. He was part of a five-man SEAL team being sent to New York on orders from Colonel Bennington.

“Not sure how I could have misconstrued,” Major Overland said, holding the unsealed orders folder in his hand. “Even have a picture of the ugly bastard.”

“We’re traveling across the country to catch a zombie? How does that seem a worthwhile use of resources, sir?” the gunny asked. “And not only that, how are we planning on finding this one particular individual?”

“If what I’m reading is right, he’ll find us. It would seem he’s self-aware and able to coordinate attacks.”

“That’s worse. A lot worse,” the gunny said.

The major agreed. Though he said nothing, he secretly wished the entire squad had gone on this mission instead of just the five of them. “We touch down in an hour. I’ll brief everyone on the mission parameters and then I want you and them to go through our gear again. I read Lieutenant Talbot’s report; I want to bring as much ammunition as we can pack out.”

“Are you telling me this mission is based on that crazy-ass Marine’s recommendation?”

“That crazy-ass Marine recommended dropping a MOAB on the identified zombie designated as Dewey, not picking him up.”

“A mother of all bombs on New York? I didn’t think that guy was smart enough to be scared of something, and now I’m being forced to agree with him. I feel like it’s going to be a strange day, sir.”

“Get the squad together.”

Within two minutes, Overland was explaining the objective. “We have reason to believe our subject is in Bryant Park. We’re going to land twenty clicks away, take the electric bikes in, thus keeping the noise level down. We’ll be west of Hell’s Kitchen.”

“We taking 42nd?” Corporal Baggelli asked. He had been born and raised in Queens before joining the Navy.

“Lincoln Tunnel,” Overland responded.

“Sir, there’s a good chance that thing is underwater without the pumps running, and it’s definitely not going to have any lighting. The tunnel was congested when the city was up and running; can’t even imagine what it looks like now.”

“That’s the reason we’re not taking a Hummer. Intel has reason to believe 42nd is patrolled,” Overland said.

“Patrolled by who?” Baggelli asked.

“Dewey’s zombies.”

“Sir?”

“It would appear Dewey is sentient, and the Colonel wants him,” Overland summed up for the corporal.

“Maybe the colonel should come out and get him himself,” the oldest member of the group replied. Private First-Class William Reed had been a Sergeant three times and busted back down to a private every time. The only reason he’d not been thrown out of the service was he was among the best at his profession. “What? Everyone’s thinking it.”

“Don’t you ever get sick of being on point?” Baggelli asked him.

“It keeps me away from your garlic smelling ass.”

“I’ll make sure you’re downwind.”

“Reed, you’ll be in possession of the tranq gun; you’ll have to be close to use it,” Major Overland said.

“Yeah, I’d say ninety feet is pretty close,” Reed replied. “Darting an armed fugitive barricaded in his home is one thing. Getting the leader of a zombie force is going to be another.”

“That’s why we need to come in quiet and unnoticed,” Overland reiterated.

A half-hour later, they were on their bikes and heading quickly to the park. Reed in front, Baggelli was bringing up the rear, towing a small trailer to transport their target. In fifteen minutes, they were at the head of the tunnel.

“Looks like The Price is Right with the three entryways,” Reed said as he straddled his bike.

“The what?” Baggelli asked.

“The longest-running gameshow of all time. Weren’t you ever sick and stayed home from school?”

“Of course.”

“You never watched it?”

“When I was younger and stayed home, I played video games. When I was older, not sure what you were doing with your pathetic existence but I was busy with girls.”

“Show us the right door, Vanna,” Overland said.

“Oh, that’s funny, sir—just mess with two national treasures. I always liked door number three; that one always seemed to be the best.” He got his bike moving and swung over to the far left lane.

“Does he not realize three would be on the other side?” the gunny asked.

“Shit,” Reed said.

“What’s going on?” Overland asked.

“I don’t have money for the toll.”

“You want to tell him number one would be on the right?” Baggelli asked his sergeant.

“Leave him be. Maybe he’s on to something.”

“Let us know when you get halfway in; we’ll follow you at that point,” Overland radioed.

“Roger that, sir. Fifty feet in and the ground is wet. The way is clear, but at the far edges of my headlights, I can see cars.”

“Keep it slow and steady,” Overland said.

Reed wasn’t going more than five miles per hour—he was more walking than riding the electric motorcycle. The farther he went in and moved away from the opening, the more the walls of the tunnel seemed to constrict. Fundamentally, Reed knew this was due to the light, but that did little to appease the feelings of claustrophobia that were forming in his head. He knew the fear was irrational, that he needed to be more concerned with the many genuine threats out there, but when your brother locks you in a vintage travel trunk for over four hours while he’s babysitting you at the tender age of six…well, things like that tend to stick. It mattered little that his brother had been grounded for a month; the damage had been done. Another case where the perpetrator does their time and walks away but the victim is forever scarred, left having to carry the heavy baggage throughout their life. This, in part, was the reason Reed had joined the SEALS, mistakenly believing he would be in the wide-open desert or some equally expansive places. Reed’s boots were splashing down into water; it was now over an inch high. The resultant sound was echoing off the walls, making hearing anything else nearly impossible.

“The smell is getting bad in here,” Reed reported. “Not the moving dead, not yet.” There was a subtle, yet distinct difference to the smell of the truly dead and deceased and their unliving counterparts. Both were pungent and not something easily ignored, but a corpse had an earthy smell, old and decaying, whereas zombies had a thicker, sharper smell that could bring tears to the eyes. “It’s old—smells like Baggelli’s room.”

“Fuck you, Reed.”

“Keep the chatter down.” Overland was tense. He felt like there were eyes on his group. He could detect no sign, but there were plenty of places someone could watch from without being noticed. “Sergeant Kendall, set up a perimeter,” he said to the fifth member of the group and the only female.

“Yes, sir.” She dismounted and got Baggelli to watch their six.

She walked the perimeter, staying vigilant, keeping an eye on the woods to the left and the few places of residence and work on the right. She didn’t have high hopes she would see anything straight on; she had to hope her peripheral vision would pick up any movement.

“Anything?” Baggelli asked as she came close.

“Nothing, and I don’t know if it’s partly because the major thinks so, but I’m pretty sure we’re being watched too.”

“Reminds me of that mission in Syria,” he said.

Kendall often thought of that and wondered what could have been done differently. They’d lost two SEALS that day, walking into an ambush they were assured didn’t exist. None of them had seen anything until the bullets began to fly. Kendall had a hard time believing that she could somehow entirely miss the fact that someone had the intention to kill her and those with her, yet she’d not so much as sensed it.

“Let’s not allow that to happen again,” she said as she continued on.

“Turning around,” Reed said. “There’s an overturned tanker. We’d have to ditch the bikes if we came this way.”

“Baggelli, you’re up,” Forsyth said.

“Shit. I hate the Lincoln Tunnel,” he muttered as he walked over to his bike. “Who willingly drives under the Hudson?” He turned and looked back at Kendall, who gave him a thumbs up.

“If Bags gets blocked, we’re going to go further south and take 39th,” Overland said to Forsyth. “Don’t care what intel says. I think our cover is already blown. The best thing might be speed, as stealth could be out the window.”

“Whew, Reed was right. This does smell like my room,” Baggelli said.

A few moments later, a visibly shaken Reed exited the far tunnel.

“Reed, you stay with Kendall on patrol.”

Reed waved at Forsyth and went to the sergeant.

“You see a ghost in there?” she asked.

“Visited by one from the past,” was all he offered.

“Got a little bit of water, no cars, which I’m finding completely strange. New York wasn’t evacuated. This should have been bumper to bumper when it hit,” Baggelli said. “Quarter of the way in, still as clean as Reed’s asshole after his last colonoscopy…you have to get those when you hit fifty.”

Forsyth had difficulty suppressing his smile.

“Smell is beginning to pick up,” he continued. “Can’t see a damn thing; government issue headlight isn’t cutting it. Contact.” There was a pause. “Hey—stay where you are!” Baggelli yelled out. “There’s another.”

Overland looked over at Forsyth. “Don’t like it. Bags, get out.”

“Contact,” Kendall spoke through the headset.

“This is a bad spot for an ambush,” Forsyth hissed.

“Everyone mount up, get ready to go,” the major warned.

“Do not come any closer!” Baggelli warned. “Sir, permission to use force—they are not heeding my orders.”

“Are they zombies?” Overland asked.

“Not moving like it, but I can’t see them well enough. They’re advancing slowly, twenty-five feet and closing.”

“Break contact. Come back. If they’re people and you fire, it will give whoever is watching us a reason to shoot back.”

“Sir, north,” Kendall said as she pointed her rifle to the cement wall rising above them. A line of individuals stood like sentinels upon the grass, a few feet from the precipice.

“Where did they come from?” Overland muttered to himself.

“On the roadway, sir,” Reed said, training his weapon on the half dozen coming toward them. “No weapons.”

“Bags, where are you?” Forsyth asked.

“Moving. More are pouring out of access doors.” Baggelli was breathing heavily.

“More to the south!” Kendall alerted.

“Roadway is blocked,” Reed said flatly.

Baggelli raced out of the tunnel and pulled up to his commander. “On my tail…got to be hundreds.”

“Gunny, radio our ride, give them an update. See if they can help. Yes, I realize they’re at best ten minutes out…if you have a better suggestion, I’m listening.” Major Overland checked his magazine before flipping his safety off. “Get ready to go hot,” he ordered.

“Plane is prepping for takeoff; looking at twelve minutes,” Forsyth said as he also checked his weapon.

“The way we came, let’s go!” Overland shouted. The five bikes were in a row as they headed into the teeth of the enemy now running toward them and pursuing from the rear. The roar of the M4A1s quickly drowned out the electric hum of the motors as the rounds sliced into the enemy. Zombies fell away as the lethal projectiles found their marks. Forsyth’s bike hit the leg of a fallen zombie, sending the bike into a slide that sent him skidding to a painful stop. He was up quickly, dropping his spent magazine and inserting a new one. The motorcycle continued, crashing through five zombies, loudly breaking limbs like a cannonball of old. Overland circled back around, dodging past a trio of zombies that had flanked him.

“Get on!” he yelled, sliding, his rear tire knocking a zombie away. Forsyth lunged for the back of the bike just as a zombie grabbed hold of his leg and yanked him backward. His face slammed off the pavement before he could raise his hands to soften the blow. Blood poured from his mouth and chin as he kicked at the zombie holding him tight. Another joined in, grabbing his free leg. Overland turned and was shooting into the crowd around them.

The word “stop” slid smoothly into his head like a parasite will an open wound.

“What the hell was that?” Baggelli shouted as he continued to fire, though their forward momentum had been stopped. The zombies not holding the wriggling Forsyth down did not continue their advance but stood straight up, automatons awaiting further instruction would have seemed less stiff.

Overland’s group kept firing, probing for a weak spot within the ambush and finding none.

“Stop or all will die,” the voice said with no inflection. It could have as easily been talking about the next stop on the mid-town bus. Scattered firing continued until Overland saw the hopelessness of the situation.

“Ceasefire…ceasefire.” He had one hand in the air with his weapon; with the other, he was urging his squad to stop. One by one they finally did. They then stood, looking around to each other, their commander, and finally the zombie horde encircling them.

“Why are you here.” It was supposed to be a question, but Overland got the impression the voice asking was working through the phrase and was not aware of the needed up-lilt to the sound at the end of the sentence.

“How is it talking in our heads?” Baggelli asked.

“Quiet,” Overland told his corporal. “Let my gunnery sergeant go.” Overland pointed to the man on the ground, a zombie holding each limb outstretched.

“Why are you here,” was asked again.

“As soon as you let my gunnery sergeant go, I’ll answer questions.”

A zombie moved out of the crowd and got down on his knees. He placed his mouth against Forsyth’s head.

“Oh, Jesus, no! Overland, don’t let him bite me!” Forsyth, who had been struggling, was now stock-still, afraid of scraping his head against the zombie’s teeth and infecting himself.

“Stop, just stop!” Overland yelled out, both hands out in front of him. He could not watch his squadmate and friend go out this way.

Baggelli had dismounted his bike. “Shit, Major, do something!” He was running over.

“Stop, Bags—just stay there!” He moved a hand in an attempt to thwart the other from getting too close. He saw Forsyth stiffen as the zombie, attached to his head like an oversized tick, applied more pressure.

“Why are you here,” came again.

“Looking for Dewey! You asshole!” Baggelli shouted into the air as it was impossible to tell which of the faces in front of them was speaking. The voice was spoken directly into their minds, but their responses needed to be verbalized.

“Corporal, that’s enough!” Overland was trying to diffuse the potentially deadly situation.

“Kill it,” Forsyth said, the sound muffled from the blood in his mouth.

“We were sent to find the leader of the zombies!” Overland looked around, trying to locate the one that had set this up. “Which of you is Dewey. There was a group before us…” Overland continued.

“Talbot,” Dewey said. “We made a deal. He did not honor it correctly.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Overland said, though he did. He’d read the report half a dozen times, wondering how Lieutenant Talbot had come up with half the stuff he’d recorded and then how he’d been able to have his squad echo the words. He didn’t believe much in mass hallucination; he’d thought maybe that Talbot fellow got his kicks by dramatizing his missions. Now he knew, if anything, they’d been downplayed. Dewey was much more dangerous than Talbot had led on.

“We required fresh meat; he supplied us with old.”

Overland shivered.

“How is he talking to us?” Kendall had backed up and was near to Overland. “Do you know which one it is? We can kill it.”

“Quiet for now, Kendall. I don’t know how he’s doing it and how well he can hear our dialog. What deal can we make?” Overland asked aloud.

“Are you fucking serious? Making a deal with a squishy?” Baggelli asked.

Overland shot him a glance that could have either froze or boiled water, that was up to the discretion of the intended target. Baggelli wisely did not add anything more to the conversation.

“What do you require of Dewey.”

“We were told to bring him back to our base.” That part was true enough. He figured as soon as he was at the facility, they would have his brain under a slicer by the end of the day for microscopic slides, but that part he was not going to relay. He didn’t think the Dewey-zombie could read minds, or he and his team would already be working their way through multiple digestive tracts.

“Purpose.”

“This shit cannot be happening,” Kendall said.

“Keep it together, Sergeant.” Overland hoped the words would steady his own nerves as well as they appeared to do for her. A light came on in his head; he wasn’t sure if it would work because there was no way to know what motivated the zombie, other than food. If Dewey had even an ounce of hubris within him, Overland hoped to exploit it. “Talbot said you were the leader of your kind; our leader would like to meet with you, perhaps forge a peace.”

“What the f…” Baggelli stopped as Kendall pulled her finger across her neck

“Piece of what,” Dewey stated.

“Peace, coexistence.”

“Why did your leader not come himself.”

“Military leaders do not often go out onto the front lines,” Overland said.

“I am here.”

Overland decided to sidestep. “We can bring you to him; you can meet face to face.”

“There are many people there.”

It sounded like Dewey was stating a fact and Overland didn’t understand the implication enough not to answer truthfully. “Yes.”

“I will meet.”

“Uh, great. Our plane is coming to pick us up at a rendezvous point, five clicks from here. Can you let my man go now?”

“He will stay. He is my safety.”

“We can’t leave him here; he’s the only one that knows the way back to our leader.” Overland was grasping.

“Choose another to stay in place.”

“I’ll stay,” Forsyth spat. “I’ll stay,” he reiterated.

“Let him up.” Overland was still trying to find the individual responsible for all of this, all he got was a thousand blank stares.

The zombie with his mouth pressed against Forsyth’s head moaned as he pulled back, and the four zombies on his limbs were next. Forsyth pushed up off the ground quickly; his face was red from stress and anger.

“You all right?” Overland asked.

“As good as I can be,” the gunnery sergeant replied.

“You say the word and we’ll send as many to hell as we can,” Overland whispered.

“No, I’ll stay and then you’ll bring back an army to get me out of here. No reason for all of us to die.”

“I can’t ask this of you, Tom.”

“I wouldn’t stay if you asked,” he smirked.

“Sir, what’s going on?” Baggelli was backing up as the zombies slowly advanced.

“Steady, Bags,” Reed said as he came up alongside the youngest in the team.

“He will stay. I will go to this place. Everyone safe,” Dewey said.

“Sir, we can’t leave him here. Not like this,” Baggelli said.

“I’m with the kid on this one,” Reed added.

“We’re not voting. This is my decision and my decision only. I will pay the price if anything goes wrong,” Overland said.

“If anything goes wrong? Little late for that, sir,” Reed said.

“Tango-two, this is Tango-one. We have confirmation of your location. What’s your status? Over.” They could hear the plane flying high overhead; more than a few zombies craned their necks to watch it pass over.

Overland grabbed the radio from Forsyth. “We’re currently in negotiations, two hundred feet from the mouth of the tunnel, on the roadway. Can you tell me the unfriendly situation? Over.”

“Repeat, did you say two hundred feet from the tunnel mouth on the roadway? Over.”

“Correct.”

“CCS has over five thousand hostiles in your area. Over,” Tango-one said.

Forsyth looked to Overland. “You heard him, Jim. The crowd counting software says five thousand. We’d need tanks to make it through this,” Forsyth said. “Get him back to Etna, come grab me, and then blow this shit-hole to hell. When that happens, I’m personally going to shove a knife in his brain bucket.”

Overland was going to do everything in his power to make that a reality, but both men knew the odds were significantly stacked against them. If Forsyth somehow made it through the day, the odds Bennington would send out a rescue team were slim.

“I’m coming back,” Overland promised.

“I know. You’ll take care of Sarah for me?”

“You’ll take care of her yourself.”

Forsyth shook the major’s hand.

“We have a deal,” Overland said.

“Weapons on the ground,” Dewey said.

“No fucking way,” Bags said.

The zombies moved closer; the group was in a circle no more than ten feet across. Overland was the first to put his on the ground.

“That’s it? We’re surrendering?” Baggelli asked.

“We’re living to fight another day,” Kendall said as she also placed hers on the deck.

“Been in the service for twenty-five years. Not once have I ever let my weapon go during a mission,” Reed barked as he placed his rifle down. From the direction of the tunnel, two lines of zombies turned to the side. They stood shoulder to shoulder with their brethren, creating an opening. A tall zombie walked confidently toward them. He wore black cowboy boots, blue jeans, and a black leather trench coat that went down to his knees.

“What the bloody fuck…?” Overland hissed. He glanced down to the weapon, wondering if he should save everyone the trouble and put as many rounds into the specter as he could before they all fell. No sooner had he thought that when a zombie came through the circle and gathered the guns. The major had never felt more vulnerable in his entire life.

“Names do not mean anything to us now, but I am the one you call Dewey.” The zombie stood five feet away.

“What assurance do I have my man will be all right?”

“My safety is his safety. I die, he dies. Let us go to the place with all the people.”

“Give the gunny all your water and food,” the major ordered as he emptied his pockets. “Ponchos too.” Overland could not get past the feeling that the creature was like this new world’s version of Typhoid Mary, but instead of only a twenty percent mortality rate, he would bring extinction.

Dewey waited patiently before leading the way. The zombies ahead turned as the ones to the rear had done before. They leaned in ever so slightly, sniffing at the humans as they passed.

“Nothing is to happen to the human. Anything tries to break through to get him, kill it,” Dewey said to the assemblage once they were through. The zombies all turned their backs to Forsyth, their fixed gazes out in front, watching for threats.

“He’s in a fucking prison made of zombies.” Baggelli could hardly believe it. “God help us.” The last words spoken before they departed the area.

“No flying machine,” Dewey said as they came up to the airplane.

“This is our transportation to Etna,” the major said.

“Vehicle only.”

“It’ll take days to get there. With this, we’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Vehicle,” Dewey said.

“A fucking squishy afraid to fly. Seen it all,” Baggelli said. “Bullshit. We just force him and get back!”

“If lose communication with others, your man will die,” Dewey said.

“I don’t think you’re understanding the distances involved,” Overland said. “You won’t be able to stay in communication anyway.”

“On ground yes. In flying machine no. Choose now.”

“Shit. Major Cook, can you radio base and tell them there’s been a change of plans?” Overland said to the pilot. “Bags, Kendall, hurry up and find me the fastest transportation.”

“We’re taking orders from him now?” Baggelli looked as if blood vessels in his head were going to burst.

“Do it, Corporal. If I wanted to hear your response, I’d ask for it!” Overland said forcefully.

“Bullshit,” Baggelli said as he and Kendall took off.

Within a few hours, they were on the road in an extended cab pick-up truck. Dewey rode in the bed. Every few miles, Overland saw zombies standing on the side of the road, and he immediately knew how Dewey planned on staying in touch with the horde surrounding Forsyth. They would pass messages like a game of Chinese Whispers, or Telephone, as they called it when he was a child. He could only hope that nothing was lost in translation amongst so many players. They drove day and night to get back as soon as possible. When they were twenty miles out from the base, they were met with a specially equipped transport. Overland convinced Dewey that he would have to enter the base in the cage they’d brought out for him. Instead of protesting, he’d gotten in without a complaint. Once he was brought into Etna and Overland had a minute, he went to talk to Forsyth’s wife. She’d cried and she’d been angry—not at his decision, but rather at her husband’s.

“You get him back for me, Jim, you owe him that much,” she’d said as she closed the door.

“On my life,” was his response. Whether or not she heard him over her wracking sobs, he couldn’t tell. His next stop was to the colonel’s office.

“Major Overland, come in,” the colonel said as he walked past the other man and into his office. “I thought you’d be back sooner…great work getting the zombie. I got the communique regarding Gunny Forsyth; I was sorry to hear it. He was a good man.”

“Sir, as far as I know, he’s still alive. I’d like to go back and get him.”

“Impossible, Major. If he were alive, your decision to drive the zombie back would have been his undoing. There is no way they did not…well, you can see where this is going, without me having to spell it out for you.”

“Colonel, you’ve commanded the gunny for over a decade. We can’t just leave him out there like a sacrificed goat. We owe it to him to, at least, retrieve his body—if it has come to that.”

“We both know what happened, Major, and I cannot afford what it would take just for you to clear your conscience.”

“Sir, Dewey promised as long as he was safe, so would Forsyth be.”

“That’s rich, Overland. Are you seriously going to stand there and tell me that you believe what a zombie told you? Gunny Forsyth was a good soldier, and he will be missed dearly. Costs of war.”

“Sir…”

“We’re done here, Major.”

Overland left quickly before he said something that landed him in hot water.

1

Mike Journal Entry 1

“Horse shit, horse shit, horse shit.” If I'd had a tin cup, I would have been smacking it against the bars.

“If you don’t stop that crap, I’m going to force you through the bars, headfirst.” BT was lying on his cot, eyes closed. The rest of the squad sat in their own thoughts.

“At least I’d be out of this cage. I don’t like being locked up.”

“You’d think after all the times you have been, you’d be used to it. Just think how safe people feel while you’re in here,” he said.

“Why aren’t you freaking out right now?” I asked him.

“Because you’ll get us out.”

“You’ve got company, Talbot,” Master Sergeant Wassau said as he came down the small hallway. BT turned his head to look.

Took me a second to recognize the man coming. “I know you—you’re the dickhead that brought Dewey in. Overland, right?”

Another man walking behind Overland looked like he was about to start punching random things. “It’s Major to you!” the other shouted, moving ahead aggressively. I backed up enough that if he threw a punch through the bars, I was going to grab his arm and maybe bend it in ways it wasn’t designed for.

“Fine, he’s Major Dickhead who brought Dewey in. Thanks for clarifying.”

I heard BT’s heavy sigh. “Good one, Talbot. Piss off the Navy SEAL while we’re in captivity.”

“Thank you, Master Sergeant, that will be all,” Overland said.

“Not supposed to leave guests unattended, sir,” Wassau stated.

“He’ll be fine,” Overland answered.

“More concerned about you, sir,” Wassau responded as he turned and left.

“Lieutenant Talbot, I’d like to talk.”

“I don’t know…I’m kind of busy at the moment, and I have a hair and nail appointment at three,” I told him.

“Will you just shut up for a second and listen to the man speak?” BT got off the cot and walked over next to me.

“Could you maybe have that one back up a little bit? I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. How could I have known it was his mom?” The corporal rushed the bars like I knew he would. He clipped the metal with his hand—must have hurt like hell—but that was nothing to what he was feeling when I started applying leverage to his arm. He was on his tiptoes, his teeth gritted.

“Could you please let Corporal Baggelli go?” Overland asked evenly.

“I could, but this is the most exciting thing that’s happened all day. Tell me you’re sorry.” I said to the corporal.

“Fuck you,” he hissed out.

“Talbot, let him go. That’s probably the best apology you’re going to get for the day,” BT said.

“Might be right.” I let his arm go and shoved him away. He was rubbing his elbow as he scowled at me.

“Bags, enough,” the major said when he saw his corporal reaching for his sidearm.

“Shooting people in a cell? I bet you kick puppies. I’m going to tell your mother about this later.”

“Out.” Overland pointed to the door. “Wait outside. I’ll take care of this.”

“Yeah…” I was about to say something else to stir the pot, BT’s elbow to my ribs knocked it out of me.

Overland waited until the door shut before he spoke. “I need your help, Lieutenant.”

“Unless it involves making shivs or license plates, I’m not sure what I’m going to be able to do,” I told him. I took a step to the side in case BT got any more rib poking ideas.

“Dewey has one of my men.” He spent the next ten minutes relating all that had happened in their ill-advised capture of Dewey, quite possibly the King of the Zombies.

“Bennington left your man high and dry like that?” BT asked. “Cold, man; that’s cold.”

“Listen, Major, I cannot even begin to tell you how sorry I am about Forsyth, and under different circumstances, I’d do all that I could to help, but that’s got to be what, fourteen, fifteen days ago? What makes you think he’s still alive?”

“The sats. You’ve been keeping an eye on him with the satellite,” BT said.

“I have. I’ve been doing everything that I can to covertly set up whatever I’d need to get back out there, but I’m running out of people I can trust, and Forsyth is running out of time. The divisiveness on this base is coming to a head…if I tell the wrong person, this whole thing gets shot down before it even starts.”

“So, you’ve got somewhere around five thousand zombies guarding your man. What do you have to counter that?” I asked.

“You can’t seriously be entertaining this notion, Mike. We go back to New York and who knows what Bennington will do to our families.”

“I’m just hearing the man out, BT, not like we’re going anywhere.”

“What if I could not only get you out of here but also all of your loved ones and friends?”

“I’d say someone’s been busy.”

“The gunny and I have been through some unimaginable hell together. I owe it to him to get him out of there. I could not live with myself otherwise.”

“I’m going to talk to my squad, Major, and if and only if, it’s a unanimous decision then we’ll go from there. And if it happens, I’m telling you right now, my squad is under my command, not yours.”

“I can agree to those terms.”

“Well, since you’re being so accommodating, I’d like to keep riding Baggelli for a little while longer.”

“Oh, please, sir. That would keep the LT off my back,” Kirby intoned.

“You might want to lay off the mother jokes,” Overland stated. I thought he was going to say something about how she had died a horrible death at the beginning of the z-poc while he had watched. Took a hard-right turn real quick, wheels off the ground and everything. “She’s on this base, and she’s a dead ringer for Marisa Tomei. Baggelli has punched or shoved more men away from her than I can count.”

“Marisa Tomei, you say? That makes it even better,” I said wagging my brow. BT shook his head; he did it enough in response to things I said that I was somewhat fearful he was going to shake something loose in there. “We’re going to huddle up now. Come back in a few minutes.”

I could tell Overland wasn’t thrilled with being dismissed like this, especially by someone so far down the military totem pole. I waited until the door closed.

“Thoughts?” I asked.

“Can we trust him?” Corporal Rose asked. “Other than him bringing in Dewey, everything else could just be a story.”

“For what reason?” Tommy asked.

“We try to escape and get shot. Saves a trial where all manner of juicy tidbits might come out,” I said.

“Shit, Talbot. The paranoia runs deep in you,” BT said.

“I don’t necessarily believe that; he seemed sincere enough, and I know that look of having lost people in combat, but we’d be foolish not to think our enemies capable of something like this. It would be preferable to all those aligned against us to get rid of us all at once, and, if we’re on a rescue mission, no questions would be asked. Like I told the major, either we’re all on board or none of us are. I want to take an informal vote to see where we are. BT?”

“No.” He did not explain.

When we were done, it was seven to two in favor; the only noes were from the aforementioned BT and my brother.

“Why a no from you?” I asked.

“Because BT said no and he’s huge; I figured once the fighting started, I’d want to be on his side,” Gary replied.

“Fair enough. BT?”

“I only said ‘no’ so there would be an out for any others. I know how you work, Talbot. You tell everyone it’s voluntary but you either lay the guilt on so thick it runs to the floor or you hold a proverbial gun to their heads.”

“Unfair, man. So, you’re a yes?”

“Anything that gets me more than five feet from you? I would think that would be self-explanatory.”

“Gary?” I prodded.

“Well, as you know, Mike, I don’t like to be wishy-washy…I already said no, and to change it that quick would make it look like I wasn’t vested in the outcome.”

“You’re not running for office, Gary,” I said.

He looked around at each face before he answered. “I’ve been wanting to go back to New York. Those M&M pajamas are the most comfortable thing I’ve ever slept in. Could use another pair.”

“Seriously, man? You want to go back for PJs?” BT asked.

“This coming from the man with the golden speedos,” Gary said out of the side of his mouth.

BT’s eyes gazed at the gray cement ceiling. “I have a reoccurring dream. In it, I live in a world without Talbots. Everyone is nice, sarcasm has been outlawed, there’s a harmony that can’t be matched.” He sighed dramatically.

“Boring, too. I bet it’s super boring. Okay, I’m going to get Overland back here. Everyone sure? Any concerns you want to voice? Because I’m thinking this is going to happen soon, and once it does, there will be no turning back.” I took a moment to let the words sink in and let my squad ruminate on the implications of their decision. “Nothing? Nobody has anything? I kind of never thought I’d see unanimous agreement with my thought process. So, I’m in the majority?”

“I don’t think you’re in the majority with the majority of people, sir, if you follow me,” Stenzel said. “It’s just that people tend to surround themselves with like-minded idiots.” She smiled.

“How the mighty have fallen, huh BT?” Gary asked him.

“I outrank you. I don’t think it’s against the Geneva Convention if I use your Adam’s apple as a punching bag. Right, Mike?”

“I think the Convention only applies to active combatants, so yeah, you’re probably fine,” I said.

Gary swallowed hard.

“Yo, Overland! We’re ready!” I yelled.

“You realize he’s a major, right?” Stenzel asked.

“Meh,” I shrugged.

“You’re not setting a good example for the enlisted,” Gary whispered.

“You already have BT looking to spar with your neck; how far are you going to keep pushing it?” I asked.

“Just saying.”

Overland came back. “Your answer?”

“We’ll help on the condition that we’re there to see that our families get placed safely.”

“That won’t work. I’ve already got certain elements in position; having you there will only complicate matters.”

“Listen, Major, if all the elements of your story are factual, then I truly sympathize with you. However, the only facts I can absolutely authenticate are that I saw you bringing Dewey in. I don’t know you. We don’t hang out. I’ve never even raised a beer with you. Until proven otherwise, I don’t trust you. And if I don’t trust you, I’m most definitely not going to trust the safety of their families, my family and friends, with you. It’s not going to happen. We’ll be there when they get out, or we’ll be here awaiting trial. The ball’s in your court.”

“I know that vein.” BT was pointing at Overland’s head, where a dark blue ribbon was cutting its way down his forehead as he clamped back whatever vitriol he wanted to unleash. “Happens to me all the time, Major. Make sure you take some aspirin…all that teeth-grinding is going to give you a headache.”

Overland didn’t spare BT a glance. “Relay to your family to be ready to go tonight,” he said before turning to leave.

“It’s surprising you don’t get along better with Deneaux,” BT said.

“I don’t even know where you’re going with this one, but I’m listening.”

“Because you always get off on the wrong foot with everyone you meet!” He started to crack up, I mean, to the point where he couldn’t even talk. My squad and I were looking around, trying to figure out the joke. I was slightly embarrassed for the man.

“Because…” He guffawed for a few minutes more. “Because she’s…a snake! Ah hah hah!” He was squeezing tears past his closed eyelids. “Doesn’t have feet….get it?” He smacked Gary and kept on laughing.

I gave him a half-hearted snort. “Funny. Not your best, but funny. Major, can you send Wassau back here?” I asked. I needed him to get Tracy here, to let her know, and to see what she thought about all of this.

2

Mike Journal Entry 2

“Leave? Just like that? Where will we go?” she asked.

“I don’t know…he didn’t say, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t want to tell me. Must be a safe house or something he didn’t want to blow the cover of, in case I told him no.”

“Oh, Mike, I thought…” she looked away, “…I thought this might be the place. What happens once you have Forsyth back?”

“I don’t know, hon, it’s hard in this world to plan out the next day, much less the next month. And we’ll have to get Avalyn out of the medical facility; that’ll be tricky. I don’t think they’d hurt her, but who the hell knows? And even if that’s not the case, they’re not going to just let her go.”

“You’re right, I know you’re right—it’s just that the kids…they’re making roots…they have lives, girlfriends.” Tough to say which of us was closer to being on the verge of tears.

Dark thoughts crept in and I could not stop them. Two people stood in the way of my family’s happiness; what gave them the right? After Overland sprang us, what was truly going to stop me from hunting them down and ending this? Morals, mostly, but those can be overcome, even if not forgotten.

“I want to stay; I want them to stay.”

Uh oh, went through my head; I’m sure it showed up on my face as well.

“You get the gunny, you come back, and you deal with this.”

“My entire squad and myself are going to be fugitives.”

“Like the A-Team!” Kirby shouted out.

Stenzel whacked him upside the head. “Shut it.”

“Deneaux has threatened your safety, and I don’t have a clue what Bennington is capable of,” I said.

“Seems to me like you have a problem.” Wassau was leaning against the door into the cell area; he was rolling a toothpick around.

“How much do you know?”

“I know you’re escaping later today. Relax. I’ve known Overland for years; saved my bacon once…suppose it’s time to pay him back. If your family wants to hole up here until you get back, this detention center is the safest place. I’ll personally watch them. I’ll have Tabitha keep a close eye on Avalyn until we can get her out.”

“See, it’s settled,” Tracy said. In her mind, I guess it was. Not in mine, though.

“So, you’re just going to hang out in a dirty jail until I get back?”

“Dirty? I clean these things every week.” Wassau seemed indignant.

“I’m having a real hard time talking about escape in front of the warden,” I said to him.

“Keep it down. I don’t want Sergeant Sorrens to know…he’s pretty straitlaced.” Wassau looked over his shoulder.

“Sorrens? I don’t think you know him that well,” Rose quipped.

I shook my head at her. “Some things we keep to ourselves,” I told her.

She shrugged.

“You’re going to be gone for a couple of days, maybe less. I think you need to give me more credit,” Tracy said.

“I know you’re as tough as nails, woman. It’s me that’s the wet noodle when I think you’re in trouble.”

“So, this is about you?” She let out a half-laugh.

“It’s always about him,” BT said, and Gary gave an “Amen.”

“I love having party-line conversations.” I gave them all the evil eye, hoping they’d be quiet.

“Well, since you already know what’s going on, how do the rest of you feel? We all have people here we care for; I don’t like thinking we’d give our enemies any leverage. This place might be secure, but what if a full-scale attack is launched?”

Rose looked to Kirby. “I’ll be alright, sir,” she said, shifting her gaze my way.

“Umm, yeah. Me too, sir,” Kirby piped up.

“Super sly, you two,” I said. Rose looked embarrassed, Kirby proud. Yeah, I got that. When you grasp higher than your station, you should be proud. Lord knew I was.

“I feel like I’m stating the obvious, Mr. T, but everyone seems to be missing it,” Tommy said. “How will we keep from getting shot the moment we step off that plane upon our arrival?”

“Might have to jump early.”

Gary looked like he was about to cry, and, considering his last landing, he couldn’t be blamed.

“Let’s bundle up all these facts right quick before we all jump off the Talbot Bridge,” BT stated. “We’re currently awaiting trial for treason or subterfuge or a coup gone bad. We’re going to escape, fly to a heavily infested area to save a person…oh, did I mention it’s clear across the entire country? Then, presuming we do escape this cell and we’re not shot immediately and the plane we’re taking over there isn’t shot down, us and a squad of SEALSs are going to have to overpower five thousand zombies…”

“Take a breath buddy; your sentence is a run on,” I told him.

“Oh, I’m just winding up,” he started. “So. Presuming we survive all of that and cross the country again, we’re going to parachute out, find our way back onto base to confront Deneaux, her council, Bennington, and his troops and an Einsteinian zombie named Dewey. While in the background, all of those we love and care for will be dealing with the fallout of our departure and our treasonous acts with which they are complicit, by the way. Whew.” He wiped his brow. “Does that about sum it up?”

“Fuck, man. When you say it like that, it does sound daunting,” I told him. “And this is exactly why I don’t plan shit out. Can you imagine taking all those variables into account? You’d never get anything done. Seriously, though, you all heard the gunny. Any one of those things could go sideways in a hurry. If you have doubts, you can stay.”

I was proud that, to a man or woman, they were in for the whole white-knuckle ride. I could only hope that none of them paid for the crazy that BT said swirled around me like Pigpen’s dust cloud.

Overland came back a few hours later. “Everything is in place. I’ll be back at midnight.”

“Umm, there’s a problem.” I had my finger up as in a “point needs to be made” gesture.

Heard something along the lines of “What now?” or “Fuck me.” Same thing, really.

“My wife says she’s not going; she’s not pulling the kids from here.”

“And you?”

It was funny, in a way. I hadn’t thought of myself; I’d already told the major I was going, so I’d not thought to back out. Overall, didn’t seem like the worst idea.

“I’m still in.”

“Are you sure? Have you thought this through? We’re all going to be fugitives. My team, your team, the pilot and his team.”

“Eastman?”

Overland gave me a look, like, how did I know. “Doesn’t matter. Once you break out of here and we leave the base, we’re gone, personas non grata. We will have burned this bridge. Bennington will have orders to shoot on sight, and I imagine he’ll get plenty of enthusiasts.”

“What if Bennington was no longer in the equation?”

“A mutiny or a murder? I’ll take no part in it.”

“High road now? I’m not into murdering the man, but the pressure, I think, has gotten to him. That and the snake-like Deneaux.”

“The Civilian Board leader? What can that woman possibly have done?”

“That’s how good she is,” BT said in all seriousness. “He doesn’t even suspect her capable.”

“Most of what is going wrong with this base lies at her feet,” I told him.

“What lays at whose feet?” Deneaux sauntered in. She had a small box in her hands.

I nodded to myself. I had a moment where I believed this entire thing to be a set-up from the start. Bennington would come in next and say he was adding sedition to the list of charges already being brought forth. If Overland stepped close enough, I was going to crush his windpipe for this.

“Ma’am,” Overland said.

“Ma’am? Weird way to address a reptile,” I said.

“Major,” Deneaux smiled at Overland as she walked past. “I brought you a present, Michael, something to show no hard feelings before your trial.”

“Yeah, bring it closer.” I was an equal opportunity throat crusher.

“Perhaps that would not be wise. I will open it for you.” The box was wrapped in silver paper and had a black bow tied upon the top. Looked fairly fancy. She slowly undid the ribbon and pulled the top off. She reached in and pulled out what I thought was a navy blue bag. She then turned it upside down to show me the initials MT stitched into the fabric.

“Fine, I’ll bite. What the fuck is it, Deneaux?” I asked.

“Why it’s the hood that goes over your head for the hanging! I had it monogrammed for you. I thought you might like the feel of fine silk against your skin before the noose snaps your neck and your feet dance around wildly.”

“Holy shit,” Overland said.

“Told you,” BT replied.

“What? You wrapped the rope around your neck yourself, Michael. You should be the least surprised of all when someone decides to open the floor beneath you.” She had turned the hood so she was looking at the lettering, smiling as she ran a finger across it. “This is top-notch work; paid a pretty penny for it, but quality is always worth the price.”

“You in on this shit?” I asked Overland.

“In on what?”

That was good enough for me.

“Wassau!” I yelled.

“Fuck, Talbot! I’m in the middle of a drink.” He was wiping the corner of his mouth, what he’d spilled as he hustled in.

“You’re always in the middle of a drink. Let me the fuck out of here.”

“Right now?” He looked to Deneaux.

“Don’t worry about her.”

“This isn’t the plan,” Overland stage whispered.

Deneaux was absolutely clueless as to what was happening, but she was savvy enough to realize whatever it was, wasn’t in her favor.

“Adapt and overcome.”

“You Marines and your supposed wits. Make shit up as you go and then find witty ways to cover your asses,” Overland said. “She’ll blow this entire thing up in our faces.”

“Not if she’s coming with us,” I said as Wassau fumbled with the keys.

“I’ll just leave you with this…” Deneaux dropped my hood on the floor and headed for the door just as Corporal Baggelli showed up.

“Don’t let her go,” Overland and I said at the same time.

“Michael, surely this isn’t what you want to happen…?” Deneaux queried.

“Oh no, you’re right,” I said as I stepped out of my cell, bent over and grabbed the cloth. “I’d much rather find my way to the gallows and don this fucking thing. You’re a sick person, Deneaux, and I think it’s high time you were dealt with.” I shoved the cloth into her chest and didn’t let go until she grabbed it. “Maybe hold onto this; you can kee
p it as a souvenir, a way to remember where you went wrong.”

“You going to push her out of the plane?” Kirby asked.

“Can’t. Witches fly,” BT said.

“And float,” Gary added.

I wanted to fist-bump them, especially since it would have distracted me from wanting to send a few fists into Deneaux’s face. I detested violence against women, even snake-women, but shit if she didn’t necessitate a change in my thinking, or, at least, a one-time exception.

“What’s with all the festivities?” Another SEAL came in, a PFC Reed. Although all things considered, he was the oldest private I’d ever seen, and he had a swagger that belied someone of that rank.

“What are the prisoners doing out of their cell?” Sergeant Sorrens pushed past Reed and Baggelli and was standing next to Deneaux.

“Help me, young man! All of these people here are in collusion for some sordid and dastardly deeds and I’ve been physically threatened.”

“Dastardly? Is that a word? Saw it on a cartoon once, thought they made it up,” Grimm said.

Deneaux moved lightning quick, like the predator she was. Grabbed Sorrens’ sidearm straight out of his holster before he even had a chance to look down. Of course, that unwavering barrel was pointed at me. She placed her back against the wall, seemingly checking everyone out while never taking her gaze away from me. “I’ve asked myself hundreds of times since we’ve met, Michael, how you always manage to obtain allies in the unlikeliest of places and are somehow able to escape even the unlikeliest of circumstances.”

“And yet, for some reason I cannot even begin to fathom, Vivian, you keep throwing your lot in with any side other than mine.”

“Oh, that’s not true, my dear.”

I winced at the gesture of familiarity.

“We had a good run there for a while, you and me. I consider those the good old times.”

“Only you would,” I told her.

“We could rush her, sir,” Stenzel said.

“No need,” Sorrens said as he coolly approached Deneaux.

I winced again when Deneaux turned the weapon slightly to make sure the safety was off before she pulled the trigger. I thought the bullet that was going to do me in would sound like a thunder crack. But instead it was the cold metallic click of a firing pin striking an empty chamber.

“Not loaded.” Sorrens snagged the pistol from her roughly.

“Worth a try,” Deneaux shrugged—not as if she’d tried to blast a hole in my forehead, but like she’d tried to pull a trick play in a youth football game and it had not gone as planned.

BT let out a big breath, I think, for all of us.

“The master sergeant doesn’t like me to have a loaded weapon in the jail area, since that one time,” Sorrens said, not elaborating.

“Glad to see Barney Fife is alive and well,” I said. “And nobody better ask who that is!” I cut Kirby off at the pass.

Reed had his sidearm out and pointing at Deneaux’s head.

“You realize I’m the Chairperson for the Civilian Board,” she told him coolly.

“Yeah, like I give a shit,” he told her. I liked him already.

“Master Sergeant?” Sorrens was going back to his original question.

“They’re breaking out,” Wassau told him. “I’ve been beaten up, you’ve been overpowered, and they’ve escaped.”

“What? But you’re fine.”

“Tough getting good help these days,” I told Wassau. “Hell, I’m stuck with Kirby…maybe we could make a trade.”

“Hey!” Kirby realized he was the butt of my joke.

“They’re not really making much of a go at this whole escape thing,” Sorrens said.

“Major, I’m going to need a black eye, preferably not a broken nose. I could take a busted lip, I think…I’ve drunk enough anesthetic.” Wassau squared his body to Overland.

“Someone want to catch him?” Overland asked.

“Now, just wait a goddamned minute. Nobody is punching my master sergeant and definitely not escaping.” Sorrens wasn’t picking up on anything.

“I have to pick the dolt who doesn’t even load his gun. Listen you fool, everyone besides you and I are in on it. Your beloved master sergeant is helping this treasonous band of miscreants to escape and cause who knows what kind of terror to this base,” Deneaux explained.

“Is this true, Master Sergeant?” Sorrens asked.

“He doesn’t even drink,” Wassau said. “Screw it, Major. Hit me hard enough to put me out; give me a little bit of a reprieve.”

Sorrens deftly dropped the empty magazine from his pistol and was reaching for what I would imagine was a full one from his duty belt.

“Don’t,” I told him.

“And why the fuck wouldn’t I?” Although he did stop as he asked the question.

“Don’t make me tell everyone here about…”

“About what? That you’re escaping?”

“About our, you know, business arrangement.”

“Business arrangement? What the fu…but that’s private! Everything you sold to me you said was in strictest confidentiality!”

Stenzel coughed and turned her head, clearly embarrassed for the man. Didn’t help the matter at all that Rose was having a difficult time hiding her laughter.

“What is going on?” Easy enough to see Overland was pissed.

I made a circle with one hand and with the pointer finger from my other hand, I made the universal gesture for screwing.

Sorrens face turned beet red. He walked up to me and handed his pistol over before stepping into the cell I’d just vacated.

“Let’s get this over with,” Wassau said. Telling you right now, Overland took out his frustration on Wassau’s face. Hit him good; I was surprised how well the master sergeant took it.

“Son of a bitch,” he said, spitting blood as he walked it off before joining Sorrens in the cell, who had turned his back to us.

“And her?” Overland asked, referencing Deneaux.

“She’s coming with us.” I grabbed her upper arm. “Isn’t that right, Vivian?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Michael,” she positively cooed.

3

Mike Journal Entry 3

“What the hell was that all about?” Overland asked as we climbed aboard our getaway truck.

“Sorrens has a proclivity for rubber women, and I just happened to find a warehouse full of them. He’s probably my best customer. Rose?” I asked my corporal, as she was responsible for the bookkeeping.

“By a country mile, sir,” she said. “I have him down for fourteen sales.”

“Fourteen? Has his own silicon harem. Rose, remind me not to go to his house for dinner.”

“Will do, sir,” she responded.

“You’re the one bringing those in?” Overland asked.

“I supply a product for a need. And if you think about it, my side business just saved us some dirty business in there.”

“How are you my best option?” Overland asked.

I was amazed when it was Deneaux that answered. “You’d be surprised,” was what she offered.

“Little late to start cozying up, isn’t it?” I asked her.

“What are your plans for me?” she asked, reasonably, once we got underway.

“Not entirely sure, but I’m going to keep you guessing. As long as you think you can slither away from this at some point, you’re less likely to do something rash,” I told her.

“Is this wise, taking her?” Overland asked.

“It is. If she’s solely in charge, none of her lackeys are going to make a move without her say-so, which means my family and friends are safe. If we come back and they’re in jail, then we know Bennington is behind this whole fiasco, or in cahoots.”

“It’s cute when you play at intrigue, like a babe with a big boy tool set.” Deneaux had lit a cigarette. “The things you don’t know could fill a warehouse,” she mused.

“Glad to see you’re enjoying yourself,” I said, noting her smile and her general demeanor. “We have time together, maybe you could fill me in.”

“What fun would that be? When learning new lessons, it is better to discover on your own than to be led to an answer.” She was still smiling, and I didn’t like that at all. Somewhere in her arsenal, she always carried an ace up her sleeve.

“Grabbed these from the jailhouse.” I showed her a shiny set of cuffs. “Let me know if they’re too tight,” I told her as I roughly grabbed her right hand from her lap. “I don’t give a shit, but I might get a smattering of extra satisfaction.” There was the familiar ratcheting sound as I closed the loop and then proceeded to do the same with the left. I was surprised when she didn’t protest with some bullshit like “what could a frail old woman do” or something along those lines, but she’d already pulled a pistol and threatened to kill me, so it wasn’t like anyone here wasn’t fully aware of what she could do.

“I realize on some level this is a game for you, Vivian, that you get your rocks off on this shit. But I’m done. I have always, for some unfathomable reason, given you the benefit of the doubt, over and over. And every single time, you make me pay for that. So, I, in part, am responsible for the path of destruction you have hewn, and I’m pretty sick of racking up guilt. Nothing? Not going to say how I’m being overly dramatic?”

“I’m scared, Michael. I’m afraid of what you might do to me if you feel provoked.” Her eyes glanced at Overland.

“Good one,” I told her, slapping her thigh. “Damn, you’re good alright. Instead of being a murderous fuck-wad, you should have been an actress. Overland’s not buying your shit.”

“M…major?” Deneaux raised her handcuffed hands.

“As a commander of SEALs, I’ve found myself on the Hill more times than I care to count. I would have never thought the capital of our great country would become more dangerous than being deep in the heart of enemy territory. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen so many knives buried into the backs of opponents. Anyway, sorry…I realize I’m traveling off course. I’ve met with many senators over the years, but the one that I remember after all these years is Senator Deneaux.”

Vivian registered shock only in the corner of her lip, which pulled downward for a fraction of a second. Beyond that, she was a statue.

“We were at the Members’ Dining Room, a famous watering hole at the Capitol,” he clarified.

“I’m well aware,” Vivian fairly hissed.

“Senator D. was tossing them back like he was mad at his liver,” Overland said, “started talking.”

“Man could never hold his liquor,” Deneaux smirked. “You have no idea the number of messes I had to clean up after him.”

“Quite the talker, too,” Overland continued.

Deneaux’s lips pursed tight.

“Went on and on about his battleaxe of a wife, how she was the reason he was a senator and also why he drank. He said you could spit venom from one side of your mouth while smooth-talking someone with the other. He confided in me that he was terrified of you, and that if anything ever happened to him, odds were that it would be you behind it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Deneaux said dismissively.

“It gets better,” Overland said.

“Do tell.” I leaned forward.

“I’d just finished a mission in Afghanistan and was at the Pentagon when we started getting word of the zombie invasion. A strange twist of fate this was, but I was tasked, along with some other teams, with getting all of the higher government officials to safe zones or bunkers. Any guesses who my first target was?” Overland asked.

“No way!” I leaned back quickly, like I’d been watching a blockbuster movie and they’d just thrown in a huge twist.

“Who was it?” Gary asked.

“Seriously?” BT asked him.

“Well, of course, we know it was Senator Deneaux, but I need him to say it,” Gary replied.

“Don’t ruin this for me, brother,” I told him.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll keep quiet.” He was squirming around in his seat like a five-year-old waiting for his parents to finish eating so they can get to dessert.

“Found him, drink in hand, dead with a bullet to the head and an ashtray full of cigarette butts. I suppose if the world had gone on as it had been, you would have found yourself charged with murder, though I’m sure you would have had enough dirt on some higher-ups that the whole thing would have been dismissed. You would have got the fortune he took from you back, probably even found yourself living in the home you murdered him in,” Overland stated.

“I bet the chair she killed him in would become her favorite,” BT said.

“Is that true, Deneaux? You kill your husband?” I asked.

“He was my ex.”

“Not an answer.”

She was decidedly tight-lipped.

“You ever worry about the convention of ghosts you’ve created coming back to haunt you?” I asked.

“Don’t sit there, Michael, and pretend you don’t have your own contingent.”

She was right, I couldn’t even argue with that.

“Anyone threatens you or your family, they must be dealt with, correct?” She was leading. “The only difference between you and I is that I take satisfaction from knowing that I bested my enemies, where you harbor guilt for the same thing. I mean, I can’t even imagine what you’re going through in regard to Corporal Collier.” She gave me a sharp look.

“Collier? The one that the colonel said had possibly gone AWOL?” Overland asked. “…Lieutenant?”

How much did Deneaux know? And by getting rid of the corporal, had I unwittingly done her a favor? A loose end tied up?

“He tampered with our gear and weapons on our last mission, not to mention he tried to kick my head off,” I stated, not so much as a justification, merely as fact.

“I wondered if he’d be able to get some shots in.” Deneaux was smiling.

“Those are some serious charges. Why didn’t you bring them up with the colonel?” Overland asked, ignoring the grinning snake.

“She just answered the question. He was connected. What do you think would have happened to him or me if I had?”

“So, you killed him?”

“No, should have, wanted to. Took him a good way away from the base and dropped him off, even left him a weapon and some ammo. Up to him to survive; told him not to find his way home.”

Overland was shaking his head. “I feel like I barely know the base.”

The truck stopped abruptly with a squealing of brakes, and I was momentarily thrown into Deneaux; felt some slight disgust as I brushed up against her perceived scales. I was worried about how quickly we’d stopped, that maybe we were being met by a bunch of MPs. Could hear the drone of a plane engine as it was being started. Overland moved us quickly onboard.

“Hello, co-conspirator,” I said to Eastman’s back. He may have bristled, though he did not turn or say anything—nothing I heard, anyway.

“Major Eastman, I require your assistance. I am being illegally detained, bordering on kidnapping,” Deneaux said as she stopped at the entrance to the cockpit. Overland grabbed her shoulder and moved her toward the back.

“Not gonna quit, are you?” I asked.

“Would you?”

I shrugged, had me there. One thing Deneaux wasn’t, was a quitter. Odds were she was going to battle death when the time came, and the bet was even money on the victor.

“We’re on a plane now; could you remove these?” She held her restrained arms up. “Not like I can go anywhere.”

“Not happening, and if you move from that spot, I’m going to handcuff you to the webbing behind you. Gonna suck, standing up for the entire flight.”

We took off quickly and were climbing at an angle better suited for rockets. Whatever Eastman was doing, he was in a rush to do so. When we finally started to level off, I undid my seatbelt in the hopes of flagging down a flight attendant and getting a drink or maybe just go and talk to BT. That was when I noticed one of Eastman’s crew coming back. “Major Overland, Major Eastman would like to talk to you.”

I followed them to the cockpit. “You realize he was talking to me, right?” Overland asked.

“Well aware, but as a commander of a team here, pretty sure I should hear the shitty news you’re about to get, firsthand,” I replied.

Eastman looked past Overland at me; if he wanted me to go back, he didn’t say anything. “I thought we’d get further before we were discovered. We’re being ordered to turn back.”

“If we don’t?” I asked.

“Bennington is prepared to send the Apaches our way,” Eastman responded.

“Can’t we outrun them?” I figured that was a valid question.

“It’s not the helicopter I’m worried about but the missiles it can carry.”

“Can’t you delay them long enough to get out of range?” Overland asked.

“Doubtful. They’re already spinning up and will be airborne soon. He knows as well as I do that I comply now or we’ll be gone,” Eastman said. “I thought you should know that we are all very much in danger for possibly the next fifteen to eighteen minutes, depending on how quickly they gear up and get moving.”

“How do you feel about our odds?” Overland asked.

“This one is up in the air,” Eastman replied.

“Two birds are up,” Major Jackson said, looking at his instrumentation.

“We’re in this to the end, I just thought you should know that it could be over before it’s started,” Eastman stated.

“He’s willing to shoot down one of his planes, a pilot crew, a SEAL team, and my squad?” I asked.

“You’ve got to look at it from his point of view. Your squad has escaped prison, and we’re stealing a very valuable piece of equipment. What should his response be?” Eastman retorted.

“Lieutenant, do you want me to scrub the mission?” Overland asked me.

“As he said, we’re in it to the end, Major. All we were doing in that jail cell was biding our time until they proverbially hung us…or is it literally? They the same word?”

“This isn’t going to make the charges against you any better or go away, no matter how it turns out.”

“Didn’t figure it would, but now I get to deal with them on my terms and not theirs, whether it’s Deneaux, Bennington, or the both of them in some weird form of collusion.”

Eastman flipped a button so we could hear comm from Etna. “Major Eastman, this is Colonel Bennington. I am ordering you to turn that plane around—this will be your last warning.”

Overland nodded to Eastman before the man spoke. “Sir, as I’ve told you before, my crew and myself have been hijacked. If I attempt to turn around, we’ll be shot.”

“Let’s cut through the bullshit, Eastman,” Bennington said. “Overland would no sooner shoot you than he would his wife.”

I pointed to myself. “Blame me,” I mouthed.

“Sir, it’s Lieutenant Talbot holding us hostage.”

“Goddamn it! Get him on this phone!”

I was shaking my hands back and forth while also backing up. “Fuck, no,” I said softly.

Eastman looked sternly at me and thrust the comm my way.

I mouthed the word “motherfucker” before I snagged it from him. I placed a false smile upon my lips. “Colonel!” I said cheerily. “How’s it going?”

“Talbot, what the fuck are you doing?” The question was so loud it created a squelching sound in the speakers. I looked at those with me and went with the truth.

“We’re going to get Gunnery Sergeant Forsyth, sir, you remember him, right? He was involved in your ill-designed plan to get Dewey.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end. “There are risks in every mission, Lieutenant.”

“I know that, sir, but he’s alive.”

I could about hear Bennington counting to ten, maybe a hundred, attempting to quell his anger before he spoke. “I sympathize with the loss of Major Overland’s man; it is regrettable, but how many are being placed in jeopardy for this rescue?”

“Not the point,” I answered. “If he’d fallen, that’s one thing, but he’s being held prisoner. That demands action on our part.”

Eastman tapped my side and pointed to the radar screen to show me the two helicopters heading our way.

“Colonel, we need to do this, you know that.”

Nothing.

“Whatever you believe about me, sir, I have no desire to run the base, to usurp your power, or do anything—other than making what we all call our home a better place.”

“Strange way of showing that.”

A panel flashed red; it was an active weapons lock.

“Sir.” I did not want to be hit by a missile and find myself free-falling for thousands of feet before making an impact crater.

“Help me!” Deneaux yelled, she’d somehow come up to join our party. Grimm grabbed her shoulder and was pulling her back.

“Is that who I think it is?” Bennington asked. “Did you kidnap the leader of the Civilian Board?”

“Kidnapped sounds like an angry word. I suggested she come along for her own safety.” I said.

“Her safety?”

“Yeah, because if she didn’t come, I was going to kill her,” I said.

Overland sighed and turned away, palming his face.

“I want you to listen to me very closely, Lieutenant. I don’t know who’s involved or how you did it, but you’re going to turn that plane around. We’ll deal with all of this when you get back.”

“Which parts of all this, sir? The part where you didn’t honor your agreement with Avalyn? Or is it maybe having Dewey in the compound? Or maybe the part about my Private Springer, yeah, I know about him. Because those are on you, near as I can tell. The only thing I’ve done wrong is call you out on them. It’s not healthy when leaders round up the people who question their actions; that sounds more like the Soviet Union in the ’60s and ’70s, probably ‘80s too, I don’t know.”

“Bring that fucking plane back, Talbot.”

“It’s Lieutenant.”

“We’ll see about that,” he replied.

“And no can do, sir. First we’re getting Forsyth. After that we can talk.” I tossed the mic back to Eastman. “Guy gives me a fucking headache.” I walked away.

BT pulled the straps he was wearing tighter. Deneaux was glowering at me. Grimm had her in a seat and belted down.

“Your face is going to get stuck if you keep looking at me like that,” I told her.

Overland came back. “Parachutes. Now.” PFC Reed started tossing one to everyone, (even two to BT, which I thought was hilarious, the big man—not so much).

“He’s going to shoot us?” Kirby asked as I checked his straps.

“I’m hoping he has a moment of clarity before it gets to that.” I smacked his shoulder, letting him know he was good to go before I went to the next.

“What about me?” Deneaux asked.

“Oh, you and me are going to jump tandem. I hope the arthritis in my hands doesn’t flare up; I would hate to lose my grip,” I told her as I checked Grimm’s rig.

“Let me talk to the colonel,” she fairly begged.

“Not a chance. I can just about hear you telling him to grab my family and use them as leverage.” Her lips puckered. “Damn, woman! You must be scared! You don’t usually give yourself away so easily, or at all, really.”

“We’ve been through a lot, you and I, Michael.”

“We have. You’ve also put me through a lot.” I smacked Stenzel’s shoulder, to let her know she was okay.

“Doesn’t that count for something?” Deneaux asked.

“Deneaux, since this may be our last few minutes alive, why don’t we just cut right to it. Don’t you think the time for bullshit is through?”

There may have been a nod, or it could have been the slightest bump of turbulence.

“Why? Why have you been trying to kill me? Why do you want the base? Is not what we have there good enough?”

“It could be better.” She avoided nearly everything I asked.

“What? You want it called Deneaux-Ville?”

“Can you imagine the cost of the property tax?” BT asked.

“You want me to put this on her?” Winters asked, holding a chute.

“No, I was serious. She jumps with me. I don’t get some answers, we’ll see how well the Wiccan part of her can catch air without her broom.”

I could feel Winter’s gaze upon me; he was not a fan of tactics that involved harm. Tough to blame a person who’d dedicated themselves to helping others.

A light flashed as the back of the plane opened up. Deneaux looked in horror, like it was a monster rising from the depths. Overland was escorting everyone to the back. I undid Deneaux’s buckle and grabbed her arm; wisely, she didn’t pull away.

“Fine! Fine!” she screamed. “You want to know why I deserve to run that base? Bennington is an idiot. He couldn’t run a solar panel. As for getting rid of you, well, it’s because you would never stand by and let me do what I wanted. It’s as simple as that. Once you were dealt with, pushing that dolt Bennington over would have been no harder than a drunk toddler.”

“Come across many of those? Drunk toddlers, I mean?” I had to shout to be heard over the whistling of the wind blowing in from the back. “Bennington isn’t in on this, then?”

“He’s somehow slower than you, Michael. I only tell him what I need to. I’ve told you what you wanted to hear; I expect to land safely,” she said as we walked closer to the opening.

“Sir?” Overland said next to me. I hadn’t a clue who he was talking to. He hit the button that began the door closing process; the light flashed and an alarm chirped three times.

“Someone want to tell me what’s going on?” I asked. Deneaux sagged against the side of the plane as if finally telling the truth about anything had wholly wiped her out. Who knows, maybe it had. Trying something new can have that effect.

“You hear that, sir?” Overland asked.

“Who the fuck…” I said. Overland put his finger up.

“Loud and clear.” It was Bennington over the above speaker. “Lieutenant Talbot, I expect a detailed report upon your return. Feel free to trade Deneaux for Forsyth. Out.”

“What just happened?” Gary asked.

“I think us stupid military people just tricked a wily old fox into a cage,” I smiled.

“So, we’re good?” BT asked, looking around.

“I don’t know about good; we’re still facing off against a horde, but no missiles from helicopters, so that’s a plus. Kirby, go break open some MREs. I’m starving,” I told him.

“Leave the chute on?” he asked.

“Probably should; Eastman’s flying.”

Eastman shot a finger over his head.

“You set this up?” I asked Overland.

“Not from the beginning, but I saw the fear in her face. Figured we could still salvage some good out of this.”

“No chance you could have let me in on it?”

“While she wasn’t listening? I was hoping for genuine responses,” Overland replied.

“I could have done that,” I told him.

“Pul-lease,” BT said. “You couldn’t act at a puppet theater. Kids would be booing and hissing at how wooden the performance was.”

“What the hell are you talking about? If not for getting into trouble with the law when I was younger, I could have been a world-class actor. I have the roguish good looks to go with what would have been Shakespearean performances.”

“You are delusional. Just the other day I saw you trying to pretend your sister hadn’t served you a rotten toadstool and called it a cupcake; didn’t fool anyone.”

“Hey! Hey!” I shouted, pointing a finger at him. “No one is that good!”

“Now what?” Deneaux had found a seat and, I would imagine, was thinking of a way out of this latest turn of events. When hasn’t she been scheming?

“Vivian, I don’t know.” I was looking down at her, before sitting. “You’ve proven yourself an adept survivor. Leaving you alive, in even the worst predicament I can imagine, doesn’t benefit me.”

“Like with the sharks and the laser beams,” Kirby said.

“BT, will you shut him up.”

“He’s talking about Austin Powers, Mike. That’s a pretty funny scene; makes fun of the whole James Bond trope,” Gary felt the need to add.

“This shit. This is the shit I deal with and wouldn’t trade for the world. My family, my friends; we’re there for each other—to help. To pick them up, to laugh…. How do you go through life without that? There has to be a part of you that gets lonely.”

“I’m self-sustaining. Given enough time, everyone will let you down, every single one.” She made sure to look at my entire squad.

“It would be weirder if they didn’t. We’re not infallible; when whatever happens is said or done, then you move on, you mend the bridges.”

“Oh, spare me the forgive and forget line.”

“Is what it is, I suppose.” I stood. “Whatever happens today, you’re not going back to Etna. I’m not letting you have a trial; you’ll not have a pulpit for your poison. Right now, I’m leaning towards exile; I’ll give you the chance I gave Collier. Who knows? Maybe you two can find each other and shack up.”

The gears were spinning in her head, sure as I was standing there. Then there was a slight smile that played across her lips; I almost expected a forked tongue to dart out. She’d come across something that she liked, but I didn’t wait around to see what it was. Almost dying makes me hungry; I’m amazed I don’t weigh three hundred plus pounds.

Kirby was piling in something with a grayish hue that looked like cooked asbestos and smelled like it had undertones of Lysol. I’d wanted to eat; that changed my desire.

“Pretty decent day, all in all,” I said to BT and Winters as I sat down next to them.

“This was a decent day?” Winters asked.

“Not dead.” BT ripped into a package of stew.

“That’s the benchmark?” Winters looked confused.

“This is fucking horrible and wonderful.” BT was eating quickly. “It’s good to eat something that is still technically food,” he clarified.

My squad was out of jail, my family seemed to be safe, yeah, there were still problems, but they didn’t seem quite so daunting when you didn’t have a missile pointed at you.

“BT, I’m going to catch a few Zs…can you make sure Deneaux has eyes on her at all times? Better yet, just handcuff her to something.”

“Really, man? You can sleep right now?”

“Military trick,” I told him as I pulled my cover down to shield my eyes.

4

Mike Journal Entry 4

Must have been sleeping pretty good; I woke to Overland kicking my outstretched boots.

“Land in twenty—going to want to gear up,” he said as he passed me by and relayed the message.

I sat up groggily.

“Might want to wipe the drool from your mouth; that look doesn’t do you any favors,” BT said. He was standing, going through his gear.

I wasn’t coming out of the sleep fog quite as quickly as I would have liked. As my gaze swept over all the activity going on around me, I settled on Deneaux, who was still glowering at me and most likely had been the entire time I slumbered. I shivered, thinking on that visual.

“Hasn’t moved.” BT seemed to be cognizant of what I was thinking. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say she hates you. I can almost sympathize.”

“Har, har.” I stood; I was immediately going to do a nut scratch, refrained when I remembered my audience. “Screw it.” Scratched away and sighed with content.

Overland was in a huddle with his group when I approached.

“What’s the plan?” I asked.

“Pre-mission ritual, Lieutenant, we’ll be done in a moment,” Overland said as they all grabbed hands. The only female in his group, a Sergeant Walde, said a short but solemn prayer.

I felt like a third wheel, wasn’t sure if I should stay or go. Ultimately, I thought it better to check on my squad.

“They have two machine guns, LT, and some bricks of explosives, and that’s it.” Rose had gone through the equipment. “Not really seeing how we’re going to overpower that many zees.”

“Ammo?” I asked.

“For days,” Stenzel replied. “And before you ask, I checked it.”

I opened my mouth.

“We checked our weapons too,” Kirby added. “I don’t want anyone telling me to break my rifle down in an active war zone.”

“You can’t still be stuck on that old training manual stuff, can you?” I asked.

“If it was your ass on the line, sir, wouldn’t you be?” he asked.

“Fine. Winters, what about medical supplies?”

He gave me a thumbs-up as he rooted around in his backpack.

Overland and company came over a couple of minutes later. I noticed him look over at Deneaux before speaking.

“Don’t worry about her; I think she stroked out and is stuck that way,” I told him. “Gotta be honest, Major, I was hoping we’d have some sort of armored military vehicle.

“That’s where we’re in luck. We’re heading to the naval base in Saratoga Springs.”

“Not sure what we’re going to do with a sub,” I told him.

“Don’t mind him,” BT said. “He’s yet to figure out how to screen his thoughts before they come vomiting out his mouth.”

“They have armored vehicles there—namely, Strykers,” Overland said. “Looks like a fortified moon lander,” he added when I had what must have been a clueless expression on my face.

“That going to be enough?”

“It has a fifty-caliber machine gun mounted on top, heavily armored, weighs nineteen tons, and has eight tires. I think it will be fine.”

“Will it run?” Tommy asked, referring to how long the vehicle had been sitting in storage.

“That shouldn’t be a problem. Corporal Baggelli is one of the finest mechanics I’ve ever known.”

“Started boosting cars when I was twelve,” Baggelli said as he came up.

“I bet your mom could get you out of all sorts of trouble,” I said.

“Not rising to the bait,” Baggelli said, though I could see red fanning up his neck.

Overland continued before I could get the corporal swinging. “My unit will be inside the vehicle. We’ll blast or crush our way through the enemy and pick up our man.”

“And what’ll we be doing, looking for a decent sandwich shop?” I asked. “I can’t imagine you risked everything you did to bring us here so that we could be witness to your rescue.”

“We’re going to need a distraction.”

“I’m listening.”

“Think it will work?” BT asked after Overland spilled his plan and was finalizing with his group.

“Lots of danger involved on both sides, and…I don’t know. If Dewey left his horde those standing orders to protect Forsyth at all costs, I don’t know if we’re going to be able to pull any of them away. All we can do is try.”

“Oh, I just love these.” Rose was hugging a Claymore mine.

“Yo, Kirby—your girlfriend is nuts,” Grimm whispered into his friend’s ear. I just happened to be close enough to catch it.

“Say that a little louder,” I told him.

“Not a chance, sir. Can you imagine if she put one of those under my mattress?” Grimm looked pale.

“Be the biggest thing that happened in your bed in a while,” Kirby told him.

“I can’t imagine your ego being alright with playing second fiddle,” Deneaux said.

“Holy shit, BT! You hear that? Heckling from the cheap seats.” I had my hand up by my ear like I was having difficulty hearing her. “His personnel, his mission. I have no problem helping any way that I can. I realize that’s a foreign concept for you. Pretty sure you’re not going to be able to drive a wedge in now, not with the time you have allotted. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have important things I need to attend to, and you, Vivian, are not one of them.”

“You’re just going to leave me out here to die?”

“Would you rather I left you out to rot?” I asked before loading up.

“What are you going to do with her?” Overland asked as I was placing full magazines in every pouch I could.

“I figure we take her in the Stryker, drop her off about halfway to our goal and be done with it.”

“You’re okay with that? Just leaving her somewhere?”

“Major, I’m going to tell you with absolute honesty that she is arguably the deadliest person on this plane right now and has not a scrap of loyalty to anyone but herself. If I was a sharper crayon, I would shoot her, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I should. I know in my heart of hearts, I should.”

“Your call. You want to put a final nail in, I’ll understand. Your gunny filled me in on some of her exploits while you slept. You’ve already shown a restraint I don’t think I would be able to match.”

“That’s the thing about her; she kills, she saves, whatever it takes to preserve her hide. You want to believe she’s trying to be helpful, but that’s just not the case.”

“You think she’ll make her way back to Etna?”

“Not because she wants to, but more like she’ll be drawn to it.”

“You sure you don’t want to rethink your stance?”

“I’ve been cycling through it ten times a minute.”

“This is going to get interesting; you are all going to want to sit down and strap in.” Major Eastwood announced landing in five.

“What’s so interesting about this?” I asked Overland once I was in my seat.

“Landing in a county airport.”

“And?” BT asked.

“Short. Runway is short,” he told us.

“I flew first class a couple of times; I miss those days,” BT said.

Eastman lifted the nose of the plane dramatically, we could hear the whine of the engines as they fought against the drag he was applying.

“He trying to land this thing on its tail?” Kirby asked.

We leveled off just as the rear tires smacked onto the tarmac with bone-jarring impact. When the front wheels hit, the engine noise increased exponentially and the brakes were laid into heavily, forcing my body to the side to the point the straps were digging in and I was going to have to become worried about being entangled in them.

“Not stopping, Mike—how much room you think we have left?” BT asked. My head was nearly in his lap.

Just then, the plane began to ease up and my forced spinal bifida eased with it. “Fuck.” I looked up; Deneaux had still somehow not moved. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I told her.

Eastman shut down the plane quickly, trying not to attract too much attention, but anyone within a twenty-mile radius knew we’d landed. What they were going to do about it was the question.

“We’ve got eight clicks to get to the base,” Overland stated. I looked to Stenzel.

“Five miles, sir.”

“You were in the military before, right?” Overland asked.

“You could have just said five miles,” I told him.

“Stay away from metric, too, sir,” Stenzel said to the major. “Makes him angry.” My corporal was smiling.

“I’ll keep that in mind. My unit is going to double-time out, get the Stryker, and come back. For now, I’d like you to keep watch over this asset.” He tapped one of the wheels on the plane.

“Can do,” I told him. “Good luck.”

“SEALs don’t do luck,” Baggelli said as he passed by.

“Good. We’ll keep it for ourselves,” I told him. “Gonna give your mom a call, see how she’s doing.” He flipped me off.

“Everything must be all right in your world. Got your second finger of the day,” BT said.

“It does feel good; gives me a sense of normalcy. Stenzel, set up a guard rotation, and could you please make sure Romeo and Juliet here are on opposite sides of wherever you put them? I’m afraid a Yeti could walk by and they’d miss it while staring longingly into each other’s eyes…there’d be heaving bosoms and thrusting…well you know.” I was now embarrassed, considering the gathering.

“No sir, I don’t know. Perhaps you could explain it,” Stenzel said.

“You’ve got your orders.”

She was smiling.

“You just can’t even help yourself. All I can figure is you like the taste of boot.” BT was shaking his head.

Eastman and Major Jackson were going over the plane, blocking the wheels and visibly inspecting for damage.

“Everything good to go?” I asked as they came by.

“Besides being in hostile territory with no support, everything’s just grand,” Eastman said. “Plus, I’ve got to figure if and when we make it back, I’ll be busted down to captain. Optimistically.”

“Can’t fool me,” I told him. “You’re a fan of this covert crap.”

“I’m a fan of doing what’s right.”

“Fair enough.” I was watching Stenzel give the assignments. “She’s my best NCO by a mile; I think I’ll put her in for a promotion.”

“Thanks,” Winters said.

“I mean, besides you.”

“Thanks,” Tommy said.

“My best corporal or below, that work?”

“I can live with that,” Gary said.

“Going to have too many chiefs and not enough Indians pretty soon,” BT replied.

“Native Americans,” I told him.

“It’s an expression, and right now, I don’t think being PC is going to be a problem,” he said.

“I’ll see if I can get a jump for everyone, if that helps. I think a golden oak leaf would look good on my shoulders.”

“I don’t think you can go from a butter bar to a major; that’s not how it works.”

“Field promotion.”

“You can’t promote yourself.”

“Who’s going to tell me otherwise?” I asked him.

“You’ve lost your mind. Can you do something with your other ‘project?’” He pointed to Deneaux, who was about fifty yards away from the plane, smoking a cigarette, her hands still cuffed.

“Hello, Michael,” Deneaux said as I came up behind her.

“Vivian.”

“I’m about to smoke another one; could you light it? It’s difficult this way.” She raised her hands. She cupped my hands as she took a long pull, burned over an inch of the cigarette before she let go. She had to have been a deep seawater diver in another life. “When we all lived in Little Turtle I believed you to be a buffoon, when I thought of you at all.”

“I love when we have these reminiscing conversations; you always make me feel so good inside.”

“Well, what did you expect me to think? Walking your dog in shorts, in the winter, who does that?”

“I run hot,” was all I could think to offer in defense.

“Most likely from the frying of your brain.” She took a drag of her cigarette, made sure to send the secondhand smoke my way.

“Is there a point to this?”

“Do you believe in contingency plans?” She gazed with an unwavering stare.

A small but unpleasant butterfly began to wiggle around in my stomach, although I was still unsure of where this was going. “I live on contingency plans.” That was as honest a reply as I could give. Wasn’t very often that my first course of action went as desired.

“As do I.” She finally looked away and to the horizon. She finished her smoke and had me light another.

“You going to tell me what’s going on?” I asked after a moment.

“I have people and materials in place.” Again, she stopped short of actually telling me anything.

“Good for you.” I tried to sound indifferent, but that butterfly had hatched some larvae and they too joined in the wriggling.

“I don’t think you understand. I have people and munitions in place—should anything happen to me.”

“You’ve just flown across the entire country, and that’s the best you can do?” I was genuinely hoping for a tell to her bluff.

“I’m telling you this because there’s still time…time to prevent anything from happening, to the base, and, to those you love.”

I moved so fast, the blink of her eye appeared to be stop-motion animation. I wrapped a gloved hand around her neck and lifted her from the ground then pulled her in close. “Better start talking,” I told her as I squeezed harder on her windpipe.

“Lieutenant!” it was Eastman rushing toward me from the side.

Red was forming around Deneaux’s eyes as they began to bulge.

“Talbot.” BT had come close, but as of yet, had not interfered.

“Lieutenant Talbot, what are you doing?” Eastman asked.

“I would imagine skewing the scales in favor of Good,” I said. If I killed her, a great evil would be removed from the planet.

She was smiling, even as I choked the life from her, she was smiling, her tobacco-stained teeth shone dully in the sun.

“Put her down,” Eastman commanded.

Deneaux lightly rested her hands upon my arms; I didn’t know if she was getting off on the rough treatment, or if a part of her wanted me to kill her. Her lips were beginning to turn blue; bluer. By now, most of my squad was watching what was happening.

“Don’t,” BT told Eastman, who was reaching for his sidearm.

I realized if I finished this job, I’d never be able to get any more information out of her, though I wasn’t averse to a séance. At least she’d be dead.

I released my hand. She dropped to the ground roughly. Her hands went to her throat, and a deep, phlegm-filled raspy cough racked her body for the next few minutes. She was on her hands and knees by my feet, and, suddenly, for a moment, she was just a sad, frail old woman. I should have been feeling shame for my outburst, but the only thing I could muster was disappointment for not completing what I had started.

“You cough up any lung on my boots, I’m going to make you lick it off,” I told her.

“Lieutenant, have you lost your mind?” Eastman had bent down and was offering her water. I could clearly see the outline of my fingers on Deneaux’s neck; they were a bright red and rapidly heading to purple.

“Me? Ask the douche canoe you’re helping about the bombs she says she’s planted around the base.”

“What?” BT asked, moving closer. “Where?” he asked me, then looked to Deneaux.

She let out a small bark that could be attributed to a seal, an old one, before she launched into another coughing fit.

“Bombs?” Rose asked. “What kind of bombs?”

“She’s full of shit!” BT hoped his force of words would be the undoing to the unfolding nightmare.

“There are Claymore mines scattered throughout some of the common areas,” she said, sitting back on her legs.

“No way. You’re just saying that because you saw Corporal Rose with one,” BT said.

“Could be.” She rubbed her neck. “But what about the twelve IEDs that are out there as well? Each with five bricks of C-4 stuffed into metal suitcases, each with a remote detonator, keypad, and tamperproof trigger?”

“Rose?” I asked.

“Legit sounding enough,” she replied. “Doesn’t mean it’s true, though.”

“What kind of damage could that do?” BT asked.

“Each one could take down a good-sized building, no sweat,” Rose said.

Deneaux cough-laughed again. “You wouldn’t believe the number of places you can hide a suitcase.”

“Where the fuck are they?” BT was moving closer.

“It’s tough to say…with my advanced age, I’m not sure I remember….and were there twelve? Fifteen?” She shrugged, pushed Eastman’s water away, and grabbed her pack of smokes.

“Yeah, fuck you.” BT snatched them from her hand and crushed the box into tobacco and formaldehyde dust.

Venom shot from her eyes; I swear I could see it.

“She’s full of shit. Right, sir? She would have said something at the jail,” Kirby said.

“Get back on guard duty,” I told him without turning from the figure beneath me. “He has a point, Vivian. Why bother with coming on our little excursion if you could have unveiled this threat?”

“You wouldn’t have believed me.”

“Would have had a little more punch if you hadn’t had hours to think about it,” I told her.

“It’s a lie or it isn’t. Is this something you want to chance? Can you imagine the death toll if something happened to the school?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She flinched as I yelled at her; first normal and genuine reaction I think I’d seen so far. “So, the people you want to lord over, you would have no problem vaporizing them?”

“Fear is among the most efficacious ways to make people capitulate. Governments around the world have been doing it since the dawn of the monarch.”

“Queen Vivian, the Dastardly,” BT said.

“Has a ring to it.” She had Eastman help her stand. “I can give you a demonstration,” she said. “Relax…I’ll give a warning, and all the precious people can get to safety.”

“You care so little about humans, why in fuck’s name would you want to preside over them?” I asked.

“People need to be ruled over, to be commanded, and there may be no one better suited to do the difficult aspects of the job than I.”

“So what? You do your bomb display and we’re supposed to bring you back and make you President of Etna?” I asked.

“I’d hoped to come into power the more traditional route, buy my way in, you know pave the way with promises I had no intention of ever keeping. This will work too.”

“And if I just had the base swept for explosives?”

She laughed again. “Who are you going to trust? Obviously, whoever was knowledgeable enough to put a bomb together would most likely be involved in the potential removal. Anyone starts looking, they start going off, and Michael, I can assure you, the loss of life would be catastrophic. It is likely Etna would not survive the outcome.”

I was thinking on her words. Unwittingly, Deneaux had given me some valuable information. Good chance Rose knew every person on base with any knowledge of explosives—professionals, amateurs and wannabes. I think they met up every Wednesday, like the AV or Chess Club. Basically, nerds with the terrifying ability to blow shit up. When we got back, I was going to have her give me every name then round up the pyros for some in-depth questioning.

BT smacked my shoulder; I followed him a few yards away.

“You trust her?”

“Trust her?” I had to ask.

“You know what I mean. Has she done what she says she has?”

“It sounds like her; it also sounds like something she could have come up with to save her ass.”

“I say we let her do a demonstration. If she’s got a bomb, let her blow it. It would be one less we’d have to worry about, plus, easier to prove her sabotage to whoever cares.” BT said.

“Yeah, yeah…but I just want to kill her. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life, except maybe that time when I was sixteen and there was this 1970 Mustang, I wanted that pretty badly.”

“Mike.”

“Sorry, I…I think I’m losing my fucking mind. Here I was totally fixated on the damage Dewey could do; I had Deneaux as a distant second. I am always underestimating her or thinking that perhaps we have turned a corner and are somewhat on the same team. Why I can’t get it through my fucking head that she is never going to be anything other than evil incarnate is something I’m going to have to work on. You’re right. She proves her bluff or I’ll rip her kidney out through her belly button.”

“Something like that,” BT said.

I went back to Deneaux. “Fine, you can do your little demo. How does this work? How are you going to contact them?”

“I don’t have to do anything,” she sneered. “My inaction is the trigger.”

“Have it your way. Who do we need to evacuate?”

“Your wife has until eight pm Eastern time to remove any valuables from your home. If this were chess, Michael, I have just placed your king in check. Your move. And one more thing, have your large friend find me more cigarettes or I’ll let the second bomb go off, too.”

I was shell shocked; I wanted to backhand her hard enough to spin her head off. “Eastman, get me the base.” I was heading to the plane. He must have been somewhat taken aback as he didn’t even say anything about me forgetting to call him Major. “BT, she moves, feel free to see how far you can shove her lower leg up her ass. Grimm, find her some of the oldest cigarettes you can. Clove, if possible!”

In two minutes, I was talking to the base operator. “Get me the Old Man and I don’t want to hear any shit about he’s busy. You’ve got less than a minute or I’m going to make you wish you’d been born a groundhog!”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Eastman asked. “And you realize you just chewed the head off a captain, right?”

“He’ll be fine, I didn’t even go into detail.”

“Lieutenant Talbot,” Bennington sighed into the radio, “haven’t I already heard enough from you today?”

“Deneaux has Etna rigged to blow. I thought it was a lie, but she’s doing a live demonstration tonight, and my house is going to be ground zero. I need you to get them evacuated.”

“How do I know this isn’t all your doing?” Bennington asked.

“Sir, this is Major Eastman. What the lieutenant is saying is true; I heard it straight from her mouth. She has IEDs and Claymores scattered throughout the base.”

“You’re still on my shit list, Major, but your word carries weight.”

“And mine?” I asked.

“I once read a study, that said when a human dies, they lose twenty-one grams of weight which could be attributed to the soul departing…less than that,” he said.

“I read a Snopes article, sir, that dismissed this notion.”

“Then even less. But your family…I will make abundantly sure they are safe. When is this demonstration supposed to take place?”

“Five pm your time.”

“Four hours, should be plenty,” Bennington replied.

“Sir, even though we’re on shaky ground at the moment, I know you wouldn’t do anything to harm my family, but I need to talk to my wife. I need to know that she is safe, that goes for all my family, and my fur kids.”

Bennington didn’t give me even the slightest bit of disdain at my questioning him. “Stay close to the radio. I’ll have her on her as quickly as I can locate her.”

“Thank you.” The relief that swelled in my chest was palpable.

Eastman and I made small talk in the interim, well, mostly I made small talk and Eastman tried to keep up.

“I never did like Miracle Whip; tastes like sadness.”

“What?” Eastman asked.

“You ever have the vile concoction? There you are, planning on eating a fantastic sandwich, only to realize that the person who made it for you absolutely hates your guts and smeared that ghost feces on the roll.”

“Ghost feces?”

“Yeah, because it’s white.”

“The Native American rightly feared crazy people,” was all Eastman could say. He moved out of the cockpit, I would imagine so that he didn’t have to enter into dialog with me anymore. It was close to fifteen minutes before Tracy came on the line; you cannot even imagine how many less than savory scenarios I went through in the interim.

“Mike, what in the hell is going on? Where are you?” Tracy asked, interrupting my commentary.

“Super weird story, hon, timeline got severely moved up; I’ll fill you in when I get back. In the meantime, I want you and everyone that lives in my squad’s houses to evacuate.”

“What? Just leave?”

“It’s Deneaux.”

“How much time?” she asked.

“None. Get everyone out.”

“I’m going to kill that bitch.”

“You’ll be standing in a line that looks like Starbucks at eight in the morning…or the final ascent to Everest—that might be a better analogy, because the longer it takes for you to do it, the more likely harm is to befall you.”

“Don’t need witty right now, Mike.”

“Sorry. Just get everyone to safety, and for now, find a place to stay that is not a vital area or heavily populated.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m not sure where it’s safe on base; she may have targeted vital locations.”

“This can’t be happening. How can she be so vile?”

“The better question might be, why did we ever allow her entry into our midst, knowing who she is? Call me in an hour when it’s done.”

“I will. I love you, Mike.”

“I love you too, woman. Should be home tonight.”

“You’d better.” By her tone, I couldn’t tell if it was to kiss me passionately or slap me. Could go either way, really, maybe a little of both…wait…would I be turned on if she smacked me while kissing? Not going down that path.

“Sir, Major Overland is on the way back.” Stenzel came in just as I got off the radio. “Everything all right?”

“So far. Did he secure a ride?”

“They’ve got the Stryker.”

“Let the games begin,” I said as I followed her out of the plane. “Don’t forget what I said about the Miracle Whip!” I shouted back to Eastman.

“Never going to be able to forget,” was his reply.

“Sir?” Stenzel asked.

“Another good deed done.” Don’t know where Grimm got them, but Deneaux was sucking something down; I should have told him to lace them with Drano, not that she would have noticed or cared.

“Sir, I’ve been keeping an eye on it—nothing’s changed, but I thought you should know,” Kirby said. I nodded for him to continue. “Off to the east, I’ve seen wisps of smoke, and I don’t think it’s an uncontrolled fire.”

The implication was easy; controlled fire meant people, and people assuredly meant danger. “How far off?” I asked as he handed his binoculars off and pointed.

“Five miles.”

“Close enough they would have seen this behemoth land. Could even be heading this way now. No way they wouldn’t check it out.”

“Check what out?” BT had come closer. “Had to get away from Rose; she treats the explosives like she’s five and hates her toys.”

I pointed, handing him the binoculars. “Major Eastman!” I yelled up and into the plane.

“If this is about mayonnaise, save it.” He had poked his head out.

“I can see you’ve been spreading your crazy around.” BT was looking at the smoke.

“Potential for company.” I showed him where we were looking. He shielded his eyes and peered into the distance. “I think I’d feel better if you went on a sightseeing tour while we were on this mission.”

“Can’t. Just enough fuel to make it back, and, before you ask, Major Jackson checked the depot here, there must have been a leak somewhere. There’s water in the holding tank.”

“Okay, we’re not leaving our ride unattended; I’m not taking the scenic route home. Gunny, you, Sergeant Talbot, and PFC Grimm are going to stay home and keep an eye on her.”

BT grabbed my arm and pulled me away. “No.”

“What?”

“I’m not doing guard duty while you’re out there.”

“BT, this whole mission is a clusterfuck and it is vital we get home as soon as possible. Deneaux made sure of that, and the only way we can do that is with this bird. I need people here that I can trust implicitly to do the job.”

“Besides Cruella over there, you can trust everyone here.”

“BT, you’re my second in command.”

“Some would argue first.”

“Okay, fine, we’re equal billing. That means we each need to lead a squad to do a job.”

“Great, you stay here and watch the plane. I’ll go help Overland.”

“Done.”

“Wait…what? I didn’t expect you to cave so quickly…now I’m left wondering why.”

“Both are important. Of course, I’d love for Overland to get his man back but getting back to Etna right now is my number one priority. More lives are hanging in the balance than just the one. You don’t even know how close I am right now to pulling up stakes and heading home.”

“You couldn’t do that.”

“I know I couldn’t but that I’m even thinking about it should tell you something.”

“All right, I’ll do Overland’s mission, but if I come back and find you out sunning yourself, I’m going to be pissed.”

“Pick four to go with you. Two of them are Rose and Winters.”

“How am I picking four if you’re telling me I have to take those two?”

“Medical and demolition.”

“Right, Grimm and Kirby it is.”

“You’re just taking them because you like to fuck with them.”

“Of course. What good is having rank if I can’t lord it over my squad?”

“Change of plans!” I called out. “Kirby, Grimm, Winters, Rose get your stuff together. You’re heading out with the gunny when the major gets back. And I’ll deny this at my court-martial, but you take your orders from the gunny and no one else. You understand?”

“Got it,” Kirby said. “Don’t listen to anyone with authority.”

“You’re almost like a son to me,” I said. “I’m serious about this, though. Gunny’s got your backs; I’m afraid Overland’s judgment might be a little cloudy.”

“You think?” Kirby asked sarcastically.

“Twenty, now,” BT said calmly, motioning for Kirby to get on the ground and do twenty push-ups. “Already got one mouthy grunt in the squad, not going to allow two. This is your fault Talbot; it’s leadership by example. All the way down, those last three don’t count.”

“Fuck me,” Kirby grunted.

“How many are you prepared to do?” BT asked.

Just as Kirby was finishing up, Major Jackson let us know that Overland was almost back. We heard heavy engine noises and saw the black smoke of burning diesel.

“Damn, you want to switch places?” I asked BT as we saw the armored truck swing onto the tarmac.

“No, you stay here to do the easy work. I’ll carry the team like I usually do.”

“Load up,” Overland said, opening the back hatch.

“Change of plans,” I told him as I walked closer. “We’ve got contact. Sending my gunny and a team of four with you; the rest of us are staying behind to guard the rear echelon.”

No idea what was going through the Major’s mind. “Better be enough,” was all he said.

I looked at BT. “You sure about this?” I asked. “I doubt he gives two shits about anything but getting Forsyth.”

“I’ve got this, Mike.”

“Be safe.”

“You too. Let’s mount up!” BT swirled his finger in the air and pointed to the back of the vehicle.

“Hey Stenzel, you’re low man on the totem pole. Run like hell if the LT tells you to start cleaning your weapon!” Kirby had stuck his head up through the top hatch.

“Don’t listen to him; I’d start with my brother,” I told her.

“Not cool,” Gary said.

“Okay, you three, I want you to pick out an area of approach to keep an eye on.”

“What are you going to do?” Gary asked.

“Me? I’m going to see what the refreshment cart looks like on this plane.”

“There’s a refreshment cart?”

“If only that were the case. I have the unenviable task of guarding Deneaux.”

I waited for a moment while the rest of the squad dispersed and the noise of Overland’s Stryker dissipated. I was watching Deneaux in her classic smoker’s pose. She had her right elbow cupped in her left hand, her right she kept close to her mouth so she could breathe the trailing smoke between continually taking drags, fervently assuring none of the carcinogens were lost to the wind. The cuffs were just long enough to allow this, albeit somewhat awkwardly.

“Did you get ahold of your beautiful wife?” she asked.

“I know you don’t care about anything but yourself, but if anything happens…”

“Yes, yes, Michael, I know. You’ll resort to violence.” She raised her head so I could better see the bruises on her neck.

“Am I supposed to be feeling guilty about that? Might have at one time, long ago, but not anymore. Keeping your chin raised like that only makes me want to continue.” She dropped her head.

“You would have made a great addition to my team.”

“The fuck is wrong with you? There aren’t any teams; it’s just humans and zombies now, us against them, life and death.”

“Are not those opposing sides?”

“Twisted view,” I told her.

“So, when your humble little abode goes the way of the dodo bird tonight, have you come up with a plan on how to deal with me?”

“I was getting to like that place, Deneaux, and I cannot even begin to tell you how much I hate moving.”

“Luckily for you, there won’t be much to take.”

“This is fucking funny to you? A bomb planted in my house? The house that is full of my loved ones? That’s somehow funny?”

“They’ll be all right; that’s why I warned you.”

“And if one of your little lackeys gets a little antsy with the trigger?”

“Accidents happen.”

“Come to think about it, I suppose they do. Funny thing about accidents is you don’t know where or when they’re going to strike. I understand the self-preservation thing you’ve got going on, but does any small part of your warped brain think this is going to work? That Bennington is just going to hand over the keys to the castle?”

“What choice will he have? What good is reigning over nothing?”

“The same could be said about what happens if you detonate everything.”

“Perhaps, though it won’t come to that. All I need is a few well-placed examples.”

“Hear something,” Stenzel said through my earpiece.

“You might want to give me a gun,” Deneaux said. “Someone’s coming.”

“Do you have bat ears?” I, as of yet, had still heard nothing, and there was no way she’d heard Stenzel talking in my ear. “Going to hold off on the gun, for now, you can understand that, right?”

“It’ll be fine, I’ll pry one from someone’s cold dead hands.”

“Yeah, we’re done. Gonna find a nice seat to handcuff you to.” Grabbed her shoulder and pushed her forward.

“You sure you want to do that?” she asked.

We watched as four black Suburbans drove onto the runway on the far side of the airfield.

“I don’t like it when they color coordinate their rides.” That I said out loud; the rest I kept internally. Uniformity generally meant discipline, and discipline was what military units were all about.

“Sir, you seeing this?” Stenzel asked.

“Everyone pull back. Here.” I handed Deneaux my pistol. She, for whatever reason, wanted me dead but her staying alive for now trumped that, and I, generally, was in a position to make that happen. She, in turn, would do her best to protect my life, until this threat was neutralized, then all bets were off.

“Any chance they’re friendly?” Gary asked.

Stenzel was looking through the binoculars. “Sun glare is tough, but even if it wasn’t, their windows are tinted.”

The three large SUVs had spread out so that they were in a line; we were looking directly at their windshields.

“I’d feel a whole lot better if those were mini-vans,” I said.

“Mr. T?” Tommy asked.

“I mean, how intimidating are soccer mom rides?”

“Someone could still come out with a machine gun,” Gary added. “I’ve seen some pretty sore losers among parents…”

“True enough,” I told him.

A man stepped out. He was dressed all in black but not like he was the bad guy in a Western. Rather like one of those security companies that used to send what they called “guards” over to third-world countries when, in reality, they were nothing more than mercenaries. Even from here, I could tell he was wearing mirrored sunglasses.

“Shit,” I muttered. Assholes with guns were bad enough, trained assholes with guns were a whole lot worse. “Where’s Rose when you need her?”

“Heckler and Koch, UMP.” Stenzel was still looking through the binoculars. “Pretty sweet machine gun.”

“Caliber?” I asked.

“Forty or forty-five—if he lets me hold it, I’ll be able to tell you.”

“Somehow, I’ve got a feeling that isn’t going to happen,” I told her.

Eastman and Jackson had joined our small party, both armed with pistols.

“Can anybody else fly this thing?” I asked.

“In this group? I don’t think so,” Eastman replied.

“Then, sir, I am respectfully telling you to get back in the plane,” I told him. “You two get killed and everyone is stuck.”

“If it’s all the same, we’ll stay,” Major Jackson replied.

Nothing I could do about it; I’d drink to either of them if they fell in combat. Another man stepped out.

“Same rifle. If I remember right, that is a preferred weapon of SWAT teams,” Stenzel added.

“They’re cops?” Gary asked.

“Maybe at one time,” I said. “I don’t think they’re here to serve and protect right now, not us, anyway.”

By now, twelve of the men were in a loose circle before they spread out into a straight line and began advancing slowly on our position. They were all nearly the same size and dressed the same, as if maybe they’d all been pressed from the same cookie-cutter.

“Sir, I made a mistake. Pretty sure those shoot nine-millimeter rounds. The magazine is curved. I don’t think the effective range is more than a hundred meters.” Stenzel had put her binoculars down.

They had the firepower and manpower on us; all we had at the moment was range. I shouldered my weapon and shot a round over their heads in warning. Not one of them so much as flinched, though they did stop walking. All of their weapons were pointed our way, and just because the effective range was three hundred or so feet didn’t mean that with bullets spraying all over the place, they couldn’t hit us. The bullet itself, while maybe not having the best flight trajectory, could still travel a mile. And even if they didn’t hit us, the plane was a giant fucking target, though, I had to think that might be something they wanted to keep for their own.

“Gary, keep an eye on our six. If they’re pros, they’re not going to just come in from the front. I’m going to see what the assholes want.”

“Want some company, sir?” Stenzel asked.

“No. Come anyway,” I told her. “Tommy, anything happens to us, try to get this bird out of here.”

“What do you want us to do?” Eastman asked.

“Not die, for starters,” I told him.

“If you weren’t trying to save our lives, I’d dress you down for your lack of military decorum,” he said.

I looked at him like he was eating a live chicken. “Right. If we live, sir, feel free to write me up while we’re having a beer.”

“Duly noted.”

“Tommy, get Major Overland on the radio. Keep the line open and let him know what’s going on,” I said. Tommy looked stern, probably he was sharing the same bad feeling about this that I was.

Eastman and Jackson headed back into the plane. If the shit that was aimed directly at the fan hit, I don’t know if they could get started up and gone before it sprayed on them. Stenzel and I kept our weapons shouldered as we moved forward. I’d hoped one of the men would come closer; instead, they stayed where they were, seemingly content for us to come to them.

“Assholes,” I said.

“Sir?”

“I don’t like that they look like they know what they’re doing.”

“Jealousy, sir?”

“Don’t make me regret taking you with me.”

“Yes sir, because I couldn’t think of a better place to be than this.”

“Sarcasm, Stenzel? You looking for a promotion?”

“Just to stay alive would be enough, sir.”

“Roger that.” We both got quiet as we got closer and still none of the men had moved. “Sale at the uniform surplus store?” I asked. We’d stopped some twenty-five feet from them.

“Same place your mother shops,” one of the men on the far side said. He could have been the first out, but seriously, even their facial hair was similar. That they all wanted to look alike struck a discordant tone within me.

“Can I ask why you’re here?”

“Go ahead,” the same man replied.

I looked over at Stenzel, who glanced side-eyed at me.

“I, umm, just did.”

“You asked if you could ask; that’s different.”

The anal proclivity was strong with this one, or maybe the OCD, or I guess he could have been somewhere on the autism spectrum. But instead of trying to make excuses for him, I decided he was just a giant asshole. Typically, the most obvious answer is usually it.

“Why are you here?” It was difficult for me to keep the contempt out of my voice, but if he noticed he didn’t acknowledge it.

“I’m through answering questions.”

I couldn’t get a bead on this group. They didn’t have their weapons up, Stenzel and I could do some serious damage, we’d die in the end, but we’d take a bunch of them with us.

“We live here. Why are you here?”

“It’s New York; we’re here for the bagels, oh, and this might be hard to believe but my brother wants some PJ’s from the M&M’s store.”

“This one’s a fucking hoot,” the man whom I could only assume was the leader said. “Haven’t had a decent bagel since this started. In fact, I can’t even remember the last time I had fresh bread. Now I asked you a question.”

“Lieutenant, can you extract yourself from the situation?” it was Major Overland. Tommy had been keeping him updated. I cannot even tell you how difficult it was for me to try to talk to my new asshole friend while a conversation was going on in my head. Usually, I had the problem of both conversations knocking each other out, like noise-canceling headphones.

“That’s a negative,” I replied.

“A negative? Are you saying you won’t answer my question?” Asshat number one was looking riled.

“Oh, sorry,” I told him. “Was talking to my backup.” I could feel Stenzel’s sidelong look at me.

“Backup? They hiding in the plane, sucking on their mama’s teats?” I was glad when his men didn’t start doing all that fake laughter to appease their leader shit. That’s always a cue that things are only going to get worse.

“Okay, let’s start over…all this gun pointing can’t be good for my chi. I’m Lieutenant Talbot, this is Corporal Stenzel. We’re Marines, as are the rest of our group back there.”

He said nothing as he looked over my shoulder, maybe looking for my help—or his.

“I know New Yorkers aren’t necessarily known for their overt friendliness, but this is usually where you would introduce yourself as well.”

“Fine, I’ll play your game. I’m Mitch.” And that was it. I’d had more success pulling information from a rebellious teen, and, seriously, I’d not had much luck in that department.

“Okay, Mitch, here’s the thing, we’re here for just a short time, have a mission to complete then we’ll be out of your way,” I told him.

I could see nothing except the reflection of myself in his glasses. Well, that and the bore of my weapon pointing at him, which, for some unfathomable reason, he did not seem to care about. That was puzzling and somewhat disconcerting; not many sane people will stare down the barrel of a rifle and not be at least uneasy about it.

“Who’s the woman?” he asked referring to Deneaux.

“Trade? I’ll let you have her in exchange for safe passage.”

“I don’t know how many more of your jokes I can take,” Mitch replied.

“I think he’s serious,” Stenzel said.

Mitch gave a nod of his head. The men with him all raised their rifles; I was impressed with the precision and timing.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, let’s not do anything hasty.” I had one hand out. “Seriously, Mitch, this is an in and out and we’re gone scenario. No one needs to die.”

“Die?” He cocked his head. “Happens a lot these days.”

Mitch might not be certifiable, but he was heading that way like he was late for an appointment. But then again, that seemed to be the way of the world now. “It doesn’t have to happen here, not today. Not right now.”

“There’s more of us, you realize.” I didn’t know if he meant here, which was true, or that there were more of them out there and all of this was a stall tactic for them to get into position. “Last time I’m going to ask.”

“Rescue mission, Mitch, that’s what we’re doing here. One of our own needs help and we’re here to get him.”

“Washington is a long way to travel to retrieve someone.”

I tried to keep my face impassive. There was a good chance he thought we were working for the remnants of the United States government and had only come up from DC, which wasn’t all that far, considering.

“Cops? Are you guys cops? Or were you?” I asked.

Mitch may have ever so slightly turned to look at one of the men with him, it was then I noticed the earpiece. Fuck, they were wired, too. Odds were my entire squad, including me, had a scoped rifle pointing on us.

“I suppose once upon a time,” he said. “Now the only people we protect are our own.”

“I understand that completely. Stenzel lower your weapon.”

“Sir?”

I let mine down slowly and let it rest on the tactical strap. Mitch’s men did not follow suit, though Stenzel did as I asked.

“What do you have on the plane?”

“Basic supplies.”

“Food?”

“Food-ish, got a pallet of MREs.”

Mitch nodded, his men lowered their weapons.

“Want it?” I asked, thinking I may have had an in.

“Gunny is going to be pissed,” Stenzel mumbled.

“He can go a meal or two without food,” I told her.

“You realize if we have to stay here for an extended amount of time, we’re going to need that, right?” Overland asked.

“Respectfully, sir, you’re not the one staring down multiple machine gun barrels.” He was quiet after that. “Sorry, party line,” I said, pointing to my ear.

“Your SEAL team, correct?”

I did not like that he was so much in the know, while I was fumbling around in the dark looking not only for a switch to turn on a light but the wall where the button resided.

“I wouldn’t say, my SEAL team.”

“Is that the backup you’re referring to?”

“Get out of there, Talbot,” Overland said.

I wanted to tell him that was easier said than done.

“Why don’t I get the food for you, you guys can go home, have a feast, we do what we came here for, and we never have to speak again.”

“She stays,” Mitch said, referring to Stenzel.

“It’s a two-person job; it’s a big pallet.”

“You’ve got plenty of help back there.”

“Stenzel get the pallet. I’ll stay here and make idle chit-chat with our gracious host.”

“I’m from New York; I get sarcasm,” Mitch said.

“Probably a Yankees fan, too.”

“Greatest baseball team to have ever existed. Thought I caught that butchery of the English language; that is a Bostonian accent. And in case you were hoping, a long-dead rivalry does not make us friends. I don’t give a shit which one of you stays, but one of you is.”

“Go,” I said to Stenzel, who didn’t question me. “Mind if I sit?”

Mitch said nothing.

“You’d think after a flight the last thing you’d want to do was sit, but they tend to drain me, especially after having to go through security. It’s no fun having all of your body cavities explored.”

“Maybe you should just shut up,” Mitch said.

“How’s this going to end?” I asked, grabbing my canteen and getting a drink of water. Right now, I was wishing it was beer and was pondering filling it with that sweet nectar on my next go around.

Mitch nodded again; not sure how much information he could convey that way, but two men advanced on me with weapons drawn. Once my hands were in the air, a third came and relieved me of my weapons and comms. Mitch put my piece in his other ear, and he made sure to shut off the transmission aspect.

“Well, the first thing is we’re going to take that food you offered, then when your SEAL team is in position, we’re going to take them out, along with your squad.”

“Why?” I was stalling, racking my brain for answers. Surely Gary and Tommy knew something was up now that my hands were in the air.

“Because you’re a representative of the government, and from what we’ve learned, the government is what put us in this situation.”

“Listen, I’m no fan of the government either, and you may or may not be right about how the zombies came to be, but I’m telling you, we’re here on a rescue. That’s it. Nothing covert.” If he was angry about the potential for the government’s involvement regarding the zees, there wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to tell him that in our little corner of the world, we were responsible for smartening them up.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“You were cops, right? Probably a special-ops unit? You were all part of the government once.” I was trying to appeal to some part of him. Was sort of like hitting a cement wall with a rubber mallet—sure you can get in some hard licks, but overall, it’s not going to do any damage and a potentially nasty ricochet could take you right out.

“Then I realized the error of my ways. You are the enemy; it’s as simple as that.”

“The enemy is out there. It’s the zombies that are destroying us. Humans can’t afford to kill each other.”

“Bo, shut him up.” Bo was coming up to me, the buttstock of his weapon raised high. I was waiting for the brain-rattling pain; had not been expecting the spray of blood across my face.

I was shocked for about half a second and then on the move. Bo was twisting down, his upper leg was a mangled tangle of blood, flesh and muscle. I stood and ripped the weapon free from him as he toppled to his side, groaning loudly. Going to go out on a limb here and say his femur was broken; he was paralyzed with pain.

“Put them down now!” I had Bo’s weapon and I hoped the safety was off as I pointed it, but right now, I wasn’t the most significant threat as the men looked around for the sniper that had taken one of them out. Mitch was mumbling into his headset. I placed the barrel of the weapon against his forehead. “Shut up,” I said calmly. “Earpieces. Take them out, place them on the ground.”

Mitch’s men looked stunned; whatever they had planned, this wasn’t it. In all fairness, no one really preps for a shot to the thigh. Mitch reluctantly did what I told him.

“Mitch, tell your men to put their weapons down.” I had mine pressed against the other man’s skull but had five pointed at me while the rest got into a more defensive posture around their vehicles. So much for containment.

“They won’t. Not for me, not for any one of us. We know the score; if you get in trouble, we’ll do what we can to get you out, but we will not sacrifice others.”

I quickly grabbed my earpiece and his, I placed the other in my pocket. “I do not have the situation under control, repeat, not under control. Come on, Mitch. Me and you are heading back to the plane.”

“No.”

“No? What the fuck do you mean, no? I have a gun pointed at your head.”

“Not like the situation is going to get any better if I go with you,” he replied. Hard to argue with that logic.

“Okay, what if I just leave?” The guy was seriously cutting into my options.

“Can’t have another combatant out there.”

“Are you serious right now? This is real life. People are going to die needlessly. Yeah yeah, I get it, people are always needlessly dying,” I cut him off before he could say it.

“Lieutenant, can you hear me?” it was Overland.

“Loud and clear.”

“I need you to get out of the hot zone.”

“It’s not for lack of trying, sir.”

“Situation?”

“Pretty sure you’re looking at it.”

“Can you grab a hostage?”

“You’d think.”

“Again?”

“That’s a negative,” I told him.

“Bags can light them up.”

“Marisa’s son has got my back?”

“I can hear you, shit-bird,” Baggelli said.

“It’s sir shit-bird.”

“Huh?” Mitch asked.

“Oh nothing…it’s just the sniper team that has most of your squad painted checking in.”

“Sniper squad?” Baggelli asked.

“SEALs are pretty thorough about that kind of thing. Maybe I die, maybe I don’t. Right now, each of you is under the scope of a high-powered weapon. It looks like your recon missed something pretty important.”

“He’s bluffing,” Mitch said.

“Fuck. Now I know why I hate New York,” I said.

Bo was being tended to, looked like someone had given him a shot of morphine, dulled out the cries of pain, but unless he got some serious medical attention, all that would accomplish was he’d die happy. Sure, there are worse ways to go, but he’d still be dead.

“We’ve got a medic.”

“There’s a natural order to things.”

“Pretty easy to be cavalier about it when it’s not you.”

“Ask him,” Mitch said.

So, I did. “Bo, we have a medic and some medical supplies. We can get that leg fixed up.”

He mumbled something about wanting a beer, a conversation I could get on board with, but as for saving his life, nothing. I couldn’t wrap my mind around any of this.

“Company is coming for dinner,” Tommy radioed.

“Oh, what a glorious day. Numbers?”

“Enough,” Tommy said tersely. I figured that roughly translated to five hundred to a thousand.

“How about this, Mitch. A shit ton of zombies are heading this way; can we maybe settle our border dispute later?”

“There are priorities in life, Lieutenant. We will deal with this problem first and the other as it comes into play.”

“Lieutenant, this is Baggelli, this guy’s a nutjob. I don’t think you’re leaving hostile territory without some help. You’re in the thick of it; your call. I’ll even let the New York comment slide. You just nod your head, and we’ll start.”

There were a bunch of questions I wanted to ask, like, who he was targeting first, so I knew who I had to take care of. At that very moment, I looked like I’d been in a horrible car accident and my head was in a neck brace; I was very cognizant about not nodding.

“My spotter says you look like you have a stick jammed up your ass.” I could tell Baggelli was smiling.

“Mitch, you ever seen My Cousin Vinnie?”

“Careful, Lieutenant, I’m over four hundred yards away, no telling what can happen with the wind at this range.” Baggelli’s earlier mirth was still in play, though possibly a little more strained.

“Didn’t have time for movies before, certainly not now.”

“Your loss.”

As seems always to be the case, it was the smell that assailed our senses before anything else. The zombies were close and getting closer.

“Well, Mitch, do we wrap this up now?”

There was a shift in his men. Something was going to happen and soon. The noose around my neck was tightening. I guess it was going to come down to which of us nodded first.

“Contact!” a man over by the furthest SUV yelled out, I was hoping he didn’t mean the SEALs. “Sprinters.”

Mitch looked to me, I couldn’t read anything from his face. He was as impassive as if he were having a dream-free sleep. I had to figure there was a war waging behind those eyes, but he showed not the slightest hint of it.

“Kill…” he began a moment before his head exploded outward. I will fucking swear until the day I’m laid under, I watched it happen in super slow-motion. The hair on the back of his head fluttered up as the percussion wave from the bullet struck first; his eyes widened imperceptibly as the bullet made first contact with the back of his skull, his head expanding ever so slightly as it forcibly accepted the foreign intruder. His right eye rolled backward as, I figure, his optic nerve was torn apart. The front of his forehead bulged then ruptured as the bullet fought its way through, dragging brain matter and all sorts of supporting substance. Maybe Mitch was casual with Death as his dance partner, but the rest of the squad had a few seconds where they were utterly stunned.

This was the only window that was going to be afforded me. I spun to my left, my finger keeping steady on the trigger as I sprayed the area. Two of Mitch’s team immediately went down as I peppered them with rounds. Baggelli took out another target; I grunted as I felt the impact of a bullet punch close to my abdomen; my insides felt as if I’d downed a quart of lighter fluid and lit it in preparation for a barbecue. I got hit in the shoulder but managed to kill one more of the men as I spun and my magazine went dry. Tommy, Gary, and Stenzel had what remained of Mitch’s men pinned down. Baggelli was keeping them from getting to any semblance of safety. As for me, I was a round or two from packing for where I was going to end up for all eternity. My shoulder, which felt as if I’d had a ten-penny nail hammered through it, wasn’t even on the same scale as the burning in my belly. I was afraid to look down and see an unraveling of my innards. My confiscated weapon lay by Bo, who seemed carefree regarding the number of rounds whizzing past him.

My arm creaked and I could feel tissue tearing as I forced it to do things it wasn’t prepared for. I got down on my knees, using Bo as a human shield. I was thankful I’d, for the most part, been forgotten. I wasn’t a threat anymore, but now I had to swallow the bitter pill of using a man that was stoned out of his gourd for my survival; next time I’ll be sure to strap babies to my chest. Sure, he was a combatant, and I was going to do what it took that we both survived, but if push came to shove, he died first. The problem with it was that some battles, and some kills, linger a lot longer than others. I thought this would become one of them, if it came to it. I couldn’t drag Bo with me, and there was a lot of open area for me to attempt a run. I left my rifle perched on Bo’s shoulder; he didn’t seem to mind. If I had to fire, he was going to have some hearing loss in his right ear. Right now, I was concentrating on not bleeding out or drawing any attention. I was doing good on the latter, not so much the former.

“Sir!” it was a panicked sounding Stenzel. I was worried they were in trouble—turns out she’d seen me get shot.

“Still here,” I told her through gritted teeth, “and Bo isn’t sharing his morphine.”

“How bad?”

“Leaking pretty good…in pain,” I told her haltingly; it somehow hurt worse when I spoke.

“Sergeant Winters, the LT is down,” Stenzel said.

“Two minutes out,” Winters replied.

“Baggelli, finish them,” it was Overland.

“On it, sir.” He sounded like he was jogging to get into a better firing position.

I had some blackness encroaching on the peripherals of my vision. So far, I could keep it at bay, but I was expending a lot of energy doing it.

“Talbot, you hang in there,” that from BT.

“Hanging,” was all I could manage to reply.

“Get this bucket moving!” BT roared; I felt bad for whoever was driving.

“Think my guts are spilling,” I said when I caught a whiff of rotten meat.

“Get him. We’re going to take off.” Major Eastman had started the plane, the drone of the engines almost louder than the gun battle raging around me.

“Coming,” Tommy said. I turned slightly to watch the boy; he was standing straight up, rifle to his shoulder, giving suppressive fire as he advanced.

I wanted to tell him not to be quite so visible; he was making an exceptionally easy target of himself. Mitch’s men had been cut in half, figuratively, and, unfortunately in some cases, literally. It was then that weapons dropped to the ground and hands were raised as they got to their knees.

“Sir?” pretty sure it was Baggelli asking Overland what he should do. There was a bunch going on and a bunch that still needed to be done; taking and keeping prisoners was not on the list.

“Bag them,” Overland replied.

“Sir?” Baggelli asked again; had to think the order wasn’t sitting all that well with him. I understood the necessity of it, but fuck, what a distasteful thing.

“Get in your fucking cars! Go!” I wanted to shout, came out more as a grunted cough, if that makes sense. I got some blank stares. “Go or you’re dead.” My head sagged from the effort of the few words.

“You have your orders, Corporal,” Overland said.

“Sir, rethink this…just let them go,” sounded like PFC Reed, but the button-holing of blackness around my vision was beginning to thicken.

“Baggelli!” Overland shouted. A shot rang out, drilling the ground next to the man closest to me. He looked to where the shot had come, then at his weapon before turning to me.

I shook my head no, hoping he got the point that if he touched that rifle, Baggelli or myself were going to have to kill him. He did it anyway. I pulled the trigger, blew two of his fingers off. The bullet then traveled up the length of his arm before crashing through his elbow. He howled out in pain until a second bullet, this one from Tommy, struck him in the neck. Three that could, scurried toward two of the vehicles. Baggelli had still not fired; I could only wonder what Overland would have in store for him when this was over.

“What’s all the fuss about?” Bo asked, his eyes not focused on anything.

“Beats me,” I told him.

The fourth remaining was moving quickly toward me, rifle raised. It seemed he had cover from Baggelli’s angle of fire. I was having a difficult time with my motor skills. The man was either going to kill me or take me hostage; both routes had merit. He was less than five feet from me when he stopped, rifle pointed at my head. Seemed he was going for option two. There was shock and surprise in his face when that bullet struck him in the heart. Didn’t know who had come to the rescue, but I was going to buy them a beer.

Tommy raced to the scene. He did a quick check of the fallen as the two SUVs raced away. He then gently took my weapon from my hands and rolled me over onto my back. I heard my camo top and shirt being ripped off…within a few seconds after that, I could hear the racing of a motor coming, then Tommy was placing a compression pack on my shoulder and I heard running footsteps.

“What did I tell you about catching bullets?” Sergeant Winters asked. I saw a look pass between him and Tommy.

Soon after, there was a total solar eclipse as BT was hovering above me. “You doing all right?” he asked.

“I could take that morphine now.” I raised my undamaged hand, BT took it. BT looked to Winters and Tommy. “Cut that shit out…how’s it look?” was what I meant to say; I'm not entirely sure how it came out.

“Looks bad,” Winters said. “If you weren’t who you were, we wouldn’t be talking.”

Stenzel skidded to a stop by my head. “Shit.” I’m going to say she was looking at my wounds. “Is he going to live?”

Fuck. I wasn’t shot in the ear, people.

“I saved you, Michael,” it was Deneaux, of course, she was smoking a cigarette. BT took the weapon from her reluctant claw.

“Why?” was all I could ask.

“People were watching.” She coughed. Might have been a laugh. That was a clear enough message, though. Without an audience, she would have let the man finish me off.

“Somehow you manage to constantly switch between being my greatest ally and my greatest enemy.” I suppose, in terms of why she saved me, her reasons didn’t matter, only that she’d done it. Still had a desire to shove the burning end of that smoke into her eye.

“Okay, everyone, need some space to work,” I heard Winters say. “We’re going to need to move him quickly before the zombies come,” He was attempting to keep Stenzel from witnessing what was, hopefully, going to be a miraculous recovery. He quickly powered off his and my comms. “This is more for show than anything,” Winters said as he raised the needle. “Hope you enjoy the ride.”

I didn’t say anything as he plunged it deep into my thigh. Stung for about a second and a half, then everything was magical teacups and dancing dressers. Why I was roaming around in a Disney movie, I don’t know, maybe because it was as far removed from the nightmare I was living as I could possibly get. I now know why Bo had seemed so happy; though right now, the blue of his lips was a better indicator of how he was doing.

“The bullet in your shoulder went in and out; I’m more worried about the one in your midsection.”

Tommy swept close. “It’ll come out on its own. Give him blood.”

“The traditional way…?” Winters asked softly.

“Would look a bit weird if he was hanging off your neck.”

“He looks like shit,” it was PFC Reed sticking his head out of the top of the vehicle.

“Get to the plane and grab my med kit. He needs some blood.”

“On it,” Reed said, ducking back down and getting the large vehicle rolling.

“Over land?” Tough to tell if I was asking about the major or a mode of travel. Then I even lost why I’d asked and just kept letting the word or words roll off my tongue, repeatedly, to the point Winters threatened to give me another shot so I would shut up. “Overrr…llland,” I got out one more time.

“After I fix you up and check on the hostile, I figure I’m going to have to work on sewing up Baggelli’s new asshole.”

Usually I’d find that humorous because I have the intellectual level of a fifth-grader but right now, it was ratcheted up to funniest fucking thing ever.

“Sir, I can’t work on you if you’re laughing.”

“Give me another shot.”

“As if.” BT was again next to me. “Anyone gets more morphine, it’s going to me for having to deal with you.”

“Blood type?” Winters asked.

“Yup,” I told him.

“Doesn’t matter.” Tommy hovered around and gave information when needed.

Reed was back quick, or else I was too busy watching clouds move; either way, in what seemed like seconds, BT was next to me, an IV connecting our arms as I was getting my fluids topped off.

“I’m counting this as a save,” BT said.

“You think his blood is as big as the rest of him?” I asked Winters.

“It’ll be all right,” he responded.

“I mean, what if his red blood cells are pushing up against the walls of my veins and arteries, stretching them out?”

“Can’t you make him shut up? He’s harshing my heroics here,” BT said.

“I wouldn’t mind if both of you kept quiet.” Winters had moved over to Bo, who, coincidentally enough, was about the same color as the sky I was gazing up into.

“He going to live?” Major Overland was off to my side.

“Going to be out of this mission, but I think he’ll be fine,” Winters told him.

“Not the brightest thing you could have done, Lieutenant,” Overland said, looking down at me.

“Watching the plane get shot up would have been worse,” I told him.

“Just a fucking plane, Talbot. Haven’t come across a piece of machinery yet I’d trade a life for.”

“I think he’s going to take me out to dinner,” I told BT.

“Glad you’re doing better, Lieutenant. Sergeant Winters, I’d like to get him back into the plane and get the original mission completed.”

“I’d like to still go,” BT said.

Overland looked from BT to Winters.

“As soon as I unplug him, sir, he should be good to go,” Winters replied.

“Make sure he gets cookies,” I piped up. “No one wants a hangry BT. BT smash.” I tried to move my arms in the traditional Hulk posture, but it was safe to say I was too fucked up.

“It’s too bad we can’t transfer some brains to him this way.” BT held up his arm to point at the blood line connecting us.

“If this makes us brothers, you may want to reconsider with whom you’re having relations,” I told him.

Stenzel had come back in time to hear that one. “Glad to see you’re feeling better. We’ve got a stretcher, sir. Going to get you back on the plane.”

“First class or I’m not going.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Five minutes later, I was on the plane and about ready to call it a day. “Stay safe; keep the squad safe,” I told BT, who had grabbed my hand.

He nodded.

“Stenzel, lock her up,” BT said, nodding toward Deneaux.

In ten we were back in the air and heading to our secondary airfield. I dozed during what amounted to a ten-minute flight. When I came to, it was quiet, and from where I lay, it looked like just myself and Deneaux.

“I suppose you’re going to live.” Deneaux was fishing around in her pocket for her cigarettes; this made more difficult by the cuffs she wore.

“For the time being.” I felt better, but it was going to be a good long while before I went out and did a jig; better yet, for anyone that might have to witness that travesty, I would never do one again.

“Where does this leave us?”

“Seriously?” I was looking at the ceiling of the plane.

“I saved you.”

“See, that’s what’s fucked up, is yeah, you did, but I don’t even feel compelled to say thank you. Because we both know the only reason you did it is so you can be in a better position the next time to kill me.”

She said nothing.

“No silver-tongued lie forthcoming?”

“It’s just you and I, Michael. No sense in fabricating something you won’t believe.”

“Don’t do the honesty route with me; tends to throw me off my game.”

“You know Etna is heading down a dangerous path.”

“Go on, tell me how you’d make it better.”

“Your Dewey.”

I turned slightly.

“Oh yes, I’m well aware of him. I also know he’s gathering his forces.”

“Of course you do. You set up that trap in Colorado…oh, I know things. Collier sang like a bird.”

“An unfortunate loose end; seems I tied the wrong one off.”

“The way you play with human lives…so cavalier. It really doesn’t affect you?” I was watching her now, looking for some semblance of humanity in her reptilian eyes.

She deftly switched tracks like a train engineer.

“Soon, Etna will be a complete police state. Bennington will find a reason to dismantle the Civilian Board, and those that do not contribute to the war-machine will find themselves on the outs.”

“You will be the reason he breaks your little party up. He might be under a lot of pressure, but don’t think he can’t see or feel that dagger you’re pressing into the small of his back.”

“I don’t think I like this dramatic version of you.”

“Dramatic? Tell me which part I’m wrong about; the bombs you’ve planted, maybe?”

“The evolving zombies will be the end of us all. Your precious colonel will make sure we all go down in a giant nuclear fireball. He has two more, in case you didn’t know. I can see by your blank stare you had no idea. One of which, by the way, is located dead center of the base; it’s his doomsday scenario, should we become overrun.”

She could have been lying, but if she was, what was the point? Nothing she just said would in any way make me want to take her back with me. Scratch that; maybe I could park her right on top of the thing.

“You and I, we could depose the colonel, run the base together. I mean, if you had a desire somewhere in that mind of yours to be a leader, and I’m not talking about a lowly lieutenant fetching things for others like a glorified gopher.”

“You could be the Queen and I your court jester.”

“Fine, you do as you please, but you know your colonel is losing his grip, and now he has his finger on a nuclear button. Let that one sink in when you think upon your family.”

There was a point there. Now I was left wondering whether it would be safer to stay in Etna or leave, and who would come with me? Would I be better than Bennington if I decided to run the show? The answer was a definitive no. I knew my many failings: quick to judge, quick to act, quick to anger, and none of those were conducive to being a good leader of people. Get rid of Bennington, have Eastman run the show? That was a possibility. I hated that I was even thinking in the same vein as the Lemon Queen.

“It should keep you up at night.” She knew she’d struck a chord.

“Speaking of which, I would imagine you’re going to have a lot of sleepless nights in the near future, you know, running for your life and all. If I were you, I’d get some sleep while you can.”

“Complacency is not a good look on you,” she replied.

“Want me to shut her up for you, sir?” Kirby asked, coming to check on us both. “I’ve got duct tape.”

“It’s alright. I think she’s going to take a nap now and work on a new angle. Is it all clear?”

“Nothing for days—boring, even. The squad is out there having a grand old time and I’m stuck here.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but don’t worry; I’m sure you’ll get your fill of action sooner rather than later.”

“You zip it, lady, or I’m going to make sure I wrap the tape around your head. Try getting all of that off without some serious pain.”

“It’s fine, Kirby, get back outside.”

Kirby made two fists and brought them close to his mouth, as he looked over at Deneaux, I guess showing her what he would do with tape.

“Protégé?” she asked.

“Top of my class.” I again dozed off. I was awakened by intense burning and itching in my midsection. I was still under surveillance from Deneaux. Winters had come over.

“Going to check your dressings. He looked around to make sure no one was watching. He sucked in a breath when he looked at my gut, which was now not much more than a puckered wound. He grabbed the mushroomed bullet that was down by my side. “Somewhere in that blood of yours is a cure to what ails us all.”

I begged to differ, but I said nothing.

“You’re going to want to at least fake this wound for a while longer; people see you up and about too soon, going to raise a lot of questions. Anyone that saw you shot is going to wonder why you’re not dead.”

“Must be a testament to your doctoring skills.”

“I gave you morphine.”

“Like I was saying. Speaking of which, this hurts like a bastard.”

“If you’re fishing for more, I’m not doing it.”

“Any news from the rescue group?”

“They’re just getting into position.”

“Can you get me a radio? I’d like to listen real-time.”

Winters hurriedly applied new dressings to my wounds as Stenzel was coming in.

“You look much better, sir.”

“It’s the drugs.”

“Corporal, the lieutenant would like to be able to hear the rescue groups.”

“On it, Sarge.” She walked away.

“Bright girl like that, I’d say she’s suspicious,” Deneaux muttered. “What would the rest of your team think if they knew?” Her smile looked more like a leer. “Relax. I would never think of telling them.”

“Yet, you felt the need to tell me that. Right now, Vivian, I’m planning on leaving you with enough supplies and a firearm that you might, may God have mercy on me, find another group to torment. You keep testing me, and I’ll keep taking things away. Naked and afraid is no way for one to find themselves these days.”

Whether she believed me or not, it didn’t matter; she shut up and that was all I was looking for. Stenzel had my earpiece and a link through the plane so that I could listen and throw my two cents in, if necessary.

“You sure about this, sir? I don’t want you thinking you can get up and do anything about anything,” she said as she adjusted my pillow and put the piece in my ear.

“I’ll be fine, just moral support.” She looked at me dubiously. She knew I’d try and take action if they got into trouble.

“I would like to hear what is going on as well,” Deneaux said.

I gave her the finger.

“Charming.”

I tuned her out while I listened.

5

Rescue

Major Overland was up in the cockpit with Majors Eastman and Jackson, going over where the plane was set to land and wait.

“That’ll work.” Overland folded up the map. “I’ll leave a security detail with you. I wasn’t expecting that trouble; let’s hope we’ll be more prepared next time. Gunny Tynes.” Overland had walked out of the cockpit.

“Sir,” BT said, walking away from his now sleeping friend.

“I’d like for you to assign three of your people to security.”

“Will do. Kirby.”

“Oh, come on, Gunny, I don’t want to babysit! All the action is going to be out there.”

“This way I don’t have to hear you running your mouth.”

“What about Rose?” he asked.

“She’s demolitions. She’s going. Winters, I’d like you to stay here and monitor the lieutenant.”

“Will do, Gunny.”

“See, Kirby, that’s how it’s done, no back talk.”

“Sergeant Talbot.”

“You mean I’m painting up my face for nothing? This stuff is a pain to remove.”

“The rest of us, let’s go.” BT motioned for the door.

Sergeant Walde was making herself familiar with the controls of the Stryker.

“How’s it looking?” Overland asked.

“Luckily, sir, they made it easy enough for a Marine to understand.” She was smiling as she looked back at BT and the rest getting in.

“She’s a funny one,” Stenzel said, sitting down. She’d not enjoyed the joke.

“All aboard!” PFC Reed shouted.

Baggelli sat down next to Rose. “How you doing?” he asked in a Long Island accent.

Stenzel rolled her eyes.

“I wouldn’t,” Grimm was talking to Baggelli. “You should have seen what she did with a blasting cap. I’d, um, not known it could you know, fit there, and then, like, boom! Thing was prolapsed. Had to have been hanging down about a foot; looked like a backward anteater.” Grimm shivered. “Couldn’t eat for a week after seeing that.”

Baggelli scooted a foot over, as far as the bench seat would allow. Rose laughed and gave Grimm a thumbs up.

“I could get used to this!” Reed had his head out the top port and had ducked down to shout in.

“Reed, could you just man the gun? I’d hate to have to bust you lower than PFC.” Overland was sitting next to his driver, Sergeant Walde.

“What’s this thing got?” Grimm asked.

“The main armament is a 105 millimeter machine gun and an MK19 grenade launcher, it is seriously going to fuck up some squishies,” Baggelli said.

“Squishies? What are you, seven?” Grimm asked.

“Relax Private. You don’t need to pick up the slack with Kirby not here,” BT said. Baggelli flipped the finger to Grimm, thinking no one but the two of them had seen the exchange.

“You realize, Corporal Baggelli, that you, me and the rest of the squad will be relying on Gunny Tynes’ troops to open a pathway for our withdrawal, correct?” Overland asked.

“Yes sir,” Baggelli said. “Sir, you weren’t even looking.”

“Someday, Bags, you’ll realize that the major is all-knowing and all-seeing; how do you think I’ve got busted so many times?” Reed was again poking his head down.

“Probably because you’re not that bright,” Baggelli told him.

“That too.” Reed was smiling until his helmeted head struck the lip of the turret. “What the hell, Walde! You find your driver's license in a dumpster?” He was rubbing his forehead.

“It’s the machine—had a hiccup,” she said as she checked over her instrumentation.

“Anything to be concerned about?” Overland asked.

“Seemed to stall for a moment; timing? Or maybe the transmission slipped? Or quite possibly both. Without ripping this thing apart, there’s no way to tell for sure, sir,” Walde replied.

“That didn’t feel right, Gunny,” Grimm said.

“No shit. I just banged my head.” Reed again looked down.

“Mechanically, I mean. Something’s wrong. Who knows why this thing was parked where it was; could have been waiting for maintenance, and anything sitting for as long as this has probably needs more than just a quick glance over,” Grimm said.

“How do you know?” Baggelli raised an eyebrow.

“I’m a gear-head.”

“Bullshit. Gear-heads are always spouting off about little known engine components and the timing of a 1970 Mustang or the horsepower of a Camaro, that kind of crap.”

“I’m a self-aware gear-head. I know how little the stuff I love means to the rest of the population.”

“Rare breed,” BT said.

“You should say something to the major,” Grimm said.

“That bad?”

“It’s not good, Gunny.”

“Fuck.” BT ripped his seatbelt off. “Hey, sir…one of my kids is an amateur mechanic, and he thinks what we all just felt could be problematic,” BT told Overland.

Walde looked over at her major. “My sergeant feels the same way,” Overland replied.

“Not turning back then, I take it?” BT asked.

“We’re running out of time. I have to get my gunny and hope that this bucket holds out long enough to do just that. Thank you.”

BT knew enough to realize he was being dismissed. “We’re still a go.” He sat back down.

“We’re ten minutes from dropping you off on Broadway,” Overland announced.

“I was hoping we’d never be back to M&M world,” Rose said.

“We’re all thinking it,” BT said, referring to the loss of Brayden Springer, who had been bitten.

“Keep focus,” Lieutenant Talbot told them. “We all miss the kid.”

“Good to have you here,” BT told him. “And you’re the last one to be telling people to keep focus.”

“Probably right.”

BT and Overland spent a few minutes going over the plan as Rose, Grimm, and Tommy off-loaded the supplies and equipment.

“Good luck and see you soon.” BT saluted then shook the Major’s hand.

“Let’s get rolling,” Overland said.

“Hope this works,” Baggelli said to Reed.

“Of course it will,” he told the other. “We’re SEALs.”

They’d been traveling for ten more minutes when Reed warned them about contact. “Don’t look like they’ve moved at all.” He wondered how it could be possible for Forsyth to survive all this time under these circumstances. If they were able to save him, he wasn’t sure if the man would ever be the same.

“Sergeant, see if you can convince them to move,” Overland said to Walde as she inched the machine forward.

“Roger that.” Reed pulled back on the charging handle. The effects of the heavy caliber rounds were devastating. Zombies were torn instantly in two, skulls vaporized, limbs blown completely off. The carnage was beyond description; the bullets traveled through two, sometimes three, bodies before coming to a rest. Reed, at first, had been sweeping left to right, thinking that the zombies would begin to converge; when they did not move, he concentrated his firing to the front to clear a path.

“Forward, slow.” Overland was watching as he spoke to Walde.

“Moving, Reed,” Walde said as she inched the heavy machine forward.

“This ought to be interesting.” Baggelli had stuck his head out one of the ports in the back.

She’d no sooner struck and summarily run over the first stoic zombie when there was a noticeable shift in the monsters. They turned in a choreographed move, all looking at the truck. The ride got bumpy as it went up and over bodies, melding them into the ground. The resultant cracks of bones and explosions of corpses rivaled the bedlam of the machine gun.

“Not moving away, sir,” Walde reported, though her commander was witnessing the same thing she was.

“Steady,” he told her. He knew it was difficult to witness firsthand the carnage they were inflicting, but they had a mission to complete.

“They’re moving!” Baggelli shouted. “Reed!”

“Yeah, I see it.” The private was once again sweeping his weapon, trying to keep the horde at bay. He knew it was a lost cause, but was going to inflict as much damage as he could before he had to retreat to the relative safety of the interior. Baggelli had now joined in the fray, opening up with his lighter caliber rifle. The zombies were running straight into the teeth of the enemy. They were in a frenzied state, wanting to obey the last orders they’d been given to kill any and all intruders.

“In, Reed! Get in!” Baggelli was shooting at targets that had got within feet of them. It wasn’t until the first of the zombies had begun to climb up, that they both went down and closed the hatch locks. The truck engine RPMs were climbing as more bodies piled under and over.

“They look pissed.” Reed was working through the adrenaline of firing the machine gun and the fear of the attackers.

The truck lurched forward and stalled.

“Nice driving, Walde,” Baggelli goaded his sergeant.

“Wasn’t me,” she said through gritted teeth as she restarted the reluctant machine.

“This have to do with what happened earlier?” Overland asked.

“Could be, or could be something completely unrelated. Either way, it means trouble.” She pointed to her instrumentation; two of the indicators had lit up an angry red.

“We’ll make it,” Overland said. Walde appreciated his enthusiastic optimism, but she wasn’t so sure, and the acrid smell of melting plastic wasn’t helping matters.

“You smell that?” Baggelli smacked Reed’s knee.

“Smell it and I see it.” He rose and was looking at a panel in front of him. “Think we’ve got a fire.” He saw the holder for the fire extinguisher; it was empty. “Bags, look for a fire extinguisher.” Reed was looking for a way to access the panel. Wisps of black smoke were bleeding all around the edges.

“Gunny, you reading us?” Overland asked.

“Loud and clear. Mechanical trouble?”

“It would seem so.”

“I’d advise pulling back, but I don’t think you’re going to do that,” BT said.

“Same distance back as it is forward,” Overland said. “I will not leave him again.”

“Got him on thermal!” Walde was looking at a screen that was predominantly purple with a lone red and yellow hotspot in the center. “Looks like he’s lying down.”

“No way he hasn’t heard our entrance; he needs our help.”

“I’d feel better if he’d at least move his hand, sir.”

“The tough bastard is alive. That’s enough until we can pull him out of there.”

The Stryker bucked wildly. Walde was attempting to find the sweet spot on the accelerator that would keep them from stalling. The indicator for engine heat had swiftly traveled out of the yellow warning area and into the red.

“We’re going to overheat.”

“Been in these a few times before—it will keep going for a while,” Overland said. Walde got the distinct impression the major was going to keep it running by sheer force of will. They were ten yards away from their target when it stalled again. Four cranks later, Walde got it back up and running.

“Sweet shit,” Reed said, tossing the hot panel to the back. He was staring at a melting pot of cables and wires. “Bags?”

“Nothing…can’t find one,” he said, referring to the fire extinguisher. “I’ve got a full canteen.”

“Didn’t your momma ever teach you anything about electrical fires? Or was she too busy fixing cars?” Reed asked.

“Right now?” Baggelli asked.

“Reed, do something about that!” Overland called back.

The transport area was filling with toxic smoke. The private quickly tied a bandanna around his nose and mouth before grabbing an old sweater. He was going to smother the fire, though he knew his chances of success were not good if they couldn’t shut the machine down. The Stryker was shuddering; he could not get the feeling out of his mind that it was going through its death throes, its last breath before being called to that great junkyard in the sky. He was able to smother most of what he could see, but he was certain it had traveled further inward, burning a hole through everything in its path. The ventilation system was doing an adequate job clearing the smoke, given that it was a government contractor job.

“I see him,” Walde said. Forsyth raised his head and weakly lifted a hand. The zombies immediately surrounding him had not moved, though the vast majority of the others were attacking the intruders.

“Pull up to the left of him. Bags, Reed, get ready. He’ll be immediately to your right.”

“Sir, he might be safer out there. Maybe we should withdraw, try again with something more seaworthy,” Walde said.

“We’re here. This is our opportunity.” Overland was driven. “Might not get another one.”

Walde thought they might not get this one, but said nothing. The Stryker chugged forward; it was being battered from within and from without. Overland moved to the back to support his men.

“Bags, you and I will cover Reed. You’ll drag Forsyth in. Got it?”

Both men nodded, but the folly of the plan was not lost on either.

“Lost power,” Walde said as the machine came to a grinding halt.

“How close?” Overland asked, referring to Forsyth’s position.

“About twenty feet.”

That distance didn’t sound like much until you realized it would be packed full of a rabid enemy. With the thrum of the engine stopped, all that could be heard were the components cooling and the hammering up above as the zombies sought a way past the tough exterior to the fleshy interior.

“Walde, can you get her started?” Overland called out.

“Without getting to the engine compartment, I don’t know, sir.”

“Keep trying. Gunny Tynes.”

“I hear you, sir.”

“We’re dead in the water. We’re going to need extraction.”

“Fuck.” Mike couldn’t help himself. He was pissed. Not only had Overland put his unit in jeopardy, he now wanted to drag his squad into the thick of it.

“Something to say, Lieutenant?” Overland asked brusquely.

“Nothing that lets me keep this butter bar,” he replied.

“I know enough about you, Lieutenant, to realize you would never leave one of your people behind.”

Mike knew he had him there, but it was different when he risked everything. There was the axiom of sacrificing the one for the many. Mike had been through this scenario before; it was easy to say those words and even mean them, but when the one was a known entity, that changed the equation. At that point, it was risking the many for the few and that was definitely what was happening right now.

“BT?”

“I’ve got this, Mike. I’ve already got Grimm and Rose looking for something.”

“Let me know the second you’re heading out.”

“Am I doing the right thing?” BT asked Tommy off the comms.

“We’ll get through,” Tommy replied.

“Before all of this, I was on my own. Not a lone wolf type of thing, but I preferred to work alone…sometimes alongside, when the circumstances dictated, but leading men and women into perilous situations, I don’t like it. Who would have thought I’d like to have Mike here, right now?”

“It doesn’t hurt to have someone that can bend fate to their will.”

“Truth?”

Tommy shrugged. “It appears that way, sometimes,” he mused. “I think they’re coming back.”

They saw an exhaust plume and the sound of a large engine.

“Good thing it wasn’t Kirby we sent out; the kid would have come back with a Ford Fiesta,” BT said. “And not because he didn’t know better but because he’d want to see if it could do it.”

“That’ll work,” Tommy said, looking at the cement truck.

Rose waved at them from the passenger seat. She hopped down when Grimm came to a squealing stop.

“Needs brakes, but we got the upgraded package,” Rose said. She smiled, pointing to the bumper where two Claymore mines were attached. “Got one on each side and two on the back, too.”

“This is one badass improvised military vehicle.” Grimm was standing on the running board.

“And where are we going to put the people we’re transporting?” BT asked.

“In the mixer.” Grimm was smiling like an idiot.

“So, we’re going to put a SEAL team in a spinning mixer lined with blades meant to keep cement from hardening?” BT asked.

Grimm’s smile faded as he looked at the giant, spinning drum.

“Just a gearbox, Gunny. I can have it undone in ten minutes or Marine Corps broken in five,” Grimm told him.

“The Marine Corps way or no way. Good job, you two. No push-ups for you, Grimm,” BT said. “Major, we’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Ten would be better,” Overland said.

“Well, if you don’t mind riding inside an industrial Cuisinart, we could do that,” BT told him.

“Fifteen it is, out,” Overland said.

They roared away from Broadway; Grimm had been successful in stopping the mixer and Tommy had set himself up in the uncomfortable space.

“You alright back there?” BT asked.

Rose was beside him, busily setting up the triggers for her explosives. “Fewer bumps Grimm!” she yelled.

“Sorry! There aren’t many pothole repair crews out these days.”

“You don’t have to go out of your way to hit every one of them!”

Grimm gestured to the road that, in some spots, was all pothole, looking for backup from his gunny.

“Let it go,” BT said.

“I swear, Grimm, you hit one more and I’m going to detonate your ejection seat!”

“It’s a cement truck, Rose, there isn’t an ejection seat,” he told her.

“That’s what you think.” She was bent over, working in her duffel bag of supplies in the footrest area. “These are going to do some damage.”

“You seeing this?” Grimm asked his gunny as they came upon the scene. Hundreds of zombies had been destroyed, yet thousands remained, and they were all converging on one spot.

“That’s got to be them.” The gunny was looking at the highest spot in the surrounding area.

“How are we going to get them out of that truck and onto this one?” Grimm asked.

Rose looked up. “Leave it to me. Time to earn my pay.”

“You’re getting paid?” Grimm asked.

“You aren’t?” was all she replied with.

“We’re here, Major. We’re working our way to you now,” BT said, Mike and Overland both gave the same response. “Be careful.”

Grimm looked grim as he ran over the first rows of bodies. They were deep into enemy territory before any of the standing zombies took notice.

“Get Forsyth first. I’m not sure how we’re going to get out of this truck,” Overland said. All listening understood the implications of his words.

“My corporal has some surprises; you’ll all be riding in style soon enough,” BT said. “He’s right, though, Grimm, I don’t want Forsyth out in Rose’s fireworks show. Come in on the far side.” BT pointed around where Overland had stalled. “Most of their attention is fixated on the Stryker; maybe we can get in and get out.”

“You don’t believe that, right, Gunny?” Rose asked. “I’d like to think that at least one of my superiors has their shit together.”

“I can hear you, Private,” Mike said.

“It’s Corp…oh, right. Sorry, sir.”

“The ones around him…are you seeing this? They’re not moving. It looks like he has bodyguards,” Grimm said.

“Both hands on the wheel,” BT directed as the truck began to bounce over the road hazards.

“Appears to still be human; he doesn’t look like he’s moving, though.” Rose was trying to get a better angle to view the man; she made sure to cover her comm before speaking.

BT knew it wasn’t going to matter one way or the other if Forsyth was alive or dead—Overland would want to retrieve his friend regardless. “He’s alive,” BT said.

“You sure, Gunny?” Rose asked.

“Positive. Don’t care what Dewey ordered them to do. If Forsyth had died, these zombies would have feasted.”

“How’s it going out there?” Overland asked, hearing a lot of garbled transmissions.

“Figuring the best angle of approach, sir,” BT said. “Our target is not moving.”

“Thermal shows him alive,” Overland said.

“Tommy, we’re going to clear what we can as we go past. The rest is going to be up to you,” BT said.

“Roger that,” Tommy replied.

“I wonder if Kirby would be so inclined to play his zombie-killing video games if he were here to do this.”

“Damn, Rose, that’s pretty harsh; we play because there’s no chance of dying,” Grimm said.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Rose asked him.

“No wonder Kirby likes Doom; he’s into the dark and dangerous, and not just on TV.”

“The lieutenant is the one into the gallows humor, and he’s not here. Could we please focus on what needs to be done?” BT asked. “Make sure your earpieces are in.” BT unrolled his window and placed the majority of his weapon out of the cab. “Quit hitting the potholes, Grimm!” he shouted as he aimed in. He kept the rifle selector on single-shot, afraid an errant bullet would come entirely too close to the man they were attempting to rescue. Every time he shot one of Forsyth’s guards, another from the mob would take its place. “This is fairly useless. Tommy, I can’t make you a hole; they’re filling it back in as fast as I take it down.”

“I’ve got this,” Tommy told him.

“Better move quickly.” BT was watching through the sideview mirror as more and more zombies began to take note of the newest arrivals. He was doing his best to keep his body in between Grimm and Rose’s line of sight to Tommy. The boy was bound to do things that the gunny would be hard-pressed to explain, it would be better for all concerned if they were not witness to it at all.

“It’s all you,” BT said as they pulled up and past. The zombies that had been teetering on the border of indecision coalesced their resolve once Tommy came into view as if they knew he was somehow different, a more viable threat to their mission.

“They must know he’s going for the gunny,” Rose said as they all watched the zombies turn like a school of fish and home in on the back of the truck.

“Can you help him out?” BT had stuck his head out and was watching as the zombies converged.

“Not really. Not without risking us, the truck, and the gunny.”

“How strong are those mines?” BT asked.

“My guess is too strong,” Grimm said. “She’s heavy-handed. You’ve seen her work…remember the mountain she took down?”

Rose flipped him off.

Zombies streamed by the front of the truck and were heading to the back while Grimm and BT were firing their rifles, doing all that they could to stem the tide. The results were like trying to hold the ocean back with a bucket. Even the zombies atop the Stryker were beginning to move off and away to stop Tommy from succeeding. Tommy had jumped down off the back and was shoving zombies to the side, striking them hard enough to break bones as he did so.

BT wasn’t thrilled with having witnesses, but he wasn’t in the best position to help his charge. “Major, the zombies are leaving you. Our man could use some covering fire.” BT watched as Tommy struck a zombie in the temple with enough force its head snapped back, and broke its neck. He swung the buttstock of his rifle to dislodge the next one’s jaw. He was moving fast as he fought, dodging when he could, destroying when he couldn’t. In these close quarters, his rifle was best used as a club, and he wielded it with deadly precision.

“You seeing this shit?” Reed asked Baggelli as he primed his weapon. “What the hell are they feeding those Marines?”

“I guess a whole bunch of get some.” Baggelli was shooting rapidly, doing his best to give Forsyth’s potential savior as much room as possible.

Reed’s next words were lost in the loud percussions of the top-mounted cannon as it laid down zombies by the dozens. Forsyth had turned over, barely able to do more than gaze up at the sky; he was aware enough to realize something big was going on around him but did not have enough energy to do anything about it, and he was perched on the edge of caring. BT had the passenger door open and was precariously balanced, firing his rifle as well. Zombies fought through the ring of death only to be met by Tommy, who dispatched of them with prejudice.

Swinging his weapon with one hand, Tommy grabbed Forsyth’s arm and wrenched the man up as if he were stuffed with straw.

“Guy must live in the gym,” Baggelli shouted.

“Adrenaline.” Reed was busy checking the gun as Walde reloaded below him. “Package in hand!” he shouted when Forsyth was unceremoniously slung over Tommy’s shoulder. The rescue became infinitely more dangerous as he was only able to use one arm. “He looks bad.” Reed was referring to Forsyth, who was not moving of his own volition but rather jerking around as Tommy twisted, punched, and kicked his way back to the cement truck.

“Gunny…zees are coming for us!” Grimm warned.

“Faster, Tommy! The window is closing,” BT urged.

There was no response as Tommy stumbled and dropped to a knee. A zombie leaped in and knocked his rifle free.

“Package and courier are down!” Reed informed as he once again began firing, this time getting much closer than he would have liked to both of the men. “Shit,” he mumbled; the odds had been bad when the Marine had started, and they were steadily going downhill ever since. “Going in!”

“Stand down, Reed!” Overland ordered.

“He’s not going to make it, sir!”

There was a small pile of zombies diving into the mix, teeth-gnashing, gnarled hands seeking purchase to hold their quarry in place. Baggelli had stepped out of the hatch and brought his rifle up. The pile was wriggling and two zombies fell away as Tommy shakily stood. Four had stayed attached, looking for a place to grab meat from.

“Fuck me,” Baggelli said. “He’s got to be carrying a thousand pounds.” He redoubled his efforts, taking well-aimed shots at the creatures hanging from the Marine as Tommy began wading back.

“He’s up, fuck me, he’s up!” Reed wanted to pump his fist in the air, thought it better to keep shooting. “Package is in the truck!” Reed reported as Tommy tossed the gunny inside.

“Clear,” Tommy breathed through his headset as he climbed in, kicking the last of the zombies in the teeth as he joined the gunny in the back.

“Overland, get your people inside and shut the hatches. Going to clear a path and then make a run for it!” BT was breathing heavily, zombies were coalescing on the truck, climbing aboard and ripping at any part of it they could in a bid to render it unable to move. “Now! Rose, now!” BT said as he closed his door and watched the SEALs pull back into the Stryker.

She flipped a switch. Thousands of ball bearings shot out and turned everything in their path into a fine mist of blood, bone, hair, and rags.

“Fuck me!” Reed repeated as he covered his ears. The inside of the Stryker sounded like the bell tower in Notre Dame ringing in the new Pope.

“Claymore!” Walde shouted over the din.

“Go, go, go!” Overland was pushing his people up and out even before the echoing noise inside could die down.

“Damn,” Baggelli said as he moved quickly, doing his best to not slide on the detritus littered all over the ground. He laid down covering fire as the rest of the group joined him. Reed pulled on Baggelli, who followed the rest inside the back of the cement truck.

Walde was looking over Forsyth.

“We’re in, Gunny!” Overland was out of breath. Reed and Baggelli were firing from the opening in the back.

“Grimm, get us out of here,” BT told him. “Rose, do your thing!”

Fire in the hole!” she shouted as she blew the Claymores attached to the three other sides of the truck. Zombies fell away like wheat in gale force winds.

Grimm gunned the engine and they were underway.

“Is he bit?” Overland had got down next to his gunny.

“Don’t see anything, sir,” Walde told him.

“Unreal, man, just unreal.” Baggelli had gone over to Tommy, who was hunched over, covered in blood, his clothes torn in a dozen different places. “Shit. Reed, give me your water. We need to clean this man up.”

“I’m good,” Tommy told him as he covered a wound on his arm with his hand.

“Sir,” Baggelli said. “Might have a situation here.”

“Take care of it, Baggelli.” Overland was keeping watch over his gunny.

“Think we got a bite.”

Overland stood and noticed that Baggelli had backed up and that the Marine was covering something. “We need to take a look at that, son,” Overland said.

“I said I’ll be fine.” Tommy was standing now, a menacing look upon his face.

BT was listening to what was happening in the back. He covered his pick up. “Grimm, get us out of the killing zone fast, Tommy is in trouble.”

“It’s a cement truck, Gunny, not really built for speed.”

“Then find a steep hill to coast down!” BT yelled at him.

Grimm was concerned the gunny would find a way for him to do push-ups while he was driving if he didn’t pedal faster. He got another mile away before BT ordered a halt; the big man had jumped down before they’d come to a complete stop. When he climbed up to the back of the truck, he found three very wary SEALs watching Tommy.

“Sergeant, you should ride up front.” BT was talking to Tommy.

“Gunny, your man here may have been bitten. He needs to be checked immediately,” Overland said.

“We’ll do it up front.”

“I can’t allow that,” Overland stated. “He poses a risk to everyone on this mission.”

“Major, this is Lieutenant Talbot. We had a deal. I was in charge of my mine and you yours.”

“All due respect, Lieutenant, that was before we had a bite. I don’t think you and your men are thinking clearly. And with you not here…”

“My gunnery sergeant is up to the task of knowing what’s best for my squad, and if you want to talk about risk, bringing a busted up vehicle into the midst of a zombie horde I think goes above and beyond anything we signed up for.”

“Zombies are following.” Rose had come to back up her squad.

“I can see blood dripping from his arm. If he’s infected, he could turn within the hour,” Walde said, trying to interject reason.

“Gunny, get this rig moving.” Overland could see a troop of zombies running towards them up the road.

“Of course, sir, as soon as my sergeant is resting comfortably up front,” BT said. “Running out of time.” He didn’t need to turn to hear the slapping feet of many pursuing zombies. Tommy shouldered past Baggelli; Reed stepped out of the way.

“You know what to do…” Overland started.

BT walked away with the other two before he could finish. “Get us out of here.” Grimm was fixated on the blood on Tommy’s arm.

“You bit?” he asked.

“Sliced,” Tommy responded, but he kept his hand over the wound.

“We should get a dressing on that.” Rose was fumbling in her bag.

“Demo and first aid in the same kit?” BT asked.

“Have you ever seen a woman’s purse?” she smiled. “And this is three times that size. I could fit a bed in here. Can I see your arm?”

Tommy did not move.

“Sergeant, Overland might have given you a pass, but Major Eastman is not going to let you on the plane if we can’t confirm you weren’t bitten.”

“BT, we may need to initiate another plan,” Mike said. BT knew this was code to change frequencies. Eastman might still be able to pick it up, but the likelihood that Overland could scan to it before they were done was minimal. “Tommy.”

“It’s pretty bad, Mr. T.”

Mike wiped his brow of the sweat that had formed there. “Bitten?”

“No.”

“That’s good, right?” There was relief in Mike’s voice.

“A bone shard ripped me open.”

Rose and Grimm’s eyes both got big, BT sighed in distress.

“It’s not a bite, though,” Grimm said. “Right? So that means he’ll be okay.”

“What are they up to?” Overland said, tapping his earpiece. “They switched frequencies. I don’t trust them.”

“Sir, I watched the sergeant save the gunny; he’s a tough bastard,” Reed said.

“No one can fight off a zombie infection,” Walde said as she got the gunny to drink some water. He stirred slightly as he gulped the liquid down. “Slow, Gunny, or you’re going to throw it back up,” she warned.

“Start scanning; see if you can pick them up,” Overland said to Baggelli and Reed.

Reed wanted the Marines to sort their mess out, not have him and his team dragged into it. He saw the fierce loyalty they had for one another; if the SEALs inserted themselves into the mix, it could make for muddy waters. He wasn’t going to defy his major, but he also wasn’t sure if he was going to let him know if he happened across their conversation.

“How’s he doing?” Overland asked.

“Better,” Forsyth spoke with a dry rasp. “Couldn’t get a better ride?” He was looking up at a concrete-coated blade.

“Limos were all booked up. Good to have you back,” Overland told him.

“Whatever you did, you shouldn’t have risked it.”

“I couldn’t leave you there.”

“And yet you should have.” Forsyth raised his arm and pulled back his sleeve to show a perfect bite mark. The edges were red, ragged and oozing.

“Did that just happen?” Baggelli couldn’t believe that after all this time and successfully getting him away from the zombies that they would lose him in the eleventh hour.

“That looks old…?” Walde was putting antiseptic on the wound and inspecting it closer.

“Insurance policy,” Forsyth said. “Got it the first day. They said they knew you’d be back, you’d be able to see I was alive. And, on the slight chance you were successful, I still wouldn’t get away.”

“What is going on? That was over two weeks ago—you’d be a zombie. Could he be immune?” Reed said.

“I’m not.” Forsyth’s head sagged.

“Max, tell me what’s going on,” Overland asked his friend.

“It’s in me. I can feel it, like a spider lying in wait for its prey, ready to pounce. They told me there was no escape for me. Jim, don’t let me…I don’t want to become one of them,” he implored his friend.

“No one’s turning into a zombie,” Overland told him, though there was not much conviction behind his words. He stood; none of this made sense to him…zombies talking, leaving ticking time bombs in people. The possibility he could lose his best friend. None of it. He was seething by the time they pulled up to the airfield. He jumped down off the back of the truck and went a few yards away so he could compose himself.

Sergeant Winters was heading their way with a saline IV, to get more fluids into Forsyth. He climbed into the truck; the gunnery sergeant weakly pushed him away.

“Can you do a test?”

“A test for what?” Winters was confused.

“I’ve been bitten.” There was no need to clarify.

“It’s an easy enough test, but not something done out in the field. How long ago?”

“Over two weeks.”

Overland piped in. “That means he’s not going to be one of them, right? We know the incubation period is twenty-four hours or less, right?”

“I mean, as far as I know, that’s the truth. There could be exceptions, though this does seem extreme.”

“What about him being immune?” Overland was reaching.

“That’s something we’ve not seen yet. It’s a lot like rabies; once you’re exposed, it overwhelms the body’s defenses.”

“Don’t listen to him. As much as the major wants to believe otherwise, I’m infected, and I fear the clock is ticking now.” Forsyth was attempting to make peace with the inevitable.

6

Mike Journal Entry 5

“Help me up,” I asked Stenzel.

“Are you serious? You almost died a couple of hours ago,” she replied.

“Right, it’s in the past.” I groaned and moaned as she lightly pulled me into a sitting position. “That sucked. Now help me stand.”

“Sir, if you need help standing, doesn’t it make more sense to stay lying down?”

“Stenzel, when have I ever made more sense? Don’t make me order you,” I told her when she hadn’t moved.

“Let me at least find something you can balance with.” She was rooting around the supplies on board; she came back a few minutes later with a large crowbar used to open crates. “Even has a handle.”

“Yes, we wouldn’t want him to fall and hurt himself more,” Deneaux said.

“I told you she cared,” I told Stenzel. “And as far as my cane goes, I don’t think it’s ergonomic but it’ll do, thank you.” If I thought sitting hurt, standing was a whole new level of tormenting fun. “Stay close,” I told her as I wobbled. I needn’t have worried; she was standing there with her arms outstretched, like a Little League catcher waiting for the throw to the plate. “We need to go outside.”

“Sir, seriously.”

“I’ll flop my way there if you don’t help.”

“He can’t help himself, dearie; don’t you know that the world revolves around Michael Talbot?”

“I wish she would talk less,” Stenzel said.

“You and me both.”

“Sir, not sure what’s going on out there, but I think you might want to take a look.” Kirby had come back on the plane.

“Kirby, get your ass over here and help me,” Stenzel said.

I had the majority of my weight distributed between the two of them and I almost said fuck it. I squinted as the sun hit my eyes; Forsyth was sitting in a lawn chair acquired from who knows where. Winters and Overland were hovering over him. I noticed Tommy, BT, Grimm and Rose all together; it looked like a circled wagon type of thing, and off to the side, keeping a wary watch on everything was Overland’s entire team.

“Give me the low down,” I told Kirby.

“Looks like their gunny has been bitten and maybe Sergeant Vangoth, as well, but he’s not showing anyone.”

This I already knew, I was concerned about both men. I thought Tommy could fight off the infection, especially since it wasn’t a bite, but as far as that went, I couldn’t be sure.

I could hear Overland talking to Eastman about getting the bird ready to fly. Winters got an IV going into Forsyth and then went over to look at Tommy. Overland waved to Sergeant Walde to help get Forsyth aboard. The major looked rough; his face was pale and his red-rimmed eyes showed every bit of the stress he was feeling.

“Lieutenant, good to see you up,” he said as he moved past.

“Up?” Kirby murmured, “I’m carrying him.”

I was thankful when BT came to me instead of having to be dragged there. “What’s with the Royal Guard?” I asked about Overland’s men.

“They’re making sure Tommy doesn’t turn.”

“Get him on board. We’re leaving soon,” I said.

I noticed Baggelli and Reed on an intercept course as my squad was coming. “Just hold up right there. This is none of your business,” I told them.

“We don’t take orders from you.” Baggelli was all business.

“So, whose orders are you following right now? Your own?” I asked. “Because if the major is worried about allowing potentially infected people on the plane, it’s a little late for that, don’t you think?” Baggelli looked to Reed; he didn’t have an answer for that. “I’ll tell you what, Corporal, we’ll keep an eye on our man, you do the same for yours.”

“If it’s all the same, we’ll watch both,” he replied.

“It’s not all the same, Corporal. I’m telling you to stand the fuck down or I’ll put you down.” Big words from a man barely standing, but he must have seen something in my eyes or the eyes of my squad because instead of letting the situation escalate, he walked past and got onto the plane.

“How you doing, kid?” I asked as Tommy came over.

Winters had wrapped the wound; the dressing was already taking on a crimson hue.

“Concerned,” was all he said.

“Anything I can help with?”

He shook his head. I had a feeling about what he needed to do, I just didn’t know how he was going to accomplish it—or if I even wanted to know.

“What do you think the odds of survival are for those around you?” Deneaux would have made me jump if I’d had the power to do so on my own.

“Like a scary old ninja! Fuck woman,” I said, “how did you get out here?”

“You should know by now it’s a better rate around him than not.” BT didn’t walk into her, but close enough that they would have traded paint if they were cars.

Major Jackson came to the doorway to let us know we should get back on.

“Mush, Kirby,” I told the private.

“What are you doing with her?” BT asked.

“Bringing her back.”

BT arched an eyebrow.

“I think she’s changed. Reformed and everything.”

“Seriously, Talbot.”

“She’s got Etna wired to blow if something untoward should happen to her.” Deneaux was smiling; BT, not so much. “We’re taking her back and I’m going to make sure she and I are attached at the hip until every device is found.”

“I hope your shots are up to date,” BT said. “Had a lingering case of diarrhea once…she reminds me of that.”

“Eloquent, as always,” Deneaux said.

“Seriously? How do you think people are going to respond when you tell them you have their homes rigged to explode? Cuff her to something sturdy.”

The rest of my squad was with me as we went back in. Overland and Forsyth were in the back murmuring, although with the props spinning, they could have been having a shouting match and we wouldn’t have heard what they were saying.

Baggelli looked like he wanted to start kicking things around; near as I could tell, none of it was directed our way, just angry in general. That was something I could get behind. So many unknowns and not even close to feeling a hundred percent made it that much more difficult to contemplate how we were going to deal with the rest of this. It was likely I was going to be put on the side of defending Deneaux once we got back. There was a distinct possibility that Bennington would want to hang her from her toenails. And there was more than a likely possibility that someone, or ones, at the base would want her dead, especially from within her own circle, as they had the most to lose if she somehow turned state’s evidence, which she would in a heartbeat if she stood to gain from it. I would end up being her shield and this would be after she blew my home up.

Deneaux haunted me like some particularly embarrassing episode that happened in my past. No one but myself gave it a thought anymore, and yet, it still made me lose countless hours of sleep as I dwelled upon the stupidity of my actions. Honestly, if you ran a ticker on your life, you’d see possibly hundreds of cringeworthy things that, even years later, you wish you could scour from your memory; they remain fresh as the day you fucked up. But think of it this way, no one but you gives two shits; everybody else is over it. If they even remember it, which they probably don’t. Given enough ink and paper, I could write down every misdeed I’ve ever performed; given the same allotment of supplies, I’m not sure I could do the same with all the boneheaded things I’ve witnessed, but that stuff doesn’t mean crap to me. What it boils down to is, we punish ourselves over things that mean so little to others and to the world in general.

Where the hell was I going with this? Oh yeah, I wanted to kill Deneaux. Maybe a leap in logic, but a truth, nonetheless. She knew the game too, though. No way she was going to reveal every card in her hand; she couldn’t. Maybe it was time to dip my toe in the deep mud hole once again.

I gingerly sat down next to her, and strapped my seat belt in just as Eastman told us we were about to get underway.

“Could you strap me in?” Deneaux asked, showing her handcuffed hands.

“I could, but I don’t care if you go flying about the cabin like a drone with a busted guidance system.”

“I’m surprised you don’t have more women clamoring to be with you. Or should I ask what you have over your wife’s head that she feels compelled to stay with you rather than let that be revealed.”

“Oh, enough about me. Let’s talk about you for a change.”

“My favorite subject,” she replied.

“Of course it is. What kind of wannabe world-ruling narcissist would you be if it wasn’t?”

“Get on with it then. If we can’t have a civil conversation, I would rather be left alone.”

“I’m thinking…when you were plotting your hostile takeover of the known world, you obviously made allies with people that could help you further your agenda. Correct?”

She said nothing; she wanted to see where I was going with this before she committed.

“Feel free to chime in whenever you want; I’m not wearing a wire, and I would think the engine noise would make any audio I could record inadmissible anyway.”

“Rest assured, Michael, I’ll respond if you say anything worthy of my time. And just so you’re aware, smugness does not become you.”

“Smug? This isn’t smug; this is pain. My drugs are wearing off. Might be a little indigestion as well. MRE’s aren’t known for their gentleness on digestive tracts; be a damn shame if I gassed the both of us out the entire trip back.”

“Michael, coy doesn’t work for you either. You’re practically bursting with what you want to say to me, so let’s skip over the banalities and the nonsense you imagine to be humor and get right to it.”

“How to ruin a boy’s dream…and, hey, toilet humor is one of the oldest and best forms of comedy.”

“To a seven-year-old.”

“The most innocent age of children. I think they have it right; can you imagine if we all stayed at that mentality? I think the world would have been like the Eden we’d read about.”

“If we all acted like seven-year-olds, no one would make it to eight.”

“Sort of the point, but I get where you’re coming from. Let’s move on then. So, in your quest for world domination….”

“Again with the dramatics. I wished to run Etna Station the way it should have been, that’s all.”

“Dictator, dick head…all starts with a dick. Anyway, so you threw your lot in with what I would suspect are an unsavory bunch. True?”

She seemed to be getting bored with the proceedings.

“Fine, fine, I’ll get to the good stuff. So now that you’ve been found out and potentially declawed, what do you think their next move might be?”

“I don’t know what you’re speaking of.” Those were her words, but I could see the machinations behind her eyes beginning to calculate.

“You’re caught, plain and simple. That a fair statement?”

She wouldn’t even give me an answer to that one. Ensnaring Deneaux was like catching water with a net, no matter how fine the mesh, she was eventually going to slip on through.

“Tough crowd, but my guess is not as tough as the crowd back at Etna. You hope, in the rebuilding of a society, you’re only going to get the best of the best, but I think you and I can disprove that notion. Survivors might get the job done, but, well, we’ve all muddied and bloodied the waters.”

“If you have a point, now might be the time to get to it,” Deneaux said.

“I’m trying to draw this out because a sick part of me is enjoying it, to know that the spider-like Deneaux may have caught herself up in her web. The board members—I’m sure you think of them as your lackeys, dolts who would do anything to swish around their master’s feet. But some of those dolts will have their own aspirations, their own plans, their own agendas they will want advanced. With me so far?”

“Seriously, Michael, someone with a learning disability could outpace you.”

I blew her off, even if she was right. “These same people, what do you think they’re going to try to do to you if they think you’ll rat them out?”

Maybe I got a reaction or maybe she had to pinch a fart off that could have led to more. Difficult to say.

“This is just me, and it could be because I watched a bunch of movies, but don’t you think they might try to eliminate someone that could put them in jail or maybe even line them up against a wall? I would think they’d want to get rid of you fast. Especially after I make sure that it is widely known that you are going to give forth information in a bid to keep yourself from being executed. I would imagine they’ll be coming out of the woodwork. You’ll be isolated from your cronies and the opposition, and lord knows you have no friends. So, what’s that leave you with?”

“Myself, the only person I can trust.”

“So smart and so wrong. If you hadn’t been such a manipulative, murderous bitch from the onset, you would have had an ally from the beginning. Fuck, I just realized who you are! You’re like Doctor Smith from Lost in Space. He was an asshole from the beginning, and they all knew it, but they were stuck with him. I used to wonder why they never just shot him or sent him off into an endless void, and now look at me. I’m living the same damn thing. I guess it’s always easier to say things than to do them.”

“How wise do you think it will be to go spouting off at the mouth about me? You just said you wanted to keep me close; I don’t think any of them would mind if you were caught in the crossfire.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Too distasteful to do it yourself?”

“I’m not sure if I could think of anything more I’d rather do than punch you so hard in the face, repeatedly, that you start shitting out teeth. Too much? How about just squeezing that skinny neck of yours until your eyeballs pop out into your lap? Or better yet, your sphincter falls out your ass…yeah, that’s too graphic even for me.”

“I’ll take ‘things that will never happen’ for five hundred, Alex.”

“You sure about that?”

“Enough to bet my life on it. In life or death situations with only mere moments to act, you may be one of the most successful people I have ever encountered. But if you are given enough time to calculate your decisions, you fall short. Your psyche prevents you from doing anything overtly distasteful. Perhaps it’s guilt; it doesn’t matter. Let’s face it, Michael, unless I am actively holding a gun to your head and my finger is on the trigger, I’m safe.”

I was going to protest, wanted to, in fact, but I think she hit the nail on the head. I hated to admit it, but it was always my mind that interfered. Somewhere along the line, I didn’t have the necessary tools to reason properly.

“Fuck it, I know when I’m beaten. I won’t kill you just yet; good chance someone else will take care of that for me anyway.” I stood up to go check on Forsyth. She asked if I would grab and light a smoke for her; I decided not even to respond.

“How’s he doing?” I asked. Winters and Walde were both checking his vitals, getting him hydrated and trying to get some food in, which he kept refusing. Overland was seated nearby, but his gaze was fixated on a set of rivets on the floor. He was doing his best to reconcile what was happening. Reed and Baggelli were keeping an eye on everything around us.

“What if we flood his body with antibiotics?” Walde asked.

“It will buy him some time, but to what end?” Winters asked, peering under the gauze he’d placed on the wound. He pulled it back far enough that I could see the tiny black lines beginning to radiate outwards. Our rescue had triggered something within him.

“Major.” I had to say it a second time before I was able to wrest his attention away from his thousand-yard stare.

“Yeah.” He had a haunted expression upon his features, shadows making his eyes look sunken.

“I think it might be safer for all involved if Forsyth was restrained.”

That awoke Overland like I’d open-palm slapped him. Good chance he was going to tell me to fuck off. It was Forsyth himself that spoke up.

“He’s right, Jim, I’m losing,” the gunny said. “I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be me. If I wasn’t so damned tired, I suppose I’d be scared. Tough to care right now, when all I want to do is sleep.”

“Walde?” Overland asked his impromptu medic what she thought.

“I think the lieutenant might be right, sir. In the meantime, I say we try the antibiotics and see if he can receive more help at the base.”

“Uh, sir, can I talk to you?” I asked Overland. “In private.”

“Go on,” Overland said once we’d moved far enough away.

“I don’t think handing him over to the base hospital is necessarily the wisest move.” I told him about what had happened to Springer, but not how I had found out—I didn’t want to burn Major Dylan, should there be fall out.

“So now I’m just supposed to believe that we’re actively creating zombie spies?”

“Attempting to, at least. I have no illusions that it’s working for anyone but the other side.”

“Dewey,” Overland said resignedly. “Before I encountered him, I would have said you were full of shit.”

“I still might be,” I told him.

“Since we’re sitting here and we’re talking candidly…your Sergeant Vangoth. Is he infected?”

I wrestled with how I was going to explain this and not get any of us staked through the heart. “Early on, when we were still trying to figure this out, one of the members in my group was a doctor.” I was referring to Doc Baker. “Due to some materials supplied to him, he had a good handle on what caused the virus to work the way it did, and he even had some success eradicating it.”

“A vaccine? A cure?” It would have been impossible not to see the hope in his face.

“I’m not entirely sure what he did or how he did it, but he did have some success. From what I can gather, there is nothing that can prevent infection from a bite from running its course; nothing can be done. But scratches, other kinds of wounds caused by zombies, could be halted.”

“You’re saying your sergeant was a recipient of this medicine?”

I was treading towards flat-out lying territory, and, generally, those waters were difficult for me to navigate.

“Yes.” I hoped that it didn’t come out with the tremor it felt in my mind.

“And this Doctor Baker…”

“Gone.”

“His work?”

“Died with him, as far as I know.”

“Your Springer, he’s still alive?”

“As much as a person trapped in a body being operated by a zombie virus can be.”

“And you’re saying that’s where Forsyth is headed.”

“From everything I know right now, Major, yes, I think Dewey is setting us all up. I can’t think of a more fucked-up hell than the one my man is going through. One of the first things I plan on doing, once it doesn’t hurt to breathe, is putting him out of his misery.”

“Your sergeant, might his body contain antibodies? A way to deal with the virus? Something that could be used to synthesize a new drug?”

“I don’t know how it works. I figure if there’s going to be any breakthrough, it’s going to come from the baby we saved.”

He was familiar with the story; how, I wasn’t sure.

“If this Dewey can hold off the virus…”

“Dangerous path, Major. Are you going to start making deals with the dead devil?”

“I could coerce him.”

“You’re going to force a zombie to do your bidding?”

“It has wants and desires; it will want to stay alive, such as it is.”

“Think it through, Major, there’s no telling what Dewey could do…keep your man safe for six months and then all of a sudden when your team least expects it, he turns in the night.”

“He’s my friend. What would you do if the roles were reversed?”

In my mind, I saw Tommy, injured, under scrutiny, our team surrounding him. This was another one of those instances where it was always going to be easier to say what to do, rather than do it. I would do everything in my power to ensure his safety, even making the dreaded deal, hoping that there would be a way down the line to break it. I was living proof I would do whatever it took, but that was for my own.

“Shit, anything I could,” I went with the truth.

“Is it possible Etna has a cure?” he asked.

“I suppose anything is possible, but what’s the upside to keeping that hidden?”

Although we both knew the answer to that: power, or the loss of it. I didn’t believe that to be the case. I could not figure Bennington was so hell-bent on running a base that he would fear losing it should a cure for zombieism come into fruition. First off, the sheer numbers of zombies we were dealing with and the amount of still human assholes out there necessitated Etna. No, there was no cure, but if Overland wanted to hold onto that hope, I wasn’t going to take it from him.

“All I know, Major, is that until something can be done, I think it would be safer for everyone involved if your man was restrained. We’ve all suffered enough, adding to that is not going to make anything better.”

“You’re right, you’re right. I’ll take care of it.”

“How’d that go?” BT asked when I sat down.

“About as well as you might expect.” We said nothing for a good long while. My body demanded some rest, and I was willing to oblige. I was shaken awake by Major Jackson some time later.

“Major Eastman would like you up in the cockpit.”

It wasn’t going to be good news; that was obviously in short supply. Major Overland was already up there.

“I’m getting reports from Etna that there is a massive build-up of zombies heading their way.”

“They under attack?” I asked.

“Not yet,” Eastman replied.

“This is Dewey.” I could feel it in my bones. He was going to make good on his campaign promise of keeping his constituents fed.

“Are they advising us to land somewhere else? I want to get my gunny to the hospital.”

“Cautionary, so far, but we all know it’s only a matter of time. Seeing as we all could be fugitives, I figured I would ask this question. Personally, I’m going to Etna but do any of you want me to land somewhere else to let you off?”

“Leave Etna when they need us the most?” Overland seemed indignant.

“Merely asking,” Eastman replied. “And you, Lieutenant? Haven’t heard your response.”

“It would be nice to know if we were going to be riding out the upcoming battle in a cell or not, but yeah, Etna it is, even if my family wasn’t there. Major Overland is right; I wouldn’t leave them in their time of need.”

“Got a couple more hours of flight time, maybe figure out your arguments to not being thrown in the brig,” Eastman said.

“Story of my life,” I said as I turned to head back. Overland stayed up front; maybe they were discussing how to throw me under the bus for the whole thing. I didn’t believe that, but one can’t be too sure. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“You healing up?” Tommy asked. He seemed to be in great discomfort.

“I could ask the same of you.”

“What’s going on?” BT asked, the rest of the squad doing the best to hear my response while also trying to look like they weren’t listening. I made sure they all knew because we were all in it together.

“Dewey is preparing to launch an attack on Etna.”

That was when the question peppering began, but each answer was the same. I told them that they knew as much about what was going on as I did. They were not at all thrilled with my lack of information.

“Get some rest if you can–might be the last time for a bit.” That worked about as well as telling little kids to get some sleep on Christmas Eve. Sure, one reason was for excitement and the other for dread, but otherwise exactly the same. My injuries demanded rest, or healing did. I was again shaken awake by Major Jackson.

“I am sorry I keep doing this to you Lieutenant, but Major Eastman would like you up front again.”

“If this doesn’t involve hot towels and a warm cookie, I’m not inclined to go,” I told him as I arose.

“Wipe the drool from your face,” BT said, “makes you look even crazier with it there.”

“Everyone loves a critic,” I told him.

Eastman acknowledged my arrival in the cockpit with a nod. “I’m coming back around. Take a look to our port.”

“Which part of me looks like I was in the navy?” I asked.

“Left. Keep an eye to the left.”

“Was that so hard?”

“And your gunny is right; you have drool on you.”

“Huh. I thought he was full of shit.” I dragged a sleeve across the entirety of my face. I’d not realized my mouth was hanging open as I gazed upon a vast horde. It looked to be rivaling the one we’d stopped in Colorado and summarily been nuked. “Holy shit. How far to Etna from here?”

“Starboard side now.”

“I’m figuring that’s right, right?” I looked in that direction; I could make out the base. If Bennington had another nuke at his disposal, the zombies were entirely too close for him to use it. “The satellite had to be picking them up for days, right?” I said that out loud; inside, I was thinking, why wouldn’t Bennington have used a nuke if he’d had warning? Either he didn’t have one or maybe dropping them on American soil was messing with his head, as well. Then the conspiracy part of me was thinking that maybe this intel was being kept from him. But the number of people involved seemed farfetched and then the reasoning behind that action seemed even more so. Nobody at Etna, besides Dewey, wanted thousands of zombies in the vicinity. Then I turned back to the passenger area and to Deneaux, who was watching me like a hawk. Did she have answers? I strode back with a purpose.

“What do you know?” I had to restrain myself from wrapping a hand around her neck.

“Is there something you think I should know?”

“I can’t even imagine the ledger against you, however unlikely you should end up at the Pearly Gates upon your reckoning. I think in the end you’ll just burst into flame. How could you not?”

“I didn’t know you believed in fairy tales.”

“The zombies, Deneaux. What do you know about them?”

“Whatever are you talking about, Michael? If you haven’t realized, I’ve been with you the entire time.”

“I realize it all too well. There’s somewhere in the neighborhood of ten thousand zombies outside the gates to Etna.”

“Is this like a déjà vu moment for you?” I was staring at her yellowed tobacco-stained teeth as she pulled her lips back; she looked like a rabid old dog.

“Fuck it. Eastman, open up the cargo hold! Stenzel give me the keys.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m sending the Wicked Witch of the West into the twister.”

“Sir?” She reluctantly handed the key over.

“Lieutenant, I’m getting ready to land—that’s not advisable,” Eastman called back.

“Fine, side door it is.” I’d undone her straps and had pulled her to her feet, and had shoved her toward the door.

“Are you forgetting about my fail-safes?” she asked, mistakenly believing that would save her bony ass.

“That wouldn’t be too smart of me, so, no, I haven’t forgotten. All I know, Vivian, is I’m no match for you in this arena. You’re playing chess and I’m playing Chutes and Ladders. I’ll never be able to keep up. As for your fail-safes, I’ll deal with what happens as it happens, but with you completely out of the picture, at least I know you can’t keep laying traps for me, because every time, well, we both know what happens, I unwittingly step into them.” I had one hand on her back as I pushed her up against the fuselage, pinning her tight. With the other I was working the safety on the door. By this time, I had a small audience; none knew if this was bluster or a psychotic snap on my part. Little did they know this was the clearest thought I’d had in a good long while.

“I don’t believe you!” She had to shout over the roar of the wind as I pulled the door open.

“Meh. You can think about it on the way down.” I pulled a bundle of her shirt into my fist, wrenched her back away from the wall of the plane and then toward the open door. I didn’t think she’d plead for her life, not really in her persona to beg. Should have known; she’d realized she’d gone as far as she could with me, and she needed to work on someone else.

“There’s a cure!” she yelled.

I mistakenly thought she was talking to me. “Yeah, I know there’s a cure. It involves you sticking the landing from ten thousand feet—or not—doesn’t make much of a difference to me how you land. The sweet spot might be the crown of your head.”

“Lieutenant!” Turns out Overland had called to me four times before he broke through the cloud of anger I was feeling. Deneaux’s feet were hanging ten on the lip of the hatch and I was pushing her; most of her weight was leaning back. Funny woman. She didn’t have her hands wrapped around mine or even gripping the lip of the doorway; she was going to live or die solely by my actions. Fairly trusting, if I do say so myself.

“Little busy, sir,” I told him without looking back.

“Unhand that woman.”

“Precisely my plan, sir.”

“Inside, Lieutenant. Unhand her inside.”

“Well sure thing, sir! I mean, I wasn’t planning on joining her on what I’m sure is going to be an epic freefall.”

I felt the barrel of a pistol pressed firmly to the back of my skull. “Bring her in nice and easy.”

I couldn’t see it; I barely heard it due to the wind, but I was pretty sure there were a whole bunch of weapons pointing all over the place. Eastman’s plane was very much in danger of being taken down from the inside.

“I’m doing the world a favor right now. I was expecting a parade, not a bullet.” I’d not moved.

“I want to hear what she has to say, and last I checked, we don’t summarily execute people without a trial.”

“A trial?” I laughed, might have come out as a snort. “You know she’d either own or coerce any jury. A trial. You’re a funny one, Major.”

“Fine. I don’t give a shit about her or a trial, but the cure she’s talking about, that means something.”

“It’s a lie, Major. Just like eighty percent of what comes out of her mouth.”

“Eighty percent? Little low, don’t you think?” BT was close. “We’ve got your back and I’m mostly behind what you’re doing.”

“Thanks, man,” I told him. “Overland, don’t you think it suspicious that all of a sudden she knows about a cure the moment she needs it? She’s playing you. I need you to trust me on this, as one that has been fiddle-strummed for a good long while now.”

“Strummed!” BT echoed.

“This isn’t church; you don’t need to echo the preacher.”

“Just letting the major know that she has duped you on numerous occasions.”

“So fucking helpful.”

The major left the gun to my head and moved to the side so he could look at Deneaux without me in the way. “This cure, it will help my man?”

I will swear until the day my bones disintegrate into dust that she gave me the briefest of glances and let a smile pull those thin lips up. She had one on the hook.

“He’ll be right as rain.”

“Pull her in,” Overland demanded.

“She’s lying. I realize you’re upset about Forsyth, you should be. She’s just using that against you. I’m telling you, there is no cure for him.”

He pulled the hammer back.

“What the fuck good is that going to do? You kill me, pretty sure we both go tumbling out.”

“Just do it.”

“No.” I let her go. That fucking smirk faltered as she pinwheeled her arms. Overland’s arm shot out and grabbed her. I moved away as he reeled her in.

“I’m not gracious, Major. Trust me when I tell you that I’m going to be looking over your body, and as that knife in your back slowly drains your life away, I’m going to tell you I told you so.”

Overland ignored me as he dragged her in. BT shut the door.

“Cat’s envy the number of lives she has,” he said as he engaged the safety.

“So many good people have been lost along the way, and this reptile survives.” I was still angry and was contemplating shooting her where she stood, but if I did that, a gun battle would ensue, and as much as I wanted her dead, I didn’t want anyone else on this plane to meet that fate. “Put the guns down. The moment is passed. I’m going to have nightmares about this for years.”

“It’s okay, sir; you didn’t kill her,” Rose said.

“It’s because I didn’t, that will haunt me.”

“Oh,” was her confused reply.

“Touching down in five. Please shut off all electronic devices, put your tray tables away and return your seats to their upright position,” Eastman announced over the PA.

Doubtful he’d missed the festivities; probably just trying to loosen the tension. It might have worked if it weren’t for the fact we were landing in a hot zone—or one that was soon to be hot. We had other things to kill besides each other.

“Live to lie another day, huh, Deneaux?” I asked as I walked past her. Overland looked like he wanted to place a protective shield over her. “What are you going to do with her once you realize she’s lying?” I asked him. Wasn’t expecting an answer and none was given. Nice when expectations are met.

7

Mike Journal Entry 6

It would have been difficult to be any more surprised than I was when we landed and there weren’t a dozen MPs waiting, guns drawn. Overland and his squad took off quickly with Deneaux in tow. I was left there with my squad.

“I’m going somewhere to get some rest; I suggest you all do the same. That might be in short supply soon.”

“We’re not in trouble?” Kirby asked.

“I realize that’s an unnatural state for you, but it would appear that way,” I told him.

“Well, isn’t that the tail wagging the dog,” BT added.

“Where do you suggest we go?” Stenzel asked.

If Deneaux had indeed wired the base, which was a safer bet than the zombie cure, where would be the safest place? Would she hit soft-targets, like the school or the hospital? Or would she try to make a statement by taking out headquarters or maybe the supply depot? There was no way of knowing.

“I hate to say this. Get some food and whatever supplies you can grab for an extended stay, and we’ll meet up at the Barrows in a couple of hours.”

The groans would have been worthy of an extremely haunted house. The Barrows were what the far north-western corner of Etna was called. It had been an old, dilapidated industrial area long before the zombies had come, and it had received no love since then. It was once a haven for drug users and the homeless; thankfully, Bennington had cleaned it up somewhat, getting rid of all the needles, drug paraphernalia and all manner of sleeping material that I am sure housed the next super-virus. But it was still just a massive ugly collection of structures with broken-out windows and falling chunks of cement. It would not be comfortable lodgings, though there would be a measure of safety from Deneaux’s madness. My guess was, if she even knew the place existed, she’d never bothered to check it out.

“I was on the detail that picked up that place. Are you sure, sir?” Grimm asked. “There were cockroaches bigger than Kirby’s brain there.”

“So, gnat sized then?” BT asked, we fist-bumped; it was nice for once not being the target of his wit.

“Damn, Gunny.” Rose was smiling.

“You too?” Kirby asked.

“Go get stuff—get more than you think we’ll need. Got a feeling we’re going to be there longer than we want to be,” I told them. The group quickly dispersed. It was just me, BT and Gary left. “Hey brother, can you grab a troop transport truck and meet us over at the jail?”

He clacked his tongue once, snapped his fingers and left.

“Your parents must have realized they were detracting from the gene pool, right?” BT asked.

Eastman walked over, saving me from trying to defend my family’s honor; I most likely would have fallen short of that goal.

“Really figured we’d be spending the night in jail,” he said.

“That makes all of us,” I told him.

“I don’t know what the next few days are going to entail, Lieutenant, but if you need me for anything, including an escape, you come find me.” He shook my hand and walked off.

“Why do people do that?” BT asked.

“What’s that?”

“They practically bend over backward to help you, like they can’t help themselves; me included.”

“It’s my winning personality and charm.”

“I’m sure that’s what you tell yourself at night. You up to walking?”

I nodded. Everything hurt and would for a while, but pain meant I was still alive. Shitty indicator, but it was what I had. Now I had to keep my squad busy enough that they didn’t question how I was already up on my feet. Didn’t think I had to worry about Overland too much, as his mind was occupied elsewhere.

“Come on, let’s go break the news to our significant others that we’re shacking up in a shantytown.”

We started walking. The base, while always a busy place, was now frenetic. Vehicles were whizzing by, soldiers and civilians alike were loaded with supplies. A storm was forecast, and somehow I didn’t think this was going to be the traditional doom and gloom that meteorologists used to predict, sending throngs to the grocery store for milk, bread, beer and diapers. More times than not, those amounted to nothing, and even if a big one hit, no one was socked in for more than a day or two. Were so many people that ill-prepared that they couldn’t ride out a couple of days without stocking up? Sure, the beer was a necessity, and if push came to shove, no one wants a baby with shitty diapers, but other than that, holy fuck.

Got to the jailhouse; Wassau was standing outside. “Good to see you. I’m about done entertaining people.”

“Thank you,” I told him as I went in. First person I saw was Avalyn; she was standing on Sergeant Sorrens’ desk, reading a book out loud. She had a captive audience as she spoke. She was no Sean Runnette, but someday she could be a great narrator. Like she had a sixth sense, Tracy looked up and came over. She was followed by our menagerie, except for Patches, who was curled up by Avalyn’s feet, making sure she was at least indirectly the center of attention.

“Everything all right?”

“It is now,” I told her as I wrapped her up in my arms. Henry banged his head up into my knee until I bent down and petted behind his ear. I quickly gave all of the dogs a greeting; it was when I stood back up that I had the unfortunate view of watching BT swallow my sister up. “Could you take that somewhere else?”

Somehow my sister was able to shoot up everyone’s favorite finger so that I could see it.

“How bad is it out there? We’re not getting much information in here,” Tracy said.

“When did Avalyn come back?”

“Are you avoiding the question?”

“How about: I am slowly building up?”

“Let’s get started then. Bennington brought her here right after our evacuation. Your turn.”

“There’s a crap ton of zombies amassing outside the gate.”

“Going to need more than that; I’m already privy to that information.”

“I can up the ante; Deneaux is here.”

A spark flared in her eyes and immediately shot down to her fists, balling them up tight. “Why?” was all she managed to get out.

“Well, first, I was going to use her like a bomb-sniffing dog and clear the base, then I had a serious dose of fuck it and was just about to give her the literal send-off she deserved…” I paused.

“Then?” she prompted.

“Overland’s man is infected; she promised a cure.”

“Forsyth is a zombie?”

“Not quite. Right now, he’s a carrier.”

She gave me a confused look.

“Dewey did something; he has some sort of control over the virus. It’s latent but rigged to detonate by remote.”

“This is horrible!”

“You’re telling me. And now I’m going to have to deal with Deneaux once Overland realizes she’s full of shit, but by then she will have amassed her allies. It could get messy.”

“I don’t think you’re seeing the bigger picture, Mike.”

“I’m looking at the whole damn ugly impressionist thing. What am I missing?”

“You’re saying Forsyth is a zombie in waiting?”

“Yeaaah…” I answered slowly, not sure where this was going, and I figured if I pronounced the word long enough, I might stumble across an answer. I didn’t, though I should have.

“How many others could be like him?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t you think it’s weird that a condom company named their product after something that was snuck in?” Trip said as he let out a plume of vapor. “Raspberry salmon flavored!”

“What?” Trip’s off-hand remark necessitated a response.

“He gets it,” Tracy said.

“Feel free to tell me.”

“If Forsyth is a Trojan Horse, it’s a possibility there are others.”

“Is that irony? The whole condom thing?” I asked.

“Mike!”

Her calling my name loosed up the part of my mind that could make a cognitive connection, like a hysterical person being slapped to shut up. Although, I’m not sure if that actually works. “Shit.” The dawning should have illuminated my mind, instead, it darkened it. “You’re right. There’s a good bet he gets as many of them in here as he can before he throws the switch. Okay, that’s going to make what I’m about to say a little easier.”

“I doubt that.”

“I’m setting us up to move to the Barrows.”

I’m sure she wanted to lead off with a hearty fuck you or are you kidding, but she couldn’t deny that our little corner of the world was heading south in a hurry, and despite its distasteful past and eyesore of a present, the Barrows offered the best place to set up a defense against all enemies, both foreign and domestic.

“When?”

“Now.”

“We can’t have the kids sleeping on concrete floors.”

“The squad is scavenging for everything we need as we speak.”

“I wonder if we should have just left when you first suggested it.”

“No sense in backtracking. For all I know we could have ended up in a worse situation.”

“You think?”

“Funny. I’m going to say hi to everyone and then we should get going.” I’d given hugs to everyone except Trip, who quite literally smelled like low tide in New Jersey. I’m not entirely sure what that reeks of, but I’m figuring old fish and mafia-linked dead bodies with large cement shoes stuck to their feet.

Gary pulled up in an open-air bed transport. “All I could find.”

I would have preferred no one knowing what was happening or where we were going, but when things began to happen, it was going to go down quick, and I wasn’t going to be caught in the open with my pants down. Although, why your pants would be down in the open brings up a whole different slew of problems and, I would imagine, some sort of registry.

“Wassau, you’re more than welcome to join us. Bring Major Dylan too,” I said as everyone loaded up.

“It’s going to get that bad?”

“And worse.”

“I’ll let Tabitha know, but these kinds of things bring out the worst in people, and I can’t leave.”

“Going to the far side of the base, not Ohio.”

“I’m trying to tell you nicely, Lieutenant, I like my bed, and I’m not so keen to give it up just yet.”

“That I understand. Want me to drive?” I asked my brother, who was getting ready to get back into the driver’s seat.

“With your track record?”

“What’s that mean?”

“You hit a moose, Mike.”

“To be fair, he hit me.”

“How many totaled vehicles do you have to your name?”

“What’s that got to do with anything? They were all during hostile situations, mostly!” He kept staring at me. “Okay, a good number of them were during hostile events.” He kept looking. “Fine, you drive.” I climbed into the back. It was good to see everyone together like this, yet I could not help but also see the holes where good people were missing. There was good in this world but it tended to be fleeting, while bad hung around like a chronic case of bursting herpes, always ready to dribble pus down your lip and ruin everything. “The moment, Talbot,” I said quietly but with a tremor in my voice. No one could hear me over the sound of the large diesel engine. “Be in the moment. You cannot change what has happened, and you cannot predict what will. This moment is the only measure of control that you have.”

“You all right, dad?” Nicole had extended her hand to me. I looked at her and the young one she had in her arms.

“I’m fine. Just sometimes need a reminder.” The smile was forced, at first, and then eased into something much more natural as I looked at my daughter and what we were fighting for.

I wanted to be morose; I felt it sliding along the bottom of my psyche, ready to drag me down into its oily embrace, smothering me in its quagmire. I said I wanted to be; Trip had other ideas. He had stood up in the middle of the truck bed and was dancing—oh, not like a river dance or a flash dance—but rather the hippie, I’m tripping my balls off, type of dance. Hands above his thrown back head, his whole body wriggling around like a moth trying to escape its shiny chrysalis. It was uncomfortable to watch and somewhat hilarious. Somewhere in that brain of his, I’m sure he was listening to the Grateful Dead and doing some serious grooving. BT looked like he was trying to be annoyed, but I could see the mirth he was suppressing. It was all fun and games, right up until Gary turned the corner and we were looking at the Barrows: abandoned, stark. A forbidding row of dilapidated commercial buildings.

“Home sweet, home,” I mumbled.

Tracy shouldered me. “As you go, so do the rest.”

I wanted to say something that I’m sure would have necessitated another elbow or shoulder or straight out punch to the nose; I wisely refrained. I stood to smack the top of the cabin, Gary slowed then stopped. BT and I got down to take a look at the offerings. Comfort was not nearly as high on the list as was the need to secure a place that was as defendable as possible. It seemed insane to think that Etna could fall, but if Dewey had been active, then we could already be lost. Cannot tell you how much I wanted to take everyone, grab Eastman and get the hell out of here. Conscience, honor, stubbornness—maybe just flat out stupidity—was keeping me from that.

Walked the entire street looking at the pros and cons of each building, and in the end, we decided on the one closest to where we’d stopped. It was immense, almost too big, but the street level floor would need the least amount of defensive bolstering. There were minimal windows, and the ones in place were set up high and weren’t much larger than a doggie door. The doors in front were solid oak. In the back of the building was a retrofitted steel door that had seen better days but was still serviceable. The place was as close to a fortress as we were going to find. It was an old textile factory; my guess was they wanted to make sure the labor force, made up mostly of poor children, couldn’t escape all that easily into the light of day.

The inside looked to be the birthplace of graffiti. There was balloon-shaped lettering telling everyone Skeedo had been there; on the wall opposite was a burgeoning artist’s rendition of female genitalia, and right next to it, an amateurish penis discharging copious amounts of spray paint.

“Should be hanging in the Louvre,” BT said as we looked.

“At least part of it. When we start getting the kids in, maybe get them onto the second floor quick and then we need to find a way to cover that up.”

“You’re going to censor art?” BT asked.

“Okay, I’ll leave it. You explain to them what it is.”

“I’ll call Kirby, tell him to bring some paint.”

“Thought so.”

BT and I walked the entire structure. It was three substantial, open floors, somewhere around fifty feet by a hundred. The area had been swept up previously, but it had been a half-assed job done by an uninterested party. Any dangerous paraphernalia was gone, but there were still plenty of beer cans and alcohol bottles; good chance that some of the personnel on the base were still using this place as a hangout. Why not? It was past the range of where the MPs generally patrolled, and you’d be able to play music as loud as you wanted without them coming to break it up. There were a few old plastic lawn chairs, a propane grill and fire-pit on the third floor that lent more credence to my theory. I wasn’t a fan that all of this was sitting on a rather intricate drawing of a pentagram chock full of symbols, that, I’m sure were meant to summon less than savory characters. Never could quite grasp why some among us were so willing to meddle in things they had absolutely no idea the ramifications of. I’m not going to sit here and write that I wholly believe in monstrous, red-horned demons popping out of the ground, but then again, why fuck around with it on the off-chance there was some validity? After all, here we were, hiding from the undead. Who’d a thought?

“I’ll tell Kirby to bring extra paint and maybe some salt.” BT was looking at the same thing I was.

I went downstairs to tell everyone this was the place; of course, it was Trip that stopped in front of the Not Safe For Work mural.

“I think this represents the Neo-Impressionist phase of Georges Seurat. With regard to the issue of content, the internal dynamic of the negative space encroaches on the devious simplicity of the distinctive formal juxtapositions,” he said. “Or it’s just a juvenile statement…either-or.” He was tilting his head back and forth. Angel came around from behind me; I had to steer clear as she wanted to see what the “funny man” was looking at. “What do you think, hon?” Trip asked as Stephanie headed his way.

“What are you talking about?”

“Drawn to scale? Let’s take a look.” He started fumbling with a zipper his sweatpants did not contain. Stephanie, having had years of experience with Trip’s idiosyncrasies, quickly restrained him from exposing himself.

“Mike, there’s a part of me that cares for that guy, albeit an almost insignificant fraction, but the much larger angrier part just wants to…” BT wrapped his hands into fists and twisted them back and forth like he was trying to unscrew a frozen lid from a pickle jar.

“Breathe, let it go…just realize that for the foreseeable future, we’ll be eating MREs,” I told him, patting his back.

“Thanks, that helps.” His face looked relaxed; his hands, however, were still ripping the heads off of stuffed bears.

The squad showed up an hour later. I now knew the reason Gary’d had a hard time finding a truck. They rolled up in three of them. It looked like they had stripped an entire barracks of material; there were beds, mattresses, chairs, desks, tables, and for some reason, a vending machine.

“What the hell guys?” I asked Grimm and Kirby as they wrestled the large machine with a heavy-duty dolly.

“Full of beer, sir,” Grimm grunted.

“Why didn’t you say so?” I jumped in to help.

BT watched the entire proceedings, and waited to speak until we found it a home near an outlet. “All you geniuses realize this building isn’t on the grid, right?”

Crestfallen is a word I would use to describe my feelings right then.

“Got you covered, sir!” Stenzel had a small solar panel in her arms. In fact, they had a truckload of them.

“Do I even want to know where you got those?” I asked.

“Nope,” Kirby said as he went back to help unload the trucks.

“I love Marines’ appropriation skills,” I said.

“You realize it’s called stealing, right?” BT asked.

“You want cold beer or not?”

“Sir, what do you want to do with these?” Kirby was grunting under a heavy load of glinting metal.

“I should have never made that trade; seemed like a good idea at the time.” I was looking at the chain mail shirts. “Who has a closet full of chainmail?”

“The same guy that has a dozen rubber women,” BT said. “They got any in my size?” He was pawing through the stack.

“That’s all right. I’ll just stand here and hold them,” Kirby said, sweat forming on his forehead.

“Of course you will.” BT held one up.

“Gonna look like an S&M tube top on you,” I told him.

“I think I could splice two of them together.” He was tugging at the ringlets.

“You’re going to wear that shit?” I asked.

“The question is, why haven’t we been wearing this stuff all along? We’re battling an enemy that fights primarily by biting.” BT had grabbed two.

“Why is it taking me so long to figure this out?” I grabbed one as well. “Kirby make sure the entire squad has one. Then go see if Sorrens has any more.”

“Aw, come on, sir! The dolls already creep me out and then handing them off to him…”

“I’ll look past you the next time we are exposed to a biological agent. Take Stenzel.”

“You know where to hit a person. Yo, Stenzel, got some swimwear for you!”

Spent the entire day cleaning and setting up the area. My squad set up residency on the second floor while the rest of us spread out on the top. Stenzel and Rose had set up a solar array along with a small battery storage. They told me it would be plenty for what we had there, which was mostly some lights. We shored up whatever needed reinforcing on the bottom floor. Rose fixed what she called “party favors” for anyone that wanted to crash our party. Tomorrow I was going to send them out to get stuff to cover up or repair the many broken out windows. It wasn’t overly cold just now, but that could change. Plus, it rained here about every other hour; we didn’t need water coming in, or light bleeding out, for that matter. I realized our whereabouts were far from a secret, but I didn’t want to advertise it either. We certainly weren’t keeping the lights on for others

The night went by without much of a hitch, although I didn’t sleep. What could be happening soon or already was, played a big factor, but sleeping in what was basically a giant barracks was something I wasn’t fond of during bootcamp, and definitely not now that I was older and more set in my routines. Dogs snoring, cats playing, babies crying, people wandering around to take care of business…it did not make for a restful evening. I kept my gaze fixed on the window nearest me; the moon traveled past, think it was the red dot of mercury next, and then early into the morning I watched the sun make its journey onto the horizon. I should have been exhausted; maybe I was, but for some unexplainable reason, I was running on endless adrenaline. Maybe my body knew something my head was unaware of just yet.

I got downstairs just in time to see a caravan of trucks pull away, Stenzel, the only one left behind.

“They have to get the trucks back soon, and they want to get the window stuff, a few more essentials, and Rose isn’t quite happy with everything she’s got happening.”

“She scares me sometimes,” I said.

Stenzel handed me a thermos. “Thought you might want this.”

“Screwdriver?”

“Um, no sir, just iced coffee.”

“That’s what I meant.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s in it?” I asked as I unscrewed the top.

“A couple of creamer packs and two sugars.”

“Was the coffee hot or cold when you poured it in?”

“That make a difference?”

“Not an iced coffee drinker, I take it?”

“Pretty much addicted to Red Bull, sir. I have a whole case of it upstairs; I’m getting worried with it being harder to find.”

“That’s the way of it, isn’t it? Haven’t found a decent snack cupcake in months. How is one supposed to survive without all that gooey, sugary goodness in the middle?”

“More of a Tastykake Dreamies girl myself.”

“And that is?”

“Twinkie knock-off, but so much better.”

“Stenzel, not much isn’t better than a Twinkie.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, sir. I’d hate to lose any of the respect for you that you’ve been accumulating.”

“Red Bull and Dreamies, sounds like the breakfast of champions.”

“Sir, two weeks ago when Rose and I were on our run we went by your house; you remember that?”

“Vaguely.”

“You were sitting out on your front deck, drinking beer and eating Pop-Tarts. You said you were having breakfast. I don’t think you have any room to be calling me out.”

“Technically, I hadn’t been to sleep yet, so that was more of a super late-night snack. Hey, this is pretty good.” I took a sip of the coffee.

Tracy came downstairs. “You drinking already?” she asked, looking at the thermos.

“Where you going?” I asked.

“I’ve got to get to school.”

“We’re sort of in a situation here,” I told her.

“Are we? I haven’t heard any alarms, no shots fired, no screaming. Until such time as we are in an active zone, life goes on, and I’m not going to change up my students’ routine until that time.”

“But the school…Deneaux.”

“Deneaux is an evil bitch, I’ll give you that, a murderer, even, but she’s not a child killer.”

I wasn’t sure if anything was beyond Deneaux’s scope. Odds might be decent that she wouldn’t take out a classroom, but this wasn’t gambling a few dollars away. I could continue to argue the point, but Tracy wasn’t having any of it. She’d walked out of the building and into the truck with Gary. I weakly waved goodbye.

“Sucks when you realize you don’t wear the pants in the family.” BT was smiling, he’d been leaning up against the building.

“Boo Bear!” my sister called down from upstairs. “I need help putting the sheets on!”

“Boo Bear? Sometimes I love karma,” I told his back and the middle finger he threw up over his shoulder. “You going by BB instead of BT, now?”

“He loves when I call him that,” she told me. I was smiling; I could hear BT grumbling.

The building was buzzing with activity. Gary was shuttling people back and forth, most of my family and friends were going about their normal business, and my squad was gathering supplies and putting in fortifications. I wasn’t even going to ask Rose what she was doing, but of us all, she seemed to be having the most fun. For the most part, I was alone. Occasionally someone would come up to me with a question or to say hi. BT had tried more than once to escape my sister’s clutches, but she was worse than the mafia, she just kept pulling him back in.

I don’t particularly like being alone, or maybe just when it feels lonely, I mean, I’m good with some alone time, need it in fact. But then there’s the other side of the spectrum, being around too many people can be suffocating, and I don’t think I’m unique in this way. Just an observation. It’s challenging to find that middle ground because even as you’re walking it, the damn thing can shift. The top floor right now, between people and animals, was closing in on thirty individuals. Sure, the space was large enough to accommodate all of us, but there was zero privacy. Some tapestries were being hung up on clotheslines, but that was only line of sight. Could hear every sneeze, cough, whisper, and in Henry’s case, fart. Kids were loud, babies louder, and the only one saved from it was one deaf dog to trump them all. Going to the second floor with the squad seemed a viable alternative, but Tracy would kill me, and the team might not be able to completely relax if their CO was there, though we hardly had the typical military relationship.

I was left wondering if the missus would like to stay on the bottom floor with me. Had about as much chance of that as Trip doing a DARE commercial. If those were still on. It was later that afternoon, the building was bustling, and all I’d managed to do was get a lawn chair and enjoy the day; at some point, my dearest friend Kirby had brought me a six-pack. Well, more like I’d caught him with it and he’d reluctantly given up the contraband, but you know, same thing. I could hear him swearing as he walked up to the second floor; he even continued when he got up there.

“Kirby, no windows, remember?” I shouted up.

There was a pause. “Shit, sorry, sir!” he replied.

“It’s all right; I can drink the pain away.”

He didn’t add anything to that. I was two deep when Major Dylan pulled up. I wished my reaction time was a little quicker, I would have hidden the beers. The woman could down a beer like Trip could smoke a joint.

“Major,” I said, standing and handing her one.

“Still on duty,” she replied as she twisted the cap off and killed half the bottle in one pull.

“So, basically, that just means you have to drink faster?”

“You understand.” She tipped the bottle toward me, then placed it back to her lips and finished it. “Sure could use another one.”

“Going to have to find someone else to confiscate from,” I told her as I bent down to grab her a refill.

“Nice place you’ve got here.” This beer she was drinking at a more reasonable pace. I pushed the remainder of the six-pack behind my chair with the toes of my boot.

“Getting there. You just coming to look, or would you like in on one of our luxurious units? One just opened up; it has an open floor plan, excellent airflow, and a rousing view of a guard tower.”

“Not yet. I like my bed and Bruno isn’t fond of change.”

“Who is?” I told her. “The bed, though, I could have that brought over here.”

“Once I’m forced to come here, Lieutenant, both of us know that the bed won’t be slept in much. I’d rather enjoy it while I can.”

“I get that.”

“Is it true about Vivian Deneaux?”

“Which part and probably so.”

“Good enough.” She killed the second beer and was peeking around the edge of my chair.

“Don’t you have an appendix to remove or something?”

“You don’t share well with others.”

“Sharing is one thing, completely giving over, a whole other.”

She laughed, then her face grew serious.

“Chain of command really haunts us. I steal from Kirby, you steal from me.” I got her another.

“I come bearing gifts. Got a Hummer full of medical supplies I’d like to drop off.”

“Any pain killers?”

“You in pain?”

“Continually.”

“Should I have brought a padlock for the footlocker?”

“Maybe. I’ve got a dog in there that interacts with the world by putting everything he encounters in his mouth. You have no idea how terrifying it is to watch a dog chew on a grenade. Do you run toward or away from something like that?”

“Just help me out, will you?”

“Do you one better. Kirby, Grimm!” Couple of seconds later had two privates to do the heavy work. “Could you put this on the second floor? And when you’re done, see if you can find any more beer. The Major here thinks it’s happy hour.”

“Don’t worry about me; I do have to get back.” She watched as Kirby and Grimm took all the boxes away, and then she waited some more. She was about to say something when Stenzel came out.

“Heading to the armory, sir. Any special requests?”

“Whatever you can get your hands on will work.”

It was relatively quiet as she waited for Gary, like this was a bus stop. Dylan wanted to tell me something, and Stenzel and I both knew it; it was just that Dylan didn’t want an audience. There was a lot of awkward silence. I kept trying to fill it but only made it worse.

“How about them Bears?” I offered.

“You mean the sport where grown men tried to kill each rather than yielding territory on a playing field?” Dylan asked.

“Yeah, that one.”

“Sorry, I’ve seen enough devastation wrought by the defending of perceived lines in the sand.”

“They’re not perceived, they’re painted,” Stenzel offered.

“Stenzel, I can’t keep coming up with dumb things to say,” I told her. “Wait, let me rephrase that. I don’t want to have to keep coming up with dumb shit to say.”

“Sir?”

I pointed for her to go further down the building.

“I won’t be able to hear what she has to say if I go down there,” she mumbled as she left us.

“It’s Springer,” Major Dylan stated. “I was able to sneak into the security office for a few minutes. He’s still alive; they have him next to your Dewey.”

“Not my Dewey.”

“It’s horrific; the couple of minutes I watched…you can see Springer warring with himself.”

“Is there a way in? I’d put one out of his misery and the other out of everyone’s misery.”

“Without storming the area, I don’t see how. It’s heavily guarded.”

“How heavily guarded?”

“There are four people in the hallway at all times. The doors to the area are locked, and once inside, there are another two guards.”

“What are they so worried about?”

“I would imagine you and your squad. Bennington is no fool; he has to realize that you will or have already caught wind of this and will try something.”

“Well, considering I told him I know.”

She gave me the “you are such a dolt” look.

“I don’t like being constantly adversarial to the Old Man. Makes everything I’m doing feel dirty and clandestine. Then again, if he did everything above board, I wouldn’t feel the need to keep doing it.”

Gary pulled up just then and blared his horn.

“Um, brother? Everyone can hear you rumbling down the roadway; no need to blow the…”

He blasted it again and rolled on past.

“Fucker.” I watched as Stenzel hopped aboard. Kirby and Grimm raced out to grab the shuttle too. “Any suggestions about how I should deal with Springer?”

“I’m working on it. I’ll let you know if I come up with something. Thank you for the beer.”

“Did I have a choice with that?”

“I do outrank you.”

“Is that somehow supposed to make the loss of them easier?” Make no mistake, I was making light of the booze being drunk, but it was only a mask for the fear, outrage and anger I was feeling for Springer’s predicament. If Dylan didn’t give me a way in soon, I was going to blast a hole in the side of the facility and take care of it in the only way I knew how. I sat in my chair, finished the last of the beers and then headed up. I was busy taking a nap when everyone started coming back for the day.

“You coming down?” Tracy asked, sitting on the bed next to me.

“I’m up,” I told her.

“Good day?” she asked, touching the side of my face.

“No one actively tried to kill me.” It was meant to be funny, but when it rang with so much truth, it came up a little hollow.

“We’ve set up a dining hall on the main floor; you should join us for dinner.”

“I can’t wait to rip into an MRE bag,” I said as I swung my legs over. I was reaching for my boots when I grabbed my wife instead. “How about while everyone is eating you and I…you know.”

BT pulled my tapestry to the side. “Go on. You were saying?”

“This blows,” I said aloud.

“Does it?” BT responded. “Because from here, I’d say that’s a hard no.” He was smiling.

“Lawrence!” Tracy said.

He high tailed it out of there.

I got out of bed, put my boots on, and followed my wife downstairs. “That doesn’t smell like mystery meat in a bag. Is that garlic?”

“Garlic bread.”

“Wait, what?” We went downstairs to about as close to a Norman Rockwell painting as one can get in an apocalypse. There were two rows of five folding tables each; they were filled with people, laughing and talking. Rose, Kirby, and Winters were cooking off to the side with a propane stove attached to some five-gallon canisters. “Pasta?”

“Spaghetti, meatballs, garlic bread and salad,” Tracy said.

There were candles on the tables; someone had spent a great deal of time decorating the walls in prints of various exotic locales around the world. A radio was playing some music that perfectly accompanied the ambiance. The smells, the people, the general feeling of camaraderie amongst the group; it was uplifting. Not normally a wine drinker, but I downed the first cup I had and then another without so much as a grimace. For a few moments in time, I could almost forget what was going on right outside our door. The dogs were circling tables for tidbits, except for Henry, who knew he needed to do the least amount of work to gain the biggest rewards, as I constantly stuck a handful from my plate under the table for him. Even Patches, who liked to remain on the fringes, was feeling the therapeutic effects of the evening as she let herself be cooed at and petted.

“How’d you pull this off?” I asked Tracy.

“Not me. This is all your squad.”

“Probably looking for some time off. So, you think it will be too soon if I have them start digging latrines tomorrow?”

“You might want to be careful who you assign to that job and who is responsible for food prep.”

“You always were the thinker.”

“Must have had a lapse when I married you.”

“Funny. Just for that, I’m holding out.”

“Doesn’t work that way.”

“Shit. I don’t think I’ve seen Kirby smile that much since ever,” I said, watching him laugh. Half hour later I got a tap on my shoulder, it was Stenzel.

“You have a minute, sir?”

“What’s going on?” I asked her.

“Sergeant Winters wanted me to come and get you.”

“I was wondering where he was,” I said as I followed her upstairs.

Winters was on the roof in what could only be described as a duck blind.

“Hey, lieutenant.”

Hey, Winters. Why aren’t you downstairs enjoying the meal?” I may have stumbled, three beers had followed the two glasses of wine.

“Someone has to stay on patrol.”

“We know we’re being watched, but we’re still in friendly territory. I think it’ll be all right.”

“You’d think that.”

“Okay, so you didn’t interrupt my meatball eating for nothing. What’s going on?”

“I’ve got two vans strategically parked around us and the building closest to us has at least a half dozen personnel.”

The euphoria I’d been enjoying quickly fizzled. I don’t think I’d ever had a buzz killed so immediately, like someone had taken a knife to the throat of it, sliced quickly and let it drop to the ground with a solid crashing thud.

“You sure about this?”

He handed me a strange pair of binoculars.

“Power button is on top, infrared.”

“Nice,” I said as I powered them on and waited a few seconds for the calibration.

“The van is down there.”

“You mean the only vehicle inconspicuously parked on the entire street? Stenzel, do I appear that inept?”

“I’d rather not get involved, sir.”

The smile I had, quickly hid as I raised the electronic device and peered at the van. It was packed with people; it was so warm in there from their accumulated body heat it almost looked like an oven from the binoculars’ point of view anyway. Even through the blotches of white and red, I could see the relatively cool black of steel rifle barrels. I moved to the building; it was much the same, though the group was spread out.

“Stenzel, tell the others.”

“Tell them what?”

“Get ready for an invasion. I’ve been involved in enough raids by cops to know that those people in the vans are getting ready to spring—no one stays cooped up like that for long.”

“Level of force?”

“Shit.” I gave Winters back his binoculars and grabbed the headset he was handing me. I didn’t want to have a firefight in Etna; this was not what I was trying to do when I moved us out here. I walked down the stairs and out an exit without saying a word. To any watching, it would have just looked like I was getting some air and maybe hiding a smoke, thinking that nobody knew about it, though everyone did.

I walked down the street, hands empty, wishing I had a rifle or maybe even just a beer, something to give me a boost of courage. I rapped on the driver's window, scaring the bejeesus out of the driver. He did what most anyone would do—rolled it down.

“Corporal, can I help you?” I asked.

“I, uh, sir?” He turned to the back.

A lieutenant colonel stepped out of the rear doors, not just any light-colonel, but the camp XO. I hadn’t had much interaction with Gadsen; he mostly stayed in his office, and, as someone that was generally involved in the discipline doled out on base, gotta say I was happy we hadn’t had much opportunity to chat. I can’t say I was thrilled to see the black ops uniform he was wearing or the mp4 leveled on my chest.

“Before you go getting ideas with that, there’s a shaped charge underneath your chassis right now, and my trigger person has her finger on the detonator. Also, she’s keen to blow something up, so let’s all be cool about what the next few seconds entail.”

“This true?” Gadsen looked past me and was talking to the corporal in the driver’s seat. I moved slightly so we could both see the shocked and surprised face of the driver.

“I don’t know, sir,” the corporal responded.

“You don’t know if a lone person walked up to the van and placed an explosive on it?”

“I was checking my gear, sir, same as everyone else,” the corporal responded.

The colonel looked into the rear of the van; my guess was getting ready to order everyone out.

“Hold on, Colonel,” I began, “before you go and start something that is going to get a lot of your men killed. Just so we’re clear, there is an RPG pointed at the other van, and the building you’ve set up as a launch point has been rigged to explode. Whatever you’ve got planned will be over before it starts. And stop pointing that at me; I find it offensive.”

“I don’t give a good goddamned what you find offensive,” he growled. I would imagine he was pretty pissed off I’d gotten the drop on them, even if everything I’d said was a fabrication. He lowered the muzzle; my lungs weren’t going to be aerated, still, though, my marathon running days could be coming to a close if he fired now.

“Right? Do you want to know how many times I wanted to tell people that same line? But in this situation, people’s lives hang in the balance, so maybe you should give a good goddamned. Now put the fucking gun down, Colonel. I’m not going to repeat it.” I said this in the evenest tone I could manage, which wasn’t easy because, well, you know, something about having a weapon pointed at you tends to raise your adrenaline levels and induce anxiety. He mumbled something into his throat pickup before doing as I requested, or, ordered, I guess, something colonels weren’t all that familiar with hearing.

“Now that the pleasantries are done, maybe we should get down to the nitty-gritty,” I told him as I picked up his discarded weapon. I did a once over, pulling the charging handle back. “Safety is off and one is in the chamber?” I asked incredulously. “You prick! You had this pointed at me.”

“As opposed to the bomb you have on my vehicle?”

“Who rolled up on whose home? Or who’s. Whose? Is it whose with a se or an apostrophe s? Forget it.” I waved my free hand. “Who are you working for?”

“I’m a Marine.”

“Great. Me too; look at my uniform. I like pizza…it would be weird if you liked pizza too! I noticed you didn’t answer my question. Corporal Stenzel, could you please light up the Colonel? Let him know I mean business. I get the feeling he’s getting ready to do something stupid.” Gadsen looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel, a big meaty vein had formed under his cap and was traveling down the right-hand side of his rather broad forehead.

“Umm, sorry, sir…my battery is dead,” Stenzel replied.

“Really? Making me look bad here.”

“You can let him know I have him in my crosshairs, if that makes you feel any better,” she said.

“The laser really accentuates the point, Corporal,” I sighed. “Never mind.”

“Problem?” he asked.

“I was going to have you realize just how serious I was with a visual aid, but it appears the government issue battery died. Rest assured, right now, your intimidating uniform is taking up most of my best marksmen’s reticle. As a lieutenant colonel, I find it strange, you out in the field—not something that generally happens. So, this is my thought process.”

“I don’t have time for this,” he said gruffly.

“Oh, but you do, sir, because you’re not going anywhere until we have this figured out.”

“I don’t have to…”

He stopped short when we both noticed the unwavering laser on his chest.

“New battery, sir,” Stenzel said.

“Much appreciated,” I told her. “As I was saying before you rudely interrupted me.”

“You are a lieutenant!”

“No need to shout; I realize that. I was going to ask for a promotion, but the Old Man and I have been at loggerheads recently. Okay, back to what I was saying. Can’t imagine Bennington would send you out on this ill-advised jaunt. Sure, you have those scary black-ops uniforms, but last I checked, you moved up the ranks from a supply officer. Nothing wrong with that, not at all. Without a proper chain of supply, there’s not a unit in the world that could launch a successful campaign. Now with that being said, not many supply personnel running around doing clandestine raids.”

“There a point to this?” Gadsen was a little more acquiescent, that tended to happen when you had a rifle trained on you.

“The raider units. Not a chance any of them would pull a stunt like this; the SEAL units are loyal to the Old Man, although I’m sure I’d get a heads up if he ordered them to do something stupid like this. Even the Old Man…I have a hard time thinking he’d do this. More likely would bring me into his office for a berating. What’s that leave? Smell that?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Anger was digging a deeper foothold in Gadsen’s demeanor, the more I rambled on.

“Cigarette smoke, that’s what I’m getting whiffs of. Thick, lung-choking, air-stifling droughts of the stuff. What did Deneaux promise you? I mean the bitch already blew up my home. Did you have something to do with that?”

It was the first time I’d seen something along the lines of surprise on his face.

“The base, am I right? She promised you the base. You do the wet work, get Bennington deposed, and you get to play figurehead to Deneaux’s rule.”

“I expected more of an idiot,” he had a sneer, “from what I’ve heard.”

“True, she thinks little of me, damn near complex inducing. But me, the idiot? I’m not the one doing Deneaux’s bidding. Not anymore, anyway. You realize you’re just a means to an end; truly, any of us that have had dealings with her are only that. I can’t fault you for listening though. She’s a gold medalist liar; she’s medaled in every Olympics since 1922.”

“You have no proof. I’m out here with some of my men practicing maneuvers. Can’t blame me for that. With all the zombies assembling outside, it just makes sense to be prepared. I’m going back to what I was doing; I’ll find another way to deal with you.”

“I’m assuming by dealing with me, you mean…” I prodded.

“Elimination.”

“I was hoping you were going to say something like ‘demote.’ Let’s see where this leaves us now that you’ve pledged your revenge or is it retribution? I have a bomb under your van and you are lit up like a Christmas tree; why would I let you leave now and lose this advantage I find myself in?”

“You can’t murder a senior officer.”

“No such thing as murder in a war. I agree it’s a fine line of distinction, but better people than me have determined that very fact. I don’t know why I’m always left having to state the obvious. On a fundamental level, I get people wanting to kill me; some might construe me as a giant pain in the ass, and, you know, whatever. That’s something I’ll have to come to terms with on my own. But when you start involving and endangering my family, my friends, my squad, who, coincidentally, fall into both of those previous categories, by the way, I lose it. Where rational thought should be, there’s only red. Can’t think straight. My first and only reaction is to eliminate the threat. So, going to be serious with you, Colonel. What makes you think I’m going to let you go?”

“I’m a lieutenant colonel in the United States Marines Corps!” he yelled.

“That carries a lot of weight with me, but you could be an admiral in the Rebel Alliance and if you put me in the same situation, we’re dealing with the same outcome. In either of those instances, I wouldn’t be dealing with the organization, but rather the man. Stenzel,” I called, “the colonel moves, you put him down like a rabid dog, that’s an order.” I smiled at Gadsen. “See, this is where it gets tricky, sir,” I said as I went to the back of the van. The people with you, have they been ordered? Do they think I’m the leader of a rogue unit that needs to be stopped? Or are they in on the madness? I’d hate to think we killed them when they thought they were doing something admirable, working for the greater good. Know what I mean?”

I opened the doors, had no less than five rifle muzzles pointing at me.

“Easy, people, I die, you die, then some poor bastards have to come and clean the mess up. I’d prefer to keep the sanitation department out of this. There’d be jurisdiction issues between the street cleaners and the runoff drain people where parts of us would invariably end up.” I was making light, or reasonably attempting to, but it was possible that the Marines in here weren’t seeing any other options. “Going to make this simple. Did Gadsen order you or did Deneaux promise you something?”

There were confused looks around the van. It was a corporal that spoke up.

“Deneaux, as in the Civilian Board lady? What’s she got to do with any of this?”

“Glad to see her infection hasn’t spread. Okay, if you could put your rifles down, we can get this sorted out before anyone gets hurt.”

“We don’t take orders from you,” it was a private—not that rank mattered when he had a finger on a trigger—just pointing out the fact of it.

“What if I told you I was going to detain Lieutenant Colonel Gadsen for acts of treason? Do you still want to take orders from him? At that point, you become complicit, and you’ll also hang.”

“You’re full of shit,” the same person said.

“Okay, Private. Where do you normally work?”

“Supply,” he said proudly.

“You?” I pointed to the woman next to him.

“Logistics.”

I did the same to the remaining three. Two were from the mess hall and another from supply.

“If what Gadsen is doing is so legit, why is he here? Why does he have non-fighting personnel from three different areas?”

“He said none of you could be trusted. That the raiders were trying to take over the base.” The private seemed the most resistant and the most talkative; the others seemed to be questioning what was happening.

“Want to know what nefarious plans I was doing before I had to deal with this?”

The private’s eyebrows creased.

“Sorry, I’m a Marine myself; it’s one of the few multi-syllable words I know. I guess I can thank Deneaux for that.”

“Sir?” the private asked.

“Nefarious means evil, sinful, despicable, really bad, one of those. Anyway, my squad, myself, my family, all those I truly love, we were eating spaghetti and meatballs and not one of us was talking about taking over the base. In fact, we weren’t even talking about surviving the coming storm. We were laughing and generally having a good time. I guess your Stormtrooper colonel was going to storm the building and do what? Shoot us for eating garlic bread? You can see why I’d be a little pissed off about the whole thing, can’t you?”

“He said you were going to kill Bennington so you could take control and then open the gates to the zombies.”

“What’s your name, private?”

“Remy.”

“Like the second baseman?”

“Who?”

“Forget it. Listen, Remy, I don’t know why I keep having to explain this shit. I do not, nor will I ever, want to run this place. Way too much responsibility. I mean, at that point, Gadsen might as well have added that I was going to breed dogs just for the express purpose of kicking puppies.”

“Sir?” the private asked.

“Anyone want to help me out here?”

“Sir, I’m Corporal Hillers.” She’d put her weapon down and had her hands raised.

“You can put them down,” I motioned.

“Gadsen lied to us,” she told Remy and the others. “It’s like when you’re arrested and the cops charge you with a half dozen things to see which ones stick in court.”

“Kindred spirit, you and I, Hillers,” I said.

“Why would he do that?” Remy asked.

“Could someone maybe take his weapon away while he figures this out?” I asked.

Hiller gently wrested control of the weapon.

“Much appreciated,” I told her. Remy looked as if he were having a “blue screen of death,” fatal error, or maybe caught in a computing loop. Couldn’t possibly believe that an officer would lie to him. And right now, that was the case, no matter which of us he ended up believing.

“Now what, sir?” Hillers asked.

“Couple of options. You all leave and head back to wherever you call home and we call it a day, or you go home, grab your stuff and make camp with us. We’re setting up some defenses to deal with the zombies, if and when they get in. Just so we’re clear, Remy, we’re not going to let them in.” He nodded, though he said nothing. “Everyone here and anyone else that might want to come are welcome.”

“And the lieutenant colonel?” Hillers asked.

“I’d be lying if I said a bullet wouldn’t be the best way to deal with him, but I’m going to cuff him up and let Bennington deal with his XO. Maybe he’ll finally realize how dangerous Deneaux is and how wide-reaching her poisonous touch is.”

“Just like that? You’re going to let us go?” Remy was stuck.

“What would you have me do? You want me to call the MP’s and have you arrested?”

“Bad guys wouldn’t call the MPs.” He wasn’t talking to me; seemed to be sorting through the events as best he could.

“Sir, we have a situation,” Stenzel came through on my headset. I looked around, trying to figure out what she was talking about.

“It’s a go,” Gadsen said.

“What are you doing?” I asked in alarm.

He didn’t answer; it was then I heard shots fired. I looked at Hillers. She still had a weapon, as did the others, except for Remy.

“It’s not us,” I told her. I’m sure she had to be concerned for the safety of herself and those with her. My assurances did little to cut the tension.

“He’s firing on our other location. Take him out!” Gadsen ordered.

Remy was reaching for Hillers and his weapon; he was clearly still confused, as was I, to what was going on.

“That’s an order!” Gadsen had moved closer.

“You shut up,” I told him. “We are not firing. Stenzel, need some information. Colonel, on the ground!”

She told me that men had come out of the building and were approaching the other van, the van started firing on them, people were exiting the vehicle and getting into tactical positions. Here I was, pants down, dick in the breeze, smack dead-center in a brewing storm of shit. Gadsen had yet to comply with my orders and his people had yet to comply with his, so at least there was consistency. The more shots fired, the more Hillers and the rest looked around in confusion, and, confusion, in this instance, was going to lead to bloodshed. I could only hope it wasn’t mine.

“Hillers, I’m telling you this isn’t us.” She’d handed Remy back his weapon.

“The bomb?” she asked.

“A ruse. I came out here just trying to see what was going on. For fuck's sake, I was eating garlic bread and meatballs, not making bombs. If you get close enough, I probably have parmesan cheese in my beard.”

“There’s no bomb?” Gadsen was pissed and made a move toward me; he stopped when I turned the rifle on him. “Kill him.”

“Sir?” Remy seemed to be asking me as much as his colonel.

“If you’re looking for my vote, I say nay,” I told him.

The tempo of shots had picked up from the street over.

“Stenzel, I need a sit-rep.”

“Harley Stenzel?” Hillers asked.

“Yeah.” I didn’t know what that had to do with anything.

“Can I borrow your headset?” Hillers asked. She’d moved forward.

I handed it to her, trying to keep my eyes on everything happening. I was thinking about the best way to extract myself from a situation that was looking more and more like it was going to become an active war zone.

“Harley? This is Sara.” I could not hear the response, but there was a visible sigh of relief from Hillers. “We went through basic together,” Hillers explained to the side. “What’s going on?” she asked. There was a bunch of head nods and “uh-huhs.”

“I ordered you to kill him!” Gadsen’s intrusive forehead vein was back, looked like a parasitic worm controlling his thoughts.

Remy was having a truly difficult time not following orders. He was like a programmed machine that needed to do as it was told.

Hillers stopped listening enough to tell the private if he pulled the trigger, she was going to throttle him. She flipped his safety on. For that, I was appreciative.

“Stenzel, says it’s not them.” Hillers handed the comm back.

“And why would you believe her or them?” the corporal that had been driving asked.

“I trust her more than any of you here, including the colonel. If she says it’s not them, it’s not them.”

By this time, BT and half my squad were making their way to us.

“Only you can get in trouble at dinner,” BT said. “I know what’s going on over on the other side; what about here?”

“This colonel is a dick. He’s in league with Deneaux. The rest are just caught up in it.”

“Gadsen? I always thought you were a stand-up officer. It just goes to show you can’t always trust your gut. Kirby, Grimm, get him restrained.”

“I will not stand for this!” Gadsen shouted.

“That’s cool; you can sit if you like,” Kirby told him.

“It was a figure of speech,” Grimm told him.

“Sarcasm, Grimm. You need to practice yours. Now cover me. I’m going to zip tie his hands.”

“You will do no such thing!”

“Sir, my senior NCO gave me an order. I can’t disregard it; nothing good can come from that. I’ll be doing push-ups till my arms fall off.” Kirby grabbed the colonel’s shoulder roughly and forced him to his knees before getting behind him; there was a small sense of relief as I heard the familiar plastic click-zip of the restraints going into place. A gag would have been better, as the colonel was still shouting out orders, and most still revolved around killing me.

“You sure do make friends wherever you go,” BT said.

“Hearts and minds, my friend,” I told him. “Thank you for the assist.”

“Assist?”

“Fine…thanks for taking complete control of the situation.”

“That’s better.”

“Let’s go,” I told everyone there. “We’ll go back to the building until this is settled.”

“As prisoners?” Remy asked.

“Merely for the safety of all involved. I don’t know who is fighting over there, and until I do, I’m not risking any of my people—or any of you, for that matter.”

Kirby pulled Gadsen to his feet and got him moving to our new home, a rifle to his back.

“You’ll all be in front of a firing squad come morning,” Gadsen spewed. “All of you! Fucking mutineers!”

“Is he telling the truth?” Remy asked anyone that would answer. This was unchartered waters for him.

“The only one that’s going to get a firing squad sendoff is him,” BT replied. “How does Deneaux do it? How does she turn so many people?”

We were heading back with a quickness. The raging battle sounded like it was getting closer.

Tracy met us at the door. “All of you put your weapons down! There are children here!”

“Um, this is my wife, Tracy. There is no higher authority in this building or my life,” I said.

“I’d rather not,” the driver said.

My wife, who was barely up to his chin, got the finger of death out. “So help me.” She fairly shook. I was impressed with her and the quickness with which the corporal surrendered his weapon. “Once whatever’s going on outside is sorted, you’re all welcome to a meal.”

The van occupants looked around at the many sets of eyes gazing upon them. Going to go out on a limb and say more than a few were feeling guilty for what they had been about to do.

“Do something!” Gadsen shouted.

“Good call. Someone get him a chair and some tape. Make sure you entangle as much hair as possible when wrapping it around his head,” I said.

“I have a sinus condition!” Gadsen was alarmed.

“Because I would find suffocation to be completely terrifying, I will give you one chance, Colonel. Sit down and shut up. You say anything else before your tribunal and I’ll rip my dirty sock off and shove it so far down your throat there’s a good chance it will soak up some of your belly juice.”

“Too much,” BT whispered.

“I figured it was just enough. Stenzel, I need an update.”

“Two from the van are down, the unknowns from the building have an injury; don’t think it’s serious.”

“Let’s go help our guardian angels. Stenzel, if you have a shot, take it. If you can wound, go for it. Corporal Rose, Sergeant Talbot, you two will make sure our guests stay well-behaved.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Hillers told me.

“You can trust her.” Stenzel must have heard.

“Tracy, could you please get all the non-combatants upstairs?”

It was superfluous words; she was already on the move.

“BT, Tommy, Grimm, you’re with me.”

Grimm stopped for a moment, a look of dismay upon his face.

“What’s the matter?” I asked him.

“I spilled spaghetti sauce all down the front of my shirt; I’d like to change it.”

I thought maybe he saw it as a bit of foreshadowing; I could understand that. I was close but not precise.

“Does this make me a red shirt?”

“Didn’t figure you for a Trekkie. You’ll be fine.”

He wasn’t thrilled about it, but we headed out the door.

“Got them pinned, sir. If you come from behind the building and up Western Street, you’ll be right behind them,” Stenzel said.

“And our guardians?” I grunted as we were running.

“They’re spreading out. I got a wave from one of them; they know I’m helping.”

“Is coming up on them a good idea? Friendly fire hurts as much as enemy fire,” BT said. We had our backs against a wall. I quickly poked my head around.

“Twenty-five yards. Two down, another bleeding but active. They’re not going anywhere,” I said. “Anyone know if a 5.56 can go through a mailbox?” I was looking at the only cover in the general vicinity. It was across the street.

“Suppose it would matter if they’re using ball ammunition or not,” Grimm said.

“Fuck. I’m going for it. Once I get in position, I’m going to let them know we’re here.”

“I’ll do it,” BT said.

“It’s a mailbox, not a school bus. I’ve got this,” I told him. “Tommy, the doorway,” I pointed. There was a recessed doorway on the far side, nearly horizontal to my position. Once there, we would have them in a classic pincer. My hope was they’d give up when they realized there weren’t any other options.

“Just got word, sir. MPs are scrambling,” my eye in the sky reported.

“Great, maybe if we wait long enough, the Royal Mounted Police will show.” Tommy and I moved with a quickness. I dove behind the large blue post box, a breath of relief that Tommy nor I had been fired upon. Their attention was elsewhere and with good reason. Between Stenzel, Winters, and our quote-unquote, friends, they were screwed.

“Surrender!” I shouted, standing just enough to look over the box. My answer came in the form of a high-speed projectile. Tommy fired, blew out the window next to the man that had taken the shot. I don’t advocate unnecessarily killing people, but, in this instance, I would have yielded my stance. The man went full-auto, spraying my area. I could see the bullets denting the metal I had my hand on. A dozen or more shots were just that close to coming out the other side and making me their final resting spot.

“Stenzel…need some help over here!” I shouted over the swarm of angry lead bees buzzing by me. The mailbox sounded like an ill-constructed bell being rung for Mass. BT was on one knee, Grimm above him. They dropped my potential killer, a plume of blood ruptured from his neck. He made a vain attempt to staunch the flow before falling over.

“Surrender!” I yelled again, though this time I didn’t make myself visible. No shots—that in itself was a good sign. “You’re surrounded! The MPs are coming and your colonel is our prisoner! His team now knows this was a coup gone bad! They’ve willingly given themselves up!”

“Bullshit!” echoed out.

“It’s true!” Hiller must have followed us. She was now standing in the street, hands up.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I hissed at her, doubtful she heard.

“They’re making you say that!” came from the shooter.

“Stromski, listen to me. Gadsen was planning on bumping off Bennington; this was the first step, taking out officers loyal to him,” she called.

I shrugged my shoulders; the only people I was loyal to were the ones in that building, but I kept that to myself.

“Get over here, Hillers! We could use the help!” Stromski shouted. I felt confident enough that no shots would be forthcoming while one of their own was out there.

“Ski, there’s nothing to be gained here. Just put your weapon down,” Hillers begged.

With the talking, I figured I was safe enough to take a look at what was going on. Stromski had his weapon trained on Hillers.

“Shit,” I muttered as I got my rifle around. “Stromski, you’ve got at least five weapons aimed at you; don’t waste your life on what Gadsen was trying to do.”

“I believe in what he was doing,” he replied.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” the man next to him said. He placed his weapon down, stood up with his hands over his head.

I know I’d invited Hillers’ group to stay with us; I wasn’t sure I was going to extend the same to this group. When it would have just been a killing in the night, with little risk, they appeared to be all in; now that the tables had been turned, some wanted out. So many people were willing to do evil when no consequences were present. I’m not generally a fan of big government or organized religion, but they did serve a purpose. Without them, a lot of people devolved, became utterly selfish and opportunistic; parasitic scavengers. It was the ones that did good when there was no incentive, when no one was watching, that were the true heroes.

“Don’t you leave me!” Stromski turned his weapon to the man surrendering.

“Hey man, if you want to die here, go for it.” The man started to walk forward. “I’m giving up!” He didn’t get far before Stromski took him down. If the man was willing to do that to one of his own, there was no hope for him, and we were just so much fodder. I hit him just to the left of his eye. His head smacked back against the van, he slumped over, his hanging head forever looking down.

“Clear!” came from the other side of the van.

“Bags?” I asked.

“Glad to see you’re all right, sir,” he said, coming around.

I tentatively stood. “What the hell is going on?”

Overland was next to show himself, his left arm was covered in blood; he had a field dressing covering the wound.

“Any chance you could tell me what’s going on?” I stood.

“Bennington caught wind something might be up; he wanted us out here to keep an eye on you.”

“To stop this or to see what we were doing?”

“Little of both,” Overland replied.

Four MP cars came rushing up, lights blaring, guns drawn, orders being given.

“Nice of you to show,” I told Master Sergeant Wassau.

“You know how it is, nowhere around when you need us. We were conveniently on the far side of the base, a bit too conveniently, checking on a spate of false calls.”

“I wonder who that was.”

“Got to admit I was surprised when I saw her back,” Wassau said.

I immediately looked at Overland. He said nothing.

“You actually listened to a commanding officer?” Wassau asked, slightly amazed.

“Speaking of, we’ve got the ringleader of this circus penned up at our tent. Lieutenant Colonel Gadsen.”

“You’ve got Iron Pants?”

“Iron Pants?” I asked.

“It’s a starch thing…they say his freshly ironed pants can stand on their own.”

“Damn shame when your only nickname revolves around your clothing choices,” I replied.

“Better than certain orifices,” BT tossed out there.

I heard Stenzel laugh through my headset. Tommy laughed. There was humor there, and it was needed, but also some sadness within me that we were now so used to battles and dealing death that we were already looking past those we had taken down. It was a defense mechanism; killing other humans is not something that comes naturally, or, at least, it shouldn’t. Certainly, it shouldn’t be so easily dismissed. In this case, ignoring it was for the best. Even I’m wise enough to realize it is difficult to feel any sympathy or empathy for those that wished to do you harm. But the kill or be killed adage had become almost a motto for us.

“Can I get the run down on what happened here?” Wassau asked.

“Okay. Deneaux lured Gadsen into her mad plot, he fell completely for it, and most of the people with him were given false information to join in his crusade,” I said.

“There’s a reason Gadsen was behind a desk; the man couldn’t lead a marching band. His only field mission ended in disaster for his platoon. Thirty of his forty-two men died, and somehow, he still ended up with a medal,” Wassau said as he walked over to Stromski.

“How is that possible?” Tommy asked, although I felt like I already knew the answer.

“Easier to say he saved twelve men by covering the whole mess up with an award than court-martialing him for losing the others by walking into an obvious trap because he was sure that he could overwhelm the inferior enemy. So, instead of kicking the captain out, they promoted him to Major.”

“Bennington must have known this,” I said.

“Oh, he did. That’s why he’s the XO and reports directly to Bennington. Better to have a tight leash, plus, if you haven’t noticed, it’s end-times and there are not many options out there these days.”

“What a fucking mess.” Sorrens had popped his head into the van and back out again. “We cool?” he asked me.

“You can’t already need new stock, can you?” I asked, his face turned beet red.

“Fuck you.” He walked away.

“Hey! It’s, fuck you, Lieutenant!”

“I’ll remember that for next time,” he said without turning around.

“Where’s the rest of your squad?” I asked Overland.

“Reed was gut-shot.” He held up his hand. “Had a vest on, but he’s hurting like hell. Sergeant Walde took him to the hospital. The vest will stop a bullet, but it’s like being punched in the gut by Superman.”

“If trouble were metal, you’d be a magnet,” Wassau said to me as he was checking pulses.

“For like the tenth time tonight, I was eating spaghetti. I did absolutely nothing to instigate this. Could you maybe get Gadsen out of my residence? The longer he stays there the more likely I am to take matters into my own hands.”

“If this is Deneaux’s doing, he’s either going to be out or dead by tomorrow,” Tommy said.

“Dead would be better.” That was my honest assessment. One less co-conspirator on a base full of them.

“You’re not going to do anything to facilitate that are you?” Wassau asked.

“Not me, but you’ve got to figure Gadsen is probably a smoking gun to Deneaux, and she’s not going to suffer him long. You might want to make sure your building isn’t rigged.”

“Comforting.”

A troop transport truck showed up next and started bagging up the bodies; me and my team left just as they got started. Hillers was with us.

“He was going to shoot me, wasn’t he?” she asked, though she knew the answer. “He shot Beeling, without hesitation.”

Figured that to be the person Stromski shot. “Safe bet he would have done that to any of us,” I said. Don’t think it made her feel any better.

“That’s who I was fighting with; alongside, even.” She seemed to be doubting everything she previously knew.

“No way to know the inner workings of a person’s heart until they’re forced to show it,” Tommy offered.

When we got back, I noticed that Gadsen had nearly an entire roll of tape wrapped around his head.

“He wouldn’t shut up, sir,” Kirby offered in defense.

Gadsen’s nostrils were flaring, his eyebrows furrowed in anger. He strained against his bonds when he saw us.

I walked up to him. “You just sent another four people to an early grave.” He sagged, doubt it was from the guilt, but rather that the plot had not worked. He didn’t seem to be the kind that cared for his underlings, especially if they failed him.

Wassau and Sorrens came in a couple minutes later to gather up Gadsen.

“Where are the rest?” he asked.

“Rest of what?”

“Major Overland said there was another team.”

“He’s the only one we caught.” I could feel Hillers looking at me as I spoke.

“You realize I’m a cop, right, Lieutenant? I can smell bullshit while it’s still working its way down a bull’s ass.”

“Must be a specialty of yours,” I told him.

“Have it your way; I’m done trying to figure out what you do.”

“Me? I’ve lost sleep at night thinking about your kale burgers.”

“I don’t eat…forget it. Next time I see you, you’d better have something for me to drink. Let’s go, Colonel. Got a nice cozy cell for you.” He wrapped his arm under the other and lifted him. Gadsen was mumbling something; wouldn’t swear it, but I think I saw something like fear in his eyes.

“Master Sergeant, I think you might want to let him speak. Corporal Hillers, could you go upstairs and check on the rest of the group?” I wanted her out of there before Gadsen could start trying to drag everyone down with him. I’d deny her involvement, of course, but Wassau was right; he had a cop’s eye for details and would be able to see through her nervousness.

“Yes, sir.” She and the others left.

I thrust my chin out for Kirby to follow. He didn’t say anything as he, Grimm and Rose followed. Yeah, I was a pretty happy camper as Gadsen winced at every pull of that super sticky tape. Wouldn’t have bothered me in the least if it had ripped off a fair portion of his skin to go with the hair. Maybe his lips as well. Fuck him.

“Everything all right?” Tracy asked. She’d come down; it was easy enough to see I wasn’t quite in sorts. Difficult to have just killed a man and then come back to this seeming normalcy, have another piece of garlic bread. Strange overlay of events.

“It will be,” I lied. BT had not stayed with us, but instead had retreated up. I understood the desire to be away from this.

“Ready for this? Anything you want to add?” Wassau asked as he got to the last lap around with the tape.

“Nope, I’m good,” I answered, tight-lipped.

“I’m glad you’re here, Master Sergeant. Arrest this man and everyone in this building. We were attacked,” Gadsen fumed.

“He’s right,” I stated. “They were out on a leisurely stroll through the Barrows, and we decided that an active war game using live rounds sounded like the perfect way to end our evening meal.”

“I’m not able to use sarcasm in my reports, Lieutenant, so I’d appreciate a revised statement,” Wassau said.

“Dickhead over there…I mean him,” I pointed, “came here in two vans, armed and ready to do combat. We intercepted them before they were able to do any real damage. You’ve seen the results.”

“That is not what happened, Master Sergeant.”

“Come on, Colonel; we’ll get this sorted out at the station. You’ll have your say, sir,” Wassau said to him as they headed for the door.

“I’ll see you at your court-martial, Lieutenant.”

“Got a feeling you won’t make it,” I told him.

“That a threat? Did you hear him, Master Sergeant? He just threatened my life!”

“Listen, dipshit, if I wanted you dead, you would have never made it in here. Just remember that when the devil you made the deal with twists a knife in your gut. She is a lot less forgiving than I am, and for some reason, on this one, I think she’s right. A dead enemy can never come back on you—something I continually fail to grasp.”

Wassau gave me a nod of the head as they left.

Tommy lightly clapped my back and rubbed my shoulder for a moment before following the others up. I sat down at a table and let my head sag in what I thought was an empty room. Somehow in my hazed misery, I’d lost track of my wife.

“Want to talk about it?”

I was jolted. “No,” I said softly. She didn’t press it any further, just sat down next to me quietly. After a while, she reached her hand out, which I gratefully took. A lone tear slowly made its way down my cheek. I wiped it away with my free hand.

“No matter what happens or has happened, Talbot, you are a good man.”

I was having a difficult time believing her. If I was so damned good, why was everyone trying to kill me?

8

Mike Journal Entry 7

Can’t say the next morning I was chipper, or even anything that could be compared to that mood, but there’s something about the fresh light of day that can chase the shadows in your soul away, or at least make them retreat into the corners. I’d gone downstairs and outside, and was doing an obligatory walk around the block.

“I know you’re there.”

“Only because I wanted you to know,” Tommy said, coming out from the building where Overland had staged his mission.

“You tailing me?”

“Just keeping an eye out.”

“Something I should know?”

“Probably, Mr. T, but if I told you, would you listen to my advice?”

“I mean, maybe.”

He kept staring at me.

“Fine, no. Was thinking of heading to the hospital today.”

“For what purpose?”

“Visit Major Dylan. Again with the staring? Fine. And to size up the defenses around Dewy and Springer. Why are you still staring?” He kept it up for another few seconds.

“I figured if I kept doing it, you’d admit to something else.”

“You been talking to Tracy?”

He laughed then we walked in silence as the base around us was bustling with a nervous urgency. The stink of the damned was already settling upon us. We’d be at war again soon. It seemed that, in our desire to save our species, we had instead hastened our demise. Amazing how many times Man had tinkered with nature and then fallen back in stunned silence as our hubris, intermingled with our ignorance, had blown up in our faces. I mean seriously; we’re the same species that created a website devoted to the most unusual and stupid ways people have died. Says a lot; never really seen a tiger bite the dust by welding his testicles to a train car.

“The major’s office is that way,” Tommy told me as we entered the hospital.

“Don’t want anyone to see us together,” I told him as we went in the opposite direction.

“Oh, I bet that was her call.”

“You realize if I wanted to catch shit all day, I would have asked BT to come along.”

“Just picking up the slack, Mr. T. Where to?”

“Top floor. That way, Dewey can broadcast his signal better,” I said sourly.

Upstairs was nearly devoid of all people, making our visit even more questionable. We’d just rounded a corner when four armed guards came towards us. Couldn’t run without raising suspicion.

“Lieutenant Talbot. Can’t say it’s a pleasure to see you, but we were warned you’d make an appearance.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t do autographs,” I told him as they walked up and encircled us.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“What’s with all the ninja outfits lately?” I asked no one in particular. He, like the other three, were in all-black uniforms with no names or insignia. “This is like Imperial Japan.”

“Don’t.” Tommy shook his head.

“I’m just distracting them while…” I drove my left elbow square into the jaw of the man who’d been talking. There was a part of me that felt bad when I heard the crack and I’m being honest when I hoped it was just a tooth and not his jaw. Tommy was on the move before my elbow had even made contact. He did something that looked like a Vulcan death grip, the guard to his immediate right just folded in on himself like a sheet of wet cardboard that had been standing up on edge. The guard behind me was pulling on his sidearm when I punched him flush in the nose; blood sprayed out like a ketchup packet under a tire. His hands went up to defend the injured area; I hit him with a roundhouse punch to the temple that hurt both of us, though I didn’t fall to the ground. Tommy was gently easing his second victim down.

“Notice anything different?” Tommy asked as he pointed to my two bodies and his. Mine were coated in a lot of facial blood; his looked like they were comfortably taking an afternoon nap.

“Luck of the draw, I suppose.”

“Did you intend for this to happen?”

“When opportunity knocks, it’s prudent to answer the door,” I told him as I was grabbing the keycards.

“It didn’t knock. You went to its house, dragged it out of bed, and slammed its head into the wall to make a knocking noise.”

“You can’t always wait for it to show.”

“You have problems, Mr. T.”

“Just help me drag them into an empty room.”

We entered an unoccupied exam room. I spent a few seconds debating changing into their clothes; for whatever reason, decided not to.

“Now what? Forget I asked,” Tommy said as we walked down the hallway, I was trying not to look like I didn’t belong, which, instead, made it look like I had a gaming console shoved down my pants and was trying to walk out of the store before anyone noticed. We took another turn; there was a sign on a stand that read that only authorized personnel were allowed past that point. The doors at the end of the corridor were painted red, and a guard, armed with a machine gun, stood there, looking alert but also bored. On top of that already menacing premise, was the nice sandbag bunker he could immediately hide behind if anyone attacked. Tommy and I were just standing there, taking it all in.

“This isn’t Mount Rushmore, get the fuck out of here,” the guard said, implying we were sightseeing. (I suppose that was clear enough, but just for clarification.)

“I’d rather see Mount Fuji,” I told him.

“He has a machine gun, Mr. T.”

“T as in Talbot? Heard you’d be coming,” the guard said, his rifle up, firmly buttressed against his shoulder.

“This is important. Were you told to shoot on sight or just report and repel my presence?”

“I could do both, if you think that would be prudent,” the guard answered. “What’s with the hip…” that was all he said. I’d heard him talking, a tang behind my head, then the solid thwap of a ball bearing striking a forehead.

“Oops…didn’t mean to do that,” Trip said. “I was just trying to get the wrapper off my marshmallow peeps.”

He was indeed holding a package of yellow Peeps in the same hand as his slingshot.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, even as I was running down the hallway to make sure the guard wasn’t merely dazed and would stand up, spraying the entire area with bullets. I know if someone dented my head with a metal marble, I’d be shooting everything in sight as payback.

“I got a paper cut; I was going to see if I could get a couple of Xanax for it.”

The guard was out cold; he had a knot forming on the front of his head that was threatening to become much more substantial than his nose. I didn’t like the fact that his finger was still on the trigger; reflexes could have chopped us down.

“Rant rone?” Trip showed me a mouthful of yellowy goo-ness as he tried to speak. In his extended hand were four marbles.

“Gonna pass…those are bad for your teeth,” I told him as he shrugged and put them back in his pocket. I gently pulled the guard's finger from the trigger before I grabbed the gun and put it on safe. “Saved my bacon back there.” No fucking idea at all why I gave him a colloquialism; I guess I’m into torture.

Tommy came to my rescue. “Not real bacon,” he told the man before he could hound me for where it was.

“Trip, head back home.” I peeked my head up to look through a little window; I could see a set of double doors some five feet ahead and nothing else, as the window on that side had been covered.

“Home is where the heart is,” he said.

“Okay, great.” I moved over to the key reader.

“My heart is here, ergo, this must be home.”

“Ergo?” The light on the keypad turned green; an electronic click let me know I’d now gained permission to enter. I pulled the door open.

“You going to shoot someone?” Tommy asked. I was still holding the gun.

“Just Dewey.” I strode the five feet, opened the double doors. “Shit,” I said as I looked around, the place was empty except for Colonel Bennington, sitting in a chair. He had glasses on and was reading a book. I think it was The Stand, of all things. I slung the rifle over my shoulder.

“Thought you’d be here sooner.” He took his readers off and placed the book down on the empty gurney next to him. “Glad I brought the book; wasn’t expecting to nearly finish it, though. Can I help you with something, Lieutenant Talbot?”

“Strange place to be when the base is about to come crashing down all around your head, sir.”

“Perfect place to be. It seems the biggest thorn in my paw might also be exactly what’s needed.”

“Not following, sir,” I told him, hoping to maybe gain a glimpse of some hidden room I could storm where Dewey was hiding out. But I knew it was a good bet that the monster was nowhere on the premises.

“He’s saying, graciously, that you’re a pain in his ass, but you’re the only friend he has.” Trip had come in and grabbed the colonel’s book. He had a lollipop in his mouth, smelled a lot like lemon pledge, had a feeling if I found the wrapper that was precisely what it would say. “That about the gist of it?” His legs were rocking back and forth as he dangled them from the gurney he had perched upon.

“Your friend is very astute.”

“Astute. That’s a new adverb for him.”

“Adjective,” Tommy coughed.

I gave him the finger. I knew my grasp on the English language was rudimentary; I didn’t need anyone to point that out for me.

“I’ve had my suspicions regarding Lieutenant Colonel Gadsen for a little while now; I’ve had Major Overland watching him. He’s always been ambitious, however, I’d not known the lengths he’d go to attain his goals.”

“Where’s Dewey?”

“Is that all you care about?”

“Care about? Not at all. I care about what those thousands of zombies plan on doing when they get in here. That I care about. I just want to shoot Dewey.”

“He’s safe.”

“That’s great. What about the rest of us?”

“Do you seriously believe that a mindless mob will be able to breach our defenses?”

“Oh, I’d personally guarantee it. Maybe even make a wager with you, if I thought I could collect once it happened.”

“How does Captain Talbot sound?”

“You trying to bribe my loyalty?”

“Do I need to?”

“No. Wouldn’t work anyway,” I told him.

“I suppose the real question should be: do I have your loyalty?”

“Funny thing, loyalty. Takes a lot of time, effort and circumstances to cultivate something like that, yet it can be blown away in an instant.”

“Is dancing around the subject your way of not answering?”

“It’s my way of letting you know that what you and I have is rapidly slipping through my fingers, and no matter how hard I’d like to hold on to it, the damn thing keeps draining away.”

“What do you propose we do about that?”

“A bullet in Dewey’s head would go a long way to improving it, and I think letting PFC Springer die would be another.”

He didn’t deny the fact that Springer was some sort of alive; maybe mildly surprised I knew, but nothing other than that, considering this was ground already covered.

“We’re making great headway into understanding what’s going on in their minds,” the colonel said.

“With all due respect…naw, fuck it. Dewey’s merely letting you know what he wants you to know. You keep underestimating what he can do.”

“Goddamnit, he’s a zombie!” Bennington was angry.

“He is that, but so much more. There’s a human brain in that zombie housing, something that the virus seems to be able to tap into, to use in ways we’re ill-equipped to deal with.”

“You give them too much credit.”

“And you not enough,” flew out of my mouth, one of the first times something I’d said without thinking first and did not immediately regret.

Bennington’s head sagged some, but he pushed on. “I can’t say I always like being at a crossroads with you, Talbot, but on some level you’re right. I need someone who will question the things I do. I’m not saying I’ll not do them, but pausing to think on the wider ramifications of my actions could be beneficial.”

“Not sure what good that will do. If you’re a raging alcoholic and I tell you that you’re a raging alcoholic and you admit that yeah, you drink way too much, but you still drink…” I left it there, figuring my point had been made.

“Admitting is the first step,” Trip said. “What? I don’t have a problem,” he said when he saw me looking at him.

“Later today, I’m sending three attack helicopters to blast holes into the horde. I’m going to show them that massing at our gates here is futile,” Bennington said.

I didn’t disagree with the plan; I could only hope it wasn’t like a slow running kid swirling a short stick in a massive hornets’ nest.

“If you kill Dewey, you minimize the chance of a coordinated attack.”

He wasn’t going to believe me. It was like a flat-earther and a round-glober going head to head. Neither side, no matter how persuasive, was ever going to get the other to change their stance. It was an odd phenomenon: confrontation with a valid argument only made the other side entrench themselves further into their beliefs. To yield, at that point, would mean everything you knew or thought you knew was a lie, and face it, most of us can’t accept that and will deliberately force doubts to stay hidden. Better to die mistaken than live converted…or so most of humankind thought. It was time to change tactics.

“Springer, he’s one of your own. No matter what you think of Dewey and his importance, what you’re doing to Springer is morally and fundamentally wrong. If some part of him does exist in that zombie shell, you owe it to him to put him out of his misery.”

It didn’t work quite as well as I had hoped. “I’m going to have to find the leak that sprang that secret. And yes, you’re right; he is one of mine. I don’t mean to be callous, Michael, but every time I send teams out on missions, there is going to be danger and, ultimately, loss. Private Springer, in his great sacrifice, can help us understand this new threat. We have a person spying on the zombies; he’s on the inside now.”

“Are you listening to yourself? What Springer was doing was voluntary, this is not. Can you imagine how scared he must be? Trapped inside of a body he no longer has control of? Forced to…to do unimaginable things.”

“It is the sacrifice of the few…”

“Spare me, Colonel. I know the argument. He was my charge and therefore yours. The best thing you could do for the man would be to end his suffering. I saw you consoling his girlfriend, Karen. Why don’t you let her see him now? Get her opinion on what’s going on.”

“Did you tell her?” He looked over to me with a questioning stare.

“Why would I do that? I’m not a monster.”

“So, you believe me to be then?”

I didn’t respond; nothing good was going to come from me, and I didn’t want his anger at my words to cloud his judgment on what I had to figure he was thinking on. He’d tucked my targets somewhere else, somewhere more secure than this location, and soon, my attention was going to be elsewhere and, unfortunately, Springer would be taking a distant back seat.

“To understand the enemy is to defeat them.”

“Are you just spewing words now? I was under the impression you thought zombies were mindless killing machines.”

“Candor is a sharp blade.” He stood.

“People say they want to hear the truth until confronted with it.”

“You’re a philosopher now, Talbot?” he asked.

“Breatines are not a well-liked creature throughout the cosmos.” Trip was lying down on a gurney, tossing peeps into the air and doing his best to catch them in his mouth. When he invariably missed, he would immediately hop up off the bed and shout: “Fourteen-second rule!” before squishing the treat with his sock-clad foot, picking it up and popping it into his mouth. I shivered thinking about the bacteria and whatever other super-bugs lurked on that surface and now clung to his food.

“What?” I was mad at Trip for distracting me.

“Not relevant,” Tommy said. Very softly he added, “Yet.”

I let that part of the conversation slip over the top of my mind and out the other side.

“Far from it,” I said, referring to Bennington’s philosopher question, “but I do have a penchant for doing what I think is right.”

“What you think is right isn’t necessarily the correct answer.”

“You can twist words and avoid direct answers all day long, Colonel, but at the end of the day, you have a kid who trusted you and me implicitly and is now being used in an unfathomably cruel way. I would hope that if I were in a similar situation, someone I knew or respected would not leave me like that. I’d hope that they would do everything in their power to make sure I didn’t stay that way.”

“I won’t promise anything, Talbot, but I will think about it. Is that fair?”

“As long as you understand, I’m going to keep trying to find him.”

“Didn’t expect otherwise. And what about the promotion?”

“Fine.”

“Most are a little more excited when they get that kind of news.”

“Is a raise involved?”

“None of us are getting paid,” Bennington replied.

“So, what’s the reason for excitement? Who are you planning on naming as your new XO?”

“Interested?”

“Hell no. I already told you I have no interest in running this place. The only reason I’m taking this promotion is it gives me more clout when I’m representing my squad. And XOs are generally seen as the ‘bad cop’ in this dynamic. Plus, I am deeply anti-authority.”

“You don’t say. As for my XO, I was planning on talking to Major Dylan, know her?”

“I’ve run into her from time to time.” When push comes to shove, I can lie fairly decently, and he wasn’t my wife, so he wasn’t nearly as adept at picking up on my bullshit. “Works here, right?” Wasn’t sure if I should have kept pushing it, but I wasn’t known for my boundary restrictions. “What about Eastman or Overland? Or…what was that dick’s name who tried to have me court-martialed?”

“You mean Major Randing? Would you prefer I made him XO?”

“On second thought, scratch that.”

“It’s true the three you mentioned have more time in service than Major Dylan, but none of them would give up their command to take over the executive duties.”

“And a major at a hospital will? I would think she’d be pretty concerned about her patients.”

“That’s the beauty of it; she won’t need to leave here. The other three would not be able to leave base anymore.”

I wasn’t sure how much longer that was going to be a problem.

“Do you approve of my choice?”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine as long as I don’t run afoul of you or her.”

“Pfft,” Trip said. “What are the chances of that?”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” I told him.

“He wasn’t talking to you, Captain.” Tommy was smiling as he pointed to the ceiling, a peep was sitting halfway atop a ceiling fan blade.

The colonel walked over to me, took off the butter bars I had been wearing and pinned on the captain bars.

“Umm, probably should have mentioned this earlier, and I hope you don’t immediately take this brass off, but I left a trail of guards that are going to have some serious headaches upon waking.”

“I would have expected no less.”

“And if I may, sir, if you’re going to lay a false trap, maybe don’t have a man with a machine gun pointing it at me with his finger upon the trigger.”

“Blanks.”

“Excuse me?”

“It had blanks.”

“And if he started shooting those at me, what would have prevented me from pulling my sidearm and killing him with a live round?”

“You wouldn’t have.” He turned away; Tommy and I shared a glance. I wasn’t quite so sure about that. “You’re dismissed. Please take your colorful friend with you.” He clasped his hands behind his back and was staring out the window.

“Any chance you could give me a clue as to the whereabouts of Dewey?”

“Goodbye, Captain. And a word of advice, if you should come across that knowledge, I want you to be aware that next time, the guards will not be carrying blanks.”

“Come on, Trip.”

“We can’t just leave him behind.”

I knew he was talking about the peep and not the colonel.

“He’s safer up there than down here.”

“Bye, little guy.” He blew it a kiss.

There was a bunch of groaning coming from the corridor; luckily, they were in a hospital, help had been summoned, and the ones I’d interacted with were receiving medical attention for their injuries. Tommy’s were merely getting smelling salts.

“I bet you used to fix everything with a hammer.” BT was at the end of the hallway.

“Well, it was either fixed or beyond repair; either way, my job was done,” I told him.

“Subtle. You get the job done?”

“Wasn’t here, this was a decoy.”

“For what?”

“For these.” I flashed my new bars.

“So, you beat the shit out of five men and get a promotion? If that’s the case, I should be a four-star general. Now what?”

“We get the squad together and get up on the wall. Our fearless leader is going to add a little dynamite to the fire, and we’re going to be there to see if it explodes.”

“English, Talbot.”

“The colonel is sending the choppers in to disperse the crowd,” I told him.

“That’s not going to work.”

“Don’t I know it.”

We walked back to our home building; the whole excursion had seemed a bit surreal. I had truly thought I was going to be able to kill Dewey, maybe let Springer off the hook, and then I was figuring that I’d subsequently be standing trial for my treasonous acts. Instead, I’d made Captain. That was like getting pulled over for speeding through a red light and while the cop writes you a ticket, he discovers you’ve been drinking, but instead of arresting your delinquent ass, he gives you all the swell confiscated stuff he has stored up in his trunk. You know, bags of weed, beer taken from teenagers, maybe a bottle of opioids, yeah that kind of stuff.

When we got back, Stenzel was sitting at the table; she’d appropriated a scope from somewhere and was attaching it to her weapon. “Hey, LT,” she said without looking up.

“Ahem.”

“Huh?” She still didn’t look. “Want to get this just right.”

“Oh, hey, LT!” Rose had a brick of C4 in her hands and was heading out the door.

“Holy shit, sir! Who’d you steal those from?” Kirby asked as he saw my new insignia.

“I got promoted.”

“Really?” Stenzel turned around then. “Once we figured out where you were going…well, let’s just say we weren’t expecting that outcome.”

“Yeah, me neither. Kirby, could you round everyone up? I’d like to have a meeting here in the next fifteen.”

“Aye aye, El Capitan.” Kirby clicked his heels together and snapped off a salute.

“Get your ass out of here.” BT nearly threw him out of the room. “You do that silly shit again and I’ll make you wish you were walking the plank.”

I thought it was funny; BT, not so much.

It was Saturday, which meant absolutely nothing to me. What had arguably been my favorite day of the week for most of my life was now just like any other day. As a teen, and as a man in my early twenties, there was something magical about the day; you never really knew where it was going to go, what adventure you would be on, what people you would meet. It seemed to be a wide-open portal to endless possibilities. Then when adulthood had come crashing into the party, it had become a refuge from all those responsibilities, a chance to relax and unwind from the burdens, boredom and repetition of work. Sadly, now, the agenda was absolutely the same as every other day: survive. That was always the entire to-do list, the mission statement.

But Saturday did still contain a little bit of its magical qualities. It meant Tracy and the kids were here; I didn’t have to try and persuade her from going or keep her here under force, which would lead to me paying for the transgression for a good year, maybe more. Who am I kidding? It would basically be for the remainder of my natural and unnatural life. There were a couple of people, including Justin, who still weren’t here, either working or out doing errands, but I’d send people out to gather them soon enough.

“I’m glad I have you all here today,” Trip stated in an authoritative voice. “If I’m elected, I promise a gram of…”

“Trip,” I said.

“You’re right, you’re right, a gram isn’t enough. Two grams each really starts to break into my stash, though. But little kids don’t want grass, right? I mean, what are they going to do with it?”

I smiled at Stephanie as she moved past me to get her husband.

“We good?” I asked as a mumbling Trip sat down; he said something about fourscore and seven lines ago…I left it alone. “Okay, so here’s the deal, Bennington is starting the opening salvo against the zombies today.”

Wasn’t like this was a shock; with an amassing of zombies, something was bound to happen. That it hadn’t already was strange, but I figured I knew the reasons why. Still, though, there’s a difference; you can begin to get used to a status quo, even if it sucks. This invariably meant things were going to change; we were moving toward an active war zone—something we’d been able to avoid lately. When you’re living it, that’s one thing; you deal with it as it comes, but to have a reprieve and then once again be thrust into it, well, it tended to hit harder.

“I don’t know what this is going to lead to, but we need to be prepared. I’m going to the wall with a couple of people to observe firsthand. The rest will stay here.”

“And wait?” Tracy asked.

I shrugged, what else could we do? “And wait,” I echoed. Thought I might get some push back on that statement; there was a sense of relief mixed with concern when I didn’t.

“And if the fight comes to us?” my daughter, Nicole, asked.

“We’re fortified here. Rose has this place surrounded with explosives, and we have plenty of water, food and munitions. This may be the best place to be on the base, should the unthinkable happen.” Henry took that time to comfort me, walking over and placing his massive head under my hand. There was a sense of wellbeing there as I scratched behind his ears. I don’t know if he understood me entirely, but he knew enough to realize I was anxious and nervous, and he was going to do his best to soothe me.

“Okay, okay, three grams. Geesh!” Trip blurted out.

“I’d vote for him.” Porkchop raised his hand.

Tracy gave him a scowl; even if he was kidding, she wasn’t a fan. In honesty, I would have voted for him too. But I’d make sure to get the three grams up front. Politicians can’t be trusted to deliver on their campaign promises.

“Okay, I’ve got to think things are going to be developing quickly, those that still have things to shore up around here,” I was looking at Rose, she gave me a thumbs up, “need to stay and finish. Or, if you’d rather stay and get some downtime—which will be in short supply soon enough—I won’t order you to come. Other than that, I only want a couple of people with me, the rest will stay and hold down the fort. Just because Gadsen failed miserably last night, doesn’t mean Deneaux doesn’t have something else cooking up her sleeve.”

“I could take care of that problem,” Rose said as she tossed a softball-sized clay brick into the air.

“For those of us that aren’t overly familiar with explosives, that’s terrifying and I’d appreciate it if you’d stop,” Gary said.

“Sure thing, sarge.” She was smiling as she let it drop to the floor with a solid thud.

“Not funny,” I told her.

“A little funny,” Kirby said.

“You have to say that,” Grimm replied.

“Not sure how legal, military-wise, this is, but I’m not a big fan of change.”

“No lie there,” Tracy piped up. “He fears it, actually.” That got a few laughs and smiles.

“You done?”

“I made my point.”

“Great, okay, so, since I got promoted, I’m extending that down the entire chain, consider yourselves the next rank up. Congratulations.”

“Does this mean I don’t have to test for biological agents?” Kirby asked.

“Never going to let that one go, are you?” Rose asked.

“Would you? Oh hey, that means we’re both NCOs; can’t get in trouble for dating now,” he said with a quick eyebrow dance. It was funny to watch Rose blush. Here was a woman who dealt with explosives daily and had not one issue with it but got all embarrassed when her boyfriend called her out.

“Captain, I’d like to come to the wall, zero-in my scope,” Stenzel said.

“Has a nice ring to it. Sounds good, one more volunteer.”

I more than expected Trip to say he wanted to come; that he didn’t was telling in an ominous way.

“I suppose I should go. I need to pick up some Master Sergeant stripes,” BT said.

“Staff Sergeant Talbot, that puts you in charge of the house. I’d like someone on the roof, and let’s get that door barred.”

“And the stairs?”

We’d rigged them to collapse with a shaped charge. “Maybe hold off on that for now.” I thought for a moment. “But just for safety’s sake, let’s have everyone stay on either the second or third floor. And Tracy, I want whoever isn’t here rounded up before the bullets fly.”

She nodded.

“Ready?” I asked BT and Stenzel. BT picked Lyndsey up and kissed her, not to be outdone, I walked over to my wife.

“Don’t you dare lift my feet up off the ground,” she told me.

I kissed her and twirled her around anyway. Angel thought that was the funniest thing ever as Tracy smacked my shoulders until I put her down.

“That a Leupold?” I asked Stenzel as we started walking.

“It is. I made a trade with Sorrens when Kirby and I went back.”

“Are you kidding me? He wanted more?” BT asked.

“I think he has a problem,” Stenzel laughed.

“I hope you cleaned that thing,” I said.

“You don’t think…” BT started.

“What? Fuck no, you sick bastard. Just all those silicone dolls…I clean everything he gives us, including this.” I lifted my shirt to reveal the shiny metal. “It’s just creepy,” I said.

“First thing I did, sir. I think a little of you has rubbed off on all of us,” Stenzel said.

“Told you that shit was catchy,” BT said. “Not sure how an anti-germ spreads as much as a regular one.”

“The dolls, I, um, don’t think he actually uses them. I saw inside his place for, like, half a second. They’re arranged around the room like he is having a party. I think he’s lonely.” Stenzel was checking the windage dial as she spoke.

“You have a thing for him?” I asked.

“He plays with dolls.”

“If he didn’t?” BT asked.

“I can’t get past the part where he plays with dolls.”

“I didn’t clean mine.” BT started scratching his chest.

The closer we got to the front gate, the quieter it got. Most of the civilians had long ago hunkered down, and those in service to the base were where they needed to be for the approaching onslaught.

Climbed up two flights worth of steps and found a ten-foot section of wall to call our own. I let out a low, involuntary whistle as I looked upon the horde.

“They’ve been busy,” BT replied.

“Wow.” Stenzel had her rifle up to her shoulder. “Check this out.” She handed it over.

I dipped my head to look at a target, then lifted it to see what it looked like without the aid of the scope. “Damn, I could pick scabs off with this thing.”

“That’s gross. Let me see.” I handed it over to BT.

BT did the same movement I had. “Damn! You think Sorrens has any more of these? What’s our inventory looking like?”

He handed it back just as the Apaches flew overhead. Stenzel handed out some orange foam earplugs. We all quickly squished them up and mashed them into our ears.

“No rockets?” Stenzel asked, looking at the fixed wings.

“Too close to the wall; my guess is Bennington doesn’t want to risk it,” I said. The helicopters flew out a little past the wall and got at an angle away from us. Even with hearing protection, this was going to be loud. I’d not been prepared for just how loud. I’d been around attack helicopters, only not this close. The firing of rounds from the 30-millimeter cannons was so fast it was impossible to discern one shot from the next. Instead, there was just one long and continuous brrrppp as a twenty-foot long blast of fire burst out from the front of the chopper. The gun was mounted on a swivel that the gunner could manipulate for maximum results.

The helicopter directly in front of us went lower so that the thousands of deadly projectiles would be on a flatter trajectory and would destroy more zombies. That hardly seemed possible with the way they were being hewn down. Still, they didn’t move as dozens, hundreds, were quite literally chopped apart or diced into meaty parts. Entire swaths of them were being mowed down. In all my battles with this particular enemy, I’d never seen anything quite so lopsided. I stood in awe of the devastation the Apache was bringing. If I hadn’t hated them so much, I might have felt pity as they were mutilated into oblivion. Carrion birds circled high overhead, waiting for their chance to grab a mid-morning meal. They normally stayed away from zombie flesh, I wondered if pickings were getting slim or they had an idea this was going to turn bad for us.

All three of the helicopters had dipped down to a more effective angle; from our place on the wall we were nearly even with the pilots of the impressive flying machines. Four birds, looked like turkey vultures, must have been hungry as they dove down. It’s possible they had a suicide pact, otherwise, how could they not see the blender blades they were heading straight for? I didn’t think it would be too much of a problem for the chopper, but I was a ground-pounder; what did I know? The first vulture was shredded into a ball of bloody mist and feathers that blew out in a wide arc from the helo. The second was nearly identical, although I swore I saw the machine shudder from the shock of it. The third, yeah, he knew what he was doing, dove right into the intake. A plume of fire shot out from the engine, and the shudder I’d seen earlier came back with a vengeance—the machine shook violently. The sputtering we heard was a death throe. From my vantage point I could see the pilot’s instrument panel light up red; couldn’t hear the alarms, but I’m sure there was a cacophony of them.

The pilot turned toward us, but whatever was going wrong, he couldn’t get any height. All he was going to do was ram the wall with catastrophic results. He knew this and turned back the other way to make as much room between where he landed and the zombies. The fourth bird had different designs; it had come in low enough to avoid the blades and smashed headlong into the windscreen.

“That was on purpose, Mike,” BT said. There was no need to call him on the obviousness of that—the situation was far too serious. Dewey could talk to other zombies, people, and now, seemingly, animals.

I could only hope the pilot could get his now erratic machine under control and far enough away to make an escape. My priority became the other two. More birds were circling; it wouldn’t be too long before they were used as weapons as well. I looked around until I found what I was looking for: a private with a radio.

“Get the colonel on the horn!” I was out of breath, some from exertion in getting to him, most from the fear of what I’d just witnessed.

“I’ve got very strict instructions on the use of this, sir.”

“If you want, I’ll use it once I’ve knocked you out. Your choice.”

“This is station thirteen, calling for Colonel Bennington.”

“Roger, station thirteen. What is your priority code?”

“Whatever the fucking highest one is!” I’d grabbed the handset from the private.

“Say again?”

“This is Lieu…Captain Talbot. Get the colonel on the line, now. This is of the utmost importance. He needs to call off the attack!”

It wasn’t five seconds later Bennington was on the other end. I had to appreciate the efficiency.

“Talbot? So soon?”

I didn’t give him a chance to continue. “You’ve got a bird going down and two more to follow. Call them off!” He could have asked for an explanation, but when something so valuable is threatened, you tend to err on the side of caution. The two remaining helicopters stopped shooting and both turned just as the wounded one went down, not nearly far enough away. The blades were tearing through zombies as they clamored to get at the juicy, fun-filled center.

“This is Captain Delano requesting immediate extraction!” the pilot called out. The alarms had stopped; either he’d done it or he’d lost power. Could still hear the heavy percussion of the beating blades as they sliced through the enemy, but could also hear pounding on his fuselage as some had got through. “Shit, Don! Get your gun!” He must have been talking to his co-pilot.

“Too many! Too many!”

“Stenzel!” I shouted. Somehow over the noise of the helos she heard me, or maybe she’d been watching. I pointed to the downed helicopter then held my rifle up to my shoulder. She knew what I meant. With her scope and her skill, she could offer a chance, albeit a small one. She leaned over, placing the barrel atop the wall. I didn’t hear her shot, just saw the recoil in her body and the puff of smoke from the front of her barrel. She’d gone through an entire magazine before I could get back to her. By now, she’d been joined by over a hundred rifles trying their best to hold back the tide of the enemy from overtaking our own. Zombies kept filling in the holes, like a vengeful tide. I turned as I heard the squeals and rumblings of a heavy machine.

Bennington had sent a tank. It was hauling ass down the now deserted street and still, I didn’t think it was going to be on time. Personnel were gathering near the gate because once it opened to let the behemoth out, zombies were going to come flooding in. The helicopters were impressive, no doubt about it, and maybe the colonel had used them to boost our morale, but I think it would have been better if instead he had used the five tanks we had. The gates had no sooner opened when I felt and heard the percussion of the tank round being fired. In all my years of warfare and battles, I’d never witnessed this level of annihilation in one shot. Sure, the nuke had killed many times more, but it had left nothing behind except a radioactive residue that would be present long after this war was decided. The tank had used an M1028 round, which was a canister packed with over a thousand tungsten balls. Hundreds of zombies were torn entirely to shreds, body parts smacking wetly against the ground and their brethren.

Muscle, ligament, tendons, intestines, slithered on the ground, not yet aware that they were no longer tethered to a body. Heads disappeared, chests caved, legs and arms detached and flew off as if they were nothing but Lego Minifigure knock-offs. In a human war, I would have argued that something like this should be banned; right now, I wanted them to unload their entire arsenal. Let Dewey know just what he was dealing with. Fuck him. The only way my mind could comprehend what was happening was to equate it to the world’s most massive array of bowling pins being knocked down. I mean, except for the blood and guts, it was just like that. Another shot…this of the more traditional variety. The deaths dealt, while not quite as impressive, still cut a swath over fifty feet long and eight feet wide. The tank was picking up steam, getting close to its maximum speed of around 40 miles per hour, which is pretty impressive for something that weighs in excess of sixty tons. Stenzel had never stopped shooting around the helicopter, like the majority of us had, watching the impressive display of power from the M1.

I started running up and down the lines, getting everyone back on track. “Keep firing, keep firing!” By now, the blades of the helicopter had been destroyed by the sheer number of zombies they had decimated. Two had been completely torn from the frame, and the third hung down low enough to scrape the ground. It was when I saw Stenzel pull her rifle up I knew the rescue was for naught. She turned without saying a word and headed down the stairs. She’d just witnessed, in high definition, the two pilots being ripped and rendered by zombies; I was going to give her all the moments she needed to deal with it. The tank, oblivious to the outcome, still thundered on, but now we had something new to deal with. Stenzel wasn’t out of the fight; she was shifting her attention to the zombies that had come in.

Dozens of them were met by a half-circle of men and women. Even with all those rifles firing, we were still taking losses. It was easy enough to see which of us were not familiar with combat. You can practice at the range until you can group ten shots into the size of a quarter, but when someone or something is trying to kill you and everyone is screaming and firing at once and your adrenaline is pumping wildly and your brain is deciding crazily whether to fight or run…it’s amazing how small the side of a barn can become. Stenzel was plugging holes with unmatched precision. I realized I’d just promoted her less than a half-hour ago, but I thought I might do it again. While part of the line had appeared to be on the edge of making a break for it, she’d single-handedly got them back into the fight.

I was taking the stairs two at a time, and more zombies were coming in. I didn’t know why the gate wasn’t shut, only that it wasn’t. BT saw me and came running after. By now, those on the wall knew what was happening and began to fire straight down before the zombies could come streaming in.

“Shit, shit, shit!” BT almost destroyed me as I was heading back up.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked as we twisted our bodies to avoid the collision.

“Right back!” I found the private with the radio; he didn’t even hesitate as he handed it over. “Get the tank back! Get the tank back now!” I tossed the handset back and went to join my squad mates.

BT stayed about a quarter of the way up, so he had a better firing trajectory. The dozens of zombies were quickly building up to hundreds and still, the gates weren’t closing. I thought maybe they were jammed with bodies; it was worse. Zombies were actively holding them open. I don’t know if such a thing as a “push of war” exists, but it was happening right now. The guards were trying to shut the gates, and the zombies were pushing against them. I could not get a clear field of fire on them because of the railing and the wall overhang. The only effective way would have been to get in there and stand right where the zombies were entering. It looked like the culmination of the doomed helicopter attack and the doomed rescue attempt were going to be our undoing. Every facet of this looked planned. How could Dewey have known we were going to use helicopters? Could he have been preparing for every contingency like a chess virtuoso? Was he that many steps ahead of us? I wanted to call off Stenzel and get back to our home, but it seemed so early in the game to pull back. The far side, away from Stenzel, collapsed under the assault. Screams of pain and mercy rang out even as we redoubled our efforts. The zombies didn’t stop to plunder their hard-fought victory, but began to stream inside Etna.

“Hold this fucking line!” I screamed as I saw even more soldiers peel away. I went down the remaining stairs. Leadership by example; I’d always tried to do it, even if it meant certain death. My sacrifice would be a drop in the bucket to those that could be saved if we held on for just a few more minutes until either the one tank came back or another came to shore up our defenses. Although this probably wasn’t the best place to be, once it started shooting. A few squads were running up the roadway to help out. It was a wadded-up ball of chewed gum trying to be shoved into a leaky, crumbling levee.

One of the helo pilots with a death-wish must have seen the fall of the gate; he’d swung around. The entire scene was something surreal, straight out of a Kubrick film. I could see each chunk of brass falling from the helicopter as the machine gun emptied its contents. Zombie arms pinwheeled back as they absorbed dozens of rounds, anger was etched in their faces as they fell away. It was a slow-motion theater of death. We were all reluctantly playing a part, and I’d not even signed the Actors Guild paperwork.

Ravens, which had been watching the proceedings and waiting for their chance to grab a bite, now began to fly kamikaze-style right into the blades, the engine, the windscreen…they didn’t seem all too particular on what they hit. These smaller birds did not have the same effect as the vultures, but the sky was filling with them. Blood coated the entirety of the glass; soon the pilots would have difficulty discerning friend from foe and there would be no outrunning that barrage. The helicopter peeled away while it could. We had a momentary reprieve as the zombies replenished their dead stock. The two new squads had taken up positions, but now another enemy presented itself: ammunition, or rather, the lack of it. Most on the wall had not brought more than a couple of magazines, falsely believing we were giving the zombies a demonstration of our superior power, never imagining we would have to hold back a full-scale invasion.

Zombies were getting past our line, not many, but we couldn’t spare the soldiers to wipe up the drips and drabs when we were drowning in a flood. Finally I could hear the tank coming; the heavy machine gun from its turret was cutting down the enemy from behind. Thankfully they hadn’t brought out the big gun. They were using the bulk of the massive machine to quite literally crush the invaders. I could feel the approach of the tank, or so I thought. Got an update on how wrong I was pretty quickly.

“Bulkers!” someone shouted. Seemed only right; Dewey was countering our heaviest weapon with his own. I still figured this as a mismatch. Should have known better; the zombie king was a much better tactician than I was. I reacted to what happened on the battlefield, but Dewey was the one forcing the action.

I didn’t need anyone to tell me what was happening as I felt, rather than saw, the shriekers. We were far enough away that it was still only a minor irritant, an asshole renegade malaria-carrying, mosquito buzzing around a bedroom in the middle of the night looking for a quick midnight blood snack, type irritant. For those closer, it would have felt like having your brain cleaved in two by a blunt object.

“Go, go!” I urged Stenzel. I pointed back up the wall. “The shriekers first, then the bulkers!”

Zombies were still pouring in like they were being spilled over a broken dam, but the gates looked to be about halfway shut. I don’t know which of the fuckers was giving Dewey his intel, but I figured as soon as he realized he was losing the gates, he would re-direct his forces there. I smacked BT’s shoulder and pointed to the spot some thirty yards away. A half dozen Marines were doing their best to shut the gate.

“Help them! I’ll watch your back!” We were running there when a zombie completely broadsided me. There is something so shocking about being hit out of nowhere; your entire body flashes into what the fuck! mode. The right side of my face collided with my shoulder, my rib cage was shoved out of place, and I stumbled as my legs buckled. I think the only thing that saved me was that the zombie that bowled me over had been going for another, and I’d stepped in his way. The thing about zombies, though, is they are an equal opportunity killer. He immediately turned. I’d spun down, no more than a couple of feet from the impact; the zombie had gone a few steps past that, but even now was scrambling on all fours to get back to me. I was pushing; my hands entirely too busy trying to scramble me away and/or upright to be able to use my rifle.

I kept expecting BT to save the day. Didn’t know it at the time, but he was playing keep the flesh away from a dangerous trio. My zombie was making much better time as he loped like a dog to my backward crab-walk. His hand grabbed my knee, his head dipped down, I kicked with my free leg, bastard was able to evade the majority of it, but I still left a nasty scrape down the entire side of his face. His head may have twisted, but his eyes never left mine and his hand on my knee might as well have been glued in place. He was putting as much weight on it as he could to keep me from moving. I kept kicking out and he kept trying to pin my other leg down. My rifle, at this point, was more of a hindrance. I couldn’t spare the time to get my sidearm and my knife, attached to my leg, felt like it was a mile and a half away during a blizzard.

I kicked out again, this one flush to the face. I’d cracked his nose so completely it was laying flat to the side. He looked like the self-portrait of a kindergartner. Didn’t make him any less scary or determined, though. He had his mind set on grabbing my other leg; half of my movements were me just trying not to let that happen. This needed to end quickly, and if he got a call out to another or a friend just wanted to join in the action, it certainly would be; due to my positioning I was already overmatched. The zombie finally latched on to my free leg. I pulled my knees up as I raised my torso in the classic sit-up position. I punched that fucker in the side of the head hard enough I thought my hand was going to snap. His head flounced to the side, but he recovered quickly. His brackish black teeth were clicking together, but it was his breath, though, the fetid, disgusting, foul wind, smell of virulent decay that really had me. It was as if death traveled along that exhalation. And in a way, it did.

“Diiiieee,” he hissed. It wasn’t said with anger but rather with need, or there was a possibility he wanted to die instead of being trapped in his hell, I would do my best to help. The verbalization of his desire, and that he had the ability to do so, was something I was never going to be able to get over. His eyes looked down to my chest, considering ways to get at the provisions I provided underneath my clothing. I punched him again in the skull, but he’d been expecting it this time and turned his head so rapidly that to strike again, I risked having my hand go knuckles deep into his mouth. He dipped down quickly and bit into my right pectoral muscle—he tried, anyway. He’d sandwiched my nipple between his teeth and the chain mail, and was applying enough pressure and shaking his head hard enough that I was afraid he was going to rip it clean off. I wasn’t in direct danger of the bite, but if he managed to tear my sensitive nubbin off, his drool could still seep through the cloth and past the small ringlets.

I’d never considered the male nipple as an erogenous zone; never felt it was sensitive enough. That was before I had someone trying to violently pinch it free from my chest. Now it felt like he was holding a stun gun full blast to my entire torso. It was a paralyzing pain, one that left little thought for anything other than ridding the inflictor from the area. I was thumping my fists on the top of his head—about as effective as shooing Ben-Ben from the kitchen when there’s bacon. My flailing hands were reaching for anything; a bayonet would have been preferable, instead, I got a spent magazine which I repeatedly brought down on him. My hand throbbed from the pain of holding it in place as I did my best to drive the metal box into his skull. I’d broke through the matted hair and scraped skin away to reveal the white of his skull, blood pooled and covered the bone quickly enough, and still, he did not yield his prize. The metal was a solid dented mass, and it became more difficult to keep a tight grasp as my weapon was coated in gore, and still, I hammered away. His skull began to crack, but it was more like the impact of a pebble starring a windshield than an omelet-making egg-type crack. The jolts must have finally been having an impact; he didn’t let go, but the pressure eased, and the violent shaking of his head subsided. But, not enough. It was like his jaw had locked on. I now had both hands capped over the top of the magazine and was slamming it down with as much height and torque as I could muster.

Then, at last, I broke through. The zombie bit down his hardest yet, right before his jaws opened up and I was able to shove him off and away. My body was still rippling with the heavy undercurrent of pain. I was doing my best to push it aside, keep the tears from spilling, but anyone that has ever dealt with an all-encompassing pain knows just how difficult that can be. I looked over to BT, who did not have the time to commiserate. He’d just finished acquainting one of his attackers with the buttstock of his weapon. The gate was more than halfway closed, and the tank was nowhere in sight. There were no more flying machines, and near as I could tell, no reinforcements coming in the foreseeable future. This was looking more and more like the Alamo. Eventually, they’d avenge our deaths, but that’s a hollow promise to the ones about to die. I pulled my 1911 free and was moving quickly to help my friend.

“Fucking help me, Talbot!” BT bellowed. I kicked the back of the knee of the zombie he was directly engaged with, and when it fell backward, I placed a large slug directly into its eye, hammering it into the ground like a railroad spike. BT was able to partially free his rifle up and shoot the next zombie in the chest, and in one of the most random things I’d ever seen a bullet do, it exited the top of the zombie’s skull like an Apollo mission rocket, replete with ejecta. BT and I shared a brief moment of amazement at what we’d just witnessed before we moved on to the third and final attacker. By this time, BT was able to take care of it on his own. I was moving on to the zombies that were keeping the gates from closing. Advancing with my pistol extended out in front of me and firing as I did so, the heavy slug was ripping the zombies up, and I was fine with that.

Somewhere off in the distance, a siren wailed. I didn’t know if somewhere else on the base was under attack and falling, or it was a rallying cry to help those of us here doing our best to keep the enemy at bay. The 1911 was an excellent weapon; the only problem with it was that the bullet-holding magazine didn’t carry an unlimited supply. The more I moved toward the enemy, the further I got from those who could help me. I don’t know if it was a hero complex or simply the inability to reason out the consequences of my actions, maybe it was something better left to the experts to figure out, or history to decide. BT was either having the same issues or he was trying to repay me for my help, zombies to my right were suffering grievous injuries as he fired.

“No further!” I felt like he was talking about stopping the advance of the zombies, but maybe he was telling me to stop my foolhardy maneuver. When my 1911 went dry, I was forced to drop it, a move that affected me, one that I hoped wouldn’t haunt me later. I tried to treat something that continually saved my life and the lives of those around me with the utmost respect. That’s not to say I hadn’t wielded them as clubs or lost them in times of extreme combat, but to dismissively drop one onto the ground; that was, in its own way, gut-wrenching. However, if I’d taken the time to place it back in its holster, there was a good chance I would have suffered from a more literal translation of a gut-wrenching experience. I had my rifle up and was firing, but I had no idea how many bullets were in the magazine or if I had a fresh one to replace it with once it was spent, and right now, I was halfway encircled. Sometimes, when I’d watch an action flick, I would keep a casual count of rounds fired, just so I could, in my all-knowing way, shout at the absurdity of the movie as the hero fired off a couple hundred rounds without ever reloading. Seemed like a talent I wish I’d honed for real-life experiences.

I found myself back-peddling when I realized that I did not have an unlimited supply. Right now, I could only hope it wasn’t too late. I was firing at a half-circle of enemies, and while most were simply trying to break the line and gain entry into our home, that didn’t mean an abundance weren’t homing in on me personally, or those nearby. We were having some success in killing those that had toed the door open, but we needed to shut their egress soon. Those in the tank were on their own for the time being, but all things being considered, they were in a much better position than we were, or so I thought at the time.

“Swords!” someone behind shouted. Without context, I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. When my bolt froze open, signifying the end of bullets, I hastily started patting my body for spare magazines. It was then I understood the meaning of that battle cry. There was a pile of steel sabers some yards to the rear, and some of the bravest men and women I would ever encounter were scooping them up. One by one, those that had run out of ammunition were arming themselves with a weapon that had lost favor sometime back in the 1800s. Better that, than abandon their posts. I was now in a full retreat, fumbling with the release for my weapon—I’d be damned if I just chucked this gun as well—if reinforcements did somehow manage to get to us, there was a good chance they’d have more ammunition. While I was appreciative of our ability to still fight, with the swords, I would dump it instantly, so that I could fight from a distance again.

I tossed my rifle into the back of the Hummer that had brought the swords, just as BT handed a blade to me. He was wielding two of them like a Ginsu chef, if that’s a thing. Like damn near every person ever in this day and age, my experience with swords came down to me swinging a stick around when I was nine while we were playing pirates or something. I was no Errol Flynn, but thankfully, neither were the zombies. I mean, really, the fact that the only sword-hero that I could even remember was a 1930s heartthrob should be telling enough. I didn’t mean to be ungrateful, but apparently, someone had made it to the armory and the first and best thing he or she could think to grab were steel blades? I mean, what the hell? I started swinging that thing around like I was hacking my way through a jungle with a machete. I hated being this close to the enemy. It left so many deadly variables in play, and the worst thing about this scenario was that a sword thrust to the abdomen wasn’t going to do a damn thing to slow them down.

The thing about trying to blast a sword into a person’s skull is that the bone is surprisingly resilient. You’d think it would be like trying to pierce a watermelon; it’s not. My first opponent made me realize that. I’d just got my sword up in time, the tip of the blade struck to the side of the forehead, the jarring collision reverberated up my arm, in fact, the vibration made it difficult to hold on. The problem was that instead of stirring his brains around like a dry martini, the blade skittered to the side, cutting free a swath of hair and skin, creating the bloodiest comb-over ever caught in a gust of wind as it flopped to the side. I’d dug a groove in the bone, but as far as a kill shot, I might as well have ripped a hangnail from its hand. Sure, somehow, that itty bit of skin is painful as hell, but it won’t stop you in your tracks. The twisting of its head did give me the benefit of a second or two as it adjusted its trajectory. I took advantage of the time and sliced into the side of his neck with as much power as I could wield.

The blade sank in easily enough, then came resistance in the form of the neck muscles and spine, and then, surprisingly, I came out the other side. I’d not been expecting the guillotine effect. Can’t even begin to express how happy I was that I didn’t have time to see if its eyes were still watching me or its mouth moving, shocked, as it expected to grab hold. Its body took one more step before joining the rest of him on the ground. Ever see those old martial arts films where the hero fights thirty bad guys but they all have the good graces to wait their turn for the savage beating they are about to have administered to them? This wasn’t like that. Zombies were slamming into each other to get to me first. The only way to kill them effectively would be a sword point to the eyeball, which would be like trying to thread a needle at night during a particularly robust windstorm. BT was dangerously close. I had some concern I could become an unwitting victim to his swords, but my bigger fear was that I would somehow hit him, and even a nick to the arm would spell the end. Would the chainmail stop a blade?

“Back! Back!” this through a megaphone or a speaker, not sure which, but turning and running now was not an option. We’d be dragged down in an instant. Someone had a machine gun, and they’d not waited for the warning to be executed. In terms of saving the base, those of us caught in the crossfire were expendable. I mean, sure, I didn’t agree with that assessment, but I wasn’t manning the trigger. Zombies to our right were suffering the brunt of the projectiles; this had an added benefit of pulling them off us, as they saw this fresh lead barrage as a major impediment to their gaining a foothold. Maybe the first mistake Dewey had made this day. It was a case of him being too focused on the forest to see the individual trees.

BT and I, along with a few dozen other people, were slowly pulling back. We were still very much actively fighting for our lives, but as long as that machine gun kept spewing death at the rate of 650 rounds per minute, we were a lot safer. By this point, my sword was coated in a thick gel of congealed blood and brain matter; my hand was slick with it. My pommel was still free of the detritus, but that was only a matter of time. My right shoulder was on fire from the repetitive motions, the shuddering contact with bone, and the subsequent pulling back once I invariably got hung up on something within the zombie—even if it was only the suction caused by flesh closing over the blade. More than once, my backward pull almost caused damage to those around me as I broke free suddenly. I was fighting in a larger clearing than most. It was like my attempt at dancing…the more I did it, the more people moved away, not wanting to be associated with me. And, to be fair, they were in danger from my flailing arms and legs as I miss-stepped to every beat.

I struck toward a zombie coming for me. It had, with super-zombie strength, managed to bite down on my blade as it entered its mouth, stopping the sword from blowing through the back of its head. If I hadn’t been an eyewitness to the event, I would have thought it an elaborate exaggeration. Then, as if this wasn’t absurd enough, it was trying to wrest the sword away from me using only its teeth. It was twisting back and forth like a dog playing tug of war over a bone. A slab of tongue the size of a deck of cards fell out the side of its now ripped open cheek. A permanent smile that the Joker would have been envious of, mocked me cruelly. The zombie, realizing it wasn’t going to win this war, reached its hands up to the blade and grabbed hold. It lost a thumb and two fingers before I kicked up and into its knee, snapping it and simultaneously locking it backward. That gave me the space I needed to make a move. I again pushed the blade forward, this time making certain we wouldn’t have a repeat performance. I crashed through four teeth, shattering them into jagged bits before my blade hit the softer upper palette and punched through. There were a few inches of relative ease as I was now in the lower part of its brain. I waited until I felt the connection to bone before I pulled back, and voila, the zombie fell over.

BT had just finished up with his last opponent. He’d brought both swords inward and sent the head into the air like a popped champagne cork. Of all the random things my brain tended to house for later consideration, I hoped that wasn’t going to be one of them. Something about watching a woman’s decapitated head spinning in the air would be sufficient fuel to keep me in a padded room for the majority of my stay in an assisted living facility. We were now close to being behind the field of fire. As of yet, we’d not been adequately reinforced, so I wasn’t sure what exactly was happening or why we were finally restoring some order.

“The gates.” BT smacked my shoulder and pointed; they were shut. There were still plenty of zombies in here with us, but no longer an endless supply, like when your mom grows a bumper crop of cauliflower. At least now we only had to eat what was on our plates rather than receiving unlimited refills. I feel like that could be a version of hell I found myself in, if that was the direction I was headed. A steady diet of all the foods I detested; lord knows there’s enough of them. What could be crueler? Plate never empty and no leaving the table before it was clean. BT was breathing heavily, as was I, from the exertion. No wonder rifles had bumped swords as the preferred killing method. We had a moment to catch our breath, but that was it. Dewey had somehow caught wind of the change, and, instead of breaking through, it seemed that their marching orders were to now inflict as much damage as possible.

I don’t know what he did or how he did it, but the zombies went into a berserker mode. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t like they were well-behaved savages under normal circumstances, but this was above and beyond that. They went nuts, running with increased speed, their arms a blur of activity, their mouths clacking wildly; they were slamming into people like violently flung bowling balls. Screams for help rang out; these were usually quickly followed by gurgled cries and the tearing of flesh from bone. It was like Dewey was stepping down on the adrenal glands of his minions; it wasn’t sustainable, he knew that. Didn’t matter, though. It got the results he desired as battle-weary Marines were succumbing to the onslaught.

BT and I were doing what we could, but right now, that wasn’t much more than dealing with the creatures directly to the front. I felt a burning in my shoulder, thought maybe I’d been winged by a bullet. I could feel the warmth of the wound spread down my shoulder blade and halfway down my arm, then my mobility suffered. When I didn’t see blood, I thought a torn rotator cuff or something equally impeding. I was in trouble. I shifted the sword to my left; there was a large drop off in coordination, aim and power, but I was making up for it in enthusiasm. Wanting to live has that effect. The zombie invaders were finally beginning to diminish into manageable numbers, so, obviously, this was the cue for the replacements to come in and sweep up. It was almost like they’d been waiting in the wings to make sure it would be all right before coming out and exposing themselves to the danger. I knew that wasn’t the case; I was just in a great deal of pain and tired as fuck, and the day had just begun.

BT dragged me back as the military personnel with rifles filled in the gaps. “Dragged” is a strong word, almost suggests I didn’t want to go. That was not the case. We rearmed ourselves, then my guardian angel did me a solid, I saw the grip of my pistol and pulled the blood and gore coated 1911 from beneath a zombie and headed back up the wall. The tank was out in the middle of the field of battle, surrounded. We could see smoke, so we knew it was running, but it wasn’t doing anything.

I’d lost sight of my sergeant during the battle; I was happy to see her up on the wall, unscathed. “Is it stuck?” I asked Stenzel, who was watching through her scope.

“Don’t think so; I can see the tracks, and they’re clear. I think it’s shriekers, sir.”

“Can you kill them?”

“I could if I knew where they were.”

“How is that possible?” BT asked. “I mean, Trip’s crazy little tinfoil hats hold back the signal; how can the military-grade steel those Marines are encased in not do the same thing?”

“It’s a composite material,” Stenzel said. We looked at her. “What? Maybe if either of you paid attention to our training sessions, you’d know that.”

“I had a hangover,” I told her in defense.

“For two weeks?” she asked.

“Have you met him?” BT asked.

“The hatch is opening!” Stenzel let the shock of that come out in her words.

The first question I wanted to ask was why, but I knew. If there were a batch of shriekers right outside that tank, the people inside would feel like their minds were being flayed open and the exposed parts subjected to a blow torch. It was quite possible the poor bastard opening the hatch thought he was somehow going to be able to escape; it was also possible he couldn’t care less. The only thing he would be leaving behind would be his life. With the unaided eye, it was difficult to tell what exactly was going on. Thankfully (or not), Stenzel was narrating the action.

“Someone has popped out. There are arms around him—looks like they’re trying to drag him in. His face is a mess. Blood,” she added after a moment. “He’s moving too fast…looks like it could be leaking from his ears.”

“Jesus,” I muttered. I hated using His name in vain, something drilled into me a good long while ago, but right now, it seemed appropriate, and I didn’t think He’d mind, maybe He’d consider it a plea for help. Couldn’t hurt, right? I knew firsthand that a shrieker let loose in your mind was a painful endeavor, but had they once again jumped up the evolutionary ladder? Could it not only feel like you were having your brain sliced open, but truly be happening? Could they somehow be creating embolisms? That seemed reasonable and horrible; what chance would we have if they could rip our brains apart remotely?

I might not have been able to make out too many details from this distance, but it would have been impossible not to see the speeders trying to take advantage of the tank opening up. They were swarming the hulking machine. Somehow, those inside had pulled their wayward squadmate back in, but they’d not been able to secure the hatch. Stenzel began firing, as did the entirety of the line, but there were just too many. I don’t know how many got in, but enough that if there had been a tank stuffing contest, like the phone booth stuffing fad back in the ’70s, a world record would have been set. Whoever had been in there was in as much danger of dying from being crushed as they were from being eaten. The shots ceased once it was realized that nothing we did now would be able to help those poor souls trapped. I won’t swear it, but I thought that maybe the sixty-ton war machine was rocking back and forth, and it was a foregone conclusion as to why.

“Umm, where’s the radio?” I was looking around.

“What’s going on?” BT was looking for the next threat.

“I think we need to put an RPG in that tank,” I said.

“You think the old man is going to authorize that? He’ll want to grab that thing back, if and when this is over,” BT said.

“Do we agree that Dewey is different? That he’s lightyears ahead of the rest of his class?” I asked.

“Yeah,” BT answered tentatively. “No way,” he said, seeing where I was going with this. “Operating a tank is way beyond their skill set. Come on, Mike, you think a zombie is going to be able to drive a tank into our wall?”

“Don’t need to know how to drive to work the guns. We just watched them take down a helicopter, stop a tank, and breach the gates in under an hour. I don’t know about you, brother, but I don’t care to see how much more they’re capable of.”

“Fuck you and your paranoia.” He didn’t say it in a mean way, but rather that he knew I was leaning in the right direction and didn’t want to hear it. Stenzel had gone to look for a way to communicate with Bennington. BT and I watched as the first of the zombies came back up the hatch. She was covered in blood; could have been a stand-in for Carrie during the pig blood scene. I gave her a trio of bullets; she fell over to the side and on top of her fellow monsters. I killed the next four in a similar fashion. I wanted to make a point, to show them that they couldn’t just eat us and get away with it. Then I realized the futility of trying to send them a message. They didn’t care; couldn’t have been any more ambivalent if they wanted to. They were incapable of those feelings. They no longer possessed the same desires, concerns, or morals as a person. To attribute any sense of humanity to them was nothing but anthropomorphizing, and it was a waste of energy.

Stenzel was standing with the radio, though the operator was nowhere in sight. My hope was that he’d dropped the heavy equipment and made a run for it, but the hastily wiped up blood on the side led me to believe…other things. I had to climb the rank ladder to get to the colonel, starting with a private. Once I told him I was going to break his teeth out and make a necklace with them, he sent me on to a sergeant who didn’t even bother listening to my diatribe as I was handed up to a lieutenant.

“This is Lieutenant Saunders, go.”

“This is Captain Talbot. I need to speak to the colonel.” I’d repeated this statement three times now. One more and I was going to start making good on my threats.

“I’m sorry, Captain, I cannot get you through to the colonel at this time. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the midst of a war.”

“Saunders? You the kid that looks like he’s twelve? Listen, Lieutenant, I’m not calling the colonel to fucking exchange banana bread recipes. I’m smack dab in the middle of that war you’re referring to, and if you don’t goddamned hand that phone over to him now, I am going to have my top reach up inside your colon and pull your tonsils out through your ass! We clear?”

“Why the fuck do I have to reach up there?” BT whispered.

“I’m a captain now,” I said, taking my finger off the send button. “I can’t be expected to be making puppets out of humans; the officers’ club frowns on that kind of thing.”

“This is Bennington.” Our leader sounded harried. What had happened around us had been bad enough; it was likely he’d heard similar reports all around the base.

“It’s Talbot, sir.”

“This your ‘told you so’ moment, Captain?”

“Not up to it just now, sir. We have a tank here that has fallen into enemy hands. I want to have an RPG round or two put into it.”

I was expecting him to call me crazy or have me launch a rescue or at least argue against it. Was not expecting the green light. “I’ll send a team as soon as I can. Anything else, Captain?”

“No, sir.”

He hung up quickly. Five more zombies had come out while we waited, then the tattered remains of the tank crew, less one, my guess they’d kept the gunner, either turning him or coercing him to do his job. What was left of them could have fit easily into one casket. A shiver ran up my spine as a gray arm, could have been the color of a garment but looked like dead skin, reached up and pulled the hatch down.

“You have got to be kidding me,” BT said. “You going to call the colonel back and tell him to hurry up?”

A large truck pulled up and three men hopped out. “Looking for Captain Talbot!” A few pointed in my direction. They grabbed a couple of green plastic cases and headed up the wall. They had everything out and set up pretty quickly.

“You sure about this?” the triggerman asked as he looked out the oversized sight.

“I know it’s a waste of a tank, but yeah, it needs to be done.”

“No, what I’m saying, sir, is that I think someone is alive in there. The turret moved a bit.”

I’d not noticed anything of the sort.

“There’s nothing living in that machine,” BT said.

We all watched as the turret moved again. BT, Stenzel and myself in horror, while the RPG team watched with sadly expectant hope.

“Stop that machine, Corporal.” I was pointing but that was completely unnecessary.

“But, sir.”

“I realize this is tough to swallow, but a zombie is spinning that turret, and what do you think is going to happen to us when it figures out how to fire the main cannon?”

The corporal looked to his crew and then at me again before sighting down the enemy. The turret was still moving.

“Corporal, if you can’t or won’t shoot, hand it over,” I said.

“But…but there’s people in there.”

“No time for this,” I said as the terrifying weapon kept moving. I snagged the tube from his hands, my injured shoulder protesting every extraneous movement. I placed the tube atop my shoulder. “Backblast area all secure?” I asked.

“Backblast area, all secure,” one of the men from the team responded.

I did feel a slight hesitation; depressed the trigger anyway. There was an authoritative whoosh as the projectile flew from the front of the barrel. I kept my sights on target like I was firing an old school TOW missile. Not sure who’s familiar with that brainchild of a weapon; it’s pretty much the same as an RPG except for one significant difference: the projectile is attached to the firing apparatus by a long, thin cable. This way, as the gunner readjusts his aim on, presumably, a moving target, the information is passed simultaneously to the grenade. Sounds great in theory—I mean, who wouldn’t wish they could have readjusted their aim sometimes? And the ability to do it in flight? Sounds like a dream. Yeah, that’s right up until the fact occurs to you that this is all happening in an active war zone, and while you stand there with your oversized pecker exposed, everyone on the opposing side is going to do their best to take you out before your missile strikes.

My round hit the side of the tank. While the explosion was exceedingly spectacular, I didn’t do much more than scrape the paint. Not sure when the technology had first been introduced, but all tanks these days had protective, reactive armor on them. Meaning when a projectile strikes, the plating explodes outward, deflecting all the energy away from the canned occupants. Had to figure the brains at the Pentagon were getting pissed off, losing billion-dollar tanks to a fifty-buck round. It was a very effective means of protection, especially on a moving tank. The idea that you’d be able to hit the same spot twice were minimal, and with that in mind, I reloaded. By now, the turret had turned three-quarters of the way toward us. My rocket streaked out, and we got another grand explosion that blew apart more than a few zombies in the general area, but my primary target had been wholly unaffected. I had succeeded in destroying another panel, though. Thirty or forty more shots and I should be to the meat of it.

“Fuck,” I muttered, letting the nose of the tube dip.

“The tank, sir, shoot the tank,” the corporal from whom I’d taken the weapon said. He sounded as panicked as I felt. We were all staring down the 120-millimeter barrel, and even at a hundred yards or so, it looked impossibly big. I’ve had the displeasure of looking into the barrels of many rifles and pistols, they pale in comparison to the cannon now aimed our way. Peashooters.

“Load me up!” I said much too loudly. I think it was because I was trying to cover up the sound my balls were making as they scurried up into my midsection looking for a place to hide. Probably sounded something like a squeaky-hinged door creaking open.

“Hit the tank, Mike! I don’t want to go out like this,” BT said. While all of those around us were cringing and crouching, he stood ramrod straight. He’d decided if we were gonna go, he would look as stoic as possible. And seriously, at this point, it wasn’t like covering your head was going to do the least bit of good.

I got a pat on my back to tell me I was reloaded and the back chute was clear. I took a deep breath; if I missed, I fundamentally knew that our time here on earth was measured in seconds. “No pressure,” I said as I depressed the trigger. I think if a historian should ever come around to ask all of those on the wall what had transpired next, there would be a dozen different eyewitness accounts. A fair number will say my shot went straight down the cannon barrel, and maybe it would have…but there’s an equal chance it had actually sailed straight over the top of the tank and we all died. That’s one theory that floated around; we had all died on the wall that day and it had happened so quickly that none of us realized we had passed over. Of course, it was Trip that had let this little dandy escape his mouth, later on. It didn’t help that he went around continually pinching us to make sure we were real and then, to make double-sure, he asked those too far away to pinch whether they could see us.

I’d love to say my shot exploded the fully operational Death Star, but what I think happened goes something like this: I fired my rocket (which truly did look like my hastily aimed shot was going to skitter over the top of the tank like a skipped stone on a smooth lake), and the zombie inside had also fired. The recoil of the heavy barrel pushed the entire front end of the tank up, just enough that my round either collided with the tank round or the barrel. Either way, the explosion was cataclysmic for those inside and nearby. Secondary explosions had us ducking for cover as destroyed parts flew away from the blast in a complete arc. When the explosions finally died down, there was loud cheering and whooping from all those that had witnessed the event. I got enough claps on my shoulder to dislocate it. My expression of shock hadn’t changed much as I found BT through the celebration. I mouthed the words, “I missed” to him. He replied, “I know.” My head was flooded with a swirl of emotions, obviously joy, but there was also disbelief and intense fear. It is difficult to reconcile that one shot ago you had less than one hand’s worth of seconds left.

“How you doing?” BT had muscled past everyone else, who were much too busy being happy they still drew breath.

“Pretty sure I could throw up right now.”

“Dewey?”

I knew what he meant; the head zombie needed to die. The zombies weren’t doing anything at the moment. Their leader must have been working on the next phase of his attack. It would be for the best if he never got to disseminate that information.

“We’re going to kill him.”

“Need you to clarify, the colonel or Dewey?”

“Dewey.” He looked at me. “I can’t imagine at this point the old man would offer any resistance.”

“Do you think he’ll have someone do it before we get there?”

“It’s possible, but if not we need to take care of it.”

“Preaching,” BT said as we descended the stairs.

“You coming?” I asked Stenzel as I looked back.

Her face still had a whitish hue to it. “You know you were going to miss, right?” she asked, following us.

I felt like this was the time for some smart-ass comment to glib over just how close we had come, but the shaking hands that I shoved into my pockets would have belied anything I said. I could somewhat deal with the end of my life, but the dozens of others that would have joined me had I failed would have been too much. Of course, then I had to remind myself that guilt was for the living, and, miraculously, I had not failed. I honestly gave not one shit whether something greater than me had intervened. Divine intervention? I don’t know…maybe an eagle flying high overhead had taken just that moment to clean out his blocked bowels and the heavy bird shit had struck the rocket, dipping the nose of it down just enough to clip the tank. Again, perfectly fine with that.

The colonel’s office was a massive brass meeting. Damage was being assessed, how and where to deploy troops, and everything else that goes with securing an area and keeping it safe. He ushered me in when he saw me standing by the doorway.

“I need the room.” The hustle and bustle immediately quieted down. Without another word, it was just me, BT, Stenzel, and Bennington. “I heard about your heroics on the wall,” he said. I always thought it was strange how fast news could move, but that wasn’t why I was here, and the sooner I could let that event slip down my neurological ladder, the better.

“Not why we’re here, sir,” I told him.

“The reports I’ve been receiving hardly seem possible. If it had only been from one or two people, I might have believed them to be suffering from histrionics.”

“Dewey has to die,” Stenzel spoke up. “Not sorry.” She looked over at me.

“The old base hospital; we’re using it as the commissary now, it has a basement. You’ll need this to get down there.” He handed over a keycard. “They know you’re coming, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t give any more of my guards a concussion. For the record, I am not completely on board with this.”

“No promises on the guards, and you should be,” I told him as we were heading out.

“Good work, Captain. Without you and your squad’s help, I fear we would have already suffered defeat.”

“Not over until it’s over, sir,” BT said.

The commissary wasn’t more than a block from where we were, otherwise, I would have commandeered a vehicle. There were MPs all over the place as scared residents wanted to make a run on supplies. The store was controlled chaos as the cops made sure people only got what they needed and didn’t clean the place out before others could get their necessities.

“Captain,” Master Sergeant Wassau said off to my side.

“Please tell me you’re not here to arrest me again,” I told him.

“Follow me.” We headed through double-hinged doors marked with Employees Only. We were in the receiving area for the store. We took a right, heading across what had at one time been the ambulance entrance but was now used for trucks bringing in supplies. Then through another door, this one painted red and a foreboding Keep Out sign stuck to it, and if that wasn’t enough, there was an armed MP standing there. I suddenly realized I didn’t so much as have a penknife on me. I wasn’t expecting trouble, but wasn’t that when it was more apt to hit? The MP swiped the card I handed him and held the door open for us. Wassau extended his hand in, I’m sure it was a gesture of good manners, but the skeptic in me declined the offer and instead ushered him first.

“Paranoia will eat holes in your mind,” Wassau said as he shook his head.

“Then you’re talking to Mr. Swiss Cheese,” BT said.

“Really, man?”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

An automated light flicked to life. The room we found ourselves in wasn’t much bigger than a jail cell, and when I noticed there wasn’t another door nor our target, I was, understandably, thrown off a bit.

“Wassau?”

“You’re going to love this,” he said.

Then we were moving.

“Are you kidding me right now? This is an elevator?”

“Sort of…I guess that’s the best way to describe it.”

There was a stomach-dropping lurch as we stopped. Another MP opened the door—I could see past him to a brightly lit room that looked to be the size of the story above. There were heavy support columns spaced evenly throughout, but other than that, it was wide open, and dead center was everyone’s best friend, Dewey, a bevy of medical personnel all around. The zombie king turned to watch our approach.

“I know you,” he hissed as we got closer.

“Do you know why I’m here?”

“You wish to join me?” He was serious. “I can make your transition easy; preferable to what my kind will do to you once they are through.”

“As much as I’m sure this big guy would like to eat something besides my sister’s cooking, no, that’s not it. Stenzel, can I have your rifle? You see, Dewey, I’m going to blast a fucking hole in your head, something that should have been done a good long while ago.” Dewey watched diligently as I took the gun, checked the chamber and the safety. Hatred burned in his eyes. “Any last words? Fuck it,” I said as I shouldered the weapon. “Don’t want to hear them anyway.”

I was lining up my shot, figured the chances of missing were minimal, but no one wanted to find out what a ricocheting bullet would do in a concrete bunker.

“Sir, help!”

I eased the pressure upon the trigger. “Springer?” I turned to see his cage placed far up against the wall. He hardly looked recognizable. His face was the gray of a beached whale, large purple veins streaked up the sides of his neck and cascaded over his cheeks and forehead. He was thin as well, so thin I wondered how he was supporting his weight.

“Springer?” I felt like I’d simultaneously been sucker-punched in the gut while a dominatrix had ignored my safe word and squeezed my balls like she was trying to make a glass of lemonade.

“Oh, no!” Stenzel cried out, she was the first to head that way.

I reached for her. “Don’t get too close.”

“Brayden, what have they done to you?” Stenzel was crying.

“I’m still in here, Harley…if he kills Dewey, the virus will wipe me out. I’m so scared.”

I turned back to look at Dewey to see if there was any validity to the statement. The cancerous smile he wore was all the convincing I needed.

“Get the fuck out of here!” I was yelling at all the personnel. I was afraid I might start taking out my frustration on the ones that had put me in this situation by keeping Springer alive. I started waving the rifle around until they got the message. I waited until the ten medical people left.

“I’m so glad I was out of the room when that happened or I would have to report it,” Wassau said.

“You still might want to leave. I’m not entirely sure what I’m going to do.” The anger had been short-lived, as was usually the case. Now doubt, unease, fear, and a half dozen other emotions I didn’t know how to deal with crept in.

“I want to live, sir,” Springer said.

My heart jumped when I realized he was addressing me personally.

“We have to get him out of here!” Stenzel looked frantic.

“As soon as you open that cage, he won’t be who you think he is,” BT said, gently placing an arm on her shoulder. It looked kindly, but I would imagine he was ready to clamp down and hold her in place, in case she made a run for it.

“Why are the zombies talking, Talbot?” Wassau looked like he’d swallowed live frogs.

If I was a Vulcan—or Deneaux, you know, a creature not driven by emotions—I would have realized that Springer was already dead, merely a puppet being directed to elicit just these types of reactions from us poor, vulnerable humans. That, however, wasn’t the case. Here was a kid that had been my direct responsibility, and I’d let him down. It wasn’t enough that I’d killed him once, now I was going to have to do it again, and in front of another of my charges, who I was just realizing might be in love with him. Dewey had his hands wrapped around the bars, he was watching my slow spiral into despair with a ravenous look.

“Come on.” BT was leading a crying Stenzel out of the area. Every damn part of me wished I was the one being led out.

“Will not having witnesses make it easier?” Dewey asked.

“You shut up!” I yelled, not looking over at the monster.

It croaked out its version of a laugh.

“I’m sorry, Brayden, I am.” I brought my rifle up to my shoulder.

“Captain, what are you doing?” Wassau asked. We were watching in real-time as the layers of zombie-dom were peeled back, revealing a terrified and confused kid.

“I…I don’t know.”

“Please…” Springer had his hands up. It was the universal gesture of protection. At one point in early human evolution, that would have diminished or possibly prevented an attack, but once we learned how to fling remote objects with deadly momentum, that had ended. Still, we all did it. The bullet went through the palm of his hand, entered his face just above the mouth and below the nose. The look of betrayal in his eyes is something I’m going to have to live with for the rest of my days. He fell over, his head smacking wetly on the bunk behind him.

“Shit, sir. You could have warned me.” Wassau had his hand on the handle of his holstered sidearm.

I was breathing heavily as I slowly let the rifle down. “I ordered everyone out, not sure what else you wanted me to do. Had to figure at that point, the dice had been rolled, and I didn’t want to discuss it any further. So fucking sick of this day.”

A sound like loose change inside a garbage disposal emanated from Dewey’s cage, he was laughing. “I did not think you would do it.”

“Funny? You find this funny? I did that to someone I cared for; what do you think I’m going to do to you?” I spun my rifle already at the ready.

“It matters not at all if I should die. There are many like me that will continue our quest.”

“I think you’re full of shit, Dewey. Oh, not the part about other smart zombies, I know that’s real. But to you, I think it matters a lot if you live or die. You can’t pick and choose which human attributes you’re going to take with you as you evolve, and self-preservation, yeah, that’s a big one. You keep lying to yourself about that whole hive collective or whatever bullshit you call it, but this is more like Animal Farm, right? You’re all equal but some are more equal, like you. Did I nail it, Dewey? You don’t want to die.”

“What would you have me do, human? Would begging for my life sway your mind?”

“Nope. Not at all. I just feel like I needed to know that this isn’t just another day for you. It’s a strange thing, your transformation. It somehow makes you more and less human. Any last words, Dewey?”

His mouth opened.

I shot him flush in the forehead; I wasn’t interested in what he had to say.

“You sure you wanted to do that?” Wassau asked.

“If it wasn’t some grandstanding manifesto, he was either going to tell me to drop dead or eat a bag of dicks. Didn’t want to hear either.” I looked over to Springer; I felt physically ill. I didn’t know what the hell I was going to tell Stenzel—or any of them.

“We should get going,” Wassau said after a few moments. I had to think he was realizing how difficult this was for me and staying here wasn’t making it any better.

We headed out and into the strange elevator. BT and Stenzel were waiting.

“Springer?” she asked, hopefully.

I shook my head.

“He was already dead,” BT told her as gently as he could.

Whether or not that was going to make it easier for her to deal with was open for debate. I could only hope that the anger that was surely building in her wouldn’t be directed at me, but, yeah, I’d understand if it was. I’d come to this place with a wave of white-hot burning anger. I’d mistakenly figured that once I killed Dewey, it would be sated, or at least feel like it would be. If anything, it was even sharper and more acute. I’d cut off a head, but we were dealing with a hydra-monster, and now that I was pondering, I thought it possible I’d even made the situation worse. Before, everything needed to be routed through Dewey. There would be a lag from the battlefield to him and back out again, but if the Field Marshals were already out there, they would be able to make changes in real-time.

I walked out of the building and went the complete opposite way that I needed to go.

“Talbot,” BT said. I didn’t reply. If anything, I began to walk faster. There are times when just dealing with yourself is nearly unbearable; throwing another in there is an impossibility. There was a lightness in my head which was in direct contrast to the leaden heaviness I felt in my chest as anxiety began to build up. The sensation in my core was making it difficult to capture full breaths. I sped up to get to where I was going; I was moments away from a panic attack that was going to leave me immobile. I walked past what remained of my house not even pausing to look at the charred remains instead I went up the front steps to Winters’ now-abandoned base housing. I didn’t check to see if any of Deneaux’s lackeys were watching. Truth be told, I wasn’t all that worried about being blown up; a part of me welcomed the thought of it, thus sparing me from what was to happen next.

I stumbled over the threshold, and, like a man trying to escape a flash flood, I climbed the stairs to perceived safety. My vision was blurring as long-held tears finally soaked my eyes. I sat down slowly on the floor, my back against the bed. I wailed, I sobbed, I blamed any and all deities. I slammed my fists down on the ground, and repeatedly on my legs. I’d sought out this solitude to grieve, and now I was distraught no one was here to help me through. No one said you have to be rational when you’re losing your shit. I wanted to wrap my arms around Henry’s thick neck and sob into his fur. The big dog always had a calming effect on my psyche. I wanted to embrace my wife, have her absorb the racking cries that ran through my body. I wanted all of those things…and I didn’t. I felt that I was due this suffering, that it was my fault Springer had died. Shooting him was the right thing, that I did not doubt, but I had put him in that situation to begin with.

I sat there for an hour, maybe two, my head hanging down, tears flowing onto my lap. It was the first time that day I laughed. It was a dry, shriveled little thing that carried no mirth, and the only reason it revealed itself was because the juvenile idiot still inhabiting a portion of my psyche thought I’d wet my pants. I pushed up off the bed to stand. I was wobbly and my head pounded with sinus pressure. Not sure why your body feels the need to throw in that little added bonus. As if whatever has you crying isn’t enough, your body decides to enflame your sinuses to the point where blinking hurts. I went to his dresser, found a pair of sweats, tossed the camis I’d been wearing onto the bed and changed. The depression that had been weighing me down, coupled with the anxiety that had threatened to take flight, had both eased. I found myself staring into the bathroom mirror. The man glaring back at me looked gaunt, not physically, but spiritually; he needed help, and I hoped he would get it. I turned and headed downstairs. I stepped outside; BT was sitting on the steps. I stopped short, I had guilt and embarrassment, something I knew I absolutely shouldn’t have. It was just the old school wrong way of thinking that I’d been brought up with. Men don’t cry, men don’t need help, and men never ask for directions.

BT said nothing. He stood when I came out; he never really even looked over at me, and for that, I loved him more. He knew I’d just about wicked every drop of moisture from my body with my tears and draining snot; looking into my washed-out face would have only made it worse for me.

“Want to get a beer?” he asked.

I croaked; I’d not used my throat for anything besides sobbing. Once I cleared a pathway for speech I spoke. “Sounds good.”

“The zombies that slipped through have been dealt with,” he said, as if that had even been on my mind. It should have been. I nodded.

We walked for a bit before he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. I was thankful for the gesture, and also a little worried that I might start blubbering again. I was getting hesitant as we headed closer to our new apartment building; I wasn’t sure if I could put on the mask that assured everyone I was all right and clearly capable of leading this group through the war and to safety. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever been that man. BT led me into a building a little way up the street from where we were staying; I didn’t protest. There were two folding chairs set up and a cooler.

“You were in there for a while,” he offered as way of explanation before handing me a beer.

I didn’t respond, fearful that anything that came out wouldn’t even sound vaguely human as it struggled to get through my constricted windpipe. I drank the beer instead. His friendship meant the world, and I could only hope I didn’t let him down somehow. We sat in silence for some of the time, others, when BT must have thought I was on the verge of spiraling down, he would tell me stories of his youth, all the trouble he got into and out of. I appreciated every word, even if sometimes I was only listening with half an ear.

“Running low on beers,” he said some hours later.

I started to stand, that was when I realized how drunk I was and how absolutely topped off my bladder was. It was difficult to stand up, and the added pressure threatened to wet my pants for the second time that day. I walked barely far enough away and relieved myself.

“I cran ret more,” BT slurred, pointing to a radio down by his feet. “Got Kirby on standby.” He leaned over to get it, the chair, already well past its maximum weight-rating, bent and fell over to the side, and BT’s ass was now gripped tightly in the metal framing. That was all the catalyst needed to jettison the depression. Yeah, it wouldn’t last long, but a reprieve was welcome. I laughed until my sides hurt, I laughed until, regrettably, my sinuses hurt again. Another design flaw—don’t get too happy or sad because you’ll pay for it. I laughed even harder as BT was on the floor making the call. He’d stopped struggling to get out of his seated prison and just stayed doubled into the pathetically inadequate frame.

“Ret yer ass up here!” BT bellowed into the radio. Wasn’t two minutes later Kirby came sprinting in, a six-pack in each hand. He took a quick look around, decided it was better to say nothing, put the beer down, and headed to parts unknown.

“Want help?” I was looking down on BT.

“Just hand me a beer.” He somehow drank down the entire thing sideways, on the ground, without spilling any. It was impressive. By the time we finished off that set of beers, we were sitting on the roof, looking up at the stars. Tomorrow I’d pay for this, but tonight it was exactly what I needed.

9

Mike Journal Entry 8

There was one bonus side effect of the execution of Dewey; without the king, the zombies needed time to sort out who was now running the show. The power vacuum had caused no small amount of disruption. I didn’t personally witness it, but there were reports of skirmishes breaking out among groups of zombies. Can’t even begin to express how happy that made me, that they could turn on their own. Maybe there was still a way out with this; we could possibly have Deneaux teach the zombies some subterfuge, and they would then be too busy killing each other (and, hopefully, her) to worry about us. All I knew was it gave us three days off, three days to better fortify and rethink our strategy.

The use of any flying machines was off the board. I was worried about other animals, too; no clue if the bird thing was unique to Dewey. If not, what was next? Rodents? Insects? Tigers? We were now under siege, no doubt about it. Yeah, we were well-stocked, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t succumb to any of the dozens of diseases rats and insects could bring in. But the zombies didn’t want the land or buildings, couldn’t have cared less. They wanted us, so even if they could employ that tactic, would they? Or would they even have the reasoning ability to realize those aspects of their actions?

Knowing that a wet, stinking pile of freshly extruded shit was precariously stuck to the ceiling over a quickly spinning fan kept me very close to our new home-away-from-home. Any errands run by family members or my squad were in groups no smaller than four, and at the first sign that offal had splattered onto the blades of the machine mentioned above, there was to be no delay in hightailing it back. My squad, instead of harboring any anger toward me, which was understandable, ranged from avoiding the topic altogether, to thanking me for ending his suffering. I dealt with it like I deal with most things—I drank and allowed my lack of short-term memory to help me through. I also immersed myself in some serious dog therapy. Our resident psychologist had closed up shop in the face of the crisis we were about to be dealing with. I couldn’t think of a more cowardly thing to do, but I got it. Plus, that meant I didn’t have to do my obligatory visits, which, again, was fine with me.

Wassau and Major Dylan had come around the second day and scoped out an area to call their own, as had Overland’s team, though they weren’t going to move in until the siege began to squeeze in on itself. The SEAL team leader wasn’t nearly as convinced as I was that this would soon be the case. Deneaux had eased up on her assassination attempts; I was not under the false pretense it had anything to do with me being lost in the shuffle of the confusion going on with the hording zombies. Deneaux was much too thorough to let me slip through the cracks. No, this had to do with the very real and present danger the zombies represented, and with my penchant for surviving, she was banking on me being a last resort of escape. It might have made it more difficult but not impossible to kill me because she was now housed under Wassau’s care.

It hadn’t taken Overland long to figure out she’d been full of one hundred percent good old-fashioned grass-fed, horse crap. I hadn’t seen Forsyth again, I didn’t ask about him because I already knew that dark road traveled upon. The next time I saw Deneaux, I convinced myself that I was going to shoot her the moment the opportunity presented itself. However, I also harbored strong doubts it would work out that way.

I was doing laps around the roof—not for fitness, just my version of nervous pacing. It was on maybe the eleventh or twelfth passing by of my brother that he spoke.

“You’re making me nervous,” he stated. He was sitting on a recliner, wearing maybe the loudest pair of Bermuda shorts I had ever seen, sipping a drink with an umbrella, while reading a book. Tolstoy, War and Peace.

“Little light reading?” I asked as I was about to do my next circuit.

“You know it’s all right if you sit down, right?”

“There’s not another chair,” I told him.

“Oh, I didn’t mean by me. All that nervous energy thrumming off you will negatively affect my chi.”

“You been talking to Trip again?”

“He knows more than you think.”

“Yeah, and that’s what I find scary,” I replied as I rounded the far corner. Gary resumed reading. I headed down to the third floor; Tracy was busy doing eighteen different tasks while also homeschooling the kids. I got a look from her that spoke volumes about me hanging around in the general area and disturbing her. The second floor was off-limits as well; the squad was rotating duty, so at nearly any time of the day, half of them were sleeping. I went down to the ground floor. Apparently, we were ramping up for dinner, and I was entirely too amped to get wrangled into standing around peeling potatoes. I made sure to make a hasty exit. I headed out to the street where BT was tasked with making our fortress even more secure by walling up any avenues of approach. We were going to be a protected enclave within the citadel walls.

“Figured this would be about when you showed up.” BT looked at his watch.

“Almost done, I take it?”

“Was actually about to crack open a couple of beers and congratulate them for a job well done.”

“Then I’d say my timing was perfect.”

“You didn’t do anything.” He grabbed one beer out of the cooler he’d been sitting on.

“I ordered the fortifications.”

“Must be nice sitting upon your throne and decreeing. All you said was to make this place as impenetrable as possible. You didn’t plan it, acquire any of the materials, or do any of the work.”

“I was doing captain-y things.”

“Captain-y?”

“Yeah. It’s what us officers do; complicated. You wouldn’t understand.” He stood up and grabbed another beer. I had my hand out. He, as of yet, hadn’t passed it. “Seriously?” I asked as he looked at it, I could see him debating. He finally relented. “So, how’s it looking?”

“We’ve got the far side of the street pretty well barricaded, enough that they’re not going to spend much time there. Instead, they should come down this other way, to our pinch point.”

I looked to the disused trucks and cars that, if viewed from above, were shaped like a funnel, so that by the time the zombies came through, it would be one at a time. A perfect killing field. This was the best tactic we could employ. Walls, in theory, would keep them out, but historically, walls invariably failed. It made much more sense to give our enemy an avenue of approach, one we could control.

“Kirby headed out with Rose. They’re looking to secure a fifty cal and as much ammunition as they can pilfer. Going to set up a machine gun nest on the second floor, looking right down on the choke point. Once that goes south, Rose has the buildings on either side rigged to come down in a controlled explosion. Should cause some serious devastation.”

“And then?” I asked after drinking half the beer.

“How many ‘and thens’ do you think there are? Once they break through the destroyed buildings, we secure the first floor and take out the stairwell. At that point…”

He left it unsaid. The siege we were now experiencing would finally be reduced to this one building. The more things change, the more they stay the same. This reminded me of the early days of the apocalypse at Little Turtle. The complex had weathered a few storms before finally collapsing, trapping us in my townhome. Then, we had received a hell of a Christmas present in the form of Alex coming to save us; wasn’t sure what rabbit was going to be pulled out of the hat this time. Hell, I didn’t even know where the hat was.

“And the back side?”

“Street is completely blocked off, and, luckily, on that side of the road the windows are ten feet up and small.”

“We’re still going to need people keeping an eye out. Them using ladders or even creating zombie towers is not out of the question.”

“Remember when zombies used to walk slow, with their arms outstretched?” He drank his beer down. “Yeah, me neither.” He finished then fished in the cooler for another.

“Don’t you think you should save a few for the people that did all the work?”

“Don’t you have more captain-y things to do?”

“How’s my sister?”

“She’s scared, like the rest of us, but she’s a Talbot, so she doesn’t say anything. Tracy?”

“She’s fine. The toughest woman I know. She has this misguided faith that I’m going to ride this tide of shit with all of us in tow, right onto a golden shore.”

“And you?”

“Swarming zombies with overwhelming numbers, that’s one thing. You have a pretty good idea of what they’re going to do. Thinking zombies being directed…got another beer?”

“This is the best fortification we’ve ever had, along with the most armament, firepower, and trained personnel.”

“And I still don’t think it’s going to be enough; we’re safe, but trapped. We need an escape strategy. Maybe we could get Trip to fly us out in a helicopter.”

“That stoner doesn’t need any machines to fly.”

“True.”

“You think Bennington has an evacuation plan?” BT asked.

“If he does, I’m not privy to the info. I would think that would be a last resort. He’s going to hold on until the very end, and like a ship captain of old, my bet is that he’s going down with the base.”

“Want to know what I’m going to do if we finally win this war?”

“I’m listening.”

“Going to find a bunch of golf videos and sudoku books, going to watch the vids and do the puzzles.”

“Way to aim high,” I told him.

“You’re missing the point. I want to do the most boring things I can think of. Something that in no way can ruffle the last few nerves I’m holding on to.”

“Fairly brilliant. Want to know what I’m going to do?”

“No, because I’m sure it involves skinny-dipping with your dogs.”

“That wasn’t it, but I’m not seeing the problem.”

“You wouldn’t.”

We looked over to the side, a truck was coming along with another vehicle.

“What the hell?” BT asked as we walked over.

Rose was driving the truck; she gave us the thumbs up. Kirby pulled around her in a large blue and white bucket truck. She backed into the one remaining gap before shutting the engine down and getting out.

“What’s that for?” I asked.

BT shrugged.

“Whaddaya think?” Kirby was all grins.

“Stealing some cable television?” I asked.

“Funny, sir. I didn’t like the firing point for the choke; figured with this, I could swing out to be more head-on.”

“You really want to have your ass swinging in the breeze above a mob of zombies while firing a mounted fifty cal?” I asked.

“Yeah…” Kirby answered tentatively.

“You ever been in a bucket truck?” BT asked.

“I drove it here,” he answered, defensively.

“In the basket, dumbass,” BT finished.

“No. Always wanted to though.”

“Rose, you couldn’t talk him out of this?” I asked.

“I thought it sounded like a good idea,” she replied.

“She plays with explosives, Talbot. You think she’s going to be the voice of reason? You know I figured it was because your name was Talbot that you were so fried in the brain, but I’m coming to realize that either the Marines attract like-kind, or they fry out any reasoning ability from their recruits.”

“Could be true,” I told him. “Listen, Kirby, I get wanting a better angle, and head-on with the large caliber will decimate them, but once you start firing that thing, that bucket is going to sway like a Kansas wheat stalk during tornado season.”

“Good one,” BT replied.

He didn’t believe me.

“Get up in it,” I told him.

Now he looked nervous. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m not going to summon a tornado; just do it.”

We waited while he fumbled around with the controls and got himself fully extended. “Holy shit—this is pretty high up.”

“BT, show him.”

“Show him what?”

“Show him how not sturdy it is.”

“You just want me away from the cooler,” he grumbled as he went over to the side of the truck.

“No shit. Now rock the boat.”

Kirby was leaning over, watching. “What’s going on?”

BT leaned into the side of the truck and started pushing, leaning back and pushing more, the truck moved a bit; the bucket rocked a couple of feet.

“Fuck!!!!” Kirby was holding on.

“Yeah, now imagine you’re trying to fire a big gun,” I yelled up after taking a copious draught.

“That’s not entirely fair! The stabilizer arms aren’t out.” Rose was enjoying the show.

“Don’t make me demote you,” I told her.

It was all fun and games until the base alarm went off.

I finished my beer. “Fuck. I hate that sound almost as much as I hated my alarm clock.”

“Almost as much?” BT was working the controls to get Kirby down quickly.

“At least there’s no commute,” I told him.

“Weird way to look at it.” BT helped a pasty-looking Kirby out. “You two get the rest of the squad. I want the plating and fencing in place, and shore up the truck.”

“On it,” Rose said, heading into the building.

“We heading to the gate?” BT asked.

“You know what? I think we’ll hang here.”

BT eyed me for a few moments. “You think it’s going to fall?”

“Most of the feelings I have these days revolve around doom and gloom, and right now seems to be even gloomier,” I told him. I didn’t have anything to go on other than my gut said staying put might be for the best.

Tracy was leaning out the window. “You going to check what that’s about?” She was referring to the alarm.

“It’s about zombies!” I yelled back up, shielding my eyes from the sun.

“She could hit you with a brick from there,” BT said.

“Smartass,” Tracy called down.

“Will you do a roll call, make sure everyone is accounted for?” I asked, she nodded and pulled her head in just as the klaxon wound down. If I’d been holding out any hopes that the alarm had only been a test of the national emergency broadcast system, that was shattered the moment rifle fire began.

“Zombies!” Gary yelled from the roof.

That was about as helpful as yelling fire during a 4th of July celebration.

“Where?” I shouted up.

“Coming up over the wall by the hospital side!”

“Over the wall?” BT asked me.

“Justin is out getting toys for the kids!” Tracy called out.

“Kid can’t help himself; he’s always out when the z-poc starts. Shit.”

“Tommy is with him,” she added.

That made me feel better. Not many were more equipped to survive than that boy was.

10

TOMMY and JUSTIN

“I think you’ve got enough,” Tommy said as they brought another handful of coloring books, crayons and toys out to the truck.

“I just don’t want them to get bored, you know, in case we have to stay inside for a long time. Give them something to do to keep them from being scared, too. One more trip,” Justin said as he unloaded.

Tommy paused, looked up, grabbed Justin’s arm. “Nope,” he said, five seconds before the alarms started blaring.

“It freaks me out when you do that,” Justin said as they both hopped in.

Tommy had no sooner started the truck when they heard shots being fired and then saw a bunch of people running across the roadway, farther up.

“No idea,” Tommy said before Justin could ask.

“You sure you want to drive that way?”

“There’s no back exit.” Tommy put the truck in gear and slowly moved to where the people were running. More people ran across the roadway. Tommy was hesitant to move any further. “Hate to say this Justin but it might be better to ditch the truck and we can run the back way to the building.”

“We just packed this thing, I’m not leaving it.”

“There’s nothing in here worth risking our lives over.”

“It’s not the stuff I’m concerned with; it’s the well-being of the kids I’m going to pass it out to. Look, I think they’re done.”

“I’m worried about what they were running from.”

“They heard the alarm and are heading back home, just like we are.”

Tommy hit the gas, and the truck lurched forward. They’d come to the intersection where the people had been running. There was a loud bang; the truck shook ever so slightly.

“Someone run into the truck?” Justin was leaning over.

“Some thing. Sit back down!” Tommy depressed the gas as two more zombies hit the side of the truck. They’d been in such a rush to get to their prey they’d not taken into account the enormous green behemoth that had cut off their path of pursuit. Tommy watched as one of the zombies smashed headlong into the truck, hard enough that it crushed its skull. Its legs danced about on the street until Tommy ran over them; there was a resounding crunch as he did so.

“We should have run.” Justin was watching through the rearview mirror.

Zombies had grabbed hold of the slow-moving vehicle and now clamored all over the back and inside. Justin moved away from the small window that separated the cab from the transport area as a zombie's face pressed tightly against the glass.

“You going to shoot it?” Tommy pressed.

“Was going to wait until I have to.”

“When’s that going to be?” Tommy was doing his best to inch away from the window.

Justin was reluctant; that puny square of glass was the only thing separating them from the wild beasts behind it. His choice, however, was made up for him as the zombie plunged its hand and arm straight through. For Justin, this seemed to happen in slow motion; he watched as a jagged piece of glass dug into the forearm of the zombie and tore through the skin, the edges peeling away like a tight leather jacket might as it’s unzipped from a rotund belly. Bright red muscle glistened through. Justin was horrified as he watched the fibrous material move as it sought to grab hold of an occupant in the cab. He raised his gun and hastily shot a round that lodged into the metal, halfway between Tommy’s head and the glass divider. Tommy looked at him crossly.

“Him! Not me!” he shouted at Justin.

Justin didn’t have time to apologize as the zombie’s hand grabbed his arm and was pulling him toward its mouth. The zombie bit down on the barrel just as Justin pulled the trigger; brain splashed onto the next contestant on the Eat or Die game show playing out in the back of the truck. The zombie with the back of his head messily removed was yanked back and discarded like an old paper towel. In the confined space, Justin was having no difficulty shooting targets—it would have been harder to miss.

“Need to reload.” Justin brought his gun back into the cab.

“Grab the wheel!” Tommy yelled. Justin did so; the truck swerved violently to the left. “Straight, keep it straight!” Tommy fumbled around with his holster until he pulled his pistol clear and handed it over to Justin while wresting control of the truck that was veering dangerously close to a telephone pole. “Not sure why I let you drive.”

“Me neither.” Justin began firing again.

The truck had finally garnered enough speed to keep other zombies from hopping on, but they were already a rolling caravan of snarling monsters.

“I’m not going to have enough…” Justin was about to say “ammunition.” Tommy didn’t like the prospect of bringing the invaders deeper into their haven, but was at a loss as to what to do. If he slowed down so they could run, the other zombies would catch up and that wasn’t even considering the ones they had with them.

“I have a grenade,” Tommy told him calmly enough.

“And?” Justin kept shooting.

“The back, toss it in the back.”

“We’ll lose the toys.”

“Seriously?”

Tommy considered handing the wheel over again, but thought better of it; Justin was not the best driver, under optimum conditions. He found the grenade and handed it over.

“Won’t we blow up?” Justin was staring at the device in his hand.

“Toss it, and we’ll jump. Squeeze the lever tight, pull the pin, and keep one hand on the door handle.”

“Tommy, this really sounds like something Dad would make up.”

“No choice.”

Justin reluctantly pulled the pin. As he was moving to throw it in the back, a hand reached out and knocked it from him, sending it to the floor. Like it had been choreographed with two experienced stuntmen, Justin and Tommy looked at each other before pulling their doors open and bailing. Tommy had slowed down the truck to a non-lethal fifteen miles an hour, which sounded exceedingly slow until you found yourself leaving the confines of said vehicle. Justin was able to keep his feet under himself; he felt like he’d jumped onto a fast-moving treadmill and was very much in danger of pitching over and shattering every bone in his face. His arms were swinging wildly as he tried his best to stay upright.

“Oh, no,” was all he could manage to say as he saw a parked car in his way. His momentum too fast for him to be able to stop or step away effectively, he did the only thing he could think to do and jumped up. His knee caught the rear bumper, and a blinding pain shot through his entire body as he sailed up and over the roof and landed heavily on the windshield, creating spider webs throughout the entirety of the glass. The truck wasn’t more than fifteen feet ahead of him when the grenade exploded. He watched as the metal of the cab expanded and the rear portion of the truck became illuminated from within. A wreckage of dismembered zombie body parts were tossed flipping from the truck along with others that were still intact but on fire.

The hood blew off and to the side as the truck kept lumbering along, and zombies that had survived the blast hung on until the truck almost gently collided into the wall of an old hardware store. Justin was afraid to move, convinced he’d broken something. Just breathing was its own adventure. He changed his mind when he saw that the zombies had spotted him. He placed one hand on the broken glass to push himself up and, with a start, he found himself deposited unceremoniously onto the front seats, the hand brake ending up in a most unfortunate place.

“Don’t like that, don’t like that!” he cried out, moving with a speed he wouldn’t have thought possible a few seconds previously. He was heading for the driver’s side door when a hand reached in the passenger side and pulled him out.

“Let’s go.” It was Tommy. He was ducking low to stay out of the sightline of the zombies.

“They already know we’re here,” Justin told him, pointing to the closest building. “Fire escape.”

Tommy poked his head up. He grabbed Justin, and they were running the hundred yards to a steel ladder hanging down. Tommy jumped up the three feet to hang from it. He was worried, at first, that it was too rusted in place to move, but it gave way quickly like a painted shut window will do when enough force is applied. Justin helped him off of the ground where he’d fallen.

“Go.” Tommy urged Justin up and immediately followed; he wasn’t halfway up when the first zombie grabbed the bottom rung. The twenty-foot long section of the sliding ladder squealed and groaned in protest as more weight was added than it was designed for. It didn’t help that it had been twenty years since it had seen so much as a drop of oil. By the time Justin reached the small landing, another three zombies had grabbed hold. Justin helped Tommy up before they both looked down at the climbing enemies. They didn’t have a firearm between them. They did the only thing they could: continued to climb. The second floor had a window that led into an old office. Justin had completely forgotten about his knee that he’d been convinced had been broken. Apparently, if one did not think upon an injury it would not manifest.

“Roof,” Tommy said, pushing Justin along. This section, instead of a stairwell, was a vertical ladder with safety loops attached, which were metal bands. “Keep going. I’ll hold them off.”

“Where am I supposed to go?”

“Go out the exit on the other side—get back and get help,” Tommy grunted as he kicked out, striking a zombie flush in the mug, sending it down to the previous landing with only a face full of blood and broken teeth to show for its trouble. It quickly scrambled up so that it could beat its competition to the food source. Tommy was wrenched down as the zombie grabbed hold of his boot, and, like a rabid pit-bull, it would not let go.

“Get…help,” Tommy said through clenched teeth, as he wrapped his right arm around the rung and pulled himself and the zombie up so that he could get a more forceful kick with his free leg. The zombie’s head snapped back far enough that its neck broke, tumbling him to the landing where another zombie picked it up and tossed it over his shoulder to the ground far below. “Hurry! They’re going to figure out they can get in another way!”

Justin didn’t want to leave Tommy, but staying there wasn’t helping. “I’ll be right back.” He climbed the rest of the way and went up and over. He took a quick look around: the road below had dozens of zombies, he could only hope the route he was going to take hadn’t been overrun yet. There were plenty of rifles being fired, but none of them sounded close enough to call for help, and there was no guarantee that whoever was firing was in a position to offer support; more likely they were barely hanging on themselves. He raced to the roof access door. “Fuck!” he shouted when he realized it was locked. He kept trying to turn the handle before attempting to break it off by kicking; it didn’t so much as budge. He was about to race back and tell Tommy, when he spied another ladder cage on the far side of the building. It made sense that there would be more than one egress on a place this large.

He got on the ladder and descended quickly, but when he got to the hanging steps, no amount of prodding or bouncing with his weight would drop the ladder to the ground. It wasn’t a long drop, if he hung down and released, but any injury to his ankles or knees right now would cause a delay that he did not think Tommy could afford. He jumped the three feet, doing his best not to brace for impact, letting his body absorb the shock, and was up and running. “Shit,” was all he could manage to say as he saw a zombie coming straight for him. He was running as fast as he could, but with every backward glance, he realized the monster was gaining ground. It would never be possible to outrun an opponent who never got tired, who never needed to catch their breath, who never wanted to puke their guts out after sprinting for as far and as fast as they could. And, oh yeah, what a brilliant fucking evolutionary response that is! Your body tries to make you less appetizing when you finally have to stop, like maybe the predator chasing you will no longer want to eat something that smells like vomit.

The zombie was close enough that it had reached out and swiped the material on Justin’s shoulder. This spurred the boy on a little more, but he knew he was running on fumes and would have to rest soon. A stitch dug deep into his left, traveling up the entirety of that side and wrapping around his lungs like a vise, squeezing his ability to breathe. He was hitching when the hand finally grabbed enough of his shirt to stop his momentum and spin him. Justin brought a fist up and clocked the zombie in the side of the head. There was an audible pop, but it wasn’t from any damage done to the zombie; Justin had broken a finger. The zombie reached up and grabbed his hand. Justin howled in pain as the zombie bent the injured finger back even more. He reflexively began punching the thing in the face, careful to avoid the snarling mouth and gnashing teeth.

The zombie kept leaning in for a bite, sometimes pulling on the hand, other times pushing it away, but through it all, it held a tight grip. Tears of pain ran from the corner of Justin’s eyes as he struggled to gain his freedom. He had one hand on the zombie’s shoulder, mimicking the push and pull movements but in reverse, doing all he could to keep it at bay. And through it all, his chest was heaving as he attempted to catch a breath that was wholly avoiding him.

“Let go!” he spat, fearful the zombie was going to tear the finger free. He was at his wits’ end on how he was going to gain his freedom and not only save his own life, but get help for Tommy, when he received help in an unlikely form and from an unwitting participant. A woman Justin thought he recognized from the grocery store, burst out of a door to his right. She was looking back the way she had come and not to where she was going when she slammed into the side of the zombie, sending them all sprawling onto the roadway. The woman and zombie became entangled in a deadly embrace, and Justin had fallen to the side.

He pushed up and stood taking the briefest of glances to note that his finger was still attached, for that he was happy, even if it was canted at a severe angle. He moved to help the woman, but it was too late; she was screaming shrilly as a piece of her cheek had been removed, and the zombie seemed to be in bliss as it chewed through it.

Justin wanted to kick the zombie in the head, sheerly out of principle, but thought better of it as he saw another wave running his way, the woman’s cries, a beacon to the hungry invaders. More people were running wildly about, and though none seemed to have a set destination in mind, all seemed to find a way to impede his progress like a straggling herd of concert-goers meandering across a highway towards the venue. He was batted about to the point he felt much like a steel bearing in a pinball game, and, through it all, he could hear the wails as those behind him fell victim to the invasion. A piercing shriek broke through the chaos; Justin was helpless, as were those around him, as hands immediately went to heads seeking a way to block out the pain that penetrated into the deepest folds of their minds. A shrieker was perched atop a car some twenty yards away; its head was thrown back and its mouth opened wider than was natural, though no audible sound came from it. Justin stumbled away, doing his best to put as much distance as he could between himself and the shrieker and the speeders that were killing any who had stopped or slowed down due to the brain flaying.

Justin was nearly blind from the attack on his central nervous system, but he knew if he didn’t run, he was as good as dead. The stop sign seemed to appear out of thin air as he plunged headlong into it. The pain wasn’t any greater than what he was already going through, just different, fresh. He fell over, blood pouring into his left eye from a large gash above it. Vertigo had set in, and he spun down, clipping his head once again, this time on the rear quarter panel of an abandoned Ford. He was as close to losing consciousness as he could ever remember while still being awake.

“Hannah? What are you doing here?” he asked as his head hit the ground. He was out cold. He awoke a few minutes later, the smell of rust nearly overwhelming his sense of pain, before his broken finger reminded him how much everything hurt. He opened his eyes; a small hand clamped over his mouth; it smelled of sweat and cheese. It was not pleasant. He struggled to get his bearings. He could not focus his eyes correctly, and he was having difficulty moving.

“Wh…at…?” he managed to ask, though it was severely muffled as the hand pressed down harder while simultaneously pinching his entire mouth. He didn’t understand how a hand so small could deliver so much control and then he realized it was probably driven by fear as he finally began to grasp where he was. He was looking at the rusted-out muffler of a car, his nose pressed right up on the pipe. He turned his head just enough to see Hannah, the teenaged girl his dad had come across in the middle of the woods, holed up in a treehouse with her younger brother, Johnny.

She had a finger pressed up to her lips and she shook her head ever so slightly. She pulled her hand away from Justin’s mouth and then pointed beyond him to the other side. He moved his head as quietly as he could. There lay a body on the sidewalk, not more than five feet from where they were. That was bad enough; it got worse when he realized that a trio of zombies were devouring the still-warm carcass.

He turned back toward the girl. On the other side of the car he saw dozens of legs standing there; it was safe to assume they did not belong to humans. For whatever reason, they were in the middle of a zombie gathering, and though it wasn’t likely, they were one untied shoe away from being discovered, dragged out, and eaten. Justin was at a complete loss as to what to do.

Meanwhile, Tommy had waited until he was confident his adopted brother had escaped to safety before he climbed a few more rungs. He smashed in the face of the next zombie, giving him enough time to turn around on the ladder, grab the metal band, and pull it inward toward the wall. He hoped it would be enough to keep the zombies below from following him up. He got onto the roof and ran around the entire perimeter, not at all happy with the chaos reigning supreme on the ground level. He saw Justin battling a zombie before it was knocked to the ground by another person. He’d just started running for the ladder to head down when he saw Justin try to decapitate himself; the sign was still resonating when, incredulously, he watched a set of arms pull him under a car.

“Now what?” Tommy asked as zombies began to congregate. He thought they looked like they were waiting for orders; some were feasting, others were chasing prey, but for the most part, the zombies he was watching were just…waiting. His heart was up in his throat as he saw a small contingent of them standing around the car Justin was hidden under. He did the only thing he could think to do.

11

Mike Journal Entry 9

“Motherfucker!” I bent over as an incoming message was drilled into my skull with all the subtlety of a Mack truck barreling over orange cones.

“Mike?” BT placed a hand on my shoulder, concern in his voice.

“Fuck.” My brain felt like it had been lanced with a red-hot poker. “Get the squad together.” I had my eyes closed and my fingertips pressed against my forehead as I waited for the worst of it to pass. “Get some tinfoil too.” I bent at the waist, fearful of collapsing from the vertigo waffling through my senses. I figured this way I wouldn’t have too far to fall.

BT had everyone there in under five, which was pretty impressive for my crew. I finally felt like I could speak without a stroke slur.

“Volunteer mission,” I started.

“Come on Cap, you know as well as we all do we’re going to do pretty much whatever you ask us to,” Kirby said.

“Fine. Line your covers with tin foil.”

“Fucking kidding me? The rest of the squads already think we’re nuts; this isn’t going to help,” Kirby said as he accepted the piece BT handed him. Once he’d finished handing them out, BT whacked him on the back of the head.

“Shut up, shutting up,” he said.

“Bugs Bunny?” I asked.

“Common mistake. Bugs won’t shut up. Rocky is the one that makes the comment.”

“Relevance?” Stenzel asked.

“Hasn’t stopped him yet. Okay, I’d hate to think Kirby is speaking for everyone, so here’s your chance. This is volunteer. My sons are trapped.”

“Enough said, sir,” Stenzel intoned. “No need to waste time talking about it.” There were head nods from the rest of the group.

“Staff Sergeant Talbot, Corporal Grimm, and Sergeant Rose, you’re all staying behind. I cannot leave this place undefended. Don’t question me on this; Gary, you’re still part of the walking wounded, Rose, I need you manning the explosives if need be, and Grimm, you’re the best on the machine gun. Keeping this place secure is just as important as what we’re going to do.”

I expected push back, but was happy when it didn’t come. They knew the urgency I was working with.

“Truck? Or are we hoofing?” BT asked.

“They’re two streets over—the truck will draw too much attention. Kirby, get us over to the mercantile district.”

“Point? Is it too late to change my mind?” He was smiling as we started moving quickly. We picked our way over the car and truck barricade; there was a small step ladder we used to get over the hastily built wall, and then we were down and moving with stealth. There was little doubt we’d be spotted, but the quicker we could get to where we needed to be without attracting any attention, the better. We ran across the street and did our first staging within the foyer of what was once a coffee shop.

“Winters, let the staff sergeant know that he needs to have someone on ladder duty. My guess is we’re going to be coming back hot.”

“I’m with Kirby; is it too late to rethink my position?” He had the radio in his hand, Kirby gave him a thumbs up. My point man was by the door, on one knee, rifle on his shoulder, keeping watch for zombies. “He says he’ll be waiting,” Winters relayed as he put the radio away.

“Zombies, sir,” Kirby whispered into his headset. “Make contact?”

“How many?” I was moving closer to him.

“Seven, so far.”

“Negative. Do not shoot. I don’t want to get into a battle here. Back exit—let’s go.” I tapped him on the shoulder.

“I could have gained a few on Grimm,” he said, reluctantly following us out.

I was the first one out the back door. It led to a small alley that was walled up on one end and went fifty feet before opening up to a roadway; it would be a great place for an ambush.

“All clear.” I ushered everyone out. Kirby moved out in front again. “Stay close,” I told him. Visions of Springer kept rising most unwelcomely in my head. If Kirby got into trouble, I wanted him to have all the support we could afford to extract him. With a building to our right and a concrete wall to our left and rear, in theory, all we should need to worry about was the front, but that didn’t prevent any of us from constantly looking around and up. I was waiting for the particular shit show of parachuting zombies and the joy they could bring.

Kirby held up a fist—we stopped immediately. He was only ten feet ahead of us, and as of yet I’d not detected anything. He then flattened his hand out and pressed down, motioning for us to get down, as well. Wasn’t like we had anything to hide behind if an enemy walked past this alleyway; didn’t matter what position we were in, we were going to be spotted. Still did it, though. Conditioned training is difficult to ignore, just ask Pavlov’s dogs. So there the five of us were, in a classic V, all of our rifles trained on the opening to the alley. Whatever turned that corner was in for a hell of a surprise.

Can’t say, even with all the screwed-up things I’d seen in my entire life, that I was at all prepared for what did come. It’s not often, or ever, that you see a life-sized vagina being chased by two penis-tiara wearing women.

“Fuck, I almost shot a vagina,” Kirby shook his head.

Tough to say whether the man wearing the lady parts costume was running from the women (and what they could possibly do to him with their headgear) or away from zombies.

“Door at the end. Go through the shop, get across the street, you’ll see a metal wall. I’ll radio to tell them you’re coming,” I said, standing. The man’s head was sheathed in pink, and I’m pretty sure it was supposed to be the G-Spot. I wasn’t comfortable talking to it…him, I mean.

“I’m getting married,” one of the women offered as way of explanation.

“Any zombies following you?” It was difficult talking to someone with a dildo hanging down in front of their face.

“We got away,” the other woman said, she must have seen my eyes bobbing around as I watched her friend’s party favor, she kindly took hers off. “Some of our friends weren’t so lucky. Nothing is following us.”

“Go, get to safety.”

“Can we keep this private, sir?” The vagina, I mean, the man, came back around.

“Bags? Baggelli? What the…never mind. I don’t want to know. Get back to home base, for God’s sake get a uniform on, and stand guard with my personnel.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What the actual fuck?” I asked once they were gone.

“Could have been worse,” BT said.

“Yeah, maybe, but now I’m terrified that every time my wife and I are alone, I’m going to see that giant man-gina.”

“You’ve managed to screw up nearly every aspect of my life, Talbot, don’t take sex from me.”

“Yeah, like I planned that encounter.”

“Wait, wasn’t that something that was in the sex shop we raided? I thought it was a joke. Which one of you sick bastards brought that back to base?” he asked.

Stenzel sheepishly raised her hand.

“You’re all sick bastards,” I echoed BT’s words.

“Sir, you told me to…”

I gave her a stern look.

“It was my decision and my decision alone,” Stenzel said.

“Fuck you, Talbot. I swear to God if I even once close my eyes and I see that aberration I’m going to throat punch you.”

“Kirby, get us out of here,” I said.

We got the ten-foot spacing interval before moving to the end of the alleyway. He poked his head around, turned back to us and gave the all-clear. We were one street removed from where we needed to be. Behind us, the base had become too quiet. Could still hear battles being waged, but none were close, and somehow that made where we were that much stranger, shrouded in complete silence. We were moving cautiously down the street; Kirby was looking for the best route to cut across. I held us up when a small stone, a pebble, really, landed a foot or so in front of me. I looked up to see Tommy three stories up, waving his arms wildly.

He pointed in the direction we were going and waved his arms in negation, pointed to the other side and gave an OK symbol.

“Nice one, Kirby. Trying to get us killed?” BT hissed.

He started making more intricate gestures with his hands but I’d never been good at charades. “Anyone know what he’s trying to say?”

“Something under something?” Winters offered.

“Us under something?” I asked, shielding my eyes, hoping to get a better view of what he was doing.

“We’ve been spotted,” Kirby said.

I looked to the way we were about to head. A zombie was running for us full tilt. “Quietly,” I told Kirby.

“Shit. I just washed these clothes.” He quickly fixed his bayonet, as did the rest of us. We fanned out to offer support, should he need it. The zombie, while exceedingly fast, had apparently traded its brains in for that speed. It ran headlong into that metal spike, driving Kirby back a couple of feet as he absorbed the impact. I saw another thing I’d never seen before that day. Kirby had struck with enough force that the blade had gone completely through and the barrel was exiting the back. As he extracted the entire front end of his weapon from the zombie’s skull, I had a concern that there was enough debris in the barrel that it could cause a misfire.

“Stenzel, you’re on point. Kirby, do not fire that weapon unless you absolutely have to.”

“Great, brought my paperweight to war,” Kirby muttered. He popped out his magazine and the chambered round; within a few seconds he had the back takedown pin pushed out and the rifle folded in two. “Packed,” he said as he held it up to the sky and no light filtered down.

I debated for a moment with sending him back, but didn’t like the idea of any of us being alone. Didn’t know if he was safer with us or not, especially if he potentially couldn’t defend himself.

“I figured out what the staff sergeant was talking about,” Stenzel whispered. “Got two dozen zombies standing around a car; pretty sure I see a body underneath. Somebody as in still alive. Looks like a little kid.”

Whereas I was happy the kid was alright, I needed to know where Justin was.

“She sees us.” Stenzel was looking through her scope. “She looks pretty scared.”

I was pretty scared and I wasn’t trapped under a car with a bloodthirsty enemy all around. I was weighing the odds of a full-on frontal assault. Four rifles against two dozen zombies; we had plenty of space between us and them, and as long as no more of them came, the advantage was ours for the taking. We could save the girl, but we could jeopardize Justin, depending on where he was.

“Shit.” I looked up to Tommy, unsure as to what to do. He kept making the underneath motion…of course, saving the girl was on the list of necessary things to do, but so was saving my son.

“Grenade launcher, sir?” Kirby asked.

“Not a chance, not with a civilian in the crosshairs,” I told him.

“Got trouble, sir,” Stenzel said from her position.

This whole thing was trouble; I couldn’t wait to see what else she could unveil.

“One of the zombies looks like she caught wind of something. Sniffing the air.”

“Take her out.” If she alerted the others to the girl, we wouldn’t be able to get to her before she was bitten. “Kirby, you stay behind us. The rest—as soon as Stenzel fires—we get in a line and do clean up.” We got close to Stenzel and I gave her the go-ahead.

The zombie’s head canted to the side as Stenzel’s crack-shot went in one temple and out the other. The resultant spray looked like an aerosol can had been violently ruptured. A thick hazy mist blew backward and soaked the side of the car in a macabre paint job. Wasn’t one zombie that didn’t turn our way; reminded me of office workers standing up from their cubes and looking to the siren voice of the manager saying they brought donuts. Never really seen a more interested group until this one. With myself, Winters, BT, and Stenzel shooting, we cut their numbers in half before they could even begin their charge and then they did something unexpected: they ran for cover.

It was such a human response, and it quickly occurred to me; soon we would be to the point where it would be difficult to tell who the enemy was until it was too late. An enemy that could hide in the general population. There was something to be said for armies of old, one dressed in brilliant red, the other vibrant blue, meeting on a battlefield, facing each other, duking it out punch for punch. Insane, sure, but you always knew who the enemy was. It was probably the Viet Cong that perfected the ability to hide among allies or, at the minimum, within frightened civilians, and I had the sinking feeling the zombies were fast-tracking to that tactic.

“Come on!” I motioned for the girl under the car to come to us. I didn’t think she would, too terrified to move, but she didn’t hesitate. “Hannah?”

She was out from under. She took a second to bend down and look at something underneath the car; I was wondering if it was her brother. The arm that shot out was too big to be the little boy. She grabbed hold and pulled. I moved forward, my heart surged: it was Justin.

“Let’s go!” I waved, covering their retreat.

“More coming!” Tommy yelled from the roof, though it would have been difficult to not hear the pounding feet on the pavement. Until you’ve experienced it, you can never really know just how unsettling, or maybe terrifying is a better word, the flat smacking sound as dozens or hundreds of footfalls echo off nearby buildings and to know that it isn’t some lazy summer 5k road race but rather a vicious enemy that has nothing but the worst of intentions. I’m not sure if it’s a primal fear, as I’m taken to understand that the only true things we are fearful of are loud noises and heights—and clowns, yeah, definitely clowns—so, it might not be primal, per se, but it definitely runs deep. The discordant bedlam, the sound of hot pursuit forces the body into an act or react scenario. Personally, I’m all about action, because reaction means that something bad has already happened to begin with. I’d rather force something than be forced. Slight distinction, maybe, but the ramifications can be profound.

Justin’s face had just poked out from beneath when he was wrenched backward, and Hannah pitched forward, righting herself just before her head bounced off the car. She planted her feet and was tugging, her head thrown back, her teeth gritted; she had both hands wrapped around one of Justin’s and was pulling with all she had. I was running to help; I was oblivious as to who was with me, though I could hear their rifles firing in cover. Hannah was losing the battle as Justin was pulled further under—any more and she was going to go with him. I contemplated diving, instead opting to slide. My feet connected with the car and I brought my arms up to grab Justin just as Hannah lost her grip and fell backward. She let out a small cry as she, most likely, bruised her backside. Kirby had come up, grabbed her, and was running back the way he’d come. Rifle explosions were happening all around me, but all I was focused on was that tenuous connection I had with my son. He was thrumming under the car like he was a giant battery-powered toothbrush left running atop a countertop.

He was straining to keep himself out of the clutches of the zombies, one hand wrapped around mine, the other pulling on the exhaust line which was beginning to bend. I was now flat on the ground, leveraging my legs in the pull. I wasn’t sure what was keeping his arm from popping loose from the socket.

“Holy fuck!” came through my headset. I was aware enough of my surroundings to realize that wasn’t a good thing, if it ever was.

“Talbot, I’m with you, but we gotta go!” BT belted out.

I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant until I cranked my head far enough to see the maelstrom of a storm building and heading our way…and this tempest looked to carry a biting wind. I was getting pissed off—mad at the zombies coming, mad at the zombies keeping us there, and for some inexplicable reason, mad at Justin for being stuck, like somehow this was something he’d done deliberately. It was Winters that changed the tide of the tug for life going on under the car. He’d jumped onto the hood and was putting as many rounds as he could into the group huddled behind. I yanked hard one more time before he popped free. I’d had enough force that he zipped out like he’d been riding atop a mechanics creeper.

“Up! Come up!” Tommy was urging.

No idea what he was looking at. The alleyway we’d come down was a bit closer than the ladder he was pointing to, and it had the added benefit of not being in the direct path of the horde coming toward us. I’ve said it before but it’s worth noting again: it’s possible that not possessing a decent reasoning ability, the portion of a brain that formulates plans, could be a gift from above and not the defect everyone around me assumes it is. Seriously, when you don’t have to run every thought through that rational strainer, it makes your decision-making tree pretty straight forward, split-second, in fact. I helped Justin up. He looked pretty shaky, but, luckily, not overly bloody except for his face, a large gash above his left eye which was still running, the culprit, it was not from a bite and that mattered the most.

“The ladder, run!” I shouted as if anyone needed any convincing to get moving. I turned to make sure Kirby and Stenzel had heard and were reacting; they were already running. They’d been coming straight for us but veered off as my order came in. Safe to say we’d been snared in a trap. I didn’t feel overly bad about being caught; the bait I was retrieving was worth it. And, I wasn’t wholly convinced this had been set up, but rather just a confluence of crappy events. In the end, nothing else mattered except escape, living to fight.

Stenzel was the first to the ladder. She started to lay down suppression fire as Kirby got Hannah on; she was halfway up when he turned to see if he could help Stenzel.

“Up both of you go!” I said through the headset. If they stayed there, we’d have a waiting line to get up, and just like that line on top of Everest, this one would prove deadly. Stenzel ordered Kirby up and swiftly followed. We had a hundred feet to go, and the zombies had roughly double that to get to us. We’d win the horizontal foot race; the vertical was entirely too close to call.

“Justin, you first!” I shouted to him as we ran, first off because he didn’t have a weapon to defend himself with and, secondly, if either of us were getting bitten, it was going to be me.

“Keep running!” I ordered, even as I stopped. I was doing the trajectories in my head, we couldn’t make it, not all of us. I was shooting, hoping me being still and posing the biggest threat would pull the zombies away from my squad and family. I could only hope that none of them would do anything as foolish as I had. It seemed to be working as the group got further away, but still, running targets were always going to trigger a chase response. With that in mind, I headed back to the car. In terms of ill-conceived plans, this one would vie for a spot on the top.

“Talbot, what the fuck?” BT fairly growled.

“They following you or me?” I asked it as a question; he took it as a statement.

“You, but that’s not the point.”

“Really? This worked? Get up there and then save my ass!” I was close to the car.

“Up!” he said to those with him. I was busy opening the door and launching myself in. A zombie was kind enough to close it for me, a nice gesture, even if he almost slammed it on my leg. I was a whirling dervish, pressing the locks down. Within seconds the car was rocking, and not because anything fun was going on in the backseat. I was sitting up, rifle ready, but the last thing I wanted to start doing was blasting holes through the glass.

“Everyone good?” I asked, not able to see through the bodies.

“We’re up here,” BT said. “Now what do you want us to do? I want to call you a dumbshit, but you saved our asses, and that doesn’t sound all that appreciative.”

The zombies had stopped beating on the car and were now looking in like I was the newest exhibit at monkey world. No matter where I turned, they were staring.

“It’s getting bizarre down here. Anyone got a plan?”

One of the zombies began to lick and bite at the glass like it was coated in syrup. Him, I wanted to shoot out of principle. The zombie immediately to my left began to tap on the glass with his index finger, presumably to get my attention. That he had, oh yeah, he had plenty of that. He held up his free hand; in it was half a brick—and not a half a brick of hash, which I would have been thankful for under different circumstances—but rather a red construction brick. He lightly touched it to the glass, not because he wasn’t sure what to do with it, but rather, I would swear, to let me know he was wielding a key that would let him in.

“BT, I’m going to be in real trouble, real soon.”

“Yeah, what do you call it now?”

“Prospective trouble.”

“Stenzel says to check the glove box for keys.”

“The cubby?”

“You’re really going to pull out that fucked-up Northeastern slang shit on me right now? Just check the fucking thing.”

“Shit, man, you’d think you were the one about to be eaten.” I moved slowly, hoping that by not moving quickly, I didn’t trigger something in the brick-wielding zombie. I kept my eyes on him as I reached over the seat and pulled the lever that opened the small compartment. All eyes were quite literally on me. Brickster was now dragging the piece across the surface of the car and glass. The resultant squeal was grating, nerve-wracking, in fact. Then there was a loud thudding as it used some force to smack the window. Not enough to break it, but enough to garner all my attention again.

“Tell me Stenzel has a bead on the smart one.”

“That’s a negative,” BT said. “You have keys?”

I’d been so distracted from the glass strike I forgot to look, (not that I was going to tell him that) and there they were, all shiny and pretty. It was an unwritten law on base to leave keys in vehicles. First off, because who was going to steal them and even if they did, where the hell were the thieves gonna go? And secondly, this was a military-run facility first and foremost; it was imperative that vehicles were able to be used in an emergency situation. I was pretty convinced this was just such an event. Another smash on the glass, a spider-web not much bigger than a quarter appeared. I’d had enough rock strikes on windshields to realize that the structural integrity had been compromised. Wouldn’t take much more force from this point forward before the glass gave way into a thousand sparkly remnants. I was making my way over the center console when the inevitable explosion happened.

A hand snaked through and grabbed my lower leg, which I summarily yanked away. Like a quarterback tossing a football through a tire from twenty-five yards, I shoved the keys straight into the ignition. Good thing, too, or the force I’d done it with could have snapped the piece of metal in half. Brickster, instead of haranguing me from behind, had moved to the driver’s side window and began his hammering anew. In these situations, my brain always goes to a familiar horror trope: clicking of a dying battery, slowly whirring starter, or even worse, just silence. Instead, the engine quickly caught as another spider-web formed not more than a half-foot from my head. One or two strikes and that brick was going to collide with my head. I put the car in reverse just as the zombie smacked again; the window now looked like a colorless kaleidoscope.

I was hoping for the throaty roar of a big block 454, something to plow over and through the field of zombies I was dealing with. Instead, I got the steady, reliable hum of a four-cylinder engine. It was running, so that was a plus, I just wasn’t sure if I was going to have enough torque to make a hasty escape, or any escape. I lurched backward, the press of so many bodies on the bumper impeding any progress. Someday I hoped to look back on it and wonder why most of my stressful driving during the z-poc seemed to be in reverse.

“Get going!” BT ordered.

“Not sure what you think I’m doing!” I yelled in return. I was moving my body around, doing the best I could to avoid the grasp of the zombie reaching in. Those around that hadn’t the foresight to grab something substantial were now smashing their fists on the glass and car. An errant thought blazed across my thoughts; it in no way impeded what I was doing or trying to do, it just came out of left field to let me know it was there. Some piece of my mind that couldn’t grasp what was going on wished that I’d gotten the rental insurance, so I wouldn’t have to try and claim this on my personal plan.

“Shoot the zombies!” BT told those with him.

The back windshield blew out in a cascading rain of glass pellets.

“The zombies, Kirby!” BT roared.

I wondered for a moment if he was angry for all the times I’d put him on point.

“Wasn’t me! I haven’t even fired yet,” Kirby begged off.

“Why not?” BT wanted to know.

“Cleaning my rifle,” Kirby told him.

Zombies were being shot and killed behind me; that was great, and it wasn’t. They shouldn’t be able to hold me in place with sheer poundage, but it wasn’t like I was driving an off-road vehicle. There wasn’t enough clearance to run over the bodies, not any great number of them anyway. High centering on the dead sounded absolutely horrific. At that point, I’d be like a coveted prize within a claw game with multiple players. Then came the moment where I wasn’t moving at all. The engine was revving up over four thousand RPMs and rapidly heading to red-lining, and I was at a standstill. I’d been stuck enough in snow and mud to know what I had to do now. Plus, it was a rental, and I was going to have to pay my deductible anyway; in for a dime in for a dollar. Though, come to think of it, that mentality had never really worked all that well for me when I played cards. Most times, tossing money around just for the hell of it is a bad investment.

The car protested as I slapped the gearbox into drive, lurching forward, forcing two zombies up and onto the hood. Instead of complaining about the rough treatment, they got on board with the whole adventure, crawling further up so they could smack at the front windshield. I was off to an auspicious start as I tried to rock the car free from where I was stuck. The car was jostling around violently as I kept going rapidly from forward to reverse, but it didn’t seem like I was getting much more than six inches or so with each floundering movement. The car was swaying and tilting, and the zombies were getting more aggressive, fearful I would take my balls and go home. Meant that literally, in case it didn’t come across that way. Fingertips brushed up against my ear, if he’d gotten hold, he would have ripped it free from my head. As it was, I was leaning so far over I nearly had my head on the passenger seat. The upper half of the zombie’s body was now inside the car, where I went, he would go as well.

“What the shit?” I couldn’t reach up to steer as the zombie was too far inside. All I could manage was to keep my foot on the gas. Not sure what the opposite of “rocketed” is. Turtled? No, that sounds like something that happens when you’re in dire need of finding a bathroom. The car was slowly rolling like it was on a gentle slope. The passenger side window was taking some serious abuse as the zombies on that side tried to work their way in.

“Come this way!” BT wanted me to move toward the building; how I was going to manage that was anyone’s guess. I’d been in some tight jams before, but this one was rising to the top.

“Kill the fucker inside!” I had my knife and pistol uncomfortably pinned under my thigh and leg, respectively. My rifle was uselessly jammed behind me, in my back. The zombie was wriggling his way in, blood leaking from his midsection as he serrated himself on the sharp pieces left in the window.

“No shot, sir,” Stenzel replied.

“There isn’t going to be a captain if you don’t!” I was running out of options, not that I had any, mind you, but you always like to think that there might be one. “BT, light this car up! Danger close!” I realize that had to do with aerial bombardment or artillery, but it was fitting for the moment at hand. There was grumbling on the other end, but I was completely distracted by the shower of glass coming down on my head as another zombie made ingress. A finger dragged across the bottom of my jaw and up over my head, pulling my cap off. I just caught sight of the disgusting digit as it trailed past my eye. The car was jostling around like perhaps it was being used to film an orgy.

I could hear the rifle fire, though it seemed to be something in the background, just abstract noise. I hated that I wasn’t actively fighting for my life but rather doing my utmost to hide as much as possible. I somehow kept my foot on the gas, my stomach over the center console, and most of my upper half in the passenger foot area. It was an undignified pose, and if I was found dead with my ass up in the air, I was going to have a pissed-off spirit roaming the afterlife. That’s how poltergeists are created. And that’s just what everyone needs in their life: a sarcastic, angry, humiliated ghost. I was going to haunt the hell out of BT. A hand grabbed the back of my thigh and squeezed like he needed that last remaining dollop of toothpaste.

“Motherfucker!” I yelled, hurt like a bastard. This was payback for all the monkey bites I’d given my kids when they were young.

“Mike!” BT was concerned for my well-being, as he should be, considering I’d made up my mind to bother him forever in the spirit realm.

“Keep shooting!” There was a dim part of me that was taking note that it was getting lighter in the car; the reason behind it should have been terrifying, I just couldn’t spare any more of that resource at the moment. Bullet holes were tearing into the side of the car and the roof, and streaks of light were stabbing through, 5.56 millimeter spotlights displaying the full horror happening inside. The dashboard above me exploded into shards of plastic and metal as bullets destroyed the interior. I could feel the tiny impacts, the sheet metal was getting pocked. Any glass that had been remaining was blown through, it was so loud I couldn’t think, which, given my propensity for bad decisions, may have been a good thing. I couldn’t tell if the car was still moving or all the vibrations were caused by zombies and bullets—right up until the far from jarring, low-speed collision when the rear end came to an anti-climactic thud against a wall.

“Not close enough,” BT told me, though I didn’t have a clue as to what he was referencing. The zombie that had been trying to rip the muscle from my leg had stopped, or was dead, but the zombie above my head was alive and well. He was leaning in, his head hovering over the passenger seat, his arms grabbing at my shoulders as I kept trying to shrug him away. It would only be a matter of time before he was grabbing at my face and trying to rip my lips free.

“You’re twenty feet from the ladder!” Now it made sense.

“Which way!”

“Forward.” Good thing, because I wasn’t sure how I was going to go any further back with my ass up against the wall. Now the trick was going to be shifting and steering.

“We’re right above you; get in the driver’s seat.”

I can’t even comment on how not thrilled I was to have bullets from above being fired down all around me. Before I could move, there were more shots into the hood, trunk and roof.

“Fuck!” I yelled as one grazed the side of my calf; would have drilled me straight through the head if I’d been sitting where BT had told me to go.

“Mike, you’ve got to move. More are coming and we’re running low on ammo.” BT sounded as stressed as I’d ever heard him.

That altruistic part of me wanted them to use the limited supplies they had left to extract their own escape, but the survivalist bastard in me wanted to punch that other fucker in the head. As much help as they were offering, this was still going to be up to me. If I didn’t get the car going, no one, anywhere, was going to be able to do anything. And then I stood to be corrected, which generally pisses me off to no end, though this time I took it with a grain of salt and a side of steak fries.

“Talbot, where specifically are you?” It was Major Overland.

How does one answer that? I had no idea what he was looking at, but when one has a lifeline thrown at them, it doesn’t make sense to bat it away. The standard response: “I’m here!” stuck in my throat as I thought about an existential crisis answer, telling him I was in danger of losing my mind, or that I was in Hell. It all took a fraction of a second to suppress every thought that didn’t directly aid my own rescue. I went with realism. “In a car!” It was the best thing I could come up with.

“South side, mercantile building. The captain is in a grey Honda sedan.” BT gave him the exact location. I wanted to berate myself for not doing it myself, although I had about a dozen or so reasons why I wasn’t thinking clearly.

“Hold on Captain. The street sweeping unit is heading your way, ten minutes. Can you do it?” Overland asked.

I was having my doubts about another ten seconds…but I’ll admit, the image of a giant street sweeper was distracting…what the hell it was going to be able to do? The lumbering vehicle was entirely too slow to run down zombies. Zombie arms were all around me, some even slapping me, there was pulling, grabbing, pinching. Soon they’d be inside, and it wouldn’t matter if an entire fleet of Zambonis came, by the time they got here they’d only be cleaning up what was left of me. My options were becoming extremely limited; it was fight or die. Well, more like fight and die, but there’s a difference. I reached up and turned the wheel as far as I could and depressed the accelerator, there was a grinding noise as the rear end scraped against the wall but I was moving, and that was something. I turned the wheel more, attempting to get the entire driver’s side against the wall and cut off at least one avenue of approach for the zombies; the ones that were about to get crushed were oblivious to their plight. There was a squeal of metal on brick, then the slow splintering of bone caught between brick and metal, not a pleasant sound. Clothes tore, bones broke, skin burst, muscles stretched and separated, tendons snapped, arteries, veins, capillaries—all ruptured. I’d reduced the lower halves of five zombies to nothing more than useless chafe. Two had been pulled into such awkward positions they could no longer reach me, one had its head stuck by the gas cap, the other had ridden up high so that he was beating futilely on the roof.

That left three that needed immediate attention. I sat up as quickly as the arms trying to get at me would allow. My 1911 was the easiest weapon I could gain access to, which, given what was happening, was not an easy task. With one hand, I was pushing away those that tried to grab me as the other finally got a hold of something that could help me in this jam. Instinct took over. Instead of putting a shot in the first zombie's shoulder, which, given the type of bullet, would have killed him, I opted to put one in his head, which splattered the brains of it all over the interior of the car. The second had grabbed hold of my collar as I placed the barrel on its Adam’s apple, obliterating that fibrous ball of cartilage into a smoking hole. The third, having watched two of his attack-mates be killed, actually tried to get away, but considering he was trapped by a ton and a half car, wasn’t going anywhere. I shot him in the sternum; he slumped over into the backseat.

I finally had a somewhat safe area from which to launch my defense. The entirety of that side was painted with the innards of zombies, but as of yet, I’d failed to notice. I blasted two more from the front windshield, giving me a few seconds to get my knife free and to pull my rifle around to the front. I had three more rounds in the .45 and a spare magazine. Great weapon in close combat, unfortunately, it was going to be useless pretty quickly. I shot three more times, not necessarily because I had to, but killing the closest zombies would afford me enough time to fish out the spare and get it loaded before they could once again close the distance.

“How much time?” I asked as I hurriedly popped out the old and inserted the new. You know how they say time flies when you’re having fun? Yeah, well, the corollary is that it just fucking stops dead when you’re fighting for your life.

“Nine minutes.” I imagined BT saying that through pinched lips.

I wanted to yell at him to keep better time, that it had easily been a month and a half since I’d heard from Overland. “Keep shooting and tell Kirby I’m in the driver’s seat!” I meant it more as a deterrent when I’d said it, but now I feared perhaps I’d given him a place to concentrate his fire. My squad up top was doing an admirable job keeping the relentless and incessant zombies at bay; the problem, as always, was going to be the limited amount of munitions. This was supposed to have been a quick extraction; we’d not prepared for a drawn-out conflict. I was hoarding my bullets like some of those poor bastards I’d seen on television horde their old Hot Pockets boxes. A bullet blasted through the roof and smashed the gear shift into a pointy shard. I was just about to rail at Kirby until blood started to pour through the new opening; it looked like a zombie had gone for an aerial attack.

BT was giving me updates every minute, but this was a military operation, not a Japanese train schedule. When Overland said ten minutes, that, in reality, could mean anything from that ten minutes to an hour or possibly never. At three minutes, BT gave me a heads up that they were going to be out of ammo before the next minute elapsed. Two minutes on my own sounded like an eternity.

“Fuck,” was the next thing BT said; didn’t need any further explanation. I don’t know if it was just a shift in my perspective, but I swear the zombies knew that the death from above had ceased, and they were now coming full throttle for the prize. They were on the hood, the roof, the trunk; hands, mouths, teeth—entire bodies were now trying to find their way in. At first, I was doing my utmost to keep them at bay, which was difficult, considering I had to cover 270 degrees and was using a rifle in a confined area. I changed tactics. I was going to use them to clog the drain, so to speak. I was going to let them in to a point, and then shoot them. The ferocity and determination they displayed on their features were truly terror-inducing, and my brain felt like it was getting scrambled with the way they were bouncing the car. Between the bodies and the gun smoke, the inside of the car looked like a dense fog bank from a gruesome horror film had rolled up on me.

“One minute. I see them!” BT said.

I didn’t hear the rumbling of the large vehicle approaching, but given what was happening around me and the hearing loss I was suffering, it wasn’t much of a surprise.

“What the hell are those?” Kirby asked.

I knew street sweepers weren’t common anymore, but to not know what one was, even in the panicked frenzy that I was in the midst of, I still found strange.

“Captain Talbot, you still with us?” Overland asked. I was kind of peeved that he’d sounded like he was only asking if Dunkin’ Donuts still had blueberry muffins at three in the afternoon. Sure, you wanted one, but that was pretty late in the day for them to still be around and you knew that fact. So, sure, it would be a nice surprise, but you really didn’t expect them to.

“For now,” I managed. Zombies were still snapping and clawing their way to me. but new ones seemed to be losing interest as a new food source came into play. Bodies were no longer being shifted, whether in or out.

“This is going to be noisy, Captain. I suggest you get into as safe a position as possible.”

“Talbot, he’s not full of shit. Find a way to become one with that car,” BT warned.

I didn’t know what to expect; how dangerous could it be?

“Sergeant Walde, start sweeping the area,” Overland ordered.

“Sweepers on two,” she declared. I was appreciative of the fact she went right to two.

“What the fuck?” I asked as the barrage started. It’s normal, when hearing a machine gun, to be in awe at how fast each individual bullet is being propelled. This was different; it was one, long, continuous streak of firepower. They were basically using lead hoses, shooting a single, giant stream of bullets; might as well have been lasers sweeping back and forth. Occasionally, the car would be rocked as dozens, maybe hundreds, of rounds pelted into the metal. I was trying to find a way to fit on the floorboards, suddenly angry that, at one point, I’d been forced to eat my vegetables and had grown to the point I couldn’t fit under the steering wheel. I rested my head on the seat, hoping it didn’t get cracked open like an overripe pumpkin.

I was doing all I could to meld with the car, as BT had advised, as Walde manned whatever the “street sweeper” was; at this point I was pretty sure it wasn’t a giant shoebrush spraying soapy water. I could only hope the small engine would be enough of a buffer if she put some straight into the front end. The car listed to the side as she blew through at least one of the tires. Danger-close was one thing when getting rocks lobbed at you, but when it’s a nuclear device, that changes everything. I was shouting every curse I could think of, made up a few on the fly, I figured if I went out, it was going to be with a swear. My ears were ringing so bad I didn’t even notice when the barrage had stopped.

“Zounderkite?” Stenzel asked. Apparently this had been the word that had stuck with my sergeant during my litany of cusses.

“Get moving, Captain! Your window is closing,” Overland stated. “Meet you back at the complex.” I had a window? The car groaned, sizzled, popped, clicked—all the normal things a machine does during its death throes. I sat up; an accumulated inch of shattered glass fell away from me. There was a loud thump on the hood and then I felt rough hands grab at my shoulders. It was Tommy helping me up. I was dazed and a little out of it; that tends to happen when you have thousands of rounds coming toward you. My ears were ringing and my eyes were doing their best to readjust to the light after having been clenched tightly shut. I was bleeding from at least two close calls and who knew what else. Tommy pulled me right through the front windshield like a child might their teddy from a toy box. I had about as much starch to my limbs as that plush toy.

“Overland?” I managed to ask as I did my best to stand on my own, it wasn’t great. I’d been cutting off blood flow to my legs, scrunched into my unnatural pose.

“Just took off. There’s another wave of zombies they have to deal with, gave us a few magazines for the return trip.”

Steam was venting up from the hood, had to have been over a hundred bullet holes punched through it. Tommy and I moved as quickly as I could manage to the fire escape ladder. Soon I was leaning against the wall that doubled as a barrier on the roof. Winters was field dressing my many injuries, most of them minor, where the zombie had pinched was the worst of it, in terms of pain, I didn’t check, but pretty sure it was bruised to hell. All of the squad, save Stenzel, were staying out of sight behind the three-foot-high wall to keep a lookout in case more zombies came. We hoped that “out of sight” would lead to “out of mind.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Justin told me. I grabbed his outstretched hand.

“Still got to get back,” BT said.

“What the hell was the ‘street sweeper?’” I asked once I thought I could hear somewhat decently again.

“You ain’t gonna believe this shit!” Kirby stated. Stenzel shouldered him. “Sir,” he added. “They had four people lined up pushing these rigs, and mounted on top was an M134 Gatling gun; they usually put those on helos. It was unreal.” Kirby was juiced up on adrenaline from the battle and what he’d witnessed.

“It was pretty spectacular,” Winters said as he tapped my arm. “All set, sir,” he said before standing.

“Must have cleaned about two hundred zombies off the street in under a minute. I have got to get me one of those,” Kirby said to no one in particular.

BT extended a hand and helped me up. I looked down at the street; indeed, the devastation was unlike anything I’d ever seen from grunt-fired bullets. The zombies were torn to shreds; the car I’d sheltered in had been reduced to scrap. Two telephone poles had been brought all the way down, a third holding on by sheer willpower. There was nothing street level that had not taken damage; sides of buildings had been ripped into, intact glass was completely extinct.

“Not sure how you survived that, sir,” Kirby said.

“Better be careful what you say. If he goes, I’m the new squad commander,” BT told him, Kirby swallowed loudly.

“Stenzel, when we get back and this mess dies down, I want you to figure out how to secure us one of those street sweepers.”

“Will do, sir.”

“Let’s get the hell out of here, and let’s all be abundantly clear: no one,” I was pointing my finger at Justin, “is going to tell my wife how close this was, got it?”

Justin nodded reluctantly.

“Can’t go the way Justin and I came; zombies are still jamming up the ladder,” Tommy said. “I have these, though.” Tommy held up a brown burlap bag, looked pretty heavy.

“Rice?” I asked.

“Three grenades,” Tommy replied.

“Twelve would have been nicer.”

“A helo extraction would be better,” BT said.

“Not after what those birds did,” I told him.

“Why don’t we just go back down to the street?” Kirby asked, pointing to the ladder I’d used to come up.

“We’d have to go around another block, and there’s no way to tell if it’s clear,” Tommy said.

“Anyone know the status of this building?” I was wondering if it was overrun with zombies. Didn’t seem likely as of yet; none were banging on the roof door, but if they hadn’t rushed out to meet the street sweepers, who could blame them for that.

“As far as we can tell, sir, they were all outside,” Stenzel said.

“Let’s see if we can find our way out of here.” I took a step; my body ached. Between trying to shove ten pounds of shit into a five-pound bag and the near-fatal hits I’d taken, my body just fucking hurt.

“Door is locked…going to be noisy getting it open,” BT said.

“Can’t be helped. Stenzel, going to need you to drill that deadbolt.”

She got on one knee and punched a hole dead center. We could hear the tinkle of metal as it struck the cement inside. BT went over, twisted the handle back and forth and shook the door until the locking components finally gave way. Kirby and Stenzel were waiting for a rush of zombies, which, thankfully, didn’t come. BT poked his head in, but it was dark and impossible to see more than a few feet.

“I can hear movement,” he said quietly.

“Tommy, use a grenade,” I told him.

“Are you people?” he called, walking onto the landing inside. I knew the sound was going to draw every zombie from the tri-county area here, but it couldn’t be helped. Plus, maybe if we got in a jam, I could call the sweepers back so I could watch them work.

“Get ready to move,” I was telling the squad. “As soon as that detonates, we’ll be leaving.”

Tommy pulled the pin when he didn’t get a response from inside. “Fire in the hole!” he said as he dropped it down through the opening in the stairs. He rushed back outside as BT closed the door and leaned into it. The roof vibrated as the blast went off.

“Point?” Kirby asked.

“I’ve got this; I’m the reason we’re in this mess,” I said.

“Umm, Dad, it’s my fault,” Justin said.

“Where do you think you came from?” I told him as I headed for the door. “If not for some smooth moves from me…”

“Way to traumatize the kid,” BT said as he followed.

“They’re all going to need therapy; might as well make it worthwhile.” The stairwell was completely dust-choked. What had been dark previously, was now shrouded in a dense concrete fog. I couldn’t hear or see anything—not two of the greatest attributes to have when you’re in a combat zone. I made it down one flight of stairs, still nothing. I had my light on, but it was equivalent to using high beams during a heavy case of ocean fog; couldn’t see much of anything beyond the front of the light, and everything was illuminated in a bright halo, obscuring my sight to the point I debated turning it off. I poked my head through the door on the landing to make sure there were no zombies on that floor. I was happy to take a breath of something that did not smell like wet concrete.

“Everyone with me?” I asked.

“I’m bringing up the rear, we’ve got everyone,” BT said.

All I could see behind me were blobs of refracted light. My footfalls seemed louder than normal in the narrow stairwell as I was crunching down on grenade fallout. Halfway down the next set of stairs was a zombie, very much alive, though his mid and lower sections had been punctured and shredded by shrapnel, the damage enough that it could no longer walk or use its arms, though that did little to prevent him from trying to get at me.

“Got a wiggler here, on the left by the railing. Stay clear, should be fine.” At the next landing were body parts, and I paused; it looked like this particular zombie had tried to save his friend by jumping on it. Or maybe he had flashbacks to his high school baseball days and dove to catch it like a dropping fly ball; either way, his head was a mass of pulp. I’d been so mesmerized by the train wreck of a body I’d not noticed the door opening. It was only the resultant sliver of light poking through that got my attention.

“Movement,” I said as I brought my rifle up to the area, though, as of yet, I could not tell what I was dealing with. “Identify yourself quickly!” The quarters were entirely too tight to wait long for a response. Even in this most extreme of situations, not being able to see what I was shooting at was causing me to hesitate. Odds were vastly in favor of this being a zombie, but there was always a chance it was a scared kid or an injured person, disoriented, unable to speak or, just for shits and giggles, it could even be a mute or a very dedicated mime. It would end up being a justified shooting because of the situation, but it wasn’t the legal system I was concerned with it, it was my tenuous hold on sanity.

“Now, fucker, I need you to say something, now!”

“Mike, what do you have?” BT asked.

“Zombie!” Kirby said, I heard and saw what I figured was his muzzle flash. The thing about it was, it was nowhere near me but rather the way we’d come. I turned in time to see a ghastly, ghostly figure loom out of the dark. Her mouth twisted into a mask of hatred and need. Her outstretched hand knocked my barrel away. The round I fired in haste careened off the concrete wall, the high whine of a ricochet trailing off as more shots were being fired. I wanted us out of this trap pronto. “Move!” I went to the door and pressed up against it, holding it closed, knowing full well there were zombies on the other side looking to gain entry.

Someone went down in a heap as they stepped onto bloody mixed parts. There were shuffled movements, lots of swears, then down the rest of the squad and Justin went. I had a death grip on the handle as something incredibly strong was trying to turn it and force me out of the way.

“Kirby, let’s go!” BT ordered.

“They’re streaming out of the third floor!” he shouted back.

Sneaky bastards, this I was thinking. Either they’d been hiding when I looked or they just weren’t in position yet. I was hoping for the former but suspected the latter. It made sense they would be coming up from the ground floor as well; if you’re going to lay a spider web, you might as well cover every avenue.

A trio of rifle shots came from the floor below me; what I feared seemed to be happening. I’d just got out of the fucking frying pan…how in hell I’d managed to flop right back into it was paralyzing my thought process. I was still awed at how fast this day had turned to shit and would not switch. There was a heavy thud against the door I was leaning on, even over the din around me I could hear the mechanisms within the lock being stressed to their limit as the beast on the other side did its best to wrench it open. With the bottom and third-floor doors standing wide, we now had some light. The dust had settled, but that was quickly filling back up with gun smoke. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to hide the nightmares all around us.

“Bulker!” Kirby and I said at the same time. The lumbering monster looked back and forth between Kirby, who was halfway up the stairs, and me, holding his brethren back, then he launched. Didn’t need to aim when you had the barn door charging at you. Kirby had turned and was sprinting downward. I waited the fraction of a second until he passed before I decided that moving would be in my best interest, too, if I didn’t want to become a stain on the wall. As I quickly followed Kirby, there was the crash of the door I’d been holding closed; must have been a big surprise for the zombie or zombies that came into the stairwell as the bulker slammed into them, reducing them to a compost pile. The stairs reverberated from the impact, and my foot slipped off the step I’d been about to come down on. My leg shot out, and I landed hard on my ass; pretty sure I knocked a filling or two free.

“Motherfucker!” I shouted as my tailbone exploded in pain.

“Come on, sir!” Kirby helped me up as the bulker extracted himself from the mess of his own making. I could hardly grasp the speed at which something so big was moving, like the first time you see an offensive lineman charging downfield with 4.3 speed. He was coming down the top step just as I got my feet under me.

“Go!” I urged Kirby.

BT was ushering us onto the first floor as opposed to outside; I didn’t question him on his exit strategy. Kirby and I were through the door at the same moment the bulker forced our door shut. The door hit my heel and I was once again sent sprawling. I saw the handle jiggle as I was getting up—I raced to grab it and keep whatever was on the stairwell there. I wanted to give everyone else as much of a lead as I could before I let go.

“Not again, Mike,” BT beseeched.

“Just a few feet further,” I told him. “Kirby, what the hell are you doing?” He was down and behind me. “Go catch up with everyone else.”

“Leaving a surprise,” he told me.

The first thing I could think of was he was going to take a deuce right there and laugh his ass off when a zombie slipped and fell in it. Seriously, that’s my first-grade mentality. I would have been infinitely happier if that had been the case. I caught sight of a precariously balanced tile atop a pin-pulled grenade.

“What the fuck, Corporal?” I asked. Now not so sure holding the twisting handle should be my primary concern. “Who gave you a grenade?”

“Appropriated.”

“We don’t appropriate from our own. Put that pin back in!” The tile was rocking back and forth as the bulker on the other side was stomping around like a fat, angry hulk.

He started looking around and patting his body down. Had a confused expression when he looked at me. “I think I dropped it!”

The tile took that very moment in time to decide it wanted to be back, flush on the floor. The grenade rolled lazily to the side, as the tile fell noiselessly. Calculations popped up into my head: the distance an average male could run forty yards…five and half seconds, give or take a half-second. Effective kill range of a fragmentation grenade…roughly forty-five feet. Delay of fuse until detonation…used to be three seconds, but some close calls had pushed it back to four…. Even before I came up with an answer, I’d grabbed Kirby’s shoulder and was dragging him and running as fast as I could; calculations be damned, we needed distance. He was scrabbling to get up and then run with me. Sometimes four seconds can feel like an eternity, other times it happens so fast you’re unaware that time was even being measured. This fell somewhere in the middle.

At one second, I’d gripped Kirby and was pulling up, and the door handle broke to the ground. At two, we were orientated in the right direction (though he was still more under my power than his own), the second-floor door had completely opened, and the entirety of the frame was taken by the looming outline of an enormous bulker. By three, Kirby had his feet underneath him and we were underway; the bulker, in the meantime, had pressed through and locked on to his quarry. At four, we most assuredly did not have the “bad guy walking away from an explosion in the distance coolness swagger” going on, but the bulker did us a solid as he passed over the grenade and took the brunt of the blast in his baby-making region. Five seconds and Kirby, slightly behind and to the right of me, was coated in a liberal amount of viscera from the explosion.

“You hit?” I asked, we kept running.

“I don’t think so.” We both turned to see the carnage; the bulker’s lower half was a shredded ruin. Intestines were spooling from his crotch, giant thigh muscles were curled over and hanging down to his ankles. It still tried to move, despite not having a single working muscle in its legs to use. It fell as zombies smacked into it and knocked it over. The rest of the group was heading out a door on the far side of the hallway—Except for BT. He was waiting.

“Go!” I waved with my hand.

“Not a fucking chance. I’m making sure you’re coming with me!”

A few seconds later he was ushering us through; I was surprised to see Tommy there.

“Keep going, leaving a surprise,” he said as he messed with the door.

“Hope it’s better than the last one,” I said as we took the stairs three at a time.

“It was an accident!” Kirby offered.

Was just stepping out into the alleyway when we heard the explosion. We could finally see our building; Grimm was up on the roof waving us on.

“Better hurry up,” came over my headset.

“As opposed to our typical stroll along the beach?” Stenzel responded. She sounded pissed.

“You can give me all the sarcasm you want, not going to bother the hundred zombies getting ready to cut you off,” he told her and all of us.

“Screw the choke point—no time. Up the wall.” I was referring to the corrugated metal plate sheeting to our right. It was nine feet tall and reinforced with junk cars behind for added stability. In addition, some spots had razor wire; we’d not had enough to do the entirety around our building, only in the most vulnerable—this being one of them. “BT, help Tommy up. Sorry kid,” I told him.

He was going to have fifty slices in his legs before this little detour was over. Then Gary came to the rescue; he must have been running faster than he ever had before. He climbed up the van on the other side and draped a heavy comforter over the coiled wire, just as Tommy was lifted into the air, then, Gary selflessly laid his body on top, compressing the coil down. Tommy straddled him, one foot resting on top of the wall, the other on the column it was adhered to. BT tossed Hannah so hard she almost sailed up and over Tommy. Justin was next.

“I’d appreciate not attaining orbit,” he said as he stepped into BT’s cupped hands.

“Get a move on.” I’d been watching the action down the street and now the action was watching us.

“Fucking, ouch.” An errant barb had snagged Justin.

“Kirby, you’re next!” I had my rifle up, but I didn’t have many rounds left. “I want to make sure his ass lives so I can kill him for almost blowing me up!”

I took five shots, five zombies dropped. Didn’t matter; they were quickly trampled underfoot.

“Mike, time to go!” BT shouted, having seen the same thing I did.

I got close to the wall and down on all fours. BT stepped on my back, and grabbed the lip of the wall as Tommy reached down and grabbed his belt. I heard the van buckle under his weight as he got onto the other side. I jumped up, Tommy grabbing my outstretched hand and hoisting me quickly just as the zombies got there. I didn’t bother looking back, I’d seen enough of them for the day, didn’t look like they thought the same about me. I jumped down onto the roof of the van; Tommy followed. We helped Gary up.

“Thanks, brother. Nice work with the comforter.”

“Speaking of that, I’m going to need you to run interference.” He’d attempted to pull it free; it instead tore in a few dozen spots, goose feathers rained down like a heavy snowfall.

“Please tell me that’s not mine.” I was looking at it. As far as comforters went, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass. They were way too thick and hot to sleep under. Tracy, though, for whatever reason, loved the damn things. I had been bringing them back from raids ever since we’d started going out of the gates like some caveman offering his mate a nice bear pelt. Was the seventh or eighth one before I’d finally found one she liked.

“I heard what you were going to do; I planned on just jumping onto the wire then I saw this on the bed as I was running past.”

“Oh, my dearest brother, I loved you…well, like a brother. I’ll honor your memory.”

“That was Tracy’s? Dead man walking!” BT bellowed.

Gary, hero of the day, became a pariah as everyone that knew what was going on stayed away from him, fearful of any collateral fall-out from my wife. There was a part of me that needed to lie down, to recover from this day. I’d danced up close and personal to death for too many songs, and my body was drained. Then there was the adrenaline exhaustion from the fear of Justin being in danger. I needed a drink, a cry, and an hour-long shower followed immediately by ten hours of sleep. What I got were five full magazines and the “opportunity” to kill more zombies. There was no joy as I went through the systematic acquisition of a target and the subsequent removal of the threat. I used to find a zen-like quality in shooting targets; this was not like that. My nerves were shot. I guess, to look at me, you would have never thought it. My form was rock solid, my hands did not tremble, my barrel did not waver, even as I thought on all that could have gone wrong with the day. My mind was an electrical storm, burning ozone; where it struck, a piece of my brain would fry.

12

Mike Journal Entry 10

It was another eight hours until the zombie invasion was quelled; our location had never been truly tested. Not to say we hadn’t killed five hundred or so of the smelly bastards, but there had been no concerted effort to break through. Obviously, in one aspect, that was great, but a more difficult test would have shown where we were weakest. Having a stress test performed during a live-fire was not the optimal way. As brutal as this attack had been, it was an opening salvo, a way to test our defenses, it was a probe. Those zombies had been sent in knowing they weren’t coming out; good to see their command thought as little of foot soldiers as most commands do. We had that in common. No one had come up with how the zombies had gotten in, that was troubling, something to figure out tomorrow. Did a once around; everyone was here, accounted for and undamaged, physically. That was all I could ask for. As I went back upstairs, didn’t even bother stripping down. I fell on to the bed and slept.

It was early morning when I awoke; I’d been pushed to the edge of the bed, Chloe and Holly had somehow got in with me without my knowing. Riley, Henry, and Ben-Ben were on the floor atop an oversized dog bed, which was a considerable foam mattress. Chloe was watching me as I rolled out of bed.

“Holy shit, I stink.” I could hear a few people moving about, but like me, they were attempting to be quiet so as not to disturb others. I decided to head for the roof, soak up some sun, see if the day could start out decent and stay that way. I opened the door and was surprised to see Tracy sitting on a lawn chair, facing the rising sun.

“Hey,” I said as I came up behind her. She didn’t say anything at first; I was worried I might have awakened her.

“How close was it yesterday?” she asked without looking.

My squad and I had an unspoken agreement, we didn’t discuss the close calls. There was no sense to it; all it did was worry our loved ones at home. We generally spoke in vagaries and glossed over the lowlights. “What are you talking about? Had it under control the entire time, well most of the time.”

She turned to look at me, even lowered her sunglasses so she could see me better, kind of reminded me of being in trouble at school. “BT told me.”

“Bullshit.” BT would have never crossed this line; it was completely off-limits.

“Just because you were sleeping that of the dead, doesn’t mean we all were. He was crying out in his sleep. Night terrors. Very specific night terrors.”

“You can’t hold dreams…”

“Stop, Mike. Don’t try and mislead or distract me from the truth. We’ve been married too long for that.”

I sought a different tactic. “I was saving our son.” Should have been a get out of jail free card, and it appeared to be working.

“Want to know how I know when it’s been bad?”

I sat down next to her as she was ruminating.

“The dogs.”

“Huh?”

“They crowd around you. I had to fight for a spot on the bed last night; they wouldn’t leave your side. I even tried to bribe Ben-Ben with bacon.”

“He didn’t move for bacon? I find that hard to believe.”

“It’s Ben-Ben; eventually he did, but you could see he was definitely torn.”

“Even I can’t beat bacon.” I wanted to smile; my lips made the motion, but my eyes didn’t respond in kind.

“Mike.” There was a defeated flatness to it, something I wasn’t used to, and it was setting a strange tone to the beautiful blue-sky morning.

“Do you want to know? What’s that going to accomplish?”

“I need to know what’s going on in that head of yours, I do. They don’t see the man breaking down like I do. The slow circling of despair.”

My mouth opened to protest, but this was the same person that had seen me on the ground, sobbing into the fur of my dogs.

“This affects you, it affects me.” She didn’t say anything else, her gaze never wavering as she looked at me. I wanted to turn away, to make a joke, something. The hard truth is not normally my go-to.

I didn’t blink, I steadied my psyche. “I should be dead.”

She gasped as if she’d been holding a breath and had just resurfaced from being underwater.

“Please don’t ask me how or why. I lived it and I don’t want to relive it.” I most definitely didn’t want to rehash it; didn’t mean my mind wasn’t going to put this on a continuous loop like a Billboard number one hit in the middle of summer.

“We should have left when you offered.” She turned back to the sun and lowered her glasses; I think I saw the beginning of a tear in the corner of her eye before she did so.

“I don’t think it would have mattered; this is the world now.”

“I can’t lose you,” she said. “And I’m afraid…I can see the changes in you. The smile that slides off your face when you think no one is watching. The way you clench your fists under the table like you’re doing everything you can to hold it together, to stay in control. You’re not as careful with your tells as you would like to believe.”

“Obviously.”

“You’re here, but some of you isn’t. Not any more.”

It was horrible to think my body was that much stronger than my mind. She was right, of course; physically, I was tough to kill. The lasting damage was going to come from within. At this point, I didn’t know what would help. More fighting would mean less time to think, but an extended reprieve, while resting my body would give me time to reflect. I couldn’t imagine the latter would happen any time soon or even work out that well. Chances are, if I had any real time away from it, I wouldn't be in a rush to ever go back. What could I tell her that she wanted to hear and wouldn’t think was absolute bullshit? Nothing. So that was what I did. I pulled up a chair, sat down next to her and grabbed her hand. We sat in a comfortable silence. I had to think she knew the spot she'd put me in and that there was no easy way out. It was getting later in the morning; a few people came up to either say hi or drink some coffee, sometimes both. Had to have been around ten when BT showed up. Tracy and I hadn’t moved much; she’d fallen asleep, most likely making up for the sleep she’d lost last night. BT made sure to pull a total eclipse by stepping in front of me. He motioned for me to follow. I made sure to position Tracy’s sun hat so she didn’t burn before I left.

“What’s up?” I asked when we got to the far side of the roof.

“I don’t give a fuck who sees this,” he prefaced his next action.

“What?” Then I found myself buried in the man’s chest as he hugged me tightly. He let go after a few moments. “The Marines don’t allow fraternization between enlisted and officers.”

“And that’s what I get for showing emotion. Should have known.”

“Sorry—you know my modus operandi. Bad dreams?”

He looked at me funny. “Yeah, bad day, bad dreams.”

“Yesterday happened. It’s done. Let’s do our best to leave it behind.” That was as much for him as it was me. Love how easily the words rolled off my tongue when help was offered for others; when the hell was I going to take my own advice?

“That’s not how it works.”

“Isn’t it? What can we change about it? What in the fuck good is it going to do, constantly going over the ‘what-ifs’ or ‘could have happeneds’? I’m so sick of my mind finding a way to undermine me. Not bad enough ninety-nine percent of the world is trying to kill us, I’ve got to pound in the final nail myself for good measure.”

“Sore spot?”

“Little bit. Thanks for the hug, man. I want to give you shit about it, almost need to, but it helped. Sometimes it's just the human contact, keeps you grounded.”

“You know if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it and then I’ll punch you.”

“I know. Come on, let’s see if Trip has any pills we could borrow.”

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Shorter list would be what’s right? We should get the squad together, get a list made of what we need and what we need to fix.”

“Most are eating breakfast; say about a half-hour?”

“Works for me. I love you, brother,” I told him. He looked at me for a few moments, he answered with a nod, his lips pressed tight before he walked away. The day had started off better than could be expected and took a hard nosedive almost immediately. I was walking around the perimeter of the roof, enjoying the sun, working off some nervous energy when I heard trucks coming, two of them.

“This better be my street sweeper.” They pulled up to the beginning of the funnel trap. Grimm was operating the gate, Kirby off to the side. I saw Master Sergeant Wassau step out. The only reason I could figure he needed two trucks was for him, Sorrens and Sorrens’ collection.

Stenzel came out onto the roof, almost immediately. “You’re going to want these, sir.” She said as she handed me a headset.

“Need to talk to the captain,” Grimm had stated to whatever question Wassau had posed.

“I’m here. What’s he want, Grimm?”

“Can I let Kirby tell you? He’s always the one in trouble anyway.”

“Fuck you, Grimm,” Kirby said.

“Grimm, you want to keep that new stripe I just gave you?” I asked.

“Might lose it no matter what I say or don’t.”

“Grimm.”

“The master sergeant is ready to take you up on your offer and stay here.”

“Okay.”

“He brought his prisoners with him.”

My stomach felt like it was being flushed with Drano. “No, Grimm. Not only no, but fuck no.” I was on my way down to the checkpoint. “You shoot him. Blow the fucking truck up if you need to.”

“Seems a little excessive, sir,” he stated.

“Then tell Kirby to—he’ll do it.”

“Fucking-A I will,” Kirby said.

“Captain says no,” Grimm told Wassau. I could hear the man getting agitated in the background; not many in the Corps told a Master Sergeant no, not even officers. and especially not some grunt gate guard.

I got there before Kirby had a chance to put an RPG round through the side of the truck, so that’s on me. I should have taken longer.

“Captain,” Wassau managed to say the word, though his lips were so tightly pressed together he only got one syllable. I was surprised that the sound could get past at all. “You promised me a spot.”

“That I did. You and Sorrens, the entire force. It was not a plus fifteen.”

“These men and women are under my care.”

“Okay,” I told him.

“That’s it? Okay?”

“Who do you have in there?”

“You know who I have in there.”

“I know about one of them, and, really, that’s enough. But the others?”

“Okay, we’ll play. I have a Sergeant Grell…”

“Nope, don’t give a shit about names. Let’s go with: why do you have them in your custody for six-hundred, Alex?”

“Don’t be an ass, Captain, it’s unprofessional.”

“Serious as I can be, Master Sergeant. Why do you have these people in your custody? I would think anyone, with, say, a public intoxication or minor vandalism would have been set free the moment hostilities started, so that means whoever you have in those trucks are above your average mailbox destruction types.”

“It’s only one truck—ten prisoners. The other is supplies so that we don’t drain your resources.”

“I’m entirely too familiar with one of your prisoners. How about the other nine?”

Wassau said nothing.

“Murderers?”

Nothing.

“Rapists?”

A whole bunch of crickets in the distance.

“Murdering rapists? Obviously, you’re not going to tell me. But if that’s the case, Wassau, fuck em. They deserve whatever fate they have coming to them. If you think I’m allowing those deviants into our place, where our kids, our families, live, you’ve lost your fucking mind. In my eyes, they deserved a bullet the moment they committed those crimes, they will find no safe harbor here.”

“You would turn me away? After what I’ve done for you?”

“The guilt card? What you did for me, while greatly appreciated, in no way grants you permission to endanger those I care for. You’re the one that put me in this situation. Did you for one moment think I was going to clap you on the back, allow them in and thank you for it?”

“These are my prisoners and, as such, are entitled to…”

“Entitled? Oh, fuck no. They lost that the moment they did whatever unspeakable acts that they have. As Bennington once told me, this isn’t the United States of America anymore. I don’t have to uphold any habeas corpus. There is no due process here, Wassau.”

“I know about you, Talbot. I know you were a screw-up before, during, and after you joined my beloved corps. And I know that you didn’t earn that commission. You’re no more a captain than Deneaux is Mother Teresa. You have no authority here or on this base.”

“You trying to strong-arm me into capitulation?”

“I can talk to the Colonel, have him order you to take the prisoners in.”

“Yeah, because running to mom should work.”

“Talbot,” he started.

“It’s Captain, Master Sergeant. You would do well not to forget that again. I don’t give a goddamned fuck what you think of me or how I came about my rank.”

“Captain.” Somehow, he made the innocuous word sound like a swear.

“Much better. Let’s try it with less venom.” I was pushing his buttons in the hope he would turn his tiny caravan around on his own and I wouldn’t be forced to use force.

Sorrens stepped out; he had his hand on his holstered weapon.

“Have you lost your mind?” I asked him. “Stenzel, you seeing this?”

“On it, sir.”

“Is he painted?”

“He is indeed, sir.”

“Sorrens, I like you; you’re a little weird, but who isn’t? I’m telling you right now, you so much as pull up on that little leather strip holding your firearm in place you will be on the ground with a sucking chest wound.”

“You’re threatening my sergeant?” Wassau was on the verge of losing it.

“Who here has their hand on their weapon? Not me.”

Wassau gave a quick shake of his hand to Sorrens to stand down.

Another truck pulled up. I was wondering if Bennington knew what was going on and had sent back up; for who, though, I didn't know. I was concerned we were about to get into a firefight. Didn’t know what to expect when Major Overland stepped out and walked over; he seemed confused about the tense stand-off.

“Captain, Master Sergeant.”

“Sir,” we both said without taking our eyes off each other.

“Anyone want to tell me what’s going on?”

“He’ll tell you; I don’t want your opinion influenced by my color commentary.”

“The good captain here promised sanctuary to Sergeant Sorrens and myself and has now reneged on the agreement.”

I waited somewhat patiently for him to finish. “What the fuck, Wassau. What are you, seven? He can’t make an informed decision with half the facts. Tell him the rest.”

I don’t know if maybe something clicked in his head and he now realized just how insane his request was, but he remained silent.

“Kidding me, right? Okay, that truck right there is full of prisoners; he wants to bring them along as his plus ten.”

The rest of Overland’s squad was milling about, then Baggelli came over.

“Sir, Lincoln is in the back of that truck,” he said. Now I had to worry if they knew this Lincoln and what that would entail.

I’d never seen Overland became so angry so quickly as he turned to Wassau. “You brought that piece of shit here?”

“He’s my prisoner, sir, under my supervision. It’s my duty to protect him,” Wassau replied indignantly.

“Your duty? Your duty should have been to shoot him! Bags get that man out here.”

“Now see here, Major!”

There was some grunting and the heavy smack of a punch or two as PFC Reed and Corporal Baggelli deposited a skinny kid in his early twenties, by the look of him, down on the ground by the major’s feet. He was crying, and there was an angry welt blossoming on the side of his face.

“Please.” He had his cuffed hands covering his head.

“Is that what that little boy said? Did you listen to him?”

Oh shit. My heart sank. Not for the degenerate on the ground but for the thought of what he’d done and the road we were all heading down. Overland had pulled his gun out and had it pointed at the man’s head. The crotch of the prisoner’s orange jumpsuit darkened as his bladder released its contents in fear.

“Don’t!” I had my hand up to Wassau, who was going for his weapon. “Sir, are you sure about this?” I asked of Overland, who had not wavered. Baggelli was watching intently, his mouth hanging open.

He never looked over to me as he spoke. “We were on a mission. Came across this piece of shit…” His words faltered. “The things we found…” Now that he looked over to me, I wished he hadn’t, the haunted look was all I needed to know. “That I didn’t kill him then is a decision I regret.”

“Pl…please, I have a problem! I didn’t…”

Smoke rose from the end of Overland’s barrel. Lincoln had been drilled into the ground, a pool of blood expanding around his head like a crimson halo. Not a person there wasn’t in some state of shock, except for the major who had found a measure of peace in his actions. He’d killed a demon, both literally and figuratively.

“Fuck me,” came through my headset from Stenzel.

“Grimm, Kirby, get over here.” I wanted to withdraw from the situation. I had no idea if it was on the verge of escalation or had been diffused. Didn’t want a part of it either way.

A part of me was thinking about ripping Deneaux and Gadsen out of that truck and following the major’s lead. I could plead temporary insanity; shit, I’d plead permanent insanity if it allowed me the opportunity to kill them both.

“Sir, come on, we need to go.” Baggelli was pulling on his major’s arm; the man had not moved. He looked lost in the moment—partly appalled for what he’d done, and partly appeased. It was Reed that coaxed the man to leave. I had no idea what was going to happen from this point forward.

Overland and his crew left, followed almost immediately by Wassau and Sorrens, after they picked up the cooling body of Lincoln. Kirby, Grimm and myself were staring at the congealing mass of brain and blood at our doorstep.

“Sir, what just happened?” Kirby asked.

I wanted to tell him the beginning of the end, but that was a load of horseshit because we were well into the wrap-up scenes. Wouldn’t be long before the credits started rolling up the screen. I wasn’t even sure if there would be a post-credit scene. Probably wasn’t worth hanging around for. Even if there was some kind of bonus material, I mean, seriously, what was the teaser going to be about? More zombies and the breakdown of humanity?

13

Mike Journal Entry 11

It was a couple of days after the shooting. I went to check on Wassau; just because we had an argument and a fundamental disagreement didn’t mean I didn’t still consider him a friend. He looked tense when I walked into his office. He offered me a seat and a couple of fingers of whiskey.

“I thought I made it abundantly clear I’d rather snort Spam than drink that,” I told him.

“Snort Spam? I’d pay to see that. What can I do for you, Captain?”

“Can we go back to Talbot?”

“We drinking buddies again?”

“If you have something that doesn’t smell like burnt rubbing alcohol, we can talk.”

“I’ve got mimosas.”

“I’ll take one of those.”

“Figured you would, pansy.” He’d not meant it with any malice, as he got up from his desk. He handed me a small six-ounce tin can with a pull top. It did not have a label on it.

“Not some sort of diarrhea-inducing concoction, is it?”

“It’s a mimosa, the drink designed to cover up the taste of shitty food, bored housewives eating with their friends on their Sunday brunch outings drink, so of course it is.”

“Tastes like a can.” Still drank the whole thing.

“Is there a reason why you’re here or did you just come to complain about and consume my emergency stash?”

“This may come as a shock…” I paused. “Naw, probably not. Okay. I don’t have a lot of friends.”

“You don’t say?”

“I came to see how we were; to see how you were.”

“I drink nearly every waking hour; been doing that for a solid year now. That’s how I’m doing. So, about the same. As for us, I’ve had some time to reflect. I still don’t think you’re right, but I understand your stance.”

“The offer for you and the rest still stands. Tabitha is with us now.”

“Glad to hear that. Can’t believe she finally gave up her comfortable bed?”

“She didn’t. We had to retrieve it; I don’t think I’ve ever encountered something so heavy.”

“She made you take the frame?” He smiled at that.

“Seriously, Wassau, give your prisoners enough food and water for a week.”

“Like cats?”

“Sure. Look, the zombies are going to attack soon; I’d rather you were with us. In a week, if it’s still all clear, come back and give them another week of provisions.”

“They’re human beings, Mike.”

I was going to argue that no, not anymore, that they’d given up that right. But he just wasn’t of that ilk. Nothing I said, nothing I could do, would change his opinion.

“I’m going to send Sorrens and some of the others as soon as the siren blasts.”

“Wassau, just come with him. I hate to think of you stuck here alone.”

“Not enough for me to bring them, though.”

I remained silent.

“Don’t worry, Captain, I’m a resilient bastard and this place may lack the amenities you have, but it’s secure. I’ll be all right.”

“You’re a righteous prick,” I told him.

“I’ll drink to that,” he responded. “Bennington didn’t do anything to Overland,” he said after a moment.

This I already knew because Overland and his squad were staying with us now.

“Said there was too much going on and the major was too valuable to have in jail. You agree with that?” He was eyeing me for my take.

I fidgeted. Overland had done what I think a lot of people would like to do with someone so lacking in humanity, someone so steeped in depravity. Wanting to do and actually doing, though, there’s a line. Putting a bullet in someone’s head in the middle of the roadway, that is above and beyond most people’s limits, no matter how they might fantasize or big-talk over beers. There were times I would have liked to rob a bank for a cool mil, didn’t do it though. Still, couldn’t find fault in Overland’s action; people like Lincoln, it’s been proven over and over you can’t rehabilitate them, something is wrongly crossed in their minds. Given a chance, they will once again fulfill their sickest desires. No part of me was saddened Lincoln no longer walked this earth.

“Can you agree Lincoln didn’t deserve to breathe the same air we did?” I asked.

“A question with a question. I get it. That’s a classic non-answer.”

“I’m married; it’s how I’ve survived this long.”

He smiled. “I was married once. What?” he asked when I raised my eyebrows. “Gay men can’t get married?”

“Again, Wassau, I could not care less about your sexual orientation. It is how the fuck does anyone put up with a hardcore vegan?”

“Asshole. That was the sore spot in our relationship. A constant source of irritation.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“When he was mad at me, he would come home with a bag of cheeseburgers and eat them on the couch.”

I let out a laugh, couldn’t help it. “That’s some pretty passive-aggressive stuff right there.”

“Nothing passive about it.”

“So, did he leave you after you beat him with a fruit salad or something?”

“Fruit? That some kind of dig?”

“Dammit, Wassau, you know what I meant.”

“I know, I just like busting straight people’s balls; they get so worried they might offend someone.”

“Never really suffered from that affliction. So, I’m taking it was an eggplant, then?”

“Funny. That’s funny. Alberto was up in San Francisco visiting family when it started. I was stationed in San Diego at the time.”

“I’m sorry,” I told him, I’d heard a version of this story so many times they started to blend together. And unfortunately, they all had the same horrible ending.

“Long time ago.” He poured himself another large drink and swallowed it down. “I’m getting over it.”

“Clearly.”

“We all deal in our own ways. If we beat the zombies, how are all the broken people we have left going to make something that works?”

“I have no answer for that. I can only hope there are people more equipped than myself.”

“I think you’d do just fine.”

“That’s just the alcohol talking; I look better being viewed through booze goggles.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. Wait, didn’t mean it that way. Your temperament may be a little rough around the edges, but I think you trend toward doing what is right, even if you don’t get there.”

“Thanks, I think. I’m going to head out before there are any other revelations about myself I don’t want to hear. Good talking to you, Wassau, and again consider my offer.” I stood, he shook my hand.

“However, this turns out, Talbot, even though I don’t and can’t agree with all you do, I appreciate your commitment to your people.”

“You are my people,” I told him before walking out of his office.

I was heading for the door that led out when Sergeant Sorrens called out to me. “Captain.” He was having a difficult time looking me in the eyes, had to think he was still having nightmares regarding Lincoln’s demise. “Deneaux would like to see you.”

“How did she know I was here?”

“She said something about smelling bourgeois and burgers.”

“I hate that woman.” I turned and followed him back to where the prisoners were housed.

“Come to gloat?” she asked. She was sitting on her cot, smoking a cigarette.

“You called me back here. Orange looks good on you, brings out the stains on your fingertips.”

Got a patented sneer for that.

“Are you supposed to be smoking in here?”

“Who’s going to tell me I can’t?”

“True enough. What do you want, Deneaux? I have to go and look after the people I care about.”

“Do you believe I still have my finger upon the pulse of this station?”

I looked at her intently; I knew exactly what she was referring to.

“Can we not do the intrigue thing? I’m exhausted, let’s just cut to the chase.”

She made sure to take her sweet time inhaling an entire cigarette.

“Seriously? I read once that each cigarette smoked takes four minutes off your life, if that was the case, you should have died in ‘72.”

She completely ignored me.

“I have a bomb near one of the walls.” She lit another.

I heard Sorrens’ keys drop. He was a few steps behind, probably making sure I didn’t put a hole in her. Can’t say I’d ever really seen the color drain out of someone; sure it’s an expression and people do pale when something shocking happens, but this was like watching a fast-moving drain as his natural hue slipped down his forehead cascaded below his cheeks and descended down his neck.

“Why? Why would you do that?” he asked her.

“Still think all these people deserve your care?” I asked him. He bent over and grabbed the keys before moving past me to get closer to her. He was fumbling with the keys.

“What are you doing?” I asked. Deneaux had a slight grin on her face and was watching intently.

“I…I need to know where.” He was shakily putting the key in the lock with one hand the other was reaching for his firearm.

“Michael, perhaps you should tell this young boy this is not how business is conducted.”

“Business? The business I conduct revolves around me handing over ten dollars and getting a double-meat burrito. This isn’t business.” I told her.

“Of course it is. I have something you want and you’re going to give me what I want in exchange.”

“What deranged lunatics are out there that would destroy a wall with a zombie horde outside? Don’t they know what will happen?” I asked the question knowing I’d not get an answer. Plus, I was stalling to see exactly what Sorrens was capable of. He had his gun out and it was wavering; one of those air inflated balloon people would have been more capable of keeping it steady.

“If he puts a bullet in me, Michael, I don’t need to tell you what will happen.”

“You’ll bleed; I know that.”

“Is this really the time to be trite?”

“Scared?” I asked.

“Hardly. He couldn’t blow out his brains with the gun against his head.”

“I…I could!” Sorrens stammered. Not sure if he caught on to exactly the point he was arguing.

“Perhaps you should show us.” Deneaux was bemused.

“Put your gun away, Sorrens.” He looked to me, to Deneaux, to his gun. He withdrew, putting his pistol up and locking the door. I pulled him out of the cell area. He was shaking.

“Sergeant, has she had any visitors?”

He shook his head.

“Sorrens, look at me.” He did so.

“She hasn’t, and I haven’t left this place since our visit to your building. No one has come to see her.

“Any visits for the other prisoners?”

“Nothing, Captain. If these people ever had anyone that cared for them, they’re long gone.”

“How in the fuck would she get word out?” I walked around the office. “Any electronic devices?”

“Nothing. Everything she had with her is in storage.”

“The cigarettes?”

“I gave them to her myself. The lighter too.”

“Clock’s ticking!” she shouted out from the back area.

“No contact. Seemingly no way to communicate. Either it’s you, Wassau, or she already had something in place.” We both looked to Wassau’s closed door. “No way,” I said.

“It’s not me,” Sorrens protested.

“I know—I saw your face. No one is that good of a liar. Something’s in place, though…too many variables. How would someone know when to do something?”

“Why blow a hole in the wall? That doesn’t help anybody,” Sorrens offered. “Is she bluffing?”

“Bluffing is in her arsenal, and it's not like we can press her on it because if she’s not lying, she makes a zombie expressway. I’m going to talk to her. You can come if you want, but I’d appreciate you not pulling your pistol out again; you make me nervous.”

“Are you afraid I’ll shoot her?”

“I’m afraid you’ll shoot me.” Walked into the back, Deneaux was standing by the bars. My guess is she was trying to hear something. “Out of curiosity, this business transaction…what would it entail?”

“It’s nice to see that you are taking me seriously.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but since I can no longer watch my favorite shows on TV, I have to get my drama elsewhere.”

“I wonder which one led more to the destruction of civilization, religion or television?”

“Can we get on with this? There are few places I’d less want to be than here.”

“Such as?”

“A crypt comes to mind, a mausoleum, the cemetery at night, Disney World in the summer, Moxie bottling building. Definitely Tommy’s Pop-Tart factory.”

“Done?”

“That about covers it.”

“You sure?”

I paused, putting my finger up. “Yup.”

“I want the base.”

“We’re back to that? I figured you would have gone for your unconditional release. So, let me get this straight, either you get the base or no one does?”

“Not quite as eloquently put as I would have said it, but yes.”

“That’s got an unstable ex-boyfriend mentality to it. I would have expected more. I hate to state the obvious, but I feel like I have to. If this base falls, you realize you go with it, right? I mean, you have to know that. Ah…but your smug demeanor leads me to believe you have a contingency plan. A way out. You planning on sharing? Didn’t think so. What makes you think I have the keys to the kingdom?”

“You have the king’s ear.”

“Another trope? The king’s evil advisor?”

“Enough with the babbling small talk. You have until tomorrow at this same time. By then, I will be out of this cement closet and sitting upon my rightful throne or boom.” She spread her hands out as she said the word. “Now leave. I’d like to smoke in peace.”

“Now what?” Sorrens asked as we were once again out of the containment area.

“You have to watch her like a hawk. We need to see who she’s getting the word out to and how she’s doing it.”

I was heading for my Hummer, to radio back to our base and get a couple of people to case the place out, see if they could catch something Sorrens missed. And, while I didn’t think it probable, there was still a chance that either Sorrens, Wassau or both were in on it. It would not be prudent of me to dismiss that completely. I’d just picked up the radio microphone when Jerry’s delivery truck pulled up. Jerry, of the Autumn Harmon’s boyfriend variety. He’d not seen me as he rooted around in the back of his truck; he had some mail and a container on wheels, something like airline personnel used to deliver food to the flying-can people, though this had much larger wheels; an off-road model.

“Say it ain’t so, Jerry.” I watched him head inside the jail, waited about fifteen minutes until he came out.

“Shit, Captain! Scared the hell out of me,” he said as he came around to the driver’s side, I was standing by the door.

“How’s it going?” I was trying to be nonchalant, even as my heart threatened to come up out through my throat and fall onto the ground where it would bounce away randomly like a fumbled football.

“Good,” he answered, watching me. I couldn’t think of anything to say as we stared at each other awkwardly. “Anything else? I’m pretty busy and behind schedule.”

“Anything you want to tell me?” I asked.

Might have been the slightest tick in his eye.

“About what?” He was reaching for his door.

“Do you deliver the meals personally, or do you hand them off to Sorrens?”

His hand paused, then grabbed the door handle. “I drop the meals off and grab the empties. That’s my job; I’m a delivery person.”

“And where would your deliveries be taking you next?”

“I can show you my roster, if that will help.”

“I’m thinking this particular stop won’t be on there.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He got the door open.

I not-so-gently pulled him away from the door and reached back with my foot to close it.

“This is assault.”

“Not so much—not yet, anyway—and it’s way better than treason.”

“What are you talking about?”

He was convincing, I’ll give him that. Either he had nothing to do with it or he was Deneaux’s star pupil in her advanced pathological liar class.

“I’m talking about the messages you’ve been shuttling back and forth for the Black Widow, or the Lemon Queen; I like that one better. Where is it?”

“Where’s what, Captain? I need to go.”

I grabbed his collar roughly and lifted him, his feet dangling off the ground. There is something fundamentally terrifying about being suspended in the air, knowing how powerful your adversary is and how powerless, in that moment, you are.

“Why, Jerry?”

“I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hey, what’s going on?” Sorrens had come out.

“Help me, Sergeant! The captain has lost his mind!”

I tilted my head to the side and puffed out my lower lip. “Fair assessment. Found our leak,” I told him as he approached. “Remember how, when I asked you if Deneaux had any visitors, you said no?”

“She doesn’t.” He still looked confused.

I let my head bow and raised Jerry half an inch higher. “Seriously?”

“He’s not a vis…oh! Son of a bitch! Do you have the message?”

“We haven’t worked up to the confession part yet, just getting started.”

“You know she wants to blow a hole in the wall, right?” Sorrens asked.

“The both of you have lost your minds. You can’t accost people in the middle of the street to satisfy your conspiracy theories.”

“Oh, he’s good,” I was talking to Sorrens. “I think I’m going to take you back to the Barrows; we’ll have a heart to heart. And by heart to heart, I mean fist to face.” That was when Jerry’s entire demeanor changed. Fear showed in his eyes.

“You can’t do that!”

“I mean, sure I can.”

“Sergeant, are you seriously going to stand there while he threatens to kidnap me?”

“No, no—I’m not, because I’m not here. Captain, if you could let me know what happens, I would greatly appreciate it.” He turned and headed back into the jailhouse.

“That guy is weirder than fuck, and I genuinely like him. What’s that say about me?” I was contemplating.

“Let me go!” Jerry had a fist raised.

“What are you planning on doing with that?” Not even sure why I asked as he hit me in the side of the head.

“Do that again and I’m going to knock you out before I take you back.”

“You can’t…I’ll be late.”

“What am I missing? Is there an incentive package if you make all your deliveries on time?”

“Put me down.” His body sagged. I don’t know if he was admitting defeat or was playing possum so he could run once his feet hit the ground. It was possum; he got maybe two steps before I had the collar of his jacket. I tossed him to the ground.

“You ready to talk?” I was standing over him.

“I’m a fucking delivery driver. What else do you want to know?”

“Normally, I’d appreciate your stalwartness. I think that’s the right word…but, like you, I’m on the clock, too. Now that I’ve said that, it’s the same clock ticking for both of us. Last chance to opt for something resembling the U.S. justice system, rather than some third-world prison. Not sure if you ever watched Locked Up Abroad, but those poor bastards paid double time for their crimes.” I had my fisted raised and ready to go.

He had his hands up in a defensive gesture. “She’ll kill her!”

“Now we’re getting somewhere. Autumn’s in trouble? I was wondering why she hadn’t shown up yet at Castle De Barrow. Is she being held?”

He shook his head.

“Jerry, you better get talking. Sooner or later someone is going to witness this little rendezvous, then who knows what the hell happens.”

“Just let me go.”

“I can’t. You heard Sorrens, she’s threatening to blow a hole in the wall, and none of us can take the chance that she won’t make good on that threat.”

“I didn’t know—not about the wall.” He seemed genuine about that. “But, Autumn…”

“Where is she?”

“She’s in the barracks. Deneaux told me there’s continuous surveillance on her, and if I don’t pass her messages along, she’ll be killed.”

“Why are you still here?” Sorrens had poked his head out the door and was looking up and down the roadway.

I motioned for him to come closer. “Get on the horn, call my squad, tell them to gear up and send Tommy, BT, Stenzel and Grimm to the back of the barracks by the park, I need to pick up some stuff.”

“On it.”

“Going to need a ride to the barracks, and on the way, you’re going to show me the message and who it’s going to.”

“They’ll see us, and they’ll kill her. I can’t let that happen.”

The kid was scared; he had every right to be. It’s one thing when your own life is threatened but when it is of a loved one, that makes it worse, way worse.

We were on the road. “Let’s get to the conclusion of this, shall we?”

“Deneaux doesn’t tell me anything—it’s all in code. And no paper. I don’t even see the person I’m talking to. I go to the old barbershop on the other side of the barrows; it’s boarded up. I go to the front and deliver the message. Half the time, I don’t even know if anyone is on the other side.”

“What are you supposed to say?”

“Same time tomorrow.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“She’s getting even more cautious; don’t like that. Cautious means wary. And you never know what a wary animal might do.”

“We’re here.” He couldn’t wait for me to get out.

“Yeah, hold on. I’m sending someone with you.”

“You don’t understand…the person on the other side of that wall is probably just another nobody like me.”

“Possibly, but it’s the next clue.”

“What the fuck, Talbot? I’m not moving another four-poster bed, man. My back is killing me and your sister is finally laying down, so I get some me-time. That baby is kicking her ass, so by default, she’s kicking mine.”

“Nice to see you too, BT. Tommy, I’ve got no time to explain. Jerry here has to deliver a message at the old barbershop. He’ll fill you in, but I want you to follow that recipient wherever they go. Top stealth—got it?”

He nodded and got in. Jerry looked like he wanted to vomit.

“We’ll get Harmon,” I assured him. He nodded but he doubted my words. “When this day is done, you’ll need to come to the Barrows too.”

“I don’t care who you are or how freakishly strong you are, Captain, something happens to Autumn and…”

“I get it, I get it. She’ll be fine.”

“What is going on?” BT asked.

“Deneaux.” He didn’t need any further clarification than that. “And Autumn is in trouble.” I quickly caught them up to speed.

“Let’s go.” BT looked like he was ready to push trucks out of the way to get to her.

“Look at you, ready to jump in the fire with both feet. You make me proud. If she’s being watched, we have to assume there’s either a rifle on her or a very attached personal assistant.”

“Third option, sir. She’s part of it.”

That threw me. “I hope not, but I appreciate where your head is at. Stenzel, if you were watching Harmon with a rifle, where would you set-up shop?”

She looked around. “Has to be the water tower across from the barracks. Clearest line of sight.”

“They’d need someone close to her if she ran, though. Can’t just be a sniper.” Grimm said.

“In the room?” I asked.

“Could be,” he responded to my question.

“Stenzel, would you be able to get a bead if someone has set-up shop on the tower?” I was fitting my headgear on.

“Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Let me know when you locate them. Test.”

She gave me a thumbs-up as we checked our comms and moved away.

“How are we planning on getting into her room without catching a bullet?” BT asked.

“I was going to hide behind you.”

“You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are.”

“My writers are on strike. Grimm and I are going to rope down from Collier’s vacated premises.”

“Rope?”

“Sheets.”

“Are you going first, sir?” Grimm asked.

“That’s the idea. BT, I need you to hang out by the common room on the second floor. You’re my ‘shit has hit the fan’ free agent.”

“I am ready to fuck someone up. Let’s go.”

We went to the office on the first floor; a corporal was sitting behind a desk, reading an old magazine. He perked up when he saw us.

“How can I help you, sir?”

“I need the keys for 308.”

“Collier’s old room? For what purpose?”

“Follow-up investigation.”

“You’re with the MPs?” he asked.

“Special investigative unit.”

“Then you should have the keys.”

“You’re telling me there are no other keys?”

“No, I’m telling you the MPs have one.”

“I don’t have time for this shit.” BT was getting angry.

“I’ll have to call my commanding officer.”

“BT?” The big man stepped behind the desk and held his hand out.

“Either a key goes in my hand or a neck does. Your choice,” BT told the corporal. I could hear his gulp from where I stood.

BT handed the key over to me. “You need to stay with him for a bit,” I told him before I headed off.

“I could just knock him out.”

“Let’s try not to hand out concussions today.”

I took off my bars. “Give me those,” I was referring to the corporal’s insignia stripes. “Feels like old times,” I said aloud as BT helped me put them in.

“You’re an old corporal.”

“Military food will do that to you,” I told him as he made sure the pin fasteners were clamped.

“My God, how much have you eaten?”

“Fuck you, BT.”

“I need a couple of boxes,” I told the corporal. He nodded with his head over to a small stack of milk crates. I grabbed two. “Grimm, help me grab some random shit.” We tossed in a few books, a lamp, some pictures, and Grimm took a stapler off the desk.

“Oh, come on! You know how hard those are to come by?” the corporal asked.

“We’re not shopping,” BT said.

“Want to make it look like we’re moving in,” I replied.

“For when Tracy finally wises up and kicks your ass out?”

“We’re roomies now, Grimm. Isn’t that fantastic?” I shook his shoulders.

“Lifelong dream, sir,” he told me.

“Wish us luck,” I told him as we headed out, my arms full.

“Stay safe.”

“Always.”

He snorted as I left the office.

“Sometimes.”

“As if.”

“Occasionally?”

“I’ll give you that.”

We moved quickly. “On the third floor. Stenzel, got anything?”

“Maybe. There’s metal plating around the entire railing; could be they’re hiding behind that.”

“At Collier’s room. Going in.”

“I see something. Got a spotter—you’re being watched.”

I ushered Grimm in then shut the door like I didn’t have a care in the world. We put the props on the floor and started stripping the beds.

“I need those knots tight,” I told Grimm as we were working on the makeshift line. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve done today.” We moved the bed to the far side of the room as quietly as we could before tying the sheet off. I was pulling on it, knowing full well it wouldn’t give until I was dangling outside.

“Just today?” Grimm asked.

“I have a low threshold.” I opened the window. Thirty feet doesn’t seem that high until you’re looking down. The sheet fell just below and to the side of Autumn’s window. “Fuck. Heading out. Stenzel?”

“No clean shot.”

“Tommy?” I asked.

“Message delivered, trying to pick up the contact.”

“BT?”

“Eating a brownie.”

The bed pulled up tight against the wall as I got up onto the sill and put my full weight on the sheet-rope. Grimm was holding the bed and keeping an eye on our knot. I went over the sill. Every foot I lowered myself down I felt marginally better, one less foot to gain terminal velocity, should I fall. I was parallel to her window and pulled myself close so I could look in. Autumn was sitting on her bed. I was about to knock when I saw movement to my side, a man came out of the bathroom. He was dressed in spec-ops black and fully geared, and here I was, dangling like a carrot.

“She’s got company,” I breathed into my mic.

He sat down in a chair across from her. I could see a flickering light; I thought he might be watching a movie. He was turned slightly away from me. Autumn’s line of sight was better, but she was fixated on him. I wasn’t sure how long I could hang out there like a tethered Spider Man. She said something to him and was coming toward me, heading for the bathroom. I made sure to swing past the window; no way she could miss me; sure enough, a stutter-step. She looked directly at me and then back at her captor.

“Going to get some fresh air in here!” she called back. He waved absently toward her, engrossed in whatever he was watching. She said nothing to me as she opened the window and undid the screen latches.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

“I don’t care,” he told her. She walked into the bathroom and turned the water on. It was sufficiently loud enough to cover the sound of me pulling the screen off.

Get in there, I motioned for her to get in the bathroom.

She shook her head. “Follow me,” she mouthed. She knew I was going to be at my most vulnerable as I crawled through. “Got to get some clothes,” she called.

“You don’t need to announce everything you do. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you just shut up.” He hadn’t turned. She was slowly going back toward the bed and her closet. I quickly gained entry, doing my best to have her shield me from view. Wasn’t quite as bad as an elephant hiding behind a telephone pole, but if he even glanced this way, I’d be spotted, and Autumn would be in grave danger.

“Shit,” BT said.

I didn’t have time for whatever shit meant; I was swimming in a river of it already. I put my hand on Autumn’s shoulder and gently guided her to the side then I rushed the man. I was ten feet away, but had the element of surprise. He looked up when I’d halved the distance.

He managed to say, “Hey!” before my full force fist hit him square in the nose. The sound of the cartilage snapping was the loudest thing in the room. I ripped his headset off as he leaned back. Blood spewed up in an arc; looked a lot like wet hair flinging up from a body of water in a shampoo commercial, or a possessed water bubbler. Water was streaming from his eyes and mixing with the copious blood flow, making a frothy pink mixture on his face. He started to rise to defend himself.

“Got a .45 pointed at you; best bet would be to stay put. Harmon, grab his weapon.”

“With pleasure.”

“Talbot, Jerry’s here. Didn’t see him pull up. I’m chasing him down—he’s heading straight for you!” BT was running.

“Stenzel?”

“Got a barrel. No shot.”

“Kid is going to fuck this up.” I’d no sooner said the words when there was a frantic banging on the door. This was followed by a hollow thud. I looked over to Autumn before I put her former captor’s earpiece up to my ear.

“Clems, package at your door, pull it in before someone sees.” Heard this over the acquired headset.

“BT, stop!” I yelled into my headset. “Too late.”

“Fuck.”

“What happened? What’s going on?” Autumn knew, it was her mind’s way of running interference.

I was trying to think of what to do next. I couldn’t very well pull her dead boyfriend inside; first, because I’d be seen and, second, because it would be Autumn’s dead boyfriend. Or so I thought. There was a slight tapping at the door. I ran over, whipped the door open, grabbed his shoulder and pulled him in.

“Clems, who the fuck is that?” the shooter or the spotter asked.

I shut the door quickly, and pulled him away should they start peppering the door with bullets. Jerry’s leg was a shredded mess; he was losing blood fast. He needed a hospital and soon. Gotta give it to Harmon, she didn’t lose her shit. Grabbed one of her belts and applied a tourniquet high up on his thigh to help staunch the flow of blood.

“Stenzel, I need you to take him out.”

“I can’t shoot through metal, sir.”

“Take out his barrel.”

“I’m not Carlos Norman Hathcock II.”

I really wanted to ask who the hell that was, but Jerry was moaning up a storm and my impromptu prisoner Clems looked like he was about to make a run for it. Jerry was in trouble; the shot had been in the leg, but by the amount of blood, it looked like an artery had been hit. He had minutes. Tough to berate a kid that wanted to protect his girlfriend and was actively bleeding out, but I was pissed.

“Grimm, can you get a bead on the shooter?” He wasn’t the shot that Stenzel was, but he had a better angle, I hoped.

“He’s only got a pistol,” Stenzel reminded me. He might as well shoot it up in the air and see if it dropped down on our sniper for all the good that would do.

“Mr. T, the messenger is a dead end.”

Shit, this was going bad quickly.

Even if I sent Tommy to Collier’s room and they pulled Jerry up the same way I’d got down, they’d still need to come out. Plan B it was. “Grimm, drop the sheets. BT, Tommy, get behind the barracks; going to drop Jerry like a last-ditch fire rescue.”

“Mike, there are usually four people?” I could hear BT moving to get into position.

“Between the two of you, that’s like six people.”

“True,” BT answered.

It was five tense minutes. My gut was churning—felt like the victim of a home invasion, hiding in the closet, waiting for the police to show.

“We’re ready.”

“Harmon, you watch this piece of shit.” I put my gun away and picked up Jerry, who was nearly the shade of a fading sodium light.

I had him halfway out the window, looking down at the far too small sheet. He was with it enough to know he didn’t like this course of action any more than I did.

“Ready?”

BT was pulling his end tight. I let him go just as the sound of a gunshot was fired; I didn’t even get the chance to see if he landed unhurt—or any more hurt.

“He…he rushed me!” Autumn was standing, the gun smoking, her hand shaking. Clems, for his part, didn’t look like he’d tried to move, although he could have…might be the bullet centered between his eyes had deposited him back into his seat.

“Stenzel, get ready.” I picked up Clems’ headset. “He’s dead. You’re next.”

“Who the fuck is this?”

I always want to go with the typical movie quote, “Your worst nightmare,” or a derivative of it, but first, it only works if you get to see their expression and, secondly, with Jerry’s injury, it didn’t feel right. That, plus the shooter took the opportunity to shoot the living shit out of the room. I grabbed Autumn and dove to hide behind the bed. Glass broke out, light filtered in through new holes in the door, the walls were pocked. Six shots later, it stopped. I poked my head up; Clems had suffered collateral damage, a bullet tearing off a quarter of his head. Well, maybe we could blame the sniper for his death.

“You all right?” I asked a pissed off Harmon. A single shot was fired.

“He’s down,” Stenzel said coolly. “His spotter is standing up, surrendering. Shoot her?”

“No—right now, she’s our only link. And when did you become so hardcore?”

“He tried to hurt my commander, my friend, shot her boyfriend, and is part of a plot to destroy this base. I don’t think I’m out of line,” she replied.

“When you say it like that, I almost feel like you should shoot. Secure and get her down from there. Tommy?”

“Almost to the hospital…. It doesn’t look good.”

I stayed low to look out the window; saw a woman climbing down the ladder. Stenzel was approaching, her rifle trained on the spotter.

“All clear. Grimm, go help Stenzel round up the prisoner, bring her back to our base. I’m taking Autumn to the hospital.”

Jerry lived for another half an hour, long enough for Autumn to say her goodbyes; it was closure, but it wasn’t going to make the grieving process any easier. I brought her back to the Barrows, to, hopefully, a secure location where she could be around friends and away from the clutches of Deneaux.

“Who do we have here?” I asked after getting Autumn settled and coming back down to the first floor. There was a woman tied to a chair, didn’t look much past twenty-five. She had close-cropped brunette hair and an uncompromising attitude.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked like a drunk celebrity might during a roadside inebriation test.

Stenzel shrugged. “She had no ID.”

“Well, I guess we don’t, so why don’t you tell us,” I said, she clammed up. “Seriously, I don’t care. You just killed the friend of one of our own, and the clock is ticking on a base-busting bomb. You tell us what we need to know or I’m done with you.”

“Big words,” she spat.

“Do I look like a librarian to you?” I asked. “A bespectacled accountant perhaps? Maybe you don’t fear pain, or even death; that’s fine. You wouldn’t be the first. But don’t for a second believe I’m not dangerous.”

She was impressive. If she had fear of any kind, she didn’t let it show. By this point, my entire squad was on the first floor.

“She looks familiar.” Kirby was walking closer to her; she lunged, but being as she was tied to a chair, she couldn’t do much. “I don’t know her…seen her on base, though.”

That didn’t help; wasn’t like I’d expected they’d recruited some off-site personnel.

“Need you to think about it,” I told him if he’d seen her at the commissary or HQ, that made a big difference. I wanted to beat answers out of her, and I’d get over the distasteful part, but the odds were high she wouldn’t know much beyond what she’d been tasked to do. The chain of command had not stopped with the severing of Lieutenant Colonel Gadsen’s figurative head.

“BT.” I waved my second in command over out of earshot of our guest.

“Come on, man.” He turned his head and pushed his arms out after listening to what I wanted to do.

“It’s our insurance policy,” I told him.

“That’s like following the tornado so you know where it hits!”

He had a point. “I want you to hold down the fort. Tommy, come on.”

Our guest was watching; wasn’t like she had a bunch of other things to do.

“It must be your birthday! I’m going to get you a gift,” I told her. Maybe she didn’t show fear but she let confusion slip.

14

Mike Journal Entry 12

“Get out of my office!” Wassau was pissed.

“Sure. As soon as I get Deneaux.”

“Are you kidding me? You just want me to give up my prisoner?” he asked.

“Oh come on, don’t go getting sanctimonious on me now. You let me and my squad escape while taking her prisoner, now you’re going to draw a fucking line?”

He opened his desk and pulled out a half-full glass.

“Why’d you even put it there?”

“You do your stupid shit, I do mine,” he explained.

“Fair enough. Sorrens, tell him what you heard.”

“I already did.”

“And how is you taking her going to change that?” Wassau asked.

“If the wall blows up, will you shoot her?” I asked.

“Of course not.”

I didn’t say anything to that.

“You can’t just go around killing people, Captain.”

“This is war, Master Sergeant. Not only can I, the command actually prefers it. How many are going to die tomorrow if she does it?”

“It’s not going to happen, because she’ll die too.”

“Not likely. Sometime before that happens, she’s going to have her people storm this jailhouse and she’s going to be taken somewhere—my guess is off-base. If there is anything worth salvaging when the ashes settle, she’ll be here to pick through the ruins. I’m not letting that crone walk upon the skulls of the people she killed.”

Sorrens was nodding like an attentive parishioner agreeing with the gospel I was preaching. Wassau downed his drink in one go; my mouth was sweet-watering of its own accord as I watched. He grabbed the bottle and poured himself four fingers worth. Completely downed it again in one go.

“What the fuck, man?” It was like watching someone mainline Moxie; I couldn’t stop watching.

“Wow, feeling somewhat buzzed. Sergeant Sorrens, I’m going to take a little nap. Could you see that I’m not disturbed?”

“Let’s go, Captain. You need to leave. Go home; we’ll talk about this later.”

Wassau sighed. “Give it a second…it’s like watching an old radio tube heat up.” Wassau was heading for his couch.

“Oh,” Sorrens replied.

“Told you.” Wassau had his back to us as he lay down.

We walked out, he shut the door quietly. “You’re not going to punch me, are you?”

“I mean, I will if you want me to,” I told him.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Tommy said, effectively fist blocking me. “Why don’t you go get the Master Sergeant some lunch?”

“He already ate.”

Tommy kept looking at him.

“Oh yeah, lunch.”

“Sorrens!” I yelled as he opened the outer door. I had my hand out. It took him a second before he tossed the key. I went back to see my most favoritest person in the entire world.

“You come to take me up on my offer?” Deneaux seemed pleased as punch.

“You know, I’ve been practicing calling you Queen all day in the mirror; didn’t work. This is my alternate plan. Caught your message delivery service and your water tower safety valve, and all have been dealt with accordingly.”

She eyed me inquisitively. “I can’t tell if you’re lying or not.”

“That’s new. Do you think I randomly came up with the water tower part though?”

“If my message isn’t delivered, the wall goes.”

“See, that’s the thing. I completely believe you in that respect. That’s why I’m taking you home. I want to make sure you’re safe from becoming a zombie. And the only way I can assure that, is to kill you if the wall falls. Bang. Bullet straight to the head, close range. No witty retort?” She had me thinking when she didn’t respond. “Damn, that was close. You would have been better off sticking to your normal routine. Tommy.” I motioned with my hand for him to follow. I was as sure of my next words as I had been about the time I asked Tracy to marry me, so, roughly fifty/fifty. “This place is under surveillance.” I didn’t pose that as a question. “My gut tells me that if we try to leave with Deneaux, we catch a bullet. The only place that has a decent bead on the front is the closed cell phone store across the street. Think you can neutralize the threat?”

“Give me a couple of minutes.” He left quickly.

“Sure wish I’d thought to bring some tape.” I went back to the holding area.

Deneaux sat on her bunk and performed her ritual. I had to wonder if smoking summoned demons for her. If that was the case, she had an army. She’d smoked the entirety of the tobacco and maybe half the filter by the time I heard from Tommy.

“I’ve circled around; the door is unlocked,” he said through my headset.

“Is there a point to this, or are you just getting your rocks off watching me locked up?” Deneaux asked.

“Of all the ways I could get my rocks offs, I’d rather crush them in a vise than spend any more time with you.”

She slowly raised the middle finger on her cigarette-clad hand. I muted my microphone before I spoke. “I thought Eliza was going to be the worst enemy I’d ever encounter in this new world. I hated her like no other. Then you went and pulled a hold my beer moment. She, I understood; she was a product of her environment, a soulless vampire who had been abused by everyone around her…makes sense, right? But you, by the sounds of it, lived a life of privilege. It wasn’t merely greed with you, or even revenge. You jumped to the head of the line with avarice, this lust for power; it’s insatiable. You’d never be content with just running this base, that would merely be the beginning.”

“I’m inside,” Tommy interrupted. “No one is in the back room. A lot of nice phones, though.”

I wanted to ask him to grab a couple of dozen iPhones; I’d never been able to afford the new ones when they came out, I guess it was still a sticking point for me. If he got the phones, I was going to use them for target practice, a small way for me to show my discontent for the overpriced mobile device.

“Why are you always trying to save a world that has clearly shown it would rather go up in flames?” I wasn’t listening. “People want—they need—to be controlled. Most are barely above the apes you’ve all descended from.”

“As opposed to the lizards you’ve evolved from? Glad to see you’ve been sent down from on high to be our leader, to show us the error of our ways. I can’t imagine the road you would bring us down, that trembling path…it sure wouldn’t be a benevolent one. One misstep would bring dozens of your lemon troopers. I think had you ruled the world, Stalin would have bowed at your feet.”

She continued to smoke her cigarette. It was unusual to see her slightly reserved, like perhaps I was working my way through all her plots and sub-plots. Had I won? What were the odds that I had, indeed, snuffed all of her avenues? Slim, but maybe the ones still afforded her were of the slim-chances variety.

15

Tommy

Tommy walked out of the jailhouse acting as casually as he could. He strode purposefully up the street, as far away from any prying eyes as possible. He could tell he was being watched; as one who had been a predator for so unnaturally long, it came as second nature. How little did those expecting to pounce know that they were now the ones being hunted? He let the thought slip his mind as he went a block further than he figured he needed to and cut across an abandoned field. He was a blur as he ran past all manner of discarded car parts, including an abandoned engine block. He’d either stumbled across an auto graveyard or a dumping ground for unwanted chop-shop parts. He slowed long enough to pick up a car antenna.

He was at the rear of the store in under four minutes and radioed Mr. T of that fact. He was mildly surprised that the door was unlocked. It was an oversight, if someone was indeed inside. He was cautious as he entered; he needed to be. His quarry were likely trained military personnel and where he couldn’t die by most traditional methods, a bullet to the brain is a surefire way to stop any monster.

The back area was a disaster. Looters had pulled shelves over and stolen most of the stock. He had to pick his way slowly through the debris, not wanting to step on a phone case and give his position away. He could smell them: four people, three of them male. One hadn’t showered in days, another had sprayed on a body scent; it did little to cover the fear pheromones emanating from him. The swinging door to the front was closed. Tommy approached slowly to look through the small window. The woman was peeking through a knothole in the wooden plywood coverings, her rifleman next to her. Another operated the radio while the fourth, the nervous one, paced across the room.

“That was Talbot,” he’d said for seemingly the fifth time. If the responses from the group he was with were any indication.

“We get it, Fernandez. Stop your bellyaching. He’s a man, just like the rest of us,” the radio operator said. “My guess is he’s less manly than Dreller over there.” The woman didn’t turn from her position but gave him the finger.

“Hey Banner, let Nebula know our sitrep,” Dreller said.

“On it. Nebula…Nebula, this is Vapor. Repeat—this is Vapor.”

“This is Nebula, Vapor, go.”

“Nebula, Bandit and Pirate went in with Constellation, Pirate left on his own. Want to confirm our orders.”

“Vapor this is Nebula. Orders remain the same, out.”

“Shit, man! They want us to kill them? His men will be all over us!” Fernandez picked up his pace, kicking random items out of his way as he did so.

“They’re raiders, not wraiths,” Banner said.

“Little do they know.” Tommy had a lopsided grin. To look closely, though, one would have realized it carried no mirth within it.

“We only kill him if he has Deneaux. No way Wassau is going to let her go. He doesn’t want any more people killed,” Dreller said.

Tommy took a step back as the force of the words struck him. The only way Wassau could know people were going to get killed was if he was in on it. Is that why he downed nearly half a bottle of whiskey before giving his okay? Deneaux either had him in her magnetic grip or repulsive vise, either tended to put you in harm’s way. He could just as easily have told Mike what was going on; that he’d chosen not to was telling.

“I have to piss.” Fernandez was heading for the door, too close and moving too fast for Tommy to sufficiently hide. He stepped behind the swinging door. The room was dark enough and Fernandez was distracted enough, that he never noticed him.

“He’s gonna run,” the rifleman said.

“No way; I want in on that action. Six-pack says he comes back.” Banner stood to go and shake the other’s hand. “Got you now, Edmonds. He might be scared of Talbot, but he’s terrified of Deneaux. Where the fuck is he gonna go if he leaves us?” They shook, completing the bet.

Tommy followed Fernandez outside. The man, if he was going to run, had not done so yet as he fished in his pants for an appendage that appeared to want as little to do with this whole affair as the rest of him. Tommy used the car antenna like a switch, striking hard against the back of the man’s thighs. His leg gave way and he was in the middle of a cry when Tommy clamped a powerful hand over his mouth.

“Do you wish to live through the day?”

The man regained his senses after the initial pain and terror, and nodded.

“I’m going to remove my hand. You cry out, and I’ll snap your neck. Believe me?”

The man nodded again. Tommy eased his grip but kept his hand close in case.

“You…you’re pirate.” Fernandez had turned slightly.

“It would be a good day for you if that was all I was. I’m going to ask some questions. You answer quickly and truthfully and you can run away to whatever hiding spot you choose. We clear?”

Again, Fernandez nodded.

“Wassau. Is he in on it?”

The door to the back of the store slammed open. “You better still be here, Fernan…what the fuck?” Banner asked. “What are…”

Tommy shoved Fernandez hard against the wall, his face making first contact it made a sickening crunch sound as his facial bones broke.

Banner had let the door close behind him; it was then he realized his mistake, as Tommy lunged and swung; the tip of the antenna, moving at over a hundred miles an hour, sliced neatly through the side of his face and deep into his right eye. Blood began to pour forth before he could even get his hands up to protect the injury. Banner’s mouth opened in preparation for a scream; Tommy shoved the antenna as far into the opening as he could, only meeting resistance as he pressed into the back of the man’s esophagus then punching through. Gurgling cries for help tightly wrapped themselves around the thin piece of metal.

Tommy placed his hands against each side of the man’s head and, with a savage twist of his arms, snapped Banner’s neck. He spiraled to the ground, dead before he made contact. He went and checked on Fernandez.

“Tommy, what the hell is going on?” Mike asked as he left the cell area. “Is Wassau in on what?”

“I was going to ask, but it seems I may have pushed him too hard.” Cold, flat eyes stared back as he turned the body over. “Two down, two to go, and they’re here to make sure Deneaux doesn’t go anywhere.”

“Be careful.”

Tommy again made his way inside.

“Those two must be jerking each other off.” Dreller still had not moved.

Tommy had taken his pistol out; Edmonds stiffened as he saw the man come through the door. Tommy shook his head.

“We’ve got a problem,” Edmonds said to Dreller.

“What’s the matter? Banner and Fernandez decide to split their winnings?”

He tapped her shoulder and pointed.

“Son of a bitch.” She spun and was reaching for her weapon.

“Don’t,” Tommy warned. She did not heed his advice. He neatly placed a bullet in her sternum.

“That’s it?” she questioned then fell over. Edmonds, shaking, had his hands up in the air.

“Step away from your rifle.”

Edmonds did as he was told. He kept looking over Tommy’s shoulder.

“Banner and Fernandez aren’t coming to help, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Dead?” Edmonds asked.

Tommy did not reply.

“You fuck!” Edmonds made an effort to grab his rifle. Tommy’s bullet struck high up on the man’s shoulder and plunged into his scapula before making a ridge in his clavicle, exiting, then entering back in, midway up Edmond’s neck. Blood ran out like a plug had been pulled in a bathtub.

“Hearing some shots…you need help?” Mike asked.

“Taken care of. There’s a problem, though.”

“Tell me.” Mike was apprehensive.

“I tried to save two for questioning; it didn’t work out.”

“It didn’t work out? This isn’t like a fallen soufflé, Tommy.”

“I get that Mr. T, it just happened.”

“Alright, good job, come on back over. I want to get her out of here in case they send some people to investigate or there’s a shift change.”

“You mad?”

“You just saved my life. How could I be mad?”

16

Mike Journal Entry 13

I poked my head into the back area. “Be right back. Get your traveling shoes on.” I went into the front; thought I could hear light snoring coming from Wassau’s office. Grabbed a pair of handcuffs from a peg on the far side of the room. I went back and opened up Deneaux’s cell.

“You have no idea how this makes me feel inside. Like…let me think…a super Christmas. I’m eight; it’s Christmas Day, and I’m up at the North Pole celebrating with Santa. It’s just like that.” I wrenched her arms up and applied the cuffs.

“Is this necessary? What am I possibly going to do?”

“Necessary? No, I wouldn’t say that. Satisfying, yeah, that it fucking is. Stand up.”

I was heading for the door.

Wassau’s door opened up. “Talbot.”

Deneaux shot the man a look. Had her eyes been loaded, they would have sent him sprawling.

“Yeah.” I turned to him.

“Good luck.” He was shutting his door.

Deneaux was going toward the front on her own.

Wassau opened his door quickly and blurted out. “Aw, fuck it. Don’t go out there with her.”

“Huh?”

“Not another word,” Deneaux fairly hissed. “You know what’s at stake.”

“He might, I don’t have a clue,” I said.

“Then you should feel right at home,” Deneaux told me.

“She’s got people across the street.”

“You’re as good as dead,” Deneaux told Wassau.

“I’ve been dead for a long while now. Maybe it’s time to start living.”

“Philosophy won’t stop the blade that slices your neck,” Deneaux told him.

“Thank you for the heads up. We’re still heading out.”

“Did you not hear me?” he asked.

“I heard you fine and dandy; the threat’s been neutralized.”

Deneaux stiffened.

“Oh, it’s true, baby. You’re mine. And if you think Elmyra was tough on her pets, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

“Elmyra?” Tommy asked as he walked in.

“Didn’t you ever watch cartoons?” He shook his head. “Little girl?” His head was still shaking. “Loved her pets, squeezed the living hell out of them?”

“Mr. T, can we maybe agree on the fact I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“Seriously? Doesn’t everyone know about her? Normally that would make me feel old, you know, referencing things from my youth, but, well, you’re you and all. You sure we’re good?” I asked as he opened the door back up.

“Maybe lead with her,” Tommy told me.

“Comforting.” But I did just that. If someone was going to take a shot at me and potentially going to kill me, I was going to make it as difficult a shot as possible, and maybe luck would take her out as well. I shoved her ahead of me; her eyes went straight for the cell store. The Hummer was twenty feet away—felt like a mile and a half. I was reasonably certain there was not another gunman, but that’s something you want to be a hundred percent sure of, not just “reasonably.”

No red dots on my chest, no suppressed rounds fired into a wall near my head, no grenades lobbed nearby; so far so good. We got into the Hummer without anything untoward happening. I was about to start the vehicle when I had second thoughts.

“Any chance there’s a bomb underneath?” I was looking at Deneaux.

She looked incredibly pissed; that wouldn’t last long. She’d quickly go straight into salvage and save mode. Being blown up wasn’t part of her itinerary. We left without further incident.

Our guest looked like she’d swallowed one of Deneaux’s lit cigarettes when we brought the kingpin in.

“Oh, look, I think they’re friends,” I said when I witnessed the reaction. “Grimm, can you round up Rose for me?”

I pushed Deneaux into an office. “Your new home.” There was an old office chair that mice had rid of cushioning years previously and an industrial metal desk that would have made any inhabitant of Mother Russia proud. There was one small window, high up on the wall. Deneaux could potentially squeeze through, if she would indignantly lower herself to a common jailbreak.

“There’s no bed.”

“Sucks for you.” I undid one cuff and with some finagling, managed to get one attached to the frame of the desk and the body.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Don’t go anywhere.” I closed the door behind me as I left.

“You needed me, sir?” Rose looked like she’d just been awakened from a nap.

“We’ve got Deneaux.”

That perked her up.

“There’s a window.”

“Say no more.” She was excited.

“Could I maybe explain what I want?”

She nodded.

“I’d like….”

“A device rigged so that if she tries to go out or someone tries to come in, it explodes.”

“That’ll work.”

“I can also fit her with a vest that will explode if she leaves the area.”

“You can do that?”

“Advanced explosives 301.”

“Rose, if we ever have issues, could you let me know before it becomes a larger problem?”

“Relax, sir. I’ve only blown up two, no, three, of my commanders before, and they totally deserved it. I’ll have the room and her fixed up in a couple of hours.” She bolted back up the stairs. She had to sidestep Autumn, who was coming down. The young woman looked washed out; I knew that face all too well.

“She’s here?” Autumn asked.

“She is,” I told her.

“I’d like to see the woman that had my boyfriend killed.”

“I don’t think that’s wise, not right now.”

“Are you afraid I’ll kill her?”

“Not at all; I’m afraid what killing her might do to you.”

“She in there?” She was pointing to the door I was standing next to.

Tommy was watching me to see what I would do. I reached over and turned the knob.

“Changed your mind?” Deneaux asked.

Autumn strode purposefully over, pulled her hand back somewhere to Chicago and let it fly; the resounding smack echoed within the antechamber. Deneaux’s face immediately blossomed a fiery red.

Autumn bent down so that she was peering directly into the other woman’s eyes. She said nothing as she stood and walked past me. Deneaux looked to be in shock. Not sure how many had ever treated her that way, and of those few, how many were still alive?

“Bet that stings.” I closed the door.

By now, BT had come downstairs. “I realize you’re supposed to keep your enemies close, but I don’t think that's a literal thing.”

“I want back in,” Autumn expressed.

I looked to each member of the squad who was down there at the moment. Each nodded in turn.

“Done,” I told her.

“Thank you.” She headed back upstairs; wouldn’t doubt she was going to look for an ice pack for her hand. That slap hurt me, and I wasn’t even part of it.

“You get anything from her?” I was referring to our first prisoner.

Kirby shook his head. “She won’t even tell me if she likes ice cream.”

I didn’t want to know how that line of questioning came up. “Going to give you a lesson, Mystery Guest. This is the person you’re protecting.” I again opened the door. Deneaux flinched, maybe expecting another victim to exact a small measure of revenge. “I’ll get you a blanket if you tell me her name.”

“Lieutenant Sandra Peterson.”

“Kirby, go find me the most tattered, stinking, rat feces encrusted blanket you can.”

“On it.”

“So, Lieutenant Peterson, I’d like to say it’s nice to meet you, but I can’t. Which key information about you will she give up for a smoke?” I closed the door. Peterson sagged in her chair. “Oh, don’t take it too hard. She’s fucked over everyone in this room. Some, like myself, multiple times. It’s not even her second nature at this point; it's just who she is. You can sit there all silent and stoic until the end of time. Or for the next ten minutes, anyway, because I’m going to trade her one smoke for each name of someone you care about that she gives up. Right now, you’re thinking, ‘Oh, I’m fine, we never discussed things on a personal level, she doesn’t know anything, I’ve only ever met her at the Villain Conventions, and only in passing as we walked past the Torture Tools booth.’”

“The fuck is wrong with you?” BT whispered.

“Making a point. That point being, Lieutenant Peterson, she knows all the relevant things about you that she needs. Where to press, who to hurt to make you do things you wouldn’t necessarily or normally do. And again, you’re like, ‘Oh, but I’m doing this ill-advised incredibly stupid and just downright, fucking idiotic shit on my own! She doesn’t need to force me into anything!’ What happens, though, Lieutenant, is that sometimes some of her minions peek behind the curtain and see the flames and pestilence she spreads wherever she goes and they have reservations or concerns. Who knows? Maybe you’re into the Four Horsemen shit, maybe you starred on the My Strange Fetish TV show and would follow her to hell on the back of the train she’s conducting. That could be the case, I don’t know you. But if there’s anything resembling humanity in that shell of yours, eventually you would come to the realization that she’s a narcissistic, war-mongering piece of shit who would sell out anyone for even the most minimal of gains. At that point, she’ll pull out something to threaten you with. Still nothing?”

“Hard to believe there are people thicker than you, Talbot.” BT had sat down and was carving an apple into slices.

“I’ll admit, she’s taught me some hard lessons. Most were begrudgingly done. I’m telling you this, Peterson, this is the can of worms you opened, not me. And I don’t give two fucks that I have to get down to her level to accomplish what needs to be done. To kill a snake, you need to look down first. When I get those names, you can be assured I’m going after them.”

It was the first break in her stalwartness I’d seen since she’d been here.

“By my reckoning, you have eight minutes before her nicotine craving starts to motivate her into talking.”

“I need a cigarette!” Deneaux bellowed.

“Damn. My calculations were way off. I guess if you’ve been smoking since prohibition, you want your fucking stick when you want your fucking stick.” I went for the door handle.

“Wait.” She sagged. “What do you want to know?”

“I want to know where that bomb is.”

“Bomb?”

“BT, cut her throat. She doesn’t have what we need; we don’t need her.” I hoped BT understood this was a bluff, but he put his apple down and stood, taking a step toward her.

“Okay, okay…I don’t know exactly where it is.”

BT gave out an inaudible whew that she couldn’t see nor hear. “Can I finish my apple now?”

“What assurance do I have that once I give you what you want, you won’t just kill me?” All of her earlier impassive demeanor had melted away.

“You give us viable information, I will hand you over to Wassau. I’ll let a tribunal figure out your punishment.”

“That’s not going to do it. I’ll be convicted of treason. It’s a time of war; I’ll either be hanged or shot.”

“I’m not sure how many options you have, but what did you have in mind?”

“What did we talk about with you making deals with the enemy?” BT had just finished eating a slice.

“We shouldn’t do it.”

“And why?”

“Because they’re the enemy.”

He pointed the tip of the knife at me. “See, you can learn.”

“Well, you heard it from my gunny. No deals. You tell us because it’s the right thing to do or you die. Pretty straight forward. There’s always a chance you could plead coercion in the trial, but here? No such luck. In the Barrows, we are the law. Ooh, I just heard myself say that. Was that over the top?” I winced.

“A little, sir.” Kirby was standing there with one of Ben-Ben’s old blankets that he’d fear-peed on, numerous times.

“Let’s just say, if you die here and now, there isn’t going to be anyone that’s going to come looking for you or no one asking questions. Just another casualty in a war full of them.”

Peterson looked around for a reassuring face, did not find one.

“A fucking cigarette, Michael! I’m a prisoner of war, not a politician! You owe me my basic rights!”

“When did smoking become a basic right?” Grimm asked. “Is that part of the Geneva Convention?”

“Can I do the tick-tock thing, or is that overplayed?” I asked.

“Traveling toward the cringe,” Kirby replied. “And anyway, that’s more of the bad guy saying.”

“Just give her the blanket.”

He opened the door and tossed it in. I caught a glimpse as the smelly material wrapped around her head. I was going to give him a promotion for that.

“Tommy, can I have the pack?” He fished them out of his pocket and tossed it over.

I knocked one out and headed for the door, Peterson intently watching me. I presented the cigarette to Deneaux like a hand model might show off a new bottle of lotion, replete with all the flourishes.

“Are you going to hand it over or are you planning on remaining an idiot?” she asked.

“Can you imagine how mean she’ll be in another hour?” BT was finishing up his apple, he did not look up when he spoke.

“One name, Deneaux. Just need one name that Peterson over there cares for.”

Deneaux fervently looked from the cigarette to Peterson. I seem to recall her licking her lips, but that may have been my wishful and biased imagination.

“There’s a Sergeant Castillo in supply; it’s her cousin.”

I walked in and handed it to her, even lit it before walking out.

“You fucking bitch!” Peterson shouted before I could get the door shut.

“Grimm, Kirby, Staff Sergeant Van Goth, I want this Castillo here. Gear up, use any necessary force.”

“She’s got nothing to do with this!” Peterson said.

“She does now.”

“She sold me out for a fucking cigarette.”

“To be fair, she equates them with gold,” I told her.

“Stop them and I’ll tell you.”

I nodded to Tommy. He finished buckling his tactical harness but didn’t head for the door.

“Why didn’t you just get it from her?” She was stalling; for what reason I didn’t know. Maybe she thought she was betraying whatever cause she believed in and couldn’t bring herself to admit it.

“She’d never tell me, might be the only leverage she still has.”

“Look, I don’t know exactly where it is. I wasn’t on the demolition team, but I know the quadrant.”

“I don’t know how many more precious seconds you can squeeze out of me. Once I send my team out for your cousin, I’m not calling them back.”

“All right! Fine!” she shouted. “It’s here. It’s in the Barrows somewhere!”

“You pathetic little fool,” drifted out from Deneaux’s room.

“Of course it is. Why wouldn’t Deneaux have the zombies flood this area first?”

“The Barrows is six blocks, Mike. It could be anywhere,” BT said.

“Michael, could you open the door, please?”

“What do you want?” I asked a pleased as punch Deneaux.

“The bomb is being watched. It can be remote-detonated, and it’s tamper-proof. I would hate to see anything happen to any of your team, should they head out and try and find it.” She wrapped her dry, pruned lips around the butt. It was so quiet in there, I could hear the sizzle of the tobacco and formaldehyde as they burned. I let a hand rest on the pommel of my weapon, it would be so easy. Kill her. Deal with the fall out as it happened.

“Oh, and Peterson, I sure do hope nothing happens to those you love,” Deneaux cackled. I slammed the door shut, unable to stop the disturbing airwaves from carrying her discordant laugh.

“Kirby, I want the shittiest music you can find pumped into that room twenty-four seven.”

“Music or bullets?”

“Just music,” I told him.

“What do you want to do with her?” BT pointed his knife toward Peterson.

“Cuff her to Deneaux.”

“You can’t do that!”

“This isn’t a Super Max facility; we’re not set up for prisoners.” I nodded to BT.

“And my cousin?”

“I’m not going to do anything; doesn’t mean Deneaux’s people won’t,” I told her.

“You’re an asshole!” There was venom in her voice.

“That might be true, but I’m not the one that shot a kid trying to protect his girlfriend. Or aligned myself with someone that threatens to blow a hole in one of the last bastions of civilization. So, yeah, I might be an asshole, but what’s that make you? Get her out of my face.”

Grimm got her free from the chair; if she had any fight left in her, she didn’t use it yet. With luck she would summon it all up to beat on Deneaux.

I was contemplating sending a team out for recon, see if they could find a spotter, when Stenzel told us that a vehicle was approaching.

“It’s Bennington’s driver.”

“Was wondering when he was going to come calling,” I said as myself and BT headed out the door.

“Captain, the colonel would like to see you.”

“In what capacity?”

“Sir?” the corporal asked.

“He’s trying to figure out if you’re here to arrest him. He gets that a lot,” BT clarified.

“I uh…arrested? I’m just supposed to pick you up.”

“Be right with you.” I pulled BT a couple of steps away. “I’m keeping my headset. If you hear it get removed, come get me. Or…I’ll use a code word if I get in trouble.”

“If?”

“You know what I mean.”

“What’s the code word, then?”

“Why don’t we go with fuck me.”

“Why don’t we just come with you now is what you mean, because you say that a dozen times a day.”

“He’s right, sir,” my lookout from on high added.

“Supposed to get some weather tonight, Stenzel, hope you enjoy your watch in the rain.”

That quieted her quick.

“Let’s use something you would never say.” BT was thinking. “I don’t know what the hell that would be, because you say whatever comes to mind, regardless of whether it makes sense or not.”

I could hear Stenzel laugh.

“How about: ‘I would love a piece of ham,’” I said, wanting to get out of this conversation quickly.

“Oh, that doesn’t sound code-wordy at all. He’s going to be talking about all the stupid shit you’ve done and how he should lock you up and throw away the key, and suddenly you’re going to spew out, ‘Why yes, sir, I would love a piece of ham.’”

“You don’t know. What if he offers me a final meal before I’m tossed away?” I left the earpiece in, placed the throat mic in my front breast pocket.

“Be safe, man.” BT clapped my shoulder. “You know we have your back if anything happens. Plus, it gets me farther away from Deneaux. Just having her here makes my skin crawl.

Ten minutes later I was at Bennington’s. Waited for another thirty while there was a meeting going on; soon, a swing band’s worth of brass filed out. It looked like the party was only for Majors and up.

“Sorry about that,” he said as he ushered me in. “If I knew you were going to come so quickly, I would have scheduled that meeting for later.”

“Sir.” I remained standing.

“You seem nervous, Captain.”

“Lot going on.”

“I might be able to ease your mind for the moment. Sit.”

“Has he offered you ham yet?” BT asked.

I wanted to tell BT to fuck off, but Bennington was eyeing me intently. I sat.

“Where’s Deneaux? Is she still alive?”

“Right to the point. She’s still alive, but only because she has that bomb placed somewhere.”

“You believe her?”

“I do.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“Roughly. It’s in the Barrows.”

“That’s a lot of roughly.”

“She’ll never pinpoint it for me. I’d be compelled to kill her then.”

“Wassau turned himself in.”

“For what? Coercion isn’t a chargeable offense.”

“He thinks it is.”

“Can we protect whoever she was going to harm to get to him?”

“No need; he died over a year ago.”

“Come again?” I asked.

“She found out about his lifestyle and threatened to go public with it.”

“How does that even matter—especially now?”

“This is still the military. I’m rather surprised you’re not angrier at the entire situation, considering it was your life on the line.”

“I was never in danger; the threat had been taken care of.”

“But he didn’t know that, and what if you hadn’t?”

“Too many what-ifs, sir. If you brought me down here to see if I’m going to press charges, you can let him go. He’s a good man.”

“You’ll have to talk to him first, but no, that’s not why I brought you down here. I’m finding out as I go along that Deneaux’s reach was much broader than I had initially thought. It’s difficult to realize just how widespread the cancer has grown. But I have an idea about how to root it out and destroy it.” He walked over to his closet and pulled out the wheelchair he’d first been sitting in when I met him. I’d mistakenly thought he did not have the use of his legs back then; come to find out it had just been a flaring case of sciatica. Having once suffered through it myself, I understood.

“Sir?”

“I’m going to step down. Health concerns. That will be the official reason when I hand the reins over to the civilian board.”

“Have you lost your mind?” I stood quickly. “Not only are we in the middle of an ongoing war, but you’re also talking about putting Deneaux in charge? I can’t think of a worse time—or even a better time—you could do something like that.”

“What if I told you I had a plan?”

“How’s that feel, Talbot? Someone telling you that they have a plan. Intimidating? Does it make you jealous that it can be done?” BT asked.

“Blow me,” I coughed.

“Excuse me?” the colonel asked.

“Sorry, sir…I’ve got this stupid tickle in my ear.”

“Tell your gunny I said hello.”

“You knew?”

“I know now. Can’t be too careful these days; I wouldn’t expect you to not be in contact with your unit, and you seem to have a special relationship with him. Didn’t take much deducing.”

“In that case,” I pulled the mic out, “blow me,” I said much more clearly.

“Can we perhaps get going on this? I have a lot to do in a relatively short amount of time.”

“If you do this, who are you going to trust to take it back? I mean, I would imagine you plan on getting back in charge, right? And who else knows about this insanity?”

“Glad you like what you’ve heard so far.”

“So much for plans,” I said as much to him as to BT.

“As for my officers, there aren’t any people I trust more than you and Majors Overland, Eastman, and Dylan.”

“What are you going to do, sir, if you yield and we’re not enough to wrest control back?”

“Then I’ve already lost, haven’t I?” He had a wry smile on his face. “And I still might have a trick or two up my sleeve.”

“Just throwing this out there, but what if once Deneaux is in control, she orders the deaths of all those opposed to her? You know, a tightening of grip on her rule kind of thing.”

“I don’t believe her to be in that position. She may have people on her side, but mass executions aren’t something she would be able to pull off without serious ramifications.”

“I think you're underestimating the lengths she would go to solidify her power.”

“It’s a chance we’ll have to take.”

I didn’t agree. One doesn’t give a murderer a rifle to see which direction they will aim. I was about to argue my point when he handed me a folder marked with the words “Top Secret.” I opened it to discover a stack of satellite photos of the base and the surrounding area. Could clearly see the zombie horde encircling the base, but what was different were the columns leading away; it looked like a spreading infection might, under a microscope.

“What am I looking at? Are they leaving?”

“When the first picture was taken, that was exactly what we thought. That perhaps with the semi-authorized killing of Dewey…” He paused to look at me sternly. I did not and would not ever feel bad about doing that, and it clearly showed in the passive way I stared back at him. “I’ve watched generals turn away under the heat of that gaze; either I’m losing my touch, or you just don’t care.”

“Too stupid to acknowledge,” BT whispered in my ear.

“I hate you, man.”

Bennington paused.

“Sorry, sir, my gunny has decided he wants to peel potatoes with a rusty nail until the end of time.”

“Can I continue? Or does the gunny need to whisper another sweet nothing?”

“Sorry.” I switched it off.

“So, at first, we thought that without a cohesive leader, that they were beginning to drift off and that was the reason we weren’t getting coordinated attacks. We thought soon the rest would become hungry and leave as well.”

“Not the case, I take it?”

“They’ve sent out runners. They’re amassing in numbers we didn’t even think possible.” He pulled out shots from nearby cities showing large black blobs of the undead. “We’ve tracked some of them into Oregon, California, Idaho…it might singularly be the largest horde this planet has or will ever know. Could be well over half a million zombies by the time they all get here.”

I was looking at him and then the photos. “You’re going to abandon the base; that’s why you’re giving it to Deneaux.”

“I believe that the zombies aren’t going to make a move until they have these numbers; it’s almost like they want to prove that they can amass like this. Whoever is leading them is into grand gestures.”

“If you have this information then so does Deneaux; she’ll know you’re setting up a trap.”

“I’m the only one with these pictures and the satellite device. She has no way of knowing. Keep Deneaux where she is for now. I have a way for you to get your people out when the time comes.”

“And the rest?”

“We will save who we can, Captain, but this is still a war we are fighting on two fronts. One enemy wears a uniform of dead skin, making them easily distinguishable; the other blends in.”

“There are over three thousand people here, Colonel. Most are just trying to go on with their lives as best they can and don’t have any idea of the underlying intrigue happening. We can’t just leave them to the whims of the maniacal or the teeth of the zombies.”

“I realize this.”

“And that kind of mass evacuation? It isn’t going to go unnoticed.”

“I realize that too.”

He wasn’t very forthcoming with his information, and the reason was right there in front of me. He had no intention of saving the civilians. He couldn’t. We couldn’t fight the zombies; there were entirely too many. He was pulling his military out, and everyone else was on their own. I was reeling; my head was swimming with the ramifications of what he wasn’t saying.

“I—” I had to stop and collect my thoughts. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“Whether I’m in charge or Deneaux is, that horde can’t be stopped. We have a few weeks, perhaps a month, before they have amassed. Once they’ve tightened the cordon around the base, no one will get out; no one will survive. Deneaux’s influence has a long reach, and we have no way of knowing who sides with her. The more people we tell, the more likely she finds out.”

“You’re talking about what? Saving ten percent? Less?”

His mouth stayed tightly closed. It was an impossible situation: leave the undefended behind or motherfucking again align myself with Deneaux, who would fight tooth and claw. Sure, I knew it would only be to save her own ass, but the desired outcome, in this case, was the same.

“You’re not planning on doing anything rash, are you?” The colonel must have been able to see it in my eyes.

“More rash than letting the majority of the base perish? No, I don’t think I’ll be doing anything quite that rash.”

“I don’t believe you quite understand what is happening here.”

“At its ideal, the role of the military is to protect its citizens. I realize, in our history, there have been some cloudy conflicts, some waged for less than patriotic reasons. But the underlying reason has always been to protect the lives of our people and our way of life.”

“There’s a precedence here, Captain.”

“Oh, do tell. Please inform the ignorant grunt with some verbal grandiosity.”

“The Constitution does not impose a general duty upon the police or other government officials to protect individual persons from harm, even when they know harm will occur.”

“Will the sound of those words drown out the screams of the people being slaughtered when you try to sleep?”

The colonel said nothing. I was wracking my brain, trying to make sure this was not a depthless sinkhole we went down. I’d heard that statement; I understood it to a degree, even if I didn’t wholeheartedly agree. Where it took a sour turn was at the end of that statement, which the colonel had cleverly omitted.

“You do know that ruling also goes on to state that the government only has a duty to protect persons in custody, right? I remember when I first came across that; I was, like, well isn’t that shitty. Screw the victim—they’re on their own—but oh, the douche-nozzle criminal they caught is completely protected. Kind of the standard, back in the day, wouldn’t you say? Criminals always seemed to have more rights. But let me back away from that anger-inducing area. The people here, behind a steel wall we built, I would go so far as to say they are under our custody. How about you?”

“This has always been a military installation, first and foremost. A place to strike out and defeat our enemy when the chance arose. If we try to save everyone, we will lose everything.”

“I…I can’t have this conversation. Your mind is made up. I’m just here so you can try and convince me.”

“I can order you.”

“I mean, you could. No one or nothing stopping you from ordering me.”

“Take this before you leave. Share it with those you trust, then burn it.” He reached into his desk, grabbed a manilla folder, again stamped with bold red lettering, Top Secret. He stood and handed it over.

I think I only took it due to the reflexive action of grabbing something because it was being offered. I thought about not accepting, or maybe taking it and dropping it back down on his desk and telling him to stuff it in an orifice of his choice. In the end, I clutched it like a newborn will its parent’s finger, having absolutely no idea what it was doing, only that it was hard-wired in its mind to do so.

“You all right, Captain?” my driver asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I’d since tucked the folder away and wanted to tell him, 'Yeah, I’ve seen ghosts, plenty of them.’ They were all around us; they just didn’t know they were spectral quite yet.

The driver dropped me off. In my mic, I told my squad to meet me on the main floor in five. Kirby and Rose were grinning like Cheshire cats when I came inside.

“Going to love this, sir,” Kirby said, pulling out a small remote. He pressed a button, and the theme song to a famous purple dinosaur roiled out from Deneaux’s door.

“That’s pretty cruel and unusual punishment. I love it.” BT had come downstairs.

“I also have a remote, but mine makes a much louder sound. Deneaux is wired to a proximity vest. She tries to leave this area, boom. She pisses me off, boom. She tries to take it off…”

“Boom. Yeah, we get it,” Kirby told her.

“You look like shit, Mike,” Gary said.

“We’ve got a problem.” I spent the next half hour laying it out.

EPILOGUE - OBSERVATIONS

“I’ve got another theory about women. Or, I guess more of an insight.” I cocked my head, thinking. “Definitely insight.”

“Great. I’ve been wondering when I would get treated to another one of your fantastical observations,” BT sighed.

“Hear me out,” I told him.

“You always say that, and you always pull this intuition shit when I can’t get away.”

“We’re on guard duty; what the hell else are you going to do?”

“Enjoy the night in silence would be my first choice.”

“Like that’s going to happen,” I told him.

“You are an exhausting human being. The more time I spend with you, the more I try and figure out how Tracy does it. Were you by any chance the black sheep of your family?”

“Eyebrows,” I countered.

“Eyebrows. Really? That’s your opening salvo? I notice you didn’t answer my question. Oh, get on with yourself. You’re practically humming with the want to tell me.”

“I’ve got another theory about why women get so mad sometimes.”

“Is this all women or, more specifically, women that know you? Because I have a theory myself about the latter.”

“Don’t ruin this for me,” I told him.

“Go on, Descartes.”

“More like it,” I muttered.

“Although, I’m pretty sure he never covered eyebrows.”

“Maybe he should have. So, I’m in the bathroom.”

“Mike, you know I hate when you start stories like this. They invariably go sideways in a hurry and then I have the unenviable task of trying to scrub the imagery from my mind.”

“It’s not like that. I was shaving.”

“What were you shaving?”

“My face, you sick bastard! Razor burn on your junk is no joke. And besides, I wouldn’t tell you about that anyway.”

“You just did.” He sighed again.

“And oh man, when you cut yourself…ooohh eee! You should see the blood.”

“Mike!”

“Dude, keep it down; we’re on guard duty. The idea is to see the enemy before they see us. And maybe let’s lay off the junk talk. I think my sister would be seriously upset to know what goes on in your mind.”

“Your sister makes these kale chips—utterly disgusting. Singularly the most horrid thing I’ve eaten in my life, and right now, I’d rather be on my couch eating those by the handful than listen to anything else that you’re about to spew forth from your mouth.”

“You eat those? She gave me a bag…I thought they were coasters. Dropped one once, Chloe grabbed it brought it outside and peed on it. I think she wanted to make sure it was dead.”

“Coasters, that makes sense. Mike, I chew and chew those things, they, umm, they come out about the same way they went in. Like they re-construct in my stomach.”

“Like food terminators?”

“What?”

“Don’t you remember that terminator that looked like liquid silver when it was injured? It would re-form itself. Pretty cool special effects for the time.”

“And now I have that with me for the rest of my life.”

“You started it.”

BT paused for a moment. “Fuck if I didn’t. Hurry up and finish this.”

“What the hell was I talking about?”

“If I don’t tell you, can we move on to the peace and quiet phase?”

“Not a chance. I have this weird rash I’d like you to take a look at.”

“Eyebrows, you were talking about eyebrows.”

“Right, right. So, I’m shaving the other night and I look at my eyebrows and I got one or two hairs just kind of doing their own thing like they can’t get in step with the rest. Rebels, anarchists, really.”

“I wonder where they got that from,” BT interjected.

I ignored his jibe. “So, I’m holding the razor thinking I can take care of that, and, when I looked down, I saw a pair of tweezers.”

“Back to the tweezers again. I think you have an unhealthy fascination with them.”

I ignored him again, although he was starting to affect the flow of my narrative. I frowned at him, but it was entirely too dark for him to see it.

“I grabbed the tweezers, which I’m not overly fond of, by the way. Firmly grasped one errant hair and pulled. BT, hand to God, I felt like a lightning bolt had struck me. I dropped the tweezers and was hopping around the bathroom like a chicken on a hotplate.”

“Now, see, that’s funny because that is exactly how you dance. I never really had an accurate description for it until now.”

“Dude, I’m not kidding you. It was like my entire body became one giant, enflamed, exposed nerve ending. You ever watch a woman do it? No problem. They sit there for like a half an hour and pull out dozens of the fucking things. It’s savage what they put themselves through, and I think they subsequently turn it on us. I’d be fucking ripped at the world if I had to keep yanking those things out by the roots. I told Tracy, she said I was being a big baby. I’m thinking I might add some extra therapy in to cope with the entire ordeal; definitely going to have to drink more.”

“Like you need a reason to drink more.”

“It was my daughter, Nicole.”

“I know who your daughter is; she’s going to be my niece soon.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me of that. I hope you don’t take that wrong—I love that we are going to be family officially; I mean, I already consider you a brother, but you know, it’s my sister.”

“Love you too, buddy.” He hugged my shoulder and shook me about. “What did my niece say? The girl who will be babysitting your sister’s and my love child?”

“Ass. Anyway, she said beauty is pain. Gotta tell you, being a guy and not caring about that other crap, yeah, I think we lucked out. Funny. If you think about it, women spend hour upon hour fixing themselves up and then are pissed if we don’t notice every tiny detail, but then we get a blanket free pass from them when we haven’t spent more than five minutes getting ready.”

“Are you done now?”

“I think I made my point.”

“Good, they’re coming.”

“Shit.”

About the Author

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