Oregonaut tells a story. [TRIGGER WARNING: MATURE THEMES]

[Oregonaut]

"Now, that was just plain rude." I admonish the zombies. "I was having a lovely conversation with them, and you go shoving them off the cliff. Quite rude, I say, quite rude." Chuckling to myself, I keep whittling away at the wood. Hours pass by, nothing but moaning, shuffling, and the splat of zombies finding that flying is not one of their strong suits. It is quite dark by the time that I finish shaving the bark off, and with the dark comes the cold.

Putting my knife away, I stand up and stretch tired limbs to keep awake. The herd has thinned itself out quite admirably. I could hear them moaning, and following me, even in the dark. I didn't walk more than a few paces in either direction, with damn near no light, and my poor sense of direction walking very far was asking for trouble. So I contented myself with moving back to my tree and pulling out my tin of chocolate. "Emergency supply stocking lesson number one," I hear his voice as clear as day, "Chocolate. Chocolate. Chocolate. It is calories, empty, yes, but calories. More importantly, it is mental health. Chocolate makes you happy. Why? Fuck if you know, fuck if you care. Chocolate makes you happy. It puts something in your stomach, and since you're going to be lost in the damn woods anyway, you'll burn off the calories you gain. Since I know you are so worried about your waist lines, you don't need to worry about getting fat. Except you. You'll always be tubby."

Damn he was an asshole. Still burns me thinking about it. He was always an asshole to me. Every fucking time he could, he busted my ass. Every mistake, every detail, every nuance. He had me stone cold on everything. I couldn't beat him at anything. I couldn't best him. Make fun of my damn weight. I was still growing. I was still young. A sigh escaped me. And he was always right. Not "always right", but always fucking correct. He pushed me harder than I've ever been pushed. He didn't cajole, he didn't prompt, he didn't encourage... No, motherfucker motivated me. The only way I'd ever been able to be motivated. He pushed every button I had, and many I didn't know I had. He didn't bother tearing me down. I did it to myself.

Now, I just wish I could thank him for it. Wrapping my arms around myself to ward off the chill, I laid my head back against the tree. Wherever you are man...I hope you're proud of me. Damn white boy did what my father couldn't. Taught me to respect myself. Taught me to discipline myself. Taught me to sleep in a fuckin' tree. Another sigh. I needed to get some sleep. Up I climbed. Until I was far enough up that I couldn't be reached by Andre the Giant. Buckling my belt around the tree limb, and attaching it to my body, I was asleep as soon as I got comfortable in the boughs of some damn sappy tree.

[Oregonaut]

Chapter 6: Breakfast.

The sound of the branch creaking pulled me out of sleep. The sound of the branch cracking caused me to startle. The startling effect of the branch cracking caused the branch to break. The sound of the branch breaking was muffled under the oppressive weight of the full demonstration of my rather colorful vocabulary. I grabbed desperately at a nearby branch as the one I rested upon dropped from beneath me, barely grabbing onto it with one hand. The problem from here was made manifest fully by the simple fact that I had attached myself to the previous branch, and my one arm was not quite enough to defy gravity's pull. Several branches, and more than a few painful impacts, later I landed on the ground under the tree branch attached near my junk by my belt. My wakefullness now complete, I began extracting myself with more swearing than was probably necessary.

As I pulled myself to my feet, I stopped in mid-motion. Frantically I looked around, feeling something was wrong...nothing. Nothing was what was wrong. Some time during the night, all the zombies had gone away. Rolling over to grab my staff, I made my way carefully to the chasm and looked down. Corpses littered the base of the chasm. Impaled on sharp rocks, or broken tree stumps, or simply crushed after having fallen to the bottom. Nothing appeared to be moving, but the vast herd that I remembered from the day before simply wasn't all down there.

I checked my immediate area, but without being able to get to the other side I couldn't check the tracks they would have left to see where, how many, and every other little detail that is important when one is talking about more zombies than can comfortably be counted. Walking over and laying down the branch I had attached myself to in an obvious manner so that I could find it once I was on the other side of the chasm, I flipped a rock and let it choose which direction I headed off in. Right. Off we go.

Leaning on my staff as a walking stick, I started off hoping that I didn't just choose the "long" way. I kept to the rim of the chasm, one less direction I had to worry about being attacked from, but one less direction in which I could run if I was attacked. Better to not lose sight of it though. I needed to find my branch to find my way home. Commander Whitten wouldn't send out a search party, not with an unknown number of zombies chasing after me. It'd be reckless, suicidal, and stupid. None of those described her.

[Oregonaut]

Half a day walking, and more than a few worms eaten later, it became increasingly apparent that this was the Grand Canyon in disguise. "How fucking long is this thing?", I muttered to myself. It hadn't narrowed down, it hadn't gotten any wider either. The strange thing is, I can't remember there ever being a chasm this size here. I don't know this place like Alvarez does, but I would have remembered this. Kind of hard to miss. I didn't want to uproot another tree, and I knew damn well my long jump wasn't that long. I might have to start thinking about climbing down and back up... No. No, no, no. This can't be eternal, there has to be an end, and that's just stupid.

I stepped it up to a jog, as I was losing daylight, and did not want to be caught out in the dark with no climbable trees around. Crossing my staff in front of me like a guidon, I started mentally singing jodies to pass the time. Keeping my head on a swivel, it was honestly eerie to contemplate the entire scene. There was no noise, no motion, nothing but the rhytmic thump-thump-thump of my boots, and my controlled breathing. After an hour I spotted a small pond, and decided to fill my canteen while I had the opportunity.

Drinking the rest of my canteen, then filling it from the pond, I dropped in a Troclosene Sodium tab and a Potassium Iodide tab, then closed the lid. We haven't been able to test the effectiveness against the plague, but it was the best I could do to sanitize the water. Tasted horrid, but at least I'd not die of thirst. As I was shaking the canteen to mix around the solution, I heard a twig snap behind me. Dropping my canteen and spinning around...nothing. I picked up my canteen and reattached it to my belt, slowly, then started moving back towards the chasm. I kept moving slowly, constantly checking my steps, blindspots, staying away from trees and giving myself plenty of room.

Every step I took sounded like a fireworks display in my head. Every breath a tempest. As I reached the rim of the canyon, I heard another twig pop. This time I caught a glimpse- Human? It was off and running, occasionally dropping to all fours in its haste to get away from me. Just as I was about to call after it I remembered something McDonnal said about his trip over to home base...feral humans. You'd think it would have taken longer for some people to snap, but in the right circumstances, it only took a few weeks. They survived by regressing to an almost primal state. Constantly afraid, very aggressive, and very dangerous. Almost moreso than the zombies, because they thought. They planned. They laid traps.

Shit. They laid traps.

[Oregonaut]

Fear of spending a few hours strung up in a tree while I regained consciousness, my memory of some of the more effective snares he taught me painfully vibrant in my mind, slowed me back down to a walk. I probed the area ahead of me with my walking staff, kept my eyes on the move, looking for things that seemed too orderly, or overly chaotic, or out of place... Any thought I had of walking once I lost what little light was left was now gone. Under optimal conditions, my night vision was poor. With the sky almost permanently blotted out anymore, my night vision was best termed "pathetic".

I kept moving as I thought of what to do. I couldn't feel safe enough to sleep in trees anymore. Feral humans were still human and could climb as well as , or better than, I could. I meandered closer to the cliff's edge, and started looking for signs of it narrowing, or closing, or shrinking, or just turning purplish-magenta...anything that would indicate I hadn't been wasting my time. After a few paces, I saw a little outcropping about four feet down on one side. About three feet at its widest, it seemed long enough to fit me...

I stopped by the lip of the chasm, laid down on my stomach and pushed on the outcropping below with my staff. Probing in various spots, checking for stability, I noticed that the ground seemed worn smooth. Almost worn, compared to the rest of the ground around it. As I was kneeling up to look for more tracks, I had just enough warning to turn and roll away from where I knelt as a small flying bundle of ragged clothing, fists and kicks came lunging at me. Caught off guard, by my own carelessness, all I could do for the first few breaths was attempt to extract myself. In my own defense, I likely wouldn't have done next what I did, had I not been bitten.

After I felt teeth on my forearm, all restraint slipped away. I didn't care that I was fighting what appeared to be a small child. I didn't care that I was likely invading its home. I didn't care that I could have captured, or restrained, the small one. My mind needed to put the threat down. Now. As it gripped my arm with its two hands, it gnawed at my arm with sharp, broken teeth. I rolled backwards, gaining my feet, and through that leverage, with leverage came strength. I lifted the small one up, and brought it down violently onto my knee. Once contact was made, I felt all fight leave the small form. It lay there, very still, eye's bugged out, gasping for air. Air that wouldn't come. My knee had struck the tiny form directly in the sternum, shattering several ribs, and ruining his lungs. Asphyxiation came swiftly, fatigue, and malnutrition taking their toll, as sure as my strike had.

I dropped to my knees next to the boy, and instantly regretted losing control. I tried to comfort him in his last moments on Earth, but I didn't know how. A small, fragile, life's candle guttered in front of me, and I was helpless to prevent the death I caused. He was gone. Dead. I... Grave. I needed to bury him. A proper burial. I couldn't sleep, this would give me something to do. Yes. Needed to be doing. If I'm doing... Dig. Unthinking, I pulled out my shovel and started a hole. The hilarious thing about military training is that even though we don't ever use trenches anymore, we still know how to dig them. We still train. Why? Because you never know when you need a hole. Can't just dig four feet and call it a trench, you need walls, grenade sumps, a firm base, ladder walks...

I had to dig.

[Oregonaut]

The digging was catharsis. It was work. It was something to do without stopping to think. To think what I had just done. The ground was reasonably soft, for being so close to the chasm. I had expected sandstone, or granite, or lime, but it was just hard-packed earth. The same litany of faces as always swam in front of my face. The people I had killed. The lives I had ended. Never once in cold blood. Never in a rage. Always on automatic, always in defense.

"Hurts. Doesn't it." I could hear him from behind me. Standing over the body.

"You're not real." It was the only answer I had.

"Are any of us? I mean, really. You know as well as anyone how fleeting all of this is. You've sat and stared death in the face, how many times now? Rode shotgun on a pop-n-go? Extracted HVTs, infil, exfil, WITs? How many airfields? How many control points? How many wounded?"

"No. You're not real, I'm not talking to you."

"That's fine." His voice was dismissive, casual. "I'll talk to you. You'll listen, because it's either that or you stick your fingers in your ears and la la la me away." No shuffling, no foot steps, but there he was, sitting down, toying with the dirt I had emptied from the grave. "It hurts. It hurts bad. You replay everything, in perfect twenty twenty clarity. You were testing that little cliff ledge. You were making sure it was safe for you. You were surviving, as you were trained to do. You were keeping the military's investment safe, as you were trained to do. You were doing your job, as you were trained to do. You were not the aggressor, but, and this here's the big one, but, you were the one in control. Little guy like this, couldn't hurt you if he tried. Just startled you. Surprised you. Snuck up on you because you were listening for the heavy treads. The footfalls of a grown person. You never thought to listen for the little shuffle-shuffle of tiny feet. We adults make the big noise. The little ones, they're non-com. No one ever allows kids to fight. The kids, they just fade away into the background during combat. Who'd allow them to be hurt, eh?"

"Stop."

"Why? So you can go back into your little box? Into your illusion of safety? So you can pretend it's all normal again? That everything's going to turn around and the world's going to just magically heal? That those fine folks at Valve and Capcom will just write all the kids out of the story, like every zombie shooter ever? That all of this video game violence you're now living will be just some charming tale?"

"Stop, please."

"That's not going to happen, and you know it."

"STOP!" I swung at him with my trench tool. Of course, he wasn't there, he was standing by the kid again.

"Seriously? Now you're going to attack your friends?" He started to slow clap at me. "Well done. Let's blame others for our mistakes. That makes everything better, doesn't it? Just fine and Jim Dandy. Tell you what, snookums, would you like me to hold your hand and tell you that it's not your fault? Would you like the voices in your head to lie to you? I can do that. If you really want me to." The look of disgust on his face was all that I remembered and more. "You. Killed. Him." He pointed at the small corpse...so frail...so tiny... "And the thing that really gets you, is you'd do it again."

At this point, all I could do was cry. I sat down, in the trench I had begun to dig, and I wept. Like a baby. I wept for everything. I wept for the world, I wept for my family, I wept for the poor little child who's only crime was trying to defend his home. I wept.

"I'll stop now." His voice was gentle, and I could see his legs sticking down over the lip of the hole. "I promise, you'll never forget this pain. You'll carry it with you everywhere you go. That, more than any grave, more than any words, will be the tribute to this poor, innocent little life. He's dead. There's nothing that can make him undead. He won't be infected by the plague, I can clearly see you stuck your knife in the side of his head to spare him that indignity. You'll give him a grave, you'll give him a marker, and you'll always remember a little boy who taught you a lesson I never could." As he stood up, and went to bend over the corpse, I heard that tone of command again, the sureness of purpose that I needed, "one last thing. Check for a name. It helps, I hear." With that, he was gone.

I kept digging, until I hit six feet. I climbed out of the hole, and walked over to the small form, and efficiently checked his clothing. All I could find was a locket, a small silver chain with a picture frame showing a female, named Sally, and a picture of him on the other side, smiling, full of life and vigor and poise. I fixed the locket so that it sat in his small, small hands, and carried him with dignity down to the hole. Sliding in, I laid him gently on the ground, climbed back out, and began the work of covering him with the loose earth. It took all night, and was noisy work, but I'd of rather died there than leave it unfinished. Taking a guess, I fashioned a cross made from two logs, using some live morning glory to tie them together. I planted the ends of the morning glory in the ground over the grave, so that the cross would stay put. After carving the name in the log, I stood back and offered a prayer to a god I did not believe in, that if he existed, and heaven was real, that he take this poor young man to a better place.

I stepped back, saluted the grave, and whispered, "I'm sorry. I hope you rest in peace, Christian."

[Oregonaut]

Chapter 7: Home.

It was another half a day of walking before I found a spot I could cross that chasm. My feet felt heavy, my eyelids heavier. I used to be able to go for days without sleep, much as I hate to admit it, I'm human. Worms were all I could find to eat. No way to trust that the maggots hadn't fed on infected flesh. 'Course, I'd lived on worse, for longer...I could make it. Looking at the gap, it was a four, maybe five foot jump, I sat down and thought it through. Now, normally I'd just hop over this and move on. C'mon, two yards...less? I could jump five at a full run. Over-confidence, man that shit'll kill you dead as a doornail. This was not a jump I wanted to screw up.

It was a long way down, and I was freaking bushed. Bushed hell, I was beat. Mentally, physically, emotionally...I knew I was done. I needed to rest. Needed to recharge. Needed to...I needed to get up off my ass and make this damn jump. This cross-eyed psychobabble nonsense is not going to serve me well at all. I stood up and walked up to the lip, judged the distance, paced about 20 feet back cleared my footing, and started running. I got to the edge, jumped with all of my strength, and just as I was in mid-air, I saw them.

Five feet to go, I saw three crawling out of a ditch on the other side of the bushes. They had heard my steps and were moving towards me.

Four feet to go, I knew that as soon as I landed, I was going to have to roll. I had too much top-mass momentum to just land normally, I had misjudged my jump.

Three feet to go, if I rolled to the side, I risked rolling out into open air. But it'd give me some space to work with between me and the nibblers.

Two feet to go, fight or run...

One foot to go, I saw seven more blocking my right side.

Touchdown, roll roll roll, get your feet under you, shift your weight left and-

Face to face with three more. I backed away, each step brought me closer to the edge I just jumped over. Faced with thirteen zombies...how many more around here...if I kill one- I barely catch myself as I nearly step off the ledge. The zombies crowded in, pressing against each other trying to get to me. Trying to kill me, to make me one of them.

[Oregonaut]

No place left to retreat... Time slowed to a crawl. Every thought I had seemed to blur past, but everything physical moved like it was frozen in molasses. The zombies swayed as they walked, their bodies held loosely. Their arms contracted and struck forward like snakes, their jaws slackened then jutting forward as they yawned in eager anticipation of the feast to come. As my subconscious mind took over control of my body for the fight, my conscious mind recoiled in horror at the pale, milky, lifeless eyes that held no spark. No light. Nothing that could be seen as human. The worst part was how they never stopped moving. They rolled, they lolled, they twitched, they spasmed, anything but stay at rest. Human eyes rested. These were not human eyes.

The fight seemed to happen in "bullet time", that slow motion Matrix crap that I hated so much. I grabbed the shaft of my makeshift staff tightly, and thrust the tip at the closest zombie to me. Catching him in the sternum, knocking him backwards. His arms flailed as he fell, knocking two zombies off the cliff, and two more over. Eight more moved forward, ignoring their companions and pressing in. I had recovered my staff, and my position, and thrust forward again at the next closest, again striking the sternum. This time, the zombie managed to snap her hands up and grab onto the staff.

A vast tree of decisions crashed through my mind, every branch ending worse for me than for the zombie...fortunately my mind was still on auto-pilot and I was not consciously limiting my muscles anymore. Adrenaline surged through me, allowing me to lift the zombie off the ground and use her as a flail against the fallen zombies, sweeping three more zombies off the cliff, but losing my staff as the weight of the zombie wrested it from my grip and off the cliff. As the staff ripped out of my fingers, it knocked two of the zombies off balance, tipping one off the cliff, and sending the other crashing into the closest zombie to her and off the cliff.

Reaching down I grabbed the legs of the first zombie I engaged as he attempted to get off his back, vaguely resembling a turtle stuck on its shell. Now in control of his legs I swung him around in a grotesque parody of a game I used to play with my younger cousins, letting go after sweeping another zombie off the ledge. The zombie's short flight ended against the last remaining zombie standing, giving me enough of a break in the line to hurdle two zombies who were attempting to regain their footing.

Now with more space to operate, I whipped out my trenching tool and actively engaged my fallen foes. A devastating boot to the face of one attempting to crawl back to its feet caved in the side of her head, ending that threat in a sickening crunch. As I finished the lunging motion from the kick, I buried my spade in the nearest zombie's face, cutting all life from its emaciated form. Momentarily relinquishing my tool, I skipped back a few steps to clear out a space between me and the two remaining foes.

Sparing a moment to glance around, I noted no other motion, no other threats. Life returned to full speed as I spoke, "So, I don't figure you two would be willing to just let it go, huh?"

A low gurgling moan was all the response I'd receive.

"Didn't figure you would. I'm gonna have to kill you, and I do apologize about that. Its just, I really don't want to join your club. I'm already a member of AFSA, and their dues are annoying as it is. You guys really ask an arm and a leg." Pulling my knife down from its sheath, I hold the blade ready, waiting for my moment. Sweeping around to my left, I tried to line the zombies up, force them to face me one at a time. Just as they hit that line, I lunge forward stabbing the first through his eye, but missing the significant damage to the brain needed to stop him from grabbing me and leaning forward to bite me. His hands grasped at my shirt, trying with all of his strength to pull me in, the other zombie leaned in, her weight adding to his, and knocked me over onto the ground.

[Oregonaut]

The female zombie grasped at my face, and I slapped her hand away with my left hand as I tried to force the knife deeper into the male zombie's head with my right hand. Fatigue started to wear on me, even as adrenaline soaked as I was, and I knew I had to end this soon. Rolling my head back as far as I could I slammed my forehead against the butt of the knife. It moved a little deeper. Again, and again, slapping away the woman's arm and kicking at her around the male zombie, I slammed my forehead against the butt of the knife until finally it broke through whatever barrier it had hit, and damaged the sole remaining portion of the brain that functioned, silencing the male forever.

Both hands now free, I reached up and just as she clamped her mouth shut to try and bite me, gripped both of her temples and wrenched with every ounce of strength I could summon. That sickly rice crispies popping sound that accompanies a breaking neck sounded through the suddenly quiet forest, and her struggles ceased.

Inching my way, painfully, out from beneath the two zombies took several minutes. I was running on fumes, and I knew it. I had to find a quiet place to hide. I needed some rest. I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself. "Get your tubby ass up and move," I muttered aloud. "Get. Up." Pushed to my feet by sheer force of will, I reclaimed my knife, and my trenching tool, and stabbed them into the ground repeatedly until I had removed as much of the gore as I could. I wrapped them in a swatch of the silk dress the last female zombie was wearing. Cleaning them would have to wait until I could find a water source.

I started, wearily, but started moving towards my branch. My branch. My only marker anymore. I was pretty well turned around, nothing looked familiar. Nothing smelled right.... Nothing was right. One foot in front of the other, I started my long hike. I'd have to go through the night. Traps, zombies, wildebeasts, Toucan fucking Sam, I don't care what I run into at night. I can't keep staying out here in the open. I'm pushing my luck either way, I might as well push it on home.

[Oregonaut]

Chapter 8: Luck be a lady...

The hours blurred. I'm honestly not sure how I managed to not fall into the chasm, or even how I managed to follow the chasm without wandering off into the woods. My temperature was rising, I had stripped off my blouse, tied it around my waist, and I was still sweating profusely...it was winter here...it was supposed to be cold. Why wasn't it cold? Wasn't there supposed to be snow now? Wait...where's my branch? How do I know it's my branch? Can I see...where's the chasm?

Chasm...like that one in...

"Hey! Asshole!" I started awake...I was...in a desert? "Hey fuckbend, wake up!" The sound of automatic weapons fire surrounded me. Turning my head slowly, my head hurt so badly...I see him sitting there. Calm as dew in Spring, sighting, three shots, sighting, three shots. A slap turns my head sideways, angry now, I turn my head back over to the right and see...

"Whitten?" There she was, bending over my torso. Smiling down at me with that infuriating manner of a woman... "Where the..."

"Cyke, he's awake." She looked away from me for a second, he nodded and went back to firing. "C'mon dickbasket, we need to get you inside so Cyke can stop playing hero." She dragged me, as I tried to get my feet under me, and with my squirming and her disproportionate strength, we got back inside the building. "Cyke, we're clear."

"Roger." Crouched low, still firing as he moved, he took cover behind the doorframe. Good, solid cement walls...as long as we could avoid grenades we should be good. Yeah...we're in combat.

"Hey," I muttered through cotton stuffed lips, "what happened?"

Whitten shone a small light in my eyes. "He's not in shock." She dug out my canteen and handed it to me, ripped open a small package and dumped pills in my mouth. "Just woozy."

"Roger." His eyes never left combat. He never stopped being in combat.

"Ok, big guy, let's get you your weapon and I'll read you a bedtime story." Whitten's icy grin struck through me, I felt myself gearing back up for a retort, but for some reason I couldn't get my mind to focus on more than vague concepts. Like I was swimming through sand.

[Oregonaut]

"I," my mind couldn't spin out the words. Everything I tried to say made me feel like I was chewing on a massive wad of gum. "not need..."

"Settle down, rimjob." Whitten took the canteen and poured it into my mouth. I felt nothing, it was like I was numb. "You get yourself too worked up and you may end up breaking something. You've got a concussion, but you aren't showing any signs of shock. Just sit back and let the big kids handle this." She went over and whispered something in his ear...got a nod in return, and came back over. "Ok, what's the last thing you remember?"

"Chasm...branch..." The words sounded wrong, like I meant something else.

"Right. I didn't see a branch, but hey, I know you found the chasm well enough. You fell. Because your clown shoes tripped over a rock. That fall ruined a perfectly good ambush. We're pinned here until help arrives, and help is currently keeping the main force off our collective posteriors." She loosened my shirt a little. "Need to keep you awake. So it's story time."

"Help...him." I knew the mission. I knew we needed to win.

"No, no. I have to put your diaper on first. So shut up before I gag you." She knelt down next to me, kept her weapon ready, and started to talk. "I ever tell you about home?" I shook my head, she nodded. "Yeah, didn't figure I had. You see, I grew up in what you would call 'podunk nowhere'. Nice place. Nothing ever happened there. Calm, peaceful, stagnant. I had all these posters on my walls of 'Big City' things. I wanted to leave. I wanted to go somewhere 'exotic', somewhere that people had adventures! In short, I was a teenager."

An odd counterpoint, his fire became less steady. He was no less focused, he just did not fire as often anymore.

"I went to a high school that had a junior high and elementary school all in the same compound," she continued, "place was like Little House meets Bonanza. Everyone worked on the farms, or in the mines. Everyone knew everyone, and everyone got along." As she checked my pulse, she gave me more water I didn't taste. "So imagine the culture shock when I leave town just after I turned 18. I had 'graduated' High School early, being the brilliant young woman I am. I had planned this out for years. I waited until my parents were asleep, I left them a note, I grabbed my bags, and I hit the road. I caught a ride with a trucker into the city. He kept telling me that he was only helping me because he had little girls of his own. I thought he was just being nice, giving me understanding. I still was innocent." Her smile went from ice to Cocytus. "That didn't last long."

"We reached the big city the next morning. I had slept like a lamb in his truck, and he didn't wake me until we parked in the gas station. He asked me if I knew where I was going. 'Of course I do, I'm going on an adventure!' The look on his face was priceless. This combination of sorrow, indignation, and a want to take me over his knee and beat some sense into my senseless br-"

"Contact, left side." His dry voice cut through what Whitten was saying. Whitten slid over and helped him eliminate the thrust. "Clear."

[Oregonaut]

"You sure we're clear?" Whitten's voice had taken on a sinister edge.

"Yeah. Do it." His voice was completely dispassionate.

"Ok." As she turned to face me, everything slowed down. Her hair drained of color, the flame running out in rivulets of thick, grimey liquid. Her skin lost its sheen and became milky and decayed. When she faced me fully, her head tilted at an unnatural angle, her eyes blackened until they seemed to suck all of the light from the room. Everything seemed to swirl towards those two onyx orbs. She moved her lips and her lips pulled back to reveal broken and dirty teeth. "Sssstory timesssss over!" As she lunged for me I tried to throw my hands up, but my body wouldn't move. Her mouth grew wider and wider until she was a hair's breadth from me.

As she made contact my arms responded...and I was awake in the forest, fighting off a roving zombie. It was daylight...she was biting at me, trying to get her teeth on me...where'd night go...where'd...I pressed her jaw back to get her off of me, ripping down on the back part of her skull, I managed to snap her neck in one practiced motion. Throwing her off me, and down into the chasm, I jumped up and looked around. I'd fallen asleep. I shuddered as I thought through what must have happened. The memory of the dream receeding into the mist as I adjusted for the time I'd been unconscious.

Quickly, I looked around for any other zombies...nothing. Just the one. I knelt down and gathered my things and hurried on. I don't know how long a range that connection they seemed to have went, and I didn't want to find out all by myself.

[Oregonaut]

Chapter 9: Inside the park...

I felt less groggy. My head still swam a little, and I was still burning up, but I didn't feel that overwhelming fatigue anymore. I'm just glad I woke up. I lumbered into a jog, then a steady trot. I needed to get back. I needed to check on them. He trusted me to keep them safe, and here I am sleeping in the forest as snug as a bug. Waste of carbon, that's what I am. That's what I am.

It took the better part of the day, but I finally located my branch on the opposite side of the cliff. I jogged on past it, looking for the tracks the herd must have made as it followed me on the run out here. I checked around the trees near me as I ran past, no sign of stragglers... A while later I found the trampled foliage, the shuffled dirt, the trail of decaying flesh and congealed blood and ichor that a herd of zombies would have left behind. Turning parallel to the trail, I followed it at a run until it got too dark to see.

I slowed down to a walk, and mostly relied on smell and bending down occasionally to check to make sure the trail was thick, rather than some offshoot of a few strays that saw the party and joined in the fun. The excitement of nearing "home" kept me awake and pressing on until I saw it. As I approached the area that seemed familiar, I noticed them. Thirty or so, mostly men...scavengers. Filthy fucking bastards from the damn city were now surrounding the fort. Damn it. Ok, assess the situation. Check to see if there are lookouts or if there is a forward element.

I grinned to myself. Bunch of white ass motherfuckers standing out in the night, see them bright as day. No facepaint. No camo. Like they own the damn place. I can see the glint of gun metal from their campfires...are they daft? Did they want to draw the zombies to them? Psh. No matter. They were ruining their night vision. That's their choice. Their camps are spread apart to cover the fort. Three people per camp. One seems to be acting as a lookout. At least they are smart enough to be afraid of someone sneaking up on them. Someone who might do naughty, naughty things to them.

[Oregonaut]

After smearing some mud across my face and hands to prevent any glare, I crept closer. Little, by little. Staying in the shadows, deep as they were, was not difficult. As I got within earshot, I heard one of the guards talking to another man at his camp. "Bunch a bitches in here. Saw a few pussy ass scrawny bastards from the top of the tree. Won't be no trouble once we get the dynamite up here. Take out that gate, get in there and take their stocks. Take the women down with us. Fuckin' kids, we'll see if they gonna cause some problems. They listen when I whip 'em, we'll have more hands around the town."

"Yes, yes. I'm certain everyone will listen to reason once we've battered down their walls. They refused to speak with us, so they'll have no one to blame but themselves. Although I'm not so sure about 'taking the women'. These are no shrinking violets. I am sure they have had training. Better to be safe."

"Nah, man. We need breeding stock. We gotta repopulate the species. Can't do that with no sausage fest. We only got couple dozen bitches down there. Every one of these we take back, is another kid every year. And stress relief year round."

"Charming. We'll see what kind of resistance we meet. I should not like to bring lionesses back to our den."

"Psh, I just wanna fuck that red headed bitch. She sniped Sam outta that tree. Gonna get me some payback."

Past that point, I had determined my course of action. These were not people to talk with. We can not barter with them, they'd never take us seriously. We can't live with them, they'd never leave us alone. As much as I hated acting without confirmation of the situation in the fort, I was not going to let them live to do what they will. I would not lose another person to my failings.

Without noticing, I was already making those subtle adjustments to my gear that allowed me to engage in CQC without noise. Depositing noisemakers on the ground, in a tree stump. I carefully pulled out my knife. Didn't matter that it was contaminated. These fuckers weren't going to live again once I was through with them.

Mentally I counted the people. Every camp has three people. Eleven camps. Thirty three tangos. More clustered on the right of the fort. If I head left, I can sweep back and eliminate the right when there are fewer to respond to any noise. Silent kills. I'll leave guns behind, but disable them first. Measured distance between first two camps...clear ground. I'll need to spike into each camp from the treeline. There is enough space to move. I'll need to plan each camp. But first, I'mma cut this hick's balls off.

[Oregonaut]

Sliding along on the pads of my feet, making as much noise as a gentle breeze in a snowstorm, I crept up on the first camp. Slowly, quietly. Using the tent to shade my approach. The other camps were dim beacons in the night as the fire died to embers. As I reached the tent, I ran my knife along the back, slitting the tent enough to see who was inside. It was a woman. She wore hunter camo pants, and a flannel shirt. She slept with a shotgun by her side. The human part of my mind said she may be a prisoner, Stockholm... No. Everyone had to die. I couldn't risk it, she may be a "true believer" in their mission.

Clamping my hand down on her mouth, closing her jaw shut, I slammed my knife into her spinal column, severing her spine, leaving her numb, helpless....I slid my knife from jaw hinge to jaw hinge, cutting her windpipe, her arteries, her life. I held my hand there until I felt the tension leave her jaw. Quietly, I stepped around the side of the tent, the calmer individual had tipped his hat down, his breaths seeming even enough that he was likely napping where he sat propped against a log.

I came up behind the bastard who had been talking about hurting S...hurting Commander Whitten. I slammed my hand against his neck with all of my strength, at the same time grabbing his rifle and easing both it and him to the ground. As soon as I had both down quietly, I jammed my knife up beneath his ear, and into his skull, ending his life. Turning to the last man, I crept over and murdered him with the same sense of ruthless efficiency as I had been trained to. Moving all of the corpses into the tent, I make certain to puncture their brains with my longknife. Dismantling their weapons, and leaving them inside a bag I found in the camp, I stowed it away from the campfire. After throwing another log on the fire, to prevent anyone thinking this camp had gone dark, I crept back into the forest and moved about my grim duty.

Each camp was visited in the same short, brutal manner. Each of the camps to the left offered no resistance. The last one only manned by two people ended the fastest. I moved back, checking each camp for signs of motion before reaching where I began my evening's assault. I visited each but the last camp, manned with three people, I stayed at the camp before them. Thirty people had died by my hand so far. These last three were going to be less personal and more efficient. Picking up the longrifle dropped by the sentry for this camp, I checked the weapon, checked the scope as best as I could, practiced the motions between targets, then dispatched them as loudly as possible.

Time crawled past. Eventually, Commander Whitten's voice could be heard over the fort's wall. "Sergeant Clarkson, you're late."

"My apologies ma'am. I couldn't leave the party until I was sure the guests were properly entertained." Fatigued as I was, hungry, and thirsty, and dirty as I was...Damn I missed her sassing me. It almost felt like it used to. Almost.

[Oregonaut]

Chapter 10: Where the heart is.

"Clarkson, do me a favor and get your fat ass in the fort instead of laying down feeling sorry for yourself?" I could see her vague outline on the catwalk. She was holding a rifle, and scanning for danger as she was trying to get me moving again.

"Negative ma'am. I've been bitten. Feral kid, not a zombie, but a bite is a bite. Protocol states I wait out here for 24 hours after contact with friendly forces. I'd really like something to drink, and maybe a bite to eat, however." I started walking to the far camp. The last one neutralized. I needed to finish the job, make sure everyone was secure.

Her answer was a few seconds longer than normal in coming, "Understood. Well then, I'd like you to dismantle, disrobe, and disarm these camps, and secure everything to the bucket we send your food and water down in. It will take some time for you to do solo, and give you something to do while you wait for your answer."

"Roger that. Standard body disposal procedures? Or should I see how flammable they are?"

"Burn them. Again, you need something to keep you occupied, and I'd really rather not bury these people nearby. Drawing scavengers isn't worth it, and I'm not going to risk them bringing some form of disease into camp just to use them as fertilizer. If we spot some hostiles, we'll engage from on high, you withdraw to the wall and as a last resort, we'll suspend a rope for you to cling to until the time is over, and you can climb up to join us. Clock starts now. Get moving."

With that, she was gone. She had other cares, other things needing her attention. I had weapons to sort through, bodies to strip, tents to tear down, and a fire to start. All in all, it was shaping up to be a lovely morning.

[Oregonaut]

Dismantling the camps netted a great many longrifles, a few handguns, and more than a few boxes of ammunition. The fabric from the tents could be turned into various things, as the tents themselves were mostly useless. The clothing would need to be washed thoroughly before we could dole it out, and the personal belongings of the scavengers turned up a few compasses, some knives, a few forks and spoons, some multi-tools, flint and tinder, a...two dildos? four thousand seven hundred and eighty two dollars and thirty six cents, some assorted other things in packs that Whitten can sort through and...."Fuck," I muttered.

"What's up?" Alvarez' voice sounded closer to me than I felt comfortable with, causing me to jump.

"Gah!" I spun around and landed on my ass. "Lady, I wish you would wear a damn bell or something."

"Psh, unlikely." She pointed at what I was inspecting. "What'd you find?"

"Badges. Three of them. Some of them were cops. This fucker," I kicked the corpse of the loudmouth, "was talking shit about raping Whitten. He's an ATF officer. I don't have access to the databases to confirm, but it would be a safe bet these are genuine. No signs of forgery that I can see, and the people who they belong to seem fit enough physically."

"Hrm. Interesting." She held out a canvas sack, and a wineskin. "Food and water. I didn't want to just throw them down to you in a bucket like you're a pig to slop." She smiled and handed them to me. "Let me see the bite."

Pulling up my sleeve, I showed her the tiny marks where I had been bitten. There was some slight bruising, one puncture wound that looked like a canine, and other than that nothing of note. "Huh. I guess he didn't puncture me that much. Felt like he was tearing my skin off, but that might have just been adrenaline."

"Yeah, you'll be fine." She pulled open my eyes and looked at the whites, tested my skin for temperature, then slapped me lightly on the cheek. "You big pussy, you'll be fine. This is a normal bite. You'd have a fever and be shaking all over, not to mention that the infection would have turned your arm into one big swollen mess. We'll follow protocol, but if a herd shows up, get your ass inside. Ok?"

"I'll stay out here for the full twenty four. You can toss down the rope ladder or something. I can't break rules and expect you asses to follow them afterwards."

"Psh, fine. Eat up, I'll gather all this shit up and get it to Whitten. Then we'll talk about what happened, yeah?"

"Sure Alvy. Sure."

[Oregonaut]

Alvarez went about her business, compacting everything I had gathered, and moving it to the rope to be leashed up. She hummed as she worked, as she usually did. The same tune, something that sounded like a child's song. Whenever we asked about it, she'd clam up about it and change the subject. I consider myself a brave man, I think I can do my job. I am not stupid enough to push Alvarez where she does not want to be pushed. I enjoy my limbs where they are, and I look forward to having them there for a long time to come.

The food I had been given was the same simple rice and protein mixture. Tasted awful, looked worse, but it beat starving. Once the vegetables came in, we hoped to be able to do more, but we knew the adage about counting things before they came. The water was fantastic. I had to admit that I was glad she had brought an entire bucket. I was dehydrating visciously, and it was nice to drink something that didn't taste like a chemical car wash. After I had emptied the bowl of food, and downed half a bucket of water, Alvarez had finished her tasks and walked over to sit down and chat.

"So," she began, "how'd you lose your tail?"

"I marched along, doing my Pied Piper routine. They followed along like obedient little puppies, then when I got to a big chasm further that way," I pointed in the direction I came from, "I jumped across it. Zed don't jump."

"Lemmings?"

"Pretty much. I went to sleep when there were still a lot of them, woke up, they were mostly gone. Many down in the chasm. Not enough to say they all fall down though."

"Hmph. No me gusta." She drew a vague map of the local area. "How far out is the chasm?"

"Pretty good way. At least half a day or more at a run. Longer at a jog."

She paused, drawing more details on the map. Thinking her way through the problem, measuring distances, judging angles, likely surprises. "That doesn't make sense. I don't know of any chasm that way. I don't know of anywhere between here and there that could hide a couple thousand corpses. I don't like that I don't know these things."

"She's not going to like it either. You may want to go report in."

"Yeah. I'll send some more food later." With that, she slapped me on the shoulder and headed over to the rope ladder. Leaving me alone with my thoughts. Alone with my crimes.

[Oregonaut]

Chapter 11: It was the best of times...

"Clarkson! Get your fat ass up here. Alice wants you in the command tent in five." Alvarez kicked down the rope ladder, and sent down the bailing hook to attach the bucket to.

"She's going to be disappointed I-"

"No. She told me you willingly came in, or I came down and got you. Take your pick tubby, but one way or another you have a date with Top. Move." She stood there, tapping her foot.

"All right, but I want-"

"You want to get up this ladder. Because I'm not going to be happy if I have to come down." With that, she turned and walked out of sight.

Knocking the dirt off my pants, I walked over and secured the bucket, then began climbing up the ladder. Something was off, I must've misjudged the report or...the sudden pain shooting through my side stunned me. Instinct forced me to grab the ladder, but my arm suddenly felt like lead. Distantly, I heard the echo of a rimfire rifle. As I struggled to get my foot back onto the rung, a second pain tore through my chest, just above my left pectoral. I started falling...I tried to grab the ladder, but I couldn't make my hands work. Nothing moved right...

[Oregonaut]

//Narrator switches lanes here, ladies and gentlemen. I'll retcon everything together when I can. Some shit has happened IRL that is busting my story, and the projected direction. I am adjusting perspective so that I can continue my damn story, while I sort out things. Past this point, the narrative focus will be on Whitten, until otherwise noted.//

That was a rimfire...we don't have any of those. My mind went through the standard precautions as I stepped out of my tent. Alvarez was ducked down, and Smith, Wesson, and Ferguson were running up the ramp with rifles. "Alvy, report." I called out.

"Clarkson's hit, ma'am. He's down. We have four hostiles with light arms approaching the gate. Guard shack is suppressing their advance, but they have demo packs. Orders?"

"Eliminate resistance. If any surrender...retrieve them. Get Valerie down there, and keep her covered. See if we can save Clarkson." Ducking back inside my tent, I grabbed his starlight. I shouldn't need to use it, but I felt better having it.

Minutes dragged past as my orders were carried out. Announcements of hits, precise, unrushed shots. His...my kids were professionals. The stillness of the forest between gunshots made the entire scene more surreal, shots echoing out into the darkness of the trees, calling Luna alone knows what down on our heads. Fucking idiots. Even if they did take this fort, they'd surround themselves by day's end. Valerie slunk along the wall, keeping low. Looking at her move was like watching a ballerina move across the stage. Pure, unhurried, motion. Grace, beauty, and brilliance...Light I hated that bitch. Still, she was the best field medic we had.

Denton was a good doctor, better than any here, but he couldn't be used in the field. He was old. Slow. And prone to irritability. We'd need him once she got Clarkson inside, and he'd be no good to us being shot because he drew attention to himself. Alvarez went down the ladder first, with Valerie a step behind. We were wasting ammo.... I itched to get up on the wall and clean house. I wanted these assholes off my lawn. Calm. The first mistake everyone makes is impatience. It is usually the last one they make as well. We're fine. We have bushels of arrows, the zed menace could be killed with those. Every thing has been planned for, and if we can get four demo charges, we'd be that much better off.

"I surrender!" A scared voice sounded off. "Please don't shoot me!"

"Smith, Ferguson. Go down there and bring them in here."

Ferguson stood up slightly, "Throw down your weapon, lay down on your back and keep your hands visible. The first hostile sign and you will be terminated, do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am." Ferguson stood still, then waved Smith to the ladder and covered him as he descended. Wesson took her place as she went after him. Things were going well, but I needed info about Clarkson.

[Oregonaut]

"Alvy, what's happening?" I started making my way over to the catwalks, so that I didn't have to yell quite so loud.

Alvarez's voice carried up over the wall, "Is the situation clear?"

"Yeah, repor-"

"Ma'am, we need Denton out here now."

Turning to make sure that the good doctor heard what we were about, I saw that he was already moving along the wall trying to carry all of his equipment necessary and hustle as fast as he could while doing so. "He's on his way out there." Turning to one of the older kids, I handed him a notepad and pencil. "You go out there, you climb down, you stay out of the way. If Alvarez needs something, you write it down and you hustle to me. First sign of danger, you get back up that ladder. I so much as hear a whisper that you did not obey orders, and I will have you burning the latrine waste for the rest of your short natural life. We clear?"

He nodded, and ran off to follow my directions. Calm. I needed to keep calm. "Davidson, start drawing up a list of likely places to find more medical supplies. Grab a few hands and whatever cartography you need. Also, we're going to need to step up the training on some of these people. We're losing too many at the moment for me to sleep comfy." Davidson ran off with his shadow, Clarissa, in hot pursuit.

Standing there, looking like a dolt, all I could do was try to project calm and wait for reports. Thankfully, five or so minutes later, Ferguson tossed a fully trussed and disarmed young boy over the edge of the wall. He landed awkwardly on the catwalk, and may have fallen over the edge if Wesson hadn't put a boot in his shoulders to stop him from moving any more. Shortly following were a number of detonation packages, enough small arms and ammunition to worry Panama, clothing, backpacks...and a cage? "Ferguson, what is in that cage?"

"Kitten, ma'am."

"A...what now? Son, you brought a god damn kitten to a fight? Wesson, inform him as to my opinion on this matter, if you would be so kind."

[Oregonaut]

With a practiced motion, Wesson undid the young gentleman's belt and looped it around his wrists. Holding it tight with one hand, he kicked him off the catwalk to hang in the air with his arms pulled at a painful angle. "Ok, now here's how this conversation goes." Poking him in the stomach with my finger, I set him to swaying. Fear fighting with pain for attention in his mind, he only stares at me barely having the focus to nod. "I'm going to ask you a series of questions. If I do not ask you to elaborate, you keep your mouth shut. You answer correctly, truthfully, and quickly. Fail any of those three, and trust me, I'll know, and you'll likely not live through the rest of this conversation. Am I understood?"

With a nod and a widening of his eyes, it was clear I had his undivided attention. Smith pounded two nails into the belt, fastening him firmly to the catwalk. He and Wesson looked completely identical, except for one key difference. Wesson was always scowling, and Smith was always smiling. As Wesson walked past the young lad, he stopped and muttered, "I'd keep in mind that she'll have us take care of disposing of you if you piss her off." Smith then slapped him on the side and walked behind him, jovially stating, "And we'll get to do anything we want to you! Isn't that something?" The two of them walked off, laughing in their own way.

"Ma'am, these charges need to be disarmed. They're hot, but they aren't on timers. I'll take them to the far grounds outside the wire, and deal with them there. Permission to depart station to secure munitions?" Ferguson clearly needed something to do, and Clarkson was our EOD specialist....

"Granted. I'll expect a logistics report on what we spent and what we gained from this. Dismissed." Ferguson saluted, then walked off. "Now, boy. How many are left in your city?"

"S..sixteen."

"How many combatants?"

"Nobody who lives there is a civilian, ma'am. They...uh...they all believe in the Father's Holy Army."

"How many adults?"

"Two."

"So there are fourteen children there?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"This next question is very important, I want you to carefully think before you answer: Where is this 'Father'?"

"He...uh...he should be in the chapel. With one of the...uh...one of...." His face reddened deeply, and his meaning became perfectly clear instantly.

"Now. What am I supposed to do about you?" I turned my head to the side, he hadn't lied once. His face would have given it away. Boy his age wouldn't know guile if it bit him in the ass. The gun you think is safe is the one that kills you. I sighed, thinking about how he up and abandoned me...us. He abandoned us. It was on me, now. "You're going to spend a while hanging there. I want you to think very, very carefully about how you are going to convince me I shouldn't allow the Wonder Twins to dismantle you. Am I clear?"

"Ma'am I-"

A quick backhand silenced him. "You shot at my men. You may have been the one to shoot my best field commander. Think. When I come back, I'll ask you to speak. If you can't follow directions, I have no use for you." Leaving him nearly in tears, I walked away to think. This entire operation was falling apart, and even worse was happening out there. I felt horrible for having to weigh whether I had the facilities available to end what this "Father" was doing against my obligation to those already saved. Clenching my teeth, I walked into my tent to think.

[Oregonaut]

Entering my tent, I was startled when I was met with an equally startled mewl. "Oh!" Ferguson. Kneeling down in front of the cage, I looked into the depths to see a frightened little bundle of skin and bones. A calico, grey, with a few black marks that may or may not be dirt. Two scared eyes, tiny pink nose.

"MAO"

What do I do with you. I sighed with resignation. It broke every single rule we ever set. It brought a complication into my life.

"MAO"

On any other person, this cry would be heartbreaking. I just found it annoying. With a tentative step, the kitten moved towards the grill on the cage, and pawed out, trying to reach for me. I reached forward and put a finger where it could reach. Hooking its tiny paw around my digit, the kitten pulled it towards its mouth and sniffed then licked it, and tried to self-soothe on my finger. Its purr was unsteady. Interrupted by its grinding its face across the grill.

"New pet, ma'am?" Alvarez's voice sounded drained.

"Apparently." I was not startled. I do not startle. "Situation?"

"He's dead, ma'am."

I sighed. "Understood. Cremation ceremony in 15 minutes." Turning back to the kitten, I felt...nothing.

"Yes, ma'am." I heard Alvarez speak to someone outside, materials were kept on hand for dissolving, then burning of the remains of the fallen. The fallen. Feh, you only care about your own dead. This one was a worthless ape anyway. "Shut up, mother." Aww, touch a sore spot, did I? It's a good thing you don't touch men. Only a few left. None of them want a hag like you. "Shut. Up."

"MAO." The kitten looked pleadingly at me. Nothing.

"I'll name you Lockheed."

[Oregonaut]

Chapter 12: ...it was the worst of times.

As I left my tent, I grabbed one of the trustworthy children who was running past on some errand, "Excuse me, Susan, right?"

"Yes ma'am." Susan stopped where she was, and stood as still as anyone could expect an eight year old to.

"There is a kitten in my tent. You will find it in a cage on my cot. I need you to take it to the farm side, and I need you to wash it thoroughly, and I need you to find it something to eat. Kittens usually need soft meat, so take my rations and give him two of your handfulls. Make sure you give it a bowl of water too. Do not let it wander off, understood?"

"Yes ma'am. Can I play with it?"

"After it has had something to eat. Don't interrupt it while it is eating, that is not polite. Now get a move on." Turning away, I walked to the corner of the fort that had been designated the waste disposal area. Personnel were saying their goodbyes to the remains. The remains, eh? Heh. I always knew you were my girl. Must...ignore... Not in public. I will not talk to dead women in public. I am not insane. I will not be like her.

Alvarez fell in alongside me, and began briefing me on the preperations. "We have the chemicals ready. Standard set, he'll be good and gone before he can rise. If he rises. God caus-"

"Alvarez, there is no god. Now go fall in."

A pained, sorrowful look crossed her face before military bearing reasserted itself. "Yes, ma'am." Jogging ahead of me, she stopped and hit the position of attention. "FALL IN!" Training reasserted itself, and everyone who was human not two seconds ago was the picture of solid pride now as they shuffled into positions. Alvarez went through the commands to form them into a proper formation, not rushing, not dawdling, just making sure that everything was done with the same precision that we would do any routine movement. Every body moved with that certainty that they had performed this motion a million times, and would perform it again a million times. Awake. Asleep. Didn't matter. We could perform these simple tasks with no thought.

That helped. It really did. No matter what anyone outside our family would think, we knew, deep down inside we knew, this hurt. Any loss of life, any death caused by or against us. It hurt. These simple tasks would help them keep it inside so we could send our brother, our friend, ourselves, off to that eternal dreamless death. Our minds had to let him go, otherwise it'd hang over us like the Sword of Damocles. I stood, at rest, waiting for them to be properly ordered. Alvarez turned around, marched over to me, saluted, "Formation is yours, ma'am."

Returning the salute, "Thank you, Alvarez. Fall in." I walked over to stand near the composed body of Clarkson. He lay, secured, under a steel cage that took three people to move. If he did rise, he would not be able to hurt anyone, or grab anyone. After a moment of looking down, I looked up at those left under my care. Those of us abandoned. Thrown to the wolves. Left to die without a leader. "AT. REST." Covering for the moment of unease, I barked the command harder than I intended. Everyone hit the position of parade rest. Moving as one.

"Before you lies a corpse. There is naught there for us to recognize. The man we wish to remember, the man those of us who knew well knew as "The Tampa Disasta", he is gone. Were these ordinary times, we would bury his body with full honors at Arlington. We would afford him Silence, and Respect. We can not do that today. Arlington is lost to us. We can not do that today. For the dead do not know Silence. That leaves us with the most important task of all. Respect. His Respect for us, his desire to do better for, and by, us, is what allowed the cowards who attacked us to kill him. He stood, alone, unguarded, and exposed, beyond the wire. He stood out there because he had been bitten by a feral child. He did not want to bring this plague back into our home, even though he likely did not have it. He wanted to guard us. He wanted to shelter us. He stood apart, so we could stand strong in our resolve. His decision was brave. It was strong. It was Respect." The features of their faces were hardened. It was not so much the words I said, as the feelings they evoked.

"Integrity first. He did what was right, even through trying times. He told us he had been potentially compromised. He could have hidden that fact, easily. Alvarez said that it looked like a simple cut. The only reason she knew it to be a bite was his word. His Respect. Service before self. Again, he placed every single one of us before himself. His decision to take that vast herd of undead, to run alone, unarmed, to lead them away from us saved us from a siege that may never have broken. Because of his sacrifice, because of his decision to put the many before himself, we stand here today able to forage the surrounding area. We do not have to cut our way through hundreds upon hundreds of enemies. One man defeated a legion, after displaying Respect. That leaves the final charge, Excellence in all we do. In all we do. We are a family. He was our family. We may have fought at times, we may have disagreed and not spoken to each other for a time, but he will always be our brother, our friend, our wingman. Remember him. Respect him."

Stepping away from the cage, I stepped to the fore of the formation, turned in an about face, "FLIGHT. ATTEN-SHUN." Everyone stood tall, silent, still. "PRESENT. ARMS." Every capable airman knows this tune. They heard it at night throughout BMT before they slept. They heard it over the base throughout the recent wars. We had all attended funerals. Taps could not be played. We all knew why. We didn't need to hear it from outside. We all felt it within. Each man and woman listened to their own inner trumpet, informing those within earshot that another had fallen. Another family member had given every last measure of themselves.

As the last note lingered silently on ears that did not hear, "ORDER. ARMS." The snap of right arms returning to attention was crisp, uniform, and professional. Again, I turned in an about face. "You will carry on. Not for him. You will carry on, because of him." Waiting a full beat. Letting that sink in. "Dismissed." The formation turned about as one. Two steps. Then the healing began. Thoughts that were dismissed during familiar motions came flooding back, and anyone without a stone for a heart could see everyone sad for the passing of a comrade. A leader. A friend.

[podbaydoor]

Oregonaut has asked me to post segments of his story for him. --podbaydoor

Chapter 13: Just wait until your father gets home…

Walking back to my tent, alone and tired, thoughts crept up on me that I had tried to banish earlier in the day. What needed to be done about Clarkson’s position as team lead? What kind of team could I field given my current resources? Could we hold the fort against another assault by the living, let alone a siege of the dead? If I send them out to neutralize this “Father”, will I lose even more combat effective troops for little gain? I mentally tallied who I could send out into the field: Alvarez was a given for command, Ferguson as her second. The Wonder Twins, Smith and Wesson needed to stay here. Their unique familiarity with each other made them the most effective defense command I had left. I could send Jones, T-Alphabet, Kansas…

Unbidden, a sigh escaped my lips. You can sit here and plan all you want, but you know you need to talk this over with Alvarez. She’s going to have some say in what happens now. My lip twitched at the thought, but I couldn’t argue the truth of it. “You need to eat, ma’am.” Valerie leaned against my tent flap, holding a bowl of food. I hadn’t noticed her there, I hadn’t seen her standing right in front of me. You’ll never see it coming. The voice had a taunting sing-song quality to it.

“When I find time to, Valerie. Right now I have things to do.”

“Ma’am, if I have to pull Denton over here to declare you unfit to lead, I will. Now ingest some nutrition, I know you have gone without for two days now, and I will not turn a blind eye to it for a third.” Her delicate hands held the bowl out to me.

“Is that a threat?”

“No. A threat is something you don’t intend to follow through on half the time. I’ve already prepared the justification; I have assembled a long, long list of the various problems I have seen you work with. Now, I also happen to know you are the best person to lead this little group. You always have been command material. However, you’re burning the candle at both ends, and eventually the wicks are going to meet. If you collapse, who’s left to keep me alive? Alvy? She’s no commander, and you know it. Ferguson? She was Clarkson’s favorite, but she’s a worker bee. Good at small situations, but no eye for the forest. Only reason I know one end of a rifle from the other is BMT. I have no interest, nor training, in combat operations. Denton would laugh anyone out of the room if they suggested him. You’re it, ma’am. You know you are. However, that does not mean I can allow you to lead us off a cliff. You take care of us, I’ll take care of you, and we’ll all hopefully live long enough to find some new and inventive way to die.”

Throughout the entire speech, the bowl never wavered. She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t nervous. She trusted me to do what was plain to anyone, and even more damning, she knew that I wasn’t stupid enough to cut my nose off just to not be told what to do.

I reached out and took the bowl. “Thank you.” Without meeting her eyes, I walked inside my tent. Waiting inside were Susan and Lockheed. Surprisingly, Lockheed was not the grey kitten I thought it was. Lockheed had pale white fur, with orange and black blotches, and bright green eyes. Susan was petting Lockheed while Lockheed was furiously drinking water from the child’s bowl.

As I entered, Susan looked up and smiled at me. “I’m sorry for coming in without your permission ma’am, but Doctor Denton said that the kitten needed to be warm and dry, and that I should wait inside your tent, because he did not know if any of the other kids had allergies. He checked kitty, he said that kitty was a boy, and seemed to be free of worms and pests. I don’t know how worms would be inside a kitty, worms normally like dirt don’t they?”

Breathe. His voice echoed through my mind. “The type of worms the good doctor is concerned with are not the earthworms you are thinking of. They are a type of parasite that infests living beings and live in their digestive tracts, slowly sucking all of the nutrition out of the host as they expand to fill the abdominal area of the host. It is an unpleasant experience, and one I am glad that our Lockheed will not be faced with.”

Susan smiled as I spoke. “Oh, ok. That’s good. I didn’t want to ask Doctor Denton any questions, he does not seem to like to be bothered when he’s talking, or thinking, or working…he just really does not seem like we should bother him. Lockheed. I like the name ma’am. Lockheed is a cool name for him.”

With an appraising eye, I gauged Susan’s temperament. She seemed like a happy child, she trusted the adults to keep her safe. She was clearly capable of responsible decision making. She was larger than most of the other kids. “Susan,” I began, “I need you to help me care for Lockheed. He is going to stay in my tent with me, but he will need attention that I will not be able to give him. You are going to keep him safe, and fed, and you are going to clean up the mess he will end up making in my tent. Can you handle this?”

My answer came in the form of a hug that was more tackle than hug. As she bounced against me, chanting how she would do so good taking care of Lockheed, the kitten looked up at me and turned its head to the side, then mewled once and went back to drinking.

[podbaydoor]

“Ok, I want you to report to me at the end of third every morning. You’ll be responsible for a number of things from now on, and I expect positive results. For now, I want you to take Lockheed and go familiarize him with the area. Let him explore, if he gets in trouble, or gets lost, I want you to find an adult. You, personally, are to take no risks in recovering him. Leave that to someone older and more capable. The biggest step in becoming an adult is realizing when you’re in over your head and asking for help.” I patted her gently on the back. “Now get to it. I have things that I need to take care of.”

Teary eyed, Susan scooped up Lockheed who complained slightly until he found a comfortable position in her grasp. As she walked out of the tent, I turned to my cot and sat down heavily on it. Minus those we were, our food stores would last us much longer. However, tasks were piling up, and even working all day we were still unable to keep the fort running comfortably. Too many of my best foragers were opting to instead stay back at the fort to help their companions. I could not, in good faith, order them to leave. It was a voluntary detail, unless the goods were absolutely required.

They aren’t afraid of going out there, thousands of living, or thousands of dead, they’d never be seen. They were afraid of coming back to find twice the mess they left. Sanitation, farming, construction, creating small comforts… Anywhere could be home, if you had a few nice things to smile at as you walked past. The most desolate mountain range was made a little brighter by a single flowering bush. The only blessing we had thus far was that no one was having sex. The one thing we did not need right now was pregnancy.

Everyone had lost someone, some had lost more than others. Smith’s wife and child were among the first casualties on his base. Waiting for an ambulance to respond to what they thought was a simple assault, the gate guards were trying to move the vehicles out of the way. Someone became impatient, tried to U-turn, jumped the sidewalk and ran over his wife and kid. As he was trying to resuscitate them, the driver pulled backwards into the ambulance at high speed. That caused more than the two vehicles to become jammed together. The assault at the gate turned out to be a “sneaker”, and within the time his wife and kid had been hit and incapacitated and the time the ambulance had been rammed, it had spread beyond the ability to be managed by the two other guards with their simple side arms.

They phoned for back up, tried to close the gates to protect the base, and were overwhelmed by the living trying to flee for safety. One gate became jammed as someone used a crowbar to wedge it open so they could get their family in. Smith, according to Kansas, sat there calmly trying to get his kid’s heart to beat. Kansas, against base regulations, had carried his 1911 with him everywhere. He stood there and patiently waited for Smith to determine he couldn’t do anything more. 15 minutes he stood his ground, only shooting zombies who were within six feet. Kansas used three full magazines, was on his last mag, down to three bullets, and still calmly waiting for Smith. From what Smith told me one night, Kansas was leaning against the brick wall near him, looking around, when he asked, “Three rounds left. If you don’t mind I’m going to go grab that steel pylon. It looks like it has some heft. Keep going, I’m going to be just a second. Do me a favor and keep an eye out.”

Smith said that it was the tone he used, that “oh well” tone, that finally made him realize he couldn’t do anything else. His wife died on impact. Her neck was fairly well snapped. His kid’s heart just apparently gave out. She was thrown backwards into the brick wall, the impact likely just too much for her small frame. Smith stood, walked over and picked up the pylon, and said that they needed to report in.

By the time they made it to the Squadron area, the outbreak in the surrounding area had gone beyond what they could control. Too many people had been caught unaware, too many accidents. A three hundred man squadron down to seventy-two reporting, and only forty-eight in attendance. They armed up, they did what they could, extraction took place for the command staff, and they tried to land a bird for the remaining twenty-eight, only for it to land too hard with an auto-rotate and lose its rear rotor. “High and hot” was the pilot’s description. They sat there, holding off the swarm as best they could, while the pilot and co-pilot attempted to repair the helo. Ten hours of fighting. Ten hours of weapon jams, ammo depletion, fatigue, and heroism.

In the end, they could only fit another eighteen on the bird. Kansas, Smith, and eight other volunteers stayed behind. They knew they weren’t going to be retrieved. The outbreak had reached saturation in the area, and they were expendable in the grand scheme. Smith took command of his team of ten, and made his way north. In that unexplainable way, Wesson made his way south, directly towards where Smith was. The Wonder Twins doing what they always do. Finding each other and surviving.

[podbaydoor]

Chapter 14: No time like the present.

I was pulled from my reverie, apparently on the verge of sleep, by a softly murmured, “Ma’am, we’ve got a situation here. Permission to enter?” Alvarez, not one to normally sound worried, sounded very concerned about whatever it was that was bothering her. It is always bad news. Never good news. They don’t share the good. They only share the bad. I closed my eyes, wanting the voice to go away before I brought Alvarez in. “Ma’am, please wake up, we need to discuss this.” Alvarez was also one to stand on ceremony…

“Yes, I am awake. Please, come in.” I managed to control my voice but you can’t control me…I will manage to control my voice. It is merely me taunting myself. Nothing else. I do not have a dead woman’s voice in my head. Alvarez entered, carrying a small bowl with her, which she gingerly set down on the top of my footlocker. “You’re treating that bowl as if it is sentient Alvy, that’s not like you. It can’t bite, it’s just a bowl.” I smiled at her, she probably couldn’t see, but she could hopefully feel the comfort from me. I must comfort them. If you don’t comfort them they don’t listen to you. They listened when comforted. We listened…It wasn’t the comfort you listened to…

“No, ma’am.” Her voice sounded very, very worried about whatever was bothering her. “Alice…I think our water may be contaminated. I’ve ordered full cessation of water use until we can figure out what’s going on. When you went into your tent eight hours ago, I ordered a full check of the provisions, per SOP. All sections reported back in at full expected capacity. No one has been using the stores without reporting in the use. But Whiskey Team hadn’t reported back. After an hour of silence, I sent Jones and Tally down after Whiskey Team. Thirty more minutes of silence, I ordered the well sealed. Jones and Tally were informed that they had five minutes to report back in. I should have sealed it sooner than that, but I had to give them a chance to come home. Between Whiskey Team and Jones and Tally, we’ve lost twelve more people. I still don’t know what’s going on in the well, and three more people up top turned into zombies. The crippled, Alice. They haven’t been involved in combat. They haven’t had any exposure to anything. The only thing I can think is the water. We’ve been hoping that you’d come to your senses by now-“

Holding a hand up for silence, “To my senses? Alvy, I’ve been asleep. I haven’t been raving.”

Alvarez looked down at her feet. “Ma’am…Alice, when this all started, I sent Ferguson and Wesson to come wake you. They both reported back that you started swearing at them and…worse.”

Pride. Pride and training were the only things that kept my hands in my lap. “I do not remember any such event. This is not to say that it did not occur, only that if it had it was a momentary bout of discomfort at having lost so close a friend. I am fine, I do not remember not being fine, and now we have to tackle the problem before us. What was done about our disabled crewmen?”

Alvarez straightened her spine, “Ma’am, we killed them. Per SOP we hoisted the corpses over the wall and burned them outside. Two of the little ones were bitten before the rest reported the problem. No more casualties at this time.”

“Standard cradle procedure?”

“Yes, ma’am. Carried out personally. My God has them in his arms now.” A look of hurt showed through Alvarez’ eyes. I could not see it, but I certainly could feel it.

“Understood. I am certain they were grateful to have someone who cared for their disposition in the hereafter. Now, we need to determine if the water is infected. Is Denton working on anything?”

“Not at this time, ma’am. He is inspecting everyone personally. He wants to rule out the possibility of a ‘Mary’ before we move onto the more ‘esoteric’ issues. He does not feel it possible that this is water-borne, due to the fact that we would have had sickness just drinking the water. Our stores are enough for 120 hours, and we’re currently rationing them via monitoring. Smith and Wesson are performing oversight on that.”

“Good. If Denton is doing what he feels appropriate, I will not second guess him. Let’s go see if the good doctor has any news, however.” As I stood up from my place on the cot, a look of horror and disgust came over Alvarez’ face.

“Alice! What did you do?”

Looking down, I noticed that I was not wearing any pants. This normally would not have bothered me, other than a mild irritation at having someone stare at me without cover. What really struck me as an issue to be concerned with however; I had carved something into my lower abdomen. “I…I don’t know…” I was looking down at myself, bleeding lightly, when suddenly I was viewing Alvarez rushing at me…sideways? When did she start walking on the wall?

[podbaydoor]

The next several minutes were sluggish. I lay there as Alvy called for help. I tried to get up, because I was right here. Whatever she needed help with, I could help her. I needed to help her. They relied on me. They needed my hand to guide them. Foolish child. They need you like they need lava in their soup. “No, that’s not true…” As I mumbled my words, Alvy turned back to me and smiled that scared little smile she had.

“It’s ok, Alice. Susan ran to go get Valerie or Denton. We’ll take care of you.”

That’s right. Let the little Mexican take care of you. She’s a servant, she’s used to cleaning up after her betters. “Shut up Mother. I do not need you. I don’t….” Oh but you do need me, child. I warned you that you would come to regret taking up this foolish career, and now you discover that I was correct. The voice held the mocking disdain it had on that day when I called her from the MEPS.

“Alice, stay with me. Come on, no one is responding outside, and Susan hasn’t come back yet.” Alvarez, for all her faults, never lacked in the physical strength department. She picked me up, and began carrying me out of the tent. As we cleared the threshold, we found the scene in chaos. Silently, without warning or even a single cry, those infected within the fort had managed to infect others, who infected others, and now none were left save the two of us. Quietly, without drawing attention to us, Alvarez started backing into the tent. She had somehow clamped her hand over my mouth to prevent me making noise in my non-lucid state. As the tent flap closed, Alvy set me on the bed, walked back and cinched the tent shut. She came over and breathed into my ear, “Ma’am, I’m going to do what I can to stanch the bleeding. You don’t look too bad off, but I do not know what you have been doing to yourself. Please, do not make a sound. If you can’t help it, I will gag you to prevent it. Please do not make me restrain you.”

As good as her word, she strayed down to my lap and began checking the depth of the cuts. After a few minutes of poking and pulling, she sighed inaudibly. Moving back up to my ear, she breathed again, “Symbols, ma’am. I don’t recognize this, and you don’t seem the type to just randomly draw things on yourself. Denton would have mentioned that, patient confidentiality or no.” She looked nervously at the tent flap. “We’re pretty well trapped in here, ma’am.”

Trapped among the ruins of your ill-fit command.

“I’m going to wait for total dark before I try to make it to a weapon shed. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to have to leave you alone, and I’ll need your weapon.” She seemed to be talking to herself, planning while she talked to me. “You’ll be alone, but if you don’t make noise, they shouldn’t find you.”

Heh, you’ve never known when to keep your damn mouth shut.

A flutter at the tent flap froze all of my thoughts. My muddled mind could not process what was happening, and all I know is that Alvarez stood up calmly and walked over to my weapon. She checked it as best as she could, secured the ammunition, then came back and assumed a defensive crouch. “Ma’am, it’s been an honor.”

Of course it has been. Trash like her would have to be honored to be treated as a peer by someone of your breeding.

The first hand to reach through the flap was tiny. Could not have been more than…Susan…she came back… The little fingers tugged at the knot, pulling it, twisting it, finding flaws in the design, finding a way in. Encouraged by the success at finding a small opening, it seemed the larger zombies began probing the hole for weaknesses. Larger hands gripped the cloth and tugged.

Minutes stretched into hours as they worked. Alvarez never wavered in her stance. She calmly knelt there with my weapon hung low. No more words could be said. She hates you. I tried to respond, but I couldn’t make my jaws work. She’s going to kill you. I shook my head in denial. She will, and it will be your fault. You should never trust…them.

Silently, a finger looking more like a bony dagger than a human digit, poked through the back of the tent. Alvarez did not hear it, and I could not move at all to warn her. As the cut moved downward, I saw that it was Valerie’s corpse. Graceful, even in death. She slowly reached through the opening and grasped at my face, pulling my hair. With precision, she shoved her finger in my mouth and pulled on my cheek. Gripping at my soft flesh to pull me towards her.

As my face moved, my shoulder naturally followed, and my arm flapped on Alvarez. She ignored my flail, and stayed focused on the door. A second later, the tent flap burst open, and she began firing at any head she could make out. The second shot misfired, and the weapon jammed. As she attempted to clear the jam, the press of numbers entered the room, and she was overwhelmed. Batting them with the butt of the weapon, fighting as hard as she could, she was dragged down. Her eyes focused on me, blaming me for my failure.

All alone now. The voice was taunting. You’re going to die. Alone. Unloved. Unmourned. With that wonderful nurse’s finger in your mouth. Hands begun to grasp at me, my vision was blurred and incoherent. I could not make out who…. They groped at me, clawed, began to pull on my clothes…. Why were they pulling on my clothes? I needed to fight. Suddenly Valerie’s face hung suspended above mine, her grim toothy smile showing her wordless speech. She moved down towards me, the last sight I would ever see would be that BITCH.

[podbaydoor]

Chapter 15: “Off we go, into the wild blue yonder….”

With a scream filled with pain and anger, I threw myself up against my attackers…and immediately fell to the floor. Valerie sat, several yards away on the other end of the tent, studying a book. A surgical text. With a look that lacked any sort of concern, she glanced over the rim of the tome, and shook her head. “Alice, please try to keep your voice down. It’s late, and the children are asleep.”

“What…” Choking back the million retorts that spiraled up in my head, I stood back up and gathered the sheet around my nude form. “Where are my clothes? I need to get back to work.”

“Your clothes are being mended. You put up quite a fight. Smith is going to require something of an apology, Wesson is certainly not going to be interested in speaking to you, and Alvarez is trying her best to explain to everyone why their commander was a raging lunatic threatening everyone near her and arguing with her long-dead mother about how she was the only one left.” Valerie placed a thin blade of grass between two pages with a delicate motion, then closed the volume and placed it beside her on the table. “Were it not for the fact that we keep some medical ether around, and that I know how to use it without knocking my own self out, we’d still likely be watching you bleed to death from your spontaneous attempt at tattoo artistry.” With a meaningful look towards my abdomen, she stood and walked over to me.

As she extended her hand to my forehead I backed up a step and turned away, still firmly remembering the rictus grin on her zombified form. “I am fine, Nurse. Now, may I please have my clothing?”

Her hand still extended, she cocked an eyebrow. “Alice, you are not returning to duty until cleared by two medical professionals. Denton may be crazy enough to clear you to return to duty just to get you out of our hair. I, on the other hand, actually care about you and your well-being. If you are going to act like a spoiled child, I shall be forced to assume you are a spoiled child, and I shall prevent you from reassuming your duties as commander.” Threat delivered, she stepped forward again and I allowed her to touch my head. “A low grade grunge. Nothing to be concerned with for the time being. Now please, sit down. I will send our little eavesdropping Kätzchen-Mädchen to go acquire some food for you.” The tent flap gave a guilty little twitch, then the sound of young feet scurrying away determined the truth of the matter. “You will be spending some more time here until I make sure that you have taken in what nutrition we can afford to put in you.“

I was not grinding my teeth. I was not being petulant. I will be cool. I will be calm. “That sounds like an excellent idea Nurse.” Returning to the cot, I sat down and calmly returned her gaze. “I will cooperate, for now, if you would be so kind as to send for Alvarez. She brought me some disturbing news, and I am obligated to verify that it was not the product of my distemper.”

With a soft snort of amusement, Valerie stood up and flowed past me. Leaning out of the tent, she called out to Alvarez. Turning around, Valerie nodded to me as she moved back to her previous place and resumed her reading. A handful of heartbeats later, Alvarez poked her head in, smiled, then stepped in and came over to me. “You look better, Alice. How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been wrung through and kidnapped after being beaten. Alvy…what happened?” I patted the cot next to me, not wanting to crane my neck to look at her and not quite certain that the sheet would cover me if I stood.

“Ma’am, I came in to deliver a report, about the water contamination. We talked about what had been done, and I explained our total estimated losses. You listened to me, then you stood up and started talking to me about the everyone being contaminated. You said the children were all infected. You were…talking to someone else, someone who wasn’t in the room. I believe you were sleepwalking, Alice. You threatened to implement the cradle protocol personally, since I was not going to. I had to take your weapon before you could. I told you to calm down and stepped outside to get some help for you, you retreated into the corner of the tent and collapsed.” Shaking her head, she grimaced at the next few statements. “When Wesson came through the tent flap, you charged at us. I know you trained with Clarkson an-“ The warning written across my face was there before I could smooth it out. I knew that she did not mean to press on sore spots, but they were there in the open. I was not some love-struck teenage little girl wishing her love would come save her. I was fully capable of saving myself, and everyone else.

“He made his choice, Alvarez. He trained me well, and I am pleased to know that even when suffering from mental exhaustion, I am still capable as a fighter.”

“That and then some, Alice. Your first two hits took me down. I watched the rest of the scuffle in a daze. Wesson grabbed you around the shoulders and lifted you up to remove your base, you took his knee out, jammed him in the throat with your palm, and as he dropped you I’m pretty sure you pulled that move from Street Fighter that Ken and Ryu do. The rising upper-cut? Yeah… You knocked his teeth loose. He stumbled back out of the tent into Smith, who engaged as well. He tackled you to the ground and tried to hold you still. All the while, you should know, trying to calm you down and keep everyone calm.

He’s got a pair on him, that one. He had you bound by the wrists, and was trying to pin your legs so you would stop kneeing him in the crotch, when you reversed your attempts and grabbed him into an arm-lock instead. I heard his shoulder pop, then you rolled out of cover and retreated to the corner of the tent. You were screaming that you were not going to let a bunch of zombies eat your family. That’s when I noticed Val had taken a sharp knife to the back of your tent, and she dropped you with whatever was in that rag she slapped over your mouth and nose.”

“Diethyl Ether, Alvarez. It was widely used one hundred and fifty years ago as a general anesthetic. It works, much like chloroform, in large enough quantities when directly applied to the breathing apparatus. It works even faster when someone is in a highly agitated state, due to the heavy breathing and constant oxygen exchange.” Valerie never looked up from her book, and just sat calmly reading.

“Thank you, Nurse. Alvarez, is anything wrong around the fort that I need to know about, other than our water supplies?” I cut the conversation short, in an effort to move onto important matters.

“No ma’am. We’re currently prepping a team to go in heavy. The Wonder Twins have assumed temporary command, while you are recovering. No offense intended, ma’am, but you’ve been under an insane amount of stress, and you haven’t had anyone to help you. Anyone would have cracked long before now. Smith and Wesson don’t want permanent command; they both swore up and down that this was just to keep order while you recovered.”

I nodded. “Yes. I understand.” Sighing, I knew that this was going to set us all back longer than it should. “Who is going down?”

Alvarez coughed. “The Wonder Twins, Becker, and Chemo.” The irritation on my face must have been quite clear, because Alvarez quickly added, “Ma’am, we don’t have anyone else who is trained in insertion and CQC. I could go down, but they wanted me to stay behind to assume command if this went bad. All we have left are a few paper-pushers. Good kids all, but I don’t want to put them down there and expect positive results.”

[podbaydoor]

Smith's viewpoint.

Chapter 16: “…Lost again, son of a bitch…”

“All right, broseph,” I bantered, “Let us do the thing of Romeo Papa Sierra. We shall determine the way of our fathers of old did who shall be the first to descend and face the the monsters beyond the foul gate!” Overbroad grin on my face, I turned and bowed to the light applause of the crowd we had gathered in the darkened courtyard.

Rolling his eyes, my twin, my brother, my constant straight-man who has the greater wit of the two of us balled his hand up into a fist and set it down on the palm of his hand. “Fine. Enough yammering, let’s get this over with.”

“A truer challenging cry has never been heard!” I placed my fist upon my open palm. “Ready, one, two, three!” As expected, we both showed “Rock”. “A draw! Let us again trade wits, brother mine. Ready, one, two, three!” On and on we went, him gaining frustration as we tied, me laughing more and more as he gained frustration. Eventually we reached the point we both knew was coming. I won, “Scissors” to “Paper”. “Aha! A blow finally struck for Truth and Justice!”

“Yes, yes. Go on ahead into the well asshole. Chemo, lower the torch down until you reach below the lip of the shaft. Becker, I want you down the shaft second. Inverted drop, just like we practiced. Warnings before woundings, gentlemen. Let’s not create corpses out of confused people.”

Chemo finished tying the knot onto the end of the knotwood torch, coated the burning end in the resin we had gathered, then lit the ball end ablaze. Down and down the well it traveled. Once it reached the lip, the torch was moved to the side, out of the path of descent. No one wanted to have an accidental encounter with burning pitch.

“Ball go down the hooole.” I managed my best baby speak impression, barely dodged my brother’s half-hearted swat to my head, and began my head-first climb down the length of rope. The key to proper rope descent is leg strength. Yes, your arms are important, but you don’t want to rely on them going down. Lock the rope between your thighs, wrap it around one of your knees, and use the inside of your feet as a braking mechanism. Down, down, down I slid. As I reached the lower rim, I took in my surroundings. No visible contacts, but you couldn’t see the depth of the water from where we were. The markings on the side of the cave showed water depth of fifty-five feet. “I don’t like it, man. Water is still as a grave, there’s no way two teams of experience swimmers all drowned down here without help. HEY!” My voice echoed off the cavern walls. “Bromander, this ain’t right. At all. I can see thirty yards in each direction. No bodies, no floating debris, nothing. It’s like they disappeared. Ok, deploying calciflariliciousness.” The pop, and burst of light, were fun to behold as always. As the flare traveled down the water, I saw nothing. Nothing, at all. “What’s the plan, Stan? I’m not Bruce Wayne; I can’t hang upside down all night.”

The feel of him thinking, of him looking at the situation from all sides, that intangible sense that he wasn’t happy with the options at hand. “What’d the Milk Maid say to the Shepherd?”

My laugh carried back up the well, “Time to get wet.” I released my grip on the rope with my feet and plunged into the water. Righting myself instinctually, I cleared the drop path and began swimming for the shelf that Whiskey Team used to start their surveying of the water. The splash made by Becker was followed not long after by Chemo, then my better half.

Once everyone climbed upon the ledge, Wesson became the no-nonsense cop he was set up to be. “Ok, we each have ninety-six rounds. Communicate before firing. Allow lead to take the shot, unless they have a bad angle. Melee is to be avoided at all costs. SO Thirteen is in effect, and I swear I will carry it out myself if I have to. Do you understand me, Smithy?”

“Why yes, Broseidon, Lord of the Brocean, I shall not dare suggest that we split up to cover more ground.” My grin, and the easy joke, helped Becker and Chemo relax some. “Tally forth, Sally ho, chode sprocket…all that good stuff.”

[podbaydoor]

Chapter 17: What a wonderful smell you’ve discovered!

We stepped out in line, keeping to the thin walk-way, and one eye down on the water line. Our torches providing enough illumination to see, and our footsteps silent as could be expected with hardened rubber on wet stone. The Brolamander confident in lead, trusting the rear to “the Wonder Twit”, Becker and Chemo were moving along in the center, keeping their eyes to the sides.

The dark, narrow, natural walkway that ran the length of the aquifer was riddled with recessed areas that were perfect for hiding in. As I kept my eyes open, I wondered why any zombies would hide there though. This was no horror movie. These were live, determined, enemies. Thinking about it, I chuckled. “Hey, Br-“

“Finish that statement without using my proper name and I swear I will drown you myself.” Wesson hadn’t even turned around, and I could see the irritation writ plain across his demeanor.

“Hey Wesson, I was just thinking. Is this a live-fire exercise or not?”

“Smithy, shush.”

“Because they’re dead, right? So shouldn’t this be a dead-fire exercise?”

“Smithy, shush.”

On and on we went, walking along in the cave. Most people might think we were a little daft for making all of the noise we were, but the thing is, we wanted the enemy to hear us. We needed them to come and find us, instead of hiding amongst the ruins. It was nigh on impossible for there to be an armed force waiting down here. An exchange of gunfire would have rang alarm bells as it echoed its way up through the well. Spent shell casings would have littered the ground.

So either we were facing undead, or facing an enemy so thorough that it was highly likely they knew we were here no matter what kind of noise we were making. Neither choice really caused me a great deal of good feelings, but at the end of the day it was noisemaking time. And nobody was better at making noise than I was.

I have to admit, even I was starting to feel the gloomy oppressive weight of however many tons of rocks above us as we descended. The knowledge that our comrades were somewhere in here, maybe hurt, maybe dead, did nothing to help morale as we walked along. The fortunate thing is, the well struck straight down to the top of the open space. In order to move in the opposite direction of our travel, you would need scuba gear and grappling materials. There were no air pockets for far enough that Whiskey Team had reported back that we need not fear anything living in that direction. So unless everyone grew gills, we didn’t need to worry about them in any direction but this one.

“…so the whole time that he was in the tub he was actually fighting to keep breathing because he had buried himself in shaving cream and couldn’t get purchase on the slick sides of the tub.” After having finished the story, and getting a chuckle from Chemo, I noticed Becker wasn’t laughing or smiling at all. “Becksy-poo, what’sa matta fuh you?” Becker didn’t even turn to acknowledge me. He wasn’t even really looking, just mechanically following the motions. “Airman Becker!”

His head snapped around to face me, shock written across his face. “S-Sergeant! Sorry….” He shook his head. “Sorry. Must have blanked out there.”

“Hey Cockmaster-flex, let’s take ten. I think we’re getting a little raw here. That spot up ahead looks defensible.” Pointing to a recessed hole in the wall, Wesson followed my gaze and nodded.

“Yeah, good idea. Don’t want to make any mistakes due to fatigue.”

Becker knew we were covering over his gaffe. He hung his head for a second, then straightened up and paid attention over the last 30 yards of travel.

[podbaydoor]

We settled into the recessed wall, Wesson sitting down where he could keep an eye in one direction, while I took the opposite wall to observe the other direction. “So, Becky, what’s eating you?”

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“No, no no no, that shit does not fly in my airspace. What is your damage, Airman. You shut down on me in the middle of an op. That’s not, as my Hebrew friends put it, good to eat. We don’t accept that. So either something’s wrong or you’re trying to get me killed. One of those answers ends with me drowning you.”

Again, abashed, he looks at his weapon, and sighs. “This doesn’t make any sense, Sergeant. Whiskey was chosen because they were cavers. Tunnel rats. They lived in the damn ground, there is no way they went this far and did not leave a trace. One slipping into the water, and getting swept away? Sure. Another going to try and save him? Ok. All four members of the team not reporting back in? That’s impossible. We have not seen any signs of combat, and we’re over two hours in. No dropped bodies, they would have left at least one zombie cadaver. No shell casings. Not even a water bottle or food remains. Then there are the folks we sent in after them. They had orders to not engage, to retreat and report, no more than an hour in and out. No signs of them. I’m not saying we need to give up on them, I’m saying that this does not make any sense. We’re walking into a trap.”

“Probably.”

“W…what?”

“We’re probably walking into a trap. Thing is, we don’t have any choice, as you said. We need to spring their trap. At least we know it’s out there. That gives us some advantage in the situation, as we’ll react faster than if we were caught completely off guard. You survived the Hollow Ford evacuation, it is a similar concept. We knew we were moving those people towards a large concentration of zombies. We took precautions, and we executed the mission, it’s that simple. Trust me, Wesson and I have been through a lot of crap. We won’t let us be taken off guard. That’s why we’re sitting here talking it through with you, so you’ll be ready. Can’t over-think what we’re doing here, otherwise we’ll just walk into whatever Zed’s got cooking for us.”

[podbaydoor]

Becker nodded, and I reached over to pat him on the shoulder. Just at the moment I reached my hand towards him, I saw something…wrong in his eyes. It looked at first as if he was about to smile, then his mouth opened into a hiccupping laugh. His eyes drained of color completely, and he swiped at my hand.

Pulling myself backwards into a defensive position, and trying to ready my weapon, I tripped and fell backwards into the rapidly moving water. Barely able to grip onto a jutting rock to hold myself from being swept downstream, the next few seconds were a blur of chaos as the water pulled at me forcefully, slapped at my face, and tried to drown me. Training kicked in and I started to heave myself back up onto the ledge. Wesson had his weapon up and was trying to determine whether Becker was a threat or just insane in the low light, and Chemo was trying to slowly move to a position where he had more room to move around.

Becker was slowly issuing forth that hiccupping laugh, sounding half insane as he coughed, trying to remove something from his throat. His head twitched to the side, then rolled to an unnatural angle back as his arms convulsed against him. Standing tall suddenly, Becker threatened to lunge towards Chemo, and Wesson put two in his head at close range. The shattering echo of weapons fire in the crowded-feeling cavern disoriented me slightly as I lunged onto the ground, and something snagged my boot, causing me to slide backwards into the underground river.

Desperate, I flailed my hand up to grab at something, anything, to stop myself from being swept away. My hand met something that moved, then gripped my arm violently, then hauled me bodily out of the water. Chemo looked at me with a relieved and slightly worried look, then clapped me on the shoulder as I gave him a thumbs up and laughed as I coughed trying to clear my lungs of water.

“Smithy, he’s…not dead.” Wesson’s voice carried the same tone it always did. He didn’t give a shit, this was what was. Becker was slowly pulling himself back to his feet, and twitching as he did so.

As Wesson readied his weapon to put two more into his head, Chemo shouted, “CONTACT, south!” and pulled his weapon up to ready his aim. What must have been a line of zombies at least thirty yards deep was dragging, crawling, or staggering towards us. Wesson’s two more shots dropped Becker again, and a crushing foot stomp from his booted heel disabled the threat more permanently.

I recovered my weapon from where it fell, as Wesson grabbed up Becker’s pack and my own. “You fight, I’ll carry. Becker stays here.”

“Right… Damn it…” As much as I hated leaving him there, protocol was what it was. Chemo still had his backpack on, and was withdrawing backwards, holding himself against the wall. I tried to keep him out of my line of fire, and found that the risk of falling back in the water was too great to maintain two abreast. “Chemo, you range ahead of Wesson, I’ll take six.”

Chemo nodded, and then sprinted up ahead of us to make sure our exit was clear. Wesson was humping at least one-hundred and eighty pounds of gear, and was trying his hardest to keep his weapon hand free enough for quick fire. “That doesn’t jive, man. I put two in his skull, point blank, in different lobes. No way had I missed all the important shit. There was no exit wound; those things were playing Tommy in his damn skull. How the fuck was he still mobile?”

All I could do was call back, “Don’t know, Brozilla. Right now we need to keep moving though, the peasantry is up in arms about your monster, and I’d really like to stay ahead of them.”

With an annoyed grunt, Wesson redoubled his efforts to move upstream. The crowd of zombies was not moving incredibly fast, but they were keeping close enough that it was quite uncomfortable. The stench of undeath was blessedly carried downstream by the river, and all that was left was the sickly scent of the mold and fungus in the cavern. We traveled perhaps ten minutes back the way we came, when we heard weapons fire from ahead. Bright flashes, and the occasional tracer round, lit Chemo’s face up as he tried to beat back an assault.

“Oh fuckcicles.” Wesson threw the packs to the ground and drew his weapon, moving up to gain a clear shot to help clear the path.

I stepped over the packs, scooped them up with my non-trigger hand, and kept backing up until I was with the rest of the team. “Gentlemen, I do believe we are in trouble.”

Wesson dead-panned, “Really? I thought this was SOP for our missions.”

“No, no.” I put two in the closest zombies head, his fall tangling some of those behind him. “It’s SOP for us to cause the trouble. Not be in trouble.” Two more into the next zombie’s head.

Chemo’s voice was straying towards panic. “Guys…I don’t feel so hot.”

“Chemo, you need to relax. We’ve been in worse.” Wesson tried to relay the confidence and charm he always held in reserve.

“No, it’s hic, he he he I really…” With that, he threw down his weapon and sprinted towards the enemy, plowing through them and knocking as many zombies as he could into the river. As they bit into him, he started tossing them aside, clearing the path as best he could.

“Ahhh…shit-on-a-stick.” Wesson stooped down and picked up the discarded weapon, then moved forward. Pulling his sidearm out, he started shooting those zombies that were clogging Chemo’s fatal work. Chemo was fighting back the hiccupping laughter, making retching sounds, and roaring wordlessly as he fought with enemies within, and enemies from without.

Backing up, I chose my targets carefully; shooting zombies that would fall and tangle the group, buying us more time. Chemo finally could continue forward no more, and between laughs, he choked out, “Gentlemen…It’s been…an honor. Tell Alvy...Love her…” With that, he threw himself into the river, and was swept away by the force of water.

Wesson mopped up the two remaining zombies, and scanned for more up ahead. I stepped quickly around the corpses, and couldn’t help but ask, “Did you know… Did you know about him and Alvy?”

“No. I thought Alvarez was a touch of the lez.”

“Yeah, so did I. Oh that’s going to be a fun conversation if she didn’t know he felt that way.” I laughed and turned to keep up. With only two people, our only choice was now to put some distance between us and the threat behind us. If we ran into more up ahead, we needed more time to eliminate them.

[podbaydoor]

Chapter 18: “You rise, you fall, you’re down, and you rise again…”

“You know, this sucks.” I hurdled the body of the zombie I had just felled, and called back to Wesson. “We’re sitting here racking up kills, and no one is going to believe us when we get back.” Things were still clear up ahead, and we had gained some time on the trailing pack, so I slowed down near the blind corners to not “face-pull”, as it were.

“You are assuming we’ll make it back.” Wesson was sweating from the exertion of carrying all of the gear, and looking more irritable than usual. “It is entirely probable that we will not.”

“Oh piss on that. We’re too cool to die. I mean, come on. Twin heroes? We’re fighting against impossible odds, and defying them! We have to live. It won’t be funny if we die.” I laughed as I came to a halt. “Ok, let’s do a quick ammo count. We have nothing ahead as far as I can see, and we can’t hear the howling herd of horrors from here.” I pulled my magazine, took stock of what I had, and shook my head. “I’m running low. I’ve thirteen in my rifle, and then my nineteen-eleven is fully loaded.” Reseating my magazine, I looked up and saw Wesson shaking his head.

“I have two in my nineteen-eleven, and twenty in my rifle. We’ve left quite a trail behind us, at least.” Always the pessimist, but rarely wrong, my brother had all the reason in the world to doubt our current standing.

“Right. Ok. Let’s keep moving, at a walk for a while. This bend in the cavern shouldn’t be that far from the well.” I turned to move on, and think. As sad as it seemed, I just didn’t feel like joking with only my brother as an audience. He knew the jokes as well as I did. He was always the funnier of the two of us, and nothing I could do right now would cheer him up. If we were going to die, I could only hope I could get him to laugh while it happened.

As we walked, the cavern around us was silent, except for the rush of water past us. No howling, no laughing, no shuffled steps. The length of the cavern we had passed through had no spaces for people to hide in. The entire time we walked the cave was empty. There was a sheer wall near the well entrance, and not a single rabbit hole to enter through. Even if the zombies climbed down the well rope, they’d never make it to shore. “Zed don’t swim, man. Zed don’t even float worth a hill of beans.”

“I know you’re insane, but do you have to mutter to yourself too?”

“Sorry, I can’t understand where the zombies we’re running into came from. The only way to where we are is via the water and that’s if they overran the camp and climbed or fell down the well. These zombies aren’t wet. They aren’t even damp. Half of them look dried in the sun. Their skin doesn’t show bloat from water exposure, it shows sun exposure and cooking. It doesn’t track.” I grimaced as I walked, I hated riddles.

“That’s a good point. I didn’t see any air vents, no sun shafts, and even if they wiggled through something like that, the ceiling is high enough that impact would kill them.”

“Re-kill.”

“Whatever, the point is they’d not be animate upon impact. We know brain trauma kills these bastards.” Nowhere near as irritated as he sounds, he clearly was thinking through this problem.

“It didn’t kill Becker.” I remembered the sight of two solid impacts on the skull, one likely through the orbital socket. “They may be mutating.”

“How? And why? Spontaneous evolution of dead tissue? I mean, the virus causes necrosis, or at least allows for them to fall apart.”

“What if the virus is fast-evolving? It could be guiding the signals through impulses, rather than allowing for full autonomous brain function in the victim.” Realizing that I sounded like a bad criminal science show, I shook my head. “Listen, neither of us are doctors. I know what makes things fall down and go dead. When you stomped his head, he stayed dead. Are we going to have to start engaging in melee range to kill them? Are the arrows going to work anymore?” I sighed, knowing that it wasn’t really any use to think this much about it. We still had to make it home before any of what we found would end up being of any use.

“Close quarters combat is a really bad idea. I’m worried about handling my boot after crushing his skull, we’re going to have to treat it like any MOPP gear and clean the fuck out of it, my socks, my pants, and me before we can be comfy safe. I mean, if fluid exposure is the vector, CQC is not the answer. For all we know, it can sink through the pores.”

“Yeah.” I started walking faster again, wanting to get us out of here. “Why’d Chemo and Becker catch it though? It doesn’t make any sense why they would and we wouldn’t. I mean, as hard as I tried, I know I swallowed some water when I got knocked back into the river. We both touched it when we swam to shore up ahead. We’ve been breathing the same air; we’ve touched the same stuff. Nothing we’ve done has been different. I know I’m ‘special’ but we’re not unique. How come I don’t have the giggles?”

Wesson was a long time in answering. He felt like he was thinking, so I kept quiet and let him ponder the situation. The slow, meandering turns were lit by our torches, and as quiet as we tried to be, we knew speed was more important than stealth. The zombies behind us were not going to stop moving until they had flushed us out and were gnawing on our thigh bones.

After an uneventful march, we finally reached our destination. From a distance, the impressive wall reflected our torchlight. No zombies waited for us, and we both picked up the pace, eager to get the hell out of Dodge. As we closed on the wall, Wesson was the first to notice a glaring problem. “Hold up, hold up. The rope’s gone.”

“Wha- Oh fuck. Well…fuck.” I checked back down the cavern, and could not see our pursuit just yet. “Ok, you wait here, I’ll take a dip and see if I can yell up the shaft and get someone to drop us a lifeline.” Handing him my rifle I dove into the water and pushed over to the well. Holding myself still against the light pull of the water, I looked up the shaft and saw nothing but darkness. “Lid is on. Nothing I do is gonna draw their attention, bro.” I swam back over and held onto the rocks comprising the bank of the river.

“Ok. You could shoot at the lid, but there is no guarantee they’ll hear you, or even understand the noise enough to open the lid and check. If the camp was assaulted by the same zombies that chased us down, they may even think we’re lost and have sealed the lid to prevent further infiltrations. Here,” he reached down to pull me up, “we need to figure out how they came to attack, and we’ll wait as long as we can for them to maybe drop the rope back down, or at least for someone to yell down.”

Allowing him to help me back onto dry land, I shake my head. “I hate last stands. They suck.”

Patting me on the shoulder, Wesson walks over and sits down against the wall. “Well, look at it like this. At least we’re standing together.”

I looked down the cavern, still no sight of pursuit, but it was going to come eventually. The original estimate of thirty yards was quite off, all things considered. The line was growing the last time I saw it. Wherever the aquifer came out, or wherever these zombies were coming from, this was a herd of epic proportions. “I feel bad for Chemo. Dude survives cancer, stays in the service, and gets taken down by a walking corpse.”

“It was worse than that,” Wesson smiled at the memory, “see, Chemo didn’t survive ‘cancer’. Chemo survived testicular cancer. Chemo did not have any balls. Literally. He was nutless. Poor guy had been diagnosed and faced it head on, was inspired by some biker dude or something. I always wondered if he was joking, until one day I was changing in the locker room and saw his naughty bits…well, his naughty tube. His bits were gone. All kibble, no bits.

So anyway, he’s just finished up pipeline, is going to his first duty station, when he gets this really nasty pain in his intestines. Turns out it was the cancer showing up all gnarly-like. According to him, his testes swelled up to like ten times the size of a normal man’s. It would have been hilarious, or awesome I guess if you think such things are indicative of anything, except for the fact that it hurt like he was being stabbed with a whole host of pointy death pokers.

The doctors assessed his options, and he was fortunate that they were able to diagnose it quickly, and they decided to just off with the wedding tackle. He wasn’t as upset about losing them and the chemotherapy and whatnot wasn’t any worse than the shit he’d already been put through, what really bothered him was the fact that he was going to be given the boot. Can you imagine that? Going through the pipeline, coming out the other side ready to do your duty, then finding out you literally don’t have the balls to be one of us?

Chaplain came in, tried to talk to him, but he was adamant that he was going to hear from someone officially that he was done before he gave up. He told the Chaplain to shove it, and bring his CO if he wanted anything from him. His Shirt was waiting outside, walked in and wanted to know what the dilly-yo, and Chemo, Captain Biggy McBrassballs himself, tells his damn Shirt that he wants to see the commander right god damn now.

Now, his Shirt was about to just haul into him then and there. Sick or not, recovering from everything or not, little Binky Boo was trying to tell a Chief what was what. The Chaplain pulled the Shirt outside, probably against regs that, but he did so anyway and said that it would be best for Chemo to hear everything from Commander Bullhead.”

“You’re shitting me, he went through under Bullhead?”

“Yeah. So Colonel Bullhead walks through the door, turns and looks down at Chemo. Without saying a word he just eyes him from crown to corns. After what Chemo swears was like twelve hours of gazing into his damn soul, Colonel Bullhead says, ‘So I hear you want to know what your future holds.’ Chemo swallows hard; I mean you remember his voice. Dude sounded like anger incarnate. Chemo nodded, and said, ‘Yes sir. I want to hear it officially.’

‘Do you want to get out?’

‘No, sir. I didn’t fight all this way to get beat over something piddling like this.’

‘Drop, and give me a push-up.’

Man, Chemo felt as weak as a newborn kitten. He felt like his arms were lead weights. He was tired, hungry, sick, dehydrated, and ready to puke. Dude rips out his IV, rolls out of bed, hits the ground like a sack of potatoes. The Chaplain, who escorted Colonel Bullhead, went to help him and Colonel Bullhead just put a hand on his shoulder. I mean, I don’t give a shit who you are. That stops you in your tracks.

Chemo gets his arms under him, he’s already sweating, a nurse comes in and tries to move past Colonel Bullhead, and can’t move him, or move past him. Chemo gets his feet set, and he throws all of his energy into his arms. Not even trying for form, he just wants to get up off the ground. Bullhead kneels down and looks at him with that Native American vibe. That intensity he had about him that just made you want to do it. You remember what he was like.

Chemo lifts his head up and sees Bullhead looking at him. Not willing him on, not demeaning him, just telling him with a look that this was going to be all on him. Either he pushed up, or he washed out. Man, I don’t know that I could have done it, but Chemo got his happy ass what he says was barely an inch off the ground, but he finally got some lift. Colonel Bullhead reached over and put that big old paw on his shoulder, and Chemo said that gave him the strength to push the rest of the way up.

Chemo looks forward, and sees Colonel Bullhead nod once. ‘Remember Airman, you will always fight alone. But you will never be alone. We are a family. We are brothers. I will fight for you, but you must fight for me. The Chaplain will help me fill out the paperwork, and you will have your chance. Do not disappoint me.’

Colonel Bullhead turned around and walked out of the room. The nurses picked Chemo up and got him back in bed. I have no idea how long he spent in recovery, but he hit the wall at a dead run. Chemo said he dedicated every waking moment to getting better. As soon as he was allowed, he walked. Once he was allowed to jog, he jogged. He never rested, he never stopped. Even after Colonel Bullhead was sent to another base, he remembered that he owed him his full effort.

That’s what sucks about this the most, my brother. Chemo fought harder than any of the rest of us, because he had to fight through it twice to get where we are. In the end, he got beaten by this virus. In the end he fought to save us, and then tossed himself in the river to save us from having to hurt him.”

I sighed, and looked back down the river. Down as far as I could see, knowing that somewhere downstream there was a zombie Chemo. “I hope we never see him again. That, would be one scary fucking zombie.”

[podbaydoor]

Chapter 19: “…What don’t kill you, make you more strong.”

Tired, I sat down next to my bro, and pulled open my pack. Pulling out two sacks of dried oats, I handed one over, then began slowly chewing on my own. The wait was always the worst part. You could face anything, if you had to face it now. Right now. But waiting for something over the course of hours either strung your nerves tightly, or made you stop caring.

Hurry up and wait was the standing motto for pretty much any American military unit ever to exist. Move fast, get where you’re supposed to be, then wait for the next order to move fast. The sooner you were ready for the enemy, the better you would be. An entrenched position is hell to overtake, and there is confidence to be gained in knowing you are rested and ready, while the enemy coming to meet you is tired and anxious.

Problem is, fighting zombies is a different ballgame. Zed never tires, he never gets anxious, she doesn’t feel hungry, or wonder about his spouse, or wonder about her job, or worry about his kids, or worry about her car repairs, or sit and ponder existential questions regarding the meaning of all of this. Zed just shuffles along, occasionally killing something that is unlucky enough to get in the way.

For probably the thirtieth time that hour, I looked around for anything we could use to our advantage. Once again, the only advantage we had was that they could only approach singly, past a brace of stone that narrowed the walkway enough that we should be able to keep them bottled up, or force them into the water. The problem there was the fact that we had limited ammo, and then it would be melee range which brought all sorts of challenges. A zombie coughing or a particularly “juicy” hit could infect either of us. Our MOPP gear was all the way back at our home bases, well out of range of being useful. Not that fighting in MOPP gear was any sort of great fun, and it was cumbersome. Still, the gloves and hood would have been a great help.

I sighed, knowing that I may as well be wishing for the moon to reach down and give me a blow job and Twinkie while I was at it. Had to deal with what was in front of us, couldn’t go hoping for something that would not be. Reaching down into the sack of oats, I found that I had already eaten the lot of them. I cinched the sack back up, placed it back in my pack at the same time my brother placed his in there, tied up the pack tightly, and settled in to wait.

Time passed for us in silence. Nothing needed to be said, and the quiet helped us prepare ourselves for what we knew was the eventual outcome. We’d fight hard, we’d acquit ourselves well, and then we’d make sure we’d never threaten our friends, family, or family.

[podbaydoor]

Dousing my torch in the river, I reached inside my bag and pulled out a flare. Taking the hint, my brother tossed his torch into the river as well. Just on the edge of hearing, the moans grew louder. We did not know for sure whether the zombies were capable of “sight”, but we did not want to guide them directly to us regardless.

Slowly, over the course of an hour, the shuffling and moaning grew louder. When I estimated them at about 30 yards, I popped my flare and tossed it towards the chokepoint. It bounced, rolled, then came to a stop just where I wanted it; I would be able to see the zombies who shuffled into the kill zone, but not beyond. I knew they were there, but did not want to start feeling overwhelmed. We were dead men, but as long as we had ammo we were going to take more of them with us.

Our first victim slid along the wall and into sight. I aimed my weapon along the right side of his head, took my shot, and dropped him against the wall. My brother took the shot on the next zombie behind him and both kills slumped against the wall. The zombies pressed forward, and knocked the corpses down. The first zombie over the corpses slipped, and fell on the rolling body limbs. The following seven zombie pile-up caused several more to fall into the river as they were shoved from behind, and unable to gain purchase on the writhing mass of necrotic flesh.

My brother and I advanced closer and picked off the animate corpses on the pile, then as we withdrew to a safer distance watched as the herd thinned itself out. The now inanimate dog-pile of zombified humanity lay as a sort of bulwark, and each zombie that tried to climb over it was met with a single precise shot.

At first we thought ourselves safe, but the feeling was short lived. The corpses on the bottom of the pile began to move again, much as Becker had. Risking his own safety, Wesson ran forward to stomp the heads of those he could reach, and butt-stroke those he could not stomp. With their heads thoroughly crushed, and our wall growing by the minute, our limited amount of ammunition was put to best effect.

Each kill added to the pile, and the press of the zombies was limited due to the footing, made slick by viscera and the natural condensation from the river, as well as the narrow ledge between wall and water. “We’re going to need some luck here soon, brother mine. I’m sure they’ll find a way around this Jersey barrier we rigged up, given enough time.”

The moaning was really the only indicator we had as to the size of the horde, they lost a member every so often as someone…something bumped something else off into the river. For all I knew though, the river was simply a way for them to get back to the end of the line and rejoin the battle.

Slumping against the wall, content with the durability, and needing some rest, I laughed as a stray thought crossed my mind. “When I shoot you, do you think the fictional god of our mother will call it a sin?”

A short laugh was all the answer I received for a minute. I watched my brother slide down the wall, fatigued and spent. After a few long drawn breaths, “No. I prefer to believe that such a god would call it mercy, a form of salvation if you will.”

“What about the suicide shortly thereafter?”

“Also not a sin. Your actions would be considered heroic in context, as you would prevent your corporeal body from being used as an instrument of death and chaos.”

“Interesting. There’s just no clean answer to such things, is there?” I reached over and took his sidearm’s last round. Checking my own weapon, I found the last round chambered. Sliding the second round in, I clapped the safety off and asked the question that mattered most. “When?”

“I guess when the pile starts to give way. Any longer and we risk them reaching us before you can get a clean kill. I don’t want you having to spend both on me, leaving nothing for you.” His eyes closed, he still had no emotion in his voice, but I could just make out the lines of his face. He had found peace with what must be, and that gave me the strength to do what must be done.
A new, strangely familiar, voice rang down from the waterfall. “Gentlemen, as touching as this scene is to see I figure y’all may want to consider saving the forty-five caliber aspirin for now.”

Shocked, the two of us looked up to see a small red glow-stick limning a face filled with barely suppressed mirth. Tally looked behind her, “Jones, tell Whiskey to bring the ladder. I think we need to rescue the Wonder Twins from themselves.”

[podbaydoor]

Standing and looking up, I watched as the ladder descended to us. Simple rope and sticks, but it looked like a golden stairway from where we stood. My first thoughts were pure gratitude, but, as thoughts are wont to do, I started to try to piece together how Tally was standing in a space that looked no more than a half a foot. The visual contrast of all six feet of Tally standing in her skin-tight climbing gear, and a lip to ceiling ratio that couldn’t hold a twelfth of that mass, caused my brain to hurt in not nice ways.

Once the ladder reached us Wesson went up first, stopping halfway up and turning around to take all of the packs and equipment from his foot, to his hand to heave them up to the waiting crew. After the equipment transfer, I started to climb up quickly, and had to laugh a bit as I reached the top and Whiskey Team hauled the ladder up behind me. “I guess dinner is cancelled.”

Tally gave a huge smile, and hugged the two of us, then looked confused at my look of confusion as I was staring up and down the mouth of the obviously huge opening at the head of the waterfall. “Oh, OH! I see you were confused by the optical illusion. It’s fairly common in caves; the ceiling seems closer to you than it is, so the space up here seems to be smaller. Don’t worry, we run into it all the time.”

In truth, standing on Wesson’s shoulders, I couldn’t have reached the ceiling. “That is seriously trippy. Man…Wesson, you believe this…” I turned and saw Wesson, the man of composure and calm, on his knees crying his eyes out silently. Whiskey Team stepped away a few feet with Jones, discussing how best to return to base now that the obvious route was effectively blockaded by several colleges worth of student zombies.

Tally stepped over with me, and squatted down to console Wesson. “I couldn’t do it, man.” His sobs distorted his words some, but his meaning was clear. “I couldn’t shoot you. You manned up. You didn’t even hesitate. I couldn’t shoot you.” Tally took his head on her shoulder, and soothed his cries.

“Man, it’s ok!” I slapped him on the knee. “We’re ok. Don’t worry about it. I had it. You’re the brains, I’m the brawn. You know that’s how it works. Don’t have to be smart to pull a trigger, and I’d always make sure you were safe. Even if safe means dead.” I had to force a smile. I had to force it as hard as I could. My brother, my rock, the yin to my yang, the Peanut Butter to my chocolate! I had to take care of this. I had to convince him we were good. Smile like a big buffoon. It will work.

Wesson shuddered as a fresh sob pulled at him, and Tally consoled him as best she could. Her broad, bony, shoulder likely more comfortable than any pillow he could have at the moment. Murmuring gentle reassurances to Wesson, she waved me away. I hesitated a moment, then took the social cues and walked over to where Jones was using some glowing powder to look at a map of the network of tunnels. “So…thanks.”

Jones grunted, “There’s a way out back that direction some distance. Problem is, once you get out of the tunnels there’s this massive fucking ditch, chasm, Grand Canyon type of monster to find a way out of. We turned back once we hit bingo food. Personally, I’d be grateful to you if you had an-“ He cut off as I kicked open a pack and pulled out some of Chemo’s oats to hand to him. A sigh passed his lips as he looked at Tally. “Be sure she gets some too, please. Whiskey hasn’t eaten in ‘bout a week, so we’re going to need to take it easy on giving them food. Not that you’d know it by looking at them, but those two are just about burnt out.” Taking three fingers full of grain, he cinched the bag shut, and handed it back to me. “Once Wesson’s on his feet again, and don’t worry, I ain’t pushin’, we’ll discuss our next move.”

Nodding, I took a seat next to the fast moving river of water. “So it’s safe to drink, then?”

Jones moved up to sit next to me. “Yeah. There is zero chance of dead bodies in this level of the waterway. There aren’t any outcroppings inside the stream to get caught on, and there aren’t any places that we’ve found for them to get into the source, considering it’s about two hundred yards that way. Big geyser of water, kind of hard to maneuver around, getting to it from either side is an uphill trip and the force of it would sweep any of these shamblers into the current and away before they could really be a problem. That, however, is if they could even get to this level. You have to climb a fairly sheer rock face to get from the chasm level to this network, or walk from wherever the tunnel originates, which we haven’t found yet, and Whiskey says that they couldn’t locate in the time they searched. The first Tango we saw was climbing around your little attempt at Thermopylae. Any idea where they came from?”

“Downstream,” I sighed, “we ran into them…. Wait, that doesn’t make any sense! We were flanked while falling back to the well, they had us from both sides and the only way for them to get at our backs was to have come from up here!”

Jones shook his head, “Look around. You see any signs of passage? They’d of left something to mark their coming through.”

“Well we sure as shit didn’t imagine them! We-“

“Settle down, I’m not saying you did.” Jones gave me a look that was equal measures stern and pitying. “Listen, I know you’re rattled. We all are. But I need you to get your shit together.”

Clamping my jaw shut, I clenched my eyes and fists trying to stop from lashing out in anger and pain. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok, man. Let’s go take a look from up here to see if there’s any explanation.”

I nodded; following him over to the side wall allowed us to bypass Wesson’s sobbing form and creep closer to the lip of the cavern. Once we got close enough to be spotted by anyone, we dropped prone and low-crawled over to the rim. From there, a light dropped in our haste to get up the ladder gave enough scattered light to see vague outlines of the walls. As we analyzed the wall running parallel to the river of water, I couldn’t help but also gaze at the river of dead bumping and swaying. Looking for all the world like a gory millipede, the army of zombies ebbed and flowed like a single organism, an organized machine of destruction made of flesh and sinew, viscera and bone. A small wave of nausea passed over me as I thought of the potential failure of the hand gun I intended to use to save my brother from becoming a cog in that great and terrible machine.

With a light tap on my forearm, Jones brought my eyes back to the wall, and a small swaying patch of some form of moss or algae. Pressing himself tight against my side, he breathed into my ear, “Right there, that’s it. That patch is out of place if you think about it, there’s nothing there for it to grab onto, unless there’s a crawlspace or duct of some kind. Likely the foliage there is from seeds or dead plant life that’s become overgrown as time has gone on. There’s probably a chute, some sort of entrance some distance in that trapped them in there, and when they heard your team insert, they clambered towards the light and sound. Hit your flank, and the rest is history. Ne?”

[podbaydoor]

I nodded to indicate agreement, then crawled slowly backwards. After making it some distance away from the lip, we stood again and walked over to stand near Whiskey. “We lost Chemo and Becker, the camp blocked off the well for some reason, and we’re running low on supplies. Now that we understand our situation, we need to improve our odds.” Digging in my pouch, I handed each member of Whiskey a small portion of oats. “How stable are the walls of that canyon?”

Jones shrugged, “We could climb it, but it is still a day’s hike back to it. About as long to find a suitable egress point, then again as much if not longer to get back to base. We may need to scrounge for food in the forest. Whiskey’s been on bingo for longer than we have, and we aren’t exactly living on high nutrition right now.”

“Let me get some sleep,” I looked over at Wesson, “try to get him to go to sleep too. It’s been a long day. An hour’s nap won’t hurt overall.”

Whiskey Lead slapped me on the shoulder, then walked down the path towards the geyser to stand watch. Whiskey Two sat down and was asleep before too long. Jones walked over to talk to Tally and Wesson, leaving me alone, by the side of a river of water, surrounded by zombies, and having to play a role I wasn’t trained for. Wesson was the leader, even though we both shared the same rank. We outranked everyone here, and needed to stay in control of the situation. Had to give everyone hope that we could RTB.

I made a pillow of my pack, got as comfortable as I could, and was asleep before too long. It was going to be a long three days, and rest wouldn’t come easy out in the open.

[podbaydoor]

Chapter 20: Charlie Foxtrot

One of the most important, and yet most mind-numbingly boring, duties is sitting watchtower detail. You have nothing to do for sixteen to twenty hours but look around for movement. Ninety-nine percent of the time at the end of the day you just spent the majority of another day of your life memorizing the area around you and wishing, ironically, that nothing would happen so that all you’ve done is waste a day doing nothing. That other one percent was happening below me right now.

As a rule, watchtower is supposed to be watching for external threats to the base. Nothing about this entire situation is remotely normal though. Dead people aren’t supposed to get up and walk around. Dead people aren’t supposed to bite, and claw, and shred, and moan, and try to kill. So over the weeks I had gotten bored, and much to my discredit, had taken to watching a fifteen year old girl in the camp as she went about her day. She reminded me of my little girl, a memory that is equal parts pain and joy.

Little Jocylin died a hero, and I’ll be damned if I couldn’t be more proud of her for her actions. She bought time for the kids she was babysitting, all nine of them, to escape and be rescued by NORTHCOM base patrol. The patrol response offered to take her with them, not yet understanding the nature of infection. Somehow she knew, and closed the door to the vehicle telling them that she wouldn’t leave with them. She handed one of the kid’s insulin packs to the shotgunner, told the kids that they needed to behave for the nice men, and turned back around to re-enter our house. She fought her way through a pack of her classmates, friends, next door neighbors, fought to her room, took out the pink twenty-two I used to teach her how to shoot at the base range, wrote a short note asking for my forgiveness and understanding that she had tried her best, and blew her brains out.

The young girl I watched on the quiet days in the watchtower had that same sense of duty to the little ones. She herded them around, made sure they kept to their tasks, soothed hurts and calmed tempers, and never hesitated to do what was necessary. Today, I saw her calmly swinging a trenching tool, decapitating little forms that had once been her wards. Not five hours before, she had barely avoided joining them in undeath as she opened their tent for the day.

It was part of my morning ritual, climb up into the guard tower, relieve night-watch, wait for the first light, then watch her as she climbed out of her spider-hatch, set her gear to rights, then walk over and eat a quick breakfast. As she ate, I scanned the surrounding forest. Like clockwork, she finished her meal and I watched her go over to the tent. Three knocks, then two, then three, I mirrored her actions on the ledge of the tower. Clenching my hand, expecting her to do the same on the handle of the door, the synchronicity was broken as I saw her take two quick steps backwards. Leveling my rifle’s sights on the door-frame, I saw her stand ready with her trenching tool. No hesitation, no doubt, sorrow etched on her face, but no tears to cloud her eyes.

From a safe distance, but through the miracle of optics, seemingly right in front of my eye the door to the tent fell outward, and three small forms fell with it. Little Brandi, her hair in braids, her hands gripping…a small arm. Bite marks, rent flesh, chew marks clean through the bone. Must have been one of the toddlers. “GET CLEAR!” I shouted for my daughter to move out of the way of my line of fire. “TANGOS IN THE OPEN, CHILDREN TENT, ENGAGE TARGETS AT RANGE!” I saw movement from the farm quarter towards the tent, and as I put optics back to my eye, I saw my daughter, calmly swinging her shovel. Terminating the threat, child by child, calm as could be. A look of sadness on her face, but determination in her actions, she did what was needed. Slinging my firearm over my shoulder, I slid down the ladder and ran over to pull her away, to save her from the house, and ten yards from her, I was hit in the side. I pulled an arm free to strike and I saw Alvy’s face, her hand over my mouth, ferocity and anger in her eyes.

“Damn it Spellman, your daughter is dead! Let someone else handle her.” Alvy’s eyes calmed as she saw mine clear. “Man, it’s ok, but she’s gone. This girl, man, she hates men. I mean, she hates them. Don’t ruin it for yourself.”

Closing my eyes, I felt the present reassert itself, the chaos of memories dying and of the present danger now past. “Mmphahphaphhmmm.” Alvy’s hand left my mouth. “The kids are dead.”

“I know man. I know. Help me clear the firepit.” Alvy kissed my forehead, helped me up, and handed my rifle to a nearby Airman, pointing them up to the watchtower. Putting her arm around my waist, she walked with me towards the firepit, keeping me clear from danger, being a mom.

“How’d you know that I was in la-la-land?” I asked, more for something to talk about, than out of any genuine curiosity.

“I’ve seen you watching her. I was worried, so I kept an eye out.”

“You didn’t think I-“

“No, man. No. Don’t stress. I asked around at first, sure. Found out about your daughter and put two and two together. You weren’t giving her the kind of looks that would have set my alarm off, everyone knows where I came from, and you know I’d pick up on any Uncle Lester vibes from you. It is pretty obvious that you are still hurting, and I know that trying to raise a proxy is a way out, but this one, you need to keep clear of; she hates men in such a passionate way that I’m positive she’d stab you as soon as look at you.” Alvy squeezed my ribs companionably, slapped me on the ass and laughed. “Besides, if RUMINT is true, you ain’t interested in us señoras anyway.” As hard as I tried, I couldn’t keep the stunned look from flashing onto my face. “See, I knew it. It’s ok man, don’t stress! Don’t stress. Jesus loves you, I love you, man no stress. You know how we gossip in the barracks.” Grabbing the chains, we started to haul the grate off the pit to clear room for the bodies. “You don’t wear a ring. Nobody has ever mentioned a wife, or girlfriend, or lost love. No incest, no siblings, your mom’s been dead for a long time. Which begged the question, where’d the daughter come from? Jansen’s been on the same base with you since basic. Never saw you date, then one day you show up on base with a little person. Said you kept her on a tight line, but let her be a kid. Then, Jansen mentioned that you even tucked her in at night and that you’d always go out of your way to give her privacy. Problem is, he stammered a bit about the tucking in at night. See, I didn’t realize Jansen and you were a thing until that point. He’s way too pretty to be straight anyway.” She must have caught my sudden glare, because she followed that with, “Sorry, sorry. That was insensitive of me. But it’s true, he’s a pretty boy. He doesn’t act flamboyantly, and he doesn’t prance like some sort of ninny, but he just had this ‘I’m gay’ vibe about him. Bah, I’m fucking this up. Regardless, no, you don’t have to worry. I know you’re cool, and you ain’t no Lester. We’re good.”

Alvy smiled, and went to retrieve the shovels so we could clean out the ashes after burning…after burning the kids. My gaze turned from Alvy over to the tent. The young woman was talking to the security detail that was emptying out the tent. Every time a male asked a question, she just sneered and turned back to Roseburn and said something. It seemed like Roseburn knew about the issue and tried to include the men in the conversation, but to no avail. When Alvy came back, she sighed, “Someone needs to smack her upside the head and tell her to drop the attitude. Mom did not put up with that shit from me. Swearing, ok. Questioning her requests, ok. Raise my voice, or be rude to someone? Oh my Lord she’d have me by the ear and telling me that Jesus didn’t spend all that time in pain so that I could be rude to my fellows. No-no. Not allowed in her house, not in a house of the Lord.”

“So why don’t you take her aside and straighten her out?” I looked at Alvy in time to see her roll her eyes and jam her shovel spade-first into the ground harder than necessary.

“Because Alice told me to leave her be. Said that it wasn’t my place to tell someone to behave.”

“Rather odd order.” I looked back to see the security team carrying a litter holding little Vincente. Four people, one on each end of two 15 foot long poles, plus one guard with a sidearm aimed at the deceased. “You’d think that she’d want to remove any potential irritants.”

Once the pall bearers reached us, the lead looked at Alvy, “Ma’am, we’re not real sure we want to hold 21 funerals. Permission to perform two?”

Alvy looked thoughtful for a second, then shook her head. “Mass burn for the adults, separate burns for the little ones..”

Another of the pall bearers coughed, and looked down, the lead shook his head in turn, “Ma’am…there’s not much left of the three adults to recognize what belonged to who. We can send a WIT in and try to piece them together, but…well, honestly we’re trying to decrease the possibility of infection. That canvas is going to need some serious cle-“

A new voice spoke over him, “BIPMO.” Alice walked over and looked down at Vincente’s corpse. “This leaves Susan, and Tiffany, yes?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Alvy’s eyes narrowed, and the pall bearers wasted no time in moving back out of the way.

“Interesting. Tiffany will join me in the command tent, I have need of someone who can follow orders without question.”

The clenching sound from Alvy’s jaw mimicked walnuts breaking. “Of course. I can certainly appreciate how someone could use the mindless servitude of youth.”

“I’m not sure I take your meaning.” The Arctic was warmer; Cocytus seemed a tropic island by comparison.

“Gentlemen, you have your orders. Return Vincente to the tent and burn it in place.” Alvy dismissed the pall bearers to their grizzly task. “Spellman, if you wouldn’t mind lending a hand, we need a firebreak around the burn zone. No sense bringing the fire to the rest of the camp.”

I couldn’t follow fast enough to suit my emotions at the time. Alvy walked dangerously close to running into Alice, with Alice turning as if it was her intention all along to leave. Digging a ring around the little one’s tent, I caught sight of Susan holding onto Valerie, sobbing the tears of someone who’s between bouts of hysteria. “Ms. Valerie,” she began, “why isn’t anyone crying? The kids are gone!”

Valerie smoothed her hair down, and held her close to her side, “They are, my dear. Just inside. Everyone is rather burnt out right now, and adults don’t have the ability to release emotions in the needed fashion all the time.” She held the look herself like she wanted to cry, but simply had nothing left to give to sorrow. No one did. The camp had been beyond decimated. Seven in ten dead, and it seemed to happen all at once. The last team inserted into the well, and not two hours after people started complaining of hiccups, then uncontrollable laughter. Without warning, they went savage, and quickly looked just like the zombies. No signs of infection, no contact with zombies, no lead-up, just zero to zombie in sixty seconds.

Denton, Merryman, Rivera, Simpson, Janus, Delgado-Cortez, the list just went on and on. What was once a bustling camp, cramped but still livable, seemed a ghost town. Eighteen souls, thirty-nine with the children and crippled, but now only eighteen…. Alvy knelt as the tent was torched, and began to pray silently for those poor little lives cut short. At least, I hoped she was praying for them. Any prayers for me should be for a quick death. Almost as if she heard me, Valerie came over and looked at my face, then intently at my eyes, “Spellman, yes?”

“Yes, ma’am, what can-“

“What’s your blood type?”

“I’m O neg.”

“Alvy, you’re also O neg, yes?”

Standing up and brushing off her knees, Alvy nodded in reply. “Yeah, I’m O neg.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

Alvy frowned, “Val, you’re going to have to include the rest of us in your internal monologue at some point. May as well start now.”

“We’re all O neg. Every one of the eighteen left standing here are blood type O negative. Spellman was the only one, other than you, that I hadn’t already known. But according to Denton’s ramblings it shouldn’t matter what blood type you have. I’m no hematologist, but I assume Denton knew what he was talking about. Ever since we started having the chaos here in camp, I started drawing specimens to compare from people. Denton was slowly working his way through camp, analyzing blood samples and seeing if there was some way that people were just slow burners, or maybe we had a ‘Mary’, or…something…FUCK I am so tired right now.”

Hearing Valerie swear was a bit like hearing your little sister swear, she knew the words, and she tried to emphasize it right, but it just sounded…off. “Uhm, Nurse Goëring, how far along did you get in medical training?” I frowned, trying to think of a clear way to say what I was thinking when I realized all eyes were on me. “I…uh…I wasn’t sure how much knowledge we were working on here. I know there’s a library about seventy-ish miles southwest of here, and...I…uh….” My words trailed off as I realized that I was talking above my pay grade.

“Go on.” Alvy urged me on with a smile.

“Well, there’s only 18 of us. We don’t have enough folks to keep this fort up, and if we’re going to accomplish anything, we need more information than we have at hand. I can keep the crops up with water, and I think I understand about fertilizer, but Jonas was the farmer. We don’t know enough about what we need to know about to survive here in isolation. 18 is an Element, and we can keep a tight enough formation to avoid large confrontations. Four miles an hour at a forced march, we could be there in about a day. Clear out the library, set up a temporary camp, fortify the area, tear the library apart for the information we need to survive, then hike back. I don’t know how to deal with crops, but I do know how to build a wagon like the settlers used on the Oregon Trail. Load one up with books, and we’ve got ourselves a chance to at least survive the winter.”

Valerie smiled, “I thought through this already, I like the nuance with the wagon, but there are a few problems with your plan. Four miles an hour is a good pace, in daylight over level ground. I’ve picked up some survival skills from chatting with people, and in best light we’d be lucky to make two an hour over this terrain. The problems go on from there. I like your motivation Spellman, please keep thinking on this for me? Alvy is a good source of information, but sometimes information can come from unexpected or inexperienced sources.”

I sighed, a habit a lot of people had taken to lately, then sat down and watched the flames build. Valerie nodded to us, then took Susan with her and walked away. The pall bearers went back to their tasks around the fort, and Alvy sat next to me, and put her arm around my shoulder, leaning into me. “So, I have to say I’m glad you spoke up. I’ve been saying we need to leave the fort for some time, and that urgency has only increased with all of the dying, but with it only being me speaking it has seemed to be a lost cause. Now that someone else has pitched in with an idea of how to make it work, we might be able to get more people interested.”

I shook my head, “Valerie is right though, I’m inexperienced in field operations. I’m sure that nobody is going to take me seriously in this.” A scream cut through our thoughts and set both of us to running, though it took me longer to get upright as my foot slipped out from under me. Rounding the corner of the tent complex a pace behind Alvy, I stumbled again as she stopped fully. My gait carried me right into her, and caused me to fall down on the ground and look up into the eyes of…a young boy? Thirteen, fourteen at most, a wild look in his eyes, and…oh God an explosive belt. He held Valerie by the hair, and had his other hand on a plunger. From my position on the ground, I started to laugh. “Heh…heheheh…You’re the kid from the assault a few days ago, aren’t you?” I coughed as I stood up, “You know, I had completely,” cough “forgotten about you.” Shaking my head, I ran a hand along my face. My thoughts grew chaotic, and scattered as I started to feel a porcupine crawl around in my stomach. “HAOW did,” cough, “you GEHT” somehow I was walking towards him. Valerie dropped to the ground as the food released his hand from her hair. “You were FHRR,” cough, “FHRR”…

The taste of food was delicious. Liquid warmth gushing, the food was still warm, so warm…. It is shaking as I pull at its warmth…slaking my need making our need gone. No more need. No…. MORE need! Turn, look at food. Food is screaming, screaming food taste. Warmth, need more warmth. Need more…sideways, why food sideways? Food can walk on wall! Food is amazing. Why not can move? Move makers not work? Use grabbers, get food… Dark. Cold and dark. Not dark, day! Day not dark, why dark? Need food, make cold stop. Rest now. Rest.

[podbaydoor]

Chapter 21: Soil ain’t green.

Sobbing. The sounds of Alvarez shouting orders to the people losing their shit, some more literally than others. Susan curled into a ball, full fetal position, gaze abstracted, verbally self-soothing. Tiffany still holding the large shovel she killed Spellman with, strangely smiling. Might need to check her mental state, she displays an alarming lust for combat. I should probably stand up, the blood is pooling, and it will start to flow in my direction given the slant of the land. Yes, standing up. Place one foot down, transfer weight to knee, place hands flat on ground, press through shoulders, to elbows, lift up with knees and hips, don’t flex the spine…there we are. Upright. Yes, we’re standing now. “Alvarez, please stop shouting. I’m fairly sure we can all hear you clearly.”

“Uhm, Val, I’m not shouting.” The look on Alvarez’ face confirms as much. Her color is even, pupils are not dilated, breaths even.

“I’m sorry, I must have been mistaken. Your voice seemed quite loud.”

“It’s ok. Jansen, please take Susan and find Lockheed. Spend some time with kittens and teenagers.” Alvarez shifts her weight to turn, noticeable limp on her right knee. Still damaged despite rest, I should evaluate that. “Tiffany, put the shovel down, or start to dig a firepit for Spellman. Someone find Ferguson, she’s likely on Tower Three, she needs to disarm these explosives.” Shifting her hips back to facing me. “Val, you don’t look so good. Talk to me, what’s going on in Nurseland?”
“I’m quite alright, Alvarez. I was taken by surprise.” Alvarez’ narrowed eyes indicate a lack of trust. “I can’t imagine why we all lost track of the young man. Spellman was quite avocado.”

“Wha…avocado? Say again?”

“Why did you say avocado?”

“You said it first!”

“I believe you are mistaken. I said ‘accurate’.” Narrowed eyes again, have I offended her?

“Val, please give me your wrist.”

“Alvarez, I’m quite fish. There is no need to shuck for corn.” Alvarez rushes towards me; my balance is off, my knees must be sore from standing. I can’t seem to get my feet under me. “Maybe you are left. I should go for best.” How odd, I feel like I just sprinted twelve miles. But I feel cold. Thirsty. “Oh no! I’m becoming a Mudkip!” I can’t fall away from her, she won’t let go! I must get away, can’t threaten anyone…can’t become…

Darkness envelops me completely. I’m floating, a marshmallow balloon moving through a storm of jello lightning. My eyes won’t focus on anything; all I see is alternating light and dark. I’m numb to all sensation, and yet I feel as if I’m tethered to something solid, something comforting. Hours, days, weeks pass to me, then all time reverses and throws me backwards into my past. I yo-yo between now and not-now, but only within the darkened corners of my mind.

Oh fuck I’m going to vomit.

That all too wonderful sensation of regurgitating the contents of my stomach brings me back to life, leaving me hanging half off a cot, head down into a puddle of my own making. Alvarez, trying her hardest not to laugh, has hold of my hair, stopping me from needing a shower even worse than I already do. “Thanks.” I heave another round on the ground again. “Ok, lifting head bad. Head down, yes. Head up, cause puke. And I swear to my dead Aunt Murtha that if you tell anyone this is what I sound like when I’m not in control of myself I will gut you with a rusty scalpel.”

“Wouldn’t dream of breaking trust, Val.” The barely suppressed laughter became slightly contagious, and I weakly chuckled with her. “Shock. I recognized the symptoms quickly enough that I was able to get you back here. Gave you a saline bag, I know we need them for emergencies, but I need you up and functional more.”

I shake my head, but can’t disagree. For something like this, it’s the best we could manage. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have lost it.”

“Val, you aren’t combat. You had a dude grab you, hold you hostage with a suicide vest, and then get eaten by a zombie in the space of a minute. I’m pretty sure you’ve every right to lose your cool.” Sensing my movement to lay back down, Alvy helps me keep my hair in check. “You have such a lovely hair color; it really is too bad that we can’t make use of a shower.”

“Don’t get all girl bondy on me. We both reek of ass, our hair is a disaster, and we’d both kill half the world for a pound of soap and eight hundred gallons of warm water.” Alvy laughed again, it felt almost giddy to hear someone laugh again. “Spellman said he was O neg, this isn’t something that we usually fuck up. His blood type is something he’d rattle off: name, rank, social, blood type. That pretty much removes my theory. I guess it was just coincidence that all of the survivors were the same type.” I sighed, itching from head to toe, dirty, hungry, thirsty, tired, sore, tasting my own bile, and dizzy. I needed to get off my ass and do something. “I can’t see my IV bag, how much fluid do I have left to go?”

“About half. Please, don’t get up right now. I need to talk to you about Alice. After you fainted, she came in and ‘checked up’ on you. The smirk she had was telling enough, I think she’s slipped her rocker. She doesn’t look like the lady I’ve known forever, she looks…older, more unstable. I hate to use the word ‘insane’ because I know that’s not the right medical term but she needs a nice white jacket and all the self-hugs she can get.” To see Alvy’s face distorted like this, in the low light of a guttering candle, she seemed afraid. Scared, alone, and almost desperate.

“Ok.” I paused, trying to figure out what to say without placing myself in the wrong location.

“We can’t leave her as leader, but I can’t think of anyone else that’ll keep what’s left from flying apart at the seams.” Placing her face in her hands, propping her elbows on her knees, the oddest sound came out from between her fingers. A sob. “I can’t do it, Val. I can’t lead them.” Another sob. The crying continued for a long time. I laid back, feeling ashamed for being present while one of the strongest, most self-assured women I knew was breaking down a piece at a time. Tentatively, slowly, almost afraid to do so, I reached over and put my hand on her knee. As if that was the signal she had been waiting for, she fell to her knees and buried her face in my stomach crying with an almost vicious sorrow. Great, soul-wrenching, tears of agony and loss and pain and impotent rage.

I knew that I could do nothing to soothe her; I had to let the tears come as they would. What we had to do next had to be done without passion, without hate, without spite, without fear, and without waiting too much longer. We needed to remove Alice as our leader, find a new leader, and we needed to see if there was even a slightly greener patch on top of the septic tank we were standing on.

With time, the tears eased. Once Alvarez sat back, wiped at her face, and folded her hands, I preempted any silly apologizing, “Ok. If not you, then who do we trust to keep us out of zombie bellies? Susan and Tiffany are out, obviously. You say you can’t, and I trust your self-judgement. I know I can’t, because I wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to keep us safe in a combat situation. Jansen is a bad idea, he just lost Spellman. What about Ferguson?”

Alvarez looked hurt for an instant, then shook her head. “She was found dead up in Tower Three. No wound, I doubt she found drugs to take. It looked like she had simply sat back after disarming the bombs and fallen asleep. I think she just couldn’t keep going. We’ve had four other cases of that too. Fletcher, Granick, Simpson, and Swanson. When we went to wake them for their shift, they were just dead. Honestly, that makes me doubt Ferguson suiciding even more. If they couldn’t find a reason to get up, maybe she couldn’t find a reason to keep awake, then couldn’t find a reason to wake back up.” Alvarez dry-washed her hands, “We’re down to twelve, and one cat.”

“Maybe we should make Lockheed our leader.” Alvarez laughed again, a bitter, almost harsh laugh, but still a laugh. “Wait.” I paused. “Five deaths? How long have I been unconscious?”

“10 hours, give or take.”

“How slow a drip do you have here? Crank the damn juice up, Alvy, time isn’t standing still for us!” I give her a look filled with such mock severity that this time she honestly gave me a laugh.

Unfortunately the moment of levity died quickly when a scream pierced the air. Alvy was out of the tent in a flash, I jumped up, slipped on the puddle of vomit, landed on my face, and rolled forward onto my back with one leg still wrapped in a blanket and the other splayed outward. It was, of course, my luck that Alvy popped back into the tent to see me flashing her, bare ass naked and laying in a pile of my own waste.

“Uh, heh. Val, we really need to get you back on your feet. It looks like Jansen headed it off, but we just about had a brawl in the camp. Alice is punishing the men for a brawl her little pet started by getting mouthy with McKay, Vellor, Qalib, and Anderson.”

Pulling the tatters of my dignity around me, I stood up and grabbed Denton’s old white hospital gown. As I tied the cinch shut, I strode out determined that if I didn’t do this now, I’d never see another chance to accomplish what was necessary.

As we approached Alice turned to face us, Alvarez was not mistaken by a mile. The Alice we knew was gone; whoever was running the show was not the lady I spoke to a day earlier. “Ah, excellent. Finished having your Mexi-maid lick your cunt clean, hmm? I’m glad you’re here to hear this. We’ve developed too many bad habits. Order and discipline have become lax. I-"

“Alice, as the only medical personnel present I’m hereby declaring you unfit for command.” The slap that punctuated the end of that sentence caused my vision to streak white.

“Do not speak when your betters are around. You will learn respect, child, or you will be beaten until you do. Sergeant Alvarez, I am charging you under article ninety-four of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. You will be placed in detention until such a time as a proper courts martial can be convened.” My vision cleared just in time to see Alvarez pull her sidearm, and Alice break Alvarez’ wrist by disarming her and throwing her to the ground.

“Airman McKay, Airman Vellor, please escort Sergeant Alvarez to the firepit, and detain her under the grate. Until we can have a proper stockade constructed it will suffice.”

I got my feet under me, and went to stand back up when another slap rattled my teeth and knocked me back to the ground. “No, child, you look better on your knees.”

The sound of a charging handle being pulled cut through her gloating. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to stop hitting the lady.” Jansen had his weapon leveled straight at Alice’s temple. “Twitch, and I will fire. You have been relieved of command by a recognized medical authority. Please stand down without further resistance.”

[podbaydoor]

“Hmph, put the gun down you little queer. Go back to finding someone else’s balls and leave yours in your pelvis where they belong.” Jansen’s reaction was swift, violent, and somewhat oddly cathartic. Faster than Alice could react, he struck her in the temple with the stock of his weapon, dropping her to the ground in an unceremonious heap.

“God damn I thought I could be catty.” Turning to the three Airmen standing there struck dumb in disbelief, “Gentlemen, I am assuming command. As the ranking NCO, it is my duty to get us out of the mess our commander walked us into. She tried her best, under very trying circumstances, and it is my firm belief that her condition is medical in nature, not personal. Please bind her quite thoroughly, but do be honorable about it. She requires our help, not our ire.” Not a soul moved. “GENTLEMEN, move before she wakes back up and I am forced to strike her again.”

That was all it took, McKay took off Alice’s belt and bound her wrists tightly, Qalib took off her boots, then used her laces to bind her ankles. “We’ll get right on building some form of cell, Sir.”

“Sounds perfect, Airman Qalib. Please take charge of the process and inform me of the progress. I expect a report in an hour.” Qalib saluted, and all I could do is stand there wondering where I had misjudged Jansen.

He turned and knelt in front of Alvy first, as she sat there with her jaw slightly agape, cradling her wrist and trying to get her legs back under her mentally. “Alvy,” Jansen began, “I love you like a sister, you were very kind to Spellman there at the end, and I greatly appreciate you taking care of him. You treat me like a child, or ever talk to me as if I am somehow daft, again and I will chain you to a tree outside for the Zombies. Do I make myself clear?”

“I…I didn’t-“ Alvy stammered out and was cut off.

“And I quote, ‘Jansen, please take Susan and find Lockheed. Spend some time with kittens and teenagers.’ How much more patronizing could you possibly be? I’m gay, Alvy, I’m not a child.”

“I’m sorry, Jansen, I…No, no excuses. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

Jansen hugged her gently, “You did your best, sweetie. You bought me enough time to get my head out of my ass and realize that I couldn’t continue to be a wall flower. I’m sorry that I haven’t been the NCO you needed me to be, and I thank you for your apology. I’m going to need your help getting this plane level again, you too Nurse. If you’re quite done gawking, I think Alvy’s wrist could use some attention.” Blushing, I shook my head and knelt down. Jansen kissed my cheek, “Thank you Val. Thank you for your efforts too. I’m quite sure I couldn’t have had the strength to stand up to Alice if you hadn’t taken point. Ladies, please understand I’m not trying to take away from what you accomplished. Thank you, most sincerely, for setting the standard.”

Sitting down, Jansen watched for a time as I took the ACE bandage from Denton’s gown and grabbed some sticks for splinting Alvy’s wrist. Holding them in place for me, Jansen teased Alvarez lightly as she winced in pain while I wrapped the makeshift cast up. Minutes passed in silence, all of us exhausted, all of us trying to adjust to the new power dynamics. Trepidation was present for me, I didn’t know Jansen well enough to trust that he wouldn’t be a megalomaniac, but at the same time I knew he couldn’t do worse than Alice, and privately admitted he couldn’t do worse than I could.

Sighing, I helped Alvy upright. “Thank you Jansen, for having the physical strength to knock her out.” Jansen’s laugh was unexpected, but all he did was smile and shake his head. “She’s quite strong, and I think my jaw and cheek are going to ache for a few weeks. We need to decide what to do though. We can’t…wait, where’s Tiffany and Susan?”

Jansen spun around and tried to look every direction at once, “Where’s Vellor?”

Alvy stood up and started towards the farm, “Val go check the latrines! Jansen, go check the living quarters!”

We split in three directions; I tore open each curtained latrine stall, heedless of who or what might be inside. Alvy seemed desperate, and all I could do was try to keep my gown from flying open and hustle to the best of my ability. After checking the latrine camp, I ran over to the waste disposal area and was completely unprepared for what I came across.

Vellor’s head lay three feet from his body, a pair of heavy-duty gardening shears discarded, bloody, stuck into the eyes. Airmen McKay and Qalib both appeared to have had their heads caved in, and little Susan hung suspended by a belt around her neck on the fortress wall, kicking and struggling to stop from strangling. “ALVY!” I screamed for help as I ran over to lift up on Susan’s legs, to try and relieve the pressure on her throat.

Jansen was first on the scene, and as he ripped the shears from Vellor’s head, Alvy came around the corner and started swearing. Running towards where Jansen braced himself against the wall, she caught the tool as Jansen tossed it to her. Grabbing Alvy’s foot when she ran up his legs he power-lifted her up so that she could cut the belt. With Susan’s weight released, I lost my balance and fell backwards cradling her as best I could to absorb the impact myself. Jansen let Alvarez slide down and then took out his belt knife and cut loose the belt from Susan’s neck.

Gasping for breath, coughing and crying and holding her throat, Susan tried to tell us something, but all she could do was croak and cry. “Shh, shh, don’t try to talk.” I rocked her in my lap and smoothed her hair, and started to dream of all of the nasty and horrible things I would do to Tiffany and Alice if I ever caught them. Focusing my attention on Susan, and checking her vitals, I heard Alvarez and Jansen as they surveyed the carnage.

“Little puta killed three armed men? No fucking way. No FUCKING way.” Alvarez’ voice seemed close to teetering over the line into panic.

“We need a headcount, please go grab the bugle and sound Assembly.” I heard Alvarez’ sprinting away, and heard Jansen’s approach. “How’s she doing, Val?”

“She’s going to have some bruising, but I think we got to her before permanent damage happened.”

“I doubt that.” Jansen knelt and placed a big hand on her back. “Susan, I need you to tell me one thing, and you only need nod or shake your head. Did Alice and Tiffany leave alone?”

Susan’s head shaking seemed even more ominous, when no one responded to the Assembly call.