by Jones, K. J.
“Who would have expected me to end up here?” Emily punch-drunk laughed. “Did that really happen?”
“Oh. Has anything really happened?”
“Yeah. We keep asking that question.”
“We should just get used to life down the rabbit hole. Go with it. I’m totally thirsty.”
“Hey, jail keep.” Emily laughed.
“Do you hear that?”
“What?”
“Quiet.”
“I am.”
“No. Listen to the quiet.”
Emily’s hazel brown eyes searched. “Oh. My. God. It is.”
Phebe smiled. “Sleep?”
“Oh, glorious sleep.”
“Let’s just drink outta the faucet and get to sleep.”
“Glorious, quiet sleep!”
Chapter Two
1.
“ZBDUs, sir. That’s what we called them, sir.” Mazy sat stiff as a board, shoulders back, as she spoke with the Commandant of the Marine Corps, Four-Star General Joseph Paolucci. On the military food chain, this was equivalent to an Ancient Greek meeting with Zeus. If it went well, favoritism could be gained. If it went poorly, he could hit her with a bolt of lightning. Or worse.
“This is the leather outfits?” the Commandant confirmed.
“Yes, sir.”
“And this maintained bodily integrity from the bite?”
“Yes, sir.”
The Commandant looked at Napier. “So … how do we convince the SecDef Marines need to be dressed like rock stars?”
“Sir,” General Napier said. “I stand by video statements from all the Zoner Marines, telling of their first-hand experiences.”
“You mean your first-hand. To push that through, I will have yours in this.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Commandant looked at Lt. Baptiste and Gunnery Sgt. Raven. “We are losing on average two dozen Marines a week in this war.”
Mazy inadvertently let out a gasp of shock, then stiffened to recover.
Napier continued, “That’s both on range and coming back and being executed.”
She craved a glance at Ben to share a thought about the black patches they saw at Fort Jackson. The Corps had their own. Or the Navy supplied them, as they supplied corpsmen medical personnel.
The Commandant looked around as if someone else were there. He then leaned his elbows on the table and dropped his volume. “We are losing even more to AWOL.”
Mazy’s eyes widened.
As if he read her mind, the Commandant continued, “Yeah, we won’t have a United States Marine Corps at this rate. Not that the other branches of government would be too upset by this.”
“Sir?” Mazy asked.
Napier explained, “Due to the amount of AWOLs, combined with what occurred on Parris Island, the base bombings, the hack targeting the Marine Corps personnel files, a list of Marines taking advantage of this and not reporting for duty on the Comfort, et cetera, there is a rising distrust of us. Specifically, they are growing paranoid if Marines are regrouping somewhere out there to make their own force, outside of the control of the government. A military coup to take over, which is the worse goddamn fear of a civvie government.”
Mazy let that seep in. A millisecond glance at Napier’s face as she wondered where all the other Marines from Parris Camp went. He hadn’t mentioned Captain Butler and the others. She craved a private, discrete conversation with Napier to get the scoop.
“The Beltway is here and at Weather,” said Napier. “They are eating each other alive and we are on the political out. Paranoia is growing to the heights of Stalin's Soviet Union.”
Her throat felt tight as if she couldn’t swallow saliva. She desired to return to Historic Downtown Charleston and fought the feeling from rising too much or she’d react to it. From now on, she had to take on a composure as she had done when in military intelligence deep undercover in Iraq. She posed as a fanatical Muslim married couple with her partner to get close to insurgent groups. The face, even the eyes, could give away real thoughts and feelings.
She remembered the original Invasion of the Body Snatchers movie. A character had to pretend she was one of the emotionless pod people while walking down the street among them. A dog got hit by a car or near to it, and she reacted, as one would. This gave her away to the alien pod people. A deep undercover intelligence operative was rather like that. Do not react to that which any decent person would react to. Was Mount Weather going to require such a level as well?
Ben cleared his throat. “Sir, may I ask a question, sir?” His double ‘sir’ told he was nervous in the presence of Zeus.
“Speak freely, son,” responded the Commandant.
“Regarding the AWOLs …?”
“Yeah. Napier, you want to fill them in.”
“Yes, sir.” The one-star general turned to them. “The scuttlebutt about what happened on the coast in the Zone is everywhere. Moved like shit through a goose, as you can imagine. It was probably Navy who told Marines since it’s hard to figure where else the link occurred. This combines with orders to not help civilians who are fighting the Zs. Strict obedience to the ROE, without any acknowledgment that the civilians are our people. They are Americans. Mom and pop, little brother and sister fighting for their lives.”
“It’s too much,” the Commandant injected with a disapproving shake of his head. “No Marine worth his weight can turn away from his own people in perilous situations when he can make a difference. Any Marine who can, I do not want in the United States Marine Corps.”
Napier waited to see if the Commandant was finished. Once satisfied, he looked back at Mazy and Ben. “I suppose the question for them is: What’s the United States? The people or the government. Those who see it as the people leave. By leave, we are referring to entire platoons going dark in the field. Not a single one heard from again. GPS signals turned off. Equipment missing. They’ll take the bodies of their fallen Marines with them to bury, which some have been found, dog tags on the cross. The only times they may be heard from again is through intel coming from other sources. Highly skilled fighters engaging in guerrilla warfare either against Zs or hostile healthies. So much equipment and gear is being picked up by civilians that recognition based on the presence of these on who’s who among the guerrillas doesn’t tell much. It’s the skills they show.”
It was hard for Mazy to not feel a sense of pride in this. She could see it in the eyes of her two superiors as well. She felt it from Ben, though she was highly cautious not to look at him, concerned their romantic involvement could be discerned through gazes.
Napier continued, “As they are rebuilding and repairing the computer system from the hack, they’re sending operatives out to family members to see if the platoons or individuals showed up there. The reports tell that sometimes those families aren’t there anymore. Evacuated, stripping their homes of supplies … and of photographs, which we take as the mother’s prepped to go.”
“The cull order,” the Commandant said.
“Yes, sir.” To Mazy and Ben, “Farmers and ranchers were ordered to kill off their livestock as an effort to stop the spread of R140. Many, if not most, are disobeying the order. They come into conflict and either end up in a fight with National Guard sent to enforce the order or they leave with their herds.”
The Commandant said, “Somewhere out there are thousands, tens of thousands, head of cattle and horses, being run through somewhere in the Plains, possibly to Canada. Maybe to Mexico. How the hell no one can lay eyes on such huge herds, beats me. We still got goddamn satellites in space working. But who knows nowadays? It may be just me who doesn’t know.” His tone held resentment.
Mazy wanted to look at Ben and discuss Matt’s horse ranching family he could not get a hold of. She’d bet good money the Gleason family of Wyoming was part of these people going on the run with their livestock herds.
Would the National Guard fire on Americans doing this? It would mean a whole other level the Guard had never faced.
<
br /> Months in the Zone, they had returned to a nation ripping itself apart. The government was not managing things well. Not a surprise to her since they couldn’t handle the COVID-19 pandemic. They instantly dropped the ball for R140 and kept making bad decisions. Now, the people and the military were turning against them, which would feed government paranoia and increase bad decision-making. As Peter would say, Good times.
A framed photo on the wall told her who the acting President of the United States, or POTUS, was. The Speaker of the House.
2.
Peter’s wrists were cuffed, and the chain of the handcuffs ran through a large O-ring bolted to the table. He sat straight, shoulders back, and motionless. The hardback chair and hard seat caused his injured leg to scream, radiating to his hip. He used the pain to focus himself.
“I request counsel.”
“Once again. Martial law, Sullivan. Civil rights are suspended.”
It had been going on for half an hour, ever since he came to from the Tasing and they marched him into a little room where he sat across the table from a fatigued man he suspected was a military police investigator. No charges were said to him. Martial law on a military base meant Peter was not a human being.
“My father is a criminal defense attorney. He is aware I am here. I request him as my counsel.”
The man snickered. “Good luck to him.”
“Why am I being detained?”
“The woman, a, ah …” He consulted his notes as if he didn’t know who he was referring to, though he had already said her name and done the whole routine earlier. “Phebe Marcelino. Your wife?”
“Yes, sir.”
“She’s quite the fighter.”
Peter’s face remained unreadable while he remained silent. This was an interrogation, and he had been trained to withstand interrogations from the enemy.
“She’s in a lot of trouble. The victim died.”
Peter already knew this from the guy. He had an urge to roll his eyes but refrained.
“By all accounts, Marcelino did so quickly. How’d she learn to do this?”
Peter stared straight ahead, letting the pain moving up to his hip engulf him.
“You have an impressive martial arts background, Sullivan. I am suspecting you taught your wife.”
“I request counsel.”
“C’mon. It’s not going to happen. Bottom line, you people are dangerous. What do we do with you?”
Peter stared.
“We know what to do with her. But what to do with you?”
Peter couldn’t afford his emotions. This was how interrogators broke their captives.
“You people are gone for in the neighborhood of three months. Some are civilized law-abiding citizens beforehand, like her. But then come out as savages not only able to kill but really very willing to kill. Seems the go-to for you people. Now, my question is, how the hell are we gonna let you people back into society?”
Peter was well aware of the camera standing on a tripod, its red light blinking. He suspected the guy was playing up for whoever would see this. He had an agenda – the Zoners were too dangerous and could not be allowed back into society. Phebe was going to be the example. Peter fought to repress the emotions this stirred.
The only adult with the kids was Miss Glenda. Peter needed to get back to them. What would happen to orphaned kids in this hellhole and whatever fresh new hell was beyond it once the kids would be in the complete hands of the system?
He dared to speak. “I have the responsibility of minors.”
“There are no minors here. Twelve and above are to be treated as adults.”
Peter’s stomach clenched. He resumed staring straight ahead and focused on the pain in his sciatic nerve.
3.
As soon as Matt saw the name Jackson, Nia L. on the rounds roster, he went to his superior the doctor to make sure he would be attending her.
“I can do you one better,” said Lt. Colonel Creechbaum. “I’ll get her mother in with her. She’s in another building.”
“Really?” Matt hadn’t known they remained separated. “That would be really good, sir.”
“These kids do not need to be alone like this. A barbaric system, making them adults.”
“They’re considered adults? She’s like thirteen, sir.”
The doctor shrugged. “That’s what I’m saying.”
“Sir, may I ask a question?”
“A man can always ask. Doesn’t mean I have any answers. But shoot.”
“Why would they be treated as adults at such a young age?”
“The whole civilian bunch are considered dangerous. For the rest of you, it’s a wait and see. But for them, entirely logged under the heading of dangerous.”
“What’s the purpose of bringing us here then if we are immediately labeled dangerous? Why not leave us in the Zone so we kill each other off or whatever? Sir.”
Creechbaum leaned an elbow on his crowded desk and lowered his volume. “You know how many draftees they get from this? These people aren’t on paper anymore. Presumed dead. No one knows about ‘em. So they go into the machinery. Keeps the numbers down for drafting the people outside the Zone, which are primarily the unemployed … which has a catch now, since I hear a lot of people are now unemployed.”
“We were told something about a Congressional Order, sir.”
“Yup. But Congress didn’t write it too well. I don’t know. Maybe it was on purpose. Whatever the case, they left the door open to use this place as a cannon fodder farm. All the while, they get to claim they’re the good guys, and blah blah blah. Ya know politicians. Nothing’s changed about them since you’ve been gone.”
“Apparently not, sir.” Matt’s heart felt heavy. They were trapped by the government, made powerless. “But, sir, if the civvies are automatically dangerous, won’t that make for bad recruits? Dangerous ones?”
The doctor laughed. “Nothing gets past you, Sergeant. Yeah. You’d think. But they believe they can rebuild them. And on an accelerated basic training, no less. Doesn’t matter. They’re mostly going to die. If they can behave themselves in boot, they face a very high mortality rate once assigned.”
Matt thought of all the people he knew who had been drafted. Chris told him Mullen had been. He tried to picture Mullen out there, and Kanesha. All he foresaw was them dying.
“Why, sir? Why the high mortality rate? We survived this whole time. We took losses, but it was brutal. Most of our losses were from other people, not the infected.”
“I bet it was brutal. Everything I hear tells me it was. What I see in patients confirms it. But from what I know, which is hearsay through the grapevine, they are poorly trained for what they’re going into. And everything’s Iraq-Afghanistan-type combat, which doesn’t work in this. The troops are vastly more up close to the targets than the wars. There is, of course, no munitions by the enemy. But the brutality and lack of reaction to being shot…The shock value is big, which I suspect is more reason they want the Zoners. At least that part is eliminated.”
“But, sir, if they aren’t freed up to fight appropriately against this new form of hostile, they would die.”
“Or get shot afterward for being bitten.”
4.
Matt walked into the medical examination room and felt relief. Angela had Nia wrapped up in her arms, stroking her hair as she kissed her daughter’s head. They sat on the bed.
Angela gave him a tired smile.
Nia snapped at him, “Where have you been?”
“Not my doing,” Matt said. “How are you?”
“Terrible.”
“She’s recovering,” said Angela.
For a moment, Nia reminded him of Syanna Lynn. Albeit, a thirteen-year-old was allowed to behave in such a way.
“And you?” he asked Angela.
“Halfway there. If I could have my son, I’d be fully good.”
Angela had aged. Gray hairs appeared in her short cut. Wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. D
ark circles under her eyes and chapped lips told him how poorly the civilians were kept.
He pulled over a silver rolling stool. “What happened?”
“You don’t know?” Nia’s tone remained sharp.
“No.”
“Oh, my God.”
“What happened?”
Angela said, “Sully, Phebe, and Emily have been arrested.”
Matt gasped. “Why?”
Nia said, “A fight in the bathroom.”
“Sully got into a fight in the bathroom?”
“No,” Nia snapped. “Phebe and Emily did. I think Pheebs killed the lady. But that was okay. It’s what these assholes did to me!”
“Shhh,” Angela reprimanded.
“I don’t care, Mama. They are wrong people here.”
“Baby, you must remain calm. We aren’t gonna get anywhere with you acting out against them. Please, baby, be smart. We need to be together.” Angela hugged her child tighter.
The mother’s terror of her children separated from her pulled at Matt’s heart.
“I hate them, Mother.”
“None of us are happy with them, baby. But we have to do what we gotta do to get what we need and survive. Please, baby.”
All the time Matt had known Angela, he had never seen her plead with her children. He took it as an indication of how powerless the mother felt.
Angela asked him, “Are you the one I thank for this?” She gestured to Nia.
“No, it was my superior. I will do whatever I can to help, but it probably won’t be much, apart from influencing him. He’s been helping as much as he can.”
“I’m grateful for him. And for you.” Angela gulped hard. “This is horrible, Matt.” Despite herself, tears welled in her big brown eyes.
“I know, Ange.” He reached out and took her warm hand.
Angela’s gaze went to the ceiling to fight off the emotion. She squeezed his hand.
Instead of sympathizing with her mother, the teenager said, “Daddy wouldn’t let this happen to me.”
Angela cringed.
“That’s not fair,” Matt said. “He would be where I am.”
“He outranked you, Matthew.”
Nia’s anger directed at him surprised him. “So did Mazy.”
