by Jones, K. J.
The whole place constantly had whirling dervishes in cots through the night. Screams. Whimpers. Names called out. It would be a VA therapist PTSD orgy if only therapists would be brought it. The guy near the wall must have dreamt he was a zom, he sounded like it, and that brought black patches to him, in the dark, shining flashlights. This did nothing good for Peter’s paranoia. The black patches joined his menagerie of dream threats.
One time, Peter had a living dead dream, right out of a Romero film. He could not move and the living dead shuffled towards him. They began eating his bad leg with him lying paralyzed from the neck down. Pain in the leg had broken through to dreamworld – didn’t take a psychology degree to figure that one out. It did, though, give him insight into how the slow living dead could be scary, and not just target practice. If someone was a quadriplegic who fell out of the chair, the living dead would be totally terrifying.
Peter recalled it wasn’t the first time he had one of those Romero dreams. However, previously, it had been while napping to The Walking Dead and extremely intoxicated – so, all bets off then. Cute bunny rabbits could be terrifying when stoned and drunk out of one’s skull, which was probably where Watership Down came from. He always wanted an Alice in Wonderland dream. He figured either he had to be more creative-minded for it or smoke straight-up opium through a hookah … which had been on his Bucket List. Where were opium dens in Greater Wilmington, North Carolina?
Back in the Before, Peter envisioned it would annoy Matt to no end to learn he overdosed in an opium den, in some kind of tapestry tent decor, listening to the Rolling Stones’ Paint it Black on a loop. This would be a choice way to go out. Chris would just be confused. Julio would pray for Peter’s soul, as he had done compulsively anyway. Jimbo Conway would have been the guy to find him, wearing his police officer uniform with a holstered sidearm almost bigger than him. His superior Sergeant Brown would say, “Now that’s a way to go. I ain’t mad at that.” Mazy would lead the dance back from the cemetery New Orleans style, and make the uptight Bostonian people uncomfortable. All of his friends would be part of the Irish wake afterward, which inevitably ended with a fistfight, as these things tended to do back home. Funerals and weddings, good time to punch the relatives.
Peter’s thoughts moved onto how his family would feel meeting Phebe. Visiting her in prison. They’d bring the baby for her to coo at, tap the glass at, and wave when the baby looked at her. “I’m your mom,” she would say into the phone.
His mother and little sister would approve she was Catholic. Well, sort of Catholic. She had the paperwork. If she just didn’t speak, she could pass through their religiosity fetish. They’d have the baby baptized of course. Her mother Colleen was a practicing Catholic, too, so definitely baptized, but with no parents present. Doubtful Phebe could get a day pass for it. And what would she wear? An orange jumpsuit, wrists chained to her waist belt. Good times.
He’d be dead, never having survived Fort Jackson.
A realization struck. Peter needed to get a message to Phebe, presuming she went to Leavenworth, or wherever they sent females, before mass death occurred at the base. As the sole survivor, she could extend his wishes to their families. He wanted Chris Higgins to be the baby’s godfather. The vision of Chris standing by the baptismal font in an ornate old Boston Catholic church, the fallen Southern Baptist redneck surrounded by people he could not understand, nor they him, too much to resist. Hopefully, he’d wear his best camouflage hunting attire.
This would be under the assumption Chris left before the mass death.
No one else would work as well in making his mother so uncomfortable. Matt would act like a normal person, wearing a suit. Ben? Only if he attended the baptism is full-blown powwow dancer costume. Doubtful he would, though. Brandon would bond with the younger generation of suburbia Boston Millennials in their political correctness and thus feel offended whenever Maggie Sullivan spoke. Or really when any of that older generation spoke.
“Run, Nia!” Jayce screamed. There went the cot again. A thud as Jayce hit the floor.
Peter burst out laughing, nearly rolling out of his own cot. “You okay, Jayce?” he asked, though still laughing.
“Yeah,” the kid’s humiliated voice responded in the dark.
Tyler laughed, too. “You went whack this time, Jay.”
A flashlight clicked on, blinding them. “Get the cot back in line, son.”
Day 4
Chapter One
1.
When on duty, Ben hung out in a hunting blind in a tree, observing the terrain and admiring Shenandoah Valley. Nothing much occurred. He wished he had a camera to take some nature shots. That wasn’t the kind of shooting the government had in mind. He watched squirrels, the occasional deer. Long-range sniper watch could be up to a mile away from Mount Weather’s entrances. Snipers had radios to communicate with each other and the base, as well as tablets showing outdoor camera feeds. Finger swipe across the screen showed different cameras of the grid surrounding the base. An icon led to an entire camera network map, and an interactive emergency app allowed to tap a spot and make it hot for target spotted, communicating this to everyone. The tablets did few other things.
In between watching squirrels in nearby trees – he named them after a while – he watched hot symbols come up on the screen. The symbols told what the contact was: Zom, townspeople, infected animal, so on and so forth. Even one for hostile civilian, non-infected. Press the symbol on the side and drag it to the location where it anchored, and communication went to everyone. He wondered what would happen if an entire horde of zoms came – the swiping, dragging, and anchoring of multiple symbols would take a minute. A minute no one had in such a situation. A flaw in the design. No symbol for horde.
Ben’s unofficial job when not on duty was to spy as much as possible for the Commandant. This did not seem likely to produce any critical intel, since he couldn’t go anywhere the important people were.
He discovered a guy normally at Raven Rock who was one of the military mirrors for FEMA. Lt. Ben Kite, US Army, was part of a massive remote administration for Fort Jackson. He was a liaison officer between the Army and the Department of Homeland Security, which handled the relocation of the civilians out of Fort Jackson. This guy was good to talk to, and Lt. Kite invited Ben to pop by any time to his temporary workstation.
So, Ben did. The space looked like a run-of-the-mill business office, or more like a call center, except some of the people wore ZBDUs. Surprising as hell, Lt. Kite had him sit right next to his desk as he looked things up on his computer. Ben had assumed this would be more clandestine.
“Any of these names come up?” Ben passed him a piece of paper on which he had written all the group tribe’s names.
Lt. Kite typed to search the database. “Well, I can tell you this one, Wong, Eric H, aged nineteen, is at Fort Carson for basic training.”
“Eric’s okay then, good.”
“Oh, and Mullen, Walter M, aged twenty-two, is also there.”
“Where is it?”
“Colorado.”
Lt. Kite typed more. A few mouse clicks.
“Sullivan, Peter T, aged thirty-nine, is among the civilians, scheduled to transfer tomorrow to a FEMA camp in Washington state. He’s registered with a juvenile, Connor, Tyler, no middle initial, aged thirteen.”
“The Jacksons?”
“There’s a lot of people with the surname of Jackson there.”
“Angela, Nia, or Jayce Jackson.”
Kite scrolled up. “Yeah. All three, scheduled the same, the FEMA camp in Washington.”
“What about Army soldiers, Higgins, Christopher, and Gleason, Matthew.”
Typing.
Ben scanned the other workers at their station, who busily typed or clicked at their computer stations.
“Both are to be held at Fort Jackson until further notice. Does that help?”
“Yeah. At least we know what’s to happen to them.”
“Uh-oh.” Lt. K
ite leaned forward, scowling at the monitor screen. “Some of your friends are going to be transferred to a military prison.”
“Which one?” Ben asked, trying to hide the alarm in his voice.
“Goldstein, Emily F, aged twenty-two.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t see this Phebe Sullivan.”
“Try Marcelino, Phebe.” He spelled out the last name.
Typing. “Oh, yeah, with Goldstein.”
“Any mention of why they’re being transferred to military prison?”
“Afraid not. Not in this system.” The lieutenant clicked on links. “In seventy hours from now.”
“Where?”
“Naval Consolidated Brig, Miramar”
“Where is that?”
“Sunny San Diego, California,” Kite said. “Far from the Zone.”
“Wish I knew why. They’re civilians.”
“What I can tell you, one of them, Marcelino, has some rare codes attached to her. She may find herself someplace worse.”
“Codes, as in what? What do they mean?” Ben maneuvered to see the monitory but nothing made sense for an untrained eye.
“A highly dangerous person. They don’t usually get that level for females. She may end up somewhere like Leavenworth … in the end. That’s where some of the most dangerous go. And I hear it’s filling up fast. Possibly will take the most dangerous Zoner females now too. Or so I hear. Or she could go to one of the military prisons not on paper.”
Ben felt a loss for words. In a matter of days since last seeing Phebe, she was now a national threat. Things had gone off the rails at Fort Jackson.
He wondered if the Army knew she had been trained by snipers. Did they do wrong by her? Made her too dangerous and now she would be dropped down a dark hole?
“Is her mother listed in the system as her next of kin? Marcelino’s pregnant.”
The lieutenant opened Phebe’s digital file. “A mother is listed. But she’s in a state they won’t work with. It’s being evacuated.”
“How do they evacuate a whole state? Isn’t New York huge?”
“I know New York City has a huge population. But I haven’t any idea how they’d evac a whole state. That’s someone else’s job over there.” He pointed to the other side of the room. “They’ve been doing it all along the coast and eastern side of the Mississippi River.”
“Where do the evacuees go?”
“Most don’t show up in my system, so that must mean they’re on their own.”
“That’s horrible.”
“Yeah. Gotta feel for ‘em. This whole thing is a mess. FEMA is entirely overwhelmed. All of DHS is in over their heads. It’s like Dunkirk for half a country going on.”
Ben knew the World War Two reference. He’d seen the movie. British soldiers trying to evacuate Europe as the Nazis took France. It had been a blood bath. Fishermen and anyone else with a boat were helping ferry servicemen across the channel. This did not produce a good mental image of what was taking place out there in America.
He remembered Phebe’s family planned to go to Boston and join Peter’s family. “Are we allowed to contact our families, outside the Zone families?”
“Sure. Just about everything you’re doing, including where you are, is classified. But other than that, you can email or internet FaceTime with them.”
His grandfather Standing Bear would know nothing about FaceTime video calls. He hadn’t progressed beyond cell flip-phones too well. Ben’s paper of family names and numbers had Colleen Marcelino’s cell phone on it. He felt concerned for Phebe and Peter’s baby in six months if she were to go to prison and Peter to god-knows-where FEMA camp somewhere in Washington state. He wondered if he should reach out to Colleen to inform her what was happening to her daughter. And if he did, would this be a violation of the classified orders as well?
Maybe Mazy would know the right course of action. She, though, was at Raven Rock.
2.
Leaving day. The soldiers called Karen up first. She returned after a few hours, wearing Army ZBDUs, hair cut short, and crying. No time but a quick hug to say goodbye.
Peter watched her go. She turned back and waved at them before disappearing. Tyler and Jayce waved back. Their faces reflected the surreal sensation they experienced inside.
The detainee confiscated possessions reappeared. They were called up one by one to retrieve their stuff. Peter and the boys had their boots and sneakers returned. Jeans. ZBDUs. Everything smelled of chemicals as if sprayed down. The clothes had been washed, and not on the gentle cycle with fabric softener. They changed out in the open into their gear.
Peter felt his nerves skyrocketing. He had lost Karen to the Army. No Angela or Nia. He didn’t have Phebe and Emily or the guys. He presented a calm, if not tense face, despite the storm raging inside.
“We gonna leave, babies.” Miss Glenda hugged Tyler. “Thank you, Jesus.”
“Thank you, God,” said Jayce.
Jayce bowed his head and did a little gratitude prayer. He had prayed about every other minute since his sister did not return.
Tyler tolerated the hug from Miss Glenda without squirming like a cat. He kept close to the group. Everyone stood in the aisle and prepared to shuffle out. It was a big clearing out. Even the crazy people were going. Hair Eater and Igloo Man were ready, standing with their belongings and probably some other peoples as well.
A soldier with a megaphone stepped up at the front of the hangar. “We will be going by cot row, starting from the left-hand side.”
Peter and the group sat down. It would be a while.
“You will be the second building emptied.”
Everyone sat down.
Somebody screeched, “I can’t stay here anymore!”
3.
Mackey sat in a helicopter with the newest crop of draftees from the base. His head shaved, like theirs. It was not as good as when he had his head shaved with a razor in the Before. A dark shadow of jet black hair remained on his head. He wore ZBDUs with no name or personalization on the shirt.
As he waited, he was surprised to see a face he recognized.
“I know you,” Mackey said. “You’re Historic Charleston, ain’t ya?”
“Karen Jenkins.”
“Jenkins. The doctor’s kid?”
“Yes.” Sadness filled Karen’s very young face.
Mackey remembered the doctor having an attack when they were trying to leave. “He didn’t make it?”
Karen shook her head.
“I’m sorry for your loss, baby.”
“They decided to draft me early. I’m not yet eighteen.”
“Terrible. But better than this place, maybe, huh?”
“Surrounded by zoms?”
Mackey’s eyes widened. “Come again?”
“Outside the wall. Five deep, all around.”
He had come in by plane without enough windows and seen nothing. It was a little detail he’d have thought the Historic tribe would have mentioned during the wall talks in the stockade.
“How come you’re still here?” Karen asked.
“Long story. Had a little paperwork complication.”
Chapter Two
1.
“Tell me they’re not really landing 747s in here, are they?” Darsi looked over at Pez.
From their post on the wall at the southwest gate, they watched giant commercial airplanes descend towards Interstate 77 landing strip on the other side of the base inside the wall.
“Looks like they are,” said Pez.
2.
Mackey and Karen heard the engines of large airplanes. They looked out the open door and watched two 747s land on a strip that did not look big enough for them. Some guy bumped them from behind, and Mackey turned with a glare that normally backed up people. The new recruit guy looked a few cans short of six-pack though. Trash, Mackey thought.
3.
The airplane engines shook the aluminum walls and roof in the hangar of Building A. Angela,
Nia, and Monty stared up at the ceiling. Everyone instinctively ducked as frightened animals would, the planes sounded so close overhead.
“What about Jayce, Mama?”
“We’ll all be going to the same place.” Angela lied. She had no idea, but it sounded like good parenting.
Each cot row shuffled towards the doors at the front of the hangar as they were called. Dressed in their normal clothes and carrying one bag each. The going was slow but orderly.
4.
Nothing else for a soldier to do than clean weapons at the armory. At least Chris got a good look around the place. When everything rattled, he got up from the table and went outside.
“What the hell’s all that racket?”
A passing soldier pointed west. “Evacuee civilian planes landed on Interstate 77.”
“Thanks, bro.”
What a bizarre thing, big planes landing on a highway. Chris concluded this place was crazier than he originally thought and turned to go inside.
Only then did it strike him: Peter was of the civilians.
“Shit. Sully.”
5.
“I don’t like this, Darse,” said Pez.
“I know, man.”
The zoms below them erupted into extra excitement from the plane engine sounds and seeing such huge things fly overhead. The two scout snipers could feel the wall moving more than usual. They exchanged concerned looks.
“This ever happen before?” Pez yelled to another sniper.
“Yeah. Every time they do this plane shit.”
“I’m not liking this, Darse.”
“I know, man.”
They could just see the southeast base gate entrance at Route 760. More importantly, they could see the reaction at the entrance on the side of the gate. Soldiers moved in. A water cannon truck gave off a beep, beep, beep as it reversed into position to aim at the gate.
