by Jones, K. J.
Instead of defending his mother, as even abused kids often did when challenged, Tyler turned back to snooping, eating handfuls of raisin flake cereal.
Jayce turned to her. “Were your parents good like mine?”
“Yeah, they were.” She inhaled, not wanting to go too far down this road.
“How do you do it, handle it, I mean?”
“You never get over the loss, Jayce. But it does numb with time if that’s any consolation.”
“I don’t think mine will.”
“I didn’t think so either for me. It’s like a really bad wound. Hurts like hell for a long time. You never think it’ll stop. But then it scabs over.”
“How long?”
“Different for individuals, I assume. But more than a couple of days. I barely got off my USNS Comfort bed after mine. Then … well, a new wound. My dad.”
“Mullen filled me in.”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry about your losses, Emily.”
“Thank you.”
“Doesn’t do it, does it?”
“Do what?”
“People saying that.”
Emily shrugged. “More of people just being polite. Saying they care. There’s nothing else people can say, ya know. It’s not our deceased loved ones are, like, in surgery, so nobody can say, ‘It’ll be alright.’”
“I guess.” He stared down at his shuffling big feet in looted boots. “I guess. Hey, did you feel angry?”
“Oh, yeah. I took it out on Phebe.”
“She isn’t the one who did any of this.”
An awareness struck Emily. A glass of water from the wonderful indoor plumbing tap – this sounded a good idea. So, she executed it, taking a glass out of the cabinet and turning on the faucet. Beautiful, clear water came through. She filled the glass and took a sip. Divine.
“You’re being such a dick, Jay.”
“Ty, shut your mouth.”
In her water consumption, she had missed the segue into an argument between the two kids.
“Don’t take it out on me,” said Tyler.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You're just a kid.”
“Oh, and you ain’t a kid? You a man now, all big and bad?”
“I never said that. But, yeah, I am a man. You’re a kid.”
Emily sipped more water and wished she could see out the dark window … see something other than her reflection, holding a glass of water. Behind her in the reflection, she saw Jayce growing angry at Tyler. But not really at Tyler, and the kid knew it, which was incredibly insightful of him. Jayce was angry at the world. This was one of the first steps to transitioning, she remembered from her own experience with massive abrupt loss. Anger led to the liberation of emotional repression and compartmentation. And from there, growing into a warrior. It was good.
“Enough of this dumb shit,” Jayce stated.
Emily saw him turn to her, talking at her back.
“My point is, y’all, we can’t go to Boston the way we are.”
She sipped her water. They were going, if they could get there, and that was that. Boston better get ready for them.
“People need to change the way they’ve been acting.”
“Is there something you want from me, Jayce?” Emily asked without turning to face him.
“You and Phebe.”
“What about us?”
“Y’all were in prison.”
“Jail, technically. We never got to prison.”
“C’mon. Don’t argue semantics with me. We got a group of killers here, going into civilization. I understand it’s for the babies and they need this. But we have got to change up the way we’ve been acting. No more talk of murdering Alden.”
“He’s a white supremacist. You are African American. Why are you so forgiving?”
“Jesus teaches us forgiveness.”
Emily rolled her eyes, then sipped.
Jayce saw it in the dark window reflection. “A bunch of non-believers. Maybe that’s the problem with y’all.”
“Sure.” She sipped.
“I’m gonna talk to Matt. Since y’all cannot be saved.”
Once Jayce left, Tyler asked, “I’ve heard that ‘saved’ before. What does it mean?”
“Save our souls be converting us to Christianity. They believe we’ll burn in Hell for eternity.”
“Huh. Are there zoms in Hell?”
Emily burst out laughing. Tyler smiled at her laughter.
“You’re great, Ty.”
7.
Kevin survived the night. No one’s soul had been saved but at least no one murdered anyone else either. They ate whatever they could find in the pantry and filled any water bottles they found with tap water.
“Does this taste like chlorine to you guys?” asked Brandon.
“We don’t have to lug it and clean it,” said Emily.
“I’m loving that.” He kissed her cheek. “How are you feeling?”
“They had saltines in the pantry. Phebe and I divided them up.” Emily shot a look at Jayce. “Like civilized people.”
Jayce rolled his eyes.
“Too bad we didn’t find any bullets we could use,” said Chris. “Wish that dang coffee maker would work. They don’t got one of them presses y’all used in Charleston.”
“We would need to boil water if they did have one,” said Phebe. “Can’t do that here.”
“Dang problems,” Chris said. “This going without coffee wearing on me. I gave up cigarettes. Why I’m giving up coffee too? Ain’t had a beer since I don’t know when.”
“Don’t you feel better?” asked Pez with a smile. “Healthier? Cleaned out?”
Chris scowled at him. “You one of them health nuts, ain’t ya?”
“I like to eat healthy, stay in shape, feel good.”
“This a Marine sniper thing, y’all?” Chris asked everyone. “Ain’t Ben like that too?”
“He doesn’t drink for other reasons,” said Peter. “But, no, yeah, he did the healthy food thing too.”
“Y’all ain’t living,” Chris said to Pez. “What you keeping yourselves for? We all gonna get cancer now, providing we live long enough to get it.”
“I like to feel good,” Pez retorted.
“Beer, cigarettes, and coffee with fried eggs, some Southern fried chicken, and a lot of bacon, that makes me feel good, son.”
Pez chuckled. “We all follow our own paths.”
Phebe sidled up to Peter. “How are you?”
Peter looked rough. “I’ll deal with it.”
“I looked for gabapentin. They didn’t have any.”
“I hate that shit. It makes me feel seasick. Never once on the water did I feel seasick, but I was feeling it in a house. I’ll just deal with it, babe.”
An attempt at faking a smile came out as little more than a smirk. Peter limped out of the kitchen, using the cane the old war vet gave him.
“He didn’t take the pain killers,” Phebe said to Matt.
“I know. I’m proud of him. Providing he saw them in the medicine cabinet.”
“Oh, he saw them. He sees everything.”
“Was it him that took the Tylenol?” Matt asked.
“Yeah. Didn’t you hear the pills jangling in his pocket?”
“I don’t envy him. He’s in a lot of pain. Those Percocets could stop it.”
“Only for a little while,” Phebe said. “The fallout could be worse. He wouldn’t do that to us.”
“I’m proud of him. I knew he was strong enough to kick it if he wanted to.”
“I just wish I could help him.”
“You and me both.”
Matt’s face brightened as he looked at Phebe. His green eyes sparkled as they reflected her face.
“Hmm.” Phebe walked away.
8.
Going outside caused whining and yelps.
“Does it have to be this damn cold?” complained Kevin. He pulled his looted coat further closed.
&nbs
p; Peter leaned against the wall, pain racking his face. Phebe and Matt watched him with concern.
“If we could find those heating patches,” Matt said. “He can put them on his joints. His knee locks up pretty bad in the cold.”
“Do we loot or walk?” Phebe asked.
He shook his head, indecisive.
“Let’s get a move on, people,” barked Peter.
He pushed himself from the wall and used the cane to walk over a newly dropped layer of snow.
“Guess he decided for us.” Matt shrugged.
“But we keep our eyes peeled for a drugstore or something,” she said.
“Yeah. Agreed.”
* * *
They did not find a store on the way back to Interstate 81, where the helicopter had crashed. Fortunately, the Yahoos didn’t find them either. Maybe it was too early in the morning for them.
The group walked between abandoned vehicles, peering in through windows for anything good to take. Some held bodies, which were decomposing very slowly. Some appeared fresh.
“No,” said Phebe. “They aren’t fresh, Pez. The cold decreases insect activity. This constant below freezing would stop it altogether. They’re just rotting slower.”
“Nice way of phrasing that,” Pez said.
Phebe shrugged. “You still need that sugar-coated?”
“Guess not.”
Jayce had his face covered, only his eyes revealed, a red-and-black checkered woolen scarf covering the rest. A faux fur-lined deerstalker hat with the flaps down worn over a wool toboggan and tied under his chin. Mittens over gloves. He had pulled on oversized men’s pants over his jeans. The Southern teenager was not used to this degree of cold. He looked like someone at the North Pole.
All of the males, with their non-existent hair at either an inch or a millimeter, had to keep their heads covered. Phebe and Matt insisted on it, knowing the scalp released the most heat from the body. Fortunately, the cars were rich in warm clothes. In no time, each member of the trudging group looked as if they were traversing a tundra. Even the Bostonian had wrapped himself up warmly. The temperature had to be maintaining below freezing for there to be no signs of melt among the snow on the road or the cars. A whole new level of being in the shit, which they never faced before. There was a higher probability of being killed by a shark or hit by a train than freezing to death in the Carolinas.
Kevin had their six. Undoubtedly, to watch them as much as watch for incoming hostiles. Brandon had point. Peter remained stoic and uncomplaining, though his face showed shocks of pain hitting him now and again. The boys opened any unlocked car doors and rooted around inside. Even when there were bodies, they still went in.
“Woo,” said Tyler. “This one is a stinker.” He pulled his looted woolen scarf over his nose and went in anyway. “Would these sandwiches keep, y’all? Since they’re frozen and all?”
“Smell ‘em,” said Matt. “Look for green on them.”
“You mean except for the lettuce?”
“Obviously, ding dong.”
“We don’t need food poisoning on the road,” said Emily.
“We also don’t need to weaken until we can’t walk anymore,” Matt responded. “It’s a chance we’re going to have to take.”
Tyler backed out of the car with a small cooler. “Even grapes are frozen.” He chewed on one, rolling it around to avoid the cold hitting any sensitive teeth.
“Got a knife,” Jayce called from another car. He stood up with it and whipped it around.
“That’s one of those martial arts one,” said Emily. Her wool toboggan pulled down, forcing her blond hair to lay flat against her cold-reddened cheeks.
“It’s a butterfly knife,” Peter offered, his voice lacking the power and volume it normally had.
Whenever they slowed, he leaned against a car to take pressure off the bad leg. Matt watched him, worry wrinkling his forehead. He fingered the bottle of Percocets in his coat pocket, wondering if he should give one to Peter.
Peter popped a handful of Tylenol, swigging it down with cold faucet water from a bottle.
“Why would somebody wear a face mask when alone in the car?” asked Chris, peering into a Subaru.
“People did that during COVID,” said Pez.
“What killed this asshole?” asked Chris. “In fact, what killed any of ‘em?”
“Who knows, man.”
Peter said, “Let’s not waste the time of Phebe examining them to get that answer. We gotta move. It’s a long goddamn highway. We’ve barely made it a couple of miles. We got like twenty to go.”
“Why would you examine them?” Pez asked her. “Are you a doctor?”
“No. Forensic anthropologist. About a month away from getting my PhD.”
“Wow. That’s impressive.”
They quickened their pace, only stopping when weapons or food were visible. Or more warm clothes.
“How come it so dang cold if this is April?” asked the Southerner Chris. “April means it’s springtime.”
Pez responded, “Winter’s release on us is moody this far north.”
“How do y’all stand it?”
“A lot of people move south because of it.”
“Oh. All them damn Yankees we deal with. And the half-backs. Being rude and don’t know how to drive without honking.”
Pez chuckled. “Yeah, I guess that is us.”
A half-back was a Wilmington expression, referring to the Northern retirees who went to Florida, found it too hot, and went halfway back to the North.
“Why y’all honk so much?” Chris asked.
“Impatient, I guess.”
“Y’all need to learn to relax more.”
“Probably. I meditate to relax.”
“Ben did too. What the fuck is with y’all Marine snipers?”
“It’s not every one of us. I met Ravan. He was a good guy.”
“Not was. Is, brother. He is still alive. He and old girl Mazy left before all that. At least I hope they are still alive.”
Chapter Eight
1.
“General Napier wanted me to find you, ma’am,” a young Marine said.
“What for? What’s wrong?” Mazy went right to bad news. It seemed appropriate nowadays.
“Ma’am, if you’d follow me, please.”
“Oh, Lord. Okay. I’m following you.”
Napier was pale and his brown eyes seemed deeply set. Her stomach tightened. She wanted to cry, though she had no idea what the bad news was.
“They … the base … Fort Jackson … um.” Napier looked up at the ceiling. “God help us all.”
“What, sir?”
He struggled.
Mazy blurted out in a tone not befitting speaking to a superior officer. “What?”
“Fort Jackson was nuked.”
She gasped and stumbled back. “Oh, Mother of God. Were … were they still there?”
Napier nodded. “I am so sorry, Lieutenant.”
It felt like a blow to her sternum. “They all were there?”
He nodded.
“Oh, blessed Mother of God.” Her head felt dizzy. “Jesus Christ, no.” She touched the desk to stabilize. “They are all dead?”
“I am so, so sorry. The base was overrun.”
“Overrun, sir? I could’ve told ‘em it would be overrun. Some damn wall. Making all that noise.” Her accent thickened, the way it did when she spoke to her family. “All that activity. Five deep those zoms were around that damn wall. How’d they think … what kind of imbeciles … oh, Mother of God.”
Each one of her friends’ faces flashed through her mind, one by one.
“Mother of God and all the Saints, how could …” She remembered she was in the presence of a general. Stiffening, she regained her composure. “May I be dismissed, sir?”
“Take the rest of the day off. Raven, too. I’ve sent word he’s to be relieved.”
Ben had come in the same helicopter with Lt. Kite, returning to Raven Rock.
“Please do. Once was enough for me. Again, I am so, so sorry, Baptiste.” His eyes showed his sincerity.
“Any way I could meet Raven outside, sir? I’d like to get out a bit, if possible.”
“Absolutely. I’ll send word to the guards at the portal.”
“Thank you, sir.” Mazy’s hand shook as she saluted.
* * *
Ben had been reassigned to Raven Rock where he still functioned as a long-range sniper in the woods, now in Pennsylvania rather than Virginia. He was just walking into the mountain base with his huge SASS rifle cradled in his arms when Mazy cut him off.
“Can we go out, Sergeant?”
The sergeant in charge of the portal nodded and gestured.
“Let’s go,” Mazy told Ben.
She said nothing for a long time and kept her distance from him.
“Where are there no eyes out here?”
“Everywhere has eyes,” he said. “But I know the guys covering this grid over here. They have remote access to the cameras. They can move them. I’ll go ask them for the favor. Stay here.”
Ben began to jog off but stopped and turned back to her. “It’s bad, isn’t it? Bad news?”
Mazy nodded, working hard to keep the emotions below the surface.
“What category? Family?”
“The group.”
“What happened to them?” He stepped forward.
“Please, Ben. Go and talk to them.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He walked backward, staring at her, before turning and jogging off.
As soon as he returned and told her it was okay, she burst into tears and threw herself into his arms.
“What is it?” His voice held worry. He held her tightly. “Maze, what happened?”
Mazy shook her head, struggling to regain control. “The … others. Fort Jackson. They’re dead. They’ve been nuked!”
Ben embraced her to let her sob on his shoulder, rubbing her warm back. Numb shock was all he felt. It could not be true. The idea they all could be gone; it could not be real.
“Are they sure?”
Anything to prevent an impending tsunami of mourning from hitting him.
She nodded repeatedly. He wished he had tissues for her face. All he had was a thin balaclava, so he gave her that. Seeing her so upset wrenched his heart.
