by A. R. Wise
I find it helpful to write out my thoughts before making any final decisions, and having Annie and Clyde here could help me decipher my muddled head. "Let's just run through this first. What are the possible reasons they attacked Vineyard?"
"To find the pilot's brother," said Clyde. "The guy named Ben."
I wrote down that as the first possibility.
"To find the girls that escaped," said Annie.
"What girls?" asked Clyde.
"We picked up a couple girls that escaped from DIA," said Annie. "They had been imprisoned there, in…"
"What were you doing at DIA?" asked Clyde.
I looked at Annie with raised eyebrows. "I don't think there's any avoiding it. You're going to have to tell him what was going on."
Her jaw tightened as she pulled out one of the lawn chairs and sat down at the table. "Hero and I found out what happened at Hanger."
"So it's true?" asked Clyde. "The other medics were talking about it, but I hadn't heard for sure. Is the whole town dead?"
Annie nodded. "Not just dead. They were infected."
"Everyone?" he asked.
"As far as we could tell," said Annie. "And the same thing happened in Juniper."
Clyde scowled and shook his head as he sat down at the table. "That doesn't make any sense."
"They were poisoned," said Annie. She leaned forward and used a pin to point at Hanger on the map. "We found stacks of crates, and Hero found some white powder that he said was the same thing they used to distribute the disease twenty years ago."
Clyde crossed his arms and looked pensive as he listened to Annie. Then he looked up at me and shook his head. "That still doesn't make sense. Where are the survivors? Where are the ones that were immune? There had to be a few people there that didn't catch the disease."
"I don't know," said Annie. "Maybe they were killed off when the disease started."
"All of them?" asked Clyde, unconvinced. "And what about Juniper? If the same thing happened there, then there should be some people that were immune and survived. This doesn’t make sense."
"Okay," I said. "Let's stay focused. Annie, what happened next?"
She traced a line across the map that led from Hanger to Denver International Airport. "We found a caravan and Hero thought they might be responsible for delivering the poisoned food, so we followed them."
"And they went to the airport?" asked Clyde.
"Yeah." Annie pushed the pin into the map, sticking it into the table beneath.
"Which is where you stumbled upon these girls?" asked Clyde, confounded by the coincidence. Then his tone changed to accusatory as he started to realize what Annie and Hero had been up to. "These two girls just happened to escape right when you showed up? Really?"
Annie rolled her eyes and settled back into her seat. "Hero dropped a few of his bombs down into their airshafts, and it must've broken the girls out or something."
Clyde angrily guffawed and shook his head. His face was turning red as he spoke. "Well that explains it then, doesn't it? God damn it. No wonder they attacked Vineyard. You went and provoked them into it."
"No we didn't," said Annie.
"What do you mean you didn't? You dropped bombs on them and they chased you back to Vineyard. What's not to understand?" He stood up and his chair fell over backward. "You fucking idiots."
"Calm down," I tried to intervene.
"You got a whole town killed," said Clyde. "You know that?"
"Calm down!" I screamed to silence them both. "There's a group of people here that want to continue fighting back, and we'll deal with that later. For now, let's focus on the problem at hand."
"We've got it figured out," said Clyde. "They bombed them, and the military struck back."
"That's bullshit," said Annie, threatening to start the heated argument back up again.
I put out both of my hands to shush them. "It's possible that the attack on Vineyard was retaliation, but that's not the whole picture here." I pointed at Juniper, then slid my finger down to Hanger, and finally to Vineyard, tracing the path of destruction. "They poisoned Juniper and Hanger, and then directly attacked Vineyard. Clyde, as much as I want to agree that this was retaliation for Operation Slugger…"
"Slugger," said Clyde. "Is that what this is about?" He looked at Annie. "Were you guys continuing on with that plan despite your orders to stop?"
"Yes," I answered for Annie. "And we'll deal with that in a minute. We've got to face the facts here, though. This isn’t about retaliation. They planned this."
"So what does that mean?" asked Clyde.
I thought about it, mulling over the various possibilities. There was only one explanation that made any sense. "Maybe they've got a new virus. I don't know if they're just testing it out, or if they’ve perfected it, but that's what we're dealing with here. That's why there were no survivors. Either everyone died, or the survivors were taken back to their labs. It has to be one or the other." I glanced at them both, and then back at the map. "Kim and Hero took all of the people that were bit during the attack on Vineyard, and I'd bet damn good money that none of them are still alive."
"When are they getting back?" asked Clyde. "They just took them out to the dumping yard, right? Shouldn't they be here soon?"
"They had to go to the southern yard," said Annie. "The north one is full. It's a bit of a haul, but I'd expect them back here fairly soon."
"I thought the southern was in The Department zone," said Clyde, referring to the area that was controlled by a different group of nomads similar to the High Rollers.
"It is," said Annie. "Billy worked out an arrangement with them to handle any overflow."
"Christ," muttered Clyde. "So he's going around behind our backs and setting up allegiances with other groups? Perfect."
"We'll deal with that later," I said, and then corrected myself pointedly. "I'll deal with that later. For the time being, keep your mouths shut about Operation Slugger and what Billy's been up to. I don't want that conversation happening with the other lieutenants here, especially not Zack. You know how he can get whenever someone disobeys me."
I looked down at the map and thought of the hundreds of people that had lived in each of the three towns that were now marked with a red 'X'. The past two decades had been spent struggling to survive, and the last thing I wanted was to try and start a war that I knew we couldn't win. What sense did it make to try and exact revenge upon a faceless enemy? Why was it worth sacrificing the lives of so many innocents just to strike back at the people that started the apocalypse? Once anger and bravado fade, revenge becomes pathetic and self-obsessive. It had been two decades, and the Reds needed to let go of the past. They needed to look at the future, and try to build a world that the Greens could live in.
I thought of my grandson, and the wounds that scarred him. He was innocent, yet had suffered because of a war he had no part in. The attack on our caravan was retaliation by the military for an assault that Billy had put together against a nearby base. The wave of Greys had been delivered in trucks and released in the dead of night. Afterwards, Billy and several others drafted plans for a massive attack that called for all able-bodied survivors to take up arms and fight back. This was what finally initiated the change in guard, and when I was elected captain I pushed for a new focus on peace. The High Rollers were tired of a two decade long war, and were ready for a new strategy. We decided to focus on providing protection for the local towns, with the intention of establishing our own permanent base soon.
It was supposed to be the beginning of a new, peaceful time for us.
Things have a tendency of not working out like we hoped they would.
"Say what you want about why it's happening," said Annie. "But there's no doubt, the shit's about to hit the fan."
CHAPTER SIX - THE BELLICOSE SEARGENT
Ben Watanabe
The back of the truck smelled like wet cardboard and blood. It was enclosed, a camouflage tarp stretched taut overhead, and the aftern
oon sun shone through the fabric to cast a green pallor over me. My arms looked like they belonged to a monster.
My head pounded hard enough to cause my eyesight to quiver, but the pain that should've been associated with the sensation was mysteriously absent. In its place I was afforded a lofty feeling, as if I were being carried along on a sheet held at each corner, taxied through the world with no ability to stop. This was a flatbed, military transport, and I was on the floor beside Harrison, who was unconscious. We'd been rescued from the roof of the building when Vineyard was evacuated, but the rest of the night, and following morning, were a blur to me.
"Harrison," I spoke his name, but it died in my dry throat. All that escaped was a desperate whimper and a gasp of air. I tried to swallow, to wet my throat, but there was no moisture in my mouth and the sensation made me gag. I could taste metal, as if I were sucking on old world coins. The continuing sway from my drugged state caused my stomach to stir. It felt as if we were drifting through the ocean.
I reached out, but my arm didn't respond, and I stared down at it in wonderment. There were bandages on my wrists and forearm, each sullied with old blood. My chest was wrapped and when I saw the bindings I finally felt their restraint. It was like someone had suddenly pulled me into a tight hug.
"Harrison," I tried again, with more success, although my voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else, raspy and almost unintelligible.
The old man was turned away from me. We were both on the floor of the truck, only inches apart, but I couldn't reach out to him because my body wouldn't respond to my commands anymore.
His long, wiry hair was wet with blood and sweat. It flowed out from under a bandage that wrapped his head, and the green light from above twinkled in the blood on the floor. He was breathing, and was mumbling in his sleep, so I settled back and stared up at the kaleidoscopic display emitting from the tarp.
A morose acceptance seeped into me, like a terminal patient complacent with their impending end. I closed my eyes, allowing the flow of the painkillers to send me on my way. My body felt like it was going one-way, and my gut another. I imagined my stomach as a bellicose sergeant, barking directional orders that his squad ignored. He bounced around, his beret threatening to fly off his sloshing head as the top half of his body rose out of a slat on the top of the vehicle. My chest was the car, and my heart the driver, with my lungs as two twin jokers smoking cigars filled with marijuana and dusted with a liberal serving of hallucinogenic toad scrapings. It was the mad dream of a drugged mind, and I laughed at the vision.
Something put its hand on my foot, and I reacted in shock. "Fuck!" My body shook and I blinked away the dream world as I came to the foggy realization that I'd fallen asleep. "What?"
The doctor was at the end of the truck with his back to me. He had his hand on my ankle and was helping a woman up. She stepped in beside him, a middle-aged woman with shoulder length brown hair and a rigid facial structure. She stared at me, and I immediately recognized authority in the way she clenched her jaw and kept her eyes on mine.
"Ben?" she asked.
I tried to nod, but couldn't move, so I said, "Yup." Then I burped, and the taste of metal flooded my senses again. "Sorry."
The doctor and the woman looked at one another. He shrugged and said, "It's the poppy. Messes with the stomach."
She nodded and sat on the bench to my left that lined the side of the transport vehicle. "Can you talk?"
"Yup." I wasn't sure why I was responding in such a bizarre fashion. It was as if I were drunk and trying to hide marbles in my cheeks.
I could see the red haired girl, Annie, standing outside of the truck, still on the ground. She looked sad, and apologetic, and beautiful. I stared at her as the older woman spoke to me. Her kind eyes comforted me, and I wanted to gaze at them forever, but she turned away as if ashamed.
"We need to know about your ties to the military," she said as she sat near my feet. "And about your brother."
"My what?" I asked, and finally stopped staring at Annie. I glared at the woman. "Who are you?"
"I'm Laura Conrad. I'm the captain of the High Rollers." Her posture was impeccably straight, like a soldier who never learned to relax. She looked familiar to me, as if I'd known someone that looked similar to her but couldn't recall who.
"Okay," I said, and didn't mean to sound dismissive, though I did. "I'm Ben," but of course, she already knew that.
"We need to know why your brother attacked Vineyard, and how you were involved."
"I don't have a brother."
She frowned. "This is going to go a lot smoother if you start telling the truth."
"I am." I was still having trouble speaking through my desert of a mouth. "Can I get a drink?"
"Yeah, sure," said the doctor. He turned to look at Annie and said, "Can you go grab him something?"
Annie left and Laura continued to interrogate me. "The pilot of the helicopter, the one you shot, was your twin. Before we bring you to our camp, we need to make sure you're not working with them, or bugged."
I'd forgotten about the pilot, or perhaps I'd relegated the revelation to a fever dream that never actually happened. Now, as she sat at the back of the truck staring at me, the memory forced its way back into my mind. I recalled shooting the helicopter pilot three times in the chest and then preparing to finish him off. His helmet's visor had fallen over his face, and I lifted it up to put a final bullet in his head, only to see my own face staring back at me. It was a nightmare, and I wished it would stay only in my dreams.
"Well?" asked Laura.
"I don't know who he is."
Annie returned with a canteen that she handed up to the doctor, who then carefully maneuvered between Harrison and myself to bring me a drink. He held it out for me to take, but I couldn't reach out to grab it. He eventually knelt down and lifted my head to help me take a drink. I sputtered, and nearly choked on the cold liquid. The water's frigid temperature and heavy taste revealed to me that we were at a campsite. The mineral flavor of the water, and the fact that it was so cold, meant that it was pulled from a well. I suspected that Laura was lying, and that we were already at the High Roller's campsite. I wasn't angry with her for the deception, but it was a helpful hint of her character.
"Let me just run through this for you," she said, "to help you understand my point of view. You show up yesterday, right before the military mounts an unheard of assault on a town that's been there for years, and one of the men responsible for the attack is your twin brother. Can you understand why we're a little suspicious?"
"He's not my brother."
"That's not what he says," said the doctor. "He's been asking for you ever since he got here."
I shook my head and closed my eyes. "I don't know who he is."
"Who are you?" asked Laura. "What's this about?" She pulled my files out of a satchel that was on the back of the truck. The satchel was mine, pulled from my backpack, and I hadn't seen them bring it into the truck when they entered. She leafed through the files and then pulled out the photo of Jerald Scott, scrawled with my father's handwriting: 'Kill on sight. Don't let him speak.'
I looked at the photo, but didn’t answer her.
"Why do you have this?"
"It's a long story."
She dropped the picture back into the file. "Give me the abridged version. Now."
"My father was one of the people responsible for developing the virus that caused the apocalypse. He found out the plan, and left the organization." I looked down at my hand as I wiggled my fingers. There was sensation returning to the tips, and they moved when I told them too, but I was still far too weak to do more.
"Go on," said Laura when I paused for too long.
"He trained me in survival techniques, and also as an assassin." I looked at the files and then back at Laura. "Those are the people that are responsible for the virus. They all have to die. It's my job to kill them."
"Are you from this area?" asked Clyde.
"No
. I lived in Georgia when the apocalypse started."
Laura's expression changed and I saw Annie look up at her. I suddenly understood that Laura was Annie's mother, and it was then that I realized why she looked familiar. I'd seen Laura at the base in Georgia, right after I'd saved Annie from the scientists. I thought about telling Laura who I was, but that would mean dispelling Annie's belief that her father had saved her. After my conversation with Harrison, about the shooting stars and stealing hope from people, I decided to keep my secret. However, if this conversation devolved then I would be forced to reveal my past to help gain their trust.
"Interesting," said Laura as she continued to look through the files.
"How did you end up out here?" asked Clyde.
"I heard one of the men I'm looking for, the one in that file that you just had, is out here. I came looking for him."
"And he was supposed to be in Vineyard?" asked Clyde. He'd taken over the questioning after I'd told them about my origin. Laura was busy looking through the files, and seemed consumed by them.
"No, I heard a rumor that he was traveling with traders. He'd paid a large sum to them for help hauling something."
"Paid them with what?" asked Clyde, suspicious of the same problem that I'd thought about before. "The traders out here barter with goods. What was he trading with them?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," I said.
"Refuge, maybe," said Laura. She closed the files and looked up at Clyde as she rejoined the conversation.
"Refuse?" I asked, confused by my misunderstanding of what she'd said. I couldn't figure out why she thought they wanted garbage.
"Not refuse," she said. "Refuge."
"Refuge from what?" asked Clyde.
She stared at me when she answered, as if in threat. "Refuge from a new apocalypse; a deadlier one."
"Christ," Clyde muttered and started to bite his thumbnail.
"How did you hook up with Harry?" asked Laura.
