by D. J. Molles
“Lee…” Warning tones.
“It’s about survival of the entire state, which means survival for South Carolina, too.”
Tomlin closed his eyes. Swallowed heavily. Lee had struck the chord, which was exactly what he’d meant to do by bringing up Tomlin’s once-upon-a-time responsibility.
Lee rubbed underneath his nose. “We need to assume the worst. Let’s assume we don’t make a deal with Colonel Staley, or that his help comes too late—which is a good possibility right now. If that happens, we are going to lose Eden, our pinch point. The area between our blown bridges on the Roanoke River and the Appalachian Mountains is going to widen to an uncontrollable area of land. And the hordes will start slipping through that gap, and they will be too numerous to stop, spread over an area that wide. There’s even a chance that if everything goes perfect and we still manage to hold on to Eden, we’ll run out of munitions before the infected run out of bodies.”
Tomlin nodded, though he seemed hesitant to agree with anything Lee was saying at this point.
“We need more help,” Lee said simply. “And Fort Bragg is thirty miles south of us.”
“Fort Bragg,” Tomlin said, like he was tasting the words.
Fort Bragg was a military base that Lee and Tomlin, as well as most members of the United States Army, were familiar with. Home of the 82nd Airborne, as well as US Army Special Operations Command, it was an infamous shit hole. Two hundred and fifty-one square miles of sand and pine trees, adjoining the city of Fayetteville, which was for the most part an old military town and had the same used-up look as all military towns.
“We’ve avoided it until now because I had Fayetteville categorized as a city too big for us to deal with right now. Which it still is, and the chances that there’s a massive horde in there are strong. But Fort Bragg is right there, and there’s also a chance that they mounted a good defense, and maybe even cleared Fayetteville.”
Tomlin just stared for a long moment, processing. His index finger and thumb found the corners of his mouth again. Wiped downward, slowly. Finally, he said, “You’re laying a lot of shit on me right now.”
Lee nodded. “I know I am.”
They reached the fire pit in the center of the Square, around which was gathered Old Man Hughes, Brett, Nate, and Devon. They watched the two captains, the two old friends, the two onetime enemies, the two comrades in desperation.
“This conversation isn’t over,” Tomlin said.
“I didn’t figure it was.” Lee faced the gathering at the fire pit. Hitched his leg up on one of the cinder blocks that ringed it. “We’re meeting out here because I think some transparency would do us good. I think meeting in the office is a nice controlled environment, but it’s also a great way to start rumors and have our people thinking that we’re being shady.” Lee’s face looked drawn and serious when he said it, staring at the ashes in the pit. Some small bones sticking up out of the ash. White ash from the bones. Dark, greasy-looking spots where flesh had melted and boiled.
They buried their dead, but they burned the bodies of the infected.
“We can’t afford another split like we had with Jerry,” Lee continued. “So it’s transparency from now on.”
“Okay,” Nate said, speaking up first. “So what do you need from us?”
“Well.” Lee drew himself up. “I’ve got a couple pieces of bad news. No good news.” He looked at the men gathered there. “And I’m gonna need some volunteers.”
The group remained silent, expectant. And after a moment, Lee told them everything. He hid nothing. He told them his suspicions, his interpretations of the data that Jacob had written in his notebook, as well as Jacob’s own interpretations of it. And he told them about the bad news from Harper and the plan that wasn’t going so well up north. The plan, the plan, the one that was teetering so delicately on a razor’s edge. Looking less and less likely, though Lee kept his doubts to himself. He was not there to open his heart and mind or burden the people that followed him with the rancorous doubts that he had day in and day out. He was there to relay facts. And that was what he did.
Lee had his hands in the pockets of his jacket, his foot still braced up on the cinder block. His eyes were locked with the ashes in the pit in front of him. A set of three skeleton fingers poking up from the grayish white miniature landscape.
“Colonel Staley has agreed to a meeting.” Lee looked briefly irritated. “I have no idea what Colonel Staley’s mind-set is right now. Whether he truly sees this as urgent or not. I would hope that he believes it is urgent since he’s trying to set up the meeting immediately…”
You’re editorializing.
Lee sniffed, then spat into the ashes. “Anyways. The meeting is set to take place just outside of Mount Olive, which is a real small town just a few miles east of Newton Grove. We’re already friends with the folks from Newton Grove, so it shouldn’t be too hard for me to get to Mount Olive safely.”
Old Man Hughes’s eyes narrowed. “Forgive me, Captain. I ain’t tryin’ to do your job or nothin’, but… who decided on the location?”
Lee glanced momentarily at Tomlin, who was diligently avoiding eye contact with a secretive expression that said, I told you so, you stupid sonofabitch. Lee directed himself back to Hughes, feeling the back of his neck burning. “Colonel Staley arranged the meeting place.”
“Why are we letting the guy we don’t know decide the meeting place?” Hughes asked with some suspicion evident in his voice. “Seems like we would want to err on the side of caution and be the ones to decide what happens where.”
“Yes,” Lee said, a little exasperation creeping into his voice. “You’re one hundred percent correct. However, that would be an ideal situation if we had anything to offer in this relationship. Essentially, anything that we get out of Colonel Staley is going to be a combination of charity and mutual benefit. He’s the one holding the chips. Ergo, he calls the shots.”
“But we don’t know him,” Hughes said, actually sounding a little confused.
“No we don’t.” Lee drew his hands out of his jacket long enough to scrub them over his face. “But I’m taking the risk anyway, because the options are limited, we desperately need what Colonel Staley has, and I don’t think we have the time or the position to go into negotiations about this shit. We’ve got to take a leap of faith on this one. I have to take a leap of faith, actually.”
Tomlin broke in, almost stammering. “You’re going alone?”
“No.” Lee shook his head. “It will be me and whoever volunteers to go with me. I only need a couple. Just enough to ride in the truck with me until we get to the meeting point.”
“Just a couple?” Tomlin asked. “When he’s probably bringing a whole goddamned platoon?”
Lee turned himself to Tomlin. “He can bring whatever the fuck he wants. And frankly, no matter how many guys I take with me, if he decides to break bad, we’re done. He’s got air support, artillery, and a shitload more guns than we do. So if he wants us dead or captured, it’s gonna fucking happen. Which is why I only want enough men to get me there safe. The rest is in his hands.”
“Whoo.” Hughes actually laughed, though it sounded humorless. “You got a lotta trust, boy.”
“It ain’t trust,” Lee said. “But we are completely out of options. If he meant to put the screws to us by waiting to meet, then he succeeded, absolutely. We lose Eden? We lose a couple bridges over the Roanoke River?” Lee shook his head, the conclusion of disaster remaining unsaid. “We’re already the Dutch boy with our finger in the dike. We don’t have the resources to plug any more holes.”
“I understand,” Hughes said, still doubtful. “And if you need the help, you got me and however many of my people you need. I can speak for them right here and now. We’re happy to help in any way that we’re needed.”
Lee nodded, respectfully. “Thank you. But I only need two or three others. So, you plus whoever you want. I trust your judgment.”
Brett watched the exch
ange with some interest, words hanging just behind his lips. When Lee and Hughes seemed to be finished, he raised a hesitant hand. “So what would you like the rest of us to be doing? Do you need anybody in reserve when you make that trip? You know… waiting outside of Mount Olive in case things get bad?”
Lee shook his head. “No, I need the rest of you to stay here.” The rest of his thought was left unsaid: I’m not emptying out Camp Ryder again. I’m keeping a base of friendly folks here at all times. I won’t let that shit happen again. “I may need a couple more of you for something else, but we’ll talk about that at a later time.”
Brett nodded. “Well. Anything you need, Captain. We owe Jacob our lives. And you.”
“There’s plenty of work to be done.” Lee looked at Hughes. “Talk with your people. Need them ready to go by tomorrow morning.” He turned to the rest of the men gathered there. “I have some other things to discuss with Captain Tomlin, and then I’ll be speaking with a few more of you.”
Devon half-turned away, then brought himself around again. “Captain, are we going back to Harper’s group?”
Lee considered it briefly, but shook his head. “Not right now.”
Devon bobbed his head once. He exchanged a glance with Nate, and then the two of them set off from the fire pit, probably back toward Nate and Katie Malone’s shanty, where Devon was laying his head at night.
Tomlin had his arms crossed, a perturbed look on his face. Always even-keel, Brian Tomlin rarely raised his voice, but though his expressions were usually subtle, he rarely made an effort to hide them, and to the friend that knew him, it was not difficult to read what Tomlin was thinking simply by the twist of his mouth, or the arch of his eyebrows.
“You wanna talk inside?” Tomlin asked. “Or are we continuing with the whole transparency thing?”
“Nope.” Lee remained rooted to the ground. “We’ll talk here. Fuck it. Tired of sneakin’ around.”
“Are you?” Tomlin had a little more bite in that comment than perhaps he intended.
Lee gave him a sharp look.
Tomlin met his friend’s gaze, then his expression softened with a sigh. “So… Fort Bragg.”
“Yeah.” Eyes back to the fire pit. Then scanning around. “Fort Bragg.”
“Do I get a choice?”
“A choice in what?”
“Whether or not to go.”
“Well.” Lee stretched his back. “I don’t outrank you.”
“But…”
“But I would hope you see the merit in seeking out some additional help.” Lee said, plainly. “As always, Brian, if you have a better plan, it ain’t gonna hurt my feelings if you say so. This is the plan I have come up with. I’m not married to it, and if you’ve got a better way of doing it, then I’m all ears. But we need help. Even if Colonel Staley comes through for us, we’re still going to need more help. If we’re going to mount a united defense…”
“Yeah.” Tomlin seemed to consider it for a few breaths. “And you’re not just talking about the infected, are you?”
Lee looked at his longtime friend and felt a tired ache somewhere down inside him. Like running a race with no idea how long it would last. Was it twenty miles? Fifty miles? One hundred miles? No one knew. And maybe it just didn’t have an end. Maybe you would just keep running for the rest of your damned life and eventually die without ever having seen the finish line.
Or you could just drop out of the race.
Yeah… right…
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Lee nodded. “Yeah. You’re right.”
Because there was no guarantee that President Briggs was going to leave them alone. Maybe stealing the GPS wasn’t enough. And Lee just had to assume that eventually President Briggs would figure out that Lee was still alive. Still trying to resist the tidal wave coming from the north. Still trying to save these southeastern states from obliteration. And then what?
“No, I don’t,” Tomlin said with reluctance.
“You don’t what?”
“No, I don’t have a better plan. You’re right. We need allies. And you’re right that I’m the best person to make those travels. But I’m not going out there alone. I did that shit before and I promised myself I wouldn’t do it again. Almost died too many times.”
“How many people do you want with you?”
“Two,” Tomlin said with confidence. He’d clearly already considered the question. “Two should be good. Enough to watch my back, but not so many as to be noticeable.”
“Who do you want?”
“Nate and Devon.” Again, with confidence. “I worked with them a couple of times when we were hiding out near Lillington. They’re solid.”
Lee nodded, considering whether or not it was better to send them with Tomlin or back to Harper. Tomlin needed the manpower and had chosen them specifically. Harper needed manpower as well, but in Harper’s case, two bodies was hardly going to make a dent. Harper needed real manpower.
“Okay.” Lee pushed himself away from the fire pit. He turned so that the sun was on his face. He squinted, felt the warmth cover his skin, and for a fleeting moment almost smiled. “Do you want to talk to them, or do you want me to do it?”
“I’ll do it,” Tomlin said. “When do you want us to move out?”
“As soon as you’re ready. This is your op now.”
Tomlin flexed his fingers, blew warm air into his hands. “Roger ’at.”
When Angela and Jenny made their way to the ground floor of the Camp Ryder building, they found it deserted. Usually there would be some people congregating at the tables that now stood where diesel trucks had once been stored and serviced. Perhaps it was the sunshine today that kept them outdoors—though the air was cold, the sun was warm enough that you could heat yourself up a bit by standing in it. Unlike the dark corners of the Camp Ryder building.
Angela slipped her hand onto Jenny’s elbow and gently motioned for the far corner of the open main floor. They walked over and selected one of the abandoned tables, a weathered old wooden thing constructed like a picnic table. The wood was rough and cold when they sat on it, facing each other.
Angela wasn’t sure how she felt. There were a lot of different things going through her head right then. But the baseline of fear was always there. Like a rule. She figured it never left her, but that she just became accustomed to it. She was inoculated to it, like an aching pain that just doesn’t go away, but you just start to lose track of it because it’s so constant. This is the gift of human adaptation. The changes had been swift and painful, but here was the approach of blessed homeostasis.
At least for her.
Some people were adaptable. Others, more brittle in their psyche.
And Angela feared that Jenny was one of those people.
Her eyes were dark and jittery looking. Like how Angela imagined an animal’s eyes to be at the peak of the hunting season. She’d developed a nervous habit of rubbing and scratching at her neck, just beneath the collar of her jacket. She did it absentmindedly and when she moved a certain way that exposed her neck just above the collarbone, Angela could see bright red, irritated skin.
“Talk to me,” Angela said, folding her hands in front of her.
Jenny looked unfocused for a second. “About what?”
“You. Greg. Anything you want.”
Jenny blinked at the mention of Greg’s name. Her expression didn’t exactly change, but it was as though every muscle in her face suddenly tightened. “Why would I want to talk about Greg?” Her hand began to creep up to her collar. “Why would I want to talk about that sonofabitch?”
Angela had no answer for her. She figured that Jenny probably knew why.
Jenny looked off, then up. Angela expected tears, but maybe those had been bled dry. Her eyes remained cold and dry. “Greg.” She said it without feeling. Like a foreign word she did not know the meaning of. “What can I say about Greg? Well… Greg was a friend of Jerry’s. Greg would sometimes come over to my place after his guard
duty and we would fuck. Greg was a good manipulator. Greg would say whatever you wanted to hear to get whatever he wanted out of you. In retrospect, Greg may have been a sociopath.”
Her eyes found their dark way to Angela’s again and in them was some sort of cosmic humor that Angela couldn’t fathom. Jenny’s hand had made it to her chest, her index finger rooting through layers of clothing like a weasel searching for a bug to eat.
“How’s that for a eulogy?” Jenny asked. She leaned forward. “If you’re asking me how I feel about Greg…” She seemed on the verge of revealing something. Letting something out. Like her hand was grasping a lever that would open floodgates. Then the look died. “I’ve got nothing to say, Angela. And I’m not sure why you’re even asking me about it. Seems like you have problems of your own you should be thinking about. Not trying to solve mine.” Jenny smiled and it looked bent to the point of breakage. “My problems have already been solved.”
Angela shrugged, deflecting the offensive tone. “If you don’t want to talk, you certainly don’t have to.”
Jenny just watched her. Unnervingly still.
Beneath her jacket, Angela felt goose bumps gathering.
Jenny’s finger found her own flesh. Rubbed. Rubbed. Scratched.
Angela considered opening up in that moment, talking about the things that were bothering her. Leading by example, in a way. Maybe if she opened up to Jenny, Jenny would feel more inclined to open up to Angela. But looking into the other woman’s eyes, Angela found something was not as it should be and then suddenly the concept of opening up to her seemed very disconcerting.
Jenny seemed to realize that the conversation—or the attempt to have one—was over with. She stood, her finger retracting from her collar so that her hand could push her up from the picnic table. She didn’t immediately walk away, but instead held Angela’s gaze for a while longer.
“I’m fine, Angela. Don’t worry about me. I know exactly what I have to do. But you… you should open your eyes. Things aren’t what they seem.”
Angela felt a flash of anger, though she wasn’t sure why.
Stepping into dangerous territory, something in the back of her mind told her.
