Wasteland Marshals

by Gail Z. Martin

  “You’re thinking Molotov cocktails and IEDs?”

  “Pretty much. I wish we had our old sniper rifles. We could shoot out their optics from a safe distance.” This wasn’t the first time they wished for access to the kind of resources they took for granted in the Army.

  “Let’s see what the Gettysburg enclave has,” Shane suggested. “I suspect that between people ‘liberating assets’ after the plague and a thriving black market, there’s good stuff to be had, if you know who to ask.”

  “Jesus. Listen to us,” Lucas said.

  Shane shrugged. “The world changed. So did we.”

  “I know. I know. And we’ve done plenty of ‘liberating’ ourselves. It’s just—”

  “Yeah. Sometimes I don’t recognize myself,” Shane admitted. “Then again, I haven’t recognized the world for three years, so why should I be any different?”

  The closer they got to Gettysburg, the more antsy Lucas felt. It wasn’t just the battlefield ghosts, although he wasn’t looking forward to encountering them. Lucas could see Shane’s nervousness, and he finally lost patience waiting for his partner to say something.

  “You’re worried that there’s going to be a daemon at the battlefield, aren’t you?”

  Shane looked away, then nodded. “Thinking about the last time we were here, the clues I didn’t put together at the time, I’m sure there is. Don’t you remember? I’ve had a lot of pretty awful nightmares, but the one that night in Gettysburg was in a league of its own.”

  Lucas remembered. They both had their scars, physical and mental, from their time in the Army, as well as their front row seat to the end of the world. Screaming their way awake from some hellish memory served up during sleep wasn’t anything unusual. But the dream Shane had the last time they were here was memorable for all the wrong reasons.

  Shane had tossed and turned, crying out and fighting. Through it all, Shane hadn’t woken, not even when he began screaming in pain, eyes wide and staring, sweat pouring down his body, hands white-knuckled on his blanket.

  God Almighty, that had scared the shit out of Lucas. He’d called Shane’s name, tried to shake him, slapped his cheek, and thrown a bowl of cold water into his face. Shane was lost in his mind, possessed by a nightmare so real he couldn’t break loose. Nothing Lucas tried worked, and he began to think he might never get Shane to rouse.

  Then as suddenly as the terror began, it ended, leaving Shane disoriented, pale and shaken, clearly in shock. It took hours before Shane could put his ordeal into words, and even then, the best he could do was to tell Lucas it was as if he had been mentally transported to the Civil War battle, reliving the most horrific moments.

  “You think that might have been a daemon?” Lucas ventured.

  “Don’t you? I thought I was losing my mind.” He gave a bitter laugh. “I’m not sure which is worse, honestly. Either I got hijacked by a very damaged primal spirit, or I had a bout of temporary insanity.”

  “You want to skip Gettysburg?”

  Shane shook his head. “No. It’s our best shelter between here and Raven Rock, and the enclave usually has good intel and weapons to restock. But I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.”

  They followed the road that tour buses used to take from the museum down to the battlefields. The land had been restored to the way it would have looked in 1863, cleared of modern buildings and improvements. Now, the buses and the tourists were long gone, and a single, prominent new feature dominated the landscape.

  Fort Getty occupied the high ground, an enclave large enough for nearly three hundred people to live and work. Founded by Civil War reenactors and staff from the museum, the camp’s ranks grew with refugees fleeing the Baltimore and Washington area. The enclave functioned like a military camp, even though it had no formal military commission.

  They rode across the too-quiet battlefield, and Lucas felt a chill that had nothing to do with the fall weather. He didn’t need to see the ghosts to sense their presence. No spirits attempted to block their route, but Lucas felt judgmental eyes on them as if the dead weighed their right to trespass on sacred ground.

  We were soldiers, too. And we’re still soldiers, but the war came home, Lucas thought, unsure whether the ghosts could pick up on his thoughts. It’s just that the world fell apart.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed uniformed ghostly shapes that vanished when he looked at them straight on. None of the spirits tried to block their path. Lucas suspected that the horses could see their spectral companions because he watched his mount’s gaze track movement.

  “Picking up anything?” he asked Shane, who had gone quiet.

  Shane nodded. “Now that I know what to listen for, I can hear the song. Each one is different. This one is melancholy. I mean, three thousand men died here, five thousand captured or missing, and over fourteen thousand maimed. I don’t know if the land can get over having that much blood spilled on it.”

  Shane rattled the statistics right off; of course he did, Lucas thought. Shane was great at anything to do with books. Lucas had always been more of a hands-on learner. Although he teased the hell out of his partner for his book smarts, Lucas secretly admired his “walking Wikipedia” abilities.

  “I can see that, I guess,” Lucas replied. If Shane wasn’t going to make him feel awkward about seeing ghosts, he wanted to make Shane as comfortable as he could be with the whole daemon thing.

  “Is it trying to talk to you?”

  “It knows I’m here,” Shane replied. “I think it’s curious.”

  “But it isn’t trying to stop us or invade your mind?”

  Shane gave him a look. “You make it sound like something out of The Exorcist.”

  “I saw what it did to you the last time,” Lucas replied, and his voice carried an edge of warning, in case the entity was listening.

  “I remember. But I think that might be why it’s keeping its distance now,” Shane said. “I don’t think it meant to hurt me. It was trying to show me what it knew.”

  “And with all the tourists and the people who live at the enclave, you’re the only one the daemon can communicate with?”

  Shane shrugged. “No idea. Maybe it’s rare enough to be exciting. I really don’t want to think I’m that special.”

  The last afternoon daylight waned as they rode up to the gates. Men and women were still in the paddocks and barns, finishing up chores. It no longer seemed strange to see men in blue and gray uniforms working together. Many preferred to keep their warm and well-made period uniforms, at least for the cold weather. Others kept their modern clothing. Shane and Lucas rode up to the fort’s gate and a man in a Union private’s uniform who barely looked old enough to enlist intercepted them.

  “US Marshals Collins and Maddox, to see Major Harris,” Lucas said, flashing his badge as Shane also produced ID.

  “We weren’t told to expect you, sir.”

  “Rather hard to get word to people these days,” Lucas replied, testy from the cold ride and the lingering damp that made old injuries ache. “We’re fresh out of carrier pigeons.”

  The gate guard dispatched a runner and looked surprised when word returned to allow the visitors to enter. He gave them directions to find the camp commander’s headquarters, and his gaze lingered on the swords bundled behind Shane’s saddle.

  Fort Getty had been built since the Events, a palisade fortress with wooden barracks and utility buildings. Fenced fields and new barns served the livestock that had been rounded up from abandoned farms. Lucas smelled woodsmoke and roasting pig.

  “Would it be easier, or harder to adapt if we didn’t move around?” Shane asked, looking around at the lantern-lit community.

  “Wouldn’t be near as saddle-sore, that’s for damn sure.”

  “Sometimes I wonder if the people who live in the enclaves have had a chance to make peace with what is, and settle in. They’ve got jobs making useful things, being part of helping each other survive. And they don’t have to see the destr
uction every day.”

  “Guess that’s true,” Lucas replied. “Then again, when have we ever stayed in one place?”

  They’d been in constant motion for the last seventeen years, since they joined the Army when they turned eighteen. Deployments, crazy hours, and dangerous assignments had kept them on the go, and neither man had slowed down long enough to find a partner or start a family. Now, Lucas doubted they ever would.

  It’s not the kind of world you want to bring a child into. Hell, plenty of adults are in a big hurry to leave. They had heard tell of so many suicides since the Events. Many days, Lucas understood completely. That’s when he was especially grateful for Shane’s company and friendship. It made the unthinkable easier to cope with.

  He pulled himself out of his thoughts and tried to focus on the mission. They had a job to do, and a killer to catch. And maybe, if they were lucky, survivors to rescue. God, Lucas hoped so. He didn’t want to get to Raven Rock and discover they were too late.

  When they reached the commander’s office, a soldier led their horses away to the stable inside the stockade, while another escorted them inside. Like the rest of the buildings in the fort, the headquarters was made of logs, a solid two-story structure that housed the officers who formed the governing body of the enclave.

  “Lucas. Shane. It’s good to see you again.” Major Jack Harris was a bear of a man, towering several inches over both Lucas and Shane, with broad shoulders and thick arms. He’d been a supply chain commander in the National Guard until he got his twenty years in and left to do the same kind of work for a major corporation. Being a reenactor was Harris’s passion, and he’d risen through the ranks to role play Major General George Meade, the Union commander. When the real world fell apart, the reenactors from both Union and Confederate sides looked to Harris for leadership, which made him the man in charge of Fort Getty.

  “Good to see you too, sir,” Lucas replied as Harris welcomed them into his office. “How have things been here?”

  “We’re not starving, and no one’s seriously ill, so I’m grateful,” Harris said, settling his large frame behind his desk. “What brings you two this way?”

  “We’ve gotten word that the enclave at Raven Rock has gone silent,” Shane replied. “And we’re heading down there to take a look at it.”

  “We think that some of the experimental tech being tested at the old Fort Ritchie facility might have something to do with it,” Lucas added. “We were hoping you could help us with some supplies.”

  Harris regarded them for a moment in silence, with a look that felt like it went down to the bone. “I think what you’re really telling me is, you’re meaning to go to war.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lucas replied. “That’s the crux of it.” He gave Harris the same shopping list of items he’d rattled off to Shane. Harris jotted them down, then called to an aide and handed off the list.

  “Fetch these, and burlap bags to carry it. We’ll need everything ready by morning. And choose a sturdy mule. They’ll need a way to carry all that.”

  The aide went to do his bidding, and Harris crossed his arms. “I’m guessing you’re going to assemble things closer to the target? I wouldn’t advise covering much territory with a load of IEDs and makeshift bombs.”

  Lucas grinned. “No, sir. Figured we’d hole up right before Raven Rock and put everything together. Thank you, sir. Especially for the mule.”

  Harris chuckled. “I’d be obliged if you brought the mule back when you’re done. Good animals are hard to come by.”

  “We happened into a few swords,” Shane ventured. “Good quality forging, but dull. Might it be possible to sharpen them here?”

  Harris’s eyes narrowed. “Why do I have the feeling that there’s a story behind how you ‘happened’ into these weapons?”

  Shane managed to look chagrined. “Robbers attacked us. We stopped them and came away with four swords and a decent rifle.”

  “God help us, we’ve all turned into magpies and pack rats,” Harris said with a sigh. “Yes, of course. I’ll have one of my men show you over to the armory. I’m guessing that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to take some more bullets with you, too?”

  “Bullets are always welcome, sir,” Lucas replied. “I didn’t want to ask for too much.”

  Harris raised an eyebrow. “Now, I know the world’s really coming to an end. Lucas Maddox, worried about overstepping?” He shook his head. “If we have it, you’re welcome to resupply. Do you need a contingent? I’ve got a soft spot for Fort Ritchie. My grandfather was assigned there during the Second World War, and my father was on staff until the place closed. If something’s gone wrong there, I take it rather personally.”

  “Thank you for the offer, sir,” Lucas replied, with a side glance at Shane, who gave a slight nod to indicate they were on the same wavelength, as usual. “But we aren’t sure what we’re walking into. I have the gut feeling that stealth is going to matter more than large numbers. Although, if you happen to have a couple of sniper rifles lying around, we’d be grateful if we could borrow them.”

  “Tell the quartermaster what else you want. There’s no sense going into battle if you don’t have what you need to win.” Harris leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I do have some news to pass along. Rumor has it that the Baltimore area is lousy with zombies. We think it’s a containment problem near Fort Detrick.”

  “Detrick was bioresearch and biodefense, wasn’t it?” Lucas asked.

  Harris nodded. “Yeah. I’ve never held with biowarfare, and I sure as hell can’t imagine what the fuck they thought they were playing with to create zombies.”

  “Real zombies, sir?” Shane asked. “Like, raised from the dead?”

  “No, more like human enhancement projects gone wrong,” Harris said, contempt thick in his voice. “Watch your step.”

  “We aren’t planning to go anywhere near Fort Detrick,” Lucas assured him. “I think we’ll have our hands full with feral AI, without adding zombies to the mix.”

  Harris shook his head. “Sometimes, I hear the things we say these days, and I can’t believe what passes for normal. All right,” he added, “drop your swords off at the armory and see what they can do for you, then head for the mess hall and get some food. You’re welcome to use the showers. Your horses will be cared for, and we’ll get you a place in the barracks for the night. Check back here after you eat dinner—we should have your shopping list put together by then.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Lucas replied.

  “You’re the ones going into a firefight,” Harris said. “We’ll be grateful if you can stop whatever’s going on from spreading. Just watch your asses. Every time someone passes through, I hear about more casualties with the Marshals, police, military. There already aren’t enough to go around. Make sure you come back.”

  10

  They moved on from Fort Getty just after dawn, with a new mule named Daisy to carry the ammunition and equipment Lucas had asked for, plus enough food and water to last them for several days. Shane and Lucas both carried sniper rifles, along with freshly sharpened swords in scabbards at their belts, and loaded handguns tucked into the waistband of their jeans.

  To stretch their supply of precious ammunition, both men carried slings and small bags of smooth stones on their belts. At first, soon after the Events, target practice with slings had been a way to pass the time on long rides. But as Lucas and Shane gained skill, they realized that done right, a sling could hurl a stone at lethal speed without the tell-tale crack of a gunshot.

  “You’re being quiet.” Lucas gave a look that warned Shane that he’d better confess what he was thinking, or his partner would annoy him until he spilled the beans.

  “I had a premonition. We were outnumbered. It went badly.”

  Lucas’s eyes narrowed as he thought. “Did we die?”

  “I don’t know. There was blood.” Shane looked out over the landscape. “Remember, what I see isn’t necessarily what has to happen; it’s wh
at could happen. But I think we should take it as a warning.”

  “I wasn’t exactly thinking this was gonna be a lark. We did just lay in a portable arsenal.”

  Shane nodded. “I know. Just…I think we need to be extra careful.”

  Shane often struggled to put what he saw in his visions into words. It wasn’t just seeing images. When he was caught up in a vision, Shane knew things that he didn’t know before, as if he’d skipped ahead in time and gotten insights from his future self. Or a future self, since the witches had emphasized that there could be many alternate outcomes. And what that future-him knew in the premonition he’d just had was that someone—he couldn’t see who—was likely to die.

  “Not much out here, is there?” Lucas mused as they rode through fields gone fallow and empty pastures. Where storms hadn’t been too severe, barns and homes looked to be in good condition, even if overgrown yards revealed that no one was home. Without electricity, and with the support network of stores and suppliers broken down, only the most stubborn or paranoid stayed behind. Most had made a stab at homesteading, right after the Events, only to throw in the towel when they realized just how difficult it was to live cut off from civilization.

  “It was always rural,” Shane replied. “But it didn’t feel desolate.” Before things fell apart, he and Lucas had traveled back and forth to Washington, D.C. regularly. Back then, he’d enjoyed the wide-open spaces. Now, he felt exposed, worried that the high grass and the empty barns provided ideal hiding places for attackers.

  Raven Rock, aka Site R, sat just inside the Pennsylvania-Maryland border, a monument to the Cold War. In the event of a conventional nuclear war, high-ranking officials from Washington were to be helicoptered to the large, underground bunker, which was said to have room to billet three thousand soldiers and be a complete, self-sufficient, subterranean city.

  When a coordinated terrorist strike hacked into the system, turning warheads against their home countries, the damage was done before jets could scramble or helicopters could leave the ground.