Refugees

by D. J. Molles

  Lee waited until the murmur of conversation lulled. His eyes scanned the faces before him as he spoke. “I wanted to take a moment to thank all of you. You knew what I was asking of you, you knew the risks involved, and you volunteered anyway. There is nothing in this world that has any meaning or value without people such as yourselves who are willing to put themselves in harm’s way to try to ensure that other people have a future. Without that future, without that probability of survival, everything loses its meaning.”

  He cleared his throat softly. “People lose hope when that happens. They lose their sense of purpose. But people like you are the reason the rest of them can plan for tomorrow. You’re the reason they can hope.” He paused, then nodded, as though he felt he had communicated what he’d wanted to say.

  Then he quickly held up a piece of paper and focused on it. “First group, I’m going to call your names. If I call your name, please step to this side of the room.” Lee motioned to the left of the doorway. Then he began to call the names.

  He called out twelve in all. Among them were Julia, Nate Malone, Mike and Torri Reagan, and Devon Mills. As he called their names, they began to filter to the left side of the room.

  When everyone was situated, Lee went on. “You folks who I just called out will be with Harper. Your group will be going north. I’ll talk more about it in a minute.” He looked to the others who had naturally drifted to the opposite side of the room. “I’m going to call the rest of you, and you will make sure you’re on the right side of the room, if you aren’t already.”

  Among the next thirteen names that he called were Jim, LaRouche, and Wilson. When he was done calling the names, he asked for LaRouche to step forward. The sergeant looked around hesitantly but stepped to Lee’s side.

  Lee gestured to everyone on the right. “If I just called your name and you are standing to the right, you will be under the control of LaRouche. And you’ll be heading east.”

  There was a stir in the room.

  Lee had expected it.

  He knew the question before it was asked, but it was LaRouche who voiced it. “Uh, Cap… shouldn’t it be you?”

  Lee drew a lengthy breath, still staring at the sheet in front of him. “I won’t be leaving with you.”

  The noise was one of confusion. Heads were turning back and forth, questioning each other, wondering if they’d heard right.

  Lee raised his hand. “Quiet, please.” He waited two breaths until he could speak without yelling. “I know the rumor mill works fast around here, but for those of you who haven’t heard or who have heard an incorrect version, I will explain to you the reality of the situation.” He folded the paper crisply. “The individual we captured and brought in earlier today is Captain Brian Tomlin. He is a Coordinator for Project Hometown, just like myself. His assigned area was South Carolina. Without getting into too many details, I will tell you that he has brought some issues to light that require my attention right now. I don’t know how long it will take to get to the bottom of it, but as soon as I figure it out, I’ll be heading out to join the rest of you in the east.”

  Nate Malone stepped forward. “How do you know he’s telling the truth?”

  “I don’t. That’s why I need to get to the bottom of it.”

  Lee could tell that the others had many questions about this odd decision, but none of them voiced their concerns, so Lee moved the briefing on. “Harper’s group. You’ll be given one of the HEMTT tankers, the wrecker, two of the LMTVs, and one of the Humvees. Your primary objective will be to establish a defensive stronghold in Eden, North Carolina. Your secondary objective will be to use the wrecker while you are working your way north, to clear a supply-and-escape route from Eden to Camp Ryder. Your tertiary objective will be to assist any refugees who are fleeing south.” He nodded to Harper. “You’re my right-hand man. I trust you to get it done.”

  Lee turned to the right. “LaRouche’s group. You have one objective and one objective only: limit the amount of infected crossing the Roanoke River. You’ll be given the other tanker, the rest of the Humvees, and the last LMTV, which we are going to load with more than two thousand pounds of ordnance, ammunition, and rifles.” He looked at them very pointedly. “That payload is our life, guys. You’re going to use it to buy cooperation where you can, blow up the bridges that can’t be defended, and mine the shit out of the ones we can’t blow. We’re on a time crunch, and you guys are my hammer—I need you to hit hard and fast.” He put his hand on LaRouche’s shoulder. “Sergeant LaRouche has extensive experience with demolitions, so you’ll all be in good hands. Just do what he tells you and you’ll come back with all of your limbs.”

  Nervous laughter ran through the group.

  “Last issue to address,” Lee said, folding his arms across his chest. “I know it’s short notice, but is anyone here unable to leave Camp Ryder by tomorrow?”

  Silence fell over the room. Glances were exchanged, shoulders were shrugged. Some people just bowed their heads slightly.

  Lee nodded. “If no one objects, then plan to leave late tomorrow morning.”

  The group seemed to be in consensus. All heads nodded the affirmative.

  “Does anyone have any questions?”

  For a moment, Lee thought he might escape without questions, but Lucky poked his carrot top out of the crowd and raised his hand. “Yeah, I got a question.”

  Lee pointed to him. “Go ahead.”

  Lucky looked around briefly. He was part of Wilson’s team, and therefore in LaRouche’s group. “Since we’re headed east, I figured we should probably know what to do if we come across the Followers.”

  There was an audible groan from several members of the group. From the other side of the room, Nate rolled his eyes and lifted his hands. “It’s just an urban legend, man. Just people spreading scary stories. I doubt there’s a group of people out there simultaneously cannibalizing and Bible-thumping.”

  “You don’t know that,” Lucky said defensively. “Have you been east? Has anyone in this room been out that way in the last few months?”

  “I’m with Lucky,” Wilson said quietly, inspecting the bandaged stumps of his now three-fingered right hand. “It’s possible that the Followers are a complete fabrication. It’s also possible that everything we’ve heard is true. I think a more likely scenario is that the truth lies somewhere in between, as with most other things like this.” He looked up at Lee. “I think we should have a plan to deal with them if we come across them… even if it is a big ‘if.’ ”

  Whether out of pity for the man who had just lost his fingers or in deference to the fact that he was probably right, no one continued the argument. Instead, all eyes shifted to Lee, looking for his answer to the problem of the Followers.

  “Because we don’t know truth from fiction at this point in time, we can’t really make a plan to deal with them,” Lee said thoughtfully. “However, I would simply say to use common sense. If you encounter a group—any group—that is hostile, you blow them the fuck up. But if you think you can get them to cooperate, then go that route. If the Followers do exist, and they are expanding out from the east coast, they might end up being a valuable ally.” He smirked. “And if they don’t want to be an ally, then they’ll make a great barrier between us and the infected.”

  LaRouche nodded. “I think we can handle that.”

  A few more people asked a few more questions. Some of them Lee deferred to Harper and LaRouche. When the general questions became more specific, Lee dismissed the group so they could each meet with and speak to their respective leaders and get some answers.

  As the group trickled out of the room, only Lee and Bus remained.

  The big man leaned on his desk and took a long look at Lee. “What happened in there?”

  “With Captain Tomlin?”

  A nod.

  Lee fiddled with the piece of paper still in his hands and considered the question. “No disrespect to you, Bus, but I think it would be best if I kept this between
him and me.”

  Bus made a fair enough face.

  “I need more time to speak with him. When I get everything sorted out, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “What about Professor White and the rifles?”

  “Once we see Harper and LaRouche off tomorrow, we’ll worry about getting those rifles to him.”

  A knock at the door interrupted them.

  Lee turned to find Eddie Ramirez standing, half inside the room. He looked rapidly back and forth between Lee and Bus.

  “Help you?” Bus asked.

  “Yes.” Eddie’s tone was clipped. “You told me I would be heading east with the others. Is that still true?”

  “Actually”—Lee faced the door—“I didn’t get you in on the briefing because I need you here for a little while longer. I’ve got some business to take care of, but I’m going to catch up to LaRouche’s group afterward and head east. I wanted you to stick around because there’s a few vehicles out by the Sanford airport that I want you to have a look at and see if we can’t get running again.”

  Eddie’s face became neutral. “Oh.”

  Lee peered at him. “Is that okay? I’m hoping it will only take a couple of days.”

  Eddie seemed to be considering it. “Yes,” he said finally. “That should be fine. What’s a few more days?”

  Lee nodded. “I appreciate it. I’ll get up with you.”

  Eddie left and Lee and Bus exchanged a look.

  Bus’s white teeth shone underneath his beard. “Antsy little guy, isn’t he?”

  “Well…” Lee tossed the paper on the desk. “He’s got a family to worry about.”

  Bus headed to the door. “You sleeping in here tonight?”

  Lee looked around as though he were feeling out the emptiness of the room. “Yeah. Probably.”

  * * *

  He lay on a wooden front porch, one of the long-planked kind that takes up the entire front of a ranch house, like the kind in old western movies. He lay there with his eyes closed, but he could feel the warm sunshine on his cheeks, across his forehead, on his lips. The light came through his shuttered eyelids deep and red. The sound of a steady, warm breeze blowing gently through trees crowned fully with green. This was his place in the sun. His place…

  “Get up.”

  Shadows flashed across his eyelids.

  He opened his eyes.

  His father stood over him, his hand outstretched as though to help him to his feet.

  “Get up, Lee,” he said. “Get up and look.”

  “Look at what?” His own voice was small and childlike.

  “They’re coming.”

  He shook his head. “I’m tired. Just let me sleep.”

  “Get up and look, Lee. They’re coming.”

  “Who’s coming?”

  “You know who’s coming.”

  Lee accepted his father’s hand and stood up. Before him, perfectly manicured grass stretched out. A large oak tree stood to the right, its expansive limbs moving slowly, undulating and seeming to glimmer in the light, sighing quietly. A dirt path led away from the porch and edged straight away from them through the front lawn. It then rose, bisecting a hill that sloped up from the yard.

  “There.” His father pointed to the hill.

  Lee squinted and could see figures atop the crest of the hill, just black silhouettes against a sun-bleached sky. They stood shoulder to shoulder and chest to back, and had he not looked carefully he would have thought they were the top of the hill themselves, as completely as they covered it. “I see them.”

  “They’re coming.”

  “I know.”

  “Take this.”

  Lee looked down and saw what his father offered. It was an M4. Lee accepted the weapon. He ejected the magazine, looking down into it and judging its weight. It was less than half full. “There’s only a few rounds in this thing.”

  Harper appeared to his left, so that Lee was standing between him and his father. “It’s all we have left.”

  “What happened to all the ammunition?” Lee asked.

  “We used it up.”

  “How did we use all of the ammunition?”

  Harper shook his head and repeated himself. “We used it all up.”

  Lee slammed the magazine back into the rifle. “Okay.”

  His father put a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “You’re gonna have to make it count.”

  * * *

  Lee opened his eyes and felt immediately that he was not alone in the room.

  He rolled to his right and reached for his rifle.

  “Don’t.”

  Lee blinked and looked up to the darkness above, where his hand reached out across the floor. He did not have to take time to realize who was seated in the folding chair, one boot placed securely on Lee’s rifle. He knew Tomlin from his voice.

  “Before you try to kill me,” Tomlin said quickly, scooting the rifle farther away from his fingers, “keep in mind that if I wanted you dead, you would be.”

  Lee’s voice was ragged with sleep. “What happened to the man who was guarding you?”

  Tomlin’s teeth flashed like blue pearls in the darkness. “He’ll be fine. Probably just embarrassed about falling asleep on the job. Don’t worry, I didn’t touch him.”

  Lee curled his fingers into a ball and considered attacking. He would need to extricate himself from his sleeping bag in order to be able to use his legs to balance himself—any hand-to-hand would be pointless without his legs, especially against someone as good as Tomlin.

  “I know you’re thinking about taking me, Lee.” Tomlin’s voice maintained its calm. “I don’t have a weapon, so I won’t be able to stop you. I didn’t come here to kill you. I came here to help you. Just give me a chance.”

  Lee took that moment to push the sleeping bag off his legs. He moved slowly, not wanting to broadcast an attack, but wanting—needing—to get himself ready. As he moved, he kept his eyes on Tomlin, and he could see the faintest of smiles on the other man’s lips, his eyes twinkling slightly in the darkness. When the bag was clear of his feet, he shifted his weight so he appeared relaxed, but Lee could feel the muscles in his torso and legs, ready to explode if necessary.

  Lee kept his voice low. “Convince me quickly. Or I’m going to break your neck.”

  “I believe you.” Tomlin’s face grew serious. “I’m going to tell you why they want to kill you. And I’m going to tell you who ‘they’ are.” He leaned forward slightly. “You’re not going to like what you hear. But I’m going to tell you anyway.”

  Lee waited, stock-still.

  Tomlin traced the lines of his mouth with his thumb and forefinger. “You remember the term nonviable asset?”

  Images came to Lee’s mind of endless stacks of SOPs, clumped together by sections with a stapled corner. Do’s and don’ts associated with Project Hometown. What was approved. What was unapproved. The acceptable and the unacceptable. Rules on things and situations Lee thought would never happen to him, and so they were relegated to a dusty storeroom in the back of his mind, dredged up now as though some servo in his mind had been cued to pull all documents associated with the term nonviable asset.

  “Yes,” Lee said thickly.

  Tomlin ventured on. “It’s when someone violates mission protocols to the extent—”

  “I know what it is.” Lee cut him off.

  The back of his neck began to tingle hotly.

  He thought about the map hanging on the wall behind him. The cities and towns, some of them highlighted in red. The viable and the nonviable. What could be useful and what was a waste of resources.

  A waste of resources…

  Tomlin’s brow shifted and Lee could see the question in his eyes, like an old sadness. When the other captain spoke, his voice was heavy with disappointment. “Why’d you do it, Lee? What the fuck were you thinking?”

  Lee turned his head slightly, finding it difficult to look Tomlin in the eyes now. His gaze went to the offi
ce door and rested there. Even in the dim light he could see the paint peeling and the metal rusting underneath. Growing old. Wearing down. Breaking. Entropy. The gradual, eventual, and inevitable destruction of everything in the universe.

  Nothing was built to last.

  He heard his voice, calm and monotone. “It was an accident.”

  “An accident?” Tomlin said incredulously. “You left your fucking bunker! More than a week early!”

  Lee pulled himself to his knees. “Leaving the bunker was a mistake,” he growled. “But not coming back to it was an accident. You think I wanted to be lost out here by myself? You think I wanted to lose communication with the rest of you guys?” He shook his head, the snarl in his voice causing his nose to curl. “It wasn’t a fucking option. Shit happened, and I had to adapt to and overcome the new situation. And the new situation was that I was cut off. I didn’t go AWOL. I didn’t abandon the mission.”

  Tomlin nodded. “I know, Lee. I know what happened. I saw where your house used to be.”

  Lee shook his head as though he were about to say something else about it, but then stiffened as something else had struck him as odd. His brow furrowed and his eyes zigzagged across the ground, and then rose to meet Tomlin’s. “How’d you know I left my bunker?”

  “They were watching us the whole time, Lee. Sensors in the hatches and in the bunkers. So they could tell when you came and when you left, and which bunkers you’d gone to.” Tomlin snorted. “None of us realized it, but we should have.”

  Lee rubbed his face. “I don’t understand. We lost communication with Frank. Everyone was gone. Who the hell was watching us?”

  Tomlin didn’t seem to want to answer the question directly. “He sent me and the others to kill you because you were a nonviable asset. He didn’t want you using the equipment in your bunkers. He didn’t want you using up the resources.”