Sunrise

by Boye, Kody

  As if zombies weren’t the only thing he had to worry about, now he had guard duty.

  The morning lay shadowed in fog and mist. Hanging low to the ground, wrapping around telephone pones, breaking into cars and sneaking around corners, it swam through the streets like floodwaters from a hurricane and crashed against the chain-linked fence like sharks in the movie Jaws. What few zombies were scattered along the street shambled blindly through the fog like lost souls amidst the devastation of a horrible storm. Occasionally, one would bounce off something—much to Erik’s amusement—then continue on its merry way, but they always came back. Whether or not they knew people were still inside the apartment building was anyone’s guess, but the majority had wandered off over the past two days. Regardless, that didn’t make their situation any less dangerous. They could still be nearby, hidden in the fog, watching but unable to reach them.

  Standing inside a watch tower that hadn’t been removed by the people renovating the asylum, Jamie watched a female zombie wander to the gate, then turn around to return to her initial position. Nearby, another zombie followed suit, only to repeat the same actions as its female companion. “See that?” Jamie pointed.

  “What?”

  “The zombie doing exactly what the other one did.”

  “You already know their instincts are based on impulse.”

  “I wish Marsh were still here. At least then we might be able to make some sense of it.”

  “The only thing Marsh figured out was that they were controlled by impulse and that they followed any living human they could. He even proved that they might be psychic based on the test he did with the one Humvee back at the base.”

  “You mean when he let it roll down the hill?”

  “The zombies didn’t give two shits.”

  “They could’ve seen that there wasn’t anyone in the vehicle, Erik.”

  “But that doesn’t explain why the ones who weren’t looking at it didn’t give pursuit.”

  Content with the answer, Jamie settled down in his seat and pulled out his pack of smokes. He flicked a butt out of the carton, swiped his lighter out of his pocket, then lit it, sighing as the nicotine burned its way into his lungs. As he always did when Jamie pulled out a smoke, Erik gave him a longing look, to which Jamie replied by taking another drag and offering the man his cigarette. “What happened to your pack?”

  “I don’t keep them on me.”

  “Then why are you bumming smokes off me all the time?” Jamie laughed. “Start carrying your own you dumbass.”

  “I don’t want Kirn or Wills to take them.”

  “They’re just your typical high school bullies, Erik.”

  “But they’re high school bullies that the sergeant likes.” Erik expelled a lungful of smoke. Jamie sighed when he inhaled the traces of smoke. “Remember what we talked about last night? How we’re supposed to keep our mouths shut and not say anything that might get us in trouble?”

  “I remember.”

  “Do you feel any better at all this morning?”

  “A little.”

  “Look,” Erik passed the cigarette back, “I apologize for arguing with you last night. The sergeant’s been riding my ass when it comes to manning the radio.”

  “At least you don’t have to worry about doing the dirty work.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not like I enjoy having my ass planted in a chair for ten hours a day. I signed up for the army to get away from that, not the other way around.”

  “Your dad really would have made you work in his business?”

  “It was his way or the army.” Erik closed his eyes. “Damn.”

  “What?”

  “I miss that fucker, even if he was an asshole.”

  “I do too,” Jamie confessed. “I miss him a lot.”

  “He was practically your dad too.”

  “He was the only dad I knew,” Jamie corrected, then sighed. “It’s kind of ironic, huh?”

  “What?”

  “How I’m in the military, exactly where Dad died in ‘91.”

  “I don’t think it’s irony,” Erik said, crouching down beside him. “You wanted to go to school. All I wanted to do was get away from my dad’s business.”

  “They offered to help you go to school.”

  “I barely made it through high school, Jamie. How the hell would I have made it through college?”

  “What’re you talking about? You managed to make it through medic training.”

  “That’s only because I wasn’t having to read books upon books upon books that rambled on about particular little nerves that didn’t mean a thing.” When Jamie shrugged, Erik laughed and added, “At least your mom was cool.”

  “My mom drove me nuts.”

  “Don’t tell me you weren’t a momma’s boy.”

  “I’m not,” Jamie laughed, smacking his friend’s shoulder. “It happens when you don’t have a dad.”

  Erik sighed. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to bring it up.”

  “It happens.”

  Standing, Erik placed his hands on the railing and looked out at the fog-covered cityscape before them. “Hey,” he said. “Jamie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “So much for the war being over.”

  For a brief moment, Jamie thought about replying. After a moment though, he sighed, stood, and made his way to his friend’s side.

  Only one thought occurred to him the moment he clasped his friend’s shoulder.

  The world really had ended in 2012.

  Later that morning, after both he and Erik had finished their watch duty, Jamie stood beneath the spouting head of a locker-room shower faucet, rolling amidst the freezing waves of bliss that rained down upon him. With power briefly restored by a charitable Kirn and Wills, who’d managed to locate a generator within the boiler room beneath the converted asylum, Jamie had been offered a five-minute shower, one he’d been quick to take immediately upon entering. Erik, meanwhile, had been instructed to take up his position in the lobby, much to his displeasure. Though he pitied his friend, Jamie felt thankful for his moment of solitude.

  Stepping out of the shower, he flipped his towel off its rack and made his way across the brief distance from the shower stall to the sinks. As the fog from the mirror began to clear, revealing grey walls, shower stalls and the charcoal-tiled floor, Jamie leaned forward and examined his reflection. His bangs were a mess and his usually clean-shaven jaw was sprouting a beard. He took a moment to study his new appearance, then reached for a razor and scissors.

  The sarge is going to kill me, he thought, slathering his hand in shaving cream.

  He carefully shaved and trimmed the beard to a neat, almost-professional appearance. His hair he left alone, though it would most likely get him reprimanded, with his straight, boyish bangs hanging over his eyes. No longer did he look like a rugged wildman freshly emerged from the woods. Now he looked handsome, charming even in his own respect.

  “Better than nothing,” he mumbled, stroking his fingers through the hairs hanging from his chin. He took a moment to clean the area before dressing in army casuals and making his way out of the room.

  The moment his foot touched down in the hallway, a pair of hands grabbed him and pushed him against the wall.

  “What took ya so long?” Derek Kirn growled, shoving Jamie against the wall when he tried to step away from it. “Jerking off in there?”

  “I was only in for five minutes.”

  “Five minutes my ass. Look at my watch.” The man raised his wrist. “Five oh one.”

  “Oh,” Jamie smiled. “You gonna tell the sarge I was in the bathroom for one extra minute?”

  “Damn right I will, faggot.”

  “You’re the one who seems obsessed with whether or not I’m jerking off in the bathroom, Kirn. I wouldn’t be calling me a faggot if I were you.”

  “Why you little—”

  “That’s enough,” Sergeant Armstrong said, stepping into the hall. “Is there a problem
here?”

  “This little pussy was in the bathroom longer than he was supposed to be,” Kirn said.

  “Yeah,” Donald Wills added. “What Kirn said.”

  “I’ll have you both aware that this little pussy, as you call him, is your commanding officer. Don’t forget, gentlemen, that Mr. Marks here is a corporal.”

  “Fuck that!” Kirn cried. “He was in the bathroom for longer than he should have been!”

  “Like Corporal Marks said, Mr. Kirn, you seem to be a bit too fixated on the fact that your commanding officer was in the bathroom longer than you anticipated.”

  “But you said—”

  “Enough! Kirn, Wills, go to your room. Jerk your dicks on your own time.” With nothing else to say, both men turned and made their way up the stairs, both mumbling under their breaths. Once sure they were out of earshot, the sergeant turned to face Jamie. “My apologies, Corporal. I see you haven’t cut your hair.”

  “Wasn’t in the mood.”

  “Or your beard.”

  “Only had one razor,” Jamie smiled.

  “I’ll let it pass because there’s more important things to attend to. I will, however, ask that you not let Kirn and Wills get away with such behavior.”

  “I wasn’t aware that they weren’t under your orders, sir.”

  “You’re not stupid, Corporal. You know what stands with me and what doesn’t. You’re dismissed until eighteen-hundred hours. Dinner will be served on the second floor.”

  “Thank you sir,” Jamie said, raising his hand to salute.

  After the sergeant saluted him back, Jamie hefted his pack up under his arm and made his way toward his and Erik’s room, all the while dwelling on what the sergeant had said about Kirn, Wills and their control over him.

  You know what goes, the man had said.

  Jamie only wished he did.

  “It’s gotta be aliens,” Kirn said.

  “It could be the government,” Michael suggested.

  “We already know it’s a virus,” Wills said, always one to be clever in his moments of stubbornness. “Roberts is the doctor. He’ll tell you.”

  “I’m not a doctor,” Erik said, “and yes, it is a virus.”

  “How do you know?” Kirn asked.

  “Because it only replicates inside living organisms.”

  “But the things out there are dead,” Michael pointed out. “How can a virus survive outside a living host?”

  “I have no idea,” Erik said, nodding as Desmond slapped down a pair of biscuits and a bowl of soup in front of him. “Thank you.”

  “Biscuits?” Wills asked. “Where in the hell did we get biscuits?”

  “I made them,” Desmond said.

  “I don’t know,” the man continued, narrowing his eyes at the boy. “I’m not sure I trust you…”

  “Just eat the damn biscuit,” the sergeant grumbled, nodding as Desmond set his food before him. “Thank you, young man. Your work is much appreciated.”

  “It’s no trouble, sir.”

  Jamie waited, watching the boy round the table and offer each man his dinner. When Desmond set Wills’ food down in front of him, he waited, likely expecting some kind of lip. When none came, Desmond set Kirn’s food before him, then Dustin’s and Michael’s. When he finally came to Jamie, the boy set the food down with a smile. “Here you are, Corporal.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Jamie nodded, offering the boy a smile.

  With everyone served, Desmond seated himself at the very end of the table and began to eat. A few short moments of silence followed after the teenage cook finished making his rounds at the table, but the previous conversation quickly began to follow suit. Michael and Dustin continued debating over the ethics of the virus with the less-intelligent-than-average Kirn and Wills, while the sergeant, seated between the four men, ate in silence. Erik, always the unusually silent one, kept to himself, as did Desmond, who only occasionally looked upon the group.

  This is a bit awkward, Jamie thought, raising an eyebrow when Erik looked up at him. His friend merely shrugged, then dipped a biscuit into the canned beef stew. I already knew not to expect you to talk to me, Erik, but the kid?

  He’d been under the impression that Erik would bond with the boy, or, at the very least, give him a little attention. Then again, he couldn’t really expect Erik to do much of anything, especially with a kid whose very presence most likely dredged up bad memories.

  Aaron died when we were fifteen, he thought, looking down at his soup. Which means it’s been…what? Eleven years?

  It was hard to believe that Erik’s little brother had died so long ago. Afflicted with Leukemia, the seven-year-old had little chance of surviving infancy, let alone his toddler years. The fact that he’d made it so long had been a miracle. Everyone had expected him to beat the disease, or at least go into remission. All the treatment, all the chemo—

  “Jamie?” Desmond asked. “Everything ok?”

  “Everything’s fine,” Jamie said, shooting a glance at Erik, who offered him an indifferent look. “How about you?”

  The boy nodded his head in agreement. “Is your food ok?”

  “It’s great. You said you made the biscuits from scratch?”

  “It wasn’t easy, but I did.” Desmond glanced down the end of the table, to where the sergeant sat between the still-debating civilians and police officers, then whispered, “It’s probably the only time I’m doing it though.”

  “Too much work?” Jamie asked.

  “No. Too much supplies.”

  “But it’s only flour, sugar, shortening, stuff like that, right?”

  “I wanted to get on the sergeant’s good side,” the boy said, “but I won’t get there if the stuff in the kitchen starts disappearing.”

  “Good on you,” Jamie said, clapping the boy’s shoulder. He squeezed Desmond’s arm and returned his gaze to the rest of their small group. “You’ve done a good thing tonight, Desmond.”

  “Sir?”

  “If we’re really in this for the long haul,” Jamie said, “at least this will help us prepare for it.”

  Though likely unsure of what to say, Desmond settled back into his seat.

  When Jamie looked up, he caught a smile in the corner of the boy’s eyes.

  The sight made him smile.

  “Jamie,” Erik said. “Mind if I ask something?”

  “Shoot,” Jamie said, leaning forward to unlace his boots.

  “What was with the weird look you gave me at dinner?”

  Jamie paused, fingers tangled within his bootlaces. “That.”

  “That.” Erik braced his arm against the foot of his cot, fingers tightening around the metal rung to the point where his knuckles turned white. “Want to explain what was up?”

  “I was wondering why you weren’t talking to Desmond.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It just surprised me, that’s all. You got along with all those Chamorro kids from Guam so well.”

  “Guam was different.”

  “From what?”

  “From this.” Erik sat down on his cot and ran his hands over his face. Like a child just woken from sleep, he rubbed his eyes with the tops of his fists, making it more than clear that he wasn’t going to speak any further.

  “I miss Aaron too, Erik.”

  “This isn’t about Aaron, Jamie.”

  “Yeah it is. I’m not stupid, buddy. I can tell by the way you were acting that it was bringing up bad memories. All those kids back in Guam…you hovered over them like they were your own flesh and blood. The one boy was Desmond’s age.”

  “It’s not the same thing.”

  “Just come out and say it, Erik—you were bothered that Desmond looks so much like your brother.”

  “Fuck you,” Erik said, rolling onto his cot. “Aaron looked nothing like Desmond.”

  “No, but he would’ve.”

  To this, Erik had no reply. Instead, he laid an arm over his eyes and took a deep breath, first inhal
ing, then exhaling. His chest rose and fell as if he’d just risen from the water after not having a breath of air for several minutes. During this lapse of silence, Jamie watched his friend with sad eyes and a heavy heart. Had he misdiagnosed his friend’s behavior, Erik wouldn’t be acting like he was. He’d hit the nail on the head in exactly the right spot.

  I shouldn’t have brought it up. He caught the glimmer of a tear snaking its way down Erik’s face. This was a really fucking bad idea.

  Still, he wondered, was it better that he’d done it now instead of later? He was well aware of Erik’s random mood swings and his past dependency on drugs. After Aaron had died, Jamie had frequently seen random bottles of pills lying amidst the piles of dirty underwear and girly mags, the latter of which he’d stolen from his father, the former the subject of depression and bad habits. He’d only seen Erik’s room in that state a few times over the years, but the times he had were enough to assure him that his friend had fallen low during that crucial time in his life.

  “Are you taking pills?” Jamie finally started to ask.

  “What?”

  “I asked if you were taking pills,” Jamie said, dropping his boots to the floor.

  “No,” Erik laughed. “Why would I?”

  “Because you used to do it.”

  “I got out of that habit when I was sixteen. You know that.”

  “Not really. You could’ve picked it back up.”

  “I assure you, I didn’t. Even if I did, what business would it be to you?”

  “You’re my friend. I’m worried about you.”

  “Just because I’m being visited by my little brother’s ghost doesn’t mean I’m going off the deep end.”

  “It’s not that hard to get there nowadays.”

  “What about you?” Erik asked. “You still think about Jake?”

  “I don’t wanna talk about it,” Jamie said, setting his head on the pillow.

  “But you—”

  “I said I didn’t want to talk about it. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” Erik said, rolling onto his side.

  Jamie closed his eyes.

  The past was the past. He had to keep telling himself that.