by Kirk Allmond
Then the girl was thirteen. She had the same smile as when she was a child as she lifted a violin and tucked it snuggly under her chin. The girl inhaled deeply, brought the bow to the bridge, and began to play to the full auditorium. Her heart swelled with pride as she played the entire song perfectly. As the song ended, the girl’s green eyes found her parents and older brother in the front row. They were the first people on their feet, applauding her performance. Her brother, Markus, smiled and gave her a quick “thumbs up.” She beamed.
Kris followed the memories through the girl’s graduation from high school. She had graduated at the top of her class and had received a full scholarship to Vanderbilt University with a focus in music performance. She was the best violinist the college had seen in decades, and they had promised her years of success.
Two years flashed by. She watched the now twenty-year-old hold hands with her older brother. There were silent tears streaming down her face as a coffin was slowly lowered into the ground. Her mother was standing to Alicia’s right with a gloved hand over her face. Deep sobs wracked through her body. All around them were police officers in black uniform. Each man and woman was standing at attention with their salutes tight against their caps. No one spoke as the trumpet player began the solemn, mournful tune of Taps.
The next distinct memory was Alicia graduating from college. However, she did not wear the colors of Vanderbilt; she wore of the colors of the University of Memphis. She had abandoned the entire “musical performance” idea and felt drawn to the same line of work as her father. Her entire life, Alicia always carried a very deep sense of “right” and “wrong.” She knew that she had to carry on the flame that her father left behind. Markus had desperately tried to talk her out of it, but she would not be swayed. Stubborn like her father, Alicia had quickly adapted to the life of an officer. She had swiftly risen to the top of her class, flew through the academy, and had become a U.S. Marshall faster than anyone before her had. Alicia was smart, fast, determined, and grounded, everything a U.S. Marshall needed to be.
More time passed. Kris got small glimpses of the outbreak as it crushed Tennessee and Alicia finding Markus in their family home. His eyes were full of tears as their mother passed away in his arms. The two of them set out in Markus’s SUV and headed towards their uncle’s farm that was just outside of Gordonsville, Tennessee. Kris watched as large groups of people, in a similar fashion to the plantation in Virginia, filled up the barn and every spare inch of room on the farm. Alicia had taken it upon herself to act as the head-runner of the farm. It had become her job to care for all of these people, and she had to make sure they would survive. What other choice did they have? Even Markus, jack-of-all trades, had taken it upon himself to get a group of men and women together to begin building additional housing for the couple hundred people that now called “Gander Acres” home.
Kris was pulled out of the foreign thoughts as Alicia yanked herself away from Kris’ touch. The woman wasn’t invisible anymore as she shook her head. She was trying to clear the memories, both foreign and familiar, out of her mind. “Okay, what the hell was that?”
“Christ, I’m so sorry,” Kris stuttered and took a step towards Alicia. She had her hands raised, showing that she was defenseless, “I didn’t mean to—”
Alicia raised her hand, cutting Kris off. She then asked, “I just saw your entire life inside my head. I saw everything that you are. And that there are more of us than just...us. I mean more than those of us here in Tennessee.” The woman opposite Kris gestured with her hands excitedly, and her green eyes looked hopeful as she stared at Kris.
Kris was silent for a moment and just looked at the dark-skinned, beautiful woman in front of her. A small laugh escaped her lips, and she nodded. “Yeah. There’s more.”
“Do you think he can do it?"
Kris looked puzzled. "Who? Victor?"
Alicia nodded and stepped towards Kris again.
“If anyone can, I believe he's the one to do it,” Kris replied lightly. The tension between them had lifted, and the two women walked towards one another. Reaching out, they clasped hands. As they touched again, Kris felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Her skin was so soft, and Kris could feel the immediate attraction to her.
“Trust her, baby. It’s okay to trust her,” The Voice whispered. The familiarity of the voice suddenly came to her. Kris finally realized why she was always so comfortable when it would speak. The Voice had been Jeff all along.
“Kris Thompson,” she said, locking eyes with her.
“Alicia Gander. I think we’re going to get along just fine, you and me.”
Chapter 10
Frye
Victor paused for just a second to look around the room. A short man stepped out of the shadow beside Victor.
"It appears you were right, Frye. We thought a face from home would give Victor Tookes pause," said the short man. He had a thick Spanish accent.
Victor fired one shot at the short man's head, but it was no use. He was shielded too. The sound of the gunshot was deafening in the confined space, and after three shots, the smell of gunpowder was heavy in the air. "What do you want, Frye?" said Victor as he holstered his sidearm.
"This is Raul. He wants to talk to you about your offer," said Frye.
Victor tried to keep his face from betraying the doubt he was feeling. "Why?" he asked. "Why the sudden change in your collective minds?"
"Laura was the driving force behind the eradication of humans. I recognize that we need humans. There is merit to your offer. Human females require safety and security in order to breed. We would be willing to meet your demands and give you the east coast of the United States," Raul said.
"How do I know you're in a position to bargain?" asked Victor. Let's get to the catch, he thought.
"With Laura out of the picture, I have assumed control of the E'Clei," he said.
"How do I know Laura is out of the picture?" asked Victor.
"I told you he wouldn't believe you. Tookes here is stubborn," said Frye.
"You can keep your mouth shut, Colonel Frye," said Victor, sneering at the title. "I'll deal with you when the grownups are done talking. You lost any credibility when you invaded my property, killed my men, and abducted my son."
Frye seethed in his chair. His face was stone, but Victor could see his aura was riddled with anger and slashes of fear.
Victor had no idea what Raul's abilities were, but he was strong. He solidified his aura around him as his hand slowly moved to the top of his hatchet. He rested it on the head as if it was just a convenient place to put it.
"I can take you to where Laura's body is. Your fire did a significant amount of damage to her. It will be years before she is fully recovered, and by then I'll have wrapped this planet up. She won't have any choice except to submit to me," said Raul.
Damn, she's not dead, thought Victor.
Victor started looking at his options. This was about to get ugly. Victor saw that he was going to have to kill Frye first. Every time he thought about attacking Raul, Frye jumped to his defense.
Victor shifted his attention to attacks on Frye. He knew he could win the fight, but it was going to hurt; it seemed like that was always the way. Adding in two opponents made for exponentially greater possibilities and made predicting their moves that much harder. This was going to be a defensive battle for Victor. He drew in all of his abilities, remembered how time seemed to slow when he was fighting Laura on the roof of the train, and launched himself at Frye.
While he dove at Frye, Victor lengthened his aura into the familiar spear and drove it through the shield surrounding Raul. Raul countered, slamming into Victor's head with what felt like a sledgehammer. Victor fought through the stars in front of his eyes, pulled his hatchet, and swung for Frye's head. The Colonel raised his arms defensively and took Victor's swing with his forearm.
Victor drove his spear into Raul over and over. This was the first time he'd fought a physical fight an
d a more mental one at the same time. The effort slowed him; Frye shouldn't have been able to block his hatchet. He pulled himself together and decided to focus on Frye, swinging low. He is human, Victor thought. I don't have to hit him in the head to take him out of the fight.
The army colonel had much more experience in hand-to-hand combat against humans. He kicked Victor in the thigh, knocking him back, causing his hatchet swing to go wide and overbalancing him. The kick didn't cause any real damage—Victor’s shield protected him from the blow—but he did end up on his back. Frye pressed his advantage, leaping on top of Victor, as Raul stood watching with a grin on his face. The soldier pinned Victor down and started raining blows at his face.
Tookes struggled under the weight of Frye as Raul launched an attack against him. His shield was weakening. He had a fleeting thought about railroad chain gangs hammering the spikes in, with him being the spike. He launched a weak counter attack against Raul, stabbing wildly with a bit of his aura, hoping to find any vulnerable spot; he just needed to keep their attention for a second. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he got his gun out of its holster and squeezed the trigger. Frye slumped forward, the bullet having entered through his left side, crossing through his chest, and exploding out where his heart had been. Victor rolled Frye's corpse off and gained his feet.
"Just you and me now, Raul. You know I took Laura out. I can do the same to you," Victor said, hoping to scare the super into running. He didn't have much fight left in him.
"You had help with Laura, and..." His voice was cut off as he disappeared. Glass from the window over Victor's left shoulder crashed to the floor, and then he heard the report of a rifle. Victor spun around to see the train off in the distance and a man standing on the top of the locomotive.
“Think it over, Tookes,” said Raul in Victor's head.
Victor trotted out the door and down the road to where the train was waiting for him, leaving Frye's body to rot there in the parlor of that old house like so many corpses he'd left in his wake.
"Took you long enough to move ya fat melon, mate! I thought I was gonna have to shoot him through ya," John called down.
"Daddy!" yelled Max as he jumped off the train and ran towards him.
"Hi, buddy! I'm sorry I didn't make it back yesterday."
"Me too, you missed Poppy! He's with Mommy watching over us now," said Max.
Marshall stepped off the train, his eyes red. One more thing to the list of things Victor had to figure out. How had Frye known where to find him? He was there by an absolutely random series of events.
Chapter 11
The Next Right Thing
Victor sat at the table with a cup of coffee warming his hands. He couldn't bring himself to drink it. His brother sat across from him in silence, having just recalled their father's last days with them. Victor spent his whole life knowing exactly what to say and yet was finding himself painfully short on words. He could only sit there, staring at his full coffee cup. Vic decided to break down his thoughts into their most basic form and start from there. His father and Max had gotten to see each other one more time; that was a good thing. On the other hand, his request that they check out the fort had gotten his father killed.
He thought about all the things his father had done for him. The two of them had spent countless hours fishing together on freshwater lakes and, once he was older, in the deep blue water off the coast of the Florida Keys. They shared a love of the sea and everything to do with it. His father was particularly fond of fishing for yellow tail snapper and knew all the best places to find them. They had spent many mornings out on the reef catching the boat limit of yellow tail. Any time father and son were together at his father's place in the Keys, they could be found on the reef.
His father had taught him the basics of being self-sufficient. As kids, Vic and Marshall had spent most of their summers with their grandparents on his father's remote lake property in South Georgia. Their father would take every Monday and Friday off and spend the four-day weekends with Marshall and Victor at the lake. The brothers learned to not only hunt and fish but also how to grow vegetables and find wild edibles. They learned that a man's worth was more than just the stuff he had; a man should be judged by his actions. Victor tried to live every day of his life by that mantra and would be eternally grateful for that lesson.
Many of the reasons Vic and his family were alive were a direct result of things his father had taught him. With a cringe, he realized that he never got the chance to thank his dad. Not having that last moment of closure was what hurt the most.
Finally, after almost ten minutes of silence, Vic finally spoke. His voice was soft and controlled. "I never got to say thank you," he said. Marshall didn't reply. He only kept his eyes fixed on the lone cup of coffee on the table. Tears welled up the younger brother's eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He knew that crying wouldn't bring his father back or change the past. All he could do now was honor his memory by living up to the lessons he'd taught them. He would keep his family alive, and he would end this once and for all. Anger replaced sorrow, and once again, he felt that familiar fire in his belly. His actions would honor all of those he'd lost—all of the lost fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters. There was no other choice. While the rest of the surviving humans fought over the scraps of civilization, he would do something about it. No, he had to do something about it.
Vic looked out the window and watched the Louisiana swamp fly by. The siblings did not speak as time passed. The train was moving at close to its top speed; they were trying to make up the lost time. The side trips had cost them precious time that they needed to secure the airport where John's family would land. Victor intended to get to southern California at least a day before the plane landed. If they kept up this pace, they would be a day and a half early. That would give them plenty of time to clear the area of the undead before the plane arrived.
Finally, Marshall stood. He walked over to his brother, placed a large hand on his shoulder, and said, "Dad said to tell you he was proud of you. He believed in what we are doing, Vic."
"Thanks, Marshall," said Victor quietly. "Thanks for everything."
John walked in and immediately felt as though he had interrupted a delicate moment as the brothers looked over to him. He smiled apologetically and sat down opposite Victor. He propped himself up against the table on his elbows and crossed his arms across the tabletop. "Sorry about your pop, mate."
Victor nodded. "Me too, John. I'm sorry I didn't have one last chance to talk to him. But Max did, and that's worth a lot to me."
"He was so happy to see him," John said with a small smile. "He really loved that boy."
Victor nodded and continued to stare at the cup, still untouched. The train-car went silent again, and John got up and went to the coffee pot, which was disappointingly empty. He made a new pot and sat back down while it brewed. It wasn't long before the delicious smell of fresh coffee filled the car.
Eventually, the three friends talked a lot about Victor Senior. John had grown to respect him in a very short time; he told Victor about how Max and his “Poppy” spent almost every waking hour together. Victor asked many questions, trying to savor every last moment that was told through John's eyes. After a time, the conversation turned to their current situation.
"We're on track to make it to the air strip before the plane lands," John said. "But we've got no ammo. I'm carrying my last rounds with me. I'm down to fourteen magazines," he said. He didn't look particularly worried.
"What do you think we ought to do, John?" Vic asked. "I don't know any of the areas we're passing through."
"I'm sure there are gun stores in Dallas or Fort Worth. It's Texas, after all," Marshall chimed in with a smirk.
"But who knows if they'll have anything in them," Victor continued. "I don't want to take any more time on side trips unless we absolutely have to."
"I think we have to hit another military base," John said bluntly. Leave it to John not to su
gar coat anything, and of course, he was right. The group needed ammunition for the cannons and for the rifles. That sort of firepower wouldn't be found in any usable quantity in a neighborhood gun shop. To put it plainly, they needed an ammunition depot.
"Do you have a plan, then? I don't know much about this part of the country except that it gets hotter and drier the farther west we go along this track."
"Just like home." John smiled. "I talked to Shelton. He said that the Red River Army Depot is just over the border in Texas. It's right next door to an ammunition plant. Red River repairs and refurbishes Bradley tanks for the army. He seems to think we could probably find a train car that would haul a pair of them," John said.
"After the last military base, do you really want to risk the time, effort, and lives to stop at another one?" Marshall asked.
The Aussie shrugged. "Shelton said there are less than ten military personnel employed by the base. There were a bunch of civilians, but they would have all been sent to Fort Hood when this went down. Red River is our best bet to find what we need with the least amount of danger," he said. "I think it's worth the risk. I'd hate to show up at an airport full of zombies and not have any ammunition. Max and I talked to Sean last night. He says when they come in from Hawaii, they're going to be flying on fumes. They may not have enough fuel for a second attempt at landing."
Victor nodded. "I agree with you. Let’s make it happen. Get with Shelton and see if he knows anything about the base. Marshall, let's go talk with Renee to get her input, and let’s come up with a plan. Do we have any idea how far we are from there?"
"It's about two in the afternoon now. Shelton thinks we'll be there by around four."
"Let's all meet here in half an hour," Tookes said. “I need to change clothes and go wash. And I need to spend a little time with my boy."
No rest for the weary, thought Tookes as he walked through the train towards his cabin.
