“I’m just testing our compatibility before I commit to anything. It seems to me you regard other people as insignificant insects.”
“That’s because they are,” the former lieutenant said. “I’m betting one percent of the world’s population is still alive, and we’re part of that elite number. Join me. We’ve both been liberated from our former clans.”
Sutton could tell Keppler still wanted him to form an alliance, but the more he heard, the more he disliked the man. Keppler couldn’t be saved or redeemed, and his sociopathic view of others, including his own military brethren, made him deplorable. His existence endangered scores of good people, including Sutton’s former group and others traveling the highways and interstates in search of a better future.
At the start of the apocalypse, Sutton ventured down a similar path, though not nearly as sadistic. Finding Gracine and the others preserved the human side of him, keeping Sutton from taking everything for himself at the expense of others.
Now, staring at what he considered a life and death decision, Sutton knew he couldn’t walk away from this conversation with his freedom, and if he declined, he wouldn’t walk away at all. Even if he pretended to accept, Keppler wasn’t going to hand him back his firearm and trust him implicitly.
“If I agree to this, we go straight to my camp in the morning,” Sutton offered, further testing the waters of Keppler’s promises.
“I don’t have any other plans,” the disgraced soldier responded. “Get a good night’s sleep and come back in the morning.”
Sutton tried not to show his surprise that Keppler opted to let him leave the area. He figured the man might sleep with one eye open to make certain Sutton didn’t sneak off, but the former lieutenant possessed the one thing that kept Sutton coming back.
“My truck?” he asked.
“I’ll keep an eye on it tonight,” Keppler said with a wink. “Wouldn’t want any filthy marauders taking off with it.”
“How kind of you,” Sutton remarked sarcastically. “And my gun?”
“I’ll need that to guard the truck.”
Sutton nodded, openly unhappy about being stripped of his truck and his weapon.
He realized Keppler’s life revolved around him being in control of everything, and Sutton could never make a decision with free will again if he teamed with the man. Standing, he gave the man a nod and walked halfway back to the house where he spotted Buster waiting patiently for him at the edge of the yard. Scratching his pet’s head, he walked inside the house, grabbing the .40 caliber Smith & Wesson he’d left behind intentionally when he strolled across the street.
Stuffing the gun behind his back, he returned to the cool night air, spotting Keppler seated at the fire across the street. He walked directly toward the man, who never looked his way, obviously lost in contemplation of his future. Sutton motioned with his right hand for Buster to take a wider route, and the dog understood the command, walking a wide arch from his master in the same general direction.
Sutton thought he might have the drop on Keppler when he drew within shooting distance, but as he started to reach behind him for the gun, Keppler heard a noise and snatched up the AR-15 beside him, aiming it directly at Sutton. From the corner of his eye, Sutton saw Buster grow agitated at something about Keppler as he continued to walk stealthily on a parallel path.
“That was quick,” Keppler said as he looked from Sutton’s face to his right hand, which was quickly at Sutton’s side. “You having second thoughts about our agreement?”
“I’ve had second thoughts about you since we met,” Sutton replied.
“That doesn’t sound like a good start to a partnership.”
Sutton provided a grin that indicated he was kidding, though he wasn’t.
“I’m just playing around,” Sutton said with an airy wave of his hand. “Just knew I wasn’t going to be able to sleep.”
“Oh,” Keppler said, turning to set the AR-15 aside, dropping his guard almost instantly.
“Buster,” Sutton said, getting his pet’s attention. “Stellen!”
Sutton used a Dutch word for ‘attack’ that sent his pit bull into action. What seemed like a lifetime ago, he’d asked a friend and K-9 officer on the local police department to teach Buster a few commands and actions. Despite being sweet and adorable to most everyone he met, the canine listened to his master first and foremost.
As fast as Keppler tried reacting to the move, reaching for the rifle, Buster was already leaping at him, snagging his left arm and dragging him away from the gun immediately. Keppler had the option of moving with the dog or watching his arm get torn to shreds by the dog’s powerful jaws.
Now Sutton pulled the firearm from behind him, taking aim at Keppler after commanding Buster to stop his attack.
“Why would you do this?” Keppler asked, genuinely surprised that someone didn’t want his guidance and companionship.
“You haven’t left me much choice,” Sutton said. “All these head games, stealing my truck, and trying to pin a murder on me that you committed. I can only take so much.”
He shook his head.
“You’re going to murder me in cold blood for a few indiscretions?” Keppler asked incredulously.
“You act like you had a lapse in judgement,” Sutton said angrily. “This is who you are! You control, and you kill, and you don’t give a shit about anyone as long as you get what you want!”
Keppler looked to the ground as though remorseful, but Sutton wasn’t buying his act again.
“I don’t want to kill you, but I can’t be looking over my shoulder forever.”
“I could make my way west,” Keppler suggested, showing just a hint of desperation as he fought to keep his composure. “You’d never have to see me again.”
Even if the man spoke the truth, Sutton knew lives, innocent lives, would certainly be taken if the man were left to roam the highways on his own. Although he’d killed a number of people personally, Sutton didn’t target undeserving people. He knew he shared some kind of odd kinship with Keppler, and the longer he waited, the more dangerous it became as his moral compass suggested he not take a human life.
He stared at the man who held his bleeding left arm, Buster still giving a low growl nearby, attempting to decide his own future. Loyal almost to a fault, Buster wasn’t a violent animal, but he judged people very well, in addition to sniffing out the undead. Sutton wasn’t about to base his decision on the emotions of his dog, but he provided Keppler one chance at a new life and the man followed him instead, stealing his belongings.
Looking forward, Sutton knew what he wanted personally, and he knew the journey he needed to take to meet that goal. Nothing he pictured involved Keppler, or dealing with the man a fourth time, so he raised the Smith & Wesson, firing a round into the center of the man’s forehead, securing his own future while saving the lives of strangers Keppler would never encounter. The lieutenant fell to the ground, his eyes still wide with surprise because he didn’t anticipate Sutton pulling the trigger.
Buster immediately relaxed, assuming a sitting position, looking to Sutton, and giving a brief whining sound.
“I know,” Sutton said. “We’re getting out of here as soon as I find some keys.”
Sutton gathered every loose weapon he found, discovering the box truck’s keys within the confines of the church, which remained incredibly intact on the inside. Finding a few canned goods, bottles of water, and other supplies, Sutton put them in the back of the box truck after opening the back hatches for a look. His property appeared intact, either because Keppler simply used the truck as bait, or hadn’t found a need to use any of the supplies stored there.
With everything loaded and secured, he ushered Buster into the passenger seat of the truck before taking one last look at Keppler’s body crumpled beside the camp fire. The sound of gunfire would surely draw the undead to the
church, so Sutton kicked some dirt on the fire, snuffing the flames. He joined Buster in the truck, glanced at the map lying atop the dashboard, and ignored it, already knowing their next destination.
“Buckle up, buddy,” he told the dog. “Time to find some old friends.”
Twenty-Seven
Isabella wanted to grieve her husband, but a nagging feeling about the mission that claimed him stayed with her. Her brother-in-law seemed like a prisoner on the base, and the combined military forces did little to disguise the fact because two armed soldiers followed him closely wherever he went.
Daring not communicate with him directly, she often had Nathan create a drawing, a card, or some other form of artwork before she inserted a subtle message for Metzger inside. Often, she wrote in code on the back of the paper so her scribblings looked like random letters until held up to light from the other side. Sometimes she scratched across certain letters in a crossword puzzle to spell out a message. In return, Metzger often handed Nathan a flower, or some trinket, with a note folded numerous times, for Isabella to read.
He informed her that they continued to draw his blood every day or two, possibly worried his blood cell counts might suffer. Each time they appeared to draw a little more, he reported, causing her to wonder if they found some kind of marker in his blood that resisted the undead infection. No one else received so much attention from the military, and they stopped asking for Nathan’s participation after two draws. The bizarre mystery occupied time for both Isabella and Metzger, giving them something to focus on that wasn’t the death of Bryce.
Making herself indispensable, Isabella told people on the base that she wanted to keep busy rather than dwell on the death of her husband. In a manner of speaking, she spoke the truth, but she wasn’t carrying out busywork after taking Nathan to classes on the base. She took up several side jobs that provided her with access to numerous buildings. As expected, several higher ups in the military eyed her warily, but she busied herself with cleaning various buildings, assisting in the medical bays, and occasionally boarding the ships to unload or organize supplies because the sailors had assignments that kept them on land more often.
On what she believed was the eighth day since learning of her husband’s demise, Isabella helped push a cart of supplies onto Ross with a fellow civilian. Roles changed often around the base, and many of the officers and enlisted men and women were occupied with clearing the town of Norfolk. She wondered how many of the military personnel were proficient with firearms, considering the majority of the people housed on the base were Navy folks. Ships only housed a handful of guns while at sea, and most of the enlisted personnel hadn’t fired a firearm since basic training.
Even worse, ammunition would eventually run out, meaning those in charge allotted only so many rounds for target practice before their soldiers headed out to confront the undead.
While assisting her partner with putting up the supplies in various parts of the ship, Isabella casually scanned for any folders, computers, or tablets that might contain information. In particular, she wanted to know about the Buffalo mission, or why the military suddenly took a major interest in her brother-in-law.
Nothing caught her eye, and the joint leaders of the combined military force typically conducted business inside one of two particular buildings on the base. On her way off the ship, however, she spotted Mark Dascher walking the deck and drinking from his coffee mug. He spotted Isabella too late to turn around and act like he hadn’t seen her, and she knew the commander hadn’t been comfortable around her the few times they’d met since the Buffalo mission.
Wearing his dress white uniform because the winter changeover wasn’t for another week, Dascher evidently had a function to attend. He approached Isabella without hesitation, giving her a courteous nod.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“Staying busy keeps me from thinking about it,” Isabella answered. “How are things with you?”
“Good,” Dascher answered. “We’re slated to be moved into a set of apartments near the base once they’re cleared.”
“It’s hard to think we’re going back to anything close to normal.”
Dascher shook his head.
“I don’t think we’ll see normal for quite some time. Having electricity is a fringe benefit to living in Norfolk though.”
Isabella already knew the commander returned to find his wife, son, and daughter alive and well when his ship docked in Norfolk. He remained close to them, safe and cozy on the base while her husband took on hazardous missions to Buffalo, twice no less. She didn’t blame Dascher, or begrudge him, but Isabella didn’t appreciate the man dodging her. Granted, Bryce was never officially witnessed as dying in the line of duty, but everyone knew what a bite from the undead meant. Dascher could have done more to honor the memory of his executive officer than offer kind words, even in the apocalypse.
“I know you’re not allowed to talk about much,” Isabella said cautiously, “but what is going on with my brother-in-law?”
“What do you mean?” Dascher asked, openly confused, or doing a phenomenal acting job.
“I’m talking about the reason he has two armed soldiers following his every move, every minute of the day.”
“Oh, that,” Dascher said, his eyes averting to the ground momentarily. “That’s classified.”
“Don’t give me that classified bullshit, Mark,” Isabella said firmly. “Did he undermine the mission? Did he get my husband killed?”
“No,” Dascher said as though such a notion were preposterous, taking a quick glance around them to ensure no one eavesdropped on their conversation.
Isabella knew Metzger wasn’t being followed for any kind of criminal reasons, but she needed to play the information game with Dascher and slowly coax facts from the man.
“What else could he have done to warrant that kind of attention?”
Dascher hesitated, rubbing his face nervously a moment with his free hand. The other still held the mug of coffee he hadn’t consumed since meeting up with Isabella.
“My husband died for his country, for the survivors here,” Isabella pressed. “I can’t get answers about what happened because I can’t even talk to Dan. Please, tell me something that can give me some closure over this whole ordeal.”
“I know Dan is important to them,” Dascher answered. “Bryce was, too, but I don’t know exactly why. Let’s just say that kind of information is above my pay grade.”
Isabella believed him, but his words did little to assist or comfort her.
“Where do I go for answers?” she asked firmly, rather than plead, because she wasn’t about to show weakness to a man who governed youngsters on a ship.
Again, Dascher took a look around before answering.
“You’re going to have to get creative. I’ve already told you too much, and the people who outrank me aren’t going to say a word about any of this.”
“I’m not even sure why I’m staying here,” she vented her thoughts. “Part of me wants to leave with my son and Dan and never look back.”
“They won’t let your brother-in-law leave,” Dascher assured her. “He’s too important if they’re devoting this much attention to him.”
Isabella got the sense that the brass left Dascher out of the loop regarding certain information because he was personally tied to Bryce. Although not fiercely independent, the man struck her as very intelligent and disciplined. The fact that he slipped any information to her at all showed good human nature on his part, and a few ideas hatched within her mind about how to obtain additional facts.
“I know you have a sense of duty,” Isabella said, “but why do you stick around? You could make a go of it out there.”
“Out there, we don’t have walls and warmth,” Dascher replied, losing a bit of the gleam in his eye, as though imprisoned within the base himself because of his family. “If the
world is going to get rebuilt, it’s going to start here.”
“You say that, but a lot of people live here. Food, fuel, hell, even toilet paper will eventually run out.”
“We have some great minds here,” Dascher said confidently. “We’ll get things figured out, and until then, we’ll get by.”
He finally relaxed enough to provide a grin.
“Hell, with some basics like coffee, anything is possible,” he added before lifting the mug momentarily and taking a sip.
“Thanks, Mark,” Isabella said before giving a nod and walking to the closest means to exit the ship.
“Isabella,” Dascher called as she neared the halfway point down the ramp.
“Yeah?”
“I could see about getting you and Nathan some more conventional housing once the town is cleared. If that’s something you want.”
“Thanks,” she called back. “I’ll think about it.”
In her mind, Isabella didn’t envision leaving the base until she learned some answers about why Metzger was being monitored so closely, and why the military took such an interest in him, and perhaps her husband. Several strong ideas crossed her mind, but she needed definitive proof before taking action.
If Dascher had meetings to attend, then perhaps other officers were about to head off to similar gatherings. She began formulating a plan to learn about their objectives without them ever knowing better, or detecting her presence. Figuring the window of playing the grieving widow and speaking to officers directly was closing, she needed to make a move rather quickly before deciding her immediate and distant future.
Part of her wanted to write Metzger a note, telling him to run, regardless of whether she and Nathan went with him. Heading for her current living quarters, Isabella wondered if her brother-in-law fared any better.
***
Across the base, Metzger went for a run, trying to keep his cardio in prime condition, knowing he might need to utilize all of his skills in the near future. His guardians kept pace from a distance, both possessing holstered pistols, looking a bit strange as they jogged in full uniform across the base.
The Undead Chronicles (Vol. 2): Darker Days Page 35
