by Scott, Zack
“Thanks again for letting us use this place tonight, bro,” Alec said after Brian poured them some tequila shots.
“No problemo, Alejandro. You boys and gals have it to yourself, so enjoy.” He slapped Alec on the back.
Alejandro. While he didn’t hate his given name, he preferred being called Alec. The reason why was lost back in middle school.
Brian continued, “Erica will be here in a little bit to serve drinks and whatnot. Everything is on the house but you should tip her well, yeah?” After taking the shot of tequila, Brian wiped his black goatee with his hand. “I’ll be in my office. Let me know if you need me.” The twenty-nine-year-old smacked his younger brother on the shoulder once more, gave Nicole a friendly smile, and returned to his office in the back of the establishment.
Nicole turned to Alec. “So, I decided to invite Sadie and she’s going to bring a couple friends. I figured, hey, Kale and Jeff will enjoy some more chicks around.”
“More girls? My friends will love you for that.” Alec smiled and kissed her on the forehead. He looked at the black watch that covered most of his wrist. “You know,” he said and stood, hovering over her, “we have a couple hours until Scot, Kale and Homer get here.” After saying that, Alec began to gently massage her shoulders. He kissed along her collarbone. I want her again. I always do.
“Wait. Stop. You have to tell me how Jeff got the nickname Homer.”
“You’ll have to ask him later tonight.” He continued the massage.
“No, come on, tell me now,” she pleaded, her eyes wide and sorrowful.
“Nope. I’m going to keep you in suspense.” Alec pinched her playfully.
“Stop!” she giggled, slapping his hand.
Alec kept pinching at her while she tried to wiggle away. She tripped over a stool causing them both to crash as Alec reached out and caught her. They continued their little laugh fest on the wooden floor until they caught their breath. Lying on Nicole, he gazed lovingly into her bright brown eyes. Nothing makes me happier than she does. “You know I’m crazy about you.” His words traveled in a light whisper.
“You’re adorable.” Nicole wrapped a hand behind his neck, looked ready to kiss him until she hid her lips.
Teasing me! Alec’s mouth shot for her and—
Someone’s throat cleared. Erica, the waitress, was standing over them. “Sorry to interrupt,” she started and sat at the closest bar stool, chomping enthusiastically on a piece of gum. “I guess I can come back later.”
“What? No, you’re fine, we were, uh . . .”
Erica smiled at the couple still lying awkwardly on the hard floor. “Seeing how good the wood is?”
KALE
The Last Round.
“What a stupid name for a bar.” Howard raised a hand, hoping for a high-five. He was left hanging.
They were sitting in Kale’s truck as he looked at the flickering neon sign that hung above the bar’s wooden patio. “I wonder who’s here.”
“Nervous?”
“I guess. I don’t know. It’s been a long-ass time.”
Howard rummaged through his backpack, yanked out a flask. “Here. Liquid courage.”
“Dude, we’re at a bar.”
“Yeah, so? Pre-game, bro!” Although he looked the stereotypical nerd, Howard talked and acted like a frat brother.
But he’d made a very good point. “Meh, screw it.” Kale grabbed the flask, pouring its contents down his throat. He choked a couple times. “What the hell is this?”
“Perfection,” Howard said, smiling vapidly.
“What’s in there?”
“Just go with it.” Howard stared vacantly out the window. “Man, I’m so excited for Comic-Con. I swear when I get there, I’m going to Comic-Cum all over the place.”
Silence filled the truck. Howard looked back at Kale, who gave him a blank stare. “I have no response to that, Howie.”
“Yeah, yeah. Well, you’re not being yourself.” Howard gave his typical look, the one where he clearly wanted to ask something but didn’t want to start the conversation.
Kale had seen this look plenty of times, so he sighed and gave the necessary assist. “What?”
“I’m curious.”
“Okay, what?”
“Remember when you were really drunk and you told me about saving your friends in high school?”
Kale’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Dude, you know I accidentally let that slip.”
“I know, I know.” Howard slouched in his seat. “I’m just wondering if these are the same guys? That’s all.”
“Who else would they be?”
“I don’t know. Kids from summer camp, or church, or wait, did you even go to church?” Howard took another sip from the flask.
“Let’s get going. Oh, and Howard?”
“Yes’m?”
“Don’t bring that up again, you hear me?”
Back in high school, Kale would’ve loved nothing more than to bask in the attention and explain those events at the well. However, as time passed, as the close group of friends slowly grew apart, he accepted the fact that people just didn’t understand.
Kale swung the entrance open, extending his arms out as if the man of the hour had arrived and yelled, “Hey, hey, hey!”
The bar, although cheerfully bright and well-lit, was completely empty. Crickets.
“Some party,” called Howard from behind, already slurring his words.
Kale eyed him up and down. Slacks, jacket, and tie. “I still can’t believe you wore a suit,” he muttered.
From a hallway to the side of the bar, a voice yelled, “Is that Kale the Korean I hear?” Alec hopped into the main room of the bar wearing a bright smile.
“Please don’t call me that.”
“Kale the Conqueror?”
“No, Alejandro.”
“How about just Kale?”
“That will do.” Kale grinned, slapping his hand into Alec’s as they pulled in for a one-armed ‘bro hug.’ They pushed away, stood in silence. Crickets once again.
“Well,”—Alec rubbed his hands together—“let’s drink!”
One shot, two shots, three shots, four.
Alec, Kale, Howard and Nicole sat around a table, slamming down shot glasses.
Swirling his hand sloppily in the air, Alec waved for the waitress, Erica, to bring another round. The sleeves of his collared shirt were rolled up as he rested his arms on the table and looked at Kale. “Glad you’re here. We live so close but never see each other.”
You know why we don’t hang out, Alec. Your choice, not mine.
“Well.” Kale looked at Erica, hoping his drink came soon. “Different lives I suppose?”
“Scot should be here any minute.”
Kale groaned, “Fantastic.”
“Hey, man, whatever happened, happened.” Alec leaned back in his tall chair; it wobbled precariously. “We enjoy ourselves tonight, deal?”
Grinning, Kale tilted his head, mulling it over. “I’ll behave if he does.” He turned to the others. Nicole eyed him, then Alec, and then Howard, who seemed bored out of his mind. Howard gazed blankly at a wall and fidgeted with his tie.
“Nice suit,” Nicole said sincerely to Howard.
A wide smile crossed Howard’s face, revealing his crooked teeth. He pointed at Kale. “Told you! NPH is a genius.”
“NPH?” Nicole asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Ignore him,” Kale interjected quickly.
“So how long have you two lived together?” Nicole asked them. One of her eyes was squinting slightly from the alcohol. Alec has a type, and that type is only Nicole.
Kale and Howard looked at one another, doing the mental math. “Since some time after high school.”
Luckily, the gods of alcohol interrupted the conversation, and Erica set down the heavy tray of drinks on their table, nearly spilling them all.
Then Nicole asked, “How come you don’t come around, Kale? We miss you.”
Kale thought about answering, but instead turned to Alec. They stared at one another, neither one willing to speak.
The drinks kept coming and the conversation turned to other, lighter topics.
“I’m just saying, this generation is royally fuh—” Alec paused, looking at Nicole, and coughed. “Fudged,” he finished lamely.
He still won’t cuss in front of her? They’re just words.
Howard leaned across the table; he had taken off his suit jacket and loosened the top buttons of his collared shirt. “Why? Because everyone plays video games? I play video games, all the time. I would be able to survive out there.” He waved a glass around aimlessly. “Bring it on, I always say.”
“You never say that,” Kale pointed out.
“Yes, yes,” Alec continued his drunken tirade. “But we all went outside. We played outside. We got scraped up, beaten up. The kids I know today sit inside, are babied, and hell, are too self-involved to even know what’s going on.”
“I blame Facebook,” drawled Kale, emphasizing his point by slamming his glass on the table. The social network was still around, but rarely used like before, at least by himself and others his age. He thought it was a useless distraction.
“Well,”—Alec raised his glass, leaning back again, sweating alcohol—“Facebook is the devil.”
“But it keeps us connected.” Nicole reached for her fiancé, trying to calm his wobbling.
“Hell, people shouldn’t need a website to stay connected.”
“It’s not aboot necessity, baby, it’s aboot convenience.”
“Wait, wait.” Kale squinted at Nicole. “Did you just say ‘aboot?’ Why do you sound Canadian when you drink?”
Alec grabbed her wrist and grinned. “She’s my traveling translator.”
What the hell is with these two?
Just then a door creaked open. Scot poked his head into the bar, pulling Angela behind him. “What up, guys?” Figures he’s already a stumbling drunk.
Alec greeted him first, nearly toppling out of his chair. He staggered his way to Scot and wrapped his arms around him. Scot stood frozen, unprepared for a full hug. Once Alec let go, Scot’s eyes quickly shot to Kale. Should I shake first, or him? He waited.
“Kale,” breathed Scot as if he were disgusted to say his name.
“Scot.”
Alec stood between them, turning his head to face one and then the other. “Oh, will you two just shake on it already!” He grabbed their wrists and forced their hands together. They both froze, unsure of how to handle the situation.
Letting go first, Scot’s eyes wandered the bar, searching for someone or something. “Where’s Jeff?”
JEFF
Freezing water. Flashes of red.
I reach for the surface, for support, for something. My mouth fights for air, mashed into cold metal. My team. My friends. Where are they? The water is a quick ascension, my chances for escape dwindling. A piercing alarm blares in my mind. Bright lights glare off the surface. Water reaches my mouth and nose. I shut my eyes and prepare to submerge. The last thing I see before pulling myself from the submarine hull are the corpses floating in the water.
I paddle in the open dark sea as my empty lungs burn for air. Within a second, my mouth is forced open and saltwater floods my system. I can see the light of day just feet above me and I reach for help but it’s a hopeless effort.
I prepare for the reunion with my team in the dark abyss of death.
Jeff jolted awake. A nightmare. He grabbed at his chest, feeling his heart pounding. He shook and trembled on cold dirt and told himself that every flash of the submarine, every recurring nightmare, meant he was lucky to be alive.
Add being blown off a mountain to the list.
A woman’s voice greeted his ears before he had time for another thought. “Holy freaking crap! You came to. You’re one lucky schlub.” To his left, Lance Corporal Claudia Faith knelt by a tree with her two hands pressed on a fellow VTF member.
After struggling to his feet, Jeff stumbled his way to Faith and the wounded man she fought to save. Don’t be Evans, he prayed. He prayed for all their safety, prayed for this to be some minor attack.
What had happened? It’d been a set up,that much was clear. But who would do this?
Jeff reached Faith and the person on the ground. He didn’t recognize the young man; he was a member of a different squad. “Anyone else make it?” he asked, kneeling down.
Blood covered Faith’s gloveless hands as she applied pressure to the man’s leaking stomach wound. “No clue. Evans crashed the freaking transport and we scattered as those things attacked us.”
“Those things?”
“The Vault Inhabitants. They, well, shit. They’ve gone off the rails.”
“What do you mean?”
“Rabid maybe. Or Jennings was right and they’ve turned.”
Turned? Like, zombies?
“Who else was in the transport?”
“Evans, the LT, Longsong and Felix, Jennings, and a few others. This guy Pollock, he was stabbed during the crash. Freaking Jennings had his knife out and flew into him.”
“I see.” Jeff surveyed the dark woods; the trees were surrounded by thick fog. The air was bitingly chill, and his breath showed. “Where are we?”
“No freaking clue.”
She sure does say ‘freaking’ a lot. Jeff pulled out his phone. Useless. Melted in the explosion.
“Let me ask you something, Private Brennan.”
Jeff turned to Faith. “Yeah?”
“LT told us you were blown off the mountain, yet you look freaking better than I do.”
True, he did. His black uniform, although ripped and singed in places, covered healthy-looking flesh. He did have a few minor burn scars and some scabs, and half his face was coated in dirt and ash. Other than that, he was unscathed. Most importantly, his silky golden hair had survived intact. Gotta stay pretty for the reunion, he joked to himself.
How had he survived in such good condition? That explosion should’ve ended him and if not that, then the fall down the mountain. But he quietly nurtured an idea about why he’d survived. Tell Faith? Never. Even if he did tell her his suspicions, she’d never believe him.
I barely believe it.
“So? What gives?” she said.
Jeff looked back at her and smiled, hearing Scot’s voice in his memory. “Pure freaking luck.”
“Whatever.” Faith stared down the empty road. “Do me a favor and keep pressure on Pollock’s wound.”
Blood had soaked through the towel Faith used to apply pressure. The sight of it didn’t bother Jeff. It took a lot to gross him out; he was similar to Scot in that way. Alec, however, well, Alec was always squeamish. Same with Kale, though he’d never admit it.
Faith jogged to the road, her rifle cocked and her flashlight on. She turned one way, then quickly to the other. “We traveled west.”
Jeff wondered how far ahead they were of any surviving VTF and how she’d managed to get both him and Pollock this far. A strong woman, as tall as Jeff and just as muscular, he had no doubt of her capabilities to save them both. Still, she must have struggled. How many did she fight off?
Faith soon returned. “I have to go back. I have to find the others.”
“What about Pollock?” The towel was a dark red and soggy.
“You stick with him.”
“You’re gonna leave us?” Jeff regretted asking that. You’re tough. Now act that way.
She smiled. “You’re armed, yeah? And apparently invincible. You’ll be fine.”
Faith had a point, though he had difficulty believing in his own invincibility. Yes, he survived that day in high school. Yes, he survived the submarine incident. And yes, he survived that C4. But luck always runs out sooner or later, as Scot used to say.
Faith gathered her equipment. Jeff no longer had his assault rifle, so she left him an extra clip for his Beretta. “You stay here with Pollock. You wait for me to return with the oth
ers. God willing, they’re still live.”
“I think we’re better off together, don’t you?”
Faith took one step, paused, rubbed a hand over her shaved head, and turned her face away. “I’ll get us all back together.”
“Be careful,” said Jeff, every inch of him flowing with adrenaline.
This is no minor attack. This night was due, and now I must reunite with them. Kale, Alec, Scot—I’m coming.
Faith vanished, walking swiftly back in the direction they’d come from.
Keeping pressure on Pollock’s wounds, Jeff faced west. Green Hills. It was close. My friends are nearby. I feel them—lights shining in all this darkness. Every ounce of his being wanted to join in their festivities.
More importantly, he had to warn them.
But Pollock; he couldn’t leave the fallen VTF.
Jeff looked down at the wounded soldier. The young man’s eyelids were still, barely revealing lifeless pupils beneath. He’s dead? He took one hand off the wound, sliding his fingers to Pollock’s neck. No pulse. How long was he dead for? Did Faith know?
Jeff dropped the towel, thumbed Pollock’s eyelids closed. Rest in peace, brother.
The ammo clip for his pistol joined his sidearm and a water flask on his belt. He made his way to the road and stared through the darkness and the fog. He wished Faith, Evans and the rest of the Vault Tactical Force the best, but he was headed on a separate path.
The time had come to return home and reunite with his friends. Unfortunately, he brought a warning that would bury their celebrations.
EVANS
A stream of blood spilled from his upper left arm. He clenched his teeth as he ripped away the sleeve of his black shirt, tightened the fabric around the gash in a makeshift tourniquet.
Bullets. Blood. Bodies. All I need is a beer.
Jon Evans, specialist of the VTF and former Marine, leaned against a tree as he tended to his wound. He had limited medical knowledge, but he only needed the arm to last long enough to fire his M4A1 until he made it back to his team.
