by D. J. Molles
They regarded each other in silence for a moment, both trying to find words.
Lee broke it first, looking away. “It’s a madhouse out there.”
“Yeah. Carl’s people had free barracks that they’re putting us up in.” She looked around. “I know this was considered spartan not so long ago, but everybody is pretty happy just to be sleeping on an actual bed, in an actual building. It’s been a while since we’ve had that.” She sighed. “But of course, keeping everyone organized is like herding cats.”
Lee spared a smile. “Well, you seem to have a knack for it. You’re a good cat herder.”
“Thanks.” She turned and grabbed a pack that was sitting next to her, undoing two buckles and pulling the main flap back. “I brought something from Camp Ryder. Grabbed it before we left. I didn’t know… uh… didn’t know whether you even wanted it, considering everything. But…” She shrugged and reached into the pack.
Lee recognized it before she had it completely pulled from the pack. There was no mistaking the bloodred and dingy white stripes. She’d folded it in a haphazard square, and this was how she handed it to him. He hesitated for a moment, looking at the folded banner that was hanging in the air between them. But then he reached out and took it from her.
She looked at him warily. “I understand if you don’t want it.”
Lee ran his fingers over the stitching, his face blank. Then he took the folded flag and put it under his arm, almost protectively. He looked at Angela, his feelings difficult to put into words. “Why wouldn’t I want it?” he said quietly.
Perhaps he hoped that Angela had some better insight into his head than he did himself.
She glanced between his eyes and the flag under his arm. “Because of everything that’s happened. Our government betraying you. The acting president…”
Lee shook his head. Then he took a seat on the cot, next to Angela. He sighed as he sat, a sound that was worn to the bone, like the sound of an old cave carved by eons of wind and water. He pulled the flag around, placed it in his lap, regarded it for a time.
“Yes. I feel betrayed,” he said. “I can’t deny that. But America is not its government. It’s not something that’s held together by politicians and bureaucrats. So it doesn’t matter to me who comes along and tells me I’m not a patriot, or tells me that I’m committing treason because I’m not following them down their rabbit hole.” He looked at her, intensely. “This is my flag. It’s not his. He never fought for it. And I refuse to let him take it from me. Not after everything I’ve done. Not after everything I’ve been through. He can claim the presidency all he wants, but what I’m doing will never be a secession. What we’re doing will never be treason. So thank you for bringing this to me, Angela. Because no matter how much Briggs tries to hijack the plane and attempt to convince everyone that he’s the captain, I’m not ever calling myself anything but an American. And this is the flag I’m gonna fly.”
Angela nodded, then smiled wanly.
After a moment, her face fell into thought again. She seemed to have something that she wanted to say but was having difficulty with it. Finally, she seemed to give up. She rose from the cot, touching Lee one last time on the shoulder, almost a forlorn gesture of affection.
As she turned away from him, he spoke quietly. “I’m sorry that things…”
She stopped and looked back at him.
“I’m sorry for how things turned out,” he said. “For us.”
For a flash, she almost seemed angry with him. Her hands clenched and unclenched. But then there was a sadness in her eyes that seemed to overtake her. She swallowed hard and a visible tremor went through her.
She spoke suddenly. “Yesterday Sam killed Jenny.”
Lee wasn’t sure how to react, but he could see that Angela wasn’t done.
She looked up at the ceiling, her eyes wet. “She was sick. Infected, I mean. Not the flu. I don’t know how it happened. I was just trying to get everybody packed up and ready to leave. And then I heard a gunshot. And when we came around the corner of the building, Sam was standing there with Abby. He said that Jenny had tried to attack them and he shot her.” Angela touched her head with a finger. “Right there. And he was… he was broken up, Lee.”
Angela shook her head. “I wanted you to know that when I saw him standing there, shaking and holding that rifle of his, I understood why you did the things that you did. Because when it comes right down to it, surviving is more important. And making sure that the people that rely on you stay safe… that trumps everything. I understand what was going through your head. And no matter what happens going forward, we’re always going to need you, Lee. And others just like you. You were right. Sometimes… sometimes you have to do the ugly things to keep everyone safe. And we can’t condemn the people we have that are willing to do those things. Or we’re gonna fall apart before we even get started.” She pointed at him, almost sternly. “We need you. So don’t go anywhere.”
Lee sat there, holding the flag of his father, and of his youth, the flag that would eventually see him to his willing grave. He clutched it tight and nodded to the woman standing in front of him. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
EPILOGUE
LEE STOOD IN THE center of the lonesome two-lane road. The very same stretch of abandoned highway where he’d crouched beneath an old elm tree and waited, rifle in his hands. Now the roadway had become just a whitewashed channel through this section of woods, all the trees and branches to either side crusted in ice and snow.
This was the first snow of the winter, and it had come in early January. It hadn’t snowed a flake before that, but now North Carolina weather seemed to be playing catch-up. It was dumping everything it had, as fast as it could. All the previous night and into this morning. No sign of stopping.
Early January.
A half a year, people said.
They’d made it a half a year.
Lee glanced behind him at the two gun-truck Humvees that idled there. He made a quick cutting motion across his neck. The engines died. In the absence of their growling, the stillness of the snow-covered wilderness around him seemed vast, almost infinite. He listened to it. Felt it chill him to the bone, more than the cold air ever could have.
Silence in the woods. Silence on the road.
Deuce leaned against his leg. Lee watched the breath plume from the dog’s wolflike muzzle, his golden eyes scanning through the tree line all around them. He was as still and quiet as the rest of the world.
Lee looked forward again, to the object of his interest.
One mound in the road, covered by snow.
His eyes tracked up, further in the direction that the two Humvees were heading, and he could see another lump hiding there beneath the snow, like a body beneath a sheet, and the thought went through him, no matter how illogical—waiting to jump up and attack us.
Behind them, in the direction that they’d come, a few more white lumps.
No sign of tracks. They’d been there all night.
They’re not gonna jump up and attack you, he told himself. But still, he gripped his rifle a little tighter, his ungloved hands aching in the cold.
He stepped up to the nearest lump in the snow and he pointed his rifle at it—logic be damned—and then he nudged it with his foot. It felt like ice. Frozen solid. He hit it harder, a solid kick this time. Then scuffed some of the snow off with a hesitant toe.
A woman lay beneath that layer of white coldness. Her skin was grayish blue. Eyes closed. She looked almost beatific. It was a peaceful way to go, he’d been told once. Freezing to death. Well, peaceful once the shock and hypothermia took over. Once you got through that part, it was supposed to be peaceful.
She was naked, not a stitch to keep her warm. Not that she would need it now. Hands curled into her chest, but Lee could see the longish, clawlike nails, the dark gore and dirt that were gummed up beneath them and also covered her arms up to the elbow like gauntlets. Around her face and neck and chest wa
s more of the same. Filth. Blood.
All frozen solid.
Quiet crunch of boots through snow.
Lee hadn’t even heard the Humvee doors open or close, but when he turned, Tomlin was standing there looking down at what Lee had uncovered. He seemed to consider it for a time, soak it in, make the necessary connections. There wasn’t much reaction. Lee didn’t feel much reaction, either.
Tomlin spat into the snowy road. “Well, shit.”
“Yeah.” Lee nodded slowly. “All along these roads.”
Tomlin knelt down and inspected the body more closely. “Not hunters.”
“No,” Lee agreed. “But from how many we’ve seen, I’d guess they were bits and pieces of the horde out of Smithfield. Still floating around out here. Until last night, anyway.”
“Hm,” Tomlin grunted, then stood. “Wonder if the horde kept them warm. All those bodies packed in tight. Kinda create a bubble of warmth for themselves.”
“Maybe.”
“We’ve been thinning them out pretty good, so…” Tomlin trailed off.
“Maybe,” Lee repeated.
“But not the hunters.”
“No, not the hunters.”
As if on cue, Deuce growled low. As if he’d heard Lee and Tomlin talking about them, and the mere mention of the hunters was getting his hackles up. But Lee knew better than that. Deuce only growled when they were around. When he could smell them.
Lee put a hand on the dog’s head and scratched behind the ears. “Good boy.”
Somewhere deep in those woods, all still with ice and snow, something howled. A distant sound. And an answer, as the first call faded. Both of them a good ways away, though. Not enough to get Lee running just yet. And besides, if they were close, Deuce would be losing his mind.
“No,” Lee said, sounding a little tired. “Those things seem to be doing just fine.”
Tomlin slapped him on the shoulder. “Come on. We got places to be.”
They arrived in Camp Ryder by midmorning. Or what had once been Camp Ryder. Now more like Outpost Ryder, though everyone still called it by its original name from force of habit. It was different, though. Shantytown was gone, razed, the materials used for other things. No fires burned in the complex, no smoke trails against the gray-white sky. No families lived there anymore. Just soldiers. Soldiers, and militiamen.
The pass colors were shown and the gates were slid open and the gun trucks rolled in and parked on the hard-packed dirt and gravel. Doors opened, and the occupants came out. Lee first, from the front passenger side of the lead Humvee. His driver was Tomlin. And Abe, coming out last from the backseat, still moving a little slow as he continued to heal, but refusing to stay under care at Fort Bragg.
Lee felt lucky, in a way. Surrounded by men that he knew, men that he trusted. Good friends. Good advisors. Good warriors.
From the second Humvee came Nate, Julia, and Carl. They hesitated a bit and Carl waited at the back door, holding it open and looking inside, patiently. Claire Staley emerged a moment later, spindly in her teenage youth, with her homely features but intensely green eyes.
She looked around the camp, unafraid. She was never afraid, it seemed. Like that part of her had been excised long ago. She’d probably been asleep in the back of the Humvee. Lee was told that she slept like the dead.
She was not a part of Lee’s regular team, as everyone else in the Humvees was.
But she was needed for today, as she had been a few other times for similar things.
In the middle of the Square, Lee was met by Rudy. He gave Lee a firm handshake and shared a quick brotherly embrace with Carl.
“Where are they?” Lee asked.
Rudy nodded toward the Camp Ryder building. “Inside. Where it’s warm.”
Lee looked at the building for a moment, then looked over at Carl, and then to Claire Staley.
The young woman was also staring at the building, her breath hanging in the air. Then she turned and saw Lee watching her. She straightened a bit. Getting down to business. Her green eyes tacked over to the building again, and she started walking with the slightest shrug.
The group entered the building, a silent procession. They shook the cold and snow off themselves, stomped the ice from their boots. Rudy led them around the corner, around the metal stairs that led to the office that had once been Lee’s home, and he took them to the utility closet under the stairs. The door was closed and locked. Rudy glanced back at the men following him, and then opened the door.
There was no light inside. Lee’s eyes took a moment to adjust.
Two forms sat huddled in the cold darkness, shivering, with their arms wrapped around themselves. They did not immediately look up when the door was opened, but took a moment and then seemed to gradually realize that they were being looked upon.
Two men. One that Lee didn’t recognize. Another that he did.
Lee’s jaw worked. He felt… what did he feel?
Anger? Indignation? Rage?
No. Not that anymore.
He sniffed, smelled the scent of humans long unbathed. Watched the two captives for a moment, fixating on the face that he knew. “Brett,” Lee said quietly.
The man didn’t react to his name being called. He just kept staring up at them, his face numb. He must have known what was coming. He must have known where his choices had led him. The dark path that he’d chosen. The murders, the betrayal… they always come back to bite you in the ass.
Lee stepped out of the doorway and made room. Claire sidled up next to him, arms crossed over her chest, hands holding her elbows defensively. This was difficult for her, they knew. But it was necessary. Accusations could not simply be leveled without proof. That was a dangerous way of doing business. But she was a witness. She knew faces that the rest of them did not.
Lee spoke slowly: “Claire… do you recognize any of these men?”
Claire looked at them for a long time. They did not bother to hide their faces. She took her time, studying each one, knowing what lay on her shoulders—more than any young person should have to have leveled on them. Finally, she nodded, seemed very confident. “Yes. They were both with the Followers. That one killed all of your people at Newton Grove. The other one…” She stared at him for a moment more and a small shiver worked through her body. “… the other one is their leader. Pastor Wiscoe.”
Lee looked each man in the eye. Neither denied what was being alleged. Neither had anything to say. He reached over and put a hand on Claire’s shoulder. Then he pulled her gently away and closed the door behind them, locking it again.
“You did a good job, Claire. Thank you.”
She stared at the closed door, then turned away.
Lee looked at Rudy. He leaned in close to the other man and spoke quietly, gravely. “You know what needs to be done.”
Outside the building, Lee stood on the steps, taking in the unfamiliar view. Looking out over what had once been Shantytown and was now just a big barren area. Lee knew that all these people were now in Fort Bragg, that the barracks and mess halls there were teeming with life, that they were fighting, they were pushing back, and they were surviving. But still… seeing the evidence of what had been left him with a sort of melancholy that he could not explain. Like walking the halls of an old high school. The amount of time he’d spent in Camp Ryder had been only a little over three months. And yet it had been such a strange and cataclysmic time that those fast-moving months had stretched into decades in his mind.
Claire moved past him, hands stuffed into the pockets of her jacket. She stepped quickly away from the building and stood in the middle of the Square, face lifted to the snowing sky, and her eyes closed as the flakes settled softly onto her face and held for brief moments before melting. She seemed to need to be away from the enclosure of the building, needed to be in the open.
Abe stood next to him, stiff left arm held close to his side. He favored it, and there was no doubt in Lee’s mind that the bones and sinews that had been destroye
d by that bullet had not finished knitting themselves together. But Abe still managed to pull his own weight. He avoided doing anything with that arm, but there had been times when it had been required, and he had done it, using that arm to grab the arm of a wounded comrade and drag him to safety. When he’d done it, he’d just grit his teeth and none of the pain had shown through his bearded visage, but rather a panicked sort of anger, like his body was a reactor, converting agony into rage. Nobody mentioned his arm, because even with his barely healed limb, Abe did more work than the average man. So no one could really complain.
Abe watched Claire for a time through narrowed eyes. “This has got to be rough on her.”
Lee rubbed his nose. “Can’t really tell anymore.”
“How many more?”
“However many more it takes.” Lee cleared his throat. “By her own estimates, there were only a dozen or so men that held rank. The rest were just thugs. Going along for the ride.”
“We can’t chase every single one of them down.”
“Oh, I know.” Lee looked at his friend. “We haven’t hunted any of them. But when we, or any of our people, happen across them, I certainly intend to make things right.”
Abe held up a hand. “Hey, you don’t have to explain shit to me, buddy. I’m on board. It feels like it’s been ages since everything went to shit, but it hasn’t been that long. It’s still a very violent place out here. And it requires us to be violent, too. And that isn’t gonna change for a long time.” He nodded to their charge. “I just worry about Claire is all.”
“I know,” Lee said. “I do, too. But when she’s ready to call it quits, she will.”
