The Reaper Plague

by David VanDyke

  “Aye aye, sir.” So she ran along, curious. So curious that she forgot he still hadn't answered her queries about the Homies’ mission.

  A duffel bag and a civilian-style dun-colored rucksack were thrown untidily on the floor outside her office. There were no markings on them. Puzzled, she opened the door to find out who her visitor was.

  “Rick!” She threw herself into Rick Johnstone’s arms, staggering him. They half-fell against the wall and reintroduced themselves for a minute or two. When they came up for air she asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “Coming with.” His smile was wide.

  She scrambled backward to arms’ length, just now noticing he was in FC-style fatigues. “What? You can’t!” She felt ashamed as she saw his face fall. Who am I to tell him he can’t come along? “Sorry, I didn’t mean that, you just startled me. I mean…why? What’s the deal?”

  Rick crossed his arms, trying to hide his hurt. “I’m a Free Communities liaison officer. It was part of the agreement to provide the weapons and ammo, that the FC would have some people embedded. To observe, you know.” He looked at her uncertainly.

  Jill was aware of the familiar smell of him, the deodorant he used, the shampoo, and she bitterly regretted her first reaction. Not fair, to surprise me this way, she cried inside, but instead forced a smile and said, “Oh, and you just happened to be assigned here, to Colonel Muzik’s battalion.”

  He grinned weakly in response. “I admit I pulled a few strings. Okay, one big string.”

  “A string named Markis, I bet.” She stepped forward again and put her face up to his, reaching for his lips. She kissed him tenderly for a moment, then ferociously as her feelings took over. She buried herself in his arms. “It’s so good to see you,” she husked.

  “Now that’s the welcome I expected.” He stroked her pinned-up hair.

  She could tell he was still stung, and she thought of how she might soothe that hurt, in the age-old way of a woman. But not yet, not now, and not here in the barracks, where everyone knows everything about everyone else. And what about my new commitment to God and Christ? What about all that stuff about fornication and premarital sex? I wish I’d had more time with Christine, so she could explain to me how a believer lives in the real world.

  “So where are you staying?” she asked. “The BOQ?”

  “No, the Trailers. They said I got a private one, but I came straight here. You can…” He trailed off, as if uncertain how to frame an invitation.

  The “trailers” were FEMA-type emergency dwellings, economy single-wides equipped for two or four people. They’d brought in a bunch of them as Pueblo swelled and boomed with people serving the new provisional capital of the United States.

  “That sounds great.” And it did. I’ll stay the night with him, even if all we do is snuggle. She laughed at herself inside. Riiiight. Going to be an interesting evening. “Let me grab a bag from my room and talk to my Assistant Platoon Sergeant. Just stay here, and don’t answer the door.”

  “Why, you ashamed of me?” His tone was bantering but he was half serious.

  She put her hands on her hips. “Not a chance. But I’ve worked hard to earn a reputation as an unforgiving iron maiden and I don’t want to blow it now by seeming human. Just do as I ask, all right? A leader has to maintain a certain image.”

  “Yeah, okay.” He sat back on the edge of her desk, picked up one of her souvenir coins to fiddle with it.

  She shoved his bags into her office with her foot and shut the door on his bemused expression, cursing under her breath. A good and welcome surprise but I’m going to pay for it tomorrow in sleep. Whatever. I’ll catch up next year. She hurried down the barracks corridors to her room at the end, throwing a few things in her gym bag. Then she sat down on her bunk and called Chaplain Christine Forman.

  “Hello, Jill.” Forman’s smooth, clench-teethed Brahmin-WASP accent was unmistakable. “What can I do for you.”

  “Talk?”

  “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

  “Sex.”

  “Do tell. Let me get comfortable, and then tell me all about it.”

  Fifteen minutes later Jill begged her friend and counselor to let her hang up. “I think that’s enough for now and Rick is waiting for me. Thanks for explaining things.”

  “I’m always available for you, Jill.”

  “Ditto. Take care, Christine.”

  She ended the call, then she looked for Grusky, spotting him in the dayroom playing cards with the squad leaders. She signaled to him from the door. He leaped to his feet and hurried to join her. In a low voice she said, “You handle PT tomorrow morning, I have another appointment. Make sure they’re standing tall after breakfast ready for training.” There, that buys me some sleep. She felt a bit guilty but she knew she had been driving herself harder than anyone up till now. I deserve a little me time. “Reach me on my phone if you have to, but it better be serious.” She slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sure you can handle anything.”

  He grinned, genuinely pleased to be put in charge, a true convert to the Church of Repeth. “No problem, Master Sergeant.”

  Jill nodded and left him to his card-playing. Remarkable what an attitude adjustment, a good example and some respect will do to a junior leader. I’m really glad my gamble with him paid off. It could have turned into a mess. She walked quickly back to her office to join Rick.

  They scampered out of the building into starlight and walked the half-mile to the dusty prefab town near the end of the runway, sharing the load of his gear. Supply trucks full of water, food, porta-potties, furniture and everything else the hastily-erected sprawl needed to operate drove past them. They stayed well off the road and upwind, but they still caught the stink of engine fumes now and then.

  On the way they talked about impersonal things, operational things, professional things. How the Markises and the Chairman’s staffers were doing now that they relocated permanently to South Africa. How the children were safely returned from the kidnapping. How they’d caught the two nanocommandos and were holding them as POWs. How the President had decorated and restored her.

  Anything to avoid talking about personal things in the noise and clouds of dust and diesel smoke.

  Threading their way through the dark-bright maze of trailers and prefabs was a nostalgic, slightly surreal journey. For Jill it recalled temporary military compounds in desert lands half a world and more than a decade away. This time, though, most of the people going about their business under the glare of the lights were civilians. She hoped none of her people would be out here to see them.

  As Rick fumbled at the lock to his trailer she felt vaguely guilty and excited at the same time. Ever since her repentance and spiritual renewal she had struggled as she anticipated this situation, as with the memories of sins throughout her life.

  Intellectually she knew all her transgressions were forgiven. In her gut, they all came back to haunt her: big ones like her role in the missile launch, small ones like casual, gratuitous fornication. That’s what I have to keep calling it in my mind, to remind myself that it’s wrong. It’s harder to explain to myself, much less him, but I’ll have to try.

  Inside, door locked, she tossed his rucksack and her gym bag into a corner and looked around at the Spartan accommodations. Two bare single beds with decent mattresses, two dressers, two wall lockers, a small refrigerator, a door into a small bathroom with shower. An air conditioner set in the wall.

  “Not exactly the Hilton,” Rick remarked.

  “I’ve lived in a lot worse. You can probably draw linens from some kind of supply point.”

  “I have a sleeping bag. We’ll make do.” His face lit up, eager, as he stepped toward her.

  “Wait a second, Rick. We have to talk.”

  His face fell. “Uh oh. Whenever the girl says that, something bad always happens.”

  Jill laughed. “Oh, you have lots of experience with girls?”

  “Mostly my mother and my sister
, and whenever they say that, there’s nothing good coming up next.”

  Jill sat down on the bunk, patting the mattress next to her. He sighed and sat down, woeful and dogfaced. His eyes were brimming as he asked, “Are you breaking up with me?”

  “Oh, God, no!” She took his face in her hands and kissed him. “No way. I love you, Rick.”

  “I love you too, but please put me out of my misery and tell me what’s going on.”

  “Well, ah…” She ground to a halt.

  “Is it about…what we did?”

  She nodded thankfully. “And what we’re going to do, a lot, I hope.” Her face dimpled in mischievous mirth. “But not yet. That’s all. Not tonight. Last time I talked you into it, and I know you were not…well, it wasn’t fair. I wasn’t a believer back then, but I am now. I’ve repented and asked God for forgiveness and having sex with you right now as we are would just be…”

  “Indulgent? Bad timing? Awkward?” he laughed with relief. “Is that all it is? You were worried I would be insulted or disappointed?”

  She nodded, looking down. “I was all ready with the big speech about not cheapening intimacy and stuff.”

  “Well, parts of me are very disappointed. Mostly the parts below the belt. But official monogamy is God and society’s way of ensuring we’re responsible.”

  “Make me feel bad now,” she teased, “because I pushed you into it. You’re such a goody-two-shoes.”

  His expression turned serious. “That’s not it at all. I just want everything to be right between us. And a good start is all the more important now that we have a lot longer to be together. We’ll just have to hit the reset button. On the other hand,” he grinned, “I’m not going to agonize about it just because I got to preview our life together.”

  He’s so earnest and young. It actually makes this easier. He wants to please me so much, she thought. All I have to do is say so and he agrees. Wonder how long that’s going to last? God, Jill, you’re cynical. “Aren’t we a couple of pansy Edens. If my platoon could see me now…”

  “It’s hard for a woman, isn’t it?”

  “Don’t you start too, I just got an earful of that from my CO. I’m not torn between my womanhood and the Corps. Every Marine loves the Corps, but the Corps does not love every Marine. It’s the Corps that has a problem with women. All I’ve ever wanted to do was be a Marine.”

  “No, but you have to hide your femininity because of the Corps’ attitude. Keep it under lock and key, only let it out in private.”

  “Sure. Just like you don’t like to show anyone your poetry because you think it’s not manly.”

  He blushed. “I guess so.”

  Jill took his hands in hers. “Everyone plays roles, all the time. That’s okay, as long as they’re honest. When I play Master Sergeant Hardass, it’s an honest part of me, and it’s to prepare and lead my troops the best I know how. And I hope you realize that’s who I am when I’m out there.” She pointed emphatically in the direction of the barracks. “Out there, you’re not my…boyfriend.”

  “Right,” he responded with an agreeable smile, “I got it. I won’t embarrass you. But speaking of sex, and roles, and poetry…” He slid off the bunk onto one knee. At first she thought he was tying his bootlaces but he reached into his pocket and brought out a velvet-covered box. “It’s not much, just a little thing I picked up in South Africa…”

  Her breath caught and her heart almost stopped as she beheld the biggest diamond she had ever seen outside of a museum, set in a pure gold ring. “Oh, my…”

  Rick cleared his throat and recited,

  Camouflage and calling cadence

  Kicking ass and taking names

  All that tough stuff seems to make sense

  As long as you remain my flame

  Through the days and through the dark nights

  I’ll endure most anything

  Through the battles and the hard fights

  As long as you will take my name

  “So…will you marry me? You be Mrs. Jill Johnstone and I’ll be Mister Master Sergeant Hardass?”

  “Yes!” She stuck out her shaking left hand and melted into his embrace as the ring slid onto her finger.

  -18-

  “I know I’ve said it before,” Skull complained, “but I am bored out of my…skull.”

  Raphaela giggled. Responded coyly, “You want to suggest something, be my guest.”

  “I already am.” He stood up to pace.

  “My guest? Wow, that was almost a joke.” She stood up too, stepping in front of him, forcing him to stop. “It’s just cabin fever. Let’s do something else.” She stepped closer to him.

  “Like what?” I know what, and I’m not playing.

  “I don’t know. A game? I have some programmed into the ship. Or I could make a sniper simulation using your rifle and some interactive components.”

  He roughly seized her upper arms. “A game? Killing people isn’t a game. It’s a necessary evil.” He shoved her back.

  “You can say that,” she said as she rubbed her arms, “but you don’t believe it. That’s just an excuse so you can keep killing people and not feel the weight of it on your soul.”

  “And that’s bullshit.”

  “What’s bullshit is how you start hitting and grabbing and pushing me whenever I say something that strikes too close to an inconvenient truth. When did you turn into a woman-beater?”

  He raised his clenched fist as his anger surged, then froze as she stared unflinchingly at him, at the blow ready to fall.

  She’s right. It’s true. But it’s not the only truth here. He uncurled his fingers, put his hand down, deliberately relaxing. “You know what? You’re right. I’m letting myself be provoked. Because you’re provoking me. Testing me. ‘Is Skull a good guy? Can he prove it by not hitting me when I prod him? What’s he going to do next?’ So is that from the Meme side or the human? He loves me, he loves me not? Or am I just some kind of lab experiment? Trying to figure out the effect of the nanos?” He held his arms out to the side in an exaggerated shrug, a whatever gesture of frustration and contempt.

  “Alan…I just want to know who you are.”

  “There are better ways to do that than jabbing me with emotional cattle prods. Just talk to me like a normal human being.”

  Raphaela choked with laughter then, gasping until Skull turned away, certain she was deliberately provoking him again. She held up a hand, forfending. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It was just so funny, what you said, since neither of us is anything like a normal human being.”

  He stared at her, and suddenly couldn’t help himself as laughter bubbled up inside and burst forth. Soon they both collapsed on the deck holding their sides, struggling to breathe in violent shared amusement.

  She reached across the deck with her hand to take his, and he didn’t pull away. “Alan…I want to like you. I want to be your friend – or, whatever, maybe more. But that’s this body and this biology talking, I think. We don’t make sense, you and me. It’s only because we’re trapped here in this ship that anything like this could happen. But that doesn’t mean it can’t happen. We are here, after all.”

  Skull stared at her with his head resting sideways on the deck, a strange perspective, a child’s experimental viewpoint. His fingers twined with hers, and it felt good in a way he hadn’t felt in forever. Since Linde…he jerked his hand out of hers, standing up suddenly. “You’re right. It doesn’t make sense. You’ve just got, what is it, Stockholm syndrome or whatever. Identifying with the captor.”

  She sat up on the deck, put her arms around her knees. “That only works if you’re really my captor. But you aren’t. My fate is not in your hands.”

  “Then it’s wounded bird syndrome. Women see some tragically damaged man and want to fix him.” Skull growled, “I don’t need your fixing.”

  Raphaela sighed, exasperated. “Can’t you just accept that someone might like you? Think you’re an interesting and unique man? Might see th
e possibilities?”

  “No. I’m really not that likable.” He reached over to start the Firefly video again. “Shut up and watch.”

  -19-

  Oh-dark-thirty. I used to say I wasn’t going to do this, yet here I am, Repeth thought. When I was a lower-enlisted Marine I swore I wouldn’t make my troops hurry up and wait all the time. When I got to the exalted position of senior NCO I’d do away with all that nonsense. Yet here I am, making them hurry up and wait. And why? Murphy’s law. Something always goes wrong, and the smart leader is the one who gets everything done early, builds extra time and flexibility into the schedule.

  But she had to admit her people were handling it well as they sat on the edge of the runway with their backs against their rucks, smoking and joking. Their duffels and sea bags and hard cases were palletized and getting loaded right now into the C-17 Globemaster transport planes, visible in the glare of the portable generator lights half a mile down the runway. She looked upward but because of the harsh lamps she couldn’t see the usual desert-sky spray of the Milky Way. The moon was bright, half-full and setting in the west.

  A breeze brought the aroma of jet fuel from the tanker trucks topping the big planes off, along with the sharp smell of exhaust from the aircraft’s auxiliary power units already burning gas and supplying power. She knew loadmasters were arranging their cargo as maintainers, pilots and copilots ran preflights and safety checks: endless rituals to propitiate the unforgiving gods of the air.

  She knew the fifteen aircraft here represented almost half of the remaining C-17s in the entire United States Air Force. Once there had been almost two hundred and fifty, but most of them had been destroyed by the Nebraska’s nukes.

  Nukes I launched. Keys I turned, God forgive me. She bit back tears.

  Her heart ached for her country and her once-proud military forces. I should be glad we are getting this kind of priority. Fifteen sorties to lift the entire battalion – thirteen platoons and enough vehicles and supplies to operate for two weeks. After that, we’re on our own. Still, there should be plenty of salvage where we’re going.