Sunrise

by Kody Boye

  Michael offered a slight smile when Jamie trailed off. “I’ll do whatever anyone tells me to do.”

  “I guess that’s it, then, gentlemen. You’re dismissed until someone tells you otherwise.”

  Turning, Jamie started down the hall, toward the flight of stairs leading down to the first floor, but stopped when he sensed someone watching him. He waited for whoever it was to speak, expecting a response, then glanced over his shoulder when none came. He found Desmond standing in his original position, eyes glossy and face blank of any discernable expression. “Desmond?” Jamie asked.

  The boy jumped “Yes sir.”

  “If you’re not comfortable with cooking, I can find something else for you to do.”

  “I’m fine with cooking.” Desmond blushed. “Pardon me, sir.”

  Jamie laughed, turning to cross the distance he’d just walked. When he stood in front of the boy, he paused, not sure whether or not to reach out to him. He eventually caved to better human nature and set both hands on the kid’s shoulders. “If you need something,” Jamie said, “you can tell me.”

  “Sir?”

  “I know the sergeant’s a hardass, and you’re not likely to find a friend in Kirn or Wills, but I’m here for you, Desmond. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be in your situation.”

  “I’m not any worse off than you guys are.”

  “That’s where I think you’re wrong.”

  “How so?”

  “We got to live life,” Jamie said. “You’re…what? Fourteen, fifteen?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “There. See? You’re not even an adult yet. You probably haven’t even drunk a beer or smoked a cigarette.”

  “Tried cigarettes,” the boy said. “Didn’t like it.”

  “Probably better for you anyway,” Jamie laughed. “It’s a bitch of a habit. Suffice to say, we won’t have smokes forever, especially since everyone’s…”

  “Dead.”

  “Yeah. Dead.” Jamie clapped the boy’s shoulder. “Like I said, buddy, if you need something, come to me, even if it’s just to talk.”

  “I will. Thank you, sir.”

  With that, Jamie turned and continued on his way, all the while thinking about the seventeen-year-old boy and his brilliant green eyes.

  “How’d the civvies do today?”

  “They did good,” Jamie said, collapsing into bed. “Why do you call them civvies anyway?”

  “Always called ‘em that,” Erik shrugged. “It’s not like they’re any different than they were before, J. We’re still the army, they’re still the civilians.”

  “I wasn’t saying that.” Jamie sighed. Leaning back, he fluffed a pillow up behind his head and closed his eyes, taking a moment to gain his bearings on the current situation. “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t know what?”

  “It’s always bothered me—the army not giving faces to the people they protect.”

  “We are the army, Jamie. You’re making us out like we’re assholes.”

  “Not us, Erik. I’m talking about them.” He jerked his finger at the wall next to him. “I’m talking about Kirn and Wills.”

  “You’re missing the point. Kirn and Wills aren’t army, they’re police officers who got upgraded because we needed extra people.”

  “Ok. Point taken.”

  “I get what you’re saying. You don’t like it that Kirn, Wills and the sergeant are bossing the civilians around. I get that entirely. I don’t like it either. What I am saying is that things haven’t changed, at least not in groups like ours. We still have to listen, we still have to obey, and we still have to watch what we say.”

  “I know, Erik. No need to lecture me.”

  “I’m not. I’m your friend, Jamie, and I want what’s best for you. I don’t want you getting thrown out for something said in a moment of passion.”

  “Wait…what?”

  “Nothing. Get some sleep. If you’re still worried about it in the morning, we can talk. We’ve got guard duty.”

  Great, Jamie sighed, pulling a blanket over his shoulders. Just great.

  As if zombies weren’t the only thing he had to worry about, now he had guard duty.

  The morning lay shadowed in fog and mist. Hanging low to the ground, wrapping around telephone pones, breaking into cars and sneaking around corners, it swam through the streets like floodwaters from a hurricane and crashed against the chain-linked fence like sharks in the movie Jaws. What few zombies were scattered along the street shambled blindly through the fog like lost souls amidst the devastation of a horrible storm. Occasionally, one would bounce off something—much to Erik’s amusement—then continue on its merry way, but they always came back. Whether or not they knew people were still inside the apartment building was anyone’s guess, but the majority had wandered off over the past two days. Regardless, that didn’t make their situation any less dangerous. They could still be nearby, hidden in the fog, watching but unable to reach them.

  Standing inside a watch tower that hadn’t been removed by the people renovating the asylum, Jamie watched a female zombie wander to the gate, then turn around to return to her initial position. Nearby, another zombie followed suit, only to repeat the same actions as its female companion. “See that?” Jamie pointed.

  “What?”

  “The zombie doing exactly what the other one did.”

  “You already know their instincts are based on impulse.”

  “I wish Marsh were still here. At least then we might be able to make some sense of it.”

  “The only thing Marsh figured out was that they were controlled by impulse and that they followed any living human they could. He even proved that they might be psychic based on the test he did with the one Humvee back at the base.”

  “You mean when he let it roll down the hill?”

  “The zombies didn’t give two shits.”

  “They could’ve seen that there wasn’t anyone in the vehicle, Erik.”

  “But that doesn’t explain why the ones who weren’t looking at it didn’t give pursuit.”

  Content with the answer, Jamie settled down in his seat and pulled out his pack of smokes. He flicked a butt out of the carton, swiped his lighter out of his pocket, then lit it, sighing as the nicotine burned its way into his lungs. As he always did when Jamie pulled out a smoke, Erik gave him a longing look, to which Jamie replied by taking another drag and offering the man his cigarette. “What happened to your pack?”

  “I don’t keep them on me.”

  “Then why are you bumming smokes off me all the time?” Jamie laughed. “Start carrying your own you dumbass.”

  “I don’t want Kirn or Wills to take them.”

  “They’re just your typical high school bullies, Erik.”

  “But they’re high school bullies that the sergeant likes.” Erik expelled a lungful of smoke. Jamie sighed when he inhaled the traces of smoke. “Remember what we talked about last night? How we’re supposed to keep our mouths shut and not say anything that might get us in trouble?”

  “I remember.”

  “Do you feel any better at all this morning?”

  “A little.”

  “Look,” Erik passed the cigarette back, “I apologize for arguing with you last night. The sergeant’s been riding my ass when it comes to manning the radio.”

  “At least you don’t have to worry about doing the dirty work.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not like I enjoy having my ass planted in a chair for ten hours a day. I signed up for the army to get away from that, not the other way around.”

  “Your dad really would have made you work in his business?”

  “It was his way or the army.” Erik closed his eyes. “Damn.”

  “What?”

  “I miss that fucker, even if he was an asshole.”

  “I do too,” Jamie confessed. “I miss him a lot.”

  “He was practically your dad too.”

  “He was the only dad I knew,” J
amie corrected, then sighed. “It’s kind of ironic, huh?”

  “What?”

  “How I’m in the military, exactly where Dad died in ‘91.”

  “I don’t think it’s irony,” Erik said, crouching down beside him. “You wanted to go to school. All I wanted to do was get away from my dad’s business.”

  “They offered to help you go to school.”

  “I barely made it through high school, Jamie. How the hell would I have made it through college?”

  “What’re you talking about? You managed to make it through medic training.”

  “That’s only because I wasn’t having to read books upon books upon books that rambled on about particular little nerves that didn’t mean a thing.” When Jamie shrugged, Erik laughed and added, “At least your mom was cool.”

  “My mom drove me nuts.”

  “Don’t tell me you weren’t a momma’s boy.”

  “I’m not,” Jamie laughed, smacking his friend’s shoulder. “It happens when you don’t have a dad.”

  Erik sighed. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to bring it up.”

  “It happens.”

  Standing, Erik placed his hands on the railing and looked out at the fog-covered cityscape before them. “Hey,” he said. “Jamie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “So much for the war being over.”

  For a brief moment, Jamie thought about replying. After a moment though, he sighed, stood, and made his way to his friend’s side.

  Only one thought occurred to him the moment he clasped his friend’s shoulder.

  The world really had ended in 2012.

  Later that morning, after both he and Erik had finished their watch duty, Jamie stood beneath the spouting head of a locker-room shower faucet, rolling amidst the freezing waves of bliss that rained down upon him. With power briefly restored by a charitable Kirn and Wills, who’d managed to locate a generator within the boiler room beneath the converted asylum, Jamie had been offered a five-minute shower, one he’d been quick to take immediately upon entering. Erik, meanwhile, had been instructed to take up his position in the lobby, much to his displeasure. Though he pitied his friend, Jamie felt thankful for his moment of solitude.

  Stepping out of the shower, he flipped his towel off its rack and made his way across the brief distance from the shower stall to the sinks. As the fog from the mirror began to clear, revealing grey walls, shower stalls and the charcoal-tiled floor, Jamie leaned forward and examined his reflection. His bangs were a mess and his usually clean-shaven jaw was sprouting a beard. He took a moment to study his new appearance, then reached for a razor and scissors.

  The sarge is going to kill me, he thought, slathering his hand in shaving cream.

  He carefully shaved and trimmed the beard to a neat, almost-professional appearance. His hair he left alone, though it would most likely get him reprimanded, with his straight, boyish bangs hanging over his eyes. No longer did he look like a rugged wildman freshly emerged from the woods. Now he looked handsome, charming even in his own respect.

  “Better than nothing,” he mumbled, stroking his fingers through the hairs hanging from his chin. He took a moment to clean the area before dressing in army casuals and making his way out of the room.

  The moment his foot touched down in the hallway, a pair of hands grabbed him and pushed him against the wall.

  “What took ya so long?” Derek Kirn growled, shoving Jamie against the wall when he tried to step away from it. “Jerking off in there?”

  “I was only in for five minutes.”

  “Five minutes my ass. Look at my watch.” The man raised his wrist. “Five oh one.”

  “Oh,” Jamie smiled. “You gonna tell the sarge I was in the bathroom for one extra minute?”

  “Damn right I will, faggot.”

  “You’re the one who seems obsessed with whether or not I’m jerking off in the bathroom, Kirn. I wouldn’t be calling me a faggot if I were you.”

  “Why you little—”

  “That’s enough,” Sergeant Armstrong said, stepping into the hall. “Is there a problem here?”

  “This little pussy was in the bathroom longer than he was supposed to be,” Kirn said.

  “Yeah,” Donald Wills added. “What Kirn said.”

  “I’ll have you both aware that this little pussy, as you call him, is your commanding officer. Don’t forget, gentlemen, that Mr. Marks here is a corporal.”

  “Fuck that!” Kirn cried. “He was in the bathroom for longer than he should have been!”

  “Like Corporal Marks said, Mr. Kirn, you seem to be a bit too fixated on the fact that your commanding officer was in the bathroom longer than you anticipated.”

  “But you said—”

  “Enough! Kirn, Wills, go to your room. Jerk your dicks on your own time.” With nothing else to say, both men turned and made their way up the stairs, both mumbling under their breaths. Once sure they were out of earshot, the sergeant turned to face Jamie. “My apologies, Corporal. I see you haven’t cut your hair.”

  “Wasn’t in the mood.”

  “Or your beard.”

  “Only had one razor,” Jamie smiled.

  “I’ll let it pass because there’s more important things to attend to. I will, however, ask that you not let Kirn and Wills get away with such behavior.”

  “I wasn’t aware that they weren’t under your orders, sir.”

  “You’re not stupid, Corporal. You know what stands with me and what doesn’t. You’re dismissed until eighteen-hundred hours. Dinner will be served on the second floor.”

  “Thank you sir,” Jamie said, raising his hand to salute.

  After the sergeant saluted him back, Jamie hefted his pack up under his arm and made his way toward his and Erik’s room, all the while dwelling on what the sergeant had said about Kirn, Wills and their control over him.

  You know what goes, the man had said.

  Jamie only wished he did.

  “It’s gotta be aliens,” Kirn said.

  “It could be the government,” Michael suggested.

  “We already know it’s a virus,” Wills said, always one to be clever in his moments of stubbornness. “Roberts is the doctor. He’ll tell you.”

  “I’m not a doctor,” Erik said, “and yes, it is a virus.”

  “How do you know?” Kirn asked.

  “Because it only replicates inside living organisms.”

  “But the things out there are dead,” Michael pointed out. “How can a virus survive outside a living host?”

  “I have no idea,” Erik said, nodding as Desmond slapped down a pair of biscuits and a bowl of soup in front of him. “Thank you.”

  “Biscuits?” Wills asked. “Where in the hell did we get biscuits?”

  “I made them,” Desmond said.

  “I don’t know,” the man continued, narrowing his eyes at the boy. “I’m not sure I trust you…”

  “Just eat the damn biscuit,” the sergeant grumbled, nodding as Desmond set his food before him. “Thank you, young man. Your work is much appreciated.”

  “It’s no trouble, sir.”

  Jamie waited, watching the boy round the table and offer each man his dinner. When Desmond set Wills’ food down in front of him, he waited, likely expecting some kind of lip. When none came, Desmond set Kirn’s food before him, then Dustin’s and Michael’s. When he finally came to Jamie, the boy set the food down with a smile. “Here you are, Corporal.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Jamie nodded, offering the boy a smile.

  With everyone served, Desmond seated himself at the very end of the table and began to eat. A few short moments of silence followed after the teenage cook finished making his rounds at the table, but the previous conversation quickly began to follow suit. Michael and Dustin continued debating over the ethics of the virus with the less-intelligent-than-average Kirn and Wills, while the sergeant, seated between the four men, ate in silence. Erik, always the unusually silent one, kept to himself, a
s did Desmond, who only occasionally looked upon the group.

  This is a bit awkward, Jamie thought, raising an eyebrow when Erik looked up at him. His friend merely shrugged, then dipped a biscuit into the canned beef stew. I already knew not to expect you to talk to me, Erik, but the kid?

  He’d been under the impression that Erik would bond with the boy, or, at the very least, give him a little attention. Then again, he couldn’t really expect Erik to do much of anything, especially with a kid whose very presence most likely dredged up bad memories.

  Aaron died when we were fifteen, he thought, looking down at his soup. Which means it’s been…what? Eleven years?

  It was hard to believe that Erik’s little brother had died so long ago. Afflicted with Leukemia, the seven-year-old had little chance of surviving infancy, let alone his toddler years. The fact that he’d made it so long had been a miracle. Everyone had expected him to beat the disease, or at least go into remission. All the treatment, all the chemo—

  “Jamie?” Desmond asked. “Everything ok?”

  “Everything’s fine,” Jamie said, shooting a glance at Erik, who offered him an indifferent look. “How about you?”

  The boy nodded his head in agreement. “Is your food ok?”

  “It’s great. You said you made the biscuits from scratch?”

  “It wasn’t easy, but I did.” Desmond glanced down the end of the table, to where the sergeant sat between the still-debating civilians and police officers, then whispered, “It’s probably the only time I’m doing it though.”

  “Too much work?” Jamie asked.

  “No. Too much supplies.”

  “But it’s only flour, sugar, shortening, stuff like that, right?”

  “I wanted to get on the sergeant’s good side,” the boy said, “but I won’t get there if the stuff in the kitchen starts disappearing.”

  “Good on you,” Jamie said, clapping the boy’s shoulder. He squeezed Desmond’s arm and returned his gaze to the rest of their small group. “You’ve done a good thing tonight, Desmond.”

  “Sir?”

  “If we’re really in this for the long haul,” Jamie said, “at least this will help us prepare for it.”