by Peter Clines
Stealth shifted her stance again. “What are you implying, Mr. Smith?”
“I’m not trying to imply anything,” he said. “I just think we all need to be aware of where things stand, with no confusion or illusions.”
“So the Mount is now under the Army’s control?”
“Technically, unless you seceded from the United States at some point in the past two years…yeah.”
“Which United States are you referring to?”
The question froze Smith and Freedom. It jarred the others, too. The man in the suit coughed once. “I…I’m not sure I understand your question.”
Stealth crossed her arms. “Which states are still united? California has not had a functioning state government for twenty-two months now. There are no social services in effect. No taxes levied or laws enforced. Its borders and lands are not maintained. As a state, California has ceased to exist by any possible definition. From our own limited reconnaissance, I can say with some certainty it is not alone in this respect. Alaska. Arizona. Florida. Hawaii. Massachusetts. Nevada. New York. Oregon. Texas. Washington.” She paused for a moment, then added, “The District of Columbia.”
Smith shifted his feet.
“So I ask,’ she continued, “which states are still running and operating to the extent they can form a united nation, one which you and these soldiers can represent?”
“Captain,” said Smith, “perhaps you could field this one?”
“Ma’am,” said Freedom, “it’s good that you’re reluctant to hand over everything you’ve saved. But let me assure you, we are here as representatives of the government of the United States. Our commanding officer is in regular contact with the President, who is still in office in principle if not the actual building. We represent one of dozens of military outposts which are trying to re-establish local governments and provide services.”
“Why has it taken you two years to do this?”
“Because, ma’am, believe it or not, you’re not the only people who’ve taken heavy losses.”
Smith cleared his throat. “Can I just say one more thing?”
St. George glanced between Stealth and Smith. Stealth nodded.
“I can’t really speak for the Army,” the man in the suit said, glancing over his shoulder at Freedom. “I’m a loose liaison at best. But I can tell you this is going to be good for you. We’ve got a lot to offer and I know the Army is going to want to offer it. We’re here to help. We’re not going to take everything you’ve got and leave you helpless like…” He shrugged and gave a smile. “Well, if you’ll pardon me saying it, like the military would in some bad zombie movie.”
Barry let out a loud cough and shot St. George a look.
“If Doctor Morris decides to come out to Yuma for a while,” Smith continued, “we’ll supplement your defenses with troops, weapons, whatever you need that we can supply.”
Stealth still hadn’t moved. “What do you propose?”
Something tugged at Danielle’s leg as Smith replied. Barry gave her a look. She bent her head to his. “What?”
“Seriously,” he said. “This guy?”
“What about him?”
“You and him? He looks like he’s barely out of high school and he acts like Burke in Aliens .”
Her lips pulled into a faint smile. “It was convenient, I guess,” she said. “We barely had anything in common, and he put his job above everything else.”
“I’m old enough,” said Barry. “You can just say it was for the sex.”
“Honestly, I don’t even remember the sex being that great. We were together for a few months while I was building the suit and then he moved out, left me with a drawer full of shirts he didn’t want, and that was it.”
“He didn’t even show up to end it? Not even a phone call?”
“Nope. We traded a few emails later. Guess we both knew it wasn’t working.”
“Want me to blast him for you?”
She laughed. It was the first time Barry had heard her laugh in months. The others glanced over and she waved them off. “You know what’s the worst?” she whispered to Barry. “I swore for ages I’d kick his ass the next time I saw him. Now it’s just so damned great to see someone from…from before all of this. Someone from the real world. Even if it’s him. Does that make sense?”
The man in the chair nodded.
“I can have another Black Hawk out here tomorrow,” Smith told St. George. “Two days, tops. It’ll take Doctor Morris and the Cerberus suit, plus anyone else who wants to come. You can meet Colonel Shelly, our CO, and we can all shake hands and talk about what we can do for each other.” He looked at Danielle. “We’ve got full machine shops out there and even some manufacturing facilities. There’s no way you can tell me the suit doesn’t need a full strip-down and cleaning.”
Stealth was a statue.
“Look,” said Smith, “they want to help. It’s their job, remember? Protect American civilians. You’ve got nothing to worry about.” He shrugged. “Do you want a tour of the Krypton base first? I’m sure I could set something up.”
“That might not be a bad idea,” said St. George with a glance at Stealth.
Smith nodded. “Okay. Do you want to do it yourself or have somebody else go?” He looked at Barry. “Didn’t I see on a television special or something that you can fly at the speed of light? You could be there and back before lunch, right?”
“I’m not that fast, but I could.”
Smith’s head bobbed again and he looked from the heroes to Freedom. “So how’s this sound? We send the three Apaches away so everyone feels a little more relaxed. We get another Black Hawk out here tomorrow morning. While we’re getting the Cerberus suit loaded and stowed, Zzzap flies out to Krypton, looks around, gives a yes or no. If it’s a no, he’s back here to say so before we’re even ready to leave. Does that work for everyone?”
They all agreed. Even Stealth gave a slow nod of her head. “I always wanted to fly to Krypton,” said Barry with a smile.
“Great.” Smith turned back to the huge officer. “Freedom, could you have someone report in and check on a helicopter for tomorrow morning?”
Freedom turned and barked out an order to Monroe. Monroe relayed it to someone else and a soldier broke from the crowd and headed for the Black Hawk. When Freedom turned back, Barry was in front of him.
“Have you ever thought of a shield?” Barry mimed something circular on his arm. “Maybe in a patriotic color scheme? It could really work for you.”
“If it helps,” said Danielle, “we ignore half of what he says, too.”
Stealth had vanished. St. George realized she was probably halfway back to her office by now. He wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. When he saw her next time he’d have to ask.
“This is amazing,” said Smith. The man had moved to stand near St. George as they looked at the celebrating crowds. “Sorry to sound like a broken record but it is. We’ve checked so many places and if we found twenty or thirty survivors it was a miracle.”
“I didn’t think we were special,” said the hero. “I figured every city had a few thousand survivors holed up somewhere.”
Smith shook his head. “I wish. Phoenix is a ghost town, same with Scottsdale, Mesa, Tucson. We’ve never been able to raise anyone at White Sands or Camp Pendleton.” He shook his head again. “You must have every living person in southern California here.”
“No,” said St. George. “There’s a group of about two hundred people down in Beverly Hills. They’re what’s left of a street gang called the South Seventeens. Real die-hards who refused to join us here in the Mount.” He shrugged. “We check in on them once a week or so, make sure they’re doing okay. And we still find a few survivors here and there who’ve managed to make it this long on their own, although…” He looked past the helicopters to the gate. “It’s been a while since we found anyone.”
“Hey,” said the younger man. “I know it’s been tough, but this isn
’t the day to be getting morose. This is the day it all gets better. You saved all these people. You brought them through hell and got them home.”
St. George looked at Freedom talking with Danielle and Barry, the Black Hawks flanking the Melrose Gate, and the crowd mobbing the soldiers. “I guess we did,” he said.
“Hell, yeah, you did.” Smith gave him a punch in the arm. “Welcome back to the United States of America.”
Chapter 13 - The Spirit of Freedom
THEN
My great-great grandfather was born a slave. On his fourth birthday he and everyone he knew became free citizens of the United States. When he was eighteen, he changed our family name to what he thought was the greatest word in the English language. I never met him, but my father did. It’s a powerful thing, to think how short a time that was.
Now there’s a black man in the White House. And a black man was selected to be the symbol of the new American military. It was a long process for both of us.
My first posting as an officer was Iraq. December of 2003. I’d been there for eight weeks, a freshly-minted second lieutenant, when a soldier in my section, Private First Class Adam James, found a well-constructed IED on a patrol. He was killed instantly. From what I was told later, the two soldiers on either side of him were dead within the hour. They were lucky never to regain consciousness. Sergeant James Cole lost his left leg and three fingers off his left hand. I was thrown fifteen feet into the side of our Humvee.
Three men dead. One crippled for life. I suffered a concussion, a broken arm that needed two pins, five fractured ribs that got wire supports, and eleven pieces of shrapnel which needed to be surgically removed. One of the doctors said they took out as much metal as they put in. I know some men and women who save such things as trophies. I didn’t want to be reminded of failing the people under my command.
I spent three months in a hospital in Germany, received a Purple Heart, and was put back in the field. I always prefer to be in the field, and those days an officer who went into the field willingly was considered an asset.
Six years later I was standing in front of the colonel’s desk at Project Krypton, asking to be assigned to the field. It was May fourteenth, 2009. I recall thinking later we should mark it as the day the world ended, but that kind of negative thinking was bad for morale.
“They’re mindless things,” Shelly told me. “This virus turns people into walking vegetables. No real threat at all unless they’re in large numbers. The media’s just blowing things out of proportion again.”
I hadn’t served under the colonel for long. I don’t think I even knew if he was married or not at that point. I did know he was a horrible liar. Lying is a politician’s game, not a soldier’s. All good soldiers are bad liars. The best ones are horrible at it.
Shelly was lying. There were uprisings in every major city. Even Yuma proper had reported a few dozen wandering the streets. If there were dozens wandering the street in a state where more than half the citizens carried firearms on a regular basis, it didn’t bode well for anywhere else. But he was a good soldier, and his orders told him it wasn’t a crisis and we weren’t needed.
“Be that as it may, sir,” I said, “I’m requesting deployment into one of the hot spots. The Unbreakables are ready to go.”
“It’s still too soon for active deployment,” Shelly said. “Sorensen thinks all of you need another month or so of observation. Especially you, captain. It’s been three weeks since you finished your treatments.”
“And I feel excellent, sir. Better than excellent.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. It was what passed for a polite smile in the colonel’s office. “The official decision, captain, is you and your men would just be overkill.”
The Unbreakables had only been my men for a month. But I knew they were good soldiers. When I was first introduced to them, Shelly and Sorensen assured me they weren’t picked just for their names. I think the doctor found something funny about it. I’m sure similar coincidences have happened in every branch of the service at one time or another.
Besides, I’ve taken enough good-natured ribbing about my name over the years. I can’t say anything about anyone else’s. According to my mother, I was named after her father and the sitting president when I was born. As my father tells it, I was named for his boyhood hero, a man of honor and the greatest soldier of two worlds. I’ve often sided with my father when the topic has come up.
“From what I’ve heard, sir,” I said, “the actual heroes are trying to pitch in and not having much luck. We’d hardly be overkill.”
“Really?” said Shelly. His voice was dry. “What exactly have you heard, captain?”
“Through official sources, sir, I’ve heard they’ve deployed the Cerberus exoskeleton in Washington D.C.”
“Official sources is Agent Smith shooting his mouth off again, correct?”
“Yes sir.”
“What else have you heard?”
The base was locked down, but rumors still made their way in. A few sources said the heroes were kicking zombie ass everywhere they went, but most of them told me the heroes were making no headway at all. They were slowing the spread of the infection at best. And there were a few stories that some of them had died. Even one or two claims they’d come back, and there were super-powered zombies overwhelming the police in some cities. It did occur to me that no one could name which heroes had died.
“Nothing else, sir,” I said.
He nodded. I was sure there was nothing I’d heard that he hadn’t. “Is that all, captain?”
“Sir,” I said, “permission to speak freely?”
“Granted.”
“As I understand it, sir, all of B company is being pulled out of Yuma and redeployed in civilian centers.”
“Yes,” he said, “they are. There’s still more than enough forces stateside to deal with this epidemic, especially with a few platoons of regular Army backing them up.”
“Regardless, sir, isn’t this just what the Unbreakables were created for? If our control group is gone, any testing has to be over. If the testing is over, there’s no reason for us not to be doing our jobs.”
Colonel Shelly considered my words and a red drop swelled up under his nose. In the desert climate, nosebleeds aren’t uncommon. First Sergeant Paine tells me two or three of the soldiers in A company get them. I opened my mouth to say something and the drop hit the bursting point, too big to support its own weight. It became a red line across the colonel’s lips. A few drops hit his paperwork.
“Damn it.” He pinched his nose and tilted his head back.
“Can I get you anything, sir?”
“Thank you, no,” he sighed. “Captain, for the time being you and your men are not needed in this action. You will remain assigned to the proving ground. Those are your orders. Is that clear?”
“Yes sir.”
That was that. He took his hand away from his nose and returned my salute. His attention went back to the paperwork on his desk. He yanked a kleenex from a drawer to dab at it. I’d reached the door when he called out to me.
“Captain Freedom.”
“Yes sir?”
He held out the blood-streaked warning order he’d been working on. “Take the Unbreakables toward Yuma tomorrow morning and see if you can find any civilians in need of assistance. Bring three transports with you in case you need to evacuate anyone. Deal with any infected you encounter.”
“Yes sir. Thank you, sir.”
I left his office and got a quick salute from his staff sergeant who was talking with First Sergeant Paine. Paine fell in next to me as we headed out into the hall. Walking side by side we filled the hallway. “Orders, sir?”
“Orders,” I said. “Finally.” I handed Paine the warning order. “Get first platoon prepared. We head out at oh-six-thirty. Any questions?”
He skimmed the paper. “None, sir.” He gave a sharp salute and reversed direction. I walked around the corner and almost flattened
Doctor Sorensen. He glanced up at me.
“Captain,” he said.
“Doctor.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine, sir,” I said.
“What did you lift in the gym last night?”
“I’m up to twenty-two-fifty on the bench press, sir,” I told him. “I’m limited now by what can fit on the bar.”
He gave a nod. “I should’ve thought of that sooner,” he said. He reached out and pressed on my bicep with two fingers. His hand moved up and he tried to drive his thumb into the spot where my pecs ran into my shoulders. “Any muscle pain?”
“None at all, sir. Not even aches from exercising.”
“Excellent.” He peered over his glasses into my eyes. “How’s your appetite? Still good?”
“I’m on double servings, sir, but I think I’m burning most of it off.”
“Converting most of it straight to muscle and bone mass is more likely. Have you weighed yourself today?”
I’d started weighing myself every day while I was at West Point. For a man my size it’s important to keep off extra pounds. Since beginning Sorensen’s process I’d been gaining weight steadily. “Three-hundred and twenty-nine pounds,” I told him.
“Measured yourself?”
“Sir?”
“Your jacket seems a bit tight. I think you may have grown another inch.”
“It’s possible, sir.”
“Remind me to check during our next exam.”
“Yes, sir. If you’ll pardon me, sir, I need to prepare.”
His brows went up. “What for?”
“Nothing to worry about, sir. Standard recon in Yuma, looking for refugees and infected.”
“I see,” he said. He let it hang in the air. “Colonel Shelly is in, then?”
“I believe he is, sir. I just spoke with him a moment ago.”
“Thank you, captain.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The doctor had been distracted these past weeks. His family was back on the east coast. A wife and daughter, as I understood it. As the situation across the country had been getting worse he’d been debating if they should come out to join him at Krypton.
