by Steven Till
“Alright dude, here’s what we're gonna do. You remember that Army/Navy store on Liberty? I’m going to head there and grab some weapons; there are people killing each other in the streets. We're never gonna make it if we can't defend ourselves. I can try to meet you at the Steel Plaza T station. We'll take the subway out of the city.”
“They've probably stopped running the trains, bro,” Ronnie stated. “If they wanna keep us in, then they wouldn’t want the subway running.”
“Yeah, I thought of that. We can follow the subway tunnels to the North Shore Connector that runs under the river to the stadiums. That would get us across the river and on the north side of town.”
Ronnie seemed a bit more optimistic now. “You're a certified genius, man.”
“Let’s hope so. Alright, I need to call Eve and see if she’s okay. I'll meet you at the subway station in about thirty minutes.”
“Right on.”
Nathan ended the call and speed dialed Evelyn. The phone rang and rang; finally, she answered.
“The Sprint customer you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. At the tone…”
Fuck. Something had to be wrong. She definitely would have answered the call, especially knowing that he was downtown and near the riots in the South Side. He tried again, hoping that she just couldn't get to the phone in time, but yielded the same result.
I gotta get home, he thought as he turned left onto Sixth Avenue, crossed Penn Avenue, and ran a block up to Liberty. The city was now in a full blown panic. Cars gridlocked every street and intersection. The sidewalks were overrun with throngs of pedestrians, most of whom were in a big hurry to get the hell out of there. Nathan pushed his way through the oncoming people traffic and managed to go the three blocks to the surplus store. He sidestepped into the doorway and peered in through the safety glass door.
The place appeared to be vacant, although after his encounter at the 7-Eleven, he wasn’t about to assume anything. Someone had shattered the glass near the lock and mangled the security mesh. Reaching his hand in, he turned the door lock, opened it, and walked into the store. The place appeared to be deserted. No sounds emanated from inside. He looked around and took a mental inventory of equipment he might need. The fact that he had zero military, survival, or weapons training didn't bother him; coming up with a shopping list was more or less common sense. Not to mention, he’d seen a lot of action movies.
Still, he wished that Evelyn was here. She had amassed a vast knowledge of this kind of stuff while researching her books. The Navy even allowed her to shadow SEAL training while she was working on her last political thriller. While at the Naval base in Coronado, Evelyn had sent him a slew of pictures, most of which depicted her surrounded by hard-bodied, roughneck SEAL candidates. Dressed in the same attire as the recruits, she looked like one of the boys. She knew how to shoot. She knew how to handle herself. She knew how to survive.
The first thing Nathan decided to do was to get a change of clothes. The khakis, button down shirt and loafers wouldn't cut it in this situation. People were going crazy all throughout the city as far as he could tell. The temperature continued to plummet, so he had to go more tactical with the attire. A few minutes later, he was clad in tactical winter gear; heavy coat and cargo pants covered in pockets, wool socks, insulated combat boots, and gloves. He looked like a soldier ready for war. I bet Eve would be pretty turned-on if she saw me in this getup, he thought. Now, time for some weapons.
Grabbing a large duffel bag and backpack, he walked up and down each aisle, pausing here and there to grab items off the shelves. First aid supplies, a few ready-to-eat meal packs, flashlights, batteries, a canteen, iodine tablets, rope, a couple KA-Bar knives, and anything else he remembered seeing in all those war flicks.
He then went to the front of the store. Breaking the glass of the display counter, he began to fill the duffel bag. A few 9mm semi-automatic pistols, a 12-gauge pump-action shotgun, a couple of UMP45 automatic sub-machine guns, and a shit load of ammunition for them. I might not be as well-versed in this stuff as Eve, but I played a lot of Call of Duty on the Xbox, he thought as he chuckled to himself. Time to see if I’m as good with these weapons in real life as I am in video games.
The gear weighed a ton and would slow him down, but whoever was crazy enough to chase him with all this firepower wasn't going to be standing long enough to chase him far. As he headed towards the door, he saw something that caught his eye. Nathan hurried over and picked up the large, black machete. I always wanted one of these.
Before he could turn back towards the exit, the sound of a shotgun round chambering sounded behind him.
“Don’t… Move… A muscle…” said a scratchy voice behind him. “Hands above your head. Now.”
Nathan complied, raising his hands up, still clutching the machete. So far he was batting a thousand. He should have checked the store to see if he was alone before going on his shopping spree. It would be nice if he was able to catch a break. At this rate, he definitely needed one if he was to make it back to Evelyn. He hoped that she was alright.
“Now, drop the bags… And that machete,” commanded the raspy voice.
“You got it. There’s no need to shoot me. I don’t mean any harm,” Nathan said, trying to sound as calm as possible. He guessed that the man behind him was the owner of the store and assumed that the guy was also a vet, which meant that he knew a plethora of creative and efficient ways to kill him.
The man behind him laughed, mucus tumbling around his lungs with each cackle. “No, you just decided to come on in and help yourself.”
“I’m sorry about that. I didn't know anyone was here. I needed some stuff that would help me get back home to my fiancé. All hell is breaking loose out there and she’s in trouble. I would be more than happy to pay for everything I took, if you would just let me leave.”
“Turn around, son,” the man said.
Nathan turned and faced his captor, surprised at what he saw before him. Sure enough, the man before him was, in fact, a veteran. Vietnam he guessed by his age. Various service patches covered his old green BDU shirt. The man wore a black beret which donned the Army Ranger insignia, confirming that this guy could definitely kill him a dozen different ways with his bare hands. The name patch on his shirt read Kapinsky and the rank patch on his sleeve indicated that he was a Master Sergeant.
Kapinsky didn't look well. He was pale, with dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. Sweat beaded over his face and flowed freely, soaking his shirt. Dried blood caked the corners of his mouth. Nathan saw a field dressing wrapped around his left hand; dark blood had soaked through the gauze and dripped onto the floor. Crap, this guy looks like he’s caught whatever was turning people into monsters… And he was holding him at gunpoint!
The old vet eyed him over. “Ya know, you’re the fourth person who’s tried to rob me today. One sumbitch even bit me just a bit ago. Now, with each one of those lootin’, greedy little bastards, I exercised my Second Amendment right with extreme prejudice, especially with the one who tried to eat me. Now give me one good reason why I shouldn't liberate your insides from your body.”
“I can give you three, Master Sergeant,” Nathan answered, keeping his voice steady and confident. “First, I will pay for the things that I took.”
Kapinsky seemed surprised that Nathan had addressed him by his rank. Most civies were completely ignorant to what those stripes on his sleeve represented. He was also impressed with the fact that the young man before him showed no fear, especially since he was looking down the barrel of a 12-gauge tactical shotgun.
“Second, I have a lady at home who needs my help, and I would cross rivers of lava and fight any army that stood in my way to get back to her.”
This kid was serious. He didn’t show any fear because he was hell-bent on getting home. He was either stupid in love with this girl, or just plain stupid, Kapinsky thought.
“And third, Master Sergeant, with all due respect, you look like shit. You n
eed to get to a doctor and I could help you get to one. Mercy hospital is just a few blocks north; I’m sure that between the two of us, we could get there in good time.”
Narrowing his eyes, Kapinsky lowered the shotgun. “You know, son, you’re the first person today who’s been straight with me. In my experience, the only men you can trust are honest ones. Plus, the fact that you didn’t piss yourself where you stand while I held you at gunpoint tells me that you‘ve got some grapefruits between them legs of yours. You’re gonna need ‘em for what I’m about to ask you to do.”
The roughneck walked by Nathan and headed towards the front counter. “Grab your gear, son and follow me.”
Picking up the backpack and duffel bag, he followed the Master Sergeant past the counter and through a door that led to a small storage room. The space was dimly lit, illuminated by a single naked light bulb which hung from the ceiling in the middle of the room. Various military items lined the shelves along the perimeter of the large closet. Situated in the center was a small wooden table and an old office chair. Resting on the table was an ashtray, a cigarette, Army issue Zippo, a shot glass, and a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. He set the bags down next to the doorway.
For some reason, a scene from Pulp Fiction flashed through Nathan’s brain. He didn’t see a ball gag, or a large trunk holding a leather-clad man anywhere in the room, so he doubted that his new Army buddy was planning on sodomizing him. Well, that’s one thing that’s going my way, he thought.
“Um, sir, I’m not sure what we’re doing in here, but maybe I should just pay for all this shit and get you to the hospital.”
Kapinsky walked around the table and sat down in the creaky old chair. “Have a seat, son,” he said as he opened the whiskey and poured himself a double shot.
Nathan looked around the room, but the old war vet had taken the only chair. Seeing a five gallon bucket nearby, he slid it over to the table and sat down, looking like a kid sitting at the grown-up table.
“I’m not gonna charge you for any of that stuff,” said Kapinsky, nodding to the bags on the floor. “I won’t be needing money where I’m going.”
He threw the whiskey down his throat and slammed the empty shot glass down onto the table. The burn of the shot threw the man into a coughing fit, throwing small flecks of blood onto the table. When the hacking finally stopped, the Master Sergeant poured another double and slid the glass towards Nathan.
“Here, drink this.”
“Oh… Um… Thanks, but I’m more of a fruity, umbrella kind of guy. I appreciate…” Nathan started, but the man across the table interrupted.
“Drink the fucking whiskey.”
The glass was to his mouth and the liquor screamed down his gullet. He managed to set the glass back onto the table and gave a rough cough from the fiery sensation that permeated his throat. Kapinsky gave a wry smile.
“You’ll thank me later for that,” he said.
He poured himself another shot and gulped it down, managing to stifle a second fit of blood-spraying coughing. He then picked up the cigarette and lit it up with the well-worn Zippo. Nathan could picture the man sitting in the jungles of Vietnam, lighting up a smoke with the same lighter. After taking a long drag, he placed the cigarette in the ashtray notch and exhaled slowly. Smoke billowed out around him and gave the room a creepy haze that one might see in an old noir film.
“So here’s what’s gonna go down Private,” Kapinsky said, looking Nathan straight in the eyes. “I ain’t goin’ to no doctor. There’s no point in it. One of those freaks out there bit me and now I have it. I don’t know what it is, but I’m no dumbass; I’ve seen what happens to people who get bitten.”
He picked up his smoke and took another long drag.
“I’ve been throwing up strawberry jam for the past twenty minutes, so I have a feeling this is gonna happen soon and I can tell ya right now, I’m not ending up like one of those things.”
He slid his shotgun across the table.
“So my question to you Shirley, is do you have the chutzpa to give me an honorable death?”
Nathan stood and cleared his throat, not sure how he should answer. He had never killed anyone before and he didn't want to shoot an unarmed man. Self-defense was one thing, but this was just plain murder.
“I’m not sure I can do that, Sarge. I mean, I’ve never shot anybody before. Couldn’t you just do it yourself?”
The man’s eyes squinted. “If I could do it myself, then you wouldn’t be standing here right now, would you? I asked you for an honorable death. A soldier’s death. There’s no honor in me taking the coward’s way out by offing myself.”
Nathan stepped towards the table, poured another shot of JD, and raised it to his lips with a shaky hand. The second shot went down a little smoother than the first, but it still felt like battery acid to him. The painful burn paled in comparison to the knot that was forming in his stomach. Kapinsky flashed another sardonic grin at him and took another deep drag on his smoke.
“Quit pussy-footin’ around and help an old soldier find some peace. The alternative is me shooting you in the leg and then eating you after I turn into one of those zombie-things,” he said as he exhaled another plume of smoke.
Nathan sat quietly back down on the bucket as he contemplated the task before him. Shooting people in a video game was one thing, but this was for real. He felt for the old guy, but could he do what the retired Master Sergeant asked of him? He wasn’t sure. Kapinsky finished his smoke and lit another. He released a long, tired sigh.
“I killed a lot of people during the war. A lot of them were the bad guys,” the Master Sergeant started, his tone was somber. He took another drag on his cigarette.
“A lot of them were not. Women, children… They all ended up in my crosshairs. The enemy had employed guerrilla tactics the likes of which we never encountered before. Charlie began using civilians as weapons; they strapped explosives to children and gave guns to the elderly. Soon, everyone became the enemy. I told myself I was serving my country; doing my duty and becoming the best damn soldier I could. In the end though, all I had become was a murderer.” The man took another long drag on his smoke. “I’ve got no more fight left in me, kid. The tank’s empty. All I’m asking is for you to send me off in a blaze of glory.” Kapinsky poured another shot and gulped it down.
“We’re in another war, son,” he said as his stare bored into Nathan’s. “The enemy is out there and this time, we’re not going to win. There’s nobody left to save us, kid. Mother Nature has taken over and She will destroy us with merciless efficiency.”
The two men sat in silence. Nathan contemplated the man’s words. There was no question that Kapinsky had seen a lifetime of horror during his service. No doubt he suffered from Post-traumatic Stress Disorder, but this didn’t sound like the ravings of a disturbed man. It was a confession and a warning. Perhaps it was his small way of atoning for his sins. The Master Sergeant had gone paler and paler as the minutes ticked by. Another coughing fit started; more of the thick, dark blood spurted from Kapinsky’s mouth.
Nathan picked the shotgun off of the old wooden table. It felt heavy in his hands. Fuck, I’m actually going to do this? I’m going to blow this guy away. Right here. He didn’t want to do it, but it was far better for the old war vet than the alternative.
“Okay, so how do I do this?” he asked as he turned the gun over in his hands.
The Master Sergeant’s grin grew into a huge smile, exposing blood-stained teeth. “That’s the spirit, soldier!”
He poured himself one last shot for the road, drank it, and dragged on the cigarette again. Nathan could tell he was trying to savor his vices as much as possible for the few remaining minutes he had left. Sarge pulled the last drag of his smoke into his lungs, throwing him into a fit of coughing which sprayed more red flecks of fluid onto the whiskey bottle. After a minute, the coughing subsided and the vet was finally able to catch his breath.
“I don’t have much longer, son
. Better get this over with quick,” he said as he straightened himself in the chair. “You see that switch on the side there by the trigger? That’s the safety. Right now it’s engaged, so you need to flip it up.”
Nathan disengaged the safety and stood square in front of the table, lifting the gun up and taking aim at Kapinsky’s chest.
“Okay, I think I’m ready. Are you sure about this?” Nathan asked.
A look of seriousness washed over the soldier’s face. “Son, I’ve seen women tortured and raped for days at a time. I watched napalm melt the flesh off of screaming babies. I have never been more goddamn sure about anything in my fucked-up life.”
There was no tough-guy posturing. No facade. The man spoke like a man ready to let go. To absolve himself of the horrors that he had seen and done. Nathan took aim down the barrel of the gun, his pulse was racing at a furious pace and his breathing was bordering on panting. He took a moment and closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down. He wouldn’t be doing this guy any favors if his nervousness caused him to miss. He regained some of his composure and opened his eyes.
The vet stared back at him with blood-red eyes, his skin had gone three shades paler. A maniacal grin spread across his face and just as Nathan was about to pull the trigger, Sarge uttered his last profound words; a quote from his favorite war movie.
“NOTHIN’ LIKE THE SMELL OF NAPALM IN THE MORNING!”
Nathan squeezed. The boom stick thundered in the confined space and kicked him back. Instantly, the man’s head liquefied into a fine mist of blood, brains, and bone. The velocity of the shotgun blast painted the floor and back wall with fine bits of gore. Nathan lowered the gun, feeling the ache in his shoulder from the recoil. He stood there for a moment looking at the remains of Master Sergeant Michael Kapinsky. A moment later, he reached for the whiskey, poured himself a glass, and drank. After two more shots, he turned and walked out the door, grabbing the backpack and large duffel bag on the way.
