“The Klowns are out there,” Rawlings went on, “and they know we’re in here. Some heavy shit is coming, and we’re going to be in it neck deep. Because mark my words, gentlemen, it’s only a matter of time before the Klowns get in or the civilians get pissed off enough to take a shot at us. If we want to survive, we’re going to have to work together.”
She slapped a magazine into the carbine’s well and propped the weapon against the wall next to her. “All right, then. Enough of this kumbaya shit. Let’s talk about how we’re going to get out of here alive.”
TWENTY-SEVEN.
Lt. Colonel Harry Lee’s eyes roamed across the big board and the drone footage rolling on multiple monitors. All displayed the progress of First Battalion’s scattered elements as they moved through Greater Boston’s clogged arteries and converged on Hanscom. The soldiers were fighting hard for every mile, their vehicles keeping just ahead of the mass migration of infected citizens pouring out of the burning city.
Major Walker had proven to be a slippery one, but he’d probably saved the battalion with his subversive maneuvering. Aside from the crazies, tens of thousands of dazed refugees were on the move. They were easy pickings on the street. The crazies killed or infected them, swelling their own numbers into an irresistible flood.
First Battalion was in full retreat. Lee was starting to tremble with exhaustion. He was sweating, and his body ached. He’d been standing for hours with every muscle clenched with tension. Those were his boys out there, and if they failed, it was game over. The burden of command brought a heady sense of responsibility he hadn’t anticipated.
He gratefully accepted a cup of strong coffee from a second lieutenant. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had some decent chow and sleep.
“Watch it,” he murmured as Alpha Company’s vehicles stacked up at a bottleneck. “Cover your flanks and rear until you get things squared away.”
He was about to ask for the radio when Captain Randy “Hallelujah” Hayes sent vehicles out in every direction to provide security to the main column. Lee saw the fifties rocking in the gun turrets. White particles fluttered to the ground around the gunners—ash falling from the sky as if it were snowing in high summer. Tracers zipped downrange. The big rounds chewed up people and vehicles.
Seeing the way the Alpha boys pounded their opposition made Lee consider—just for a moment—ordering them to turn around and go back into Boston. Concentrated, his lightfighters could deliver incredible firepower. They appeared almost invincible.
But appearances were deceiving. Pulling out was the right thing to do. Boston was a lost cause, its people fled or infected, its once proud buildings slowly converting into ash. Lee doubted his forces had enough bullets to do the job at this point.
“Radio,” he said.
A staff sergeant gave him the phone. Lee barked instructions to the Apaches assigned to provide top cover for Alpha. He directed cannon fire at several civilian vehicles speeding along an open stretch of road toward Alpha’s position.
He handed the radio back and sipped his coffee. On one of the video monitors, he kept watch on a speeding white Cadillac. Welded spikes protruded from its hood and roof, onto which a grisly array of severed heads had been mounted.
The vehicle wilted under chain gun fire from one of the Apaches then burst into a fireball.
Good work. Behind him, one of the staff sergeants whistled. The staff appeared to be in good spirits. The command post hummed with new energy. They were losing, but they were doing something. They had a new mission, one they could understand, one that had promise. They were getting the hell out from under the big hammer.
They weren’t retreating. No. He hadn’t put it like that during his speech at Prince’s funeral, which he’d kept short on platitudes and long on communicating the new strategy. He called it “redeployment.” They’d fought the good fight, accomplished what they could, and they were returning to Fort Drum. If there were infected at Drum, they’d clean house. If there were survivors, they’d help them.
The soldiers had looked back at him with faces lined with constant stress and fatigue. They didn’t cheer. But he saw a new gleam in their hollowed eyes. Lee hoped the men coming back from Boston felt the same way about their new mission. Together, they’d go to Fort Drum. They’d rest and refit then plan their next move.
Bravo Company approached the wire. They’d made it.
Lee heard cheering outside. “Major,” he said, “take over here. Back in five.”
Walker snapped to it. “Yes, sir.”
Lee wanted to greet Captain Marsh personally. It wasn’t going to be a pleasant meeting. He had bad news: The captain’s missing platoon had gone into one of the hospitals and had been virtually overrun. And Marsh was going to have to hand over his wounded, who would be locked up and cared for in a special quarantine facility on base.
All in all, the next few days would severely test Lee’s diplomatic skills. If he was going to succeed as the new commanding officer, he needed the support of the field officers.
He stepped out of the command post as the column of Humvees rolled through the gate and began to coil near the maintenance building. Soldiers shouted and slapped the metal hides of the vehicles as they rumbled past. The gunners smiled down at them and flashed the victory sign.
They stiffened at the sight of Lee.
One by one, they saluted him as they passed.
TWENTY-EIGHT.
Wade knew he had to come clean with Rawlings.
He’d seen a lot of zombie movies back in high school. There was always some guy who got bitten but kept it secret from everybody else. Wade could never understand the motivation. If you knew you were infected and going to die, why not tell the others in your group? He always pictured himself in that situation, thinking he’d grab the nearest weapon and go out in a blaze of glory. With nothing to lose, he’d sacrifice himself so that others might live.
The real world was not a movie. In the real world, the monsters didn’t shamble around trying to eat you; they howled with laughter while they pressed a hot iron into your face. Wade didn’t know if he was infected. If there was any chance he wasn’t, he didn’t want to be tossed out on the street to face those things alone. And if he was, he wasn’t sure he could handle being rejected and tossed out by the group. He needed them in more ways than one.
Still, he owed them the truth. If there was any chance he could be a danger to them, they should know about it. The need to come clean felt like a crushing weight.
Wade found Rawlings standing in front of one of the big picture windows overlooking the crowds boiling in the stadium.
She greeted him with a nod before returning to the view. “I was just thinking about human nature, Wade.”
“What about it?”
“Cooperate versus compete. When the shit hits the fan, most people try to do the right thing. Then some assholes go and ruin it for everybody. See those guys?” She pointed at a gang of teenagers at the eastern edge of the playing field.
He nodded. “Yeah. What about them?”
“At least once a day, they drag some girl under the stands.”
Wade frowned with disgust. “We should—”
“There isn’t a damn thing we can do about it.”
“Well,” he said. He didn’t know what to say.
“More people come in every day. Nowhere out there is safe now.”
Wade asked, “It’s safe in here?”
She offered up a grim smile. “You’re a quick study, Private Wade.”
They stood in silence for a few moments, watching the crowd. A boom box down in the camp played a rap song that pounded the air with its bass line. Wade shook his head at the stupidity. If he could hear the music up here, the Klowns could hear it out there.
After a while, Rawlings nudged him and swept her arm across the view. “One day, my son, all this will be yours.”
He smiled at her humor. Rawlings was like no other woman he’d ever known, the polar
opposite of the girls back in high school, who were so insecure yet so full of themselves. With Rawlings, what you saw was what you got. He really liked her.
One more reason to come clean.
But all the more reason to fear her loathing and rejection.
“Why don’t we leave?” he asked. “It seems to me we’re sitting ducks here.”
“We’re healing, Wade. We need every minute of rest to get our fighting spirit back. Without it, we won’t last five minutes on the street. We’ll be dead meat out there.”
“We can do it,” he assured her.
“What about the other twenty guys here who are still too messed up to wipe their own asses? We need to give them every chance to come around and step up. I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell am not super excited about leaving them behind to get chopped up.”
Wade nodded. She was right. But at some point, they were going to have to make a tough decision if they wanted to survive.
“You’re cutting it awfully close,” he said. If it wasn’t too late already.
“I know. I just don’t want to leave them.” She winced. “And maybe I’m a little scared, okay?”
Wade hated seeing her forced to admit that. Of course she was scared. They were all scared. They were terrified. He wanted to put his arm around her and comfort her. He patted her shoulder instead. “It’s going to be all right.”
“I grew up here. Bean Town is my home. It’s all going up in smoke. History itself. All those people…” Rawlings wiped her eyes and set her jaw. “I’ll face it when I’m ready.”
“And then what? What’s the plan?”
“You know the egress routes and the rally point. Assuming we get out of the building alive, we strike west. Travel only at night. Cross the river. Then north all the way to Hanscom.”
“You’re coming with us?”
“Camp Edwards is too far away. Think they’ll let me join your club?”
“We’ll make a mountaineer out of you in no time, Sergeant.”
“Once you’re back with the Tenth, I’ll be just another Nasty Girl to you hotshots.”
Wade smiled. “Not a chance.”
“I can’t stay with you boys anyway. I’ll find a Guard unit after we get to Hanscom. Gotta get back to my Bay Staters. No offense or anything to you mountaineers.”
“Hanscom’s pretty far too. Twenty klicks at least.”
“Then I hope you know how to hotwire a car,” she said brightly. “The only other option is to head downtown toward the sound of gunfire and hope the people doing the firing is a Guard unit.”
“Listen, I need to tell you something.” His heart suddenly pounded in his chest. His voice sounded thin. He took a deep breath. “Can I tell you something important?”
Rawlings eyed him warily and crossed her arms. “What is it? Shoot.”
“I might have the Bug.”
She looked around to make sure nobody else heard. The other men lay on the floor facing the walls. She hissed, “Why do you say that?”
“My sergeant was infected. He licked his knife and cut my face with it.”
“You’ve been here for days. The Bug incubates faster than that. You’d be a Klown by now.”
“Maybe they were wrong. Maybe it takes longer with some people.”
“That’s not what we were told. That’s all I’m saying.”
He thought about it. “Do you think I’m immune?”
“Who knows? The Bug doesn’t survive very long outside the body. Maybe it died before you got that cut. Hell, Wade, it could be anything. But the fact is you aren’t sick.”
“Okay.” He let out a long shuddering sigh. “Okay.”
She snorted. “Is this what’s had you all tied up in knots? God, most of us were wounded before we got here. We were all exposed, just like you. Private Wade, you need to think about more important things. Things like you lost people you really cared about. Like it wasn’t your fault they died. Like you need to keep fighting if you want to survive. Like how much the rest of us need you to be at your best if we’re all going to get through this.”
He nodded and studied his feet. He sighed again, but with relief. “All right.”
“Rawlings!” Fisher called. He stomped into the room, startling the men lying on the floor. He noticed her at the window. “Oh, Sergeant. The camp just let in some new people. They’re telling everybody the Army is bugging out of Boston north of the river.”
“That’s Tenth Mountain’s area of operations,” Wade said.
“It’s the fire,” Rawlings pointed out. “The fire is pushing everybody out.”
“Whatever it is, other refugees are saying the same thing. Units all over are pulling out. Word’s going around the civilians. They’re pissed off.”
Wade checked the window. The crowds down in the stadium were concentrating. Everywhere, angry men and women pointed up at the windows of the athletics department building.
Rawlings paled. “Damn. Anybody who wants to go, we’re leaving tonight. Pass the word, Fisher.”
“Will do, ma’am.”
“Don’t ma’am me, Fisher. I’m not an officer.”
Wade looked at her in surprise. “We’re leaving now? Just like that?”
“Just like that, Private Wade. The situation has changed. You’ve got a few hours to get your stuff together. At oh-dark-thirty, we’re bugging out.” She eyed the crowd. “If they let us.”
TWENTY-NINE.
Lt. Colonel Lee watched the captains of First Battalion file into the Air Force administrative building. It was time for a powwow.
“Ready when you are, sir,” Walker told him. “The room’s all set up.”
They followed the captains inside. Lee took a deep breath and let it go. There was a lot riding on the outcome of the upcoming meeting—everything, actually.
The men knew his character and service record. He’d served with some of them going back years. Iraq. Korengal Valley. They respected him. But would they follow him?
He let go of his worries. They either would or they wouldn’t. He’d make his case, and they’d make up their minds. That was the best he could do.
The conference room was filled with men: the captains of Alpha through Echo and HQ, the young lieutenants who served as their XOs, and the battalion sergeant major, Doug Turner, who represented the enlisted men.
At the sight of Lee, Turner stood at attention. “Gentlemen, the commanding officer.”
The officers made to stand, but Lee told them to be at ease, taking a seat at the head of the table. The captains, freshly showered and fed, powered up their iPads as they waited for him to speak. Strong java brewed in a coffeemaker in the corner.
“Gentlemen, thank you for your attendance. For the first part of our meeting, anybody below the rank of captain, please give us the room.”
Turner escorted the lieutenants into another part of the building.
Lee planted his elbows on the table. “You’ve all done an exemplary job far beyond the call of duty over the past weeks. And you got your men back safe. Now we need to talk about what comes next. As you know, I have assumed command as First Battalion CO.”
“Congratulations on your promotion, sir,” Captain Marsh of Bravo Company said.
“Thank you, Captain.”
“It’s extraordinary, to say the least,” the man added, his tone deferential but testing.
“That’s because I wasn’t actually promoted. Or appointed to command.”
The men stared at him, their mouths hanging open.
Lee went on. “The chain of command has been completely disrupted. The Bug’s incubation period in some cases appears to be longer than previously understood. Casualties sent to the rear have spread infection. There are now detection kits that can determine on the spot if somebody is infected, but they’re being prioritized to military personnel in Florida and at Mount Weather. In the case of regimental command, all of headquarters was compromised and had to be terminated via airstrike. In the case of di
visional command, Fort Drum has gone dark. We’re working on getting eyes on base via satellite, but it’s chaos across the board.”
Lee paused to let all that sink in. Some of the men had families living at Drum.
Marsh glanced at Major Walker. Lee knew what Marsh was thinking. He was thinking the major should have assumed command as the senior officer, but he didn’t believe Walker could get them out of the mess they were in. Lee wondered what Marsh would say if he knew the major shared that sentiment.
“I fully support Lee taking command,” Walker said, putting the issue to bed.
“As a temporary posting,” Captain Sommers of Charlie Company pointed out, “until we get back on the reservation. Right?”
Lee nodded. So did the other men.
“Major Walker pulled you out of the core,” Lee said before they had a chance to come up with any fresh objections. “I ordered you the rest of the way here.”
Hallelujah Hayes snorted. “That didn’t come from the top, either?”
“No,” Lee told him. “That’s on me too.”
Marsh said, “You’re stretching the concept of independent initiative far beyond what’s accepted. We could all get shit-canned for this.”
Lee noted Marsh said accepted, not acceptable. An important distinction. “It’s on me,” he repeated.
“Then God help you. Sir.”
Captain Perez of Delta Company glared at the others. “Who wants to go back into Boston?”
Nobody raised his hand. They knew the city was a lost cause.
“So we’re here,” Marsh said. “Now what?”
“The first step is Fort Drum,” Lee replied. “Retake it if necessary. Make sure our families are safe. Rest and refit.”
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