by SD Tanner
It was not an accident that he volunteered for every field-based mission. Every day he was out on patrol, was a day he wasn’t with Molly and their untamed kids. It was either put his life in danger, or be screeched at by Molly and mauled by his own flesh and blood. He knew which option he preferred, and every time they called for volunteers, he was the first in line. Molly didn’t like it, but he told her orders were orders.
In the past sixty days, he’d spent almost all of them on field-based training. In needing to escape from his own home, he was finally learning a thing or two about being a soldier, and it wasn’t a half bad way to live. His fellow troopers were an accepting sort of bunch, and they didn’t seem to mind that he didn’t catch onto stuff quickly. It seemed to take him twice as long as everyone else to learn, and he was often seen redoing everything they’d been taught, desperately trying to commit the actions to his unreliable memory. Eventually he realized it wasn’t his memory that was the problem, once he caught onto something, it stuck like glue. His problem was comprehension, he was just slow on the uptake.
His combat leader was a woman called Tess, and she explained he just needed to practice more than most. She assured him he wasn’t useless, and once he understood something, he knew it better than the others did. Buoyed by her taking the time to talk to him, he’d doubled his efforts, and just yesterday, Tess told him that she’d recommended he become a combat leader.
The added compliment from Pax made his day, and he shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot, before ducking his head and walking away, unable to reply.
***
Ashley
Straightening the straps on her pack, BD said, “It wasn’t your fault, but it wasn’t every other man’s fault either. They were bad people. That doesn’t mean everyone else is.”
“No one cares. If it gets too hard, they’ll dump you like yesterday’s trash.”
Tucking a stray strand of her platinum blonde hair inside her helmet, BD replied gently, “Not everyone does. You have to pick the people that matter to you. You wear your heart on your sleeve and let everyone hurt you. Some people are bad and they do bad things, you need to accept that’s what they are, and don’t let them dump their problems on you.”
After her husband, Pax, took over the army base, for some reason BD had taken her under her wing. When she asked why BD picked her out of the crowd, all the busty blonde said was that she recognized her. She didn’t know what she meant, they’d never met before, and BD was one of the elite crowd now running the army. At BD’s insistence, she moved into the quaint three-bedroom house where she lived with Pax and Ted. Being at the core of the power base, she was privy to their concerns about the training, and she met Gears, Ip and TL whenever they came to town.
Sitting around the generous dining room table in their home, they would bicker with one another, but she could sense the deep trust and love they shared. Gears, Pax and TL were foster brothers raised by a couple they only referred to as Mom and Pop. Ip didn’t seem to have much of a history, other than they’d found her within a few months of the outbreak, and she could kill hunters with a touch. Ted was a Marine who they met when he used the submarine to defend them from an attack at sea. At first their closeness made her feel excluded, and she’d pulled away, resentful of their familiarity. BD had seemed to understand her feelings, and she patiently drew her deeper into their inner circle. She was always assigned to field training missions with BD, Pax or Ted, and they involved her in many of their meetings.
She hated to admit it, but their trust and faith in her was thawing something she didn’t know was frozen. Almost frightened to believe she might belong somewhere, she tested BD almost daily to see if she would be rejected and she never was. Unlocking her heart wasn’t something she wanted to do, but BD was getting to her, they all were. She thought being accepted would make her happy, but all she wanted to do was run. In many ways, not being alone was scarier than being abandoned, it meant she had something to lose other than her anger and distrust.
Smelling of soap and perfume, BD grabbed her in a fierce hug and whispered, “I won’t let you go. I promise.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Troy
The convoy had one thousand men, with six hundred riding beasts and another four hundred men in eighty vehicles. It was the equivalent of a full battalion, and he had weapons and ammo to keep them combat operational for at least six months. It should be long enough for them to take control of towns near the Submarine base in St Marys, Georgia, and force the people to maintain their supplies and serve their needs. He never had an issue with making slaves of people, providing he was the master.
Loyalty was another thing he didn’t care about, and he always worked for the highest bidder. After the outbreak, he’d taken a stack of weapons and he and his buddies headed for the hills. Surviving the apocalypse wasn’t a problem. For the longest while, they hunted for their food, and took anything else they needed wherever they found it. One by one, his squad left looking for something more than survival, but he stayed tucked away in the mountains, content to wait it out. While the land and life around him slowly died, fewer supplies were available, but with only himself to care for, he stripped his needs to their most basic and continued to wait.
Eventually Eden appeared and he emerged from his hidey-hole to see what had happened for the two years he’d been away. There were rumors of a great battle and defeating the Devil, but he neither believed nor disbelieved the story, it simply wasn’t relevant to where he was today.
Cain was an interesting cat, the man was insane in a low-key kind of way. The first time he watched Cain remove the organs of a conscious patient, he’d sat in a chair with a bird’s eye view, smoking a cigar throughout the entire three-day event. He found it an interesting experience, and Cain fascinated him. In his lifetime, women had told him he was unreachable and men called him cold. Cain was the coldest, cruelest man he’d ever met, and he finally understood what everyone else had always said about him.
He’d been called to torture many men and women in his time, and he understood Cain’s detachment and pleasure at having power of pain and death over another human. The act of torture was irrelevant, and only a method to exercise total control. At some point, the victim would give up whatever illusions they had about themselves, and beg to be owned by their torturer. That was the real truth about man. They lived with their delusions about who and what they were, until someone tore them to pieces and they found out what they really stood for. Every person was the same and in the end, they’d hand over everyone they claimed to love just to stop the pain.
Cain was a master at taking control of his victims. Starting with the non-essential organs like the appendix and the spleen, he’d watched the woman bargain with herself that she could still survive. Then Cain took a kidney, a large section of the intestines and half her liver, and she still convinced herself she could live. It was only when he took her ovaries and womb, the woman knew she didn’t want to survive and begged to die. Cain never said a word throughout the three days, ate little, slept even less, and when he finally took her heart, he held it still beating in his hands before he severed the aorta. It was at that moment Cain finally turned to him, his eyes shining with joy at having taken, and then destroyed, everything the woman had believed she was.
In his lifetime, he’d never met anyone colder and more detached than himself. With no need to shield his lack of emotion, it was a pleasure to finally talk to someone who understood him.
“What’s at this base?”
Crusader Chuck was a weapons expert in the army specializing in chain guns. Being a large man, he supposed Chuck was fit at some point in his life, but with no one curbing his decadent nature, he was now over three hundred pounds. Always attention seeking and prone to being loud, Chuck irritated him, but he didn’t want to bring a more capable battalion across the country. He didn’t know what he was going to encounter, and given there was another army somewhere, there was a good chance they’d meet resistance. He
and Cain agreed that Chuck and his entire battalion were expendable.
“Nukes,” he replied without interest.
“What do we need them for?”
“To kill people.”
“Who are we killing?”
“Anyone we don’t want.”
Cain liked to use death as a threat and it wasn’t an idle one. For fun, he kept a count in his head of the number of people he’d seen Cain kill. He didn’t include people Cain ordered dead, but decided to only count those that died by Cain’s hand. To date, he was up to three hundred and twenty two. Cain was well aware he was keeping score, and promised to keep him updated while he was away. That was the kind of understanding they had between them. He didn’t need to explain to Cain why he maintained a record of his murders and, just like him, Cain saw it as a perfectly reasonable thing to do. Sometimes, Cain would kill a random Sinner and turn to him with a wink and say, “plus one”. It was a private joke only they understood.
They were passing through east Texas and getting low on fuel and food. Every time they needed anything, they would find a community or a small town and raid it. Given they were on a mission, he didn’t let his men take prisoners, but he allowed them to spend the night fulfilling their needs, and that always involved the women they’d captured. Not wanting the burden of transporting captives, he would ordered them to kill the women by morning before they’d headed out again.
“We need to resupply,” he said flatly.
Chuck nodded and replied, “Yeah, I know. I’m keeping an eye out for used roads.”
Cleared roads were always a clue there was a community or town nearby. No one thought to hide these days. A well-kept side road acted like an invitation with a big arrow, letting them know there was something worth taking.
“We need to send a recon ahead to look for opportunity,” he said.
Waving his arm out of the window, Chuck indicated the truck behind them needed to pull alongside. When the vehicle had drawn parallel with them, Chuck wound down his window and shouted, “Get ahead. Look for signs of life.”
It wasn’t long before the recon truck returned, and the passenger shouted, “Two miles.”
They stopped the convoy and he got out of the truck, calling the Crusade Leads together for a quick briefing.
“Usual deal,” he said clearly. “Gas up the trucks as a priority. Then look for weapons, ammo, food, women. No limit to casualties, but don’t waste your ammo.”
They didn’t really need to be told. After two weeks of driving, they knew exactly how to take a town. Driving the trucks in first, they would open fire and not stop until they’d torn apart the main street, and taken control of the road. The riders would follow, chasing stragglers down the side roads, until no one was left alive or willing to come out of hiding. Once done, they would find fuel, food and weapons and take anything else they considered useful. The riders would return, usually with at least a dozen or more women, who would be handed to the troops for the night. If it was a small community, they would make camp at the site, if not, they’d move five miles out. No town was ever prepared for a military style attack with the firepower they brought to the battle. He had yet to lose a confrontation with this much manpower, and he wasn’t expecting any trouble today either. The single helicopter and its soldiers would be no match for a battalion, and he wasn’t worried about running into any renegade army. He still wasn’t even sure there was another army. The attack on their men might have been a random event, never to be repeated.
“Saddle up.”
Forty vehicles turned onto the road arched with large, leafy trees, and he left forty vehicles on the main road to keep watch for anyone stupid enough to head into the town after them. After a mile, the road widened and was well cleared, signaling the start of the town. Down each side of the main street were rows of buildings and, typical of a country town, there was a wider area outside of the town hall. People were walking along the sidewalks, dressed in jeans and t-shirts, with beasts standing outside of what he assumed were shops fronts. Judging by the good condition of the vehicles parked along the sides of the roads, the town had a supply of gas.
Without needing to be told, he heard his men firing on the people walking by, and although he couldn’t hear them, he knew the townsfolk would be screaming. Not bothering to fire his own weapon, he held it ready to shoot anyone who looked like they might be armed. In this new world, people didn’t tend to carry weapons. He supposed they perceived no threat, and weapons and ammo were becoming scarcer anyway. People were running across the road in front of his truck, and he watched dispassionately while the gunner, standing in the turret on his armored vehicle, cut them down in a barrage of relentless gunfire.
Too many rounds, he thought with a slight flare of irritation. Chuck’s battalion were much like the man himself, prone to overindulging and not disciplined enough for his liking. Unimpressed by their performance, he wouldn’t be overly concerned if he ended up losing Chuck and his inadequate men.
While six vehicles drove past them to secure the road, his truck came to a halt outside the town hall. Riders were dispersing down the side streets, and he admired their stance as they stood up in their saddles, firing on the people running ahead of them. He quite liked their beast brigades. There was skill to riding a beast while firing, and it reminded him of stories he’d read of how war was fought hundreds of years earlier.
Checking the road was secure, he stepped out of his truck, with his gun casually held in one hand. While he watched the action on the road, a Crusader Team had entered the main building and were now dragging people out onto the street. An older man with white hair and a matching beard was pulled towards him and, when a Crusader viciously kicked the back of the man’s legs, he dropped to his knees.
Staring coldly at the man with genuine disinterest, he asked, “Is this your town?”
“Yes. Why are you doing this? We would have given you anything you needed.”
“But I need everything you have.”
“What do you mean?”
Leaning into the man’s face, he said blandly, “I want your fuel, weapons, ammo and food.” Flicking his head at his own men, he added, “And they want your women.” With a small smile playing on his thin lips, he asked, “Would you have given me all of that if I’d asked nicely?”
A look of genuine fear passed across the man’s eyes, and he said, “No.”
Grabbing him by his jaw, and feeling the hard bristle of the man’s beard against his palm, he said amiably, “And that’s why I’m doing this.”
“B…b…but, why?”
Letting go of the man’s face, he said coldly, “Because I have a mission and you were on my way. We won’t stay long, but you won’t know that.”
“Why won’t I know?” The man asked feebly.
Pulling his Colt 1911 from its holster, he shot the man in the face and, as the man fell forward at his feet, he said, “Because you’ll be dead.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Hatch
The top of the trees of the forest were an endless sea of green, only broken by the comparatively small patches of cleared areas around the towns and farms. With the forest standing so tall, he often didn’t see a town until he was almost over the top of it, and then the view of the town would open up. If he didn’t pay close attention, he could fly straight past a town and never know it was there, but not today. Billows of smoke were leaking through the canopy of trees, staining the endless blue horizon with an ugly dark streak.
“What’s that?” His co-pilot asked.
“Dunno, but let’s take a look.”
Steering the bird to make a slow wide arc towards the smoke, he knew whatever he was about to find wouldn’t be good. The past five years had been great, he’d met and married Roxy, and was surprised at how much pride he took in their three young children. His grandfather had been a pilot in the Vietnam War, shot down in Quang Nam. Leaving a young wife and son, his death heralded the end of his family. By the time his father grew up
and married, he was born into the home of two committed alcoholics. Over the fireplace of their home in Memphis, was a picture of his Grandfather, proudly wearing his Cavalry uniform. In the absence of any real parenting, even though they’d never met, he formed a bond with his Grandfather and became obsessed with helicopters.
It was a dream come true learning to fly with the US Army, but not one he could cope with. Although he’d spent his childhood dreaming of flying, the reality was terrifying. He was in control of a massive machine, subject to the whims of nature, and it was up to him to keep himself and everyone else onboard alive. When he talked to his trainers, they told him he’d either learn to cope or never be a pilot, it was as simple as that. To him failure meant he couldn’t live up to his Grandfather’s legacy, and if he wasn’t that man, then he was his father, an unreliable, drug-addled drunk. To his shame, he took the weaker path and began to drink heavily.
When the outbreak happened, he’d scrambled with every other living soul, desperately looking for safety. Meeting Gears and his brothers was the making of him. They accepted him for who he was and asked for his help. He learned he wasn’t his grandfather or his father, he was a guy called Hatch, slightly nuts, but always loyal, trustworthy and willing to do whatever was needed. Finding Roxy was the icing on the cake. Being a bit of a wild child herself, she embraced his weirdness and completed his journey to becoming the man he was always meant to be. When the Horsemen died, he felt the least he could do was keep their memory alive with their fleet of birds. He supposed he hadn’t been willing to let them go, and it was his odd way of keeping them close. For as long as he was flying, he never felt they were completely gone.
Dropping low and slowing to a crawl, they flew over the town. Scattered along the main street were corpses and, even from above, he could see long smears of blood stretching from their bodies.
