Bad Company

by Joshua C. Chadd

  “No,” Alexis said before she could dissuade herself. She wanted to help people. “I’ll sign.”

  “It’s your choice, Ms. Wolfe,” Cpt. Miller said.

  Once she signed, he took it, looked it over, and signed next to her signature. Then he handed her a single piece of paper.

  “Take this down to the desk labeled Exports and give it to them. They’ll get your picture taken and identification badge printed.”

  “Yes, sir,” Alexis said, standing and offering her hand. “Thank you. And I really do want to work here. I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

  “You’re welcome, Miss,” Cpt. Miller said, standing and shaking her hand with a smile. “Your father is very persuasive.”

  She exited the room and headed to the stairs located at the other end of the hall from where she’d entered. She owed her dad big time for this. It’d taken a lot to get her this position, and yet she’d almost thrown it away because of some stupid contract. It’s not like they were hiding anything. Leaving the stairwell, she walked into a large room with desks lining one side. She found the desk labeled Exports and the woman sitting behind it.

  Thirty minutes later, Alexis left the building and made her way to the infirmary. It was a good thing she hadn’t been required to be there at a certain time because it’d taken almost an hour to get her ID badge. The building that housed the infirmary was only a couple hundred yards away from HQ. It was surrounded by a fence, and she had to walk all the way back up the street and enter from the driveway across from her house. It was daunting, taking in the large brick building. It had an old, sinister feel to it. As she reached the driveway, she noticed an old sign that read “Coutts Community School.”

  She started down the driveway and soon reached the gate. Two black-uniformed men stopped her and checked her ID, then let her in. These were not normal soldiers. Their nametags looked like nicknames and they had no distinguishable ranks showing. Plus, one of the men had a face tattoo and that wasn’t allowed in active duty military. These must be the same people James was saying they recovered all the gear from on the hilltop when they’d been captured by Bryce.

  She walked past the lawn and noticed there were shelves full of books and items that had been thrown out of the building. The waste saddened her, but she couldn’t blame them if they needed the room. Entering the infirmary, she noticed a young man standing in the middle of the room, glancing at his watch. When the front door shut behind her, he looked up and smiled. It was a genuine smile that spread to his eyes. He reminded her a lot of Levi, and she shuddered at the memories that rose within her.

  “You must be Ms. Wolfe,” he said, walking over to her and shaking her hand. “I’m Dr. Nelson.”

  “Nice to meet you, Doctor,” Alexis said. “You can call me Alexis.”

  “And you can call me Henry,” he said with that smile again. “You ready for your first day?”

  “Of course,” Alexis said as he led her to a small room to the right of the entrance that still held shelves full of books.

  “Today will be training. You’ll be watching a lot of videos, and I’ll be here if you have any questions,” Henry said, going over to an old box TV on a stand. “It’ll all be basic stuff, so bear with me because you’ll probably know most of it.”

  He was right, and after the first hour of dated videos she knew it was going to be a long first day.

  7

  Just

  Another Day

  James finished his breakfast in the Mess Hall and walked out into the sunlight with Connor following behind him. It was only nine in the morning and it was already hot. It’d be miserably hot later in the day. He always hated July in Montana. Growing up in Alaska, a hot summer day was in the seventies, maybe the eighties if it was really bad. But here it could easily get to a hundred degrees, and today wouldn’t be far from that. He’d have to find something to do inside to get out of the oppressive, dry heat.

  “What’s your plan for today?” James asked his brother.

  Connor looked over at him. James knew Connor had had a lot to drink the night before, and yet there he was, up early and looking normal. If James had drunk as much as his brother did last night, he’d be just about dead in his bed, not wanting to move. How did Connor always do that? Granted, James was kind of a lightweight, so that was partly it. But still.

  “I was going to head back to our place and clean all the guns,” Connor said. “Get our gear together for tomorrow. I think we’ll need it.”

  “Sweet. You mind cleaning mine?” James asked, already knowing the answer. His brother loved to clean guns. Maybe it had to do with his days in the Marines.

  “Why? You too busy preparing for your little date?”

  “I still have no idea what I’m going to do.”

  “I got you covered. I’ll get them all cleaned and then clean out Scourge. I’m still finding casings from your little stunt with the Reclaimers.”

  James laughed. Had that really been ten days ago? It felt like their time in Coutts was flying by, and yet, when they were out on the road, time seemed to drag on forever.

  “We did fling a few rounds at them,” James said.

  “Yeah. I’ll see you back at our place later,” Connor said, walking off.

  “See ya, bro,” James said.

  After a few minutes of standing in the sunlight, James began to walk around town with no destination in mind. He was doing his best to think of something special for his date that night, but he was drawing a blank. His biggest problem was that the options were limited. There was only so much that could be done in a post-apocalyptic town on lockdown. His mind began to try and formulate a plan of attack while he wandered the streets, nodding at those he passed. Eventually, he ran into someone he knew.

  “Morning, Greg,” James said as he noticed the big man walking toward him down the street.

  “Mornin’,” Greg said, pulling to a stop in front of him. “Look, James, I have a few things I need to say.”

  Great. And just like that, his morning had taken a turn for the worse.

  “I wanted to apologize,” Greg said. “I’ve been resistant to you ever since Burns, and while I still don’t agree with everything you did, I do see that it has allowed us to get here safely. I already talked with Alexis and Emmett, but I haven’t had a chance to catch up with you yet.”

  “Thanks, Greg,” James said. “You’ve played a big part in getting everyone here, too.”

  “Yeah, I have,” Greg said. “But I see now you also were a big part, so thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” James said, shaking Greg’s offered hand. “So what do they have you doin’?”

  “When they found out I could weld, they sent me over to help out the town’s metalworker and mechanic. It’s nice to be doing something normal that I’m actually good at.”

  “I bet. Well, I won’t keep you. Thanks again.”

  “Yeah, you have a good day, James.”

  He continued on his way. That was wholly unexpected but very welcome.

  His thoughts returned to the date. Why was everything involving women so damn difficult?

  ~~~

  Tank carefully climbed out of bed, leaving a sleeping Chloe curled up under the sheets. He dressed quietly, trying not to wake her. With Chloe working late shifts, she needed her beauty sleep. He’d accidentally awakened her once, and that hadn’t been a good life choice. At the door, he pulled up short, Connor’s words from the night before coming back to him. His friend was right—more right than Tank ever wanted to admit. Walking to the nightstand, he pulled out a piece of paper and a pen, scribbling down a little note. He left it sitting next to her alarm clock.

  He took a quick shower because his place didn’t have one and also because her two roommates were out of the house. The sun outside was already high in the sky, and it was late morning. He’d missed his scheduled breakfast in the Mess Hall. They had such a stupid system for that. Different people we
re allowed to eat at different times in order to accommodate the inflated population and because they only had the Mess Hall. That meant he’d have to wait for his scheduled lunch at twelve-thirty. He glanced down at his watch. It was only a couple hours anyway, so it wouldn’t be that bad. Rarely had he eaten breakfast before all this, although now that he had a more active schedule, he was eating more regularly.

  Walking down the street back towards his place, he ran into James.

  “How’d it go last night?” Tank asked and James smiled. It must’ve gone well.

  “Well, I’m walking around trying to figure out what to do for a date, if that gives you a clue.”

  “Right on, bro. Way to go!”

  “Thanks, and thanks for the push. It was needed.”

  “It was nothin’,” Tank said throwing an arm around James’s shoulders. “I was just tired of seein’ you spinnin’ your wheels and gettin’ nowhere.”

  “Yeah, I was, too. Oh hey, I just saw Greg and he’s working for a guy who does metalwork. Not sure if he’d know how, but maybe he can make you a sword or something like Frostmourne.”

  “That’s a hell of a good idea! Where’s he at?”

  “Forgot to ask. He was walking south on Third though.”

  “I’ll head that way and see what I can find.”

  “See ya later, man,” James said, walking off.

  Tank turned back and headed in search of the blacksmith—well really a metalworker, but whatever. It wasn’t hard to find the place. Third Street ended just past the mechanic shop and there were piles of the same kind of fencing that surrounded the whole town. There were semi-trailers sitting next to the piles, and soldiers were loading the fencing onto them. The trailer had a green logo of a box with an opening at the top and HESCO written next to it. It was presumably the company that made the fencing. As he watched them load, he realized just how nifty the stuff really was. The solid block that made up the bottom four-foot by four-foot area was empty until they poured dirt, gravel, or cement into it. It helped hold up the rest of the six feet of heavy-duty metal fencing with razor wire on top, making it almost impenetrable.

  He entered the building and noticed Greg. The big man was welding what looked like reinforcement onto the front bumper of a Humvee. Glancing around, he saw an older man with short brown hair and a dirty plaid shirt who was bossing the other workers around. That’d be the man in charge.

  Was he really about to ask this man to make him a sword? Tank shrugged. Might as well try.

  He walked up to the boss when he’d finished giving orders to a blonde-haired young man he recognized as one of the survivors from Burns.

  “Excuse me,” Tank said.

  “Yes?” the man asked in a gruff voice, turning to face him.

  “I have an odd request,” Tank said. “I need a sword.”

  “You’re kiddin’ me, right?” the man asked, chuckling.

  “No,” Tank said. “I’m not sure if you’ve been out much, but I’ve been survivin’ on the road for weeks now. I know ammo is limited, and sooner or later we’ll all be relyin’ on old-school weapons.”

  The man actually looked like he was contemplating it. “There are a lot of other weapons more practical than a sword.”

  “Yes, but it’s not just about practicality. I used to have a sword and it meant a lot to me.”

  “How so?”

  “Really? You want my life story right now?”

  “You want a sword, and I want to know why you want it.”

  Tank sighed. Did he really want another Frostmourne that bad? This man was asking him questions he didn’t like answering. In fact, only the brothers and his mom knew why.

  “My parents divorced when I was young and my dad left. I haven’t seen him in years, but for my seventh birthday—the last birthday he was around for—he got me a replica sword from my favorite video game. While I hate the bastard for leavin’, it was all I had left of him.”

  “What video game?” the man asked.

  “World of Warcraft. The sword was called—”

  “Frostmourne,” the man said. “My son had that sword. He died when this all began.”

  He pointed a finger at a replica of Frostmourne hanging on the wall of the workshop, the certificate of ownership hanging below it with a picture of the man and a young boy. Tank’s heart ached. This man truly loved his son, but thinking about his own dad like this wasn’t good for him. The wound was still raw after all these years. It reminded him of how much people could hurt him and reinforced the idea that he shouldn’t get close to anyone.

  “The name’s Tom,” the man said, sticking out his hand, which Tank took in a firm grip. “I’ll make you your sword.”

  ~~~

  Connor tore down his ACR DMR, saving his baby for last. The SAW had been the worst to clean, and it had taken him a bit to get it done, but now he could move on to his own gear. He took good care of the other firearms he cleaned, but he cared for his like they were his own children. There was something about the smell of gunpowder and cleaning oil that calmed his mind. It was almost as good as the rum and without the side effects.

  He let himself relax as he continued to clean while Chaos by I Prevail played through the little speaker hooked up to his iPod. The lyrics resonated with him, speaking straight to his heart. He’d find his way through all of the chaos and they would make it home. With the upper receiver of his ARC in his hands, he lost himself in the process of cleaning. If the cotton swab he was using came back with even a small amount of residue on it, he continued to clean.

  Memories from boot camp swirled in his mind. Spending all day cleaning his M16 A4 service rifle came back to him and he smiled. Even though that had been one of the hardest few weeks of his life, he’d loved every minute of it. Those were his people and that was his calling. It was tempting to let himself go down that path again and ask to re-enlist in a time of crisis, or at least to be more involved, but something held him back. Maybe it was the inescapable knowledge that this town would fall and that nothing good could last in this new world.

  Some small part of him registered that he was being dramatic, but that didn’t change the deep unease he felt in his heart like a dark storm looming overhead, ready to descend on him at any moment. There were too many variables for this place to endure. Where were the remaining Reclaimers? There were at least two of them out there. One was the man who had shot at him and the other, he’d learned, was the leader, a woman named Jezz—a psychopath, according to Alexis and the others. She’d been the one who’d forced Ana to kill two of their own. He didn’t agree with how things had gone down, but Ana should’ve come back. It wasn’t like they would shun her. Connor would’ve done the exact same thing in her place, but by the way some of the survivors from Burns were talking, they didn’t seem to mind that she was gone. In fact, they were happy.

  They were idiots and liabilities he didn’t need. When they left this place, it would be with only his Wolf Pack, Chloe, Emmett, and Alexis. They’d probably have to bring Olive along, too, considering how attached his brother was. The rest would stay. They didn’t need them, and he sure as hell didn’t want them tagging along. They’d get them killed. Only a few had what it took to survive out there, and the rest just followed along under their protection. The question was, how would they leave? Should they talk to Cpt. Miller or just sneak out one night? He didn’t want to leave like that, but he wasn’t sure how the captain would take them wanting to head out after they’d proven themselves valuable. The longer they stayed, the harder it would be for them to get away.

  Actually, they should’ve left as soon as they could after they’d arrived. The problem was they hadn’t gotten their gear back until two days ago, so they were stuck here for that first week—sitting around, being interviewed and psychologically evaluated. He’d put on his happy face for the shrink. That man didn’t need to know anything about what was going on in his head. Connor wasn’t insane or unstable, just de
termined to do whatever it took to survive. It would’ve thrown a red flag if he started talking about repressing the thoughts and voices in his head. They weren’t even so much voices, just his mind trying to reconcile all that had happened. He didn’t want to reconcile it, and he didn’t need to be fixed; he just needed to survive.

  Glancing at his watch, he noticed he’d missed his designated lunchtime. It was easy to get caught up in the cleaning process, but it didn’t matter. He could go an afternoon without food. After the guns were cleaned, he started gathering supplies and putting together their daypacks and kits, including the plate-carrier vests that held their extra magazines and other gear. James and Tank would still check their gear to make sure they had everything, and James would reorganize his, but this would save them time. This way, when they headed out tomorrow, they’d be ready, and if things went south they’d have enough supplies in their daypacks to survive for a few days out there. He was tired of getting caught with limited gear and ammunition. They’d gotten lucky before when they stumbled into the pavilions with all the guns and gear. But luck couldn’t be counted on moving forward so he made damn sure they were prepared.

  ~~~

  James stopped outside the door to the community center they’d turned into an orphanage and school. Most of the kids and a few adults from Burns were staying there, and they’d turned a couple of the rooms into classrooms. It’d helped all of them to start back up in a normal routine. The kids were acting more like kids again, and the adults were doing better as well. Beverly, Neil, Mark, and Helen were in charge of looking after Olive, Felix, and the other sixteen kids staying there. He checked his watch. He still had another five minutes until their lunch break, and he knew better than to interrupt Helen’s class. He’d caught some serious hell the last time he’d done that.