Surviving the Dead 03: Warrior Within

by James N. Cook

  When I expressed concern over the fact that the Legion had known what direction the Chinook was coming from, Steve provided a simple explanation: The chopper had come in on the exact same vector the crew had used the day before. Anybody with a pair of eyes and a sense of direction could have found that path and set a trap on it. I was a little embarrassed that I hadn’t thought of that myself, but it was a lesson learned. General Jacobs said he would make sure the aircrews didn’t repeat that mistake.

  Another point of significance was the weapons the Legion used during the firefight. The M-16s could have been scavenged from any number of places, but the AK-47s were a mystery. Civilian versions were cheap and fairly abundant before the Outbreak, but the ones the Legion used had fully automatic capability—not something that would have been available in large numbers. I watched the general while I talked about it, and he grew strangely pensive.

  “Something on your mind, Phil?” I asked.

  He opened his mouth, hesitated, closed it, and then drummed his fingers on his knee for a few seconds while deciding what to say. “I don’t want to go spreading ridiculous rumors, but I’ve read a few reports from our outposts out west that have me thinking …”

  Steve and I watched him while he ruminated, and finally he said, “There’s a large group of separatists out in California and Oregon who, according to what our scouts tell us, all seem to be armed with an inordinately large number of AK-47s, most likely of Chinese manufacture. I can’t help but wonder if the two things might not be related.”

  Steve and I exchanged a glance and were both still while we pondered that.

  “Well, either way,” Steve said, “it doesn’t change what we have to do. We know what they’re armed with now, and we can plan accordingly. That’s the important thing. I’ll talk to Grayson Morrow tonight and see if he knows anything about it.”

  Jacobs conceded the point with a nod and turned his attention back my way. “Is there anything else you can think of that might be important? Anything at all?”

  I thought hard for a moment, but other than what I had already gone over, I couldn’t come up with anything. “No, I’m afraid not. If I think of anything, I’ll write it down and let you know.”

  Jacobs’s gunmetal eyes stared at me appraisingly, and I could almost hear the gears turning over in his head. I felt uneasiness bloom in the pit of my stomach, perhaps something akin to what a prized heifer might feel like on the block at a cattle auction. As he watched me, I noticed a scar above one of his eyes and suddenly remembered where I recognized him from.

  Back during the Outbreak, I had watched news footage of an Army unit retreating from Dalton, Georgia. They had crossed paths with a convoy from the Tennessee National Guard en route to reinforce them. General Jacobs had been a colonel then, and he’d ordered the officer of the Guard troops to turn around and head for another fallback position. Dalton had been overrun, and there was no saving it. At the time, Jacobs had worn a bandage over one eye. Whatever caused the injury, it had left the scar I was looking at.

  Before I could say anything, Jacobs began speaking again. “Let me take a second here and make sure I have all of this straight.” He began counting off on his fingers. “You have no background in law enforcement, no military experience, and no formal training. Yet somehow you managed to survive a firefight where you were woefully outnumbered, you succeeded in eliminating no less than twenty-five enemy combatants, made shots that a veteran sniper would have had trouble with, and helped Mr. Garrett cover your retreat under heavy fire. Afterward, you engaged and destroyed no less than a hundred infected and helped make sure that the supplies we nearly lost to the insurgents were recovered with minimal damage. Does that about cover it?”

  I blinked a couple of times and shrugged. “Um … yeah. I guess it does.”

  Jacobs smiled. “More specifically, when the insurgent leaders sent several fire teams to your position to take you out, you single-handedly punched every one of the sons-of-bitches’ tickets, and did so with verve and assurance.”

  Well, when you put it that way …

  “That’s true, except for the verve and assurance part. If memory serves me, I was scared shitless.”

  Jacobs laughed. “And where, might I ask, did you learn how to fight like that?”

  “Gabriel,” I replied simply. “The guy taught me everything I know.”

  “The same Gabriel, as in Gabriel Garrett, that is currently training the volunteer militia?”

  I nodded.

  “Hmm.” He nodded slowly. “Well, if your performance in the heat of combat is any indication, I’d say those recruits are in good hands.”

  “I agree with you on that, with one caveat: I’ve known Gabe for a long time.”

  The pleased expression on the general’s face began to fade around the edges. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I had personalized instruction from the man on a daily basis for over two years, and sporadically for over five years before that. That’s a long time, General. The militia is coming along well, but Gabe only has three more months to work with them, and they aren’t going to get the same one-on-one attention that I did. You shouldn’t expect them to do the same things I can do when they graduate. They might get there eventually, but it’s going to take time.”

  Jacobs’s expression sobered, and he nodded. “That’s a good point. Important. I’ll be sure to remember that.”

  The way he said it seemed odd to me, and I studied him for a moment trying to figure out why. It was as though he wasn’t agreeing with me, but rather with some internal dialogue. If I had to put money on it, I would have said he looked like he had been debating something for a while and had finally come to a decision.

  “Well,” he said, standing up. “I appreciate your time, Eric. And I can’t tell you how grateful I am for everything you did yesterday. I told your friend Gabriel earlier today that if he were still in the service, I’d put him in for a Silver Star. All things considered, I believe I’d have to add your name to the request as well.”

  I had no idea what a Silver Star was, but it sounded important. “Uh, thanks, General. That’s … very nice of you.”

  He chuckled and shook his head at me, then turned to Steve. “Captain McCray, do you have everything you need?”

  “Yes, sir, I’m all set.”

  I stood up and shook both of their hands, starting with the general. “Well, thanks for stopping by, guys. If you need anything else from me, let me know. I’ll be around.”

  “I’ll probably be by tomorrow,” Steve said, his mood growing more casual. “You gonna be around at say, ten-thirty, eleven-ish?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be around then.”

  “Great. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I waved to them as they left and then shut the door behind them. Through the living room window, I watched them walk back toward the VFW hall, talking back and forth as they went.

  I thought again about General Jacobs’s odd behavior, his strangely distant demeanor at the end of our conversation, and wondered what it might portend for the mission that lay ahead of me. I thought about Steve’s plan to have me infiltrate the Legion and wondered how much Jacobs would be involved when the mission was a go, when I was finally knee-deep in the proverbial shit. I thought about Allison and how she would react when I told her I would be leaving, and that I wasn’t sure how long it would be before I came back. If at all.

  Finally, I thought about Grayson Morrow, and how important he was going to be to all of this, assuming the information he gave us was correct. For both of our sakes, I hoped that it was.

  The two soldiers soon wandered out of sight, and as I stood there thinking, the powder blue of the afternoon sky began to darken to charcoal in the east and burnished orange in the west. A familiar silhouette emerged as it turned the corner onto my street and began walking up the gentle hill, striding forward with purpose and swinging big, meaty hands at his sides. I grabbed my coat and set out on an intercept course.

 
*****

  “So what did the mayor have to say about all that?” I asked.

  Gabe set a mug of Earl Grey on the kitchen table in front of me and settled back into his chair. “Damnedest thing.” He brought up his cup and blew a puff of steam from the top. “She already knew.”

  My eyebrows went up. “She told you that?”

  “Not in so many words, but her body language gave it away.”

  I blinked a few times and looked down, feeling heat begin to rise in my face. If General Jacobs wanted to keep secrets from me, then in his case, I could understand that. He bore a great deal of responsibility and had access to a tremendous amount of information. For the sake of the men under his command, he had a responsibility to be careful with that knowledge, to keep it guarded.

  But for Steve to hide things from me, especially plans that involved me directly, that was a different matter entirely. We had been through some serious shit, the two of us, and I had thought I could trust him. In light of what Gabe had just told me, I was beginning to have my doubts about that. Worse, I couldn’t mention anything about it because if I did, they would know Gabe had spied on them. This was going to put a strain on our future dealings.

  “Jacobs mentioned something about separatists out west when we were talking earlier,” I said. “He must have been referring to the Republic of California. He didn’t say anything about those other groups though. The Midwest Alliance, or the flotilla. You think that factors into their plans for me somehow?”

  “Could be.” Gabe shrugged. “No way to know for sure.”

  I leaned back and sighed. “I guess it really doesn’t change anything. The Legion is still out there, and before we worry about anything else, we have to take care of that problem first.”

  Gabe nodded and said, “What concerns me right now is them using you to infiltrate the Legion. Which, by the way.” He pointed a large finger at me. “I still think is a fucking stupid idea. If you’re determined to go through with that foolishness, I’ll do what I can to help, but Eric, believe me when I tell you this: Don’t trust McCray any farther that you can throw him. I know you think he’s your friend, but you need to remember that his first loyalty is to the Army. Period. Anything, and anyone else, is expendable.”

  I mock glared at him and said, “You know Gabe, I’m sure glad I have you around. No way would I have ever figured that out on my own. Gosh, you’re such a genius.”

  Gabe shot me a scowl that said, smartass, then took another sip of his tea.

  “What about that other thing they mentioned, the facilitator?” I asked. “You have any idea what that might be?”

  Gabe stared into the distance for a few seconds, thinking, and said, “I’m not sure. But what they said about getting the lights back on is definitely interesting. I’d ask them more about it, but …” He shrugged.

  “Then they would know you were spying on them.” I sighed and ran a hand through my hair as I leaned forward on the table. “Did you happen to ask the mayor about that special project Steve wants to recruit me for? I’m assuming it’s something beyond his plans to destroy the Legion.”

  Gabe shook his head. “She said she didn’t know anything about it, but I don’t think she was telling the whole truth. I’ve spent enough time with her lately that I can tell when she’s not being honest with me.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, confused. “Spent enough time with her? I thought you two only spoke once or twice a week?”

  He went still. His cup stopped halfway to his mouth, and his eyes grew wide at the edges as though realizing he’d said too much. Dark red color began to creep up into his cheeks, and he looked down quickly to cover it up.

  My jaw didn’t quite hit the floor, but it was a near thing.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I said.

  Gabe remained silent.

  “You and the mayor? No fucking way.”

  More silence.

  It took maybe a full minute for the shock to wear off, and then I felt a broad grin spread across my face. “Gabe, that’s … that’s great, man.”

  He glanced up, brow furrowed. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. Are you kidding me? Way to go man, nicely done.” I reached across the table and slapped him on the shoulder hard enough to rock him over to one side.

  “You don’t think it’s a bad idea?”

  I laughed, incredulous. “A bad idea? Shit, dude, this might just be the best idea you’ve ever had. I’m fucking thrilled for you. How long has it been, like three, four years or something like that?”

  He frowned at me, but it was swimming upstream against a grin. “It hasn’t been that long.”

  I held up my hands. “Whatever, man, I’m just glad you’re finally getting some action. God knows it took you long enough. Now that you’re getting laid on the regular, will you stop acting so damn grouchy all the time?”

  His punch was quick, but I was already scooting back when he threw it at my shoulder, and I leaned back just out of range.

  “I assume I can trust you to keep this between us?” he said, not quite hiding his smile.

  “Why? What are you hiding it for? You should be proud, shacking up with a hottie like Mayor Stone. Hell, I would be.”

  “It’s not that,” he said, his humor fading. “If people around town find out, it … could make things difficult for Elizabeth.”

  I raised my chin in understanding. “Ahhh. Got it. I can see how that might be perceived as a conflict of interest.”

  “Just keep your mouth shut about it, okay? I’ve got enough problems.”

  “Yeah, except for being lonely. Looks like you’ve got that one nailed.”

  He threw a spoon at my head, and I just barely managed to duck it. Judging by the whistling sound it made as it passed, I’m pretty sure it would have hurt like a bastard if it had hit me. Figuring that I should get well out of arm’s reach before pushing my luck any further, I stood up and began to make my way toward the front door.

  “Look man, we’ll talk more about this later. I have to get some food over to the clinic for Allison. You need anything from the general store while I’m there?”

  He shook his head. “No, I just need you out of here, you annoying bastard.”

  “Come on man, don’t be like that,” I said, as I slipped on my coat. “I told you, I’m happy for you.”

  “Thanks.” He didn’t look up.

  I got halfway out the door before turning around and leaning my head back inside.

  “Hey, Gabe?”

  “What?’

  “I’ve got a meeting with the mayor tomorrow to discuss allocating resources for improvements to the outer perimeter. It would help me out a lot if you could make sure she’s in a good mood. You know, put in a little extra special performance for me.”

  I’m not sure what Gabe threw at me—I ducked out too fast to see it—but it hit the door hard enough to rattle it on its hinges. I jumped off the porch, giggled like an idiot, and ran off for home.

  Chapter 12

  The Journal of Gabriel Garrett:

  Citizen Soldiers

  On the morning that the militia’s furlough was set to expire, I took my time getting ready for work.

  Maybe it was worry over the events transpiring in the wider world. Maybe I was reading the writing on the wall, and seeing all the ways I could get sucked into the trouble brewing on the horizon. Maybe I was fighting my growing feelings for Liz, and trying to reconcile that against the remnants of my infatuation with Sarah. Maybe I was just scared. Could have been a lot of things. But the bottom line? I did not want to report for duty that morning. Not one bit.

  Truth be told, I was afraid I would show up to an empty parade ground. I sincerely doubted that any of the recruits would want to continue with training after getting their first taste of combat. And I couldn’t make them, no one could. It was a volunteer militia. The town wasn’t paying them, or even granting them any special privileges. They could quit anytime they wanted.

 
So I took my time. I got up early, long before the sun was up—not that I had gotten any sleep the night before. I made some shitty instant coffee, warmed an iron on the stove, and used it to press my fatigues. Polished my boots. Ate breakfast. Sharpened the Bowie knife my dad left me after he died. Not that it needed it; I could have shaved with the thing if I’d wanted to. But there was something comforting about it, the smooth stag-horn handle, and the rasp of steel over stone. It reminded me of my father’s voice. Rough, but steady. When I sharpened that big knife, I felt like he was there with me. Solid rock of a man that he had been.

  I often wondered what he would have thought of me, of how I had turned out. Would he be proud? Disappointed? Ashamed? How would he feel about the things I’d done, the people I had killed? I would never know. Not in this life, at least.

  Mom had been proud of me, once. That much I knew. She had cried the day I left for basic training. I was seventeen then, having graduated high school a year early. I had to get her permission to enlist.

  Mom had cried, and held me, and told me to be careful and stay out of trouble. I held her back, careful not to squeeze too hard, and told her I would. Told her I’d write to her, and call her as soon as I had the chance. We hadn’t known it then, but that was the last time I would see her alive. The cancer had already gotten ahold of her. She was riddled with it but didn’t know. Her symptoms had been mild. Flulike. No big deal, nothing worth paying a doctor for.

  Until one day, she collapsed at work. She had her diagnosis within a week. Pancreatic cancer. Terminal. Nothing they could do.

  I put in for emergency leave, and the Corps granted it, but not soon enough. She was dead before my plane landed in Louisville. As soon as I stepped out of the gate and saw my uncle’s face, I knew. He had broken down on the spot. He kept saying how sorry he was, and I kept telling him it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. Still, he had cried and cried. A tired, broken-down old man, holding on to the last person he had left in the world.