This Is the End: The Post-Apocalyptic Box Set (7 Book Collection)

by Craig DiLouie

  Andrews turned to the memorial and saw his wife standing at the end of the huge wooden plaque. For Rachel, the loss of the past few weeks were tragic, but none were as painful for her as the fact that the names of her parents were at the front of the list. Not for the first time, Andrews wondered how she’d been able to handle it, growing up in the base and going through the transition from childhood to womanhood under the care of watchful friends and well-wishers, but devoid of a parent’s guiding hand. Andrews’s mother’s name was on the wall, as well; she had succumbed to ovarian cancer three years after the base had been sealed. He’d had his father to see him through the tough spots; Rachel had no blood relatives. Despite the hardship, she had grown up to become a woman to be reckoned with, as she had shown during the mission to San Jose. He could tell by the arch of her back and the set of her shoulders that she was grieving all over again. In that moment, he doubted he had ever loved her more. He walked over and joined her, and she folded her hand inside his.

  “Babe? You okay?”

  Rachel reached out and touched the plates that bore the names of her parents—Peter and Catherine Jane, who went by CJ. Though he had seen dozens of photos of them, he could only vaguely recall meeting them a few times in real life, during their first base orientation sessions, back when the Andrewses and the Lopezes had been selected to be part of Operation Harmony.

  “I’m fine,” she said, and she turned to face him. Her eyes were bright, but she hadn’t shed any tears. The pain lingered just below the surface, like it always did. Andrews leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

  “Really?”

  “Really. How are you doing?”

  Andrews shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with telling her the truth. He did it anyway. “A little guilty, I guess.”

  She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Guilty? Why? About Choi and Spencer? What happened to them wasn’t your fault, Mike.”

  “I beg to differ. I was their commanding officer. It was up to me to bring them home safe.”

  Rachel nodded. “Yeah, you were. And you did everything you could. The odds were just stacked too high. Trust me—I was there.”

  Andrews made a noise in his throat. She was right, of course, but that didn’t do anything to stave off his remorse. He wondered how long it would take for him to be quit of it, but as he turned to look over the slowly thinning crowd, he decided he already knew the answer—he would never stop feeling responsible. Choi and Spencer were his crew, and he had been powerless to save them. They died under his watch, and that was a responsibility he would take to his grave.

  He put that burden aside and kissed Rachel on the cheek. “Let’s get out of here.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. Let’s.”

  They turned to go, but Mulligan appeared in their path. The big man still looked battered, slowly-healing bruises and cuts on his face, but his appearance had improved considerably over the past several days. He regarded Andrews and Rachel with his dark eyes, his expression inscrutable. Andrews glanced at Rachel and saw she was staring at Mulligan with a cold, unreadable expression that was nearly as enigmatic as Mulligan’s. When Andrews turned back to the sergeant major, he was surprised to find his eyes were uncharacteristically downcast.

  “Can we help you with something, Sarmajor?” he asked.

  “Ma’am, I’d like to talk to you, if I could. I know you’re probably not feeling too hot, so I’ll keep it short.” Mulligan looked up and met Rachel’s emotionless gaze. “I need to tell you about something that happened a long time ago. You might think you know everything about it, but … well, I figure it’s time you hear it from the guy who was there.”

  Silence descended, heavy and uncomfortable. Rachel stared at Mulligan for a long moment, ignoring the curious gazes of those who walked past. The history of enmity between them was well known, even though it was considered to be mostly one-sided. Mulligan stood before them, stoically enduring her cold, impenetrable glare, even though Andrews supposed it must have been embarrassing for him. As the seconds ticked by, he did not prompt her for a response; he merely stood there and looked back at her, his face a mask of disciplined composure.

  Rachel finally favored him with a curt nod.

  Mulligan cut his eyes over the Andrews. “Sir?”

  “I think I’d like to hear what you have to say as well, Sarmajor. If you don’t mind.” Andrews looked over at Rachel to see if she had a different opinion, but she kept her gaze rooted on Mulligan.

  The tall senior NCO took it in stride. “Very well. Would you like to go—”

  “Here is fine,” Rachel said, her voice taut as a banjo string, belying her impassive expression.

  Mulligan met her eyes once again and nodded. He removed his green beret and stepped closer to Rachel. Even though their expressions did little to illustrate their internal feelings, Andrews nevertheless felt the uncomfortable tension between the two of them as if it were a physical thing. He glanced down and saw Mulligan was slowly twisting his beret in his hands, and he wondered if whatever the sergeant major was going to say would be a good thing, after all.

  When he spoke, his voice was pitched low, but he kept his gaze on Rachel. “After the bombs dropped, I tried to get to my family with SCEV One. By stealing it, actually. Your folks cared enough about me to come along, to try and help. I was, uh—pretty crazy, then. I was within three weeks of retirement. Two days from terminal leave. I was basically just marking time, waiting for my replacement to show up. All of us were marking time back then, you might remember.” He paused, but Rachel gave no indication she was going to speak, so he continued. “Visibility was zero. Radar and communications were useless, because of the electromagnetic pulse effect. Anyway, I was driving balls to the wall—all I could think about was getting to my wife and daughters before the fallout rolled over them.

  “We got extremely unlucky when a ground burst went off only about a mile away. I’m not sure what they were aiming at—the best I can come up with is that one of the weapons heading for Wichita malfunctioned and came down way short. Your mother happened to be looking in the general direction of the blast when it went off—she went blind from the flash. Your father was standing between the cockpit and the science station. The EMP fried a good amount of the rig’s systems, despite the shielding, and we stopped dead. Before I could do anything to get the rig moving again, the shockwave hit us. The SCEV rolled three times, tossed around like some kid’s Tonka toy. Your father was killed instantly. One of the gravity belts on your mother’s harness broke, and she was ejected from her seat. When it was over, she managed to hang on for another three hours. I had no voice contact with the outside world, and the rig was demolished. I figured there would be at least an attempt at a rescue, but it didn’t come soon enough. CJ died in my arms.” Mulligan looked down then, and the muscles in his jaw clenched as he gritted his teeth. Andrews saw the nightmare of pain and guilt in the big man’s eyes, and he realized the Green Beret was something of a kindred spirit. They shared a deep responsibility for those they had lost.

  Rachel stared hard at Mulligan, her face carved from porcelain. Mulligan hesitated for a moment, then looked up and tried to force a smile. It died stillborn when he met Rachel’s unflinching glare.

  “Do you remember how we were friends?” Mulligan asked, raw pain in his voice. “Your parents and me, we hit it off really well. You used to call me the Jolly Green Giant, because you thought I was so tall and always wore a duty uniform. Whenever I saw you in the corridor, I’d go ‘Ho, ho, ho! Rachel Lopez!’ and you’d laugh. Do you remember that?”

  Rachel’s expression didn’t change, but she balled her hands into fists. As she continued to stare up at Mulligan, her knuckles were turning white. A small shudder went through her and tears rose in her eyes, but she didn’t take her eyes off of Mulligan for an instant.

  “Do you remember?” Mulligan asked again, bending toward her slightly, his voice hardly more than a whisper. There was a peculiar pleading quality to the question,
and Andrews realized that Mulligan—the strongest, biggest badass in Harmony Base, and maybe in the entire Army—had been dying inside for years.

  When she didn’t answer, Mulligan straightened, transforming once again into the base’s enigmatic command sergeant major. “So, anyway. Your family died trying to help me rescue mine, who died because I couldn’t get to them. Somehow, the only son of a bitch who managed to walk away from it was me. God must’ve been laughing his ass off.” Mulligan’s voice was back to normal, the no-nonsense deadpan it had been for the past ten years. He displayed all the outward emotion of a robot, as if he were reading a readiness report aloud. It was as if he didn’t care anymore; he had done his job, and that was all there was to it.

  Rachel lunged at him, pounding on his big chest with her fists, making small, agonized sounds as she lashed out at him. Mulligan endured it, taking no steps to defend himself. Bystanders surged forward, shocked by the sudden display. Andrews pulled Rachel away from the towering soldier, wrapping his arms around her and ignoring the jolts of pain from his tortured ribcage.

  “Why?” Rachel fairly shouted. “Why didn’t you tell me this back then? Why did you let it drag on for so damn long?”

  Mulligan looked down at her, ignoring the inquisitive looks from the other people standing nearby. His body language told them all they needed to know, and they stepped back, returning to whatever it was they had been doing before. But they kept looking toward the tall man and the crying woman, and Andrews saw expressions of sympathy among them. For Rachel. And for Mulligan.

  Mulligan sighed heavily. “I should have told you. I should have tried to look after you. But I … I couldn’t. I always thought that was kind of funny, because before everything went to hell in a fast sports car, I was always a responsible guy. I always tried to do the right thing, even if it was hard. But this time, I decided to do the easy thing, and ignore what had happened to Peter and CJ. And I ignored you, and pretty much everyone else in this damned place.” He looked at her and shook his head sadly. “Anyway, that’s it. That’s all there is. Your family left you because they wanted to help me, because they thought they’d be safe, that I’d do the right thing. I wound up killing them, and I let you down when you needed me the most. I just thought you should know.” He paused for a moment, looking at Rachel. “I’m sorry. I’m so very, very sorry.”

  “So you think I should forgive you now?” Rachel asked, her voice quavering.

  Mulligan shook his head. “I just want you to remember one thing: I miss them, too. Every day.”

  Mulligan turned on his heel and walked away, shoulders square, his heavy footsteps echoing in the large room. Almost everyone turned to watch him make his exit, then they turned back to Andrews and Rachel. Andrews ignored them and touched Rachel’s face, wiping away her tears.

  “Sweetie …?”

  She hugged him tight for a moment, then looked up at him. “I’m fine,” she said, and her voice was stronger. She wiped her eyes with the heels of her palms and smiled vaguely. “Actually, I feel better than I’ve felt in a long time.”

  “Then let’s get out of here. I’m starting to feel like we’ve been on exhibit for the last few minutes.”

  “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

  ***

  Leona lay in the narrow bed she had been allocated in the medical section’s recovery ward. The injury she had acquired in San Jose from the spear attack had become infected, and the base surgeon had wanted her to remain under his staff’s direct care until her fever subsided and the wound started to show substantial improvement. That had been days ago, and the fever had finally broken the previous night. Her appetite had come back, and she was thrilled to discover that not only could she now eat and not immediately throw up, she had her choice of almost anything on the menu because full power had been restored. Even if it was the same chow as what they served in the Commons Area’s commissary, she found it to be mighty tasty after enduring almost two weeks of SCEV chow, followed by a few days of not being able to eat at all.

  In the bed beside her, Kelly Jordello was recovering from her own injuries. Her broken femur had been set, and her leg was in traction for the rest of the week. After that, the base surgeon would decide whether or not to insert pins to assist in her recovery. The two of them joked that since both of them had only one working leg each, the only way they could make a run for it was if they taped themselves together. They had watched the memorial service on the base’s video network, and both were feeling more than a bit melancholy. Leona was staring up at the ceiling, lost in her own thoughts when Kelly suddenly said, “Well hello, Sergeant Major.”

  Leona looked up, and when she saw Mulligan standing between their beds, she felt as if her heart had jumped into her mouth. He was still in his Class As, and he held his green beret in one hand. Leona stared up at him, marveling at his attire. She couldn’t remember seeing him in anything other than his Army combat uniform.

  “Lieutenant Jordello, how are you coming along?” Mulligan asked, giving Leona a quick glance before looking down at Kelly.

  Kelly indicated the traction rig that held her leg suspended in the air. “Well, I’d try and get out of here, but I don’t think I’ll get very far on foot.”

  Mulligan grunted. “Better stay where you are then, ma’am.”

  “Sharp threads, Sarmajor. What brings you here? Bedpan patrol?”

  “No, ma’am. I flunked the candy striper test. Just as well, I hated the duty uniform. Excuse us, please.” Mulligan yanked the privacy curtain between the two beds closed, hiding Kelly from view as he turned toward Leona. She looked up at him, confused.

  “Sarmajor?”

  Mulligan scowled at her. Combined with the mass of bruises on his face, the expression made him look positively ferocious. “Stop gaping, girl. You look like you’ve gone feeble.” Before she could make a response, he stepped closer to the bed and held out the eagle medallion to her. Leona looked at it, watching as it swayed and twinkled in the room’s antiseptic light.

  “Uh, what—”

  “My wife made that for me, out of a coin,” Mulligan said, cutting her off. “An Eisenhower dollar, actually. It seemed to attract your attention out in the field, and I …” He paused for a moment, then sighed. “Well, I thought you might want to have it, is all.”

  “Why would you want to give it to me?”

  Mulligan considered that for a long moment, then shrugged. “My day to make amends, I guess. I treated you pretty badly out in the field, and you didn’t really deserve it. Sorry.”

  “Oh.” Leona looked from the medallion to Mulligan as he towered over the bed. “Well, look, Sergeant Major. I’m not going to report it or anything, because I pretty much stepped over the line …”

  “So you’re not interested, then?” Mulligan asked, his voice flat.

  Leona hesitated, uncertain of what to do. She couldn’t think of what to say, so she slowly raised her hand and took the medallion from him. She looked at it, turning it over in her hand. The details of the eagle were finely crafted, and even though she’d never seen such a creature before, she knew it was a symbol of strength and honor. It fit Mulligan perfectly.

  “This has got to mean a lot to you, Mulligan. I mean—I’m flattered that you’d think of giving it to me, but that won’t bring absolution, you know? Your family will still be dead.” She wondered if she was saying too much; after all, the privacy curtain wasn’t exactly soundproof, and she had no trouble imagining Kelly hanging on every word.

  “That’s not exactly what this is about,” Mulligan said, “but the offer stands, anyway.”

  Leona regarded the medallion again, then looked up at Mulligan. He seemed different to her, now. There was something akin to humor in his eyes, and while it seemed foreign to her, it also seemed right, as if she was glimpsing the real Scott Mulligan for the first time. Despite his cuts and bruises, he seemed more alert, as if he’d just awakened from a very long, refreshing sleep. Leona still didn’t know what he was up to
with this impromptu visit and unexpected peace offering—she couldn’t quite get her mind around the possibility that he was giving her a gift—but she knew what she hoped for. If this was her shot at getting it, then she had to take it.

  “Thank you,” she said, hesitantly. “It’s very lovely.”

  “Well, it’s not a wedding proposal or anything, so don’t mess up the sheets, okay?”

  “What?” Leona suddenly laughed, in spite of herself. When Mulligan allowed a ghost of a smile to cross his lips, she knew he was teasing her. Humor from Scott Mulligan was something she’d have to get used to. “I wasn’t about to, Sergeant Major. But … just what does it mean?”

  Mulligan crossed his arms and considered her question for a long moment, his gaze locked on hers. “Well, Lieutenant, I guess it means that maybe we’ll sit down and have a talk sometime, once you get out of this overblown band-aid factory. If you can make the time, that is.”

  “Yeah, I think I can make the time,” Leona said automatically, and the sudden eagerness of her reply left her feeling foolish and embarrassed. She felt her face grow warm. Either her fever had returned, or she was blushing.

  “Cool,” Mulligan said, and he touched her arm briefly. His hand was warm and dry, his touch surprisingly gentle. “Catch you then, and get well soon.”

  With that, he swept aside the curtain. Kelly lay in her bed with her eyes closed, mouth open, so obviously pretending to be asleep that it was almost laughable. Mulligan looked down at her, shook his head with a sigh, then headed for the door.

  Leona called out to him before he could make a clean getaway. “But what’ll we talk about? Force protection in post-holocaust America? Diplomacy versus firepower? Mercury in retrograde?”

  Mulligan stopped at the doorway and turned back to her. He looked at her frankly, and he allowed himself a vague smile. “You’re a funny girl, Eklund. I like that. But I’ll leave the topic of conversation to you—I can’t lead all the time. See you around campus.”