The officers inside examined the dead zombie again before dragging it out and then looked at us. One of the officers inside flipped the switch, so they can see us through the mirror window. I gave him a thumbs up acknowledging the kid’s in.
The officer turned to Nathan and said, “Welcome to the Black Shadow.”
“So, what happens next sir?” Nathan asked.
“Your training will come next. We’ll let you know when that will begin in due time. For now, wait with the others.”
“Yes sir.”
We continued this until all the kids were tested and marked which ones passed and which ones didn’t. Practically all of the outsider kids and teenagers killed the zombie and those that didn’t weren’t scared or crying, but just couldn’t pull the trigger. However, it may be possible to train them to do it. I didn’t have high hopes for the domestic kids. How could this possibly work for those at such a young age? Some of the domestic teenagers were able to shoot, but not all of them. We walked into another room where the rest of the officers gathered to bring in their results – theirs was about the same number as ours.
“So, any of the girls got hard bark?” an officer asked.
“Actually yes, we got some hardcore ones especially two girls, sisters. Ashley and Carrie Johns, we got others who killed the zombies, too, but those two didn’t feel the slightest bit sorry for killing them. Hell, they didn’t even blink,” an officer answered.
“So, did we. We got boys that didn’t hesitate either, but this one kid Nathan Way, he did like it was nothing.”
“So, we got some good ones?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“What happens to the ones that failed to kill?” an officer asked.
“That’s up to General Shepard and Campbell, but most likely the soft ones will just be workers. The other ones that aren’t so soft we’ll try to toughen them up,” an officer answered.
I looked at the charts, “So, most of these are in the Black Shadow? Even the ones that failed?”
“Yeah, we’ll make them better. The ones that passed will be easier to train and then they’ll help train the others.”
‘Make better?’ A bigger crock of shit I’ve never heard. The ones that passed have simply had to kill before and the ones that didn’t pass either haven’t killed before or just don’t have the stomach for it. Though they may be ultimately capable of making them killers, that definitely will not make them ‘better.’
“Question, I’m still on active duty outside the fort, right? Am I a part of training these kids?” an officer asked.
Major Lopez squinted his eyes at him, “Is that a problem, Lieutenant Carter?”
“I kill whatever threat there is to this place. Those are the orders I was given.”
“Your orders are to obey whatever I give you Lieutenant. Did you forget that when you enlisted in the army?”
“You didn’t say anything about training child soldiers, sir.”
“Okay everybody out! Now!” Major Lopez shouted.
The other officers and I left the room leaving the two of them alone. I stood outside, as Major Lopez was clearly working his way up to a major ass chewing.
He started with, “Lieutenant, I don’t know how aware you are of what has recently happened over the past year, but permit me to clue you in. The modern civilization that we so laboriously built over the last two millennia, has collapsed and the human species is on the brink of extinction. We’re a member of an endangered species. The only thing that’s preventing us from going off the cliff and protecting what’s left of the human race are soldiers that will obey orders and be capable of killing without hesitation. There is NO room for disobedience. You will do as you’re told, when you are told, or you’ll face severe consequences. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes sir,” Lieutenant Carter answered.
“Do I make myself clear?!”
“Yes sir!”
“We need to create soldiers, Lieutenant . . . not rebels.”
They walked out of the room and then . . . speak of the devil, General Shepard walked in. Lieutenant General Shepard was four years older than me, grey hair and light blue eyes. He was still in good physical shape and a few inches shorter than me. He and Major General Campbell were probably among the last two surviving generals of the US military.
“Good results Major?” General Shepard asked.
“Yes General,” Major Lopez answered, handing him the charts.
The General examined the charts, “Good, good . . . two weeks from now we’re going to commence training recruits and introducing them to military life. As they get older, we’ll step up their training a notch just as we discussed. Until then, we have a lot of work to do to prepare. Remember, our duty to protect this place will one day be their duty – our job is to prepare them for that responsibility – do you understand?”
“Yes sir!” Everyone parroted, but me.
“Carry on.”
We saluted – I walked out of the room without another word. Great, now we’re teaching kids how guns work and to properly use a knife to kill biters and bandits. Now, I have to train kids how to kill! We may actually need soldiers, but I don’t think this is the way to raise an army. Whatever . . . not my say.
After the end of the day, I got on the monorail to head back to my apartment. Then I saw him again, the kid named Nathan. He got on the monorail with his friends and they were all chatting normally like it was just another day at school – they even laughed a few times. He displayed no remorse or feelings of any kind over killing those zombies. His behavior demonstrated his conscience was clear; he was completely relaxed around his friends . . . but, he wasn’t dead inside, and he has a soft side. As I watched him leave the monorail with his friends, I felt a strong emotional pull – something was very familiar about him. Something in the eyes, maybe his smile, and the way he behaved around his friends . . . it felt familiar, like I knew him somehow. It was almost like . . . yes, it was like Amara.
That night, I lay awake and I couldn’t stop thinking about that kid. I kept trying to figure out how it was that he reminded me of Amara; how he was capable of no feeling when he killed, yet he hadn’t lost his humanity yet, he wasn’t dead inside – he continued to be a boy with his friends, that isn’t easy. And that’s something I know a lot about. Psychopaths and sociopaths are posers, they pretend or mimic feeling as a means to manipulate people. But I don’t think this kid was a poser or sociopath. He was not pretending on the monorail. So, what was it then, just superb control over his emotions? I needed to figure this out. Why the hell do I care? Go to bed Grim.
****
It was the weekend and I was on patrol. I was prepared for whatever might happen, but not much crime occurs inside the Fort with both the curfew and the harsh consequences – there is no need for jails in here, banishment to beyond the walls compels compliance. I was geared up like a SWAT team member with my Blackhawk Strike Elite vest. I placed five Blackhawk S.T.R.I.K.E. MOLLE M4 mag pouches on the vest – two were on my left side and three were in front – with two shotgun pouches, three pistol mag pouches, and two smoke grenades – all the other pouches were MOLLE like the M4 pouches. I loaded my Para-Ordnance Black Ops in my right thigh holster and got ready to drive. I was in a black Dodge Charger SE when I saw Nathan again. He was sitting in the passenger’s seat of a Ford F-150 with a girl about his age with black hair. There was a soldier and another kid in the pickup bed with stacks of supplies – they were delivering supplies across town. For some reason, I followed them for a while.
I kept a distance as I followed, and when they got about halfway through their day the truck broke down – looked like it was out of coolant given the steam escaping from under the hood. It was going to be a little while before the engine would cool and they found some coolant. I saw this as my chance to talk with the kid. It had broken down in the middle of downtown Gold Rush City, not quite as busy a place as it used to be. People use the ground floor kitchens for public
cafeterias and the higher floors as vantage points and sniper nests. Even from down here you can see the soldiers patrolling the rooftops keeping an eye on the general populace.
I strolled along the street, not drawing too much attention. Everyone was either working their jobs, eating at the public cafeterias, or something related to their own survival. That’s how it really is nowadays; looking for food and whatever else you needed to survive. It was so easy to get food before the outbreak, but now it’s a full-time job. The farm fields have made it easier for everyone here to get fed, but they will have to learn not to be too dependent on them.
Nathan sat and waited on the tailgate while the soldier was under the hood working on the truck. The other two kids were waiting in line in one of the public cafeterias to get some food. I sat next to Nathan while pretending to take off my boot to get a rock or pebble out.
Nathan turned to me when I sat down and I fake grunted, “It’s alright kid, I just got to sit down so I can get this rock out of my boot.”
“Sure,” Nathan replied.
“I never liked these boots. They don’t allow your feet to breathe, you know. Not like your shoes. That’s why I’ve been looking all over for some good desert boots, like Timberland or Merrel.”
“Have you tried looking inside sports stores? Maybe, there’s a pair in Dick’s or even Foot Locker . . . if they haven’t already been looted.”
“Good point. I hope I’ll find a pair or two, thanks,” I said, taking my boot off.
“Sure.”
After a couple of seconds when I put my boot back on, I spoke again, “So, you work in supply services with your friends?”
“Yeah,” Nathan answered.
“Hard work?”
He shrugged and replied, “It’s good work and fair pay.”
I nodded.
It got back to the awkward silence again and I thought it’d be better if I was just a little more direct.
“I saw you kill those zombies during the Black Shadow test. I was surprised at how easy it was for you,” I said.
“Yeah, easy enough,” Nathan said.
“For a minute, I thought you were dead inside. Most people that I’ve seen kill so easily are dead inside, numb. I thought at first you were, but then I saw that wasn’t it. Not many people – let alone kids your age – can compartmentalize like that.”
“Yeah, I guess I’ve had to do a lot of things that most kids my age don’t have to.”
“How do you kill, yet retain your … uh, youth and innocence – those pieces of yourself that are honest and good? How do you do it without going . . .”
“Dead inside?” Nathan finished my question.
I nodded.
“Like I said during the briefing, I don’t really think about them. I don’t think much about zombies. I know two things – they’re dangerous and they’re not human. They’re just things that need killing.”
It was like getting kicked in the stomach – that statement was the very words I said to the judge the day when I went to prison . . . my last day as a free man.
****
I sat in the chair, handcuffed for my elocution and sentencing, the judge sat turning each page of my log containing a recitation of all the people I killed; who they were, what they did, even how I killed them . . . when, why, and what I did with their bodies. Every now and then, he raised his eyebrows, perhaps surprised or impressed with something he read. Every one of them were assholes, not just ‘bad’ people, but sadistic and evil. After he was done reading, he closed my logbook and looked at me.
“You killed . . . 212 people. 212 people you unilaterally determined were evil and guilty,” Judge Simon said.
“Those are my confirmed kills. I believe I’ve killed at least fifty more, but I didn’t have time to get their names – they were primarily hired guns or bodyguards. The journal explains what they did and why they had to die,” I explained.
“Yeah, and how is it that you were able to know that Mr. Harvard? How did you conclude these people were guilty of the things you say they did? How did you find the evidence?”
“Sometimes I had people snitch for me, spreading a little cash on the street can yield valuable information . . . no honor among thieves and all that. Others simply weren’t that hard to find.”
Judge nodded and asked, “Their names? These snitches?”
“They refused to give me their names,” I lied.
“I see.”
After some more back and forth, I stood up as Judge Simon finally passed sentence.
“Grim Harvard, you’ve been convicted of multiple counts of first-degree murder – mass murder – 212 counts. You committed these murders in particularly cold and callous ways. You are a danger to society – you and your unique brand of vigilante justice. It is not your place to play judge, jury, and executioner for those you deem evil or unworthy to live. Your confession and guilty plea is the only things that has spared you from a death sentence. While the court is mindful of the tragic loss of your wife, as well as your motives for these murders, you are a lost soul, and as a result, you became what you hoped to eradicate. I hereby sentence you to life in prison without parole,” Judge Simon declared, before loudly striking his gavel.
As I started to walk back to my holding cell with the guards, Judge Simon called out, “Mr. Harvard!”
I stopped to turn around and face him.
“You strike me as an extremely capable and lethal individual – a cold and callous man. I’ve been a judge for forty years and I’ve seen all manner of violent people, but you – you’re unique. While I can understand on an emotional level for your first murder of the man who killed your wife, I cannot grasp the continuing killing spree. How could you possibly continue with this slaughter of all the others? I’m not saying that these people deserved mercy. Some, maybe all of these people were seriously disturbed, but they were entitled to the rights conferred by our criminal justice system – how could you continue killing so many others for more than ten years?”
I shrugged and answered, “They were just things that needed killing.”
****
As I sat next to Nathan on the truck, I didn’t expect this kid to use my words to describe his actions. It threw me so much that I didn’t know how to respond.
I spoke, “Well, you’ll find it very useful that you don’t hesitate, or feel sympathy or remorse, because they don’t feel anything either. And those that need killing, won’t hesitate to kill you if given the briefest of opportunity.”
“Father Lawrence said that killing them is doing them a favor. He says that a human soul is trapped inside the demon’s body and that killing them sets the human soul free,” Nathan said.
I raised my eyebrow by that theory and nodded.
“Whatever makes it easier and helps you sleep kid,” I stated.
“A nice mattress helps.”
I half chuckled and after a while I asked, “Do you remember your first kill?”
“Yep.”
“Self-defense?”
“No, my first kill was to protect my friends,” Nathan turned to me.
I paused and asked, “Really?”
Nathan looked at his friends that were still standing in line to get food.
“Yeah, most of the zombies I’ve killed were to protect them,” Nathan stated.
“Interesting,” I said.
“No matter what happens, they’ll look after me and I’ll look after them. I never really knew how great it is to have good friends until all this happened. Having friends to share life with is a pretty great thing,” Nathan smiled as they waved at him and he waved back.
Noble, but this kid is not fully getting it – his love for his friends is a weakness, and one day it will get him killed.
“You know, son, those friends are a vulnerability and they’ll get you killed,” I said, bluntly.
Nathan’s smile disappeared as he turned to me and said, “That’s not true.”
“No? Let me tell you some
thing. There was this group of people trapped in Chicago and they were trying to escape to this helicopter, but the zombies trapped half of their group in a building. One of them left the others behind while the rest went back to save the others and you know what happened?”
Nathan shook his head.
“Twelve of them were eaten alive by zombies and there were only two left. One of them killed the other and used him as bait, then he died somewhere outside the city.”
Nathan stared at me with a look of disbelief.
“Look, I know what you think you ‘know,’ and that you think you know your friends, and therefore, you think that they wouldn’t leave you, but just wait, they’ll either leave you behind or cause your demise as you foolishly try to save them. When the shit eventually hits the fan, people reveal themselves and it will be every man or woman for themselves.”
“You don’t know them,” Nathan said.
“You keep playing hero kid and eventually you’ll die like one. The good guys always die – always,” I stated.
Nathan studied my face and then looked back at his friends.
After a few seconds, he turned back to me and stated, “If I’m going to die so that my friends can live, then that’s my choice. I own my choices. What I do, I’ll do for them because that’s how I choose to live my life.”
I looked in his eyes and studied his face – he meant it; they weren’t the words of a boy. I looked over and saw that his friends were almost done getting their lunch and were on their way over – it was time to walk away.
I stood up, “Well . . . goodbye, Mr. Way.”
I walked away without another word.
“Hey, Nate, think fast!” the dark-haired boy said tossing Nate a green apple.
He doesn’t want my advice; that’s fine, your funeral kid – not my problem. And I thought I met someone who actually gets it.
I heard her voice again, “That’s not right Grim, and you know it.”
It was Amara; the voice in my head hadn’t been there for some time.
“You know it’s not right, Grim,” Amara spoke softly.
The Dark Days Series | Book 2 | Sanctuary Page 15
