by Jay Brenham
Matt watched the vest hit the water, wishing Taylor hadn’t thrown away something they might need. He immediately felt heartless just for thinking it.
“We can wait and see what happens. We don’t know if you’ll turn,” Matt said, even though he knew it was wishful thinking.
Taylor just shook his head. “We both know that’s bullshit. There are some things you should know if I turn. Do you have much experience with weapons?”
“Just what I’ve seen in the movies.”
“That’s a no, then,” Taylor said, sounding faintly amused. “Go get that rifle and I’ll show you a few things.”
Matt got the rifle and handed it to Taylor. Taylor told him how to clear a jam and showed him how the weapon operated.
“The key to shooting is a steady trigger pull. Understand?” He didn’t wait for Matt to answer. “The best shooters practice with no ammunition in the gun. That means empty all the rounds from the weapon. Double and triple check it to make sure. Then point it in a safe direction, aim and pull the trigger. You need to pull the trigger straight back; don’t anticipate the recoil. Let me see you do it.”
Matt triple checked to make sure the weapon was empty, pointed it toward open water and squeezed.
“That’s good. You aren’t anticipating any recoil because you’ve never felt any. This gun kicks a little bit but not much. Not like a shotgun. You could shoot it all day and it’d still feel comfortable. I want you practicing every single night and every morning when you wake up. It’s called dry firing. If you do that and practice loading magazines as if you’re under pressure—have Jenna time you or something—you might be a decent shot when you need to be. Are you following me?”
“Yeah, I am, but Taylor...”
“Save your breath. We both know what’s going to happen to me.”
Matt nodded unhappily.
Taylor leaned back, propping himself up with his hands. Taylor told Matt where the farmhouse was.
“Steve and I…We were good friends. We knew each other from boot camp and our first duty station. We joined the same police department when our enlistments were up. We were rookies together, got married within a year of each other, and he lived just down the street. Hell, we even vacationed together. Do you have anyone like that?”
Matt shook his head. “Wish I did. That sounds like a real friend.”
“Yeah... Steve was the type of guy who’d risk himself for you—well, you saw how he came to help me. He always had my back. I guarantee he’s sitting up there on some cloud right now, pissed that Eric got the drop on him like that. Not so much mad that he died, just mad about the way it happened.” Taylor gave a half smirk and stared a thousand yards out into the water.
“I’m sorry, Taylor.” It seemed woefully inadequate, but it was all Matt could think of to say.
“Don’t be. I fucked up and gave that kid his knives back. I got Steve killed, and for what? That kid never did anything to help any of us. I should have shot him when I first saw him”
“That’s not exactly true. When I jumped out of the window the infected man who’d been trapped in the classroom grabbed me. Eric stabbed him from behind and, when the guy was distracted, I was able to kill him. I know it can’t bring Steve back, but giving Eric his knives back saved my life and maybe Jenna’s and the baby’s.”
Taylor smiled and patted Matt on the shoulder. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. Maybe it wasn’t a total fuck up.” Taylor looked toward the berthing, where Jenna and the baby were. “When this is over I want you to find my family and Steve’s family and tell them how we went. Tell them we were brave, that we did it to save the baby. They’ll understand because that’s the damn truth. If it wasn’t for the baby I might have left you guys. Keep that little girl safe, Matt.”
Matt nodded. Maybe Taylor’s words should have stung, but they didn’t. He felt the same way. Maybe they were all just cowards looking for a reason to be a hero.
“My family and Steve are at his family’s farmhouse, it’s an old brick colonial. The kind with a deck on the top and bottom. His farm is on the north side of Henry Huff Road but east of state Route 1326. Can you remember that?”
Matt nodded.
Taylor took a deep breath. “I want you to do for me what I did for Steve. I couldn’t live with the idea that I could come back and hurt that child. So give me a few minutes and then do what I ask. I’ll be thinking about my family. Don’t tell me when you’re gonna do it.” He smiled. “As much as I like you, I don’t want my last thought to be about you, Matt. Can you do that?”
Matt nodded. “Taylor…I just wanted to say…thanks. I don’t think I could have gotten out of the hospital without you. Jenna’s alive because of you. That baby is alive.” He swallowed and chambered a round. “I’ll do what you’re asking. I’ll find your family.”
“That means a lot to me.” Taylor met Matt’s eyes for a moment before looking away. “Now I’m just gonna look at the city and think a little bit.”
The minutes dragged out as Matt waited. Jenna came up and he went back to the stern to quietly explain what was happening. Tears filled her eyes and she squeezed Matt’s arm before going back downstairs.
Just watching Taylor think about his family while waiting to be killed was enough to make Matt want to crawl inside the boat and never come out. Was he supposed to wait a long time and give Taylor every possible minute? Or should he just do it and get it over with? He was still thinking about this when he saw Taylor start to sway and grab one of the safety stays to support himself. Matt shouldered the weapon. He lined the sights up on the back of Taylor’s skull, breathed steadily and, just like Taylor had taught him, smoothly pulled the trigger until the gun barked.
It wasn’t messy. Taylor’s body fell forward into the water with a splash. He heard Jenna stifle a cry from inside.
“Thanks, Taylor,” Matt whispered.
That night the city was colored red. The burning skyline lit up the bay like Matt had never seen. He lost count of the gunshots he heard. Was there any order left? Was there anyone alive who wasn’t infected?
Matt slept deeply once Jenna took over the watch. When he woke Jenna had pulled out a chart of the surrounding area.
“Mobjack Bay. It looks like a good place to anchor,” she said, pointing to an empty part of the map, just north of where they were.
“Mobjack Bay it is,” Matt said. He didn’t care where they went, as long as it was away from here.
They set a course, leaving Virginia Beach behind.
The End
But don’t stop reading! This may not be the last you see of Matt. The adventure continues on the next page in EXODUS FROM THE SEVEN CITIES.
EXODUS FROM THE SEVEN CITIES
CHAPTER ONE
It was a bright, hot day in June. Khalid Abdul Rahman shielded his eyes from the sun’s reflection as it bounced off the water of the Chesapeake Bay. There wasn’t much time left, but he sipped his coffee slowly, enjoying the taste while he gazed down the Virginia Beach oceanfront like he had his whole life ahead of him. He’d been told American coffee was a poor substitute for the rich flavors he was used to in Yemen, but he savored the taste anyway; coffee was one of the few things in America that reminded him of home.
The outlying area of Virginia Beach was known as Hampton Roads and it was comprised of a number of cities that had merged over time. The heat and humidity were overwhelming. Most people associated Yemen with oppressive desert heat, but Khalid was from Sana’a, the capital, known for its comfortable temperature year round. Khalid missed it.
The temperature had been just as hot three weeks ago when Khalid was smuggled, along with fifteen other men, through a tunnel across the Mexican border. His childhood friend Ali had been with him then. The tunnel had been cool, like air conditioning, but as they stepped into the corrugated metal shed that covered the tunnel’s exit, he’d felt the Texas sun beating down. Still, the heat hadn’t tempered his eagerness. It had been a long journey and he was finally in the
land of opportunity.
CHAPTER TWO
Sam Connor walked past the armed guard and out the front gate. Five long years. He inhaled deeply, savoring the moment just like he’d promised himself. The air tasted sweeter as a free man, he was sure of it.
Jill was waiting in their beat-up Hyundai Elantra. Their son, Grant, sat in the backseat, his dimpled legs sprawled out of his almost-outgrown car seat. When they first brought Grant home from the hospital the car seat had seemed impossibly large; it was hard to believe he was nearly two.
Jill smiled up at him. “Glad to be free at last?” She glanced at the dashboard clock. “You’re half an hour early. I wasn’t expecting you ‘til ten.”
“Glad doesn’t even begin to describe it.” He kissed her cheek and glanced over his shoulder with mock nervousness. “Let’s get out of here before someone changes their mind.”
Sam always gave the same scripted response when people asked him how it felt to be getting out of the Navy: “I’m glad I had the opportunity to serve my country. Not knowing where my next paycheck will come from is a little nerve-racking, but I'm excited for the future.”
This wasn’t a lie, per se, but if Sam had been completely truthful, he’d say he felt ecstatic, like he’d just been granted parole.
The air was warm as it blew through the car window and onto Sam’s smiling face. He’d been so excited about today that he’d already removed the base decals from both of their cars. As a result, Jill had had to wait for him outside the front gate, but she was in such a good mood she hadn’t minded. He wondered if this was how he would feel when he hiked the Appalachian Trail in a few days. It had been a dream of his for years, but his work schedule had been too strict to attempt it while he was still enlisted. Now, however, his time was his own.
Fifteen minutes later, Jill pulled into their driveway. Across the street Sam could see his elderly neighbor, Jack, leaning over to inspect his yard for imaginary imperfections. He’d done the same thing every day for the past five years, even though the yard was so perfect it looked like it was from a 1950s sitcom. Jack considered dandelions and weeds to be the terrorists of the horticultural world; his lawn was a slice of Middle America. By comparison, Sam’s lawn was the Korangal valley in Afghanistan—a hot bed of dandelion terrorist activity.
Sam gave Jack a friendly wave as he got out of the car. Jack and his wife, Theresa, had been the first to welcome Sam and Jill to the neighborhood. He was the closest thing Sam had to a friend on the street: Jack was a Navy man who’d stayed in Norfolk after he retired.
Inside, Sam’s black work boots slid off easily as he pulled at the laces, watching his distorted reflection in their polished shine as Jill rolled her suitcase into the living room. Grant trailed behind her, a stuffed monkey in one hand.
“What does the monkey say?” Sam asked, wiggling a finger under Grant’s chin until he laughed. Grant couldn’t say many words yet, but he loved imitating animals.
“Ooooo oooooh ahhhh ahhhh.”
“What does the cat say?”
“Meeeeeeooooooow.”
“What does the dog say?”
“Dowga.”
Sam laughed at how Grant pronounced dog with a W. “I wish you didn’t have to go right away,” he said as he hung his uniform and put his boots in the closet for the last time.
“I know, but it’s my little brother’s birthday and you’re leaving in a few days anyway.” She smiled at him as she zipped up the diaper bag she’d packed for Grant. “I’ll miss you. We’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too. I guess it’ll be good for your family to spend time with Grant. They haven’t seen him in a while.”
“I know. And this will be the last time we’re apart for any length of time.”
“Only a couple of weeks. Nothing compared to deployment.”
She smiled again and wrapped her arms around him. “No more of those. Ever.”
It was a four-hour drive north to where Jill’s parents lived in southern Maryland, a rural area about an hour south of Annapolis.
Sam picked up Jill’s bags and followed her out to the car. She stood for a moment, smiling up at him before turning to strap Grant into his car seat. Some people would find it strange that they were smiling and happy even as they prepared to spend two weeks apart, but they saw things differently. They’d spent a lot of time apart over the past five years; a few weeks was a drop in the bucket compared to a deployment. And spending a couple of weeks on the Appalachian Trail was something Sam had talked about before he enlisted, before they were married even. It was a good way to symbolically end his time in the military.
Jill closed Grant’s door and slid into the driver’s seat. The wind blew through the window, pulling strands of brown hair away from her ponytail. Sam leaned in and kissed her, then opened the back door and kissed Grant on the forehead.
“Don’t share your tent with any trail bunnies,” Jill warned, starting the car.
Sam laughed and kissed her again. “No trail bunnies for this sailor. It’s 11:30. You better hurry up or you’ll hit beach traffic.”
He pressed his face against the rear window briefly, contorting his face against the glass to make Grant laugh. Jill waved and shifted into first gear.
His son’s laugh. His wife’s smile. Those were things he wouldn’t forget.
CHAPTER THREE
The alarm rang as Khalid’s watch switched from 11:44 a.m. to 11:45 a.m. He silenced the noise, drained the last of his coffee, and got up from his table. A young couple with three children walked past, carrying beach umbrellas and folding chairs. The woman had long hair and wore nothing but a two-piece bathing suit. Khalid’s eyes lingered on her for a moment before he looked away in disgust. Despite his piety, he was still subject to the same temptations as any other man; he hated American clothing, even as he found the women who wore them attractive. Still, his wife would have never dressed like that—in Yemen or in America. His wife. Khalid forced himself not to push the thoughts away. He wouldn’t have many more opportunities to remember her. They hadn’t actually been married, just engaged, but Nadiya was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Many people disliked arranged marriages and Khalid and Nadiya had been no different. At their first meeting they’d been standoffish, eying each other awkwardly while Nadiya’s aunt chaperoned. Tea was served and Khalid had knocked his cup over. Embarrassed, he’d begun hurriedly soaking up the tea with whatever he could find, but when he looked up Nadiya was smiling. Then she started to laugh. It was probably just nerves, but they’d both laughed so hard it hurt and, with the awkwardness finally gone, they’d talked.
Khalid left that first meeting with hope in his heart. Making him laugh was not something he expected his future wife to do. In his wildest dreams, he’d never thought she would be funny, but she was. The meetings continued and so did the laughing. Khalid couldn’t believe his good fortune; he was going to marry a woman he loved.
He winced at the memory. A week before the wedding, Nadiya had been killed in a drone strike. It was supposed to have targeted Al-Qaeda leaders, who were meeting in the same apartment building. Nadiya and her family were collateral damage.
Khalid had burned with the need for revenge. He still did. Fundamentalism had never interested him before; he’d been content to mind his own business and let the West tend to theirs. But now that Nadiya was dead—no, not dead, murdered——Khalid’s goals had changed. He would bring America to its knees.
But he couldn’t just blame America. Before Nadiya’s murder, he’d supported American drone strikes. He thought they’d seemed legitimate, necessary even. He’d regretted that every day since her death.
Al-Qaeda was glad to have him. During the years he’d spent with Al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula, the organization had become one of the most lethal Al-Qaeda affiliates. A few years ago, they’d sent someone to detonate a suicide belt, killing nearly 100 Yemeni soldiers, dogs of the West. Khalid had begged to be chosen to wear the explosiv
e belt but he’d been turned down. Be patient, his handlers had said. Allah had other plans for him. Because of Khalid’s middle class upbringing, he’d had the opportunity to learn English and he spoke it well. That was why he’d been chosen to come to America; soon he would strike at the heart of the great Satan.
When he entered America, Khalid, along with his friend Ali and the other men who’d been chosen, were each given a bag of supplies: mostly blue jeans, t-shirts, American money, and fake documentation. A man had walked by with an electric razor and shaved off each man’s beard. Then they were given a small mirror, a disposable razor, and a bowl of water and instructed to shave.
One by one, they were escorted from the shed and into waiting cars. The sun was blinding as Khalid walked to his designated vehicle. The inside of the Mercedes sedan was upholstered in black leather, something that would’ve probably been unbearably hot if not for air conditioning. The driver was Yemeni but he dressed like an American. Khalid noticed the driver’s phone was sitting in the cup holder with its battery next to it, a precaution so no one could eavesdrop or track them.
“Listen carefully,” the driver said in a solemn voice. “There are rules you must follow in America. Do you understand?”
Khalid nodded.
“Good. First, shave every day. Even twice a day, if you need it. Keep your face smooth, like a business man, an American. Second, dress in the clothing we give you and nothing else. You do not know how to dress like an American, no matter what you may think. The clothing in the bag was selected specifically to make you look anonymous.”
This was nothing new to Khalid; he’d been briefed in Yemen about how to conduct himself during the mission. Everything was planned months in advance, right down to the shirt on his back.
