Her words cut because she was probably right. Lucia was a new mother with no one to take care of her. Lindsay was a follower at best. Not a survivor. Not a fighter. Mark had orchestrated the entire destruction of Ashley’s family.
“And the world is a better place without them,” Gwen said, twisting Ashley’s shirt.
“You think you are better than us? Come into our town all dolled up and smug. Thinking you’re better than us ’cause you had money in the old world? Fancy cars and cappuccinos? You look down your nose at us ’cause we’re fucking poor. Just ’cause I don’t do yoga and I don’t do juice cleanses, or read your mommy blogs, don’t mean we’re different,” Ashley spat.
Gwen sneered. The soldiers started to cat call and make hissing noises. Fucking typical adolescents.
“Really, you and me are the same? Ha. We are nothing alike. I have something called morals. You are just a trashy whore.”
The words seem to roll off of Ashley. Clearly, she had been called worse. Gwen would show her with a fist to the nose; maybe she would understand that, but Gwen didn’t know if that would really affect the woman either.
“Ladies, ladies. Let’s keep it PG,” Sergeant Yates called over.
They ignored him. Gwen halted herself when Ashley threw another verbal barrage her way.
“You and me could be sisters. I just did what I was told to survive.” She blew hair out of her face.
“You stood by while your brothers, cousins, and uncle killed, tortured and raped others with impunity. We are nothing alike.”
“Isn’t that what you’ve done, you uppity bitch? You are holed up in here, just like old Scarface told ya to. Holding yourself up on a pedestal like you’re better than everyone. How many people have you stood by and watched him kill?” Ashley said.
Gwen shook with rage. The same. She was nothing like this woman. The only thing they shared were the similarities of their nether regions.
“The only difference is you were lucky enough to have a knight in shining armor sweep you off your feet. While all I got was banged in the back of a pickup,” Ashley said.
Gwen slapped her. The palm of her hand stung like fire. Ashley met her eyes. It wasn’t her first time being slapped either.
“I will never be like you. You hear me. Never be like you,” Gwen said. She could feel the tears of rage gathering in the corners of her eyes. I promised myself I would never cry again. She held it in. “The difference between you and me is that I give a damn about other people. While you, clearly, only care about yourself.” She let herself be pulled away by one of the soldiers.
“Yet here you are, safe in the convoy, while Scarface is out fighting. Stupid bitch,” Ashley called after her. The soldiers laughed at them. Specialist Pennington let Ashley curl back up under his arm. He examined her cheek with a smile.
Gwen sat back down near the wall on the other side of the people mover. Away from Mauser, Joseph, and Kevin. Joseph looked hopefully up at her. She stared past him. Gwen knew this woman. Gwen had hurt her. The pain that Ashley had brought down upon Gwen and her friends was horrible, but the pain that Ashley brought upon herself was worse. Could Ashley be right? Deep down Gwen knew that if things in her life had been different, she could have been in Ashley’s shoes. If she had made a left instead of a right, if she had grown up in the rural poverty of Appalachia, she might have ended up like Ashley. Used, abused, and scared. The woman had survived before and after the dead rose.
Gwen crossed her arms beneath her chest. From the looks she was getting from the soldiers, it appeared that women were becoming a base commodity as the civilized world diminished. Ashley is rotten. She deserves my contempt. Doesn’t she?
The Nature vs. Nurture argument duked it out in her head. Is Ashley a bad person because of her genetic predisposition or because of her abusive childhood and crappy circumstances?
Gwen had contemplated bashing the woman’s head in with her fists. What does that say about my nature? No thoughts really surprised her anymore. She probably could have gotten away with it, but she knew that allowing Ashley to live in her miserable existence was so much more of a punishment.
She pulled out her picture and let the smiles of the people try to calm herself from the rage within her. She did a breathing exercise, finding partial relief from her anguish.
As they left the city limits the rain began to dissipate. The sun popped out from behind a cloud. Bright light seemed to illuminate the convoy. The sunshine warmed everything. Somebody propped open a steel curtain. It was strictly forbidden, but Sergeant Yates didn’t say anything. Eventually the convoy slowed down to a halt.
“Colonel Jackson is calling a stop up ahead. I need you four on Zulu duty. Give a shout if you see any. We’ll handle the rest,” Sergeant Yates yelled at the four civilians, but his eyes were aimed at Mauser.
“The rest of y’all relax for a few and stretch your legs. Eat, drink, shit. Pennington can fuck if he wants.” A few men chuckled.”
The steel shutters of the mobile lounge were opened, allowing fresh air to flow freely through the people mover. The stink of the air floated away with the wind. It was replaced by cool air that rejuvenated everyone onboard.
“Hey Gwen,” Mauser called over to her, “will you give me a hand?” He stood awkwardly, hopping on one foot. He had a single crutch in one hand and pressed it into an emergency escape exit. He looked pathetic, and it brought a fraction of a smile to her face.
She rose, striding over to where he stood lopsided on one leg.
“Hold on,” she chided. She gave him a dirty look and took the crutch from his hand. Slamming it upwards, she released the hatch.
“Thanks,” he grinned. He hopped on one foot and grabbed the sides of the hatch, pulling himself through. She looked up at the bright sky above. It was quickly overcome by Mauser’s grinning face. “Here,” he said and offered her a hand. She jumped and he pulled her onto the roof of the mover. Mauser sat and leaned back, showing his lean horseshoed triceps. He looked like he belonged on a beach, catching a wave, not trying to survive the zombie apocalypse.
With the city behind them smoldering in the distance, they looked out over a sea of fading green and yellow trees. Houses dotted the hilly landscape. It was almost like the infection hadn’t touched here. She removed her long-sleeved shirt, exposing skin, not covered by her tank top. The sun beat down, warming her up in the fresh way the sun does. A helicopter chopped past their position, flying high. Maybe help was on its way.
“Little help, Mauser?” sounded out from below. In alarm, Mauser crawled to the hatch, gripping his sidearm. He looked back at Gwen with a smile and put his hand down the exit. Joseph struggled onto the roof. Adjusting his glasses, he shaded his eyes.
“I didn’t know where you two went. One minute you were there, the next you were gone,” he said sheepishly.
“Sorry, Joseph. Just trying to enjoy a brief moment of solitude,” Gwen said. He nodded.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You are always welcome,” she said. More hands reached through the hatch and Kevin pulled himself up. He dropped down beside her.
“Hold on,” he said to her. Kevin leaned back down and helped Eddie up too. Eddie sat cross-legged and smiled at the sun like it was an old friend.
“It’s nice to have some sun,” he said, looking out over the trees.
Kevin nodded, not saying anything. Pulling out a silver flask, he took a long swig. Capping the top of the flask, he put it in his pocket.
“Ahem,” Gwen said. She looked at him expectantly. Kevin snorted a laugh.
“I didn’t know you liked rye whiskey?” he said.
“You never asked,” she said, snatching the flask out of his hand and taking a long swig. The whiskey burned down her throat. She wiped her mouth and offered it to Joseph, who looked at the flask dumbly.
Mauser nudged his shoulder. “Come on, Doc. Drink up and pass it.” Joseph looked around and took a timid sip. Everyone laughed.
; “Come on. Drink it,” Eddie laughed.
“Don’t be so uptight. Have a little fun,” Gwen said.
“Yeah, YOLO,” Kevin chimed in.
“YOLO?” Mauser said, brow furrowing. Gwen turned to Kevin, a bit confused.
“You Only Live Once. It’s something that my high school students always used to say,” Kevin said with a quirky smile. They laughed together for a minute until a gunshot thundered from below, reminding them of the reality that they now lived in.
STEELE
Monongahela River, Pittsburgh, PA
“You can’t turn it off?” Steele said hurriedly.
“Not any more than you can turn off a Filipino hooker,” Barnes laughed.
“You aren’t worried about this?” Steele said. Barnes’s smirk was really getting under his skin. Steele looked back at the beams in the center of the bridge. “We could toss it in the river.”
Barnes bent down to his pack and began winding a rope around his arm. “I wouldn’t have sent you up here without an escape plan. Grab that harness.” Barnes tossed him the end of a rope. Steele looped a rappel rope through his harness, securing a knot. Barnes tied the rope around a steel beam and then secured his own knot.
“Don’t take all day. We only got ten minutes and we have to get clearance,” Barnes said.
Steele didn’t need any more goading than that to get off the bridge. This had been a nightmare, and if destroying all of the bridges was like the first bridge he doubted they would live to see mission complete.
He tested his rope. It complained beneath the strain. Climbing down the bridge was about as daunting as climbing up. The river below had a steady flow of brown water. Water lapped around the huge stone pillars that held the bridge upright. The river was intoxicating in the distance.
Barnes stepped up next to him. “You don’t like heights, huh?” he said.
At the mention of heights Steele could feel himself break out in a cold sweat. “Didn’t like climbing up, won’t like climbing down.” For a second he contemplated the pros and cons of climbing down versus staying put. He tried to shake the thought from his head.
“I’ll be fine. Let’s just get this over with,” Steele said. He pulled himself up onto the rail, bending his knees. The worst part before the start was the waiting, the anticipation, the fear of the fall.
Barnes waddled up next to him. “You’ll be fine, kiddo,” he said. He reached over as if to give Steele a comforting pat on the shoulder, but instead he shoved Steele in the chest and over the railing.
Steele free-fell and the rope zipped through his carabiner until he caught himself with his off-hand. His shoulder banged off the wall with a smack, and he hung for a moment, rope twisting and untwisting. His heart beat a techno bass line. Jesus. He hated this shit.
Barnes flexed his knees as he bounded laterally next to Steele with ease. The extra weight on his face jiggled as he laughed. “Sometimes you just need to stop thinking about it and take a leap of faith. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Steele spun himself, steadying himself with a hand on the pillar until he was parallel with Barnes. “The worst that could happen? I could have broken my neck,” he stammered.
Barnes laughed at him again. “That’s only if you fall. Give yourself a little credit. You free-climbed up here. Way scarier than rappelling down. Come on. We’re wasting clock,” he said.
“Fuck you, Barnes,” Steele said. He bounced along the bridge pillar in seven-foot-wide springs, making his way down the large cut-stone blocks. He tried to keep his mind focused on equally balanced jumps until he heard the thud-thud-thud of a helicopter.
“You hear that, Barnes?” Steele shouted down as Barnes did his last jump into the boat. Barnes nodded helping him into the inflatable.
“What took you so long?” Ahmed demanded.
Steele pointed a finger at Barnes as he undid his harness. “He’s slower than he looks.”
Barnes rolled his eyes and prepped the motor.
“Do you think someone sent some help?” Steele asked.
Barnes snorted a laugh. “Boy, we work for the same government. Besides, it ain’t gonna matter if we don’t get moving,” he said.
One thing Steele had learned from his training was when the guy who makes things “go boom” says you gotta go, you gotta go. Steele knelt in the boat, and Barnes gunned it for the next bridge. The inflatable glided over the water, the front of the raft bouncing up and down. Steele kept expecting to hear the explosion. Water sprayed out as the boat skimmed its dark brown surface. Please don’t hit any bodies.
More debris downriver slowed them down. Barnes dodged the bodies crossing the river in a Z, trying to go fast while not using the propellers as a meat grinder. The swoosh of rotor blades caught up to the escaping men. One buzzed by very close.
“Definitely military,” Barnes yelled.
“Or some very well-armed civilians,” Steele continued.
“I don’t like the looks of them,” Barnes muttered.
Steele thought, Some air support, hell, any support would be appreciated. If they aren’t here to help, why are they here?
“Let’s try and steer clear of those guys,” Steele said.
“I agree. We gotta risk going straight for the next bridge. I want to be out of their line of sight,” Barnes said with urgency. He beelined the boat for the next bridge which was not more than five hundred yards away.
“If it comes to a fight, how do you want to deal with them?” Steele asked, cradling his carbine close.
Barnes continued looking forward. “We don’t. We hide and wait for them to pass,” he said. “We don’t have any ground to air missile systems. Unless you think you can pick them off with that carbine, while we boat and they fly. No big deal.”
“Not a high-percentage shot,” Steele retorted with.
“True.”
Ahmed pointed to the west. “There’s another one,” he shouted. Steele strained his neck. A black object lifted over the opposite side of green Mount Washington. It straightened out and flew low down the river, right for them.
KINNICK
Airborne over Pittsburgh
The chopper descended downward, cutting through the air like a bird of prey. Kinnick’s gut dropped along with the rest of his chili mac MRE. They bore down on the small inflatable boat as it raced across the river. The watercraft dipped beneath a bridge and the pilot was forced to pull up hard so as to not get the helicopter caught in the bridge trusses.
“Looks like he’s out for a joyride,” Sergeant Lewis joked.
Kinnick caught his stomach rising in this chest. Goddamn pilot. Can’t show any discomfort in front of the men. I’ll never hear the end of it being from the Air Force. He tried to look below, using his mind to keep his stomach in check.
“Where did they go?” he asked, peering out the door.
“Dunno, can’t see them,” Master Sergeant Hunter yelled. “Lewis, you got anything?”
“Nothing over here, boss,” Sergeant Lewis replied.
Kinnick had the pilot circle the city center to see if they could find the raft again. They made two passes and no boat could be located.
“Crockett is reporting a convoy of trucks traveling northwest of here,” the pilot said.
Those could be our missing battalions. The boat below lacked substance now. “Alright, take us over to Crockett,” Kinnick said.
An explosion rocked the helicopter sharply to the left. Sensors blinked dangerously, sending shrill warning bells off in the cockpit. The helo spun in the air as the pilot brought it back under his control.
“Whoaa,” the pilot shouted. Master Sergeant Hunter gripped a handhold nonchalantly as if the helo hadn’t just threatened to crash and burn.
A thick cloud of black smoke billowed forth from the center of the bridge. Concrete, steel, and cars plunged from the middle of the bridge into the river.
“Felt like someone just took out the bridge with a JDAM,” Master Sergeant Hunter shouted. Ki
nnick shook his head. JDAM was an acronym for a Joint Direct Attack Munition, a conventional bomb that was guided by a laser. They were commonly used in the Afghanistan and Iraq Wars, which Kinnick assumed Hunter had taken a very active part in.
“When’d you serve?” Kinnick shouted. “Afghanistan in 2003, Iraq in 2005, 2006 and 2007, and back in Afghanistan in 2009,” Hunter said. Kinnick digested the man’s words. Five tours of duty. Not the most, but more than most. A man dedicated to his country. War was his trade, of that Kinnick had no doubt.
“You think you would ever see anything like this happening here?” he said. Master Sergeant Hunter’s beard moved up and down as he chewed on his mustache. “Sir, nothing surprises me. Did I think the world was going to succumb to a virus that killed people and turned them into walking corpses? No. But I know this. It’s not if, it’s when, and when the time comes, I draw the sword and throw away the scabbard,” he said.
When you go to war, go all in because half-measures are dead measures.
“I never in a million years could have imagined such devastation here in the U.S.,” Kinnick said.
Master Sergeant Hunter watched the city below, thinking. “That’s why we weren’t ready.”
Kinnick frowned at his words, but held his tongue. Who could have predicted this? How would we have prepared?
Now they had to play by Master Sergeant Hunter’s rules. The only way to win this fight was to fight like there was no tomorrow. Kinnick only had a moment to comprehend the man’s thoughts before the bird dipped low again, sending his MRE up to the roof of his mouth. He would never eat the damn chili mac again. He looked over at Lewis, hanging off the side of the chopper. How does he do it? It had to have been worse than his hotdog based, “three fingers of death.”
The middle of the bridge was sinking deeper into the water. Cars teetered on the brink of the wide smoldering precipice. The middle of the bridge had split as if a giant had taken a pair of gardening sheers to the bridge. Displaced water flowed around large chunks of concrete that had fallen into the river.
The End Time Saga (Book 2): The Breaking Page 29
