by Byrd, Daniel
Enough voices began to carry through the room for Houseman to demand silence before Hamilton continued. "I can only assume that any undead that we will be up against in the east will be new, freshly turned, much like what swept through our country. That means they'll be fast and strong, so don't underestimate them. Their bodies won't be frail, and their actions won't be as hindered as the strays that we come across now. They'll be menacing killers, and we're all their prey. The problem lies with the mutation rate of the virus. Some of the infected can turn almost instantaneously now. It's quite remarkable really. They're the perfect enemy, just as they were intended to be. No fear, and no restraint."
He was surprised when a hand went up in the crowd. Houseman stepped forward and addressed the individual. "Questions will be answered at the end. Please wait until-"
"It's kind of important!" the man shouted.
Houseman gave in. "Okay, what is it?!"
"Whose side is this guy on?"
There was laughter and general agreement among the crowd. Houseman didn't appear amused. "I can assure you, he's with us, Mister?”
"Jackson. Private First Class Zachary Jackson. I'm not currently affiliated with any division at the moment, so...yeah."
Hamilton noticed Houseman eying the man, and the General seemed very intrigued by this development. "Ah, yes! I've heard of you!" he said with a sly grin that quickly morphed into a frown as he spoke the next damning words, "You're the traitorous dog who murdered Colonel Browning!"
The whispers turned to outright cries of disgust and detest as Hamilton watched the man named Jackson backing away as another smaller soldier stepped between him and the hundreds of troops in the vicinity converging on them. Hamilton would have traded them all for deadmen if he were the doomed soldier. At least they were stupid compared to the trained forces ready to pounce and tear into the poor bastard.
"Atteeen-tion!"
Everyone snapped their bodies around to the front of the lobby. General Houseman was smiling maliciously, and Hamilton wasn't sure what the man had going on inside his head. I think you smiled like that after you shot Tuefel.
"Did I?" Hamilton muttered to himself.
"I like the enthusiasm I'm seeing, but let's save it for the enemy! This man is here because he is one of two men in this room who have had the most experience combating the undead! He traveled all the way from no man's land in Georgia through the hellscape those things created to get here! He's the only surviving soldier of the fire team he was assigned to, and he's damn good to have escaped the bombings!”
Hamilton could tell there was still doubt amid the chattering from the troops in the lobby. Then again, it was nice knowing he wasn't the most hated man in the building at the moment. He could still see the vilified soldier in the back, and could only wonder what would happen if he were in the man's position as he should be.
***
Jackson looked to Max with a grin. "Damn, the General of the Army says I'm okay. Maybe I won't die here after all."
Houseman demanded attention once more. "Of course, everyone has their role to play in the coming days. Private Jackson will have a fitting position."
Jackson's grin faded. "On second thought, fuck that. I'd rather he didn't know who I was."
"Next time, keep your mouth shut," Max hissed.
"I just want to know who the other person he mentioned was…surely he didn't mean you?”
Houseman held his right hand out in the direction of Dr. Hamilton. "I'll turn it back over to the good doctor, if we're done with this matter."
The doctor didn't hesitate. Apparently he had taken the time during the interruption to gather his thoughts. "You don't need to worry about cemeteries or other mass burial sites. The virus can only affect the living. Of course, a safe bet is to clear all corpses you come across. Whether you put a bullet through the head of a body or decapitate it doesn't matter, just play it safe. A severed head can still bite, however, so it may be best to simply destroy the brain. They may seem vulnerable alone, but their strength lies in their numbers. That applies to you as well. Something else I'd like to address is stealth assassination. It's important to keep noise to a minimum so as to not draw the attention of nearby hordes. I only recommend it if you have the ability, but it's a useful tactic. That might prove difficult in urban settings, but I wouldn't vote against the option. You conserve ammunition, and could spare yourself the attraction of an army of the creatures. Another thing, you don't have to wear gas masks. The virus isn't airborne...though I did encounter one with a gas canister planted in its stomach..." Hamilton mumbled, "on second thought, carry gas masks. Those could prove indispensable."
There were concerned faces in the room as Dr. Hamilton appeared to probe his own mind for other important information. Jackson was sure he wasn't the only one who found some of the intel odd. Not that it wasn't good, but to him, it seemed like someone with experience would say these sorts of things. The man was a white coat lab geek. Why was he giving them tips on equipment and field survival?
"Hey, Zach."
Jackson came out of his trance and realized Max must've been thinking the same thing. "He knows a lot."
"Yeah," Max agreed, "I think it's time for another question."
Jackson was ahead of him. His hand darted up among the sea of heads. Hamilton was in the middle of explaining why setting the undead ablaze wasn't as effective as one would think, when Houseman took notice.
"Private First Class Jackson, you're beginning to test my patience, and let me tell you, it's near nonexistent nowadays!"
"I just need to ask what's on all our minds. Forget whose side he's on, who the hell is this guy?"
Hamilton looked taken aback by that inquiry, but Jackson didn't give a damn. It was too bad that Houseman was ready for such an outburst. "This man is the reason we're not all dead right now!"
This ignited confusion among the crowd. Jackson didn't think that there was any point in holding the truth any longer. If anything, they deserved to know something. They were about to go on a wild chase to fight against people bringing the apocalypse to them. Fuck regulations on intelligence.
Houseman cleared his throat and stared Jackson down from across the room as he addressed the question. "This man concealed as many weapons that he stole from us as he could on his person, walked into what was being used as the enemy's headquarters in the U.S., and killed everything in his sight!"
There were swears and other forms of exclamation throughout the lobby. Jackson shook his head and crossed his arms. "Un-fucking-believable."
"This average-built man before you all has less training than anyone in this airport, and he did what we all failed to do! He took matters into his own hands, and he made sure the bastards stayed dead! What he lacks in bronze, he more than makes up for in brains! He is a testament to the fact that we'll need everything capable of the human body to stop this threat! That is why he will not be part of the support team! I mentioned infiltration, right?! This man will travel into the belly of the beast and use his brains to figure out a way to stop the threat from the inside! When he's done, we'll be able to march in and fill body bags with their corpses!"
There was more celebratory cheering, but Max was stuck on something. Houseman was still on the point of boosting morale when Max’s own hand went up.
"Private Jackson! This isn't a goddamned elementary school! I'll have you shoved right back in your cell and-”
"Sir, I'm...Recruit Max Dawson," Max replied sheepishly among the troops.
Houseman was astounded. "A recruit?! In my task force?!"
The Major behind Houseman came forward and spoke quietly, though the microphone picked up a trace of his voice. "Sir, he's with Private Jackson. Think of it as a package deal."
"Package deal? He's not trained to fight!" Houseman hissed back. The two mulled it over for a moment, and then Houseman eyed the young man from the front of the room, unnerving Max. "Well then?! What?!"
"Well," it was hard for Max to word his
question when the man in charge of everyone in the room was shooting daggers at him from his eyes, "not to be impolite, but as you said, he doesn't look like one to know much in the way of field experience, and since he knew where to find whoever was responsible, how did he-"
"Enough! All you should be concerned with is that because of him we know where to hunt for the remainders, and we understand the enemies we're fighting!”
Max backed down. Jackson patted him on the back. "That's the way. Keep fishing."
"That's enough questions," Houseman shouted, "I'm going to let Dr. Hamilton finish his little seminar, and then we'll begin boarding the transport crafts! We have plenty of supplies ready to go, and enough already on location at our destination! Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you know German; we're basing our operations out of Ramstein! General Andrew Doe of the Air Force will be running the show while I will oversee the ground force operations!”
Jackson grinned. "Gott mit uns."
Max was surprised."You speak German?"
"A little, why?"
Max shrugged. "Wouldn't have guessed."
Hamilton stepped forward. “The last thing I'd like to add is this; for every number we lose to them, theirs grows greater. Remember that before doing something reckless."
That was the one thing the doctor said that actually sank into everyone's minds. Death wasn't just a consequence; it was surrendering your body to the the other side to fight your allies.
"That is all. I don't know what tasks you will all be given, but with death as a constant companion, keep your others even closer."
With that, the briefing was adjourned, and all forces dispersed to prepare for departure. As Jackson and Max left the lobby under the scrutiny and heckling of others that probably wanted to do much worse to someone like Jackson, they were confronted by a blonde-haired man in uniform who stepped out from around a corner. It was the Major who stood behind Houseman during the briefing. Max caught the Major's insignia and snapped to a salute. Jackson did the same, yet eyed the man up and down. He didn't look like someone who had seen a lot of field time. To Jackson, he was too much of a 'pretty boy.'
"General Houseman would like to see you two."
"Oh shit," Jackson said sarcastically, "are we in trouble?"
Hampton smiled. “That depends. Are you ready for your official briefing?"
Jackson nodded, relieved that things were finally starting to roll. “Lead the way, Major…?”
"Hampton. Michael Hampton. You don't have to introduce yourself, Mr. Jackson. You're technically public enemy number one here.”
"Despite the people creating an army of the undead?” Jackson pointed out. “That's harsh, isn't it?”
"Zach, just shut up," Max argued. "Let's not melt the thin ice you're already on."
Jackson wasn't listening. His impatience was still being directed towards Major Hampton. “Look, lapdog, you may be a superior, but all of you still cast my squad aside in my eyes. I'm not taking orders from just anyone."
"Then you'll take them from me,” someone else replied austerely.
General Houseman had come up from behind. Jackson looked over his shoulder, identified him, and spun around on a foot before snapping to a salute. Max followed suit, a little shocked by Jackson’s sudden shift in attitude.
"At ease, though I am surprised," Houseman said.
"Sir, I'm still a part of this army," Jackson explained, “even with my opinions.”
Houseman understood. “That's good to hear. Why else would you be in that uniform?"
"It's all I have to wear," Jackson replied honestly.
"Excellent, because you're going to be in it for a long time as long as you're under my command. It would make sense that you two would be the ones to cause so much disruption."
"We're just curious is all," Jackson commented. Houseman walked past him and motioned for the three to follow. The were led down the terminal and into one of the passenger gates. There were no planes ready for boarding, so Jackson could only assume he was either about to be killed, or they needed absolute privacy. In an airport, that made him chuckle. The narrow hallway had only one occupant. It was dark, but Jackson could make out the brown coat and jeans the individual was wearing. A civilian, but who?
"Private Jackson, and...Recruit Dawson, meet Dr. Evan Hamilton."
The doctor nodded in their direction without a word. Jackson was utterly confused, "Wait, what's this about?"
"This," Hampton replied, "would be your assignment.”
"Major," Hamilton said with a smirk, "I'm a person, despite what General Houseman has led you to believe.”
"Yes, forgive me," Hampton muttered.
With that remark, Hamilton pushed his glasses up on his nose and retrieved a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. Max was watching him carefully while Houseman went back to speaking, "Gentlemen, this is your mission."
Jackson shook his head. “Wait, what?"
"This man," Houseman pointed to the doctor, "is your responsibility.”
"What the hell does that mean? Security?” Jackson asked. Hamilton lit a cigarette and took a drag, averting eye contact.
"Hamilton, put that out!" Houseman spat.
Hamilton blew a smoke ring. “I'm sorry, but if I can't have one on the plane, I've got to smoke one now. It's hard to think clearly without-”
Houseman's eyes squinted, and Hamilton paused as he brought the cigarette back up to his mouth. The General spoke clearly, and in a low tone, "Hamilton. Out."
Hamilton paused, and then dropped the cigarette to the floor and stomped it out. Houseman shook his head and turned back to the other two as the doctor appeared to be muttering to himself. Jackson really didn't like the guy. He was…off.
"I'll explain everything when we've landed," Houseman told them, "so until then, consider yourselves VIPs."
Max stepped forward. “Excuse me, sir?"
Houseman looked him up and down, not impressed with what he saw. Max was a skinny young man, and the General didn't see much potential with that. He hoped that the kid had a good mind, and judging from the questions he and Jackson were raising, they were determined to get information, so they were inquisitive. Of course, inquisitive was a bad trait in the military. “What?"
"What exactly are we supposed to do about him?" Max asked, nodding to Hamilton.
"Well," Houseman said with a grin, "you two essentially get to play escort."
Max and Jackson both let their mouths drop as Houseman, Hampton, and Hamilton made their way back to the lobby. Hampton stole a glance over his shoulder when he noticed the other two weren't following them.
"Are you two coming?"
Jackson and Max began to follow after them. Jackson put his hand on his forehead and swore.
"You okay?" Max asked.
Jackson rubbed his eyes with his fingers. “Max, do me a favor."
"Yeah?"
"Remind me to never kill another military officer, ever again."
Max raised a brow. “That…should be easy?"
Jackson dropped his hands to his side as they walked and laughed. “Ever wanted to hit a coworker?”
“Yeah?”
Jackson snapped his fingers. “Then you’d be surprised.”
Chapter Ten - Where a Kingdom Fell
Makoto Nagase looked down at the patch in his hands. It was a painful reminder of his past mistakes all encompassed in a red circle with a black silhouette of a dragon breaking away from chains. For many years he had served under the command of Tiamat Unbound, the former most powerful private military company in the world. In those years he had done things he never thought he would have to look back on, but when the company betrayed him and tried to have him killed while on a mission in Iran, he was forced to bring everything into question. Of course, having to fight his own brother who was sent to assassinate him really didn't clear anything up, but it settled the fact that he had to behead the dragon before it grew too powerful for anyone to stop. In the end, he united with four o
ther people who also sought to bring down the infamous organization for their own reasons. The CEO was assassinated, and they escaped just before the UN had the chance to storm the headquarters. Makoto was satisfied with the outcome, even if he was not the one to murder the CEO and restore his brother's honor. Then again, there wasn't much honor to reclaim, but either way the deed was done. The world was safe from tyranny.
"Until now," he muttered to himself as he reached across his chest and dropped the patch out of the passenger window of the speeding car. He only wished his sins could be cast away like that. The things he did, and the people he'd killed, tacked onto the ones he'd intimidated into submission. The nightmares had tormented him for the past year, but he was finally going to do something about them. There was no going back to correct his mistakes, and the torn-out fabric on his shoulder where the patch once rested would remind him of that. He had chosen to stand against what they had made him into. He was not a mindless killer; he was a ghost of vengeance for all of those who had fallen under their tyranny, and ghosts always returned to haunt.
"You okay?"
Makoto came to and looked to his right. Alexis Hawkins was normally a very quiet girl, but she had a heart. That was an odd trait considering her former line of work. She was trained by Terry Shields, aka Doberman, the best of the best from Tiamat Unbound. From what Makoto could tell, he had taught her well. It helped that she had a knack for sharpshooting, but she saw it as a curse herself. Her hand-to-hand skills weren't as well totted. He had sparred with her a few times over the past year in hand-to-hand combat, and she proved more capable of fighting than the other two, but still sloppy. Makoto had to grin to himself. Had he the complete use of his left arm, he probably wouldn't have judged her in such a lenient manner. The gap would have been much wider between their skills. Now he usually just kept the useless limb in a sling to prevent it from being dead weight. There was no point in amputating it since they couldn't actually seek medical care without blowing their cover as wanted criminals. Makoto and Alexis were definitely on lists thanks to appearing on the payroll for Tiamat Unbound.
