The Redemption Trilogy

by A. J. Sikes

  He unzipped the top flap and grabbed at the clear bag held there by a Velcro strap. He tugged the strap open and held the IV out to Jo.

  “You have to do it, Jed,” Jo said, cradling her injured arm. “I can’t trust my hand to stay steady.

  Jed shook with fright. He’d trained for this before, but it had been years. He knew the don’ts, but could barely remember the dos.

  “Cut her sleeve open,” Jo said. “Shears are in the bag, there.” She pointed at the flap he’d pulled the IV from. Jed grabbed the shears from their strap and cut a slit in Sergeant G’s sleeve right above her elbow.

  “Iodine,” Jo said, and her voice was the calmest sound Jed had heard in as long as he could remember. He reached for the bag, but it was too dark for him to make out which pouch was which.

  “Pen light is in the top pouch, the first one you opened.”

  Jo’s coaching settled his nerves and he breathed in and out, feeling his lungs swell first, and then shrink in a smooth rhythm. The pen light was where she said it would be. He flicked it on and found a box of iodine wipes.

  “Wipe the whole area, and use more than one if you need to. We can’t risk introducing infection.”

  He did as she said, cleaning Sergeant G’s arm again before he got the IV ready to go in. When he had the needle above her vein, the boat rocked in the water. He thought for sure he would miss or collapse the vein, but Jo’s even voice and confident coaching got him through the shakes.

  Jed breathed in and out, steadied his hands, and laid the needle against Sergeant G’s vein. He gave a push and watched it slide under her skin. Pressure against the needle told him he was above the vein. He angled down, pushed again, and felt it slide home.

  Jo told him to open the drip.

  “Start it slow.”

  He did, and together he and Jo held their patient steady as the boat pushed through swells in Long Island Sound. Jo soaked a bandage with a bottle of water and swabbed Sergeant G’s forehead. Jed put his hand on Jo’s shoulder and thanked her.

  “Couldn’t have done it without you, Jo. Oorah.”

  “Oorah, Jed. You did good.”

  Sergeant G rolled her head to face him. He thought she said Errr before her eyes closed and her face went still.

  “Sergeant G! Sergeant!”

  “She’s good, Jed,” Jo said. “She’s breathing steady. You did it.”

  Jed held the IV bag up in one hand and sat back on his ass. He looked at the woman who saved his life, and whose life he finally saved.

  You did good, Jed. You did good.

  ***

  The coastline of Long Island was a dark slice at the bottom of the sky as they pushed farther out from the city.

  Lights flashed on the water ahead and Jed thought it was a nautical signal. He just didn’t know which one.

  “Could be someone good, could be someone bad,” Matty said. “I’m turning our lights off and moving out of their path. Just in case.”

  A loudspeaker crackled to their starboard, but they were too far to make out the message clearly.

  “What’d they say?” Jo asked. “It sounded like enemy.”

  Jed handed her the IV bag and picked up the 240, moving to starboard. He set the bipod on top of the boxes there, hoping he’d know for sure who they were before he needed to fire.

  Matty had their lights off and was idling the engine. The loudspeaker crackled again in the darkness.

  “Are you friendly? Confirm ID.”

  “Sounds military to me,” Jed said. “I bet they’re okay. Get us closer, Matty.”

  “You sure, Jed? That asshole we chased all over the city might’ve been military himself. That didn’t make him okay.”

  “I trust these guys,” Jed said. “They sound legit. Get us closer. If they’re bad people, I’ll light ’em up.”

  Matty grunted something, but he brought them around to aim toward the other vessel. As they turned, a spotlight flared and blinded Jed. Three motors roared to life in the dark water and in seconds they were surrounded.

  Jed held a hand up to block the spotlight. He couldn’t see who it was, but he did see what they were sailing in. Three SOC-R craft floated in a perimeter, each with its armaments aimed in their direction.

  “Friendly!” Jed shouted, lifting his other hand off the 240. “US Marines! We got wounded!”

  ***

  The welcoming party escorted them through Long Island Sound until their motor sputtered. With help from one of the SOC-R teams, they transferred Sergeant G and the supplies from Tucker’s boat onto the other craft.

  “We’re from Plum Island,” one of the Marines told Jed once they were underway. The whole crew wore protective gear, so the man’s voice was muffled, but it still had the command and confidence Jed was familiar with.

  Sounds a lot like Sergeant G.

  “Where’s Plum Island?” Jed asked.

  “End of the sound. That’s where you’re going now. You’ll be de-conned, treated, and interviewed. If you’re lucky, they’ll give you a new uniform. If you’re unlucky, they’ll feed you.”

  Jed wanted to laugh at the joke, but he couldn’t. He looked at Sergeant G, who was lying on the deck, still and calm, like she could be dead or alive. Only the steady rise and fall of her chest told him what he needed to be true. He got the other Marine’s attention and pointed at Sergeant G.

  “She saved my life, man. You gotta help her. Make sure she comes through.”

  “We have good doctors there. She’ll get the best she possibly can.”

  Jed couldn’t let it go.

  Doesn’t anybody care if she’s okay?

  Jo was sitting next to him. She put a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye.

  “You saved her life, Jed. Oorah?”

  Jed thought for a moment, feeling everything they’d been through that day like a smothering weight. He watched the team of Marines crewing the SOC-R as they sped over the water.

  “Hey,” he said to the one who’d spoken to him. The man stood behind a .50 cal turret. He turned to Jed and told him to get some rest.

  “I will, but you gotta know—we had to leave some people behind,” Jed told him in a rush. “There’s people back there. The sucker faces have ’em. We couldn’t get everybody out.”

  “Operation Liberty starts tomorrow morning. If they’re alive, we’ll find them and they’ll be safe. Now make use of that fourth point of contact, Private.”

  Jed wanted to tell him the people were underground, but the guy had clearly ended the conversation, and the tone of his voice told Jed he’d already used his get out of hell free card.

  As they raced through the sound toward Plum Island, Jed whispered into the night, saying a prayer for the people still in the city, and the people who had died so that he and the others could get out. Then he said a prayer for the people who would be going back tomorrow morning.

  Good luck, and God bless you. The people we couldn’t get out, they’re down in the sewers and maintenance tunnels under buildings. If you see her down there…

  If you see Meg, please get her out.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you for reading Penance! I hope you enjoyed the story. My additional and eternal gratitude goes to the men and women of the United States Marine Corps, and to firefighters and first responders everywhere, for your service and your sacrifice. Special thanks go to SSGT Cynthia Terrones (USMC), and to Lieutenant Jon Theisen (Philadelphia FD, retired) for their expert advice and valuable commentary as beta readers. Special thanks as well to US Army OEF Veterans Joshua Ghan and Specialist Claire Ghan.

  Thanks also to the many Marines (active and retired) who replied to my posts on Quora and Twitter asking for help in crafting as authentic a story as I possibly could. If I got anything right about the Corps in Penance, it’s thanks to them. As for the stuff I got wrong, that’s on me for not asking the right questions ahead of time.

  Last, but absolutely not least, my gratitude to Michael E. Andre of the 2/9
“Manchu” Scout Platoon. If it weren’t for my brother from the Northeast, I wouldn’t know my hockey terminology. Scouts out, Mikey!

  RESURGENCE

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to survivors everywhere.

  Keep up the fire.

  — 1 —

  Emily Garza clenched her teeth and waited for the militia creep to pass her hiding place. She was crouched behind a fallen tree at the edge of what used to be a suburban neighborhood. The roaming militia guard followed a trail between two houses and stepped out of sight. Emily listened for his footfalls to grow quieter, hoping he wouldn’t come back.

  She slid a hand into her pocket and caressed a thin metal disk, the back of a watch her parents had given her when she finished college. The last time she’d seen her parents, they were smiling, just like they had been on the day she’d graduated. She didn’t want to think about what they looked like now, after the virus and the Variants had destroyed the world, leaving the ruins for people like the militia to take over.

  Emily had made it as far as the fence line around the neighborhood without being seen. Now she had to wait for her friend, Danitha Rice, and time was running out. The nightly patrols would change shift soon, and that meant an extra set of eyes that might see someone running through the neighborhood after curfew. If Danitha could get out of the house, make it across the neighborhood, and remembered to bring the cutters, then they could escape.

  But if Dani gets caught…

  A chain link fence topped with razor wire ringed the neighborhood. It had been put up by construction teams helping to rebuild in Texas. Emily and Danitha were part of that effort, and it was looking good. People started growing food. Danitha and her hacker friends even got the Internet to work again. Then the militia showed up and turned the little suburb into a prison camp. They executed the first two people who disagreed with them, and that was all it took to get everyone else in line.

  For a second, Emily feared that Danitha had tried to take a weapon with her. She had argued they would need a gun, but Emily refused to risk it. The militia kept all their guns with them, or locked away in one of their houses. Taking one would be next to impossible.

  Please, Dani, please get here soon.

  It was just past ten at night, by her watch, a cheap plastic replacement for the silver one her parents had given her.

  Emily Garza, the first in the family not only to go to college, but also to stick it out for twelve straight years to become a virology researcher.

  And now the first to escape from a prison camp inside America.

  Scuffling footsteps sounded nearby and Emily poked her head around the tree. Danitha ran in a low stoop, coming down the graveled path from the nearest house. She carried a pack over one shoulder and twisted her head left and right as she moved, watching for the guards who could show up any second.

  With a gasping breath, Emily called to her.

  “Over here.”

  Danitha raced forward, came around the tree, and collapsed beside Emily.

  “You brought the cutters?”

  Danitha nodded fast and put a hand on her chest. “Let me get my breath. Thought for sure they’d see me. I been waitin’ on a bullet the whole time. I swear this is the stupidest thing I ever let you talk me into doing.”

  “We’ll make it, Dani. We have to.”

  Emily had hope they would escape, but still worried they would be caught. Somebody would notice she and Danitha were missing soon enough, and then the whole neighborhood would be searching for them.

  Emily remembered how it felt when the Variants ruled the streets. Nobody who wanted to stay alive would dare going outside, and definitely not at night. Now, with the monsters gone from Texas, they had the same fear still guiding their every action. Except the monsters they hid from were other human beings.

  Danitha tapped Emily on the shoulder. “I got two bottles of water. You got the food?”

  “Yes, the rations the militia had,” she said, patting her own pack. “But only three.”

  Dani nodded and motioned with a tilt of her head that they should get moving.

  Together, they crept toward the fence line. Danitha pulled a pair of bolt cutters out of her pack and put the blades around the bottom links on the fence.

  “Do it fast, Dani. Just cut it and we can run out of here.”

  Danitha hesitated, worry and fear curling her brow. Emily reached for the cutters. With a quick squeeze of the handles, the first link popped apart and sent an echoing snap into the silent late evening air. Birds rustled in nearby trees, and Emily worried she’d just ended their chances of escape. She moved the cutters slowly to the next link. The neighborhood was still and silent behind them.

  She cut again, then moved to the next link above. Each cut sounded louder than the last, and Emily threw herself into the task, cutting, moving, cutting again. She worked in a frenzy until she’d sliced a section of the fence big enough for them to push through.

  Danitha went first, shoving the chain link aside and curling it up and out of her path. She held it for Emily, who was halfway through when the shouting started.

  “Over here! I think they’re over here!” someone yelled.

  Emily scrambled out through the hole in the fence, snagging her pants on the cut wire. The fabric tore with an angry rip as she flung herself forward.

  Danitha grabbed Emily by the arm and helped her up. Without a second look back, they ran into the woods.

  The shouting continued, a few houses over from where they’d escaped. They had to get away from the neighborhood, get somewhere that they wouldn’t be seen or heard by anyone ever again. At least not until it was someone they knew they could trust.

  A narrow creek trickled up ahead. Emily reached it first and slid to her knees, dropping to all fours, wanting to catch her breath. But she had to keep moving, keep running.

  Wet leaves and mud pushed back against her palms as she steadied herself to stand.

  Danitha was a few yards back and gaining fast when a shot rang out, echoing into the still forest. Her face went tight with terror and she sped by Emily, leaped over the creek, and ducked around a thick tree on the other side. Emily staggered to her feet and hopped over the thin stream. She pulled up at another tree beside Danitha.

  “Told you they’d see us. I told you,” Danitha said between breaths.

  “It could have been anything they were shooting at. Maybe it’s one of them out hunting again, shooting some animal.”

  Danitha gasped for breath and said, “Yeah? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m the motherfucking president.” Danitha slumped to the ground, with her back against the tree.

  “They gonna find us,” she said.

  “They are not, Dani. Not if we keep moving.”

  “And go where? Look around you. What the fuck we got to move to? There’s nothing out here but more trees. Nothing to eat except that nasty Army food you got. And only enough of that to get us to tomorrow. We don’t have any guns because you said it was too dangerous to try and steal one.”

  “It was, Dani. They would have—”

  “Where we gonna sleep? People are saying the monsters all dead, but you want me to believe that? You really think none of those things are waiting for us in these woods?”

  Danitha’s head drooped against her chest, and she began to sob.

  “There’s nothing left anywhere. Nothing,” she said.

  “We have each other, mija. And my brother is here. He’s in Galveston. We can find him.”

  “And how we gonna do that? Galveston’s fifty miles away at least. And he don’t even know you’re here.”

  “He does. I got an email from him, right before the militia came. I told him we would be coming. So, we have each other, we have my brother, and we have a place to go. Vámonos.”

  “Galveston,” Danitha said with a sour laugh. “You talk like you got a helicopter hidden out here. You really think we’re gonna walk ourselves to Galveston?”

 
“Are your legs broken?”

  Danitha looked up at her. Beneath the tears and frightened eyes, Emily could still see the excited face of the young woman who had walked into her office at the university, applying for an internship. That was the day the virus came. The day Emily and Salvador Garza lost their parents to the monsters.

  The day the world ended.

  “Get up, Dani. Galveston won’t come to us.”

  “We’re gonna die out here, Professor.”

  “Maybe so. But I will not sit here and wait for death to come.”

  She helped Danitha up, and together they shuffled deeper into the growing dark of the woods. Whatever danger they might be heading into, at least they were free to run from it instead of getting shot in the back or stood against a wall.

  — 2 —

  Sergeant Jed Welch leaned over the cabin cruiser’s gunwale and prodded another body with the muzzle of his weapon. It was snagged on a splintered roof beam jutting from the water in Galveston Bay. Jed rode in a salvaged civilian boat with his patchwork squad, the Hellhounds, Plus Two. They were formed from the survivors of a Marine Regiment that fought the Variants in New York. Three squads had made it out of that mess to be reassigned on Galveston Island. The other two had disappeared in the past week, and Jed was starting to think AWOL status was better than the shit detail they got stuck with.

  Their official task was to maintain perimeter security on the island’s north shore while they waited for refugee boats to arrive. With zero Variant threats inbound, that translated to graves detail.

  Three hurricane seasons had come and gone since the Variants first appeared and nearly swept humanity from the face of the earth. The storms had nearly returned the Texas shoreline to a blank slate. Except for the sturdiest buildings, everything on Galveston Island had been reduced to shredded ruin. The remains were testament to the power of nature, with the tangled wrecks of cars, trucks, boats, and buildings piled against the shore and mounded in the shallowest parts of the bay.