The Redemption Trilogy

by A. J. Sikes

  “They’re going back to their roost,” Emily said. “They’re leaving.”

  Danitha stayed huddled against her, not willing to look at the monsters. “They’re supposed to be gone. What happens tonight, when we don’t have a forest to hide in? What happens to us then?”

  “We find someplace to hide,” Emily said. “We find it, and then we find another, and another. Now let’s go, Dani.”

  With half her attention always on the sky, and Danitha reluctantly following, Emily led them into the dawn, praying they would find her brother before the monsters found them.

  — 4 —

  Jed, Mehta, and Parsons marched off the pier and onto the semi-solid ground beyond. Garza, McKitrick, and Keoh were already several yards ahead. Jed and the two privates followed them. They passed an old sports bar nestled between the causeway and the road coming off the railway bridge. Its rooftop sign hung from one end, with the other jammed into the marshy soil around the building. A sandy patch in front of the bar gave way to a paved lane that led to the causeway ramps. Jed kept on, marching inland, toward a group of men who stood in a huddle around an overturned car. Two functioning SUVs sat a few paces away, on the onramp. The bulldozer Gunny Ewell had used to clear the causeway was still here, too. He’d left it on the bridge with the last car he’d shoved aside still stuck on the dozer’s blade.

  As Jed got nearer, the group around the car came into focus. Each of them had on the same gray T-shirt, just like the body he’d fished from the bay earlier. They also wore tool belts and Camelbaks, and some had sidearms with them. Garza and the others had just reached the group and were trading fist bumps.

  “C’mon, boots,” Jed said, turning his step into a jog. Parsons and Mehta managed to keep up without tripping until the last few feet, when Mehta snagged his toe on a rock and went down on his stomach. Jed was quick to give Garza and the others a look that said cool it. Parsons helped Mehta up, and the two of them held back from joining the rest of the group. Jed told them to post a few yards away, near the road that extended from the railroad bridge.

  “Keep an eye out. And hydrate, rah?”

  They nodded and dropped their packs. Jed joined the others, pushing between Garza and McKitrick.

  “Make a hole, y’all,” he said.

  “You’re Sergeant Welch?” one of the engineers asked. He was a stocky white guy with a can of Rip It in one hand and a hard hat under his arm.

  “That’s right,” Jed said. “And you?”

  “Greg Radout, with Six Team.”

  “Six Team? What’s that?”

  “That’s us. We come in after the storm and put things right. We got your six. Been doing it since before the virus hit. Decided to pick up the game once Texas was confirmed clear.”

  “Huh. And you’re the same bunch was on Galveston?”

  “That was our other strike team. We were on Tiki Island until yesterday,” Greg said, pointing to the west, across the causeway. “The team on Galveston headed to the FOB with a few of our guys, up the road near South Houston. We’d be there with ’em, but I got a call over the blue net to wait for you. The refugee ship here already? I thought it wasn’t due until next week.”

  “You’re asking the wrong guy about that,” Jed said. “We ain’t been doing much but pull bodies from the water. That’s why we’re here.”

  “What do you mean?” Greg asked.

  “We found a guy this morning. Wasn’t dead long, like the others we’ve been fishing up.”

  Jed paused, not knowing how to describe the bite marks. He didn’t want to cause a panic, but at the same time he had to tell the man something. “We’re thinking a gator got him. LT said he’s one of your people.”

  Greg’s eyes went wide with shock. “Who?”

  “I don’t know his name, but I could swear it was a guy who was on Galveston before y’all left. He’s wearing your uniform. Gray t-shirt and cargo pants.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Got him on the boat,” Jed said, aiming a thumb behind him.

  “Let’s go,” Greg said, already pushing past Garza and heading toward the pier. Jed and his people followed, with the other Six Team members behind them.

  They made it as far as the trucks on the off ramp when an engine whined nearby. Jed swiveled his head to spot the vehicle. It was racing their way, straight down the causeway. Greg and his people held up at the end of the lane leading to the sports bar. Jed directed his squad to move forward and lift their weapons. They took up positions alongside the road, kneeling behind rubble and vehicles pushed to the shoulder. The car kept coming, barreling down the road. Jed thought about firing a warning burst, but he had no idea who was driving. It could have been one of the civilians on Galveston, but why were they going so fast?

  The car came into focus as it got closer. It was a dark green Subaru wagon with a surfboard rack on top. Jed had seen it around the island, going from pier to pier. The driver was usually a young guy with long brown hair, one of the civilians that had managed to survive the apocalypse. He had taken to surfing, fishing, and snapping pictures with a camera rig that had one of those long lenses on it. Sometimes he would stop by the platoon’s TOC and trade fish or pretty pictures for cigarettes.

  “What’s up with him?” Jed wondered aloud.

  The car sped by them, leaving a gust of warm air in its wake. Jed couldn’t be sure who was driving, but there was only one person in the vehicle. He called the squad to their feet and rejoined Greg and the others.

  “Someone you know?” Greg asked.

  “Not sure. Probably just this hippie dude who managed to stay alive somehow.”

  Greg chuckled, then turned serious. “You said you had one of our people down there. I’d like to see him. ID the body at least. Not that it’ll do much good, but…”

  “Yeah, be good to know who it was,” Jed said as he led them down the lane toward the sports bar.

  They were a few yards from the sports bar when a shockwave of heat and pressure sent everyone stumbling backward. An explosion ripped through the calm morning. Everyone fell to the ground clutching their headgear as debris rained down and more explosions came in succession, rocking the air and echoing into the distance. When the last of them sounded, Jed risked a look.

  The others raised their heads. Greg confirmed none of his people were injured, and Jed did the same. Mehta and Parsons were behind their rucks, still up by the vehicles. They poked their faces out from either side like a pair of scared cats. Jed waved for them to stay put. Dust and smoke filled the air, and the ringing in Jed’s ears slowly gave way to the heavy slap of water against concrete.

  The railroad bridge and the causeway had been blown up where they met the shore, leaving a gap of at least five yards. More holes and breaks showed down the length of the causeway.

  “What the hell was that?” Greg demanded. “We’ve been working day and night putting this place back together! What the absolute—”

  He flung his hard hat to the ground. His people gradually got to their feet, some of them slower than others. Jed was relieved to see his Marines helping out, lending a hand to the ones who seemed the most shook up by the blasts.

  They’ve seen this before. Probably not much different from what they did in the sandbox, dodging mortars while they try to build a bridge.

  Greg dropped into a deep squat and held his face in his hands. Jed turned in a circle and scanned the area for incoming threats. All he saw was marshland and the ravaged roadway that used to connect them to the only home they had.

  Greg groaned in anger. “We’ve been rebuilding for months. For nothing.”

  Jed knew what he meant. The railroad and causeway would have been the path to repopulating Texas. Hospital ships would bring survivors into Galveston for quarantine and processing, like a modern-day Ellis Island. Jed’s platoon would monitor and provide security for the incoming survivors.

  But the ships hadn’t shown up. They hadn’t even confirmed they would be coming, and Jed’s
platoon was down to his squad, Gunny, and the LT.

  “Why would somebody do this? And how?” Greg asked, looking at Jed. “You know anything about this?”

  Jed shook his head and said, “Not a damn thing.” A nagging worry found its way into Jed’s thoughts, but he pushed it aside. Jordan and Kipler were good men. They might have bailed from a sinking ship, but who could blame them?

  “Oh shit, Sergeant,” Keoh said. “Skip’s gone.”

  Jed followed Keoh’s pointed finger and saw the mess below the bridges. Blocks of concrete filled the water, along with splintered railroad ties and the rails themselves. Somewhere under all of that was their cabin cruiser along with their helmsman. Jed took a few steps toward the shore and stopped.

  “We can’t get him out of that, Sergeant,” Keoh said.

  Jed didn’t want to believe it, but she was right. There was no way they’d find Skip under the wreckage from the bridges. Not safely anyway. And what would they do with his body even if they could find it?

  “You had someone on the boat?” Greg asked, coming to join him.

  “Skip. Old ’Nam vet. He made it through everything on his own. The virus, the Variants, all the hurricanes. Hung out on Galveston in a church.”

  “I’m sorry,” Greg said. “And whoever we lost is down there, too. Look, I’m taking my people back to our FOB. Your hippie dude was heading in that direction, and if he did this, who knows what else he has planned?”

  “If it’s that hippie from Galveston, the only thing he’s got planned is catching a wave. I have a hard time believing he did this.”

  “Who then? You got anybody on the island with enough motive and know-how to daisy chain bombs across a mile of highway?”

  Jed thought about who on Galveston might have wanted to sabotage their operation. One of the civilians might have done it, but why? He’d already written off Sergeant Jordan and Sergeant Kipler. He hardly spoke with them before they took off, but he didn’t think they had any beef with the rebuilding effort. Gunny was always pissed off, but that was just Gunny. And as much as Jed disliked the LT, there was no way that man could have rigged up bombs to take out both bridges. He spent too much time flipping papers and calling around the commo net.

  Thinking about the LT again sent a wave of anxiety through Jed’s chest. He was never far from the two-story home that served as their TOC, and that building was at the Galveston end of the causeway. “Hey, Parsons!”

  “Yes, Sergeant!”

  “You got that radio up?”

  “Oorah, Sergeant.”

  “Get LT on. Or Gunny. Anyone.”

  Jed turned back to Greg and the others. “Our TOC might have been hit. It’s close to the bridge at that end. If we’re cut off… Shit, there’s no other way to the island is there?”

  “Not unless you have a boat, and there’s nothing this side of the water worth using. Anything that still floats was salvaged a long time ago.”

  Greg dug in his pocket and pulled out a set of keys.

  “We need to move out. You can take the Hyundai. We’ll fit into the Suburban fine.”

  “Where’s your FOB again? In case we need to shelter tonight.”

  “Hope your people are okay and it doesn’t come to that. But… We’re about six klicks up the road, past the refinery at Texas City. There’s a garrison there you could try and link up with, too.”

  “They Marines or Army?” Jed asked.

  “I don’t know,” Greg said as he moved to rejoin his people by their vehicles. “They got here before we did, and we haven’t had much contact. If you get with them, I’ll send a runner to pick up our vehicle. Good luck, Sergeant.”

  “Yeah, same to you. And thanks.”

  Parsons called to Jed. “LT’s not answering, Sergeant. Same with Gunny.”

  Jed walked over and took the mic from him.

  “Hometown, Shorewatch 1. Over.”

  With no reply after three tries, Jed gave up.

  “You think they got taken out?” McKitrick asked, motioning to the ruined bridges.

  “Blasts kept coming,” Garza said. “Could be they went all the way back to Galveston and hit the TOC.”

  Jed scanned the horizon, looking for movement anywhere across the water. Greg and his people wheeled onto the causeway and moved out as a breeze swept the last of the dust from the area.

  “We’re ass out in the wind here,” Jed said.

  The squad shifted where they stood, uneasy and on edge. Jed thought about their options again, then said, “Guess we go to that garrison up the road. McKitrick, you’re driving. Parsons, you get in back with the radio. The rest of y’all squeeze in.”

  — 5 —

  Emily and Danitha spent most of the day moving at a fast trot, sometimes running, then jogging, and finally, half stumbling through the wilderness outside of Houston. They stopped to catch some sleep at the edge of a small wood, building a lean-to from more deadfall and covering it with as much leaf matter and brush as they could find before the sun dropped dangerously low. They were concealed before sundown, and ate a few more bites from their rations.

  Emily encouraged Danitha to go sleep as soon as they were done eating and, thankfully, she didn’t raise any objections. Emily couldn’t rest knowing that Danitha was still awake and might decide to run off again. Even though they’d talked about it during the day, Emily still worried that the woman’s only real loyalty was to herself. And her ideas of survival did not match with what Emily had learned from her parents on the road from Jalisco.

  Finally, after Danitha’s breathing grew deeper, Emily laid herself down on the bed of brush they’d prepared. When the sun began to warm her face through gaps in their roof, she wiped her eyes, and shook Danitha awake. After stretching out the cramps in her legs and back, Emily grabbed a fallen branch to use as a walking stick, or weapon if it came to that. She led the way along the edge of the wood, always aiming them to the south.

  The fringes of Houston took shape amidst the fields and clustered trees ahead of them. Small neighborhoods and refinery towns jutted into a mix of marshy, overgrown fields. A hazy, dense fog rose from pools of water amid the ruins. The hurricanes had almost turned the whole area into a bayou. Some farm roads still wove between the wet areas. Emily worried they would run into alligators and snakes if they went through there. She was about to propose they take the longer route heading around Houston when Danitha stumbled forward and nearly collapsed beside her.

  “So tired. I am so damn tired…”

  “I know, Dani. I know. We’re almost out of it. The militia didn’t make it this far, remember? I heard them say they stopped coming this way because the Army’s out here. We just have to find them before the militia creeps find us.”

  “And hope they ain’t friends,” Danitha added. “You want to trust people wearing the same clothes as the ones talking about starting up the plantations again. I didn’t know better, I’d say you crazy.”

  “Maybe I am. But my brother’s a Marine, and he isn’t about any plantations.”

  Emily moved up to the very edge of the field. A refinery town sat at the other side. Emily used her walking stick to push aside the rangy grass and test the ground. It was firm, which meant they might make it without any gators coming after them. Providing the field didn’t turn to a marsh halfway across. She turned back to Danitha and waved her up. “We can go through that neighborhood up ahead, then we’re about halfway to Houston. Chava’s email said the Army has people there.”

  “Chava? Who’s that?”

  “My brother, Salvador. Chava is his name from when he was a little boy.”

  “He’s Army? I thought you said he was a Marine. Ain’t they different things?”

  “Yes, they are. But we just need to find somebody in uniform. If we see somebody who looks legit, I’ll ask how to find my brother. They will know where everyone is. They have to. Come on.”

  “I hope you’re right, Professor,” Danitha said as they took a few steps forward into the
field.

  “Stop calling me that. We’re not in my office or a classroom, and there’s no university left anyway. Call me Emily. Please.”

  “Okay. I hope you’re right, Emily. And if you’re not, you better hope they shoot you first. ’Cause I sure as hell will if this goes bad for us.”

  “We are not going down like that, mija. Trust me.”

  “Like I got a choice?” Danitha asked.

  The woman’s anger was growing worse, and Emily knew it was because they were both near the end of their will. They’d been going for so long, and with so little to keep them going at all. But her brother was out there, and close enough that she had to believe they would survive to find him.

  I’m coming, hermano. Say a prayer for me. Because I’m saying one for you. Be safe and be there when I find you.

  “How far to Houston now, you think?” Danitha asked.

  “Maybe thirty miles. I don’t know. But it gets farther the longer we wait.”

  Danitha nodded at that. “We going through these fields? Ain’t the gators living in here?”

  “The ground is solid. Not wet. There shouldn’t be any alligators.”

  “What about them other things? The bats.”

  “Bats are nocturnal. They fly out when the sun sets. The longer we stand here, the closer that time gets.”

  Danitha didn’t have anything to say to that, so Emily pushed into the field, spreading the grass ahead of her with her walking stick. The ground stayed firm all the way across, and soon enough, they were in the refinery neighborhoods east of Houston. Emily and Danitha entered the town that ringed the first refinery, and walked down the ruined streets. The place was nothing but a mess of shattered homes now. Hurricanes had come up and ripped everything apart. Cars lay strewn about, upside down and crumpled against each other, or wrapped around the few remaining trees. Torn rooftops, splintered walls, and broken glass covered every inch of ground in all directions.