by A. J. Sikes
“There’s plenty of Spanish speakers here already, and not all of them know English that well. Can’t hurt to have another ’terp in the community.”
“Mehta could do that, too, if we get people from Afghanistan. He speaks a little Pashto and wanted to be a ’terp before everything went ass up. And he knows computer shit.”
“What about the girl?”
“Her name’s McKitrick. And don’t let her hear you calling her a girl. She’s a Marine, rah?”
“Yeah, okay. Hooah, I guess. What’s McKitrick do?”
“Grew up on a farm. She knows her way around a barnyard, can drive just about anything with an engine.”
“That’s good stuff. All of it. Baytown likes people who can do more than just dig in the dirt and eat what comes out of it. What about you?”
“Me? I’m just a grunt, man. Give me a Sharpie, I’ll draw a dick on anything.”
“You can lead, can’t you?”
Jed waited a beat before answering. “We’re already down two from the first time you and me met.”
“You said ‘already down’ like you expect to lose more people. Don’t think like that, man. Whatever you might have done differently, whatever you didn’t do but think you should have… Don’t go there. Trust me. It… That’s not how you get through this.”
Jed nodded and told Greg he needed to sleep some more. He spent the rest of the day, and the next, sipping from a canteen, staring at the wall, and thinking about Keoh and Parsons.
— 40 —
Two months later…
Droplets of blood speckled the barren earth at Jed’s feet. He gripped the chain link fence with one hand to steady himself, while keeping his M9 trained on the body snagged in the concertina wire above.
“Another one bites the dust,” Garza said.
“We should get it down. Before any kids see it,” McKitrick said.
Jed grunted his agreement and holstered his sidearm. So many words had been replaced with grunts over the past few months. After the team told him they would rather stay Marines than do anything else, Jed had taken up running security for Baytown under Councilwoman Day’s leadership. He was the acting Gunny now for three squads. They stood post in towers, walked patrols around the perimeter, and trained the residents. They’d even recruited a few new faces from the population, people who showed the interest and ability.
“Y’all get the boots up here. They’re on graves detail this morning,” Jed said.
Mehta gave a muttered Rah as he moved out. McKitrick shifted next to Jed. He looked up and met her eyes. A tear streaked down her cheek.
“You still thinking about them?” Jed asked her.
“Yeah. Always do when I see one of these people. We lost Parsons and Keoh fighting these fuckers. They’re still out there, and there’s more of them than us.”
Mehta came back with two young men in a combination of woodland camo and ACUs, and wearing respirators and heavy latex gloves. They pushed a bicycle cart like a wheelbarrow.
McKitrick and Garza went back to their patrol route while the newest members of Jed’s platoon hauled the infected body off the fence. After some yanking, and more cursing than grunting, they got the corpse down. It landed on its back with a wet flop, arms and legs bent and folded like a paper doll’s.
The holes Jed had put in the man’s chest still leaked crimson. Jed watched the blood soak into the man’s grimy shirt, mixing with the sand and dirt of however many months or years the guy had been surviving in the wilderness before the virus found him. Just like Emily had said, the Variant virus evolved to act like rabies. It would hide inside carriers, sometimes expressing, and sometimes just driving the carrier crazy. That was the only way to identify them now—just waiting until they revealed themselves.
“You good, Sergeant?” Mehta asked.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Let’s get back to walking the line, Mehta.”
They moved out along the fence. In the fields beside them, Baytown residents dug in the earth, planting the next round of crops, and harvesting from the previous planting. Garza’s sister was out there, with her friend and most of the school-age children in the community. Between the two of them, Emily and Danitha were teaching the kids everything they could. Emily’s arm was finally healed up, but she’d lost some mobility. That didn’t stop her from sharing her expertise with the kids, though. And Danitha found a calling of her own, leading the children around the gardens hunting for insects that would improve the yield by controlling other pests.
Jed and Mehta continued on their route, heading down the line of houses. Greg and his people were up ahead laying in an irrigation line.
Even with the food they could grow and store, Jed knew that McKitrick was right. The virus was winning outside the fence, and all it took was one drop of bad blood to infect Baytown and bring everything to an end. Doctor DuBois was working with the drugs they’d collected from the hippie’s car, but there wasn’t much she could do without a full lab at her disposal.
“You think we’ll survive, Sergeant?” Mehta asked.
“I like to believe so.”
They came alongside Greg’s crew and paused. Greg came over and shook Jed’s hand.
“Sounds like the new north gate is ready,” Greg said.
They’d built it a few blocks out from the old one, bringing more acreage into the reclaimed territory. Jed didn’t like to think about it because the community voted to name it after Keoh.
“Keep naming ’em after dead people,” Jed said. “Maybe someday we can name one for someone still alive.”
“Maybe. Until then, just keep up the fire,” Greg said, slapping a hand over his heart.
Jed nodded and marched forward on his patrol route, hoping Greg was right. As long as people had the will to keep living, and to keep fighting, they would survive. The world Jed knew when the virus first broke would never be reclaimed, but his little corner of humanity would see another sunrise tomorrow, and again the day after that. And someday, people like Doctor DuBois might discover a way to stop the virus once and for all. Until then, Jed and his Marines would stand post, walk the perimeter, and engage the enemy whenever they showed themselves.
END OF BOOK THREE
The final book in the trilogy.
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About the Authors
AJ Sikes is a freelance editor and author. His short stories have been published by Fox Spirit Books and Hamilton Springs Press. Sikes is a US Army veteran, father, and woodworker. If he’s not at his desk, he’s in his shop. Or possibly dealing with whatever the children or cats have gotten into.
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Nicholas Sansbury Smith is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Hell Divers series. His other work includes the Extinction Cycle series, the Trackers series, and the Orbs series. He worked for Iowa Homeland Security and Emergency Management in disaster planning and mitigation before switching careers to focus on his one true passion—writing. When he isn't writing or daydreaming about the apocalypse, he enjoys running, biking, spending time with his family, and traveling the world. He is an Ironman triathlete and lives in Iowa with his wife, their dogs, and a house full of books.
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