They rolled up his sleeves at the shoulders, inspecting him. He made no motion to fight them off. Marco was hardly even there, eyes glazed over. Was this how he dealt with shock and grief now? Complete and total detachment? He wasn’t off in some happy place, but rather he felt like he was descending into a pool of water. Weightless. Bereft of control.
Down, down, down we go.
“He ain’t Bloodline.” A man’s voice.
“He is. A fledgling. He just hasn’t earned his stripes yet. You think he’d be travelling with this’n here if not?” This time, Marco looked up. This voice was female, with a British accent. The speaker, he recognized, was the girl he’d seen before, the one on the dirt bike. She’d pulled her black bandana, adorned by a white skull, from over her lips. It was unclear to him if this somehow symbolized their faction, or whether she’d just worn it to look cool. Not that it mattered much.
The woman was mid to late twenties, with long blonde hair was tied into a single braid, hanging down her left shoulder. She had doe eyes and pouty lips, with a pieced septum. Beneath the dirt and grime, there was an almost bohemian aura to her. But, also a hubris. She was in control and she was dangerous. They both knew it.
The woman bent low, so that she and Marco were face to face.
“Run home to Mother, little one,” she said, in that heavy accent. “Tell her what you saw here. Tell her a name.” She gave Marco a playful tap on the cheek. “Erika Strauss.”
The rest was a blur. They searched the car, and his pockets. He let them. Marco remained seated, completely still. He was a wax figure. Even the eyes didn’t move. His only wish was that they’d left him his remaining cigarettes. Vacant, eyes low to avoid the sun, he listened as they got into their cars and motorcycles and that one annoying buzzing dirt bike. Erika blew him a kiss and pulled her bandana back up over her mouth. Engines revved, and then they were gone, in a cloud of smoke. Marco was alone.
Behind him, a static-laden hiss erupted. He rose, slowly, and turned. It hurt him, to see Leon again like that. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore that feeling in the pit of his stomach, like a sucker-punch. The green two-way radio at Leon’s hip gave another quick burst of static. They’d taken his boots, but left him his radio. The car keys still hung in the ignition: one to start the car, the other to open the glove box where his Beretta sat waiting. It gave him a chill just thinking about it. Part of him wished they’d been more thorough in their search.
Slowly, he reached across the seat to where the walkie was holstered at Leon’s hip. Grimacing as he got close, he pulled it free and then took a few steps away from the car. Another burst of static. Marco turned the device on.
“…if you can hear this. Leon, come in. Answer me, man.”
The voice was faint and muffled, but, it was Knox, no doubt. Marco brought the radio up to his lips. He paused a moment, unsure whether to engage.
“Leon, come in.”
Marco pressed a thumb to the button on the side.
“Uh-huh,” he grunted. He released the button.
“Fucking finally. Look, I’m heading to the rendezvous point. I want to do this ourselves. You with me?”
Marco cleared his throat. He lowered his voice an octave, to mimic Leon.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Alright, cool. Any sign of that buzz-cut faggot?”
Marco smirked.
“Nah.”
“Whatever, we’ll deal with him later. I’m gonna head to those coordinates in about an hour. I figure we’ll hit em just after sundown. I’ve got my grenades with me. We can blow the door off whatever shack they’re holed up in and go in firing. They’ll never see it coming.” Another muffled voice rose in the background. “What? Yeah just give me a minute. No, I know, I’m talking to someone. Have some fucking patience. Jesus! Hey, Leon? Look, I’ll meet you at sundown. Over and out.”
Marco clicked the radio off. He lets his hands drop to his sides and stood there a long moment, deep in thought.
“He’s going to kill her. Tonight.” Shelby had appeared beside the car, stuffed bear dangling in one hand.
“Looks that way, yeah.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
A wry smile.
“Don’t do that, Shelby. We aren’t talking about that.”
“About what?” Ha. Playing dumb.
“I can’t help her. I’m going to go in there alone, with no one to back me up, and take on maybe the greatest killer alive. Me. The gunslinger who’s too afraid to draw his gun.”
You have the coordinates, don’t you?
“Stop that.”
And nothing to lose.
“Shelby.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“We’ve survived a long time by staying away from where the fighting is. Patience is why we’re alive.”
“Why you’re alive.”
“Whatever! Me! Fine! I don’t want to go after her. I don’t want any of this.”
He balled his fists. All around him, roaches, leeches and slugs were emerging from the pavement, up from cracks in the asphalt. Moving slowly, skittering across the blacktop, converging from all directions. On him.
Marco closed his eyes.
~
He was back in Garland. His head was bleeding and he walked hand in hand up a long stairwell with a little girl named Shelby. What had his plan been? Looking back, he’d been reacting without thinking, taking her out there. She was infected and he was clean and yet they waltzed outside together, two strangers on two sides of a war. Careful to step over the broken glass, they walked out into the sunlight.
They stood outside the building, looking out at the aftermath of the battle. Just three soldiers remained. Their white armor was dirty. Scratched and dented from the skirmish that had just taken place. Two soldiers had their rifles trained on Marco and Shelby. A third stood a head taller than the others, with a blue stripe on his helmet and on his left breast, signifying his rank.
“Bring her here,” the officer said, waving a finger his way.
Marco stood his ground.
“She’s just a little girl.”
The officer’s expression was impossible to gauge behind that black visor.
“Bring her to me.”
He walked Shelby down the front steps, until he was on even ground with the other soldiers. The trio were spaced apart, a few paces from one another. One of the privates had taken an injury, by the looks of him, and held one arm bent close to him, as if it hung in an invisible sling.
Marco guided Shelby so that she stood directly behind him, blocked from the others.
Marco’s eyes darted from one man to the next. It was hard to read them, with two of them wearing helmets. The first of them was tense; overzealous. Likely to do something stupid. The injured one held his gun in his left hand. Odds were this was his off-hand. He’d be inaccurate if he did try to fire. Hardly a threat at all. No, the one to worry about was the tallest of the three: the one packing just a pistol. The officer would likely be the coolest head and the truest shot.
“Easy,” the officer said. It was unclear if he was speaking to Marco or his men. “What’s your name, soldier?”
“Shaw.”
“Where’s your helmet, Shaw?”
“I lost it.”
“You got any blood on you? Any in your eyes? Mouth?”
He shook his head no.
“Shaw, I need you to put down your weapon.”
Marco glanced down at the rifle in his hands. He had one hand on the barrel, the other down by the trigger. He wasn’t pointing it at anyone, but he wasn’t about to relinquish it, either.
“I’m going to ask you again-”
“Fuck you,” Marco spat. “Let her go. She’s a little girl.”
The officer seemed to sigh, shoulders slumping forward. He lifted his visor, showing Marco his face. He was in his forties, balding, with a stern, weathered face to match his voice. He glanced over at the soldier beside him.
; “Ortiz, lower your fucking gun. You too, Blake. We ain’t about to have a shootout over this.” The others seemed none too pleased, but they listened. The officer took a step closer to Marco. “Shaw, you aren’t infantry, are you? You’re overflow. Am I right?”
Marco nodded.
“This is your first time in live action, then.” Another step closer. “I know it’s jarring.” Another. “But we can’t lose our heads over this.” He halted, just a few feet away, and held out an open palm. “Give me the gun, and we can forget all about this. You won’t be the one pulling any triggers. This isn’t on you. None of it.”
Marco felt a lump in his throat.
“Let her go.”
“We both know I can’t do that.”
He grabbed the rifle, which Marco held tight in his hands. As Marco stared at him, the despair sunk in. The inevitability of it all. His lip began to quiver, eyes welling with tears.
“I know, I know. It’s okay,” the officer said. “It’s almost over. Just let it go. C’mon.” The rifle slipped from his hands. “There you go.”
He grabbed Marco by the arm, leading him a few steps away from Shelby. He couldn’t bring himself to look back at her.
“See, boys, this is an example for you,” the officer said. “It’s what you call insubordination.”
Marco looked up just in time to see the butt of the rifle coming towards him. The officer hit him in the chest, hard, knocking him to the ground. The soldier with the broken arm, Blake, laughed.
“Ortiz, grab him!”
The third soldier was behind him, just that quick. He bound Marco’s arms behind his back and lifted him to his feet. The wind was knocked out of him.
“This is not a little girl,” the officer said, pointing at Shelby. She was frozen in place, holding her teddy bear close to her chest. “If you acknowledge that, the Army might have use for you, Private Shaw. I hate that I have to teach this lesson to every newbie that pisses their pants on their first time in the q-zone. But, I have to. The greatest teacher of all is experience.”
The officer set down Marco’s rifle and unclasped the holster at his hip. He drew his pistol, cocking it.
Marco watched.
Standing in the middle of that empty road, walkie-talkie in hand, he realized he was no longer aware of his surroundings. He was back there, back with Shelby and that officer. His fist balled tighter.
“No…” he said aloud. “No. No!”
“No!”
Later, he’d recall those stories of mothers who lift up cars to save their children’s lives in a moment of need. How in that one pivotal moment, they could somehow tap into a reserve of superhuman strength they’d never possessed—before or after. But, by that logic, it’d been in them the whole time, hadn’t it?
It’d just been waiting to wake up.
How he eluded Ortiz’s grasp, he couldn’t say. It couldn’t have been a headbutt, not with Marco unmasked and Ortiz still wearing his helmet. Maybe it was a swift elbow to the chest. Maybe he’d wriggled himself free. It was at least possible that he’d tapped into that thing, that preternatural call to arms, only he hadn’t noticed in the moment. For once in his life, he hadn’t stopped to think. Instead he was flailing, he was throwing punches, he was wrestling the rifle away from Ortiz, who was larger, stronger, better trained.
Marco brained him with his own rifle.
Next he knew, he was running at the lanky officer and tackling him to the ground. Behind him, Shelby took off running. There was a struggle, a barrage of fists and steel, and then they were rising in unison, drawing and firing. He fired at the other soldier, Blake, as well. The only sound, save for their grunting, was the rat-tat-tat of machine gun fire and the pop pop pop of the officer’s pistol.
And then it was over. It had happened so fast. He blinked, and found himself down on one knee, fighting to catch his breath. One hand in the dirt. He rose, slowly, unsure how he’d summoned the strength to do what he’d just done. Marco turned. The officer was on his back, but still breathing. Marco stood over him and kicked his pistol away. He didn’t want to check the man’s wounds. He didn’t want to know whether or not the officer would die.
“Shelby,” he called. “Shelby come on out. It’s…it’s safe now.”
He leaned forward, putting a hand on his hip, still exhausted. He walked the silent battleground, as the dust settled.
“Shelby!”
He stopped, suddenly. He saw it, across the road. A teddy bear in the dirt.
Marco dropped his rifle and ran, full out, toward that little stuffed bear. He slid in the dirt as he halted beside it, kneeling. He cupped a hand over his mouth. Beside the bear, Shelby lay on her belly. He knew right away. Even before he turned her over, he knew.
A bullet through the eye.
Marco took the little girl in his arms. She was still so warm. He felt the tainted blood leaking out of her. One eye remained open, staring skyward. The other had been shot out. A clean shot, straight through her skull and out the other side.
“No…” he gasped the word.
The size of the hole was so small. Smaller than a round from the officer’s pistol. This was a shot from an automatic rifle. His.
He tried to hold back the tears but they came, fast and furious. He placed his face against hers. Her little arms hung limp at her sides, and Marco wept.
~
Just across city lines, he found a forest to bury her. Her blood was on his face and neck, but he hardly even noticed. He set her down on the forest floor, pushing the hair from her eyes and found a spot a few feet away. There were no shovels around. Nothing but his bare hands to pull up the dirt.
He began to dig.
Marco did the best he could, shedding his armor as he worked. It was too heavy and too hot to remain on him. He pulled up little rocks, punching the dirt in some places either to break it up or out of frustration. Maybe both. About halfway through his work, sweat-drenched and streaked with dirt, he heard yelling in the distance. He shot to his feet and ran to the forest’s edge to check. In the distance, six or seven soldiers, in full white armor, were headed his way. He rushed back to where Shelby lay, and lifted his rifle. He’d stripped down to nothing but a black tank and compression shorts. Both stuck to his skin. The white armor lay in pieces around his half-dug hole. He’d only bothered to keep the boots, which were also black. Breathing hard, he looked down at her.
“I’ll come back,” he said. “I promise I’ll come back.”
~
On a ridge deep in Covington, he watched the fireworks. They launched the bombs in the dead of night and they lit up the sky. They whistled and shined and descended with tails of smoke. He shielded his eyes, wincing. And then Garland burned. Better a ruin than a war-zone, the Army must have figured. Entire factions were wiped out. Gunslingers, killers. Would-be legends, all incinerated.
He slept beneath the trees that night. All around him, the quarantine soldiers were pulling out and heading back to base. But, Marco remained. He must have known, deep down already, what was going to happen to him. He’d gotten too much of Shelby’s blood on him. He slept one more night, with his rifle in his lap, uninfected. Completely human.
Clean.
He awoke with red tears dried in two long streams down his face, stuck to his skin. Blood tears. He washed his face off in a lake. It’d been a shock, the first time he’d seen his reflection, but it probably shouldn’t have been. He was finally there, in the quarantine zone, where all the action was, just like he’d wanted.
He’d gotten his wish.
When he returned to that forest where he’d left Shelby, her body was gone. Teddy bear and all. The half-dug crypt remained, along with his old armor. He had a silent tantrum, balling his fists, kicking and punching. Using all his power to will himself not to raise his voice. He searched everywhere, for a mile in each direction, and found nothing. He’d wanted so badly to bury her. To give her that courtesy. To get this one thing right. But, she was gone. Vanished.
/> So, he buried his rifle instead.
Marco opened his eyes. When he looked down, she was beside him in that little black dress, a veil over her punctured eye. She was barely half his size.
He stared at her. They both knew what came next.
A lump caught in his throat.
“It won’t go easy. It seems simple. Beat the bad guy, save the girl. But, it won’t go that way,” he said.
“I know.”
“I’m not the man for this.”
“No, Marco. That’s where you’re wrong. You’re the only one for this.” She glanced towards the car. “You’ll need to take it with you.”
He looked at the car. From where he stood, he could almost feel the energy of the weapon. Locked away in that glovebox, unseen by the scavengers. He could hear the bugs again. Roaches, leeches.
“I don’t want it. If I have a gun in my hand, something bad will happen.”
“Marco. Arm yourself. Use it for good.”
“A gun can’t do good.”
She looked back at the car, and he followed suit. The world seemed to be getting smaller around him. The tree line closing in. She placed a hand on his.
“Take it anyway.”
And then she was gone. Vanished in thin air, bear and all, like a magic trick. He stared at the beaten down car, feeling that pressure on his every pore, like deep-diving below 500 feet. He began to walk towards the car.
The noise seemed to get louder in his ears as he got closer and closer to the car. He leaned in, holding his breath as he reached across Leon’s corpse and pulled the keys from the ignition. He put the second, smaller key into the glovebox. Marco pulled out Conrad’s diary first. Behind it was Leon’s spare bowie knife and the Beretta, still sitting in its holster. A plump black cockroach had rooted itself to the weapon.
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