by Jones, K. J.
“Yeah, he is,” confirmed Matt. “I think we’re gonna see what happens to non-predatory, hoofed animals with the virus.” He looked at his friends. “That’s new for us.”
Something large moved between cars further away. It checked out the three bodies on the shoulder, seeming to be sniffing the sheet-wrapped corpses.
“What’s that?” Tyler asked.
“I don’t know,” said Matt. “The outline looks almost cat-like.”
“Big fucking cat,” said Kevin.
“Big cats aren’t in Pennsylvania.”
“Tell him that.”
Peter and Phebe exchanged a look. “Lions and Martian lynxes,” he said.
“Is it a lion?” Phebe threw it out there.
“No,” said Matt. “There’s no mane. Or not a male lion, I should say.”
“Where’s a zoo around here?” asked Peter.
“Oh, no,” Matt moaned. “Not exotic animals from the zoo again.”
“That lion,” said Chris, “was pretty dang awesome.”
As they watched, the silhouette of the big cat went into crouch-stalk body language the way Dock Cat did when stalking her toys. It crept between cars.
“It ain’t a zom-cat, is it?” asked Kevin. “Please, tell me it ain’t.”
“Not that I am an expert on big cats,” said Matt, “but it seems to be moving pretty normal.”
Peter whispered to Phebe, “My prayers have been answered.”
“No zom big cats?”
“Yup.”
“At least you pray about something, dear.” A smirk.
“Jayce told me to.”
“It’s good to listen to people more mature than you.”
“Yeah.” Peter snorted. “Tell me about it.”
The elk slowly calmed down from its standing seizure. Human eyes peered through the windows as the big cat stalked it. The zom-elk seemed oblivious.
“Don’t get bit by the zom, big kitty,” said Tyler.
“How long before animals turn?” Kevin asked.
“Within ten days,” Matt answered.
“Good. As long as it ain’t within a few hours while we still here. Could live my whole life without seeing a zom big cat.”
“Whoa,” they all said and backed a bit away from the windows from the sight.
The big cat dove at the elk’s hindquarters, nails unsheathed. The stripes told it was a tiger. The thing stood with shoulders as high as a hatchback’s roof.
The elk roared and bucked, but its motor skills were too far off and it couldn’t effectively pose a defense. Instead, it tried to bite the tiger, perhaps successfully. The tiger made its way to the elk’s throat, pulled it down to the ground, and held the throat in its mouth for a death grip. A good hunt for the predator.
“Is the meat infected?” asked Kevin.
“No,” answered Matt. “It can’t be transmitted through meat or blood. Only saliva or brain tissue. But by the time the skull is opened, the virus may be dead.”
“Good.”
“That’s so cool,” said Tyler, watching the tiger begin its hot meal. Dark blood across the white snow.
* * *
“What is with all the big cats loose in America lately?” complained Peter.
Dawn. The sun had begun brightening to a slate-gray sky.
“We should be safe now,” said Emily. “He’s fed.”
The tiger took a nap atop an SUV.
“Um, I had a cat,” said Peter. “She fucked with things smaller than her just for fun.”
“This is a tiger. Not a house cat.”
“It’s obviously from a zoo. That’s kind of like a pampered house cat then.”
“No.”
“Then you go out first and test your theory, Emily.”
“What?”
“Yeah, uh-huh, I see. Be careful if it tries to play with you since it’s fed.”
“Some big strong hero you are.”
“The Army didn’t train me for big cats.”
“That ain’t true,” said Chris. “The Army said shoot ‘em or run your ass away.”
“See, Emily? And he’s afraid of sharks.”
She huffed and arms crossed. “We can’t stay in here.”
“Yes, we can,” said Pez. “For as long as there’s a tiger out there.” He emphasized, “It. Is. A. Tiger.”
“Some brave Armed Forces we have,” Emily said to Phebe, who shrugged.
“I’m not going up against a tiger, Em,” said Phebe. “Just saying. It will win, no matter its mood. Or mine.”
Brandon came out of the bathroom, pushing back the accordion door. “I’ll go out first.”
“Maybe we just live in here until the tiger gets bored and moves on,” said Matt.
“I’ll go.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Matt, somebody’s gotta go and check if the tiger will attack.”
“Think about the statement you just made, Brandon. Rewind it in your head and play it again.”
“I’ll go with him,” said Emily.
“No, you stay here,” Brandon said.
“I’m not letting you face a tiger alone.”
“He’ll need you for a shield,” said Peter.
Emily flicked him the middle finger.
“No,” said Brandon. “You’ll distract me.”
“One of you go with him,” she ordered.
They looked at each other.
“Wait a dang minute,” said Kevin. “You want us to go out there to see if the tiger will attack us for the sake of the others? I got that right?”
Emily glared at him.
“Count me out. That a suicide mission. And dumb.”
“What are we gonna do then?” Emily asked everyone.
They muttered and shrugged.
“We ate the frozen sandwiches,” Emily said. “And the Combos and potato chips and all the rest we took from the cars. There’s hardly any food left in here. The fridge is a toxic waste zone from all the food going bad. What do we eat?”
“I think the point is, we don’t want to be eaten,” said Kevin.
“I already said, it has eaten the elk.” Emily’s annoyance with him transparent. “It won’t be hungry.”
“I hate to be with him,” said Peter, “but I am on this. We wait.” He sat down.
Phebe dropped down next to him on the sofa and Tyler beside her. The family unit took their stand to not go out there. They did so by sitting down.
“How long will the generator last?” Emily asked.
“I’m not sure,” answered Pez.
“To siphon more diesel for the engine, that takes going outside.” Emily talked with her hands.
“Hopefully, God will provide.”
“Amen,” said Jayce. “God is good.”
“Yeah, well, you people have a different book than we Jews do.”
Peter laughed.
“God provided manna for you when in the desert escaping the Pharaoh,” said Jayce.
Emily crossed her arms again; her foot jutting out and tapping. “Not me. I’ve never been in a desert in my life.”
Peter whispered to Phebe, “I get the impression she’s not very religious.”
“No, not at all. She’s like me.”
“Ah. I see. So this conversation is gonna put her into an even better mood?”
“I expect Jayce to get punched at some point.”
“A nickel he does.”
“You got a nickel?”
“I found it in the couch cushions.”
“How am I gonna bet? I don’t have one.”
“Here’s some fuzz I found. And an old lozenger.” Peter retrieved them from the coffee table.
“Oh, that’s a good brand of lozenger.”
“Yeah, before the hair and fuzz stuck to it.”
“I did not mean you exactly,” said Jayce. “Your people. The Hebrews.”
“Jayce, if this is leading up to Jews for Jesus, I’ll practice my hand-to-hand on your limbs.”
Kevin fought laughing, turning away as his face pinked and his shoulders moved up and down.
Peter whispered in Phebe’s ear, “I wonder what the Nazi’s thinking.”
“Probably as amused as we are.”
“Yeah, but probably for different reasons.”
“Hmm.”
Matt said, “Em, just don’t break any bones. There’s not enough flower for casts. Excuse me.”
Matt tried to get people out of the way so he could set up the table and bench seat cushions and sit down.
No one seemed alarmed by Emily’s threat, which she had previously proven she could achieve. Just another day in the Zone.
Matt glanced outside. The tiger still stretched out on the SUV. It used the soft suitcases tethered to the roof rack as its bed. Cats could withstand frigidly cold temperatures, but they did not like it. They loved the heat. Matt figured once the sun hit that spot, the tiger was in for the long haul. He wondered if they could sneak out while the tiger snoozed and cut off some steaks from the elk. The meat was uninfected by the virus, and freezing kept it good from bacteria, plus they had propane to cook with, the heat of which would kill off most pathogens. He had spotted steak sauce on the door of the fridge if someone would dare open the rotting, smelly sealed vault again. It had been worse than the dead people and dog. Just enough heat built up inside the fridge to make it all go wrong.
Brandon interceded before Jayce pushed it too far and Emily practiced her maneuvers. Emily went to the bedroom in a frustrated huff.
Kevin leaned in close to Chris and whispered, “That kid always so eager to save?”
“Nuh,” Chris said aloud since he had no ability to whisper. “This new.”
Brandon said to Jayce, “Could you leave the Hebrew thing alone with her? No Jews for Jesus.”
For some reason, Jews for Jesus struck several of them funny, so they laughed.
“Guys, don’t piss her off, please,” Brandon pleaded. “She’s pregnant and hungry and she’s craving chocolate.”
“Give her this lozenger I found,” said Peter.
“Stop it,” Phebe reprimanded, though she laughed. “Ooo, chocolate sounds good.”
“We ate all the chocolate,” said Tyler.
“Cruel and self-centered.”
“Sorry.”
Chris said, “Too bad we can’t drive this here RV. Can we?”
“Not with all those cars in the way,” said Matt. “That was the couple’s problem. They were trapped.”
“Can we get it up on the shoulder or something?”
“The shoulder’s not wide enough. This is a wide body. And it can tip easily. Top-heavy.”
“Dang. There got to be something easier than humping the whole way to Boston, or wherever the fuck we’re going.”
“Carlisle. We are hoping to catch a lift to Boston.”
“How we doing that?” Chris looked at Peter.
Peter shrugged. “Jayce will pray for it.”
Jayce glared at him, catching the sarcasm.
“We got one of them Chosen Ones here,” said Chris. “Maybe God will provide for her.”
“You didn’t read the Old Testament, did you?” asked Matt.
Chris shrugged.
“God wasn’t too nice to the Hebrews.”
“Was He nice to anybody else?”
Peter laughed. “The answer is no. A resounding no!”
“Nice, Sul,” Matt reprimanded.
“Just telling it the way it is. And you are delusional, Matthew.”
Kevin climbed up to the bed above the cab, a smart move since he’d probably be killed even if he said the same things anyone else would say.
Phebe dozed off with Peter’s arm around her. Since there were no more sounds from Emily, she probably fell asleep in the bedroom.
“Wait, y’all,” said Chris in a profoundly serious tone.
The awake people fell silent, all gazes searching for the next problem.
“We got coffee. Propane stove. Why ain’t we making some coffee?”
“Is there sugar?” Pez asked.
“Seen some up in this cabinet.”
“Let’s get to it.”
All conversation remained ceased while a more pressing matter took priority: coffee.
3.
Mazy was relieved of her duty shift for mourning. She lay in her rack, which was similar to the inside of a missile in its constriction. Officers didn’t have to share quarters with others, but instead, junior officers lived in a tiny compartment similar to the sleeping compartments on a Japanese train. Shelves lined the walls for their personal possessions. She hadn’t a chance to find some pretty pictures of the outside to place on her shelves. She stared at a blank wall.
Activity burst in the corridor. With a sigh, Mazy got out of her missile rack to check what was going on.
“Lance corporal, what’s going on?” she asked a young Marine running by.
“The acting POTUS got killed, ma’am.” He walked backward as he talked. “They think it was murder.”
“Thank you.”
He resumed running down the corridor.
“What the fuck now?” she muttered.
Napier would have answers. Mazy traversed corridors to his office.
“Sir?” Salutes.
“Come in, Lieutenant. Close the door.”
“Yes, sir.”
His door was a normal one, but there were hatches in other areas, similar to ship sealing hatches, except lacking the wheel to turn. They had levers for if the electricity went out. More like a space station than a naval ship … inside a mountain.
“I heard about the acting POTUS, sir. Please tell me they aren’t blaming us for it.”
“Not yet. I think a Marine would have executed this differently. It could’ve been an accident. She could have slipped and fell down the stairs, breaking her neck.”
“Breaking the neck from a stair fall, I thought that was more of a Hollywood movie thing.”
“Yeah, pretty much. Hence, they’re suspecting an assassination.”
“A President of the United States fell down stairs and died?”
Napier barely repressed a smirk. “Yeah.” A small chuckle from his chest.
“Why would she be on the stairs in the first place? And where the hell was the Secret Service? They couldn’t reach out and stop her fall or something?”
Napier laughed. “Yeah, all that. Suspicious yet?”
“You could say so, sir. I agree. I believe a Marine would have done it different than a stairs fall. No Marine would do it anyway. What happens now, sir?”
“The next in line becomes POTUS.”
“Which is who?”
“I’d have to consult my list. It’s not the SecDef yet, so that’s good.”
“We’re not rooting for him, sir?”
“No. Not unless we want to kill all of America, including the land.”
Mazy’s chats with Napier since arriving at Raven Rock, she learned he originated from Michigan, and he was half Chippewa. His father was what Ben would call a Rez Native. Napier himself was a City Native, in Ben’s lingo, since he grew up out in the suburbs. She had thought Napier had Al Pacino coloration because he was French – the surname Napier was French, she instantly recognized, being of French descent herself from a French city. Alas, no. It was due to him being half Chippewa. Card-carrying tribe member and all. Michigan winters were why the family migrated to South Carolina.
“Oh,” Mazy responded. “That doesn’t sound good, sir.”
“The man’s a Wipe ‘Em All Out civvie. We Indians love that shit in a white man. As far as I figure, people are going to need a healthy ecosystem to survive as this continues to get worse. Once we lose food production and transport, they are on their own.”
“They’ll loot the stores for a while, sir.”
“It’ll run out.”
“Yes, it will, sir.” Mazy bowed her head in sadness.
She thought of her family in Texas. Wh
at will they do when the food availability was gone? If she lost them, too, she didn’t know if she could go on. What would be the point? A reason to exist and fight and struggle without those loved ones?
Once dismissed, Mazy wandered the halls, vaguely aware she was heading towards the base exit. Maybe the outdoors, the woods, would help her feel grounded. She remembered the movie Hamburger Hill. It had been based on the real-life Battle of Hamburger Hill in 1969, Vietnam. Army fought it. A slaughter of troops to take a heavily fortified hill that had no strategic value. The soldiers did it, continuing to push as their comrades and buddies fell. Things like that, brass thinking like it was World War Two trench warfare, taking land and it meant something, was why the United States lost.
Napier dubbed Vietnam “given up on,” and not lost. US Marines of his generation never said “lost” about war, as a strict and absolute rule.
The Battle of Hamburger Hill, as the press dubbed it, was old guys in command fighting a war from a bygone age, when gaining or losing territory mattered most. World War One had been all about territory. They’d lose tens of thousands of men just to gain a few feet. Human life amounted to nothing back then. This had dramatically changed over the past hundred years. The voices of the masses, the little people who made up the bulk of the population, had grown stronger in that time.
Though she could not see the ops command room, her impression held this was again about territory. Lose dozens, maybe even hundreds, of troops in a battle just to kill all the infected in a town and claim it a victory. What a waste.
And what for? The infected would die on their own given the time. Wait it out. Best action would be to move the people out of the way ahead of the spread, then move them back to their homes after the viral burn had stopped.
Brigadier General Napier could tell them how to lure all the zoms to one place – make them come to you – and wipe ‘em out in a kill box. Alas, they distrusted Zoners. Saw them all as one foot into rogue and too easily could go both feet. Treason was the word she had heard circulating by the hardcore believers among the non-Zoners in uniform. All Zoners were half treasonous instantly. Eyed with that suspicion.
The Corps was different, she noticed. The brotherhood so tight, which had long existed, demanded loyalty to Zoner Marines by non-Zoner Marines. This was heightened by the knowledge of the bad things that had happened to Marines in the Zone. That loyalty brotherhood demanded they stand more united than the other branches of the Armed Forces. And that made the whole lot of them under treasonous suspicion.