by Jones, K. J.
Ben asked, “The question of the HAM radio?”
“He’s definitely in contact with guys inland.” Matt scoped out the serving dishes on the table. Same food as always. “And he’s in touch to some degree with people outside the Carolinas-Georgia Zone. He has a map tracking the virus.”
“What did it show?” Phebe asked.
“Southern New Jersey is Zoned.”
“Crap. That’s really close to New York.”
“To the west?” Mazy asked.
“According to his map, it’s in Florida.”
“Crap,” Phebe said again. “My brother’s in Miami.”
“Louisiana?” Mazy asked.
“Not yet in that part. It’s traveling on the eastern bank of the Mississippi River on a northern route. But the Appalachian Mountains that run the interior span of the eastern seaboard are blanked. No communication with anyone beyond a certain westerly point. Then his intel resumes after the mountains. He thinks it’s somehow jammed.” Matt shrugged. “Don’t know how that can be with a HAM radio. But he’s more experienced than me.”
Peter said, “The government fallout shelters are in those mountains. Especially Virginia and West Virginia. Top secret shit, they usually want no radio zones. They could be jamming.”
“Which would mean,” said Mazy, “the government is probably there right now.”
“Sounds like them,” said Emily. “Go hide in Mount Weather.”
“What do you know about Mount Weather?”
Emily shrugged. “Shows. I used to date a guy into sci-fi. It’s in post-apocalypse stuff.”
“Huh. There goes that secret.”
“The RRMC,” said Peter, “is in Pennsylvania.”
“The what?” asked Mullen.
“Raven Rock Mountain Complex. It was where the Pentagon was to go for a nuclear attack during the Cold War. It’s all on Wikipedia. Not exactly big secret anymore.”
“Then why would they block HAM radio?”
Peter shrugged. “Could be the people there are just be refusing to communicate out. And we’re developing government conspiracy theories here. The mountain men were always weird.”
Matt said, “Our immediate concern is the men Henderson’s in contact with inland. Apparently, inland was not gassed or bombed.”
“I think they call it the Lowlands,” said Mazy.
Phebe nodded she concurred.
“They bombed the fuck outta North Carolina,” commented Mullen.
“More of that random grid,” responded Matt. “Who knows what’s happening Pentagon level. He didn’t know. Or didn’t say. We could only get him so much drunk to loosen his lips. He’s a beer and bourbon man.”
“He was reluctant to get too drunk,” Brandon said. “Think I was getting more buzzed than him. But it was like he had something to do. He kept looking at the clock.”
“What did he say about us?” Ben asked.
“Nothing good. He’s concerned that we would make a left-wing colony here. His words.”
Matt said, “The worst part for us is that he’s broadcasted this location and situation, here, in the historic area. Including the cruise ship.”
“Aw, fuck,” Peter moaned.
“Is he hoping to get more white people?” Mazy asked.
“Yup. He doesn’t have the sense to understand he’s jeopardizing himself in the process. Anyone would say anything if it meant reaching a better and more supplied location. He’s naïve.”
“Then there are all the eavesdroppers on HAM radio,” commented Peter.
“My impression is it’s pretty Mad Maxed out there inland,” Matt continued. “So his new besties may be pretty raw. Oh, and he wants the Browning. He wanted us to help him get it. Those three are expendable in the process. His words.”
“It sounds like he’s got buds coming in to help him with that.” Rice fell out of Brandon’s mouth as he spoke with his mouth full.
Mazy asked the group, “Is Robert enough to defend that house?”
Shrugs.
“We need to check that out and give him a heads up. ASAP.”
“Want me to run?” asked Tyler. “Can’t use the radio, right? This asshole’s on it, too.”
“Yeah. You run.”
Peter said, “Be careful, Ty.”
The kid grinned at him. “Not me that needs to be careful.”
Tyler rushed out, his beloved riffle strapped to him.
“Are we serious?” Brandon objected. “Send the kid out at night, alone?”
“Stop it,” Mazy said. “He fights better than you.”
“He’s a child.”
“There are no children in the Zone.”
Angela gulped and looked at Nia. The girl had her first target practice. Yesterday, her first kill.
Ben said, “Well. That’s it. Henderson needs to die now. We take his house. His equipment. The man is a liability.”
“Agreed,” said Peter. “We’re not doing the Crazy People sequel.”
Matt’s hard glare at him again. Peter ignored it this time.
“Sequels always suck,” said Mullen.
“Except Aliens. Ya know, Alien and Aliens. James Cameron did the Aliens sequel.”
“But after then, it sucked.”
“Big time. To an embarrassing degree.”
Phebe said, “Count me in for the assassination team.”
“No,” said Matt.
“Excuse you?” Her neck began to rock on ball bearings.
“You’re pregnant. You stay at home base.”
“Oh, no, Matt. You’ve got delusions of grandeur.”
Peter chuckled.
“I’m trying to protect you and your unborn,” said Matt.
“That’s not happening. So, go fuck yourself.” She stood. “Are we done here? Let’s get this op team started. Night’s wasting.”
“Phebe.”
“No, Matt. Go fuck yourself, if I wasn’t clear. We got personnel down. If you haven’t noticed, you aren’t in tiptop either. I move faster than you. Despite my, um, condition.”
Matt looked at Peter. “Do something. It’s your wife and baby.”
“You really think I can control her? She’s right. You do have delusions of grandeur.”
“Such a fucking asshole,” Matt muttered.
“Love you, too, brother.”
Ben stood and pushed his chair under the table. “When Ty gets back, we do this under the cover of night. I don’t trust what he said about his night vision goggles. Let’s assume he has them. I need the fastest team. That leaves you both out.” He gestured to Matt and Peter.
“I’m in,” said Brandon.
“No.”
“May I ask why?”
“You are not mentally ready.”
“I’m a war vet of the United States Marine Corps.”
“That doesn’t make you prepared for Zone fighting. Your mentality isn’t there. In Afghanistan, you killed hostiles at a distance. This is killing up close. Brutally, if need be.”
“But a pregnant woman and a child, they’re ready?”
“Damn right, they are.”
Emily whispered, “Let it go, Brandon.”
“No.” He stood up. “I protest this bullshit. I killed pirates out there.” His arm gestured in a vague direction of the Atlantic Ocean.
“But did you intentionally murder them?” Ben asked. “Not defense. Offense.”
Emily’s voice grew louder. “You weren’t there, Brandon. At the marina.”
“I killed pirates on the water,” he repeated.
Ben’s voice over theirs, “You are not ready, Pell. Until I see you are, you do not go on these missions. I have no confidence in that you can cut a man’s throat if he’s sleeping.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “They will do it. I will do it. You are a Marine in the Zone. But you are not a Zone killer.”
5.
The assault team geared up and readied. Matt forced a bulletproof vest onto Phebe. He had redesigned it out of two vests, so her
abdomen was better-covered front and back. Peter seconded him on her wearing it. She complied with annoyance.
“Pregnancy causes an increase in red blood cells.” Matt tightened Velcro straps at the front. “So you’d survive better than the rest.”
Peter tightened Velcro straps at the back.
Matt continued, “But the baby would not.”
They both pulled at straps, making her rock back and forth. They began to have some weird competition.
“Would you two stop! Get away from me, both of you.”
She moved to Ben, scowling at Peter and Matt.
From the western distance, they heard rapid pops like firecrackers.
“That’s gunfire,” said Ben.
Jayce whipped open the door for them.
Peter yelled, “Pheeb, be careful.”
She was gone too fast to hear him.
“Fuck this.” Matt grabbed up an M4, checked it, and took up extra mags. “Open the door, kid.”
The different calibers grew louder as Matt ran the street grid towards the gay house. He banged his back against the side of a house to catch his bearings. All the assault rifles firing, it sounded like a battle in Iraq.
A battle scene of his platoon flashed through his mind.
A twelve-year-old boy stepped out of a doorway, aiming an AK-47 at him. His brown eyes locked on him. Matt aimed, but his finger froze on the trigger. A child.
Two rapid shots fired next to him. The kid lurched backward, then crumpled on the floor.
Matt turned his face. Peter scanned for more hostiles. He had shot the kid.
People ran past his alley. Their boot falls heavy on pavement. Matt’s mind snapped back to Charleston.
He ran after them.
Back through the grid of streets, but he deduced where they were going: Henderson’s house.
M4 shots fired on a parallel street, moving in the same direction as he was going. It had to be Tyler and Phebe. Ben had his SASS, which had a sound suppressor.
Behind the dusty BMW, Matt had to laugh. “They’re like fucking insurgence. Going to the same building.”
Ben said, “Too bad we can’t call in an airstrike.”
“What the fuck? Those two are going in.”
“Shit.” Ben loudly whispered, “Wait, you two. Fuck!”
Too late. Tyler and Phebe were heading down the walkway to Henderson’s house.
“How many?” Matt asked Ben as they crossed the street and ducked behind Henderson’s SUV.
“Two dead. One badly wounded. They’re wearing vests. Henderson and two others inside. I was right. Night vision goggles. Two sets of ‘em.”
“Did they get the Browning?”
“Negative. Better hurry.”
Tyler shot out the lock of the faux piazza door. He and Phebe kept low as they entered.
The interior of the house was pitch black. Matt knew Henderson and company were using using the dark to their advantage, as they could with night vision goggles.
A man screamed in pain from deeper in the house.
Matt wanted to call out for Phebe, his worry reaching out to her, but that would be stupid.
He kept low and navigated by feel through the front room, trying to recall the layout from visiting earlier. Eyes wide to maximize any light. His heartbeat pounded. Adrenaline to the ceiling. Sweat trickled down his sides.
Movement. A man screamed and fell into furniture, from the sound of it.
“One’s right here,” an anguished male voice yelled from that location.
Muzzle flashes in the dark accompanied near-deafening reports reverberating against the wall. The smell of gunpowder.
The sound of someone hit.
“Where’s the third?” Tyler’s voice whispered.
The man screaming on the floor abruptly stopped.
“Take,” Phebe’s voice whispered.
A moment and Tyler’s voice yelled, “We got your goggles, murdering motherfuckers. We got you now. Come out and we’ll just kill you. Not torture you to death.”
Sudden running feet.
Muzzle flashes in the pitch black but no report. Only the sound of a bullet whizzing through the air.
Then the sound of something heavy falling with a grunt.
Lighter running feet towards that spot. But it didn’t sound like a kill.
A flashlight came on. “He’s wounded,” Phebe’s voice. “Moving further in.”
“I got ya,” Ben’s voice.
Matt realized he was the only one on his team who could not see. Ben had a night scope on his riffle. Phebe and Tyler seemed to have gotten ahold of the enemies’ night goggles.
If those two were to this level of an assault team, he had to admit, they were damn good.
* * *
Phebe and Tyler saw the glow of a lantern from under a door. They kept low as they opened it.
A kitchen.
The lanterns messed with the night vision goggles, but helped for the numerous deep shadows cast by the limited illumination. They checked behind counters and under tables. The original wounded man lay on the table, profusely sweating. He watched them.
Phebe dropped her M4 to its strap and pulled out the machete from the Molly. She approached a dark doorway at the side of the kitchen.
“Do I kill him?” Tyler asked.
The wounded man screamed, “There two in here!”
Phebe turned to them, seeing through the tunnel-vision goggles.
A hand landed on her shoulder. She startled and whirled around, raising the machete.
The blade cut through soft tissue and stuck in vertebrae. She released the handle to let it drop with Henderson. His face looked surprised.
“Oops,” she said.
“Dang,” Tyler said. “See what ya get for surprising the Pheebs.” He then yelled “Clear.” And mumbled, “’Cept for this dude trying to crawl away.” He laughed. “Where ya going?”
* * *
Ben shined a flashlight for Matt to see the way to the kitchen.
“Thanks.”
Matt entered the kitchen behind Ben in time to see the wounded man fall off the other side of the table in a vain attempt to escape his short tormenter.
“Where ya gonna go?” Tyler taunted. “They were my friends you killed.”
“They’re dead?” Matt asked Ben.
Ben nodded.
Phebe put her foot on Henderson’s forehead and yanked the blade out of bone. “Huh. It almost decapitated him.”
“That there a good idea,” Tyler said. He was talking like Chris again.
“What do you think, Ben?”
Matt felt a bit wounded by her referring to Ben instead of him.
“Sounds good to me.”
“Well, okay. Let’s do that then.” She whacked the rest of his head off.
Matt’s jaw dropped. The head came clean off and made a hideous noise as it hit floor tile and rolled.
“My turn,” said Tyler.
She slid the machete across the table to him.
“But he’s alive,” Matt protested. “Ty.” He cringed as Tyler whacked the man’s head off. The sounds were even worse. Blood splatter everywhere.
“Shit,” he muttered. “Brandon may be right.”
Ben said, “Let’s take the rest of their heads.”
“Heads on stakes,” said Phebe. “Go old school tribal.”
“We scalped.”
“We beheaded.”
“Who’s we?”
“Didn’t we cover this tribal history of Europe?”
“A little.”
“This is Celtic and Germanic. Severed heads.”
“Oh. Okay. They were meaner tribes than us.”
“Iron does that.”
“Broad swords. Yeah. I can see that. Easier to decapitate with those.”
Matt stared at them. What they were doing, the barbarism of it, seemed to mean nothing to them. No reflection on what they were doing. As if it was all in a day’s work.
In wars, t
here were men who went around the bend. They became the war. Unafraid of their own deaths. An unnatural calm set in with their assaults, due to the lack of mortal fear. They would deliver death to others without an ounce of regret.
Phebe grabbed kitchen towels to throw over blood pools to decrease the mess and slippage. The sudden caring act struck him as utterly bizarre.
“What’s wrong, Gleason?” Ben asked.
“I …” He shook his head.
“Too long away from war, brother.”
“This is like Chris going psycho berserk,” he babbled. “He cut off ears. It’s a war crime.”
“Uhm. Okay. But we’re not in that kind of war, man.”
Matt shook his head. He wanted to go back to tell Peter his wife had gone psychotic like Chris.
But Peter covered for Chris back then.
* * *
A bullet ricocheted off a brick into Sergeant Wallace’s carotid artery. Chris held him as he died and screamed for a medic. Matt reached there too late, not that he could have done much for such a wound. Apply pressure to slow the bleed out. Chris had already done that. Two minutes was all it took to bleed to death with such a wound.
Chris moved dead Wallace to Matt’s arms. Blood all over him, he stood and roared. He took out his combat knife. Peter yelled at him to stay as he ran off.
Matt hadn’t seen what Chris had done. Peter blocked anyone from entering the second-floor room where he was found. But he saw Chris come out with a lot of blood splattered all over him. His hands crimson caked. Peter took something away from him. Matt saw it was fresh ears laced on a string.
“We never talk about this,” ordered Peter. “It’s over.”
An airstrike called in. Destroyed the building. Destroyed the evidence.
When Matt asked Peter what happened, the staff sergeant shrugged and said, “Higgins killed the enemy vigorously.”
Chris held onto Wallace’s gold necklace. He wore it still. No one would have thought they were that close. A Southern redneck and a hate-white-people black guy from Trenton, New Jersey. They threw curses and slurs at each other constantly. But they were the heavy gunners. Somehow their rivalry was deep brotherhood.
* * *
“Maybe you should go back,” said Ben.
“Huh?” Matt snapped to.
“You were miles away. Why don’t you head back?”
“This is wrong.”
“No, it’s not, man. Head on back. Tell everybody we’re all alright.”