The humans had talked about this last night at dinner. I quickly ate my food and sat under the table in front of Carver. Like always, I had lain on his feet, guarding him and letting him know he is the leader of our clan.
“Then it’s settled,” Carver had said. “Me and Kinney will take my truck and go to the resort. I only want to make one trip, so there’ll be no recon. If we see the place overrun, we head back and call it a day. We don’t have the manpower for a stand-up fight.”
Now I notice that Carver stays close to Hope. They’d mated yesterday and again this morning. It’s about time. Humans are so slow to understand their own feelings. I could tell that they would be together the first day we met her and her cub. She had given off a smell that left no doubt what she thought of him. I can’t believe he hasn’t done this until now. But I’m not surprised. Humans have no clue about how each other smells. I wish they could be like me. It would save so much time and effort.
“When are you leaving?” Hope asks.
Carver looks at his watch. The sun had already passed overhead but was still high in the sky. It would be light for a while.
He looks at Kinney. “Harold, how long to get ready?”
“I’m ready now. Got my gear already packed.”
“We have six hours of light and less than an hour’s drive each way. Now is as good a time as any,” Carver says. “Let’s move.”
That is my cue. I jump up and stand at Carver’s side. I never go more than five feet from his right leg. It’s like I have a tether tied from his thigh to my neck. When we go to war, I only leave his side when he commands me to. We are a team.
We had been the best, back in the mountains, fighting the enemy called the Taliban. They were fierce fighters, but we were better. We are Carver and Shrek, and we are back fighting in the mountains once again. I look up at my master. He is calm and committed. We are going out to kill the asp. I can’t wait.
— 20 —
Coronado Island
San Diego Naval Air Station
Jennifer Blevins
“By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail.”
– BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
Jennifer woke with a start. Something had jolted her from a deep sleep. She struggled to find coherence as a frightful dream lingered, just beyond her conscious grasp. Then she heard what shook her from sleep, the distant thump of an Osprey landing at the nearby airstrip. The evacuation had begun.
The room was alit by the midday sun filtering through the makeshift curtains. She moved her arm to touch Garrett, but only found an empty, sheet-covered mattress. Before she could panic, she vaguely remembered him kissing her on the cheek before he geared up and left.
How long ago had that been?
Her body lay exhausted, legs still rubbery from earlier. She struggled up to one elbow and found her watch.
“Wow,” she said softly. It was nearly one o’clock. She’d slept for over three hours. They had bypassed breakfast with his friends and stayed in bed, eventually falling asleep from exhaustion. Combine that with all the worrying and lack of sleep over the last week, and it wasn’t surprising that she’d needed to crash like that.
Jennifer lay back and began to think. She’d need to find a duffel bag and pack all the non-essential items she’d left out of the two assault packs that were sitting on the floor nearby. One duffel should do it. She thought of other supplies that she might need as well. She mentally brought up a list that the Boy Scout camp gave out to their kids, items they’d need for their extended stay at Schoepe.
Jen rolled out of bed and shuffled to the room’s desk. She brought out a pad of paper and pencil then began to catalogue the items she’d need. It was more extensive than she’d realized. Hygiene products were near the top, along with over-the-counter medications and other things found in a typical drug store. But with no pharmacies available, she’d have to see what was left at the naval base’s store.
Jen put on her clothes and hurried out of the building. She walked to the NAS base exchange and entered. She stood dumbfounded when rows of empty shelves stared back at her. There were plenty of canvas clothing items and luggage remaining, but the OTC meds and hygiene items were gone, along with every food item that used to fill the store. The place had been cleaned out. With nothing available, she left without getting a duffel.
The base’s pharmacy was next. The fifteen-minute walk began with a degree of panic and ended with her jogging the last hundred yards. She turned the final corner and was met with a line out the door. Scores, if not over a hundred people, stood silently. Their eyes glancing about nervously as if they expected a Variant horde to appear at any second.
Jen gave up. Fear welled up inside her, and she hurriedly walked in the direction of their private room. She struggled to think coherently as the panic began to take hold. In her self-absorption, she turned a corner and ran headlong into one of the other wives, nearly tripping over her three-year-old daughter.
“Oh Jeez, Ellen. I’m so sorry!” Jen said, after catching the little girl, preventing her from tumbling to the ground.
The contact between the two had been slight, but the sudden appearance of a large adult and their near impact frightened the child. She began to cry.
“Oh baby,” Ellen said, picking up the toddler. “You’re all right. Miss Jennifer didn’t mean to bump into you.”
The girl dropped her head onto her mother’s shoulder and put her thumb in her mouth. She looked unconvincingly at Jen and snuggled into her mother more deeply.
“I’m so sorry,” Jennifer blurted. “I’m just not myself.”
“Honey,” Ellen said, in her thick South Carolina accent. “Aren’t we all? I’m as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs!”
Jen tried to stroke the little girl’s arm, getting a squeal and “harrumph” in return.
“Now, baby. Be nice. You’re just fine,” Ellen said to her daughter.
Ellen turned to Jennifer. “What’s got into you?”
“Ellen. It’s everything. Garrett has to stay here until the last person is evacuated, and they have me scheduled to leave without him. I just tried to get supplies from the commissary and the pharmacy. They’ve either been cleaned out or the line’s out the door. I should have thought of this before today, and I’m pissed at myself.”
“Well, bless your heart.”
“Seriously, Ellen. I’m not usually this stupid.”
Ellen stared off to the east where soldiers and sailors guarded the lone bridge to the mainland. “I know,” Ellen said. “I haven’t felt safe since this all started.”
Ellen put the little girl down and brushed her cheeks.
“I’ll tell you what,” Ellen said as she straightened out the little girl’s shirt. “I’ll bet there are tons of supplies in those homes south of the base.”
While the Navy owned the north end of Coronado, that side of the island was thick with residential buildings. Single-story houses, a few hotels, and even a golf course were sitting empty. The area had been evacuated and cleared of any humans or Variants.
“We’re not allowed to leave the base,” Jen replied.
“Who’s going to stop you?” Ellen asked. “We’ve got less than a day left here, and there’s no shore patrol in that area. They’re all guarding the bridge.”
“How do you know that?”
“All I’ll say is that there probably isn’t anything left to scavenge north of Cabrillo Avenue. At least, that’s what I’ve heard,” Ellen said with a wink.
“Thanks, Ellen.”
“Good luck, Jen,” Ellen said, walking away as she pulled her daughter along.
Jennifer stood silently, her fears slightly relieved. She needed a number of things, and with thousands of extra people to support, the Navy’s supply chain couldn’t be relied on. Her scout training kicked in. She would take care of herself and Garrett.
“Be prepared!” was the scout motto. She was going to do just that.
Jen
nifer hurried back to the base’s exchange and grabbed two duffel bags. She made it to their room just as Garrett returned from duty.
“Two duffels?” he asked. “Are you planning on bringing our mattress?”
“No. I’ve got some personal supplies to pick up. Lots of girl stuff, if you know what I mean.”
“A duffel for girl stuff? You not telling me something?” he said jokingly.
“No babe, you’ve seen it all,” she said back with a grin.
“Whatever. You know what you’re doing. How about a bite to eat? I’ve got an hour before my next patrol.”
Jen glanced at her watch. It was almost two. She was scheduled to leave in three hours and had been struggling whether to make that trip without him.
“Come on. You’ve packed already. Let’s spend one more meal together,” he said, his eyes finally betraying the anxiety he’d been hiding from her.
One more meal together, Jennifer repeated silently to herself. That was apocalyptic.
She never let on that he’d dropped his guard, exposing his fears. She nodded eagerly at his suggestion. Garrett smiled and gave her a hug. His embrace felt desperate and final. It was at that moment she made up her mind to miss her flight. She’d stay with Garrett until the end. Whatever fate awaited him, she would share it as well.
They left the bedroom and began walking to the base’s cafeteria.
“For better, or worse,” she whispered to herself, twisting the engagement ring hanging from her neck.
“What did you say?” Garrett asked as they jogged down the building’s stairwell.
“I love you,” she lied, just two steps behind. “I said that I love you.”
— 21 —
USS Theodore Roosevelt
Thirty Miles West of San Diego
Porky Shader
“For the want of a nail the shoe was lost, For the want of a shoe the horse was lost,
For the want of a horse the rider was lost, For the want of a rider the battle was lost,
For the want of a battle the kingdom was lost, And all for the want of a horseshoe-nail.”
― BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
Shader moved silently through the massive ship. The Roosevelt was designed to hold about five thousand souls under normal conditions. Now, the massive carrier was struggling to house over double that number. Because of this, the ship’s filtration system was being pushed to its limits, and both the air and water produced were tinged with contaminants.
Shader ducked through a portal and snaked around clusters of civilians who had been rescued over the last month. Spaces that normally sat unoccupied were filled with both people and their detritus. The decks looked unkempt and stains from unknown liquids spotted the floors. It was so unlike normal that Porky could have been convinced he was in a college dormitory or dirty apartment building rather than one of the country’s elite fighting ships.
Shader ducked through another opening, and the distinctive smell of a cigarette hit him. Smoking was forbidden. A fire aboard a naval craft could find a critical cable or ship component. With no more ports to call on, a broken part could permanently cripple the large craft.
The stress of the Forum and loss of the Marines had the SEAL on a tightrope of emotions. Shader followed the stench. It led to the head.
The shower and toilet facility contained over a dozen stalls and sinks. The burning tobacco odor was strong as Shader passed by several civilians taking a leak into the urinals. A door opened in one of the stalls to the right, and a woman came out, tucking her shirt into her unbuttoned pants. Men and women were no longer segregated, other than designated times in the morning and night where they could use the communal showers by the assigned gender. Otherwise, the water to the bathing facility was shut off to preserve the desalination equipment and filters.
Midday wasn’t one of those times as Shader marched into the shower room. His capacity for patience had long run out.
A group of men and women were standing in the tiled room, passing around a bottle of schnapps. Alcohol was prohibited, but these idiots had smuggled two liters of the stuff onboard. One of the men was smoking, his back to Shader. As the SEAL strode up behind them, the others suddenly went quiet. The smoking man, sensing Shader’s presence, spun around to face the unknown visitor. Before he could even remove the burning cancer-stick from between his lips, Porky smashed his jaw with an explosive right cross, knocking him instantly unconscious and onto the floor. His cigarette rolled out of his mouth and settled over a shower drain. The remaining civilians stood in stunned silence.
“You stupid bastards,” Shader hissed. “You could start a fire. Just what the hell were you thinking?”
“We’re sorry. We thought it was safe to smoke in here,” one woman stammered as she looked around the all-tile room.
“There’s no safe place to smoke on a ship,” Shader hissed back. “I should report you to the XO.”
The Executive Officer was responsible for the maintenance and function of the carrier. One of their responsibilities was to police and inspect the ship. When the civilians had been brought on board, they’d been given a set of rules. These included the no smoking policy as well as the requirement that any alcohol was to be surrendered for the length of the voyage. An infraction of any of these rules would lead to confinement in the brig or even a one-way ticket back to the mainland. Discipline was paramount on a craft with over five thousand people. It was even more important when you doubled that amount.
“No!” the woman pleaded. “You can’t do that.”
Two of the men made a move at Shader, earning them a low chuckle from the SEAL.
“Oh. That’s just rich. You two against me?”
Shader stepped toward the two and spread his hands to his side.
“Go ahead. After I break your arms, I’ll take you to the flight deck and personally put a bullet in your heads.”
The two stood down, dropping their gaze away from Porky and to the deck. Their alcohol-enhanced bravery didn’t last but for a moment.
“Names and billet,” Shader said, demanding their identification.
Shader took their issued ID cards and gave them one last look.
“We just lost a thousand Marines. For people like you. And you stand in here, having a party. Putting almost ten thousand people in danger for a cigarette and a whisky buzz. It makes me want to vomit.”
No one met his gaze and Shader turned and left.
Little things mattered. If there was anything he’d learned in his decades of military service, it was that a broken firing pin or even an untied shoelace could turn an operation on its head. Shader strode on, turning up a set of metal stairs.
“Make a damn hole!” he shouted at civilians who were blocking his way. They were sitting on the steps, using the space as a gathering spot.
They moved to the side as Shader pushed through them.
It was all just too much. Too many people. Too much garbage, and in the end, too little appreciation for what he and his fellow warriors were doing. He looked around at the idling civilians and saw nothing worth saving. He was fed up. Last night, he watched men and women worthy of his enduring gratitude and appreciation, overrun by a horde of creatures that had once been these ungrateful and purposeless people around him. In his own jaded mind, he began to realize that the only difference between the Variants and the listless civilians surrounding him, was a tiny virus. One group would kill you instantly with an infection-laced bite, while this group would slowly suffocate you by sucking the life from your surroundings.
“Why are we killing ourselves for this rabble?” he said to himself.
His mind was moving into a terrible place, but Shader didn’t care. He was over it all.
Porky stomped up the stairs and moved more freely as he got closer to the bridge. He’d find out where the XO was and turn the identification badges over to him.
“Hi Mr. Shader!” he heard from behind.
Porky stopped and turned, finding the young girl f
rom the Forum he’d rescued the night before. She was walking with Morales, who held an IV bag that was attached to the frail girl’s right arm.
She was stick thin, her newly issued shorts and shirt hanging loosely over her gaunt frame. The Navy didn’t have anything for such a small and frail body. Morales fared far better. His weight loss was now camouflaged by properly fitted garments. Both of their shirts had a crest on the front. A circular image of the carrier with “USS T Roosevelt” printed in gold letters above the image of the ship and CVN-71 printed below.
“Thank you,” the girl said. She limped forward and gave Porky an unexpected hug. She could barely get her short arms halfway around him as she lay her freshly washed head on his stomach. Morales beamed.
“Thank you, my friend,” the Puerto Rican man said. “You came for us. We’d be dead if it wasn’t for you.”
Porky’s sour mood changed, transformed by a weak and tiny girl whose hug he could barely feel along with a few thankful words from a man who, just a month ago, was a faceless and invisible cog in the working class of a now-dead city.
Shader was without words. He struggled to reconcile the dichotomy between the leeches living just a deck below and the two survivors he stood with now.
“What are you guys doing up here?” Shader finally asked.
“Bella needs to get out and move,” Morales said. “We thought we’d come up here and see if there was anything we could do.”
“I told the sailor that I could serve food,” the girl said, looking up at the big SEAL.
“We went to the cafeteria to see if they needed help. It was her idea. She wants to do something other than sit on her butt,” Morales said.
“It’s my tushy,” she said, giggling. Then she looked up at Porky and smiled. “I sat enough. I don’t ever want to have to sit again.”
“I don’t imagine you do,” Shader said. “A month is more than sufficient.”
Morales put his arm around the girl and turned her away. “She needs to rest now,” he said.
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