Ethan pulled away, tears rolling down his face, re-wetting the blood caked to his face as he staggered backwards. He walked away from the emergency room, unable to stand his own company, let alone anyone else’s. He ran as he hit the cold air until he couldn’t breathe. He ran towards the highway, but not quite to it, finding out he was not in nearly as fit as he had once been. Ethan stood there and stared at the serpentine of derelict vehicles through a misty rain they desperately needed. The happy sounds of laughter and play, children enjoying the first clean rain in a long time even though it was late at night. The clatter of construction crews as they put the finishing touches on a reinforced guard house for the South Gate. Massive lights powered by scavenged solar batteries helped the men see at night, casting eerie cones of yellow as they reflected off the falling water, a stark contrast to the nearly dark town. His world had completely stopped. Why hadn’t everyone else’s? Why was the world not mourning their loss?
“Ethan…” Mary said from behind him. He didn’t turn around. She just nudged him towards the truck until he finally got in. They drove back to the police station in silence. He got to take a hot shower, shave and change his clothes. Mary took the bloody uniform away and burned it. Though no one made her be there, Mary sat in on the after action review while Lee, who was every bit as stunned and despondent as his brother, told the story. Kenly wanted to act less distraught, knowing that their fuel problem had been solved for a good long while and that such a political victory would ensure Jenny Kopland never saw office. But he couldn’t act like it was okay. Keith Brewer had been his friend as well, a man he greatly admired and propped up as a real hope for the future. Now he was gone. Was the myth dead as well?
“We still have four men at the National Guard HQ trying to get a few more trucks started.” Lee said, no heart in his voice whatsoever.
“We’ll need to send the convoy back for them.” Kenly agreed. “Just… Gun trucks only. I don’t want anyone getting out of the trucks anymore. I don’t care if it’s a kid on the side of the road bleeding to death, you don’t get out until the area is pacified. If they have guns, make them put them down. If the trucks break down have them radio in and wait for help…” Kenly took a breath before going on. “Anyone in this room not have a Secret Clearance?” Silence. “Good. We had our first probe today from what we suspect is left of the Federal Government.”
“How do we know?” Lee asked, but only because he had to. Kenly liked to play the guess what game, and then actually make you guess.
Mary spoke up. She had been acting Sheriff at the time, Allen’s concussion still a concern to many. Ethan briefly wondered where Allen was, but realized he was probably on duty if Mary was not. “They were posing as travelers just passing through, but they didn’t act, look, or smell like people who’d survived all this time on their own.”
There was no need to explain what any of that meant. People who were traveling usually encountered three things; zombies, gangs, and survivalists. To see an entire town with a functioning, well adjusted, democratically governed people was sometimes a real shock the last men on Earth. These travelers didn’t seem even slightly surprised by the town. Most people also looked like they’d been out in the wild for a long time. No one shaved, even fewer made the attempt to bathe, as Newton had so eloquently pointed out, people smelled much like they would have before the turn of the twentieth century. These guys smelled like Pert.
“They were clean shaven, didn’t stink, their car was a black suburban with tinted windows, and it was still in pretty good shape. Not even a brush guard bolted on. I know that doesn’t mean much, but they also weren’t very shocked to see us, at least not in the way we usually see. They wanted to know things like how many people were in town, what our government was like,” At that Kenly almost laughed. Almost. “They asked a number of relatively benign questions about food and fuel, for which they traded gold coins, but what got our attention was when they asked what our political affiliation, if any, was with Texas. Luckily, Deputy Broadwick is a clever guy and gave ‘em the runaround. He got their license plate and made note of a few stickers that were in the windshield as well, so we can pass that information on to the Texans.”
Kenly looked at Lee, and then at Ethan. “I’m sorry boys. Words just can’t…”
“We know, Sir.” Ethan said. Fighting the urge to cry again he found the courage to speak. “Thank you.” Kenly could see this was the wrong time for an AAR and dismissed everyone.
That night Mary brought Paula and Serenity to stay with them. Lee came over too, and as soon as he was off duty Allen burst through the door, almost clocking Bogey in the head with his boot. The dog could tell something was wrong, his head drooped and he didn’t move very fast, and begging for attention from anyone but Ethan was just not going to happen. Serenity and Samuel sat on the floor playing with blocks, surprisingly calm in all the chaos. The innocence of youth. Bogey laid down next to the children while Allen came to grips with the news, holding Paula’s hand. Ethan was his friend, Keith was his mentor. They all sat by candle light, no one spoke, the friends and family of Keith Brewer simply watched the candle burn down, and like the light of their lives, be snuffed out by a random gust of wind.
It rained during Keith’s funeral. Ethan had sworn that after his friend’s death in Iraq he would never again listen to the heart wrenching sounds of Taps, so help him God. But here he was, standing with his right hand to the brim of his campaign hat as Taps sucked the life and soul from him… again. Mayor Kenly waited until the preacher had finished, the casket lowered, the guns fired, and Old Glory was folded. He took the triangular flag and stepped up to Paula while Mary sat holding the children.
“I used to give these to widows in Vietnam… I used to think to myself how pointless it was for their husbands to be gone. What did they die fighting for? Why were these families made to suffer so? Well I’m not asking myself that now. I know why I’m handing you this flag, Paula Brewer. Your husband was sacrificed upon the alter of freedom, his passion was saving the People of the Nation he loved. To make this God forsaken world a better place. He put himself in danger to help those who needed it most. This town, and these people, will never forget his sacrifice.”
Paula took the flag as it was handed to her. She clutched it tightly, her eyes never leaving the casket as the crowd dispersed and the men poured shovel full after shovel full of dirt atop the gleaming silver box. As Keith disappeared for the last time, so did Paula’s composure. This was the breaking point everyone had been waiting for, walking on eggshells around her until it finally happened. Mary set the kids down and went to sit by her friend, though mostly to hold her back from jumping into the pit as well. Keith had saved Paula from a lot of things. Rapist gangs, Zombies, and even from her own demons. He’d given her a child, and now a second that he would never see.
Paula moved in with Ethan and Mary. She never went back to the house she’d shared with Keith. A new family moved into it, and the cycle of life went on.
14
True Story:
OIF VI: FOB 29 Stumps, Iraq.
Transcript of Mental Health Evaluation for Redeployment to CONUS
Subject: SPC Cally, Ethan J. (HHC 23 BTSB, 2BAT, 3ID)
Attending Physician: CPT Binkle, Emery B. (HHC 26 BTB, 4BAT, 3ID)
CPT Binkle “Good evening, Specialist. How are you?”
SPC Cally “I got up… Sir.”
CPT Binkle “I see. Do you understand why you’re here?”
SPC Cally “Because Staff Sergeant Nastud told me to be, Sir.”
CPT Binkle “I see. Well, this is the mandatory mental health evaluation for your redeployment to the Continental United States. You can speak freely here, Specialist. I’m not in your chain of command. Nothing you say here will get back to them. We’re just here to see if we can find Soldiers who might be in distress about going home. Sometimes family situations aren’t what they used to be, people change here. We’re hoping to find Soldiers experiencing anxiet
y and depression and help them as early as possible.”
SPC Cally “…I don’t like my job… So… I’m just not going to do it anymore.”
CPT Binkle “I’m sorry? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
SPC Cally “Well… I don’t like my job… So I’m not going to do it anymore, Sir.”
CPT Binkle “That’s not what I meant. This is a safe place. You can talk freely to me. Just pretend the uniform is a pastel sweater, or whatever helps. What do you mean?”
SPC Cally “With all due respect, Sir, the mental image of an ACU gray, pastel sweater is just… awful. Promise me you’ll never actually do that. I’m joking, sorry Sir, inappropriate humor is just a coping mechanism. It’s just that I don’t like my job… or anyone I work with… Don’t like might even be an oversimplification. I waited in the shadows about a month ago for my assclown of an E4 team leader. Figured he’d be coming back from blowing his boyfriends at the gym, or whatever roid junkies do, I don’t know… I was planning to beat him to death with a tire iron I snatched off an MRAP. I mean, how have I sunk to that level? I used to be a seemingly decent MP, a real upstanding representative of the law, ya know? The people here are getting to me, and I don’t mean these so called Insurgents. They’re just doing what we would do if the situation were reversed. See, I don’t believe in the mission anymore, I don’t trust my own fucking unit, let alone the Army at large. I’m fairly sure the Army Values and MP Corps Motto are just hollow scribbles on pieces of paper. It was all a lie to begin with, my job, this war, all a poorly disguised scam to funnel tax money into Halliburton through KBR, both conveniently owned by Darth Cheney himself. All at the expense of thousands of American lives and a few billion dollars that would have gone to something useless, like education or healthcare.
“This is all just a bunch of Marne-tastic, garrison bullshit. We’re just bullying a bunch of stupid fucking Sand Savages that had frak-all to do with 9/11. Not to mention there is no tangible proof they ever had any WMD’s. These throwbacks from the 7th Century still think it’s the 7th fucking Century. They think we’re little more than hostile aliens that invaded their tiny, dusty, smelly little world. I mean shit, if someone invaded the US wouldn’t we use any and all means available to us to stop them? Of the A-rab dirt farmers my unit incarcerates we maybe send one in fifteen to Cropper for trial, the ones we let go almost always get released to the capturing unit, or God help them the Iraqi Police. The IP’s are as likely to rob them as they are to shoot them in the desert. I work with a bunch of stupid-as-shit college dodging social rejects pretending to be Oldschool MP’s looking to get into some clichéd fist fight with WWII Nazis on a beach that don’t exist anymore, all the while running around with these ridiculous fucking Velcro Police Patches pretending we have any authority or special purpose in life. MP’s are supposed to set the behavioral standard for the Army. Suffice it to say, if that were a reality there’d be no one in Ft. Leavenworth because criminal would just be SOP.
“I mean, God fucking damnit, Captain. My day has, up unto this point, (which is my personal time by the way,) consisted of me slogging my ass through nine inches of plowed Iraqi shit-mud in a rainy season I didn’t even know existed, because we’re somehow too stupid or lazy to pave the streets here, to a hodgepodge detention facility that is literally made of thick cardboard and razor wire that couldn’t safely detain a determined four year old and babysit sixty some-odd Sand Savage farmers and paranoid-schizophrenics, also known as Iranian Insurgents, who were all guilty of little more than being too stupid to run away from the Americans when we came rolling down the streets! These people, and boy do I use that word loosely, are so stupid they would register below the minimum level of intelligence it takes to inhale air if they were to take a standardized IQ test. To prove my point, and I have a witness to corroborate, I watched a Detainee eat an entire bar of fresh deodorant because, why? I suppose it smelled good. Then he barfed and shat himself for like five hours and didn’t understand why, even though our medic and ‘terp tried explaining it a hundred times. My unit believes the only way to promote is to butt-fuck someone and destroy their career, they cover up for women hating sociopaths who think nothing of abusing young women until they shoot themselves… Hell, if my NCO’s are the model by which I should follow, I’d rather be a fucking private the rest of my life… Sir.”
CPT Binkle ...0_o…
The conversation was over shortly after that, and unbelievably Ethan never heard anything about it again. Now he sat in a patrol car, burning through gas they had plenty of to fight off the encroaching cold. It was October again, coming up on the third year of the Apocalypse. The town had weathered an entire winter without Texas there to help, and slowly but surely Paula had brought herself to speak again. Six months after his friend had taken a buckshot to the spine and heart and Ethan was experiencing the same burnout he’d felt in Iraq. Samuel was older, he was speaking single words and getting into everything. Serenity asked where her Daddy was still, but that wasn’t going to last. Lee was the apple of that child’s eye now. Ethan didn’t dwell on that part either, whether he should welcome his brother stepping up to fill the void Keith had left or not. Ethan’s mind was a maelstrom of horror, he’d fought despondence and melancholy since the day on the bridge, polite words to describe massive, crushing depression and an overwhelming fantasy of eating his own gun again. The one thing he regretted most was knowing he could not have saved Keith no matter what he did. Keith hadn’t been wearing his second chance vest. There had never been a violent attack that the Cavalrymen or Deputies weren’t already geared up for. Ethan was in the habit of just wearing his around outside the wire, but now Mary made him wear it every day. Why, how, had they overlooked that detail on that one occasion? Were they really that distracted? Worse yet, Ethan hadn’t gotten to shoot any of those bastards. Denial of revenge can be a powerful factor in someone used to being able to get things done themselves. Ethan fantasized about returning to the Mt. Sterling bridge and burning what was left of the corpses, just because he could. Maybe he could make a totem pole out of their skulls too…
Late at night, when he couldn’t sleep, Ethan would drive out to FOB Alamo and stand on the range for hours, shooting the people shaped targets in the head at fifty meters with every shot. Mary complained he didn’t blah blah blah paying attention, blah blah blah stay in bed at night, blah blah blah typical women’s bitching blah blah blah. At this point nothing anyone said registered on Ethan’s give a shit o’meter. Like the good book Fight Club said, “When you have insomnia, nothing is real. Everything is far away. A copy, of a copy, of a copy.” The whole world had become white noise to him. To avoid people’s stares he had shifted his patrol to the industrial side of town. There weren’t many calls there. Everyone was armed either with a gun or a heavy tool. Zombies really weren’t a problem this close to winter, when the first frost was close. Lots of other diseases were, though. At least fifty people had died from exhaustion and dehydration over the summer. They’d be better prepared for this winter, but ill equipped with no power. A lot of people were likely to freeze again, but not as many as the first winter. Logically he knew the people would make it, but it weighed on Ethan that more people he couldn’t save would perish. It occurred to him that his concern for the paper cut-out dolls that populated the world around him might just be an attempt to buy his way into heaven. Ethan had long accepted he would be burning in whatever ring of hell was reserved for those who kept silent when they were needed most. Perhaps if he’d never seen the movie Constantine he could claim ignorance.
Ethan watched from his patrol car as two teenage boys sawed and stacked logs onto a flatbed truck. A girl roughly the same age behind them with three more, even younger orphaned kids made food and organized stuff they’d bought at the market. The tallest boy stacking wood stopped and took his gloves off as the cool breeze picked up, leaves and sawdust blowing in the wind. He was sweating and dirty, but the girl his age with the swollen belly and the glittering ri
ng on her finger reminded Ethan of a more complicated time when lives were governed by cell phones and Facebook. He wondered to himself if perhaps these kids had known each other before the plague. What had their lives been like? Was anyone they loved from Before still alive? His thoughts drifted to his parents, and inevitably to Nicole. He’d put that girl through hell, the last several months before he was drafted might have seen an end to them anyhow, but now he’d never know. Sometimes he would go to his old house in the boonies and smell the stuffed bear he hid in the closet there. It had her perfume all over it. Vanilla and Warm Sugar. Mary didn’t wear that scent. He didn’t know if he could handle it if she did.
“Patrol Six, MC.” The car’s radio cracked.
“Go ahead.” Ethan answered quickly, not wanting to hear the radio any more than he had to. He was contemplating sleeping again soon.
“Can you respond to North Gate?”
“Switch to Eleven.” Ethan turned his radio to the Supervisor’s private channel. Everyone monitored it, but it was an unofficial way of keeping the radio waves clean and clear on official channels. “Can I say no?”
“I’m afraid not this time. We got a call from the Stanton and Far-Point Outposts about a suspicious black Suburban heading into town at an estimated fifty five miles per hour.” Rowe had been a lot less useless since Keith died. Perhaps it was because she knew Lee and Ethan were done putting up with bullshit of any flavor, and hers was an extra sour one at times. She might also just miss Keith. Everyone had their own way of coping, they were all just lucky being useless wasn’t hers.
“That’s the recommended approach speed. What’s the problem?”
“It’s clean. Sparkling and new. Scouts say they can see government plates.”
“Back to One.” Ethan took a deep breath. This was a tactic Lee had theorized. If the car was clean it was worth looking at. Most of the vehicles within a twenty mile radius of town didn’t have a drop of gas in them if someone wasn’t using them, which meant this SUV wasn’t local. If it didn’t have Sullivan ID markings, and there weren’t any long range missions going on right now, then that was a degree of suspicion worth exploring. Travelers didn’t bother washing cars, at least not if they were right in the head. A crazy man driving a pristine Aston Martin DB5 was known to race up and down what was left of I-70 between St. Louis and Columbia, but no one had seen him in a while. “MC, Patrol Six responding. Break. Areas One, Two and Three patrols respond as well. No lights. Keep the cars out of sight of the Off Ramp. I want to let them into the Sally Port before we take any action. I’ll be the first to approach.” Ethan paused. The radio crackled with affirmative responses.
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