by Woods, Shane
“On it!” he called over his shoulder, already on his way through the doorway to get new crews put together. Then I proceeded to call Rich and Henry upstairs via radio and went back to my seat to sit down and finish my smoke.
“What are you thinking?” Jennifer asked, taking the seat nearest mine.
“Arby’s,” I stated, offhanded, as I drew in a breath of tobacco smoke and exhaled it into the air over the table.
“You know what I mean,” she intoned.
“Yeah,” I agreed, she was never one to let me bully my way out of talking. “This guy is a problem. A big problem.”
“He has a tank,” she said, her voice still as a pond, as if pondering our situation.
“Technically,” I started, “a Bradley is an IFV, not a tank. Either way, they can be beat, but that’s not something I even want to entertain if I don’t have to. My first hope is that this is the last we’ll hear from him.”
“Do you think that’s likely?” she inquired.
“Not at all,” I confided. “Last thing I want is another fight, especially here, but I doubt he’ll leave us be just the same. Maybe a deal of some sorts could be worked up. I don’t know just yet.”
At that moment, Rich and Henry came strolling into the command room.
“We got, ah, we got Mr. Wayne’s burial set up,” Henry informed me. “We can start it soon before the rain really gets here.”
“Doesn’t seem right, does it?” I opined. “Not even so much as a true grieving period these days.”
Nobody gave a direct answer, but we all seemed to agree. This world is fucked, and it showed no signs of getting better anytime soon.
“Alright,” I began, “Ryan and Rob have something to show you back in security. This new group, the military, allegedly, is bad news. Worse than what our meeting this morning would lead us to believe.”
Both men disappeared into the doorway behind my seat, emerging a few minutes later.
“Well this is some shit,” Rich proclaimed. “What do you need from us?”
“Henry, you’re motor pool,” I observed. “You’re our best guy with all things mechanical. Rich, you’re weapons. There are a few major ways to disable a vehicle like that Bradley. I’ll tell you what I know, you find me solutions, and don’t be afraid to go overboard with all of them.”
We spent a few more moments in conversation about the vehicles. Basic things, at least. Getting in close to the Bradley would be tough, but necessary, as we had nothing long range capable of penetrating reactive armor. We were, technically, still all civilians. Disable the tracks, finding a way to block the exhaust, throwing paint over the periscopes, damaging the array of sensors or the huge air conditioning boxes mounted to the outside of the vehicle. There was still a number of things we could do to at least have a better chance against such a behemoth of a vehicle.
The plan appeared to be much the same for the rest of the vehicles, as well. In little time, Rich and Henry were beginning to bring the conversation more toward each other and bounce defense ideas back and forth.
“You guys may want to clue in Tony, as well,” I observed. “He probably has some kind of experience with them. Where did he go, anyway?”
Nobody seemed to know.
“Anyway,” I continued, “let’s go. We have another friend to lay to rest today.”
The mood of the room dropped back into place with those words. James by lunchtime, now Wayne. Jesus. When would the hits quit coming? Would they ever? I didn’t think so. The world had ended. Everything else just kept rolling. Death included.
FIVE
We shed the protective cover of the North Building and went left. Jennifer, Tony, and Dave followed me as we approached the scene.
Nearly everybody was present, save for Carolyn and the children. We had all agreed to spare the kids when and where we could. There was enough to protect them from in this world, and while it was clear we couldn’t keep them from most of the things all of the time, we could do our best to limit their exposure. Death. While I wished we could keep it from our young ones full time, we did our best.
We approached the area chosen for Wayne, placing him just past Chris’s resting place. And Melissa. The dead accumulated and were buried in the grassy portions immediately near the North Building. Our own, our ‘closest’ people were greedily lined up, and right up front.
The rain fell soft but steady, pattering across the stubble where my hair should be. The only area no drops fell was under the blue portable awning that had been placed over a large hole in the ground. Above this hole, a simple frame of two-by-fours supported a simple wooden box containing the body of our friend, Wayne. Surrounding this was an inconsolable Katie, and many of our friends, Henry being the closest to a man of God that we could think of in this wasteland. He would lead the service, and a small work party would lower Wayne into his final resting place by ropes tied to eye hooks on his casket.
Clara noticed us approaching and went and stood nearby.
“They had children,” I whispered to her, “where are they?”
“Katie said no,” Clara explained quietly. “Said she’d think of something to tell them, but they’ve been through so much.”
“Wow,” I muttered, and the talk ended as Henry began speaking, reading a passage from a worn leather-bound bible.
In a way, I could understand the choice to have no kids present, even Wayne’s. Yet at the same time I felt they should be. Children needed closure too, to some degree, even if it wasn’t the same as that of the adults.
As my thoughts progressed, I found myself looking at Jennifer. My wife. My buddy. Her mess of never-neat dirty blonde hair was left to fall loosely around her shoulders, splitting to run its course over her chest and upper back. She wasn’t even invested in the current proceedings. Instead, I followed her gaze to the small makeshift headstone for Melissa. The first one interred here. The first of a growing number now, and James to be joining them tomorrow, hopefully.
Friends and family buried together, but friends and family buried also within spitting distance of the driveway at an apartment complex I had only ever driven past in what felt to be a previous life. What a world it had become. I found myself wondering if normal would ever come back. If normal even existed anymore. My brain tried imagining things as they were. A school bus, perhaps, pulling in to deliver children at the end of a day of learning. The school bus passing the spot where one of our own lay resting for eternity.
An earth-shaking rumble of thunder brought me back to my senses as I looked around at everyone. Henry had just finished speaking and asked for a moment of silence. We granted this moment together and before Katie could take a place to begin speaking, Jennifer looked my way.
“You okay?” she murmured, likely noticing my expression and lack of attentiveness.
“As much as you are,” I replied softly, and motioned with my head up to Katie. She was beginning to thank everyone for showing up but broke into tears and was quickly unable to complete her statements.
“Ten bucks says she milks this,” came Tony’s voice from directly behind us.
“First,” I replied to him, “that’s kind of a low thing to say right now. Second, money is worthless. Bet liquor instead. Third, you’re probably right.”
We regained our silence as the short service cleared up and the rain really began to fall from the sky. Henry stood by with Katie as she continued to sob, the work crew slightly raising Wayne’s new condo a few inches so others could remove the braces and he could be laid in place.
The rest of the evening was spent in relative silence. The rain coming and going in spurts, the humidity hanging somewhere around one thousand percent, nobody seemed to much feel like carrying on as usual. Adding on the loss of two of our members, our friends, family even, and the entire compound was essentially on rest.
The exception was Tony. Rather, Tony’s now-strengthened work crew. He seemed content in the driver’s seat of one of our remaining Smart Cars, making rounds
where he could stay dry and comfortable.
Henry had stolen Dave, Rich, and Bob for some kind of special project on the first floor.
Myself? I found myself with my wife and child, sharing the couch and the floor near our sliding balcony door. The falling rain traced a lazy trail here and there down the large panes of glass. As we talked quietly, mostly about those we’d lost, Gwen contented herself by scribbling in an old coloring book.
Well, it was closer to half of an old coloring book. Jennifer felt bad about the thought of Gwen coloring over another kid’s work, especially if the kid might no longer be around, so she carefully removed and saved those pages.
At any rate, at some point during the evening our conversation lulled. An empty corn chip bag sat on the floor nearby, several empty bottles of water, and the rain kept on. At some point after, I fell asleep. Make all the jokes about dads you would like to make, but that stuff really happens. I pressed my head back against the couch and ended up resting my eyes until just slightly before dawn the next morning.
SIX
I awoke nearly stuck in place by sweat. Wiping a stream of it from my forehead, I immediately found the cause. Jennifer must have decided to sleep out here after I lost consciousness. The woman was putting off a heat that no blanket could match. No, she wasn’t sick, that’s just how she was. My heat rock. Impossible in the summertime, great in the winter. Unfortunately for me, it was mostly in the warm weather still, and the building was only allowed the air conditioner in the computer room.
I started to peel the heap of heated woman off of me, and as she woke up, I explained that it was time to do so in order to get ready to spend part of the day on the water. She replied with a groan, barely even opening her eyes.
“Come on, woman,” I chided. “Let’s go!”
“No,” she groaned. “Let’s just stay in and order a pizza.”
“Get up!” I laughed as she groaned and righted herself. “Pizza shop’s closed anyway, it’s a holiday.”
“What holiday?” she quipped.
“Uhhhh,” I began, “Thursday? I think? I don’t know but let’s go!”
“Ugh okay,” she conceded, rising from the couch. “Fine.”
Not long after we woke up, Carolyn showed up for Gwen. After her hugs and kisses from us, Gwen went happily babbling away with Rich’s wife, and soon they disappeared through our doorway and on their way to wherever.
“Y’all be safe!” I called after the last truck, Rich’s truck, as it pulled out of the compound.
Once waves were returned, Jennifer and I made our way down to the water’s edge. Dave was busy bringing boxes and small crates to the boat from the riverside storage shed that had been erected. Tony, on the other hand, was doing his best to make sure the boat went nowhere.
“Are you going to help?” Dave grumbled at him.
“I stacked the boxes, man,” Tony replied. “Shannon says I still have to take it easy, remember?”
Trade had been fairly steady between our complex and the one a little way upriver.
The other compound was led by a man named Mike Hashman. He was a younger man, and though we never asked, we figured him to be somewhere in his very early 20’s. He’d been pretty much forced into his role of leadership much the same as I’d been. His compound was an eclectic mix of people, but heavy on the side of metal heads. There were a number of buses trapped on the highway heading to a music festival near Cleveland when the world went to shit, Hashman got them out of where they were and saved the majority of them.
They had taken refuge in a small gated community on the river’s edge. A horseshoe of cookie-cutter homes surrounded by a wall and fencing that, unlike ours, was already in place when the end came.
At any rate, they held their own quite well, and were well supplied. They even had control of that section of the river by way of mounting a small guard tower of sorts right by the boat tie-ups. A heavy wooden frame topped with a salvaged MCTAGS turret containing an M2 .50 caliber machine gun. Capping this setup off was a pastel pink patio umbrella, allowing it to be manned in comfort, rain or shine.
“You two bicker like you’re married,” I commented as I approached, then, “Tony. Get off your ass, bro. Let’s get this shit show on the road. Or river, or whatever.”
“Shannon said,” he replied, shrugging.
“Get off your ass,” I repeated, showing my impatience this time around. “She’s under five foot, she’s only half a doctor anyway. Start loading fucking boxes or I’ll use you as an anchor.”
“Fine,” he replied sharply and made his way slowly out of the boat as Jennifer and I both grabbed a crate each full of various liquor bottles.
With all four of us working, it didn’t take much longer and the boat was brimming with supplies. Each of us were in, backpacks loaded, and rifles slung, and the craft sat startingly low in the water. I untied the tether holding it to the shore and we shoved off.
Once behind the wheel, I got the motor fired up and we began our lazy way up the slow-moving river to the Hashman compound.
The first couple of miles of the trip went well, although slowly. The river wasn’t exactly a raging body of water, but we kept our pace slow as to keep down engine noise.
The infected weren’t as much worry on the water. Mostly, they stayed to the shoreline. Screeching, biting the air, sniffing and barking their calls as the boat would pass. We used to get tense seeing them, but really, they were more similar to cats. Sure, an occasional healthy freak would make it into the water. But none ever followed it in and once it had made entry they always slowed down. Those were usually easily dispatched by a boat hook through the skull.
Even the lumbering behemoths scattered throughout the area steered clear of the water, which struck me as odd, because at an average height around eight to ten feet tall they could have easily touched the bottom in most places along the river.
One cloudy afternoon a boat had come down with supplies from Hashman, displaying a large dent in one side. According to the men on board they had learned a valuable lesson. Ignore the big ones. Taking pot shots at one on the riverbank had pissed it off, and after several futile attempts at reaching the boat with its arms, it had given up and thrown an entire riding lawnmower at the passersby.
I sat behind the helm of our small vessel enjoying a bag of M&M candies from one of the MREs. Though, admittedly, the enjoyment was minimal. After having been packaged away for so long, the flavor was halfway between stale and cardboard. But I slowly ate them nonetheless.
Twice I had used them offensively. On both occasions, Tony had begun nodding off at the bow of the boat. Both times I sent a candy flying in his direction, one successfully striking him on the cheek, the other bouncing off the metallic hull of our vessel. It worked anyway, making a loud series of clangs like a rock had been thrown, instantly bringing him back around while the other three of us laughed.
Somewhere around halfway to our destination, another twang resounded from up by Tony, causing him to jerk and spin back to look at me.
“What the fuck man?” he cried. “I wasn’t even sleeping this time!”
“That wasn’t me, dude,” I called over to him, but any further conversation was cut off.
Another series of twangs and pings hit the boat, blowing straight through into the small interior cabin where shattering glass bottles could be heard, and the resulting sound of liquor covering the floor.
“Everybody DOWN!” I shouted as my crew of three ducked and hid to make themselves as small as possible.
As I issued the command, our assailants presented themselves, a couple of whom I recognized from a recent encounter, their various United States military uniforms easily distinguishable through the haze of humidity. They kept low, presenting enough of themselves for us to see who they were but not really enough to get a shot on them when combined with the suppressing fire they were issuing.
“Parker!” I growled, shouldering my weapon and hoping to catch a glimpse of him through the i
ncoming hail of bullets.
The sound of gunfire drew closer and the intensity increased as I reached for the throttle of the boat and cracked it wide open. More rounds splashed down into the water around us, some just grazing the hull of the boat with loud snaps and whistles. The boat pulling forward under its newfound breath I had given it had caused just a bare moment’s lull in our attacker’s accuracy as Dave opened fire in return. His AK47 running its first magazine dry as it barked out 7.62mm projectiles, sending themselves ahead of hot flame into the direction of the attack.
Tony and his M1A joined him, a pair of .30 caliber weapons bringing thunder and kicking up rocks or piling into low cover as they tried to seek out our antagonists and put a stop to their reign of terror over us. Jennifer joined as well, which surprised me because she really hadn’t seen any action to this point aside from helping Shannon in medical.
She had taken refuge in the doorway of the cabin. Whether by design, or by accident, the small bulkhead probably provided the second-best protection on the entire craft save for the small V8 engine itself.
I watched between shots, my ever-present Mk18 just a quiet clap normally, now completely drowned out by the unsuppressed gunfire on both sides.
Jennifer didn’t put down the volley of fire that the others were. Her civilian AR-15 only even capable of one bullet per trigger pull. Her whole body shook, likely from adrenaline in overdrive but she did put a few shots downrange. I managed to witness at least one man fall to her, taking a round in the leg, the next one finding itself high in the man’s plate carrier as he screamed for help.
As we passed, my friends and woman firing steadily, myself switching between returning fire and steering the boat away from the banks of the winding channel.
I’m unsure what caused the fire. Maybe a round penetrating the hull, striking something to set off a chance spark. Maybe a tracer, though I never saw one. What I did know for sure, was what fueled it.