I tenaciously step out onto the bridge, holding my breath until I realize I’m still alive.
“What was that?” I ask as Sledge walks next to me.
“Clearance codes,” Sledge replies. “They change them every week – good thing we got here when we did, because tomorrow, they’ll be updated, and well-“
He shrugs at me.
The rain is picking up and it is really starting to hurt along my whole body, to the point my nerves feel like they’re on fire. My legs slow, and I feel like the weight is crushing with every step. I try to keep going, until Brig whispers in my ear.
“Get the umbrella, kid.”
“You’re serious?” I ask, rolling my eyes.
“Yes I am, because in another ten seconds, you will collapse as your outer layer of skin burns off, exposing your nerves to a pain so intense, you’ll wish you were dead. So yes...Serious.”
“Yeah, okay,” I reply, not wanting to argue. Brig motions for me to reach into her pack, and she guides my hand to a light metal rod like a baton.
I look at the thing, which looks like a futuristic lightning rod, and Brig taps a button on the side of the baton. Immediately, the air around me bends as if an invisible curtain has shot up around us, above us.
The burning stops. The weight is lifted.
“That’s your umbrella?” I ask in awe. “Where on earth did you get that thing? Aliens?”
Brig laughs as we stand up again, umbrella in hand. She replies, “War brings out some of the best inventions Quinn. You’ll see that while the world regressed in many things, it has found new ways to keep living – human nature I guess.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I reply and meet up with Rose and Sledge, who are obviously in pain, but at least not melting as their clothes fill with holes.
“Almost there!” Sledge calls out as we near the massive chain link metal gate.
“Oh good!” I reply. “I can’t wait to take a nice, hot shower that doesn’t melt my fingers off.”
Sledge chuckles, “Well, just keep your cool – it’ll all be worthless if the tattoos don’t work. Let me do the talking at the checkpoint.”
“You got it boss,” I say, saluting mockingly.
We arrive at the gate – it stretches high over our heads, and out of the side of one of the towers emerges a guard wearing a blue military uniform. He’s tall, muscular, and wears a short brown beard on his face.
“Hello James,” Sledge says quietly, saluting the guard.
James only nods back, not returning the salute. He speaks in a deep voice, “Where’s the rest of your patrol, Sledge? And who are these sloppy leftovers?”
He motions to us, disinterested.
“They’re survivors from the 74th contingent, found them out near Strawberry Creek.” Sledge turns his turn more somber, putting his hand across his chest. “My patrol though…they didn’t…didn’t make it out.”
James narrows his eyes, looking gruffly at Sledge. “What happened?”
Sledge, glancing down at the ground, trying to play the part of the lone survivor, briefly recounts how they were attacked by a large bear, and only Sledge was able to get away and tell about it.
After hearing the story, James smiles, one of his front teeth half-broken. “All in a day, eh?”
Sledge then lightens up, smiling back. “You know it, man – Anyway, if you can get us all scanned in, I’ll head over to Command for my debriefing.”
“Yep,” James replies, “No problem at all.”
Passing a metal box like a square flashlight across Sledge’s arm, I see green highlights appear, morphing the tattoo so the eagle is suddenly a fierce dragon - where there used to be a beak, now fire was shooting out of the winged creature now perched on the world.
I hoped my tattoo could do that…
Next, Brig steps up, and James gives her a double take as he looks at her face and scans her arm. Same result – dragon appears.
Rose is up next, pulling her hoodie sleeve up as far as she can, holding it against her shoulder as James passes the box over her.
Without fail, a green, glowing dragon appears.
She walks to the other side of the gate, and now it’s my turn.
My throat tightens.
Deeply inhaling, I notice the assault rifle strapped around James as he nods to me.
I smile back and lift my sleeve.
He nonchalantly passes the scanner over my arm, but then stops, scans again, and stops again. He calls up to someone in the tower.
I just stand stiffly, trying to hold in any sign of fear.
“Is there a problem?” I ask, looking at James as if I had just been pulled over by a cop and knew I’d been speeding way over the speed limit.
He grunts in reply as another guard comes down – this time he’s a shorter, fatter man, older than James. James points to my arm, showing the other guard the scanner and they both draw close to my arm. I notice their hands quietly reaching over to their assault rifles.
I smile dryly.
Heart pounding.
Blood rushing to my head.
My fingers twitch at my side.
James finally speaks, poking my arm, which makes me flinch and pull my arm away.
“Your dragon lost its head, soldier.”
I look down and sure enough, the green glowing dragon sits looking fierce on top of the world, but the head has completely been erased from it, leaving a splotch in its place.
The gulp that comes out of my tight throat is loud enough I’m sure someone can hear it from a mile away.
CHAPTER 12
Semper Fide
My mind races about a million different things I could say until I decide to tell the truth – usually it’s the best lie.
“It must’ve been the rain, caught up to us just barely on the way back. Hit me pretty hard trying to carry her.” I speak slowly, but deliberately, pointing at Brig. “Women, right?”
I stare into James’ yellow-brown eyes, not blinking. He only stares back as if he’s trying to read me – But I’m better than him when it comes to the lying game. I have a feeling I did it all the time with my parents.
The fat one roars, breaking the tension, and slaps my arm. He speaks, a higher voice than I would’ve expected. “Let the man go, James – poor bastard has been through enough it looks like, especially with two women marching along with them.” He slaps my arm again, and I try not to wince. “Report over to the commissary to see about getting your ink redone soldier.”
I nod, and though James doesn’t look too happy about it all, I give him a solid smirk.
We walk through the checkpoint and enter what would have been downtown Vantage and I take a moment to stare in awe at the scene before me.
Straddling the riverbank are large half-domed buildings with waterwheels churning away with the current – each one apparently serving a different purpose, whether it’s a mill, or slaughterhouse, or factory of some kind. Some of the buildings light up with electricity, and some just have flickering lights from candles or propane tanks. A large cliffside slopes up in front of us with multiple levels built up like enormous retaining walls where clusters of buildings nestle on the edges. Streets lined with stone, just wide enough for one truck or two small compacts, jut out at right angles from where we stand, the whole area configured in rectangular blocks of houses or shops.
Regimented and organized to perfection.
The buildings themselves are made of tin, aluminum, steel, or even iron, with little wood used at all. Greens, reds and browns swirl together making earthy-toned tie dyes on the walls. Glancing at one of the walls near me, I can see the words, ‘Property of United States Government’ engrained in red on the exterior wall, and I realize the hodgepodge of colors and metals must be melted down equipment from the military made into slabs for walls. The roofs are completely flat for the most part, with just sheets of metal lying across the tops of the houses, cemented by some thick paste. Every now and then a window is cut roughly through
the thick metal walls, but these buildings are not made for comfort or warmth by any means.
The streets are fairly crowded with people – mostly women and children looking smudge-faced and dirty busily running errands as they go from shop to shop lining the main street we now are staring down. It almost looks reminiscent of a Dickens’ Dystopia, a town in the industrial revolution, but with people wearing modern clothes and guards standing on the street with AK-47’s and hand grenades.
“Ah,” Brig mutters under her breath. “Home, sweet home – just take a whiff of that fresh scent of oiled guns and sweat and you’ll know you’re in Vantage.”
The smell really is very distinct – not a bad smell like rotting flesh or garbage, but an aroma of metal and gym mats mixing together in a pungent musk. I look over at Brig, and notice Sledge has now reached under her, helping support her as we traipse down the stony street.
“Should be a medic’s clinic just two blocks down and to the right,” Sledge says, grunting slightly under Brig’s weight against him.
As we walk quietly, I listen in on conversations of people buzzing by:
An attractive blond woman walks past, wearing fitted skinny jeans full of holes while she tugs a boy dressed up in a miniature navy-blue uniform.
“Hurry up Cid,” the woman says, pulling the sandy-haired kid who I notice has a small air soft gun wrapped around his shoulders. “We are gonna be late for your rifle class – that would be the third time this month and Lieutenant Graham will have you doing push-ups until your blue in the face!”
They pass us without even noticing.
Two women walking close to each other in camo fatigues laugh loudly as they come up in front of us hurriedly, and I hear, “He did not try that whole, ‘The captain needed me to scrub the mess halls,’ bit – I mean who is the whore’s floors he’s scrubbing?”
Passing by an immaculately constructed metal brick shop with an engraved sign at the front that says, “Stu’s Smithery,” an oversized man exits holding a new shotgun he must have just purchased, wearing a smile like a boy who just saved all his money for a new R/C car and finally got it. The shotgun was impeccably designed with florets coursing down the barrel and a polish like silver.
He speaks to himself, stroking the gun as he turns and walks the opposite direction from us. “Oh Jessica – I think you will probably be my favorite gun of them all. Just hope the other fifty don’t get too jealous. And we should definitely NOT tell the missus we just spent her birthday money on you…”
If I hadn’t yet believed I was living in a different world, just five minutes in Vantage would coerce my mind into realization.
Brig mutters under her breath, “Same place as when I left it two years ago.”
We walk past “Flo’s Florals and Frags,” “Rite Grenade,” and “Uncle Sam’s Semi-Automatics.” Turning the corner, we walk down a more narrow corridor where maybe a small car could pass through. A metal statue of a large bearded man saluting greets us as we dodge a troupe of girls dressed up like girl scouts, only they’re carrying boxes of ammo instead of cookies.
I finally clear my throat and say, “You guys sure love your guns around here don’t you?”
Sledge and Brig chuckle simultaneously, and Brig says, “Every gun-toting military person, ex-con, and rancher joined up and formed this tribe. So yeah, you could say they have a little infatuation with firearms. Definitely not the place to start a bar fight.”
I reply, eyes still wide, “Noted. I’d hate to see what a bunch of crazy drunks would do with automatic rifles and grenades!”
Brig smiles and we come to a stop in front of a small tin building, covered in white paint with a hastily splashed together red cross. On an engraved metal sign across the top, I see written, “Manley Medics.”
“Here we are,” Sledge says. “One of my buddies, Jake, works here I think.”
I push open the thin metal door, and my teeth hurt from the sound of metal scraping on concrete.
Brig laughs as she sees me cringe. “Better get used to that noise, kid – it’s the beautiful sound of a door being opened in Vantage.”
Looking around the clinic, it looks as if it’s a witch doctor’s office. Metal shelves against the back wall hold various powders and herb concoctions, such as “Vitamin THC” and “St. John’s War.” A curtain on the back wall covers another room I’m guessing would be an operating room of one kind or another. The air is absolutely putrid, a mixture of dental office smell and burning, as low grunts can be heard in the mysterious room in the back. Dim lights hang from the ceiling with exposed wires jutting out dangerously across metal beams.
Definitely not FDA-approved.
Sledge drops Brig off against me, while Rose crowds behind both of us, still afraid of people in general, and walks up to the front desk made of melted brass and stones thrown together in a heap. A boy is at the front, roughly about Sledge’s age, but not nearly as well-developed in terms of muscles or height. He sports a thin, brown mustache and has a chubby face, like he’s carrying extra baby fat. Dressed in a white coat, the kid looks absolutely ridiculous, and I have to hold back a stifled laugh at the whole scene.
I just hoped for Brig’s sake he wasn’t the doctor.
“Yo, Jake,” Sledge says, taking the boy’s hand while the two pat each other on the backs. “Been a while.”
Jake replies, red cheeks appearing as he smiles, his thin lip getting covered by the tiny mustache. “Like six months right, man? But look at us both – you a field medic, me getting ready to take over my dad’s clinic!”
Sledge smiles, letting go of Jake’s hand. “And look! You finally got your man card and grew some facial hair!”
Stroking the patch of hair with his finger, Jake blushes, and says, “It’s taken about six months, but I finally did it! Never shaving this beauty ever again.”
Sledge laughs, as I roll my eyes at the absurdity of this place.
Someone calls out angrily from the back room, a booming voice I’m assuming comes from Jake’s father. “Jake! I need the forceps NOW! NOW JAKE!”
Jake smiles and excuses himself, running back with a pair of forceps just sitting under the counter.
I turn to Brig, grimacing, “You do know it’s not so bad to die after all.”
She jabs me in the ribs, taking my breath away.
Sledge turns back, looking at me, “Jake’s an absolute idiot, but his dad does have some skills with a scalpel – spent fifteen years as a field medic in the marines. He’s a little rough around the edges, but if there’s anyone in this place that can fix up our dear Brig, it’s this guy.”
Puckering my face, I say, “What does fixing Brig entail exactly?”
Both Brig and Sledge shrug unknowingly at the same time.
A second later, Jake reemerges, a bloody handprint on the front of his white smock he’s now wearing. “Sorry about that guys, duty calls you know! It’s tough being a future doctor sometimes.”
I nod and smile, because I have nothing nice I can actually think of saying.
Jake smiles, leaning up against the counter. “Now, what can I do for you all? Sledge and I go way back, so a friend of Sledge’s is a patient of mine.” He chuckles to himself.
I jab Brig back in the ribs who looks slightly worried.
Sledge says, “So I found these stragglers from the 74th contingent while out on patrol – A mutant grizzly had attacked their camp and made a pretty bad mess of things. This here is –“
Sledge hesitates for a second, considering something.
“This is Sargent, er, Black,” he says, while Brig looks back at him darkly. “Her leg got chewed up by the bear and she has a bunch of radiation spreading up her leg – I managed to slow it with G-Med, but it’s gotten pretty far now.”
Brig lifts her pant leg, and I gasp a little too loud at the sight. Her leg is green where the bear bit, leaving several deep holes in her calf. Her whole leg is covered in tendrils under the skin, like spider veins, but those veins look like th
ey’re choking her legs with liquid fire. Her dark skin is beginning to look red and patchy in areas, similar to the skulks in Coeur d’Alene. Just brushing a hand against her skin makes her flinch.
“Oh boy!” Jake says, “We have quite a doozy there don’t we – you’re probably a half day away from it going viral in your blood stream and you becoming full skulk or dead if you’re lucky. This definitely isn’t gonna be cheap.”
Sledge replies brushing his dark hair back. “We’ll pay man. But I hope you’ll cut a deal for a long-term friend. What are we talking, like twenty pounds?”
Jake snorts. “Try forty pounds.”
“Forty?”
“It’d be fifty if we weren’t friends.”
“Yeah okay,” Sledge finally says. “I’ll have to pay some visits to some people who owe me, but I’ll come up with it.”
“Perfect buddy,” Jake replied, stroking his mustache. “Sargent Black, if you’ll just come back with me to the operating room, we’ll get you fixed in a jiffy. Well, like five hours maybe.”
Brig takes a second glance back, and I wave back at her grimacing.
I look at Sledge after Brig is taken past the curtain, and say, “You can come up with forty pounds? The US disappears and we adopt British money? Man I didn’t realize things were that bad.”
Sledge laughs, smiling at Rose, and replies, “No Quinn. We’re talking pounds of food – it’s the currency around here – People don’t need cash anymore. They need food to survive, and the more food you have the richer you are. Also the more likely someone is to stab you in the back, but hey, such is life eh?”
Dumbfounded, I let out a wry smile and say, “You have that much, uh, food then?”
“I mean,” he replies, glancing at Rose. “I’m sure with Rose and I here, we can scrape up enough – I’ll have to go check my account at the food bank though. I hope Brig realizes she’s gonna pay me back in full, plus interest!”
With that, Sledge nods and swishes his shaggy hair back and I hear the metal scraping sound again, and yet again my teeth hurt.
Nuclear Rising Page 10