by Nathan Combs
Shelton started to cry. “No, wait. It wasn’t me…it was him.” He pointed an accusatory finger at Foster. “This was all his idea.”
Tyler smacked Shelton in the back of the head, then slapped a strip of duct tape over his mouth. Immediately, Shelton began gasping for breath, apparently forgetting that his nostrils existed. Subtle pops emanated from the tape as it expanded and contracted with each feeble attempt at breathing. His eyes bugged out of his skull.
Tyler cuffed him in the back of the head again. “Breathe through your nose, dumbass.”
Shelton’s body figured it out, and he breathed, but his nostrils stuck together. He tried to scream, but all that came out was a subdued “Aaahhh.”
Bill pushed him toward the Strykers, and he fell to the ground. “I am not gonna listen to you whine for half an hour. I won’t tell you again. Shut the fuck up, or I’ll kill you right now. Blink if you understand.”
Shelton blinked both eyes rapidly
“What’re we gonna do with him, Bill?”
“Well, he ain’t gettin’ anything from Santa this year.”
Seconds later, Tyler duct-taped Shelton’s hands to the inner conduit of the Stryker, and Bill stood to assess the civilians. They looked absolutely unconcerned. They continued to go about their business as though nothing had happened.
Are they tailgating? He took another look. Christ on a crooked crutch, they are. He shook his head and rolled his eyes, then issued orders to his men. Before dismissing them to their duties, he said, “You shouldn’t have a problem here, but don’t interact any more than necessary. If the natives start anything, you know what to do. I’ll call you with further instructions as soon as I figure out what we’re gonna do with ’em.”
Maggie was the first to realize they weren’t out of danger and that there was work left to do. She took Wade’s face in her hands. “Wade, I know how badly you’re hurting, but we have to finish this. Randal and Chris would expect it.”
They were cried out. Especially Wade, so he closed his eyes, exhaled heavily, then nodded. He put his arms around his daughters-in-law, wiped his eyes with his shirt, and said, “I’m going to the CC. I need to see where we stand. Carol, I’d appreciate it if you would coordinate the noncombatant’s return home. Maggie, Sara, I’m sure we have wounded to attend. Noah, you’re with me. Becky and Anna, please help any way you can.”
He left the safe area and walked the short distance to the command center, finding Cole at the table, attempting to piece together the results of the battle.
“Bring me up to speed, Cole,” Wade said as he limped to his seat at the table.
“The battle’s over. We won…but not without cost. Bill interrogated their commander and took him to get Shelton.”
“How many did we lose?”
“It’s not final, but the current tally stands at twenty-nine KIA, Horst among them. Seventy-seven wounded. Twenty-three are critical.”
“Where are they?”
“In medical, or on the way. The dead are being brought home for burial.”
“And the nation?”
“That’s going to take a while. KIA count will be…not sure, but a lot. The wounded?” He shrugged. “Multiple hundreds. We have a shithouse full of prisoners. Plus, 10,000 or so civilians in Yeehaw.” His face softened, and his eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry about Randal and Chris. I’ll miss them.”
Wade nodded.
“I’ll take care of everything, Wade.”
“Thanks, Cole. I appreciate it. I’m going to medical.”
The medial center was overwhelmed with the wounded from both forces. They were everywhere, in the hallway, in dental, and in the atrium, and despite the efforts to keep it clean, the floors were slippery with blood. Moans, groans, and cries of pain and anguish permeated the air. The wounded had been triaged in the field, but dozens of soldiers and NFT residents were attempting medical center triage while Maggie, Sara, Doc, and two combat medics tended the most critically injured.
Wade looked at a scene straight out of a big-budget disaster movie. He pulled Maggie aside. “Our wounded get treated first, Mags.”
“But, Wade, I…” She looked at his grim face, stopped talking, and nodded. “Yes.”
His phone rang. “Make it quick, Bill.”
“You at the CC?”
“I can be.”
“We’ll be there in ten.”
Wade left medical and returned to the command center to wait with Cole. Five minutes later, Bill and Tyler arrived. They each had a hand under Shelton’s armpits, dragging him into the Powwow Room, and Wade got his first look at the fool who’d caused all this death—a nothing burger—another wannabe king.
Tyler removed the tape from Shelton’s mouth and pushed him to his knees.
He gagged, drew a deep breath, and looked up at Wade.
“You’re Gabriel Shelton?”
Shelton nodded. “Yes.”
Wade cocked his head and pulled his knife. “As commander of New Fort Terminus, I sentence you to death.”
Tyler and Cole dragged Shelton’s lifeless body outside and dropped it in the dirt at the side of the door.
Wade and Bill locked eyes. “No more mistakes, Bill.”
Two days later, in the Powwow Room, Cole and Maggie gave Wade, and what remained of the staff, the final tally.
Maggie spoke, “We lost 67 men. An additional 119 are wounded. Many of them will die. The nation lost 386 in the battle, and 404 have since died from their wounds. There are still 257 wounded. Most of them won’t make it. A lot of the prisoners are sick too. I mean really sick, Wade.”
Wade nodded. “Cole?”
“The final prisoner count is 2,211. Our people have returned to their homes, and as you know, we’re going to bury our dead at noon today. The only structural damage we suffered was to the CC, and that was minor. I suppose it’s irrelevant, but we now have four additional Bradleys and eleven Strykers. We also have the entirety of the contents of their support vehicles, mostly food, supplies, and ammo. And we have enough fuel to last for many years.”
The noontime weather did not fit the occasion. It was a beautiful day. Altocumulus clouds gathered to the east, birds chirped, and the sun shone brightly on seventy-nine caskets and two small, polished boxes that held the remains of Randal and Chris. Flowers and pictures of the men and women who had died in the battle were placed alongside the coffins.
Wade spoke briefly, commending them for their bravery and sacrifice and honored each one by speaking their names aloud. The entire settlement listened silently to the eulogy. At the end of the service, the caskets were loaded onto flatbed trucks and taken to recently dug graves in the cemetery. The families of the dead watched in stoic silence and shed silent tears as fathers, brothers, sons, husbands, wives, sisters, mothers, and daughters became one with the earth.
When they returned to the CC, Wade was uncharacteristically somber and blunt. He turned to Bill, sitting next to Chief-Full-of-Shit. “What do you want to do with the prisoners? We aren’t going to feed 2,000 assholes.”
Leveling an even glare at Wade, Bill replied, “I’ll take care of it.”
Maggie stood. “Wade, you can’t kill them. That isn’t you.”
“Why should they live, Mags? They killed our people. They killed Randal and Chris. They wanted to kill you.”
“Because you’re not a murderer. Bill isn’t either. Killing them won’t bring anyone, including Randal and Chris, back.”
Wade’s jaw locked and unlocked. His face flushed. He sat silently, staring at his wife. After a moment, he blinked, took a deep breath, and nodded. “You’re right, Mags. We aren’t murderers.” He paused and looked at Bill. “Take them to Ocala, cap their knees, and turn them loose.”
“What about Foster?”
“Him too.”
Cole asked, “What are
we going to do with the civilians?”
Wade blew up. “Dammit, Cole. I don’t know. What do you suggest?”
Cole cringed at the change in Wade’s attitude but understood, then said, “I’ve been thinking about it. Obviously, we aren’t going to assimilate them into our society. We aren’t going to kill them either, but—”
Impatient, Wade snapped, “l know all that, Cole. I asked if you had a suggestion.”
“Yeah. I suggest we give the civilians a tanker, some food, and send the lot of them back to Corpus.”
Wade pursed his lips and grunted, then nodded. “Not a bad idea. Bill?”
“Save a shitload of ammo.”
“Tyler?”
“Yeah. That works.”
“Okay, do it.”
In the CC a week later, Cole, Tyler, and Stuart listened intently to Bill while Wade appeared indifferent.
Bill said, “The Texans have returned home, or at least they’re headed there. They buried several hundred before they left, and a boatload of those who headed back were sick. We released the prisoners at the intersection of I-75 and the Florida turnpike. I doubt any of them will make it. Half were sick. Plus, none of ’em can walk now.”
Wade looked at Cole and raised his eyebrows. “Cole?”
“Other than burying so many of our people, things are slowly returning to normal. Well, not normal, but organized. Sara took over Chris’s duties in the fields, and she’s assisting Maggie in medical. And Carol, Becky, and Anna are handling the minutia of day-to-day life.”
Almost as an afterthought, Wade asked, “How is Anna, Noah?”
“She’s doing fine, Wade. Maggie says the baby’s fine.”
“That’s great. When is she due?”
“Sometime after the first of the year.”
“And Horst’s people?”
“They’re moving here. They earned that right.”
Wade nodded. “Yeah. They did.”
There was a lull in the conversation.
Wade looked at his watch. “Maggie was supposed to be here. She has an update on the new bug. She’s late. I’ll go get her.”
Ten minutes later, he returned with Maggie at his side and sat down. “Go ahead, Mags.”
She remained standing, staring at the floor. After a few moments, she raised her head, looked at the ceiling, then cleared her throat. “I didn’t tell you earlier because everyone had so much on their plate, but—we have another crisis on our hands. A big one.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Since the invasion started, we’ve lost six people to this bug—whatever it is. As of this moment, there are thirty-one ill. I’ve analyzed it, and I’ve consulted with Sara and Doc, and with the few remaining people in England and Russia. Although none of us are virologists, we’re in complete agreement. This is another virus, and it’s light years more lethal than the Millennial Bug.”
She paused, took another deep breath, and continued. “Of course, we don’t have the luxury of a CDC, but I doubt it would matter if we did. Initially, the virus attacked the old, the sick, and the injured, plus anyone with a compromised immune system was susceptible. You know what the symptoms are. But it appears to have mutated at an astonishing rate. Younger people are now affected as easily as the elderly. Half of those exhibiting symptoms are vomiting. The death rate is absolute—100 percent. Not later than forty-eight hours after the first symptoms appear, that’s it, you’re a goner. I haven’t been able to get a handle on the incubation period. It could be anywhere from a few days to a few months. We’re in real trouble.”
The silence that followed was numbing.
A full minute after she stopped talking, Bill asked, “Do you have a name for it?”
“No. What’s the point?” Maggie knew they were afraid. She was too. “I have a suggestion, Wade.”
“Go ahead.”
“I could be wrong, but it’s possible that everyone is already infected. For the foreseeable future, we won’t have a defense against it. But we have to make an effort. We should isolate anyone sick. And by isolation, I mean remove anyone exhibiting symptoms from the community. The dead should be burned immediately. We have a slew of old vitamin C, and while its potency is probably less than ten percent, everyone should consume massive doses and eat a lot of fruit. It can’t hurt.” She sat down.
After an uncomfortable silence, Wade said, “Okay. Let’s set up the Citrus Plant for the sick. What are you doing to protect yourself while treating them, Maggie?”
“Gloves and masks. The usual.”
“I want you to start wearing a HAZMAT suit.”
She nodded.
He then asked, “What is the situation in England and Russia?”
“It’s running rampant in both colonies. It’s much worse than here. It’s killed off eighty percent of the population in both countries. They believe it came from the Chinese who arrived on a junk, but they’re not sure.”
“Guatemala?”
“No one answers.”
He nodded and shook his head. “God help us.”
His arm around her, Wade and Maggie walked slowly to their home, then sat on the couch.
Maggie snuggled up to Wade. “After all we’ve been through, is this how it ends?”
“I don’t know, Mags. I hope not.”
They held each other in silence. “Do you still believe in God?”
Silence filled the dark room.
“Wade?”
“I don’t know, Maggie. There’s no reason for this. So much anguish. So much death.”
“Don’t say that, Wade.”
“Why not? It’s how I feel. At the very least, God has a gruesome way of doing things.”
“Wade, I don’t want to watch Adam die. I don’t want to watch you die. I don’t know what to do.” She started to cry.
Wade couldn’t think of any words of comfort, so he just held her.
By the end of the week, the Citrus Plant was configured to house the infected. A total of twenty-nine people had succumbed to the new bug in just one week, and nineteen of the metal beds that lined the walls of the plant were filled with new cases. A makeshift nurse’s station was crewed twenty-four hours a day by Maggie, Sara, two medics, and Doc, who did what they could to ease the pain and suffering of those who were about to die.
Bill configured two dumpsters for use as crematoriums, and wood was cut and piled nearby. The dumpsters sat behind the Citrus Plant, waiting to be fed. When a citizen got sick, they said their goodbyes in the comfort of their homes and were moved to the Citrus Plant.
Maggie named it Hospice House.
Thunderstorms came and went. A tropical storm dumped ten inches of rain and peeled shingles from roofs. Beautiful sunsets painted the western sky, Bill and Tyler resumed their childish camaraderie, the sun shone brightly, and life went on.
But death did not take a holiday.
Staff meetings were few and far between but were still held when necessary in the Powwow Room.
Stuart spoke up as Wade, Bill, Cole, Tyler, and Noah sat around the table. “I thought I should bring you up to speed on England and Russia.”
Wade said, “Go ahead, Stu.”
“Let me back up. As you know, Guatemala’s been off the air for weeks, but I spoke to a girl yesterday named Gabriella. She was the last alive there, and she was sick. She doesn’t answer now. Russia doesn’t answer either. England? Two were still alive, but both were sick. We may be the last.”
Wade hadn’t shaved since before the battle with Texas Nation. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked older. Tired. “Did you try Texas?”
“Yeah, actually, I did. About half of the civilians made it back, but most of them were sick. Haven’t heard from them for days.”
Wade looked thoughtful. “Maggie, if the rest of the world died f
rom this, why do we still have 1,000 people?”
“I have no idea.” A wan smile appeared on her face. “Maybe it has something to do with the climate, or maybe God has something special planned for us.”
Motivation was hard to come by. Productivity fell as the death toll grew. People began to keep to themselves, viewing everyone around them as a potential threat. For all intents and purposes, New Fort Terminus ceased to exist as a viable community.
Chapter Twenty
Turn Out the Lights
Bill and Tyler began sleeping in the command center, listening to old records and playing hearts.
“You have any regrets, Squaw Man?”
Ty was thoughtful a moment, then shrugged. “Yeah. I guess. One or two.”
“Wanna share?”
Tyler grinned. “Not with your sorry ass.”
“C’mon, man. I won’t tell.”
Tyler got serious. “Yeah. I do have one.” He shrugged again. “I wish I would have married and had a kid. A son.”
“You would’ve needed a bigger teepee.”
Tyler laughed. “How about you?”
“Nah. If I had my life to live over, I’d do the same thing.”
“And Linda?”
He nodded. “Losing her to a heart attack sucked, but we had a lot of good years together.”
“You ready to go?”
“Kickin’ and screamin’. Got too many people to piss off before I cash in my chips.”
Tyler laughed. “Too many people? There’s 1,000 left. What’d they do to you?”
Bill grinned. “Nothin’.” A serious look appeared on Bill’s face. “Ty, I want you to promise me something.”
“What?”
“If I get this bug, I do not want to die in that fuckin’ Hospice House.”
“Yeah. Neither do I.”
“I get sick, you put me down.”
“Jesus, Bill.”