Refugees

by D. J. Molles

  “What if they don’t leave it?” Lee found a small tear at the corner of the map and worried at it with his finger.

  Bus rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know, Lee.”

  “It’s something we need to think about.”

  “What do you want me to do? Have sentries follow them around all day?” Bus snorted. “There has to be some level of trust.”

  “I agree.” Lee stepped toward the desk. “But I want you to keep your eyes open.”

  “For what?”

  “You have two groups of people who don’t really want anything to do with how we’ve been running things, but I’m also sure they don’t want to leave all this behind. We’re no different than every other third-world country out there now. When there are dissenters, they don’t picket Congress. That’s the old world. If you have dissenters now, they come after you.” Lee lowered his voice. “I just want you to watch your back.”

  Bus gave him a pointed stare. “I could say the same to you.”

  Lee nodded. “I already do.”

  Their conversation continued and eventually fell to trivialities. Jeriah Wilson and his team arrived around noon and Lee left to debrief them. They reported that everything was quiet in Lillington when they left, and that the Fuquay-Varina and Dunn survivors were still settling in but should be mounting scavenging operations inside Lillington in the next few days. They’d successfully set up a radio base station, and Outpost Lillington was currently online.

  Lee made an exhaustive list of everything he would need for their operations in Sanford and began to gather those items. Most of them were readily available from the stores that he had taken from Bunker #4. Such things as ammunition and ordnance were locked away in one of the ubiquitous shipping containers around the camp.

  Some of the other items like food stores and medical supplies he had to scrounge from others like Marie and Jenny, who were in charge of the food and medicine, respectively. Luckily, most of the food and medicine they had originally came from Lee, so they had no issue with giving it back to him. Several times throughout the day, Julia or LaRouche or Jim would pass by and ask if he needed help, but he would only smile and wave them off.

  In truth, he just needed something to keep him busy.

  And it was pleasant, in a way, to be busy with something besides keeping himself or others alive. The monotonous physical labor of hauling the heavy packages of supplies back and forth set his mind at ease and allowed him to work off some of his nervous energy. Because he had all day, he worked slowly and meticulously and checked his list often. Sometimes he would sit on the tailgate of the Humvee for a long period of time and simply enjoy the quiet and the relative solitude of being left alone.

  He loaded the supplies they would need into the back of the Humvees and checked the fuel levels in both. They were each at about the halfway mark. Plenty to get them in and out of Sanford, but they would need to refuel immediately after.

  As dusk threw giant splashes of amber across the sky, he finished loading the last of the supplies. A steady stream of people was now making its way toward the Camp Ryder building for dinner. Lee wanted to avoid the crowd, and he quickly cut across Main Street between two groups of survivors, all talking loudly among themselves and not noticing Lee pass by.

  He found his group nestled in an open area among several shanties, close to the fence. A fire pit had been dug into the ground and ringed with cinder blocks and loose stone, identical to the dozens of other fire pits that had popped up around Camp Ryder when the weather began to chill. In the center of the fire pit, a large stack of wood was burning hotter and brighter than was usual.

  Around the fire were gathered most of Lee’s team members, including Jeriah Wilson and his group. They sat atop crates and overturned buckets, and others stood around holding tin cans for drinking cups. LaRouche was laughing loudly, his mouth stained by the chaw that bulged on the inside of his mouth, and he held a bottle of whiskey in one hand. The bottle was already nearly half gone.

  When he saw Lee, he raised it up. “Captain! We didn’t think you were gonna make it.”

  Lee smiled and waved a small greeting. “What happened to the barbecue? Thought you were gonna have a whole hog spitted over that fire.”

  LaRouche threw a disdainful glance at Julia, who was seated a few places down from him. “Well, someone was supposed to talk to her sister…”

  “I never agreed to that,” she stated blandly.

  “But…” LaRouche held up the bottle of whiskey. “We did receive a charitable donation from one James Tinsley, scavenger extraordinaire. Along with his best wishes, of course.”

  LaRouche put the bottle to his lips and turned it up.

  Julia crossed the distance in a flash and deftly snatched the bottle from him. She stared at the mouth of the bottle in horror. “You’re gonna get tobacco juice in it, you nasty bastard!”

  LaRouche’s eyes tracked her drunkenly. “Tobacco and whiskey is an excellent flavor combination. I was only trying to share.”

  Lee stepped in closer, feeling the warmth of the fire on his face and hands. Julia passed the bottle to him with a sneer of disgust and he accepted. A quick label inspection revealed that this was not the cheap, bottom-shelf liquor like Bus had squirreled away in his desk. Lee was very surprised that someone had given it to them as a gift.

  He swiped a quick hand across the mouth of the bottle and took a swig. It tingled on his tongue and burned going down his throat, nearly making his eyes tear up. After he spent months drinking nothing but water, the flavor of the whiskey was like a bomb going off in his mouth.

  “You see?” LaRouche said with a tone of respect. “Now there’s a man who appreciates my flavor combinations. You’re welcome.”

  Lee laughed and took another, deeper gulp, then passed the bottle back. He took a seat on an overturned bucket and warmed his hands at the fire. Across from him, Jim spoke with Wilson and occasionally tossed another log into the fire, causing a dazzling cloud of sparks to rise up into the air. Lee’s eyes kept falling to Julia, and then they would track unconsciously over to the dark woods that appeared as simply an uneven black smudge beyond the crosshatch pattern of the chain-link fence. He would scan the darkness, not even thinking about what he was doing. He took two more hits from the bottle and decided that was enough. He hadn’t had alcohol in his bloodstream for a long time now, and he was already feeling light and fuzzy upstairs.

  The conversation took meandering turns, like a drunk man wandering through empty and deserted streets. For the most part, Lee listened and kept his own counsel, unless someone else pressed him for his thoughts on the matter.

  Jake, the bright-eyed kid from Wilson’s crew, brought up the old conversation topic of “what do you miss?” and was immediately booed down by nearly everyone around the fire. No one wanted to play that game. No one wanted to think about everything they had lost. It was a melancholy game that tried hard to disguise itself as pleasant memories, but was really only teasing ghosts of things that would never return.

  Jake took the jeers well enough, hanging his head and raising his hands in surrender. “You got me! You got me!” He smiled bashfully. “No more suggestions.”

  They laughed and told stories and made light of horrific things, as people doomed to repeat such things often do. Their raucous voices peaked and then began to subside as the emotions, stripped bare by the whiskey, fell into a calm. The group conversation split into several small conversations between two or three, and eventually many of them began to drift off as the night grew later and colder. The moon was high and bone-white above them as most of the group headed for their shanties and their own beds, which would embrace them in the numbness of their whiskey-sweetened minds.

  Only Lee, Julia, and LaRouche remained around the fire. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, staring into the dwindling fire, hypnotized by the undulating tones of the embers. It was the silence born of knowing those most important and visceral aspects of the people you were with. That
silence when nothing needed to be said, because the silence was never awkward and never needed to be filled.

  Of course, LaRouche had a habit of verbalizing his thoughts as they came to him.

  In the quiet glow of the dying fire, he leaned forward on his crate and cleared his throat. “You know,” he murmured. “I don’t think I’m gonna make it.”

  Lee looked at him, and then across the fire pit where Julia was watching them guardedly, as though she sensed an impending conflict and wasn’t sure how Lee was going to react. Looking back to the sergeant, Lee watched him as he eyed the last dregs of amber liquid swirling at the bottom of the bottle, the flames dancing in it as though it had caught fire itself. He stared at this for a long while and then nodded once, as though confirming something within himself.

  “What do you mean?” Lee asked hesitantly.

  LaRouche grinned into the fire, and his teeth glistened bright and wet. “You know what I mean.”

  “No.”

  “I mean…” LaRouche looked lazily skyward and seemed suddenly enamored by the sky above him. The smile faded from his lips and he seemed in awe. When he spoke again, his voice was eerie, like he was speaking in his sleep. “I only wanted a place in the sun. Like a big, open backyard where I could sit on a lawn chair with a cold beer in my hand. And maybe a wife, maybe some kids. We’d have the neighbors over for barbecues, and they’d ask us what type of beer to bring. And we’d talk about restoring classic cars and how best to keep your lawn green.”

  He closed his eyes as though he were picturing it. “And I’d be able to hear the kids yelling and laughing, playing in the yard, and the lawn would just stretch on for acres of perfect green grass. And when the neighbors went home and the kids were put to bed, we’d sit on the couch, me and my wife, and we’d watch some boring TV shows before falling asleep at ten o’clock. Like real, boring, old married couples.”

  He opened his eyes, and the smile returned with a melancholy note. “But I’ll never make it. All of that’s gone now, and even if there was an end in sight to all of this, I don’t think I’d make it through.” He finished off the whiskey. As he lowered the bottle and sighed, his breath fogged the air before him. “You know, you live your whole life with these dreams and you know they’re far-fetched but you think, ‘At least they’re in the realm of possibility.’ But now…”

  “Now you have to make new dreams,” Julia stated simply.

  LaRouche’s smile broadened. He pointed the empty liquor bottle at her. “That’s why I like you, Julia. Seriously, though… there’s no guarantee that I’ll even live through tomorrow. Or you, for that matter. So… will you have sex with me?”

  Julia hung her head. “I think you’ve had enough to drink tonight.”

  “I know.” LaRouche glanced between Lee and her. “So… yes?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.” LaRouche shrugged. “Well, I tried.”

  “Good effort, though.”

  “Well…” He stood up and swayed on his feet. Julia reached out to steady him. “I’m off to bed, then. Early to rise. Got a long day, and all of that crap.” He extended his arm to her, like a gentleman offering a walk. “Would you like to walk me to my shack? I promise I will not make any more inappropriate advances.”

  “Or gestures,” Julia said.

  “Or gestures.” He nodded. “And I won’t cop a feel. Unless you want me to.”

  “Nope.” Julia rose from her seat and looked at Lee. “You heading in too?”

  “Yeah.” Lee rubbed his knees and stood up. “I suppose I am.”

  He turned his back to the fire and felt the residual warmth as the two made their way between the ramshackle huts, LaRouche leaning heavily on Julia. They disappeared around the corner, and Lee left the fire. As he made his way through the camp, the cold wind quickly sapped the warmth of the fire from him. Hunched against it, Lee made it to Angela’s shanty and stood there before the plywood door, staring at it for a long time.

  Eventually, he went inside.

  He moved quietly and closed the door behind him. In the small square of living space, Sam was curled in a ball, covered in several layers of blankets. Beside him was a smaller lump that would be Abby. She had taken to Sam as an older brother, and she slept less with her mother than with Sam now. Between the kids and the door, Angela slept on her side, facing Lee. The blankets were pulled up nearly over her nose so that all he could see were her closed eyes and her brow that always seemed to knit when she was in a deep sleep, as though something in her dreams troubled her. Beside her was an open space and more blankets. A spot she had left open for Lee.

  Quietly, he set his rifle down and took off his boots and slowly lay beside her, pulling the blankets over himself. He could feel the warmth of them even through his jacket, which he still wore. She stirred as he settled beside her, and when he turned toward her, he found her eyes partially open, watching him steadily.

  She reached across the small empty space between them and placed her hand on his chest. Then he reached up and took her hand in his. Her fingers were warm, and his cold. She closed her eyes, no longer scrunching her brow, and he closed his eyes along with her. Holding on to each other, they fell asleep, not knowing how tomorrow would break them down.

  CHAPTER 10

  A Narrow Window

  They reached Broadway before daylight.

  As they approached the center of the small town, the sky was still deep and black above them, the stars peering down at them, cold and indifferent. Lee was in the lead Humvee, still seated in the passenger side, and Jim had taken Harper’s place at the wheel. LaRouche remained on the gun, and Julia sat with the muzzle of her rifle protruding from the window, squinting against the cold wind that slapped at her face.

  Unlike Camp Ryder, Broadway had no fence or wall. There were only two defunct vehicles pushed partially into the roadway to create a space wide enough for only one vehicle to pass through. On the other side of this vehicular barricade, two guards stood holding brand-new M4s and watching the two Humvees slow to a stop in front of them.

  One of the guards looked cautiously at them, then stepped out of cover and walked to the driver’s side of Lee’s Humvee. Jim lowered the window and the guy looked in and relaxed a bit when he saw Lee.

  “We’ve been expecting you.”

  “Anybody up yet?” Lee asked.

  “Shit, we’re farmers, Captain.” The man grinned. “We started our day an hour ago.”

  “Where do you want us to go?”

  The man pointed straight down the road. “Go right through. End of this road you should see Kip and a few others. They’re waiting on you.”

  They followed the man’s directions and found Kip and two other men standing at another roadblock, situated at the intersection of Harrington Avenue and Main Street. There wasn’t much to the downtown area of Broadway. Just a couple of short buildings stood behind them, and then north of Harrington Avenue, there were only fields that stretched out into the darkness.

  Jim stopped the Humvees there just before the intersection and Lee stepped out. Kip Greene greeted him stoically, while the other two men smiled and shook Lee’s hand a little more enthusiastically.

  “How are you this morning?” Lee asked, simply to be polite.

  “Had another group try to pass through here last night,” Kip said.

  “Infected?”

  A nod. “It was a little bigger than the last few. No pack mentality. Just another herd. The dumb ones. I think they’re coming out of Sanford.” He shrugged. “Anyway, we hosed ’em pretty good, but a couple got away.”

  Lee swiped at his nose, which had started to run in the cold. He wore a shemagh this morning to keep his neck warm, and he pulled this a little tighter, used a corner of it to wipe his nose. “Maybe they’re running out of food.”

  “Maybe.”

  Lee looked back into the town. “You got a tall place we can set up a radio repeater?”

  “Yeah.” Kip pointed back the way they had com
e. “Couple blocks back that way, on your left, should be a water tower. That’s the highest point I can think of.”

  “Perfect.” Lee turned back to the Humvee. “LaRouche!”

  The man’s head poked up over the fifty. “Yeah?”

  Lee walked back to them as he spoke. “You and Jim go set up that repeater. Should be a water tower a couple blocks back on the left. Don’t kill yourself, but try to get it as high as possible.”

  LaRouche disappeared into the Humvee with a mumbled acknowledgment, and a moment later, he and Jim exited the vehicle with their rigs and rifles in hand. The two of them were the most familiar with setting up the digital repeaters, and they could get the job done quickly. They opened the rear hatch of the Humvee and LaRouche hauled out one of the repeater sets. Then they set off down the street and a moment later they had disappeared into the darkness.

  As soon as he lost sight of them, he knew that they were dead.

  The feeling was so sudden and so strong that he stood there for a moment with his mouth open, as though he were trying to shout after them but was unable to make any sound. His conscious mind was strangling his protests in his throat, while his midbrain, his animal brain, lit up like fireworks.

  Paranoid. You’re just being paranoid, his human brain told him.

  His animal brain had no words, only a dreadful certainty that rammed into the bottom of his gut like a cold railroad spike. The words that did run through his mind were just a recent memory, spoken in LaRouche’s voice, and they were as clear as if he were sitting at the fire next to LaRouche: I don’t think I’m gonna make it.

  “Lee…”

  He turned and saw Julia looking at him, and realized his mouth was still open. He snapped it shut, and just that fast, the overwhelming feeling was gone, and in its place was a greasy trail of unease.

  “You okay?” she asked.