by D. J. Molles
Now Tomlin leaned forward, interested. “The younger guys… anyone in the group stand out? Anyone strike you as military, or maybe the other two didn’t seem as comfortable with him?”
Bus shook his head. “No, there was nothing really noteworthy about them. But they did get here at the beginning of last month… maybe the first week of October? Is that too early?”
Tomlin waved a hand. “It’s a bit early, but not out of the question.”
“Let me ask you a question, Brian.” Lee steepled his fingers. “You told me earlier that you were basically concerned for my safety. Whoever this guy is… is he going to try to take me out?”
“Lee…” Tomlin seemed uncomfortable. “I don’t know. I don’t know how he’s communicating with Abe or any of that other shit. But I can tell you that eventually the powers that be will realize I’m no longer working for them, if they have not realized that already. And when they realize that I’m out of the equation and the two marksmen have been killed, the only person they have left to take you out is whoever snuck into Camp Ryder.” Tomlin rubbed his legs. “And they want you dead, Lee.”
Lee sat still for a moment. He took a heavy breath and puffed it out. “Okay. Then here’s what I propose: I’ve got to run a batch of rifles out to Professor White’s group at Lillington ASAP. While I’m doing that, you two work together to make a list of potential suspects. Then we’ll question our potentials and hopefully root out the one we’re looking for.”
Bus shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Tomlin nodded slowly.
Lee eyed them. “Problem with the plan?”
“Those are heavy charges to bring on someone,” Bus said quietly.
“Brian’s a good interrogator.” Lee gestured toward his fellow captain. “He knows how to read people, and he’ll know when someone’s lying to him. We won’t need to make any accusations—we’ll keep things as friendly as possible. But we can’t just sit around and wait for him to reveal himself, Bus. We’re going to have to go in and pull him out.”
Bus changed the subject. “You’re not making the trip out to Lillington by yourself, are you?”
“Well, I figured I’d grab Eddie Ramirez and see if we couldn’t swing by and take a look at some of those vehicles we left behind. Figure out what he needs to fix ’em.”
“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Tomlin asked.
“Yes.” Lee nodded. “I want you here with Bus, figuring out who we need to talk to.”
“I’ve gotta ask…” Bus turned to Lee. “What are we gonna do when we find this person?”
Lee rubbed his hands together and inspected the ground at his feet. “I dunno. We’ll just hafta cross that bridge when we come to it, Bus.”
When he looked up, he found Tomlin staring at him with peculiar intensity. The look conveyed everything that Lee did not want to say, did not want to put into words, because it was nasty and divisive and would ruin relationships with the people of Camp Ryder.
Lee gave Tomlin an almost imperceptible nod.
Yeah, I know, he thought. It’s gonna be ugly.
* * *
When Lee left the office, there was a long moment of awkward silence between Tomlin and Bus, the two men sitting across from each other, each sizing the other up. Apparently out of deference to the man who ran Camp Ryder, Tomlin kept his mouth shut and waited for Bus to say something. However, after an unsettling sixty seconds, Bus made it clear that he had no intention of being the first to break the silence.
Tomlin smacked his lips. “All right. I’ll go first.”
Bus cleared his throat and tilted his head back slightly.
“I think it’s pretty clear that you don’t like me.”
“I would say that I’m…” Bus looked like he was trying a few different words in his mind before settling on one. “Ambivalent.”
Tomlin gave him a long-suffering smile. “Ambivalent.”
“Yes.”
“Fair enough. Let’s start out this relationship with some honesty.”
“Honesty sounds great.”
“There’s someone in your camp who is going to try to kill Captain Harden. We’re not going to let that happen, because if it were to happen there would be dire consequences for both of us. Aside from the fact that neither of us wants to see him hurt because he’s our friend, we’re gonna have a helluva time fighting this battle without him.”
Bus nodded once.
“If you agree with that, then I’ll make you a deal: I help you find this guy. I won’t poke my nose in any other place it doesn’t need to be, as long as I get the information I need. I come up with a list of suspects, question them, and figure out who the bad guy is. And in return for that, you trust me.”
“Captain Tomlin.” Bus sighed. “Trust, much like respect, is something you have to earn. It is not freely given.”
“And what would earn your trust?”
Bus took a moment and realized where Tomlin was going with this. It was a good move—come up with the terms, and then make it sound like they were Bus’s idea. But in reality, what other terms were there? What else could he ask Tomlin to do that would earn his trust? In the end, it all came back to the same answer.
“Help me find this guy.” Bus smiled without humor. “And we’ll see where you stand after that.”
Tomlin grinned, causing the scars on his scalp to shift. He extended his hand. “Sounds like a deal.”
Begrudgingly, Bus reached out and shook the man’s hand.
* * *
There was something uniquely disquieting about knowing someone wanted to kill you, Lee discovered. Feeling both heavy and jumpy at the same time, Lee exited the Camp Ryder building into what was turning into a bright, cloudless fall day. A day that would have made him want to throw a pack together and take a trip up to the mountains in better times. Now he stood on the steps, feeling slightly sickened, and looked out at the people of Camp Ryder, bustling about their chores, gathering water, splitting wood, preparing for scavenging trips outside the wire.
Everyone seemed suspicious. They all moved too purposefully for Lee, as though they were trying too hard to be nonchalant. He felt eyes on him and when he looked, they smiled fake smiles with hidden meanings, and he could not force himself to smile back.
A grumble next to his side drew his attention back. He looked down and found Deuce standing close—but not too close—to his side and gazing up at Lee with hopeful eyes and a tail that wagged hesitantly. He’d tried to get the mutt to come inside with him, but Deuce wasn’t keen on the Camp Ryder building and chose instead to lurk around the corner from the front door and mumble at passersby, as suspicious of everyone as Lee had just become.
“Hey, boy,” Lee murmured. “You hungry?”
The dog bobbed his head as though he were nodding in response.
“Course you are.” Lee had already brought the dog a hefty plateful of scraps after breakfast, but dogs were always hungry, it seemed. “How about a ride? You wanna go for a ride?”
The dog tilted his head.
Lee smiled and started down the steps. “Come on.”
The dog followed. Lee was under no illusions that Deuce was obedient, but more so that Lee was the only one who brought him food, so naturally he tagged along, hoping for more. But that was where obedience began with dogs. Good old Pavlovian training.
He found Eddie Ramirez walking across The Square, away from the front gates. Lee called out after him and he turned and waved with a half smile. “Hey, Captain. What’s up?”
“Got plans for the day?” Lee asked, shaking the man’s hand.
Eddie looked back toward the gate. “Actually, I was just about to go out with a scavenging crew. See if I couldn’t rustle up some car parts. Try to earn my keep a little.”
Lee nodded. “I’d like to borrow you, if you can rain-check them.”
Eddie looked down at Deuce, who took up a position to Lee’s right. “Uh… yeah, I guess. What do you need?”
&n
bsp; “I’ve got to run some rifles and ammo down to Lillington. I need a second to ride with me, and I figured we could drive over and take a look at some of those vehicles we had to leave at the airport. Maybe you can figure out what you need to fix them.”
Eddie nodded. “Yeah. Absolutely.”
“You know where we keep all the rifles and ammunition?”
Eddie pointed to a shipping container between the front gate and the Camp Ryder building. “I’m assuming that one you got everything out of earlier today.”
“Yup. I’m gonna pull the Humvee around so we can load up.”
All the gun truck Humvees had been taken by Harper’s and LaRouche’s groups, which left them only with the cargo variant they’d retrieved from the airport the day before. It was equipped with a radio but no turret. That was fine. If they got into any trouble, they’d ditch whatever they were doing and hightail it, rather than fight it out. It was not infected that Lee was truly concerned with—they could be outrun in a vehicle. It was hostile people with guns that worried him. But the patrols out of Outpost Lillington were now including the roads to Broadway and a few miles past, and they had not reported anything.
Lee backed the cargo Humvee up to the shipping container. It was close to the front gate so that the sentries could keep an eye on it during their normal duties. As Lee opened it up, Deuce lingered around the Humvee and took a piss on one of the tires.
The shipping container was mostly empty, save for a dozen rifles and a few thousand rounds. Everything else had gone with the two groups to help them bargain with and recruit other groups of survivors to join the fight. What was left would go to Lillington and Professor White’s group. Lee didn’t like having an empty gun locker, but there were more rifles and ammunition at Bunker #8. Perhaps he would make another trip out there before he left to catch up with LaRouche’s group.
“Anyone give you a rifle yet?” Lee asked.
Eddie shook his head, looking a bit dubious of the little black M4. “No… didn’t realize that was the welcoming gift.”
Lee smiled. “Yeah, no fruit baskets here. Just an M4 and a couple hundred rounds.” He took one of the rifles and one of the shoulder-sling magazine pouches and handed them to Eddie. “You ever use one before?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
Lee gave him a two-minute crash course on the operation of the weapon. Eddie nodded along, his eyes intense and never leaving the rifle, as though it might jump and bite him if he handled it incorrectly. Lee wasn’t sure how good Eddie would be with the thing, but he still wanted his passenger to be armed.
When Lee felt that Eddie had a good enough grasp of how to use the rifle, they loaded the rest into the cargo bed of the Humvee and piled in, Deuce taking a watchful position in the back with the goods. They got their armbands from the sentries at the front gate—blue today—and then they left Camp Ryder. As they drove down the dirt road, Eddie nervously clutched his new weapon and stared at the front gate as it retreated in the side-view mirror.
CHAPTER 28
Tipping Point
They reached Lillington at noon.
Over the course of the last week, Professor White’s group from Fuquay-Varina and Old Man Hughes’s group from Dunn had built the outpost into a defensible location. The wide entrance to the south was blocked with a clutter of Dumpsters and concertina wire. A sentry manned the western entrance at all times, and there was another who roamed the rooftops, looking out for signs of trouble from infected or human threats.
As they neared the compound, the sentry atop the roof waved to them and they slowed. Lee dropped his window and hung his left arm out, displaying the blue armband they’d affixed when they left Camp Ryder. The sentry took a good look at them and Lee recognized him as one of the guys from Old Man Hughes’s group. When the sentry was satisfied, he waved them on and they pulled around the corner into the eastern entrance where the second sentry, a middle-aged woman with auburn hair, was in the process of removing the white car from where it blocked the narrow alley. Lee nodded to her and she smiled and motioned them through.
“Hey, Captain,” she said as they pulled abreast of her. “We’ve been expecting you.” She leaned on Lee’s door and her face became grave. “After what happened with Professor White’s group, he’s been pretty panicked to get his hands on some rifles.”
Lee nodded impassively. “I guess he should have taken them when I first offered them.”
She shrugged. “Maybe he won’t give you so much grief now.”
“Maybe, but I wouldn’t count on it.”
She cracked a smile again and allowed them to pass through.
A younger man with blond dreadlocks sticking out of a black watch cap met them in the parking lot. He regarded them coolly as they stepped out of the Humvee. He offered no greeting to Lee and kept his arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Did you bring the rifles?”
Lee gave him a look that he hoped communicated how stupid the question was. Then he pointed to the cargo bed in the back of the Humvee where all the black rifles and green cans of ammunition were stacked, plainly visible. Deuce maintained his spot in the bed and looked curiously between the two men as though he found their quiet animosity fascinating.
Dreadlocks kept up his haughty stare for a moment more before following where Lee pointed and seeing the weapons in the back of the truck. He nodded. “For the record, I don’t agree with this.”
Lee closed his door behind him. “Where’s White?”
“Busy.”
Figures, Lee thought. He wouldn’t have the balls to face me.
“Okay,” Lee said. “You wanna call your people out here so I can hand out the rifles?”
“You can just drop them here.” Dreadlocks put one hand on his hip and pointed to the ground at his feet with the other, like he was some factory foreman commanding a workforce. “I’ll distribute them.”
Lee’s expression remained impassive. “Or you can call your people out here so I can hand out the rifles… and explain how they work.” He touched his chin. “Unless you have some extensive firearms experience I don’t know about.”
Dreadlocks rolled his eyes. “Fine.”
He retreated quickly and disappeared into one of the buildings.
Eddie had crossed over to Lee’s side of the vehicle and was leaning against the cargo bed, shaking his head. “Damn… they really like you.”
Lee smiled. “That’s my fan club.”
It took a few minutes for Dreadlocks to corral his people into a loose bunch at the side of Lee’s Humvee. When he had their attention, Lee spoke slowly and clearly, going over the basics of the weapon system he was about to hand out. He explained how to load the weapon, how to aim and fire, how to change magazines, and how to tap-rack-ready if they experienced a jam. Lastly, he went over how to disassemble, clean, and reassemble the rifle.
To their credit, though a few appeared to have the same attitude as Dreadlocks, most of them listened attentively and seemed to be absorbing the information.
It took nearly half an hour to explain and issue everyone a weapon and six magazines in a shoulder sling. They had no questions for him, and they all took their rifles and filed silently away. Lee watched them go, feeling less than enthused about handing out weapons to this group. If he were going to hand them out, he preferred it be to people who would actually help when shit hit the fan. With these people, God only knew what they would do when the bad times came. Just toting a rifle didn’t make you a badass. It took a certain mental edge for a person to put a rifle to good use, and looking at their eyes, their faces, the entire way they carried themselves, Lee just didn’t see it.
But who knows, right?
I’ve been wrong about people before.
He turned and opened the door to the Humvee. “Come on. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
* * *
The waiting was unbearable.
Jerry sat in his shanty, going over everything in his mind, picturing all the outcome
s like a chess player anticipating the movements of the board several steps ahead. His whole body was jittery at the thought of it, alive with tension. He found his hands becoming increasingly clammy. They were ice-cold, but somehow the palms would not stop sweating. He’d urinated three times within the last hour. Noon came and went and he couldn’t find the appetite to eat anything for lunch.
He lay down on his mattress and stared at the ceiling, but the recumbent position was too much for him to hold. He had to be up, he had to move, but he feared stepping out of his shanty. He felt his plan like a bright neon billboard strapped around his chest, and anyone he came into contact with would know.
They would know, and then they would blow the whole damn thing!
He jumped off of his mattress and paced the tiny confines of his room.
Fuck! What time is it?
He checked his watch and discovered only three minutes had passed since he’d last checked.
Jerry darted to his door and opened it a crack. If he craned his neck out just right, he could see The Square and the front gate. The sentry stood, idle at his post, his rifle slung on his back, his face relaxed.
Still no sign of Greg.
“Jesus Christ!” Jerry whispered to himself. Where was that bastard?
He closed his door and set to pacing the room again.
He could feel his bladder spasming.
He tried to ignore it, shuffling around his room like a child on the verge of wetting his pants during a game of hide-and-go-seek. The sensation persisted and finally won out. Jerry snatched up a gallon jug that sloshed at the bottom with a murky, yellow-tinted fluid. He pulled himself out of his pants and stuck the head of his penis in the top of the jug. A weak stream dribbled forth for all of five seconds.
He swore and put himself away.
It would all be worth it. It would all be worth it to see the look on Bus’s face.
And Lee, Jerry thought, baring his teeth. Fucking G.I. Joe himself…