Dark Days

by Bradley, Arthur T. , Ph. D.

“Could be.”

  “You planning on taking it?”

  “Depends on the job.”

  For some reason, that seemed to rub French the wrong way.

  “You’re saying that if it’s a shit job, like guarding the gate, you’re gonna pass, is that it?”

  Mason said nothing. The man was obviously pining for a fight, but he wasn’t about to take the bait.

  “What were you?” said French. “Some kind of sheriff or something?”

  “Deputy U.S. Marshal.”

  French looked down at Mason’s Supergrade.

  “You any good with that thing?”

  Again, Mason said nothing.

  “Uh-huh,” he said, cracking a smile. “That’s what I thought.” French drew his sidearm, a .40 caliber Glock 22, and set it on the table with a heavy thud. “Now this here’s a fighting man’s pistol.”

  “No argument there,” Mason said, stuffing his mouth with potatoes and cabbage. The Glock 22 was indeed a fine firearm, proven time and time again. Comparing it to a Wilson Combat 1911 Supergrade, however, was like comparing a Ford Focus to a Ferrari Testarossa. Both would get you where you needed to be, but one was a hell of a lot more fun to drive.

  French seemed frustrated by his inability to get a rise out of him.

  He picked up the Glock and ejected the magazine into his other hand.

  “It takes fifteen in the mag, plus one in the pipe. What’s yours hold?”

  “Seven. Same as most other 1911s.”

  “Seven?” he said with a chuckle. “You might as well be carrying a revolver.”

  “You know what they say.”

  French raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

  Mason glanced over at one of the young women.

  “It’s not how much you have. It’s how well you use it.”

  A couple of the men at the table snickered.

  French’s face turned red, and he quickly holstered his weapon.

  “I know how to use mine plenty well, believe you me.”

  Mason raised his hands and smiled.

  “Hey, you don’t have to convince me.”

  French stood up, his shoulders pulled back.

  “Maybe you’d rather I show you.”

  Mason set his fork down. While French didn’t strike him as a threat, any man with a gun at his side was one to take seriously.

  “Sit down. I was just having a little fun.”

  “Well, I don’t like folks making fun of my—my pistol.”

  “So next time, don’t whip it out at the table.”

  French looked around to find most of the men at the table staring at him with an amused look in their eyes.

  He reluctantly took his seat.

  “How’d Locke hear about you, anyway?”

  Mason didn’t dare mention Brooke for fear that French or one of the others might harass her.

  “I do work for the colony.”

  “What kinda work?”

  “Gathering supplies, running down criminals—that sort of thing.”

  French leaned in closer, and his eyes flicked over to Cash.

  In a hushed voice, he said, “It’s no secret that Locke’s looking to get rid of Cash. Maybe he’s brought you in to be his replacement.”

  “Why’s he looking to replace Cash?”

  “Because we damn near got overrun by the infected last month. As Chief of Security, that’s on him.”

  The man next to French bumped him with his shoulder.

  “Better watch yourself. If Cash hears you, you might end up in the freezer.”

  French swallowed hard. “I’m not afraid of him, or the freezer.” Despite his words, it was clear that he was afraid of both.

  “What’s the freezer?” asked Mason.

  Seeing Locke and his entourage approaching, French quickly got to his feet.

  “Watch yourself, Marshal. Cash won’t take kindly to you stealing his job.”

  No sooner had French departed than Locke, Cash, and Brooke approached the table.

  Locke patted Mason on the shoulder.

  “Marshal Raines, it’s good to see you again. I hope the food is to your liking.”

  “Very good, thank you,” Mason said, his eyes drifting to Brooke.

  “Ah yes, the two of you know one another.”

  Brooke smiled and extended her hand.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Raines,” she said, shaking his hand lightly.

  Cash visibly stiffened, his jaw rigid.

  Locke turned to the men sitting at the table.

  “I was hoping to have a word with the marshal. Do you mind?”

  Without so much as a grumble, the guards gathered up their plates and went in search of seats elsewhere. Locke turned to Brooke and Cash, and they too understood it to be a dismissal. Once they were alone at the table, Locke took the seat opposite Mason.

  “I wanted you to come to this little celebration so you could see some of the men I have working for me. What do you think?”

  Mason shrugged. “They seem all right.”

  Locke raised an eyebrow. “I was hoping for a little more.”

  “You’re asking for my assessment of your men?”

  “That’s right.”

  Mason took a long look around the room before saying, “There’s a sense of experience among them, not quite greenhorns, but most looked tired and less than overjoyed with their lot in life.” And while he didn’t say it, French was a perfect example of that discontent. “Their uniforms are clearly repurposed, probably from here at the plant, and based on the wrinkles and stains, your men have very little pride in wearing them. Lack of pride in a soldier’s uniform is a sign of a lack of discipline.”

  Locke smiled. “Go on.”

  “While their weapons look perfectly serviceable, my guess is they haven’t seen a brush or drop of oil in some time. That sort of lack of attention can lead to poor performance on the battlefield.”

  “And their training?”

  “Clearly lacking as well.”

  “How so?”

  “While the front entrance was well fortified, your perimeter as a whole is uneven. On my way over, I saw only one patrol, and those men seemed more interested in getting here for some hot grub than safeguarding against intruders.”

  “And if these men were put up against, say, a platoon of Army Rangers, how do you think they’d fare?”

  Mason didn’t hesitate. “They wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  Locke nodded. “I agree with you, Marshal Raines. And that’s why I asked Brooke to bring you to The Farm.”

  “And here I thought it was her idea.”

  “Brooke has her own motivations of course, but the request was mine.”

  “And you brought me here for what purpose? To help shape up your men?”

  “I want you to do more than shape them up. I want you to turn them into an elite fighting force.”

  “Those sorts of skills don’t come overnight. It takes training and a lot of physical and mental conditioning.”

  “I understand,” Locke said with a nod. “How long would it take?”

  “Four months to get them to basic infantry standards. Another eight to turn them into something really special. Half of them would quit before it was through.”

  “Then we’d find more. There’s no shortage of men willing to do just about anything to keep what’s left of their families fed.”

  Mason stared at Locke. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why all the effort to build an army?”

  “There are barely two hundred soldiers in my employ. Hardly an army.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Locke rubbed his freshly shaven chin as if pondering the question.

  “Last month, we had a…” He hunted for the right word. “Let’s call it a close call. I can’t allow what I’m building here to be destroyed because of poor security.”

  “Destroyed by whom? The infected?”

 
“By anyone.”

  Mason nodded, knowing full well that they lived in a violent and unpredictable world. People took what others allowed them to take.

  “I like you, Marshal Raines, and I believe I could even come to trust you over time. Tell me what it would take to get you to stay, and if it’s within my power, I’ll make it happen.”

  Mason paused. “A question first.”

  “All right.”

  “How did you know I was an Army Ranger?”

  “Who said I knew any such thing?”

  Mason met his stare. “If we’re going to be honest with one another, we might as well start now.”

  Locke cracked a smile. “Brooke told me about you some time ago. That led me to ask questions of people I trust over in the New Colony. Everyone I asked said the same thing: Mason Raines is a hard man who doesn’t shy away from a hard job. You’re something of a folk hero to some. They say you were responsible for taking down President Pike.”

  While Locke was clearly offering a compliment, Mason found it a little disconcerting that the situation was not as he had been led to believe. This was not an introduction. It was a recruitment.

  “Well?” said Locke. “Will you do it? Will you come work for me? I can offer you food, pay, and with Brooke here…” He shrugged. “It might not be such a bad life. You could, of course, keep your apartment over in the colony.”

  Mason took in a breath and slowly let it out.

  “Mind if I sleep on it?”

  Locke nodded. “I would expect nothing less.”

  Mason had just finished washing up with a pot of hot water left in his room, when a soft knock sounded at the door.

  Bowie sat up and turned his head, a slow rumble sounding in his chest.

  “Easy boy. It’s probably just the maid seeing if we need anything.” With his Supergrade in hand, Mason stepped to the side of the door and cracked it open. Brooke stood in the hallway, a bottle of wine and two Dixie cups in her hands.

  She smiled. “Care for a little company?”

  He pushed the door open. “You bet.”

  Brooke took one last look around the hallway and then slipped into his room, closing the door behind her. Bowie meandered over, and she gently patted his head.

  “Hello, boy.”

  The dog sniffed her once and then returned to lie beside the bed. While he had never had issue with Brooke, Bowie tended to treat her with the same gentle indifference she showed him.

  Nodding at the wine, Mason said, “Are we celebrating something?”

  “I hope we’re celebrating your new job. Please tell me you took it.”

  “I told Locke I’d think about it. You know what he wants me for, right?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “To train his own personal army.”

  She shrugged. “It kind of makes sense. He is running the largest food production facility in this part of the country.”

  Mason walked over and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Even so, I’m not sure I’m the right guy for this.”

  Brooke moved to stand in front of him, tossing the wine and cups onto the bed. She reached out and put her hands on the back of his head and gently pulled his face to rest against her stomach.

  “Of course you’re the guy for this.”

  Mason breathed in her perfume, a scent that he had come to associate with certain things—the press of breasts against his skin, the taste of her warm mouth, and the sound of her soft breathing as she slept beside him.

  He untucked her shirt and slid it up so that he could kiss her stomach.

  “How did you leave it with Locke?” she asked.

  “I told him I’d have an answer for him in the morning,” he said between kisses.

  She leaned away and met his eyes.

  “So that’s your game,” she said, smiling. “You’re giving me until morning to convince you to stay.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly have put it that way,” he said with a sly grin. “But if you want to try to sway my decision one way or the other, that’s up to you.”

  Brooke stepped out of his reach and slowly pulled the shirt over her head. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and Mason stared at her beautiful breasts. They were neither too small nor too large, and though he had made love to her dozens of times, his heart pounded with anticipation.

  She unbuttoned her khaki trousers and let them fall to the ground. Silky black panties clung to her skin, as if Picasso had used his finest brush to hide her precious treasures.

  “Perhaps I’m being overconfident,” she said in a seductive tone, “but I believe I could convince you to do just about anything.”

  He swallowed. “I believe you could.”

  Mason lay on the bed as the sweat slowly dried on his naked body. He watched as Brooke dressed and then began to run her fingers through her curly brown hair. Not only had she been blessed with a body that rivaled Aphrodite’s, she also had hair that was as soft as the finest silk chiffon.

  “You could stay the night.” He scooted over and patted the small mattress. “I’d make room.”

  “You know as well as I do that if I spent the night, neither of us would get a wink of sleep.” She smiled. “And it wouldn’t be because of the size of the mattress.”

  He grinned.

  She leaned down and kissed him. Before he could pull her in, she stepped back and stared at him with her crystal green eyes.

  “I hope you’ll take Locke’s offer. This is our best chance to be together.”

  Despite some lingering reservations about Locke’s intentions, Mason knew what his answer would be in the morning. Women like Brooke didn’t come along very often, and he had little choice but to give the relationship a try. Even so, he offered no such assurances to her. Sometimes it was better to play a little hard to get, especially when dealing with a woman who was used to getting her way.

  “I think he wants me to take Cash’s place.”

  She looked to the floor and nodded, saying nothing.

  “Cash is in love with you. You know that, right?”

  Brooke looked up, and her lips moved as if she were going to say something but changed her mind.

  “Yeah,” she said softly. “I know.”

  “That means I wouldn’t only be taking his job. I’d be taking his woman.”

  “I am most certainly not his woman. And you wouldn’t be taking his job if he had done it right in the first place. I think Locke was reluctant to get rid of him because he had no one better in the wings. But now you’re here.”

  Mason sat up and scooted his back against the headboard.

  “Has he ever made his feelings known to you?”

  Her eyes darkened. “He once beat another soldier to death who he thought was giving me too much attention. Does that count?”

  “For some men, love and violence aren’t so far apart.” A thought occurred to Mason. “He’s the real reason you wanted to keep our relationship a secret, isn’t it? It wasn’t about Locke at all.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Cash is a troubled soul. I was afraid that if he found out about us, he’d tried to kill you. I didn’t want anything to happen to you. I—I care about you.”

  Mason leaned back and closed his eyes.

  “You need to take him seriously,” she said.

  “Believe me,” he said without opening his eyes, “I always take a man seriously who has reason to kill me.”

  Mason awoke to a loud bump on the door.

  He sat up and listened. There was nothing but the distant rumble of a generator. Bowie stood by the door, his nose pressed to the gap at the bottom. Had it not been for the dog, Mason might have attributed the sound to a now forgotten dream.

  “Is someone out there, boy?”

  Bowie let out a short woof.

  Mason checked his watch. It was a little past four in the morning. Too late for Brooke to have changed her mind about staying over. He swung his legs out of bed and slipped on his pants. As he approached the door,
he spotted a white index card lying on the floor.

  He picked it up and read the single handwritten sentence.

  Check out the freezer in Building 3.

  Given their conversation at dinner, Mason suspected the note might be from French, and if not him, then someone else at the table who had overheard their exchange. It also occurred to Mason that whatever might be happening wasn’t any of his business. He wasn’t a lawman anymore. Not officially, anyway. If Cash was up to something, it was Locke’s responsibility to take care of it. And if Locke was in on it, it was the New Colony’s business. He didn’t have to be the one to right every wrong. Look at what good intentions had gotten him so far.

  Bowie stared at him and then turned back to the door, shuffling his feet.

  Even as Mason tried to convince himself to do otherwise, he found himself pulling on his shirt and boots.

  “Fine,” he muttered, fishing the flashlight out of his pack, “we’ll check it out.”

  The dog licked the fur around his mouth as if he had been promised a tasty biscuit.

  Mason strapped on his Supergrade and spare magazines but left the M4 leaning against a small wardrobe closet. Better to look like a man out for a stroll than an enemy combatant conducting reconnaissance.

  He walked to the door and eased it open. The hallway was empty and quiet. Bowie pushed past him and sniffed the floor. He caught an interesting odor and started down the hallway. Not having anything better to go on, Mason followed, taking care to walk as quietly as possible.

  Bowie led them around a corner and through two different sets of doors. At such a late hour, the entire dormitory was quiet. Mason had no idea which rooms housed Dix and the others, or he might have considered waking them. It was probably better that he didn’t. None of them were likely to be too thrilled about being disturbed for nothing more than a mysterious note.

  As Mason pushed open the door that led outside, Bowie rushed out into the cool evening air. He watched as the dog’s breath rose into the night, a reminder that while spring might have arrived, it had done so only on paper.

  Mason followed Bowie out and turned to study the compound. Everything seemed different at night. Bright phosphorous bulbs cast a sickly yellow halo around the buildings, reminding him of a prison yard. No one moved about, and the only sound was the hum of the generators.