***
Metzger learned that flying didn’t vary quite as much as he thought between various aircraft. Mastery of learning what each button and switch did for the pilot seemed to be much of the battle, and Timmons was exceptionally patient with him as he tried figuring out the aircraft components.
“You’re a quick learner,” the captain noted as Metzger produced three consecutive correct answers.
“When every day is a matter of life and death, you tend to bring your A game.”
A few minutes later, both men exited the back of the plane, and Metzger took notice that Timmons donned a flight suit on this particular day. Sometimes the man wore varying degrees of uniforms, and when he wasn’t due to fly somewhere, he often wore blue jeans and cowboy boots. As though they knew they were indispensable, pilots were given more leeway than most soldiers, and certainly took advantage of it.
“Heading somewhere today?” Metzger inquired once their feet touched pavement again.
“They’ve got me on standby,” Timmons grunted, as though they placed him on standby too often, or for ridiculous reasons.
Several other pilots milled around the area, most dressed more casually than Timmons, as though their day off was assured. Metzger envied them slightly for having a larger portion of the base to themselves while everyone else crammed into buildings like they were prisoners of war. Even his brother possessed better accommodations aboard the Ross while many of his fellow sailors made do in the various converted buildings.
“You’ve never mentioned it, but do you have any family left?” Metzger decided to ask now that he’d gotten to know the captain a little better.
“Well, I was divorced, and my son who lived in Nevada wasn’t on speaking terms with me,” Timmons answered. “Duty called, and by the time I tried reaching out to my sister, there was no answer. We were all scattered across the country, so there’s no real way of me finding them, and so little hope that I just keep them alive in my mind.”
“Sometimes knowing the truth is worse,” Metzger admitted.
“You and your brother fairly close?” Timmons inquired as they strolled back to the guarded entrance of the airfield.
“We’ve always been fairly tight, yeah.”
“But not this week,” Timmons noted, giving away his keen observations.
Metzger smirked.
“We had a bit of a dispute in Buffalo.”
“Don’t be too hard on him,” Timmons said. “Despite everything that’s happened, they still expect the world from us military types. He’s got a lot on his plate.”
Metzger wished the answer proved that simple. He couldn’t believe his brother wanted to toss responsibility aside for revenge, knowing the risks to his mission, his country, and his own family.
“No offense,” he said to Timmons, “but you’re obviously past military retirement age. Why did you stick around so long? Isn’t there money in the private sector?”
“First off, I’m barely old enough to be your dad,” Timmons said, making the point that he wasn’t quite as old as Metzger assumed.
“Sorry,” Metzger apologized with a grin.
“I made money in the private sector during my time off,” Timmons admitted. “Daniel, there’s nothing like being in the thick of it with these guys and knowing you’re the only thing keeping them from being stranded, pinned down, or outright killed by artillery. They’re waiting for you to swoop in and save the day, and by God, there’s no better feeling than pulling them from the jaws of death. You’re going to think I’m an arrogant asshole, but there aren’t many men who can pull off the things I do, and that alone keeps me in this line of work.”
“I don’t think you’re arrogant. Sounds like you’re driven to make a difference. That’s something we didn’t see a lot in the old world, and we certainly can’t expect it nowadays.”
“Part of me was lonely, too,” Timmons said, a sullen look crossing his face. “When you throw yourself into your work, you don’t worry about failed marriages, and kids who don’t talk to you. Retirement concerned me, because I wasn’t sure what I’d do with myself, and I wasn’t ready to face the demons in my past. The dating pool gets scary after a certain age, and I didn’t want to sit home and drink beer all day when I wasn’t flying. I guess civilian life was scarier for me than doing the crazy shit I do here.”
“There has to be more than this,” Metzger said, his eyes scanning the entire base.
“More than what?”
“More than getting by, hoping the dead don’t bite us. I know this was the furthest thing from anyone’s imagination, but you’d think our leaders would’ve had some kind of plan in place for a major disaster.”
“They’re working on things,” Timmons said, taking a seat on one of the chairs placed outside the nearest hangar. “They want to clear the town and get folks living there again.”
“And after that?”
“They work their way north, or south, and make the land habitable again. It’s not going to be an overnight thing, Dan. We lost a lot of good workers, and good minds, when this thing went down.”
“It concerns me that the mind behind this whole thing is still out there. He may not be planning anything else, but I hate to think that asshole won.”
Timmons fidgeted with his fingernails momentarily, finally biting one that proved peskier than the rest.
“You really think it was a win or lose kind of thing?” he asked. “Who benefits from murdering ninety-nine percent of the world?”
“Is that the number they figure perished?”
Timmons shrugged.
“No one really knows. No one’s left to calculate that kind of thing.”
Standing, the pilot stretched momentarily.
“I’m going to tell you something you’ve got to keep to yourself, Dan.”
“What’s that?”
“You may think we’ve been thrown back to the Stone Age, but the government managed to save a lot of brilliant minds before migrating this way.”
“So we can save our class system where the rest of us work in factories and build things to make the world work again?”
Timmons chuckled.
“I’m not sure how all that’ll pan out, but I do know the big man was saved, and he’s still calling the shots.”
“Not much of a shock there, but how do you know he’s here?”
“Who do you think brought him?”
Timmons gave a cagy wink when Metzger looked his way.
Metzger was about to ask for details regarding that particular flight when an enlisted Army man came running up to the pair, stopping to catch his breath a few seconds before speaking. Both men figured Timmons had been summoned for some kind of important mission, requiring his attention, but the soldier basically ignored the captain, addressing Metzger directly.
“Mr. Metzger, your presence is requested in the main conference room.”
“My presence?” Metzger asked, looking to Timmons as though the captain set him up for some kind of joke.
Timmons simply shook his head, equally surprised.
“We have a vehicle waiting for you, sir,” the soldier said, leading Metzger out of the airfield, through the gate.
Metzger felt certain he’d broken some rule, or some parent complained about his teaching style, having no idea why the military took any interest in him at all. A few minutes later he was escorted into the building where the conference room held at least a few dozen high-ranking military men. For a second, he felt like a lamb led to the slaughter, but the enlisted man took him to a side room where Bryce, a general, and a Navy captain awaited him with a laptop computer opened and running atop a desk.
“Dan, this is General McCall, and my commanding officer, Mark Dascher,” Bryce said, making introductions as Metzger shook hands with both men.
“Son, your brother sa
ys you may be familiar with a man we’re looking for in the Buffalo area.”
Metzger felt confused, wondering if Bryce was playing out some kind of scheme to return to their hometown for revenge.
Instead of providing him with additional details, the general clicked a button on the laptop, bringing up a digital dossier, complete with a surveillance photo. Metzger bent down, studying the photo momentarily, focusing on the details, realizing he’d seen this man only once before in his life. Ignoring the text beside the image completely, his eyes narrowed from recognition of the man.
“Xavier,” he muttered angrily.
“So, you know him?” McCall asked with a furrowed eyebrow.
“He transformed a schoolground into a reinforced prison facility in record time,” Metzger answered. “I wouldn’t say we’ve been formally introduced, but during our one and only encounter, I shot the man.”
Now McCall looked slightly alarmed.
“Fatally?”
“No. He crawled under his car, and as far as I know, he escaped the area.”
Metzger suddenly wondered why the military showed any interest in the man who killed at least a few dozen innocent people for his own benefit.
“What the hell is this about? And don’t give me some classified bullshit, because I’m part of this apocalypse family.”
“This man is associated with the person who caused the explosions worldwide that brought about the infection,” McCall answered. “It’s possible he could lead us to that man if we were able to locate him.”
Metzger thought momentarily.
“Based on his previous actions, I’d imagine he’d make a play to get his property back. If he’s not already there, he’s likely monitoring the area and creating a plan to take it back. To put it bluntly, he’s kind of a dick.”
“Your brother kindly explained your experience up there to us,” McCall stated. “I know this is a lot to ask, but would you be willing to take us to the place where you last encountered Xavier Fournier?”
Metzger exhaled through his nose.
“The last place was the Lancaster airport, and he was gone when we last visited Buffalo,” he said, giving a stern glance at his brother in case Bryce harbored other ideas about this potential operation. “But if you want me to take your people to the school, I can do that.”
McCall looked to Bryce.
“I’ll have a team together within two hours to escort you both to that school, because I know you aren’t letting him head there alone.” The general looked to both brothers in turn. “Boys, you’re going home again.”
Thirteen
Sutton knew how in-laws, or friends who weren’t on the inner friend circle, felt when tagging along as a fifth wheel. Life changed significantly for everyone in the group when Jillian’s father was shot by Clean, or one of his followers, and only Sutton was left to bear the brunt of the group’s anger.
Hawk remained with Sutton, which only seemed to agitate the group even more, as though the man represented something evil and heartless that Sutton led straight to them. By now Sutton knew the man’s true name to be Steve Driscoll, and the man wasn’t ruthless or evil like those he ran with before, but he possessed some of their flaws.
Although he once again possessed his box truck, and his faithful dog remained by his side virtually every minute, Sutton felt an emptiness from living in a friendless world.
Strangely, the group hadn’t even left the area, basically living off the remains of the town’s general store, raiding houses during the daylight hours. Sutton was condemned to a street on the opposite side of town from the others, but he occasionally saw them when he went into South Hill to grab supplies or check in with Gracine. Today, he stood on the front yard of the house he kept to himself while Driscoll occupied the neighboring residence.
Fall weather set in, bringing cooler temperatures and dew that lingered on the untended grass blades longer than usual. Sutton considered leaving the group numerous times, heading back to the camp to check on his sons, but he didn’t especially like leaving with Jillian harboring so much hostility. Buster took his side, and Sutton scratched him between the ears, causing the pit bull to give a gratuitous moan.
“Is today the day?” Driscoll asked, stepping out from his current residence.
“The day for what?” Sutton replied, already knowing what the younger man was asking, but wanting to make Driscoll work for the answer.
“The day we leave this town and your former friends behind?”
“You’re awfully anxious for the two of us to strike out on our own and test the waters,” Sutton noted after hearing the same words for a week straight.
“The three of us,” Driscoll said, nodding in Buster’s direction.
Sutton frowned at the statement, knowing his dog ranked higher than Driscoll in both companionship and usefulness against the undead.
“They aren’t taking you back,” Driscoll pressed, taking a few steps from his yard into the property Sutton occupied.
“Where do you want to go so badly?”
“I’m just ready to keep moving. Staying in one place isn’t my thing these days.”
“So, food, a roof over your head, and a plethora of supplies doesn’t work for you?”
“We’re not even two months into the end of the world. Supplies aren’t going to be tough to find for a while.”
“I’m not stopping you from going,” Sutton said, pointing out the obvious.
“Yeah, but you’re the one who stuck me in this situation when you shot three people in the back.”
Sutton realized he hadn’t spoken with Driscoll much during the past week, and suddenly their talk took a very harsh, truthful turn.
“I did my damnedest to keep them from coming here, because my loyalties were always to this group. I’ve fucked up and left them in some hairy situations twice now, so yes, I did what I had to do to keep them safe. For the record, I didn’t shoot them all in the back, and I could’ve easily made you a casualty before taking aim at them.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I was hoping you weren’t as bad as they were.”
Now Driscoll simply grunted instead of continuing to run his mouth. Sutton had begun to realize his new neighbor talked a good game, and possessed some survival skills, but the man didn’t like being on his own. He understood why Driscoll needed to stay with gruff, likeminded people, because they were the only ones willing to put up with his incessant talking.
“I know you come from a place like me, where you were your own boss,” Sutton stated. “We made the rules, and made some money along the way, but in this world you need people. It ain’t easy putting up with their shit all the time, like their emotions and the dumb decisions they make, but in the end, you can’t last long on your own.”
“I’m not real fond of the company you keep,” Driscoll said, having met the others in passing a few times over the past ten days.
“We’re all pink on the inside,” Sutton replied. “I’ve seen that firsthand. You need to get right with what I’m trying to do, or you might as well head down the road.”
“Did you tap that?” Driscoll persisted, inquiring if Sutton and Gracine had physical relations.
Their conversation halted when the sound of a vehicle approaching caught the attention of both men. When Sutton saw Gracine alone, behind the wheel of a compact car, he smiled on the inside, but a glance to Driscoll showed indifference on the man’s face. He remained in the yard as Gracine stepped out, a look of concern crossing her countenance.
“What’s wrong?” Sutton asked.
“It’s Juan. We haven’t seen him since last night.”
“Maybe he went out scavenging.”
“We do everything in pairs. No one goes off solo except when they relieve themselves. And even then it’s not recommended.”
“Have you l
ooked for him?”
“No. Jillian thought maybe the problem was bigger than we could handle.”
Sutton felt both flattered and insulted at the same time. He didn’t like being the hired help when it suited the group’s needs, but he wanted to rejoin the fold at some point, so he’d assist them if possible.
One glance to Driscoll indicated the man wasn’t interested in tagging along.
“If you two are hunting down the Mexican, you can do it without me. He probably met up with some of his own kind and headed south.”
“He’s charming,” Gracine noted sarcastically.
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Shall we?” Gracine asked as Driscoll turned his back to both of them to return inside his current residence.
“Let’s go.”
Buster whimpered a bit when his owner stepped toward the car with Gracine, so Sutton turned to address him.
“Stay.”
Wiggling his hind end, and lowering his head and front shoulders to the ground, Buster uttered a protest with several whimpers and groans.
“No,” Sutton insisted firmly. “Stay.”
“Let him come,” Gracine said. “There aren’t any zombies left in town, and your buddy’s racism might rub off on Buster if he stays.”
Sutton needed only wave a few fingers to indicate Buster could tag along, and the canine immediately ran over to them. Gracine assumed the driver’s seat while Sutton opened the opposite door and pulled the seat forward to let Buster jump in the back. Once he slid inside, it occurred to him that he wasn’t armed with anything except a small knife and a semi-automatic sidearm.
He considered asking for a moment to fetch a rifle, but given the quiet nature of the town the past week, Sutton decided to settle for what he possessed already.
“What happened last night?” Sutton asked once the car rolled halfway down the block.
“We think Juan stepped outside to piss, or get something, and we lost track of him.”
“Lost track?”
“Look, early bedtimes, operating by candlelight, and the fact that we’re walking on eggshells around Jillian all contribute to the fact that we don’t exactly hang out like a slumber party.”
The Undead Chronicles (Vol. 2): Darker Days Page 17