Dext of the Dead (Book 5): We Are The End

by Kuhn, Steve

  It’s such a morbid task to begin with, but at least for the ones we love, it’s a task we’re willing to undertake. Pardon the pun, by the way. I mean, no one could ever really enjoy such a task, but it’s something you do out of respect and for closure. For Chalmers it’s different. I don’t really respect the guy, nor did I actually care for him. Ours was a relationship built on necessity and one that never really went any further than just that. I do, however, pity him. I think that’s why I’m struggling with the whole thing. I feel terrible for what he had to go through in his final moments, and I sort of feel like he deserves a burial just for that alone.

  Doesn’t change the fact that he’s not gettin’ one. Poor bastard’s gonna sit in this tower and rot. I hope that no one pities me when I go. I really do. I’d rather be hated than pitied.

  So, yeah, I just stared at him, thinking about stuff. We’re pretty-well fucked right now. We know where the colonel is, and we know for sure that he needs to die. There’s no more questioning that, but what are we gonna do? What can we do? The road is still a long one to Bragg, even if we have the stones to go up in there and challenge him. That would be so stupid, though. We don’t have the numbers, and they’re dug in. We might as well just walk up to the gates with our weapons unloaded, waving a Goddamn white flag. For that matter, we may as well just French kiss a bernie and get it over with. It’s a death sentence no matter how you slice it.

  Eventually, I turned my attention away from Chalmers and checked in on the others.

  Seth and Nick kept themselves busy by keeping watch. Granted, that’s normally Boyd’s thing, but he’s been on the computer for as long as I’ve been sitting here. His constant click-clacking on the keys and stuttering curses under his breath has been almost comforting, in a way. If I close my eyes, I can imagine I’m back at work before everything changed. I’ve done that more times than I can count in the past few minutes. It’s nice.

  Lilly sat with Don and talked quietly. She doesn’t seem sad or shaken up. It didn’t even faze her, what happened here today. She even asked me, “Should I get his gun?” I just shook my head ‘no.’ Chalmers gets to keep that.

  Kylee buried her face in her hands, sitting on the floor. I wanted to talk to her, but I knew the time wasn’t right. After what she’d seen her father become, I’d be willing to bet she’d have rather lost him to the outbreak, and the dead, or to never have seen or heard from him again. I scooted over next to her and sat there quietly.

  It didn’t take her long, maybe a minute or so, to fall onto my shoulder and begin sobbing. It was a good cry—one of those cries that washes away everything, so long as you have a homie to lean on. I thought of Cutty in my dream. “You ain’t no shouldah nigga,” he barked at me angrily. Maybe there was something to that after all. Maybe he simply meant that I may have been there for him, but I need to do a better job at being there for the others. I dunno.

  I put my arm around her shoulder and let her bury her face in my chest and cut loose. I held her and pressed my face against her stubbly head, trying to just let her know I was there.

  I shot a glance over to Don and half expected to see him making some mean-ass face at me, but he didn’t. He was watching us, and I knew he wanted to be where I was. Perhaps he was blaming himself for not being where I was. I could see his wheels turning as he looked on quietly. Eventually, he just nodded at me with his lips pursed tightly in an expression of acceptance. He wasn’t there for her. I was. And now he knew it for sure.

  Seth and Nick came back in and drug Chalmers outside. They tried their best to respect the body, but still managed to bang what was left of his head against the door jamb on the way out. I winced when it happened, but it was just an accident. Nick offered a silent apology, mouthing the words to me, but I just shrugged. Shit happens. I wish shit didn’t always happen to us, though.

  When they came back in, Seth knelt by my side and whispered, “We’ll take second and third watch, too. You guys get some rest.”

  As he moved to leave, Kylee caught him by the arm. She thanked him sincerely before letting her hand slip.

  Seth stared at us for a moment. I’d give my last bullet to know what was going through his head. He said nothing and instead attempted a smile. It looked clumsy on him, but I appreciated his effort nonetheless. He slung a rifle across his shoulder and exited again quietly.

  Nick stood there with his arms crossed. “You guys need anything else right now?”

  Lilly answered him with, “I wanna go with you guys and keep watch.”

  No one protested. I don’t think Lilly expected that, so she was just sorta sittin’ there, waiting to be told ‘no.’

  Nick twitched his head towards the door and said, “Well? You comin’ or what?”

  She beamed at him and left Don’s side to exit with them.

  Don told Nick, “Careful. Keep a pair of eyes on the west, and make sure Lilly doesn’t wander too far.”

  Nick passed the binoculars to Lilly as he strapped Kylee’s rifle over his shoulder, then told Don, “I heard you. If you can’t sleep, you’re welcome to join us. Just be sure to whistle or some shit before you come poppin’ around the corner. I know how quietly you can move sometimes, man.”

  Don smiled and waved him off.

  Without taking his eyes off the screen, Boyd said over his shoulder, “I g-got a total of f-f-four units showing on the GPS within r-range of the r-r-radio. I’m a little sh-shocked that the satellites are still g-g-going. Wanna try one of ’em? See if m-m-m-m-maybe we can get some friendlies on the horn?”

  “No.”

  I realized after I said it that I may have sounded like a dick. My tone was firm and flat. I didn’t mean that, so I apologized and explained, “We’ll try again in the morning. Let’s just get some rest.”

  No one said another word, and as the minutes passed, they fell asleep one by one—not me, though. I can feel the nightmare already, and I don’t want it.

  Entry 147

  Morning came on slowly. I fell asleep at some point during the night, but it was restless, as it always is. A few dozen bernies shuffled across the airfield, and more appeared on the horizon as I sipped some water from Kylee’s canteen. It was gonna be time to move again soon.

  Ammo wasn’t low, by most people’s standards, but it wasn’t what it used to be after the fight to get here. Seth and the others on watch weren’t gonna waste any of it shooting at the wanderers anyway. As long as the bernies didn’t know we were up in the tower, we’d be fine. Hell, they may even have passed right by. No way to tell, really.

  Boyd offered me something to eat, but I turned it down politely. Normally I would be starving by that point, except Chalmers’ body was starting to stink up the place. Seth and Nick dragged him out to the concourse thingy, but it was starting to seep in. I thought I’d get used to that smell eventually. Wrong.

  Anyway…

  Once there was some decent light, Lilly made her rounds for school. It wasn’t traditional by any means, but it worked for us. The first thing we did was read. I don’t have to tell you that our choice of material was limited, but we had an assortment of magazines, a few books, the little Bible that Cutty gave me, and so on. After I got her in the swing of things, we usually practiced her writing. I was no writer, by any means, but everyone volunteered me for the job since I was always scribbling in this thing. She was getting really good with her punctuation, and her spelling had become acceptable. I had to keep reminding her to capitalize the first word of every sentence, though. I guess that was normal for a kid her age; or maybe it wasn’t. Fuck if I knew.

  After I did my thing for a while, Don took her off to the side for weapons training. Now this was something she really excelled at. He’d lay out a random collection of projectile weapons—rifles and handguns, etc. Then he’d drop all this different ammo in a big pile. Her task was to identify which ammo went with which weapon, separate it, and load them all properly.

  That might not sound like it was too hard, but thi
nk about this for a second. We had .223, .308, plus a handful of .338 for Kylee’s Lapua. Then we had .45, 9 mm, .38, and some .22 rimfire for the handguns. Those were further separated into hollow point, semi wad cutter, ball, and whatever-the-hell else. I think we may even have had some shotgun stuff, buckshot and slugs. I don’t even know all of it. Lilly had that shit on lock, though. She never made a mistake.

  After all that, Don normally picked one weapon for breakdown and cleaning. He’d obviously been an instructor in some capacity, but he’d never really confirmed or denied it. One of my favorite things to watch was when he hid a piece from her while she was reassembling them, usually a spring or a pin… something small. She’d crinkle her nose in thought when she got to that point and huff, “Gimme the Goddamn thing,” followed by a long pause, then, “please?”

  We couldn’t break her of her cursing habit, but I’d be damned if she was gonna let her manners slip—not around us anyway. Don didn’t take any of her shit, either. He wasn’t like the others when it came to Lilly. He treated her like a little soldier when class was in session. For him it was, “Yes, sir,” and “No, sir.” For us it was… Well, use your imagination. Nick and Seth were no help whatsoever, since they seemed to make it their personal goals to formulate the most colorful things to call one another.

  Once Don was finished with his lesson plan, Lilly grabbed Kylee for general self-defense tactics. Of course, Don or probably even Seth could teach her some of that stuff, but Kylee had a knack for gearing it towards the feminine persuasion. She worked with Lilly on breaking away from being grabbed, showed her different pressure points, and sometimes she showed her little, dirty fighting tricks like bending a pinky finger backwards. It really is amazing how much that shit hurts compared to how little effort it takes to do it.

  Anyway, Lilly was always practicing on me for some reason, probably because I was kind of a li’l bitch. You have no idea how embarrassing it was to be doubled over in front of your friends because a little six-year-old girl punched you in the throat. But, hey, everyone got a laugh. We needed more of that around anyway, right?

  From there, it was off to Boyd for marksmanship. We never really got the opportunity for classic target practice. The need to conserve ammo trumped that immediately, especially considering our dwindling reserves, but he taught her how to work with the sun glare, how to properly range her targets without a spotter, and how to pick a prime spot for a nest. She even expressed interest in making herself a little ghillie suit.

  If you don’t know what that is, don’t feel bad. It’s a handmade suit with grass and twigs, or whatever else is around the current terrain, that you wear for camouflage. Most snipers make their own. I guess that would fall under ‘arts and crafts,’ hehe.

  Bottom line, that would be a really good skill set for her to have at the moment since she doesn’t have the physical strength for brawling or melee fighting—against the dead, that is. Bernies don’t feel the pain of pressure points or a swift kick in the nuts, so she needs to keep her distance for now.

  Speaking of keeping distance, Don and Kylee haven’t even been speaking of late. While this bodes well for me, it is nothing but bad sauce for the group as a whole. Look, I couldn’t care less about their relationship, marriage, or whatever they wanna call it, but we can’t have them failing to communicate when shit hits the fan—and shit will definitely hit the fan. It always does. I suppose, for now, I’ll trust that their habits as professionals will overrule whatever emotional crap is going on.

  We will try the radio again, thanks to Boyd, in a bit. Pending the outcome of that, there will likely be an open discussion on the plan of attack (or lack thereof), followed by a full inventory check, travel prep, and a few other minor tasks. One thing that’s definitely on the to-do list is fueling up D-Prime. There’s gotta be diesel around this place somewhere.

  Once that’s sorted out, we have one last bit of business before hitting the road for what will hopefully be the final run.

  Shopping day.

  I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I really hate shopping day.

  Entry 148

  When it rains, it pours.

  I decided to handle shopping with Seth and Nick, leaving Lilly back in the tower with Don and Kylee. Boyd was given strict instructions to stay on the radio and try to get something else going. The line to Bragg, and the colonel, remains locked out.

  The decision to leave Kylee and Don behind wasn’t an easy one to make, but it made the most sense. Kylee and Don were in the best position to oversee any communications, especially from a military perspective; not to mention, Don can shoot, so having him and Lilly on watch from above, and covering our asses, was the next best thing to having Boyd on the rifle. There was really no argument about all that.

  I also hoped silently to myself that Kylee and Don would have a chance to talk while we were gone. I don’t know if that happened while we were away, but I know it was awkward as hell when Kylee pecked me on the cheek on the way out. She stood there with her hand on her hip afterwards and said quietly to me, almost in a whisper, “Be careful out there. If shit gets deep, you run. Don’t look back.” I’m not sure if she meant don’t look back for Nick and Seth or if it was just a general statement. I nodded at her and tried to muster up my best cocky smirk, Seth-style. It failed. She leveled her eyes to mine and added, “I’m serious. No more fuckin’ around. Lilly and I need you. We’ve lost too much already.”

  She pressed her hand into mine, and I felt her passing me something covertly. It felt like a paper of some sort. I didn’t look at it right away; just tucked it in my pocket for later.

  The boys and I were able to find diesel in a matter of minutes. We kept the tower between us and what was left of the small bernie packs that went by this morning as we jogged in a low crouch to a garage-lookin’ building some fifty yards from the tower. Nick liked to use his kukri-blade-thing, or whatever the hell they called it, and Seth had one of his silly-ass gauntlets on. I dunno what possesses him to get so ‘up close and personal’ with the stinks, but to each his own. That shit’s gonna bite him in the ass one day, though—pun fully intended. I had two big gas cans, one in each hand, but I knew we would need more. Lucky for us, there were a few more lying around the motor pool. They totaled six and would take multiple trips to get them back to the truck. I have to note here that the cans are heavy as shit once they’re full.

  After clearing the area, which was devoid of any life at all, we siphoned enough to fill them all while Nick kept watch to the outside. We were silent as fuck, like a three-man, ninja-assassin squad, until Seth took a mouthful of diesel and started gagging and coughing all over the place. Nick shushed him harshly and told him, “All the dicks you’ve had in your mouth over the years, and I never pegged you for a gagger. You better take that load like a man!” He chuckled at his own joke. So did I, actually.

  Seth scowled at him, clearly not amused, but being a good sport about the whole thing, he shot back with, “Normally I get a warning that it’s coming. This truck has no manners at all!”

  It took about twenty minutes to get everything back to D-Prime. During the first trip, we caught the attention of a pair of sleepers on the way back, one of which took a swipe for Seth’s leg. Nick brought his blade down on its dome-piece before it even touched Seth, who nodded a silent ‘thank you’ to him. Nick just shrugged it off as Seth squished the second one’s head with three or four punches. He kind of got into it, and the last blow smashed through so hard that he hit the asphalt with a dull clink.

  We found a small common area with a few vending machines inside and, since there were no obvious threats, took a seat at one of the tables for lunch. Nick was a criminal, pure and simple, but he was a clever one. We needed to bust out the machines, one of which was an old-school cigarette vendor, but we had to do so as quietly as possible. He simply gestured for Seth to pass over his vest. Seth complied, and after wrapping it around his elbow, Nick gave the glass a solid thump. It didn’t sh
atter and litter the floor as I had expected, but instead it spidered enough that we could just pick out the shards quietly. A closer look at Seth’s leather vest revealed that it wasn’t the first time they’d employed that tactic, as it was covered in scratches.

  We munched happily on some stale Fritos before bringing out the new smokes. Finally, a non-menthol! It did the trick. I frowned to myself when I reached for my old Zippo and remembered that I had tossed it to Cutty. Nick passed me his lighter and told me to keep it.

  Seth kicked his feet up and blew out a cloud of smoke before saying casually to Nick, “You catch that shit this morning?”

  Nick nodded and replied, “Pfft! You kiddin’ me? Of course I did.”

  Seth nodded back and asked, “Watchu wanna do about that?”

  It was becoming obvious that I wasn’t a part of the conversation, and I started getting curious. I kept quiet, though.

  Nick shrugged, unsure, and Seth continued, “Better safe than dead, dude. Think we should turn off his lights for him?”

  Now I was getting uncomfortable. They were definitely alluding to killing someone, and it crossed my mind that they may have been talking about me. I casually slipped my hand to the butt of the pistol in my waist, trying to be nonchalant, just in case. I had these visions of the old mob guys that act all friendly and take you out for drinks and shit before they do it. Next thing ya know, you’re in the front seat of a car, and they’re wrapping a piece of piano wire around your neck from behind you in the back seat. Fuck all that.

  Nick told Seth, “Not yet. It’s not exactly our call to make.”

  Ashing his cigarette on the floor, Seth retorted, “I don’t give a flyin’ fuck about whose ‘call’ it is. The dude’s a fuckin’ liar, and that makes him a threat.”

  Nick finally turned to face me and said, “Take your hand off of your gun, Dext. You’re not the problem. It’s your guy, Boyd. How’d you all come to meet him anyway?”

  I dropped my hand and told them the short version. They both nodded as I went along, as if to say they had heard it all before. When I was through, Seth told Nick, “See! Same thing Boyd said.”