by D. J. Molles
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 drinking nothing but water for months, 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 cross-hatch pattern of the chain-linkage. 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 council, unless he was pressed by someone else 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 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 back yard 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. Making 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 was 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 laid himself 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 towards 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 Humvee’s 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. He was greeted stoically by Kip Green, 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 come. “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 acknowledgement 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 was 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.
“Yeah.” He turned away and faced Jeriah Wilson’s Humvee and called out to them with a deceptively steady voice. “Everyone take twenty minutes and get some food and water.”
Wilson gave a thumbs up and all the doors to the Humvee opened simultaneously as if the five men inside were all waiting for Lee to tell them they could get out. They stood up and stretched their legs and began pulling provisions out of their packs. Lee put his hand up against the Humvee and could feel a small shake moving through his limbs.
He shook his head, irritated with himself.
“They’ll be fine,” Julia said and stepped out, arching her back and groaning as she stretched.
“I know,” he mumbled in response.
Kip appeared beside him. “So what’s your plan for this thing?”
Lee swung his arms, disguising his nervous energy as getting his blood moving against the cold morning. “We’ll get in close to Sanford. Then me and LaRouche will go in on foot to recon the area. See how many we’re dealing with.”
“Just two?”
Lee nodded. “Two is safe. More is better in a fight, but we’re trying not to engage until we’re ready. Two is relatively easy to sneak in and out with. More than that tends to get us noticed.”
“Hm.” Kip nodded slowly. “You’ve really worked it to a science.”
“We’ve done it a few times.”
Kip clucked his tongue. “Well, if you’re comfortable with two…”
“Oh, it’s not about comfort. More like necessity.” Lee stuck his hands inside his tactical vest to warm them. “If I could go in with an army, I would. But we’ve gotta go with what we have. Which is ten guns, against hundreds of infected. The only way to even the odds is that we choose the time and place for the engagement.”
“Engagement,” Kip remarked with a chuff.
Lee eyed the man and wondered where he stood on the debate the other night. Did he side with Jerry and Professor White? Did he believe that it was murder to lure the infected in and wipe them out indiscriminately? Or was he simply commenting on Lee’s sterile word usage for a very dirty job?
“So how long do you think it will take you?” Kip wondered.
“If all goes well, about five days, give or take.”
Kip’s eyes widened. “Five days?”
Lee nodded. “Smithfield took longer, and Sanford is a little bigger. But we didn’t really have things down pat when we took on Smithfield. We’re more experienced now, so I hope that translates to being quicker.”
Kip seemed to have exhausted his list of questions, so Lee busied himself with getting a little food in his stomach and washing it down with water. It was a couple of oat biscuits that Marie had prepared, wrapped up in a piece of cloth. They got a little dry after sitting in the cloth for a while, but they were okay. The water was painfully cold in his mouth and he forced himself to drink more than he wanted to, in order to stay hydrated.
As he ate he judged the eastern horizon with a skeptical eye. It had changed almost imperceptibly from complete black to a charcoal gray. They were entering the golden hour just before dawn when the packs that hunted the countryside at night were less active, but the hordes inside th
e towns and cities had not yet emerged from their dens.
They needed to get going.
He rested his hands on his magazines and tapped at them impatiently. The minutes slunk by as he waited in the early morning silence. A flicker of movement from down the street caught his eye and he stood up, his hand reaching for the grip of his rifle. The figures drew closer. It was LaRouche and Jim.
Lee took a relieved breath. “Alright,” he called. “Everyone mount up. We’re rollin’ out.”
Two minutes later, they were moving.
***
They stopped just outside the north end of town. They had swung around the city on the 421 bypass and exited on a small two-lane road that led into the north end of town. Lee wanted to start there and work his way south.
Here on the back roads, Lee took a quick scan of his surroundings. To their right, a bank of woods, the interior still shaded and dark with night while the treetops began to show the silvery glint of daylight just over the horizon. To their right, a field of corn stood brown and wilted, the ears long since shriveled away unharvested, or picked through by animals. Straight ahead, Lee could see the first few houses of suburbia, set back amongst stands of trees.
Lee opened his door and swung his legs out. “LaRouche, you’re with me.”
“Uh-huh.”
Lee stood there at the door and checked through his gear. When he was satisfied, he clipped his rifle to his sling and let it rest against his extra magazines. He motioned for Wilson to join him and the young cadet jumped out of his Humvee and jogged over. Young often went hand-in-hand with inexperience and a general lack of wisdom, and Wilson was no exception. However, he was a clear thinker under pressure, and decisive. Lee trusted him for one reason only: he felt confident that Wilson could handle everyone on the team if it came down to any sort of engagement.
Lee glanced between Jim, Julia, and Wilson. “Wilson’s in charge. Me and LaRouche both have handhelds, so maintain radio silence unless we’re calling you. Keep an ear perked up, though—if shit hits the fan, we’re gonna need you to come in and extract us.”