by David Achord
“An old Vietnam vet taught me all the tricks of the M16 and its variants. He liked to put a thick coat of oil on everything. I like a thinner coat. I guess it’s a personal preference. Now, right here,” I pointed at the face of the bolt, “you keep free of oil. You also keep the rifle bore dry as well, unless you’re going to store it long term.” I assembled the weapon, performed a function check, and handed it to her.
“Good to go,” I said.
“What was that you just did?” she asked.
“It’s called a function check. It lets you know your weapon is functioning properly without actually having to fire a round.” I gestured for her weapon. “Here, I’ll show it to you again.”
She scoffed. “I got it, don’t worry about it.”
“Suit yourself.”
After a few seconds of silence, she opted to change the subject.
“You watched me pee, didn’t you?” she accused.
“You know better than that,” I said.
“I bet you did, perv,” she said with a smirk.
I paused momentarily, thought of a smart-assed retort, but decided it wasn’t worth it. I stood, grabbed my backpack and weapon, and headed toward the door.
“I’m going to get some fresh air.”
The woman sure had a way of pushing my buttons. The air was certainly fresher outside, and I decided to walk along the fence line. The concertina wire was attached securely to the regular fencing, and even back here, it was full of trash. Concertina wire was a good trap for paper and plastic being blown along by the wind. It irritated my obsessive personality. I saw a black plastic trash bag stuck in the wire, flapping in the breeze.
It gave me an idea. I reached in and fished it out and then spent the next two hours pulling trash out. I glanced up occasionally at the guard shack, and one time, I caught Priss looking at me like I was stupid. I ignored her and continued until the bag was packed full. It was kind of unusual, but the entire time, I didn’t see a single zombie. I guess the Marines were telling the truth when they said they’d killed them all off around here.
Priss was standing in the doorway as I walked in and didn’t move aside. She was standing so close I couldn’t help but brush against her breasts as I walked by. I acted like I didn’t notice she wasn’t wearing a bra and sat down.
She watched me for a minute before speaking. “You had no right to beat me. My ass is still bruised.”
“Yeah, you’ve already told me that,” I replied and stared at her. “I hope you realize, I came close to killing you and your brother. Be thankful the only thing that happened to you was a bruised ass.” Besides, I thought, something tells me you might’ve even found it somewhat enjoyable.
She didn’t offer a retort, and instead sat in her chair, which I noticed had been moved closer to mine.
“You act like you’ve killed people before,” she finally said in a dubious tone.
I didn’t answer. I had a feeling if I told her the truth she wouldn’t believe me anyway, but she kept pushing it.
“Well?” she asked.
I took a few seconds before responding. “What do you think? I’ve survived this shit storm for over three years without the protection of a place like Mount Weather and a bunch of Marines. Not only did I survive, I protected my people as well.”
“Yeah, right,” she retorted.
“I’m not sure why you think I’m lying to you.”
“Men lie,” she responded.
“Yeah, whatever.”
The field phone rang. Priss answered. It was Ensign Boner wondering why we hadn’t done our hourly check. Priss told him we’d been busy and hung up on him.
My stomach was growling, but I didn’t particularly care to eat an MRE. Reaching into my backpack, I retrieved some hand sanitizer and a Tupperware container full of smoked venison. Priss watched me.
“Smoked venison,” I said. “It’s tastier than MRE food. A little on the chewy side, but it’s a good source of protein. You want any?” I tore a piece off and handed it to her. She took the piece and took a tentative bite.
“It’s salty,” she said. “And peppery too.”
“Yeah, the meat is rubbed down with salt, pepper, and some spices before the curing process. The salt acts as a preservative, the pepper repels bugs.”
“Is that what you people did? To survive?”
“Yeah, among other things. Have you ever smoked meat?”
She gave me a look. “Is that meant as a double entendre?”
I chuckled now. “No, not at all.”
“No, I never have,” she said. “Why would I?”
I shrugged. She wasn’t interested in the finer points of food preservation so I saved my breath. She stared at me thoughtfully while she chewed the rest of the venison.
“What’s up with those scars?”
“They’re from people who tried to kill me,” I replied and pointed. “This one’s a knife wound and the other one is from a gunshot.
“Tell me about it,” she said.
“Nothing to tell. I lived and they died.”
She waited for me to elaborate, but I was of no mind to. I finished my venison, reached for the binoculars, and scanned the wood line. Looking, I sighed.
“What?” she asked.
“I don’t like this set up,” I said, pointing outward. “The field of observation is crap.”
“What are you talking about? I can see everything just fine.”
I pointed again. “You’ve got a clear field of observation for only fifty yards or so, and then it’s a wall of trees. Someone could easily hide out there, watching us, and we wouldn’t be able to see them.”
“Who the hell would want to watch us?” she asked.
I was about to explain, but when I turned toward her, she was looking in my backpack.
“Looking for something to steal?” I asked dryly. She pulled out a book.
“What’s this?” she asked mockingly. “A book?” She looked at the title. “Poetry? Really? I didn’t know dumb country hicks could read.”
“Yep, too dumb to read,” I said, not taking the bait. “I’m not nearly as smart as you.”
She chortled. “I was going to go to Harvard when all of this shit started.”
I did some mental arithmetic. “So, you’re what, twenty-one now?”
“Yeah, how old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
She did a little mental arithmetic of her own and then grinned. “So, that means you never finished high school.”
“Yep.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, a dumb country hick. You don’t even need this book,” she said and tossed it through the open window. I still wasn’t going to bite, I’d get it later, but then she started to reach inside my knapsack again. I snatched her arm and twisted it as I forced her down to her knees. She gasped in pain and stared at me with her mouth in a silent o-shape.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I asked.
She stared back at me and then her mouth transformed into a challenging smirk.
“I like it rough,” she said huskily. I let go of her then and pushed her. She rolled onto her backside with a thump.
I stared at her in annoyance, and she stared back with that same taunting smirk. She leaned back on her hands, her legs splayed out in front of me, practically daring me not to look at her crotch.
If I were a single man, I could probably see myself taking her right then and there. But, I wasn’t single. Not only did I love Kelly, I liked her. She was my best friend, and I wasn’t going to do anything to mess it up.
“I’m not the man for you,” I said and picked up the binoculars. “Why don’t you give it a go with someone like Boner? With all of those muscles, I’d bet he’d love to throw you around.”
“Been there, done that,” she replied with a scoff as she made a show of stretching and sticking her breasts out. “It was a waste of time.”
I grunted. It figured.
“What, you’ve never fucked ar
ound on your wife?” she asked.
“Nope.”
From the look on her face, I guessed she was thoroughly frustrated with me by now. I suspected she’d played this flirtatious game many times with other men and it probably worked almost every time.
She got up and plopped down in the chair. Propping her feet up on the open window frame, she stared out into the woods at nothing in particular while I did the same.
“The men here are lame,” she finally said.
I gave her a quick glance and started to say something, but stopped. I was about to suggest she check out Cutter or Josue, but I couldn’t do that to either of them. Not even Cutter.
“I haven’t known you long, but I get the impression you can be difficult to handle,” I finally said.
She cut her eyes at me and started to say something, but then she was quiet again. I changed the subject.
“Have you been here at Mount Weather the whole time?” I asked.
“Yep,” she said. “When the balloon went up, they loaded up the senators, family, and aides into helicopters and brought us here. It’s boring as hell here. Paul and I’ve talked about heading out and exploring the country.”
“Paul, as in Paul your brother?” I asked. She gave a flippant nod. She must have sensed something.
“What?” she asked.
“It’s pretty dangerous out there,” I said.
The glare was back. “We can handle ourselves.”
“Okay, if you say so.”
If she only knew how it really was out there beyond the confines of this place, I don’t think she’d be so eager to go exploring, but I wasn’t going to frustrate myself by trying to explain it.
“So, you’re married, huh?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I answered as I used the binoculars again.
“Is she your first love?” she asked.
“Nope, but she’s the one I love now.”
“And you’ve never fucked around on her?” she asked again.
I put my binoculars down and gave her a look. “Nope, but if you ever need a switch taken to you again, I could probably manage.”
“Asshole,” she muttered.
I kept looking. To the casual observer, everything looked fine, serene, boring, but something was nagging at my subconscious. Priss must have sensed it.
“Why do you keep looking out there? Have you spotted a deer or something?” she asked. I didn’t answer.
She scoffed. “Like I said, boring, boring, boring. The Marines killed all of the zombies within miles of here. I don’t know why we have to keep up this guard duty nonsense.”
I shrugged. She was probably right, but my intuition kept telling me something was not quite right out there.
Chapter 22 – Snake
The blonde-headed dude almost saw him. Snake was wearing his own homemade version of a Ghillie suit which mostly consisted of burlap bags and strips of earth tone cloth sewn on. He’d supplemented the camouflage by rubbing mud on any exposed skin. His binoculars were covered by mosquito netting and he had remained perfectly still for hours. Still, the blonde dude had paused more than once at his spot when he scanned. If not for the whore constantly distracting him, Snake was fairly certain the blonde dude might have spotted him.
He’d crawled into place several hours ago, well before dawn. It was a spot almost two hundred yards away. He was hidden in the shadow of an old pine tree and watched the guard post through a small opening between the limbs. Snake lay there all day, watching. He was certain he was hidden and undetected, but even so, he wasn’t taking any chances.
He decided he had enough info and it was time to leave. The two night guards often slept during their shift and hardly stared out at the woods. The only vigilant one was the blonde-headed dude.
He was going to go back to his car, eat something, and then sleep until two the next morning. That’s when he was going to make his move. The old married couple was usually asleep by then. He already had a spot picked out in the fence he was going to cut a hole in. It was then simply a matter of sneaking up on them and slit their throats while they slept. It’d be easy.
Then, it was a matter of waiting. The blonde-headed dude had a habit of walking to the post and perky tits was always late, so he’d be alone for ten minutes or so. Snake knew he’d have to be quick with that one. He’d stab him in the heart as soon as he stepped foot in the shack.
After that, he’d wait on perky tits. He’d put his knife to her throat, maybe draw a little blood, and then take her right there in the shack. Right on top of her dead friends. If she was good enough, he’d take her back and maybe share her with the rest. Otherwise, he’d amuse himself with some knife work on those nice, perky tits.
He started a slow, backwards crawl. It was already hot and muggy, and the physical exertion soon had him sweating profusely. The sweat ran down his forehead and into his eyes. He tried blinking several times, but didn’t dare move a hand up to his face. Too risky. Instead, he closed his eyes and continued to slowly worm his body backwards. He’d wipe his face when he felt he was safe. The ground rubbed against his crotch, causing Snake to think about the whore in the guard shack. She was older than he preferred, but even so, he was going to have a lot of fun with her.
He paused for a minute to catch his breath before resuming slithering backwards, like a snake. His real name was Steven, but he’d gotten the nickname in juvenile lockup back when he was sixteen. One of the other juvies had rigged up a makeshift tattoo apparatus and drew a crude cobra on his forearm. It was really shitty work. Nevertheless, he embraced it and conformed himself to the persona of a cold-blooded snake, even more so after he’d hooked up with Lonnie and the Blackjacks.
Snake paused again and lay there remembering the day Lonnie had found him. He’d fallen asleep after spending a day raping and cutting on a young girl he’d found in an abandoned house. He awoke to find the huge man standing over him. His first thought was Lonnie was the girl’s father or something.
“Did you do this all by yourself?” Lonnie asked him while pointing at the girl. Snake was petrified with fright and couldn’t speak. He was naked and covered in the girl’s blood. What was he going to say, he found her like that? So, he slowly nodded, convinced he was signing his death warrant.
To his surprise, the big man responded with a broad grin.
“I can use a man like you,” he said to Snake.
The grinding of his crotch against the ground brought him back to the present. It felt good. The sensation enhanced his fantasy of the whore and what he was going to do to her. When he’d crawled back far enough, he opened his eyes and blinked several times until he could focus. He’d travelled fifty yards, well out of sight of the guard shack. He rubbed his eyes and started to stand when a voice startled him.
“Howdy,” a man said quietly.
Judging by the direction and volume, he estimated the man was maybe five feet behind him. Snake had two weapons on him. His trusty knife, and a Remington model 700, chambered in seven millimeter Remington Mag. Snake had taken if off of a Pilgrim he’d sliced up a couple of months ago. He’d used the knife he had on him now. He loved the knife. It was custom-made and razor sharp.
Snake carefully moved the rifle away to the side. “Alright, be cool, man,” he said as he casually reached under the burlap sacks to his knife. As Snake started to turn, the man jumped on his back. Snake struggled, but when he felt a sharp, stinging sensation to the side of his neck, his struggle turned to panic. The blade sunk in, and he could actually feel it being twisted around. Oddly, except for the initial stab, he felt no pain.
“You have about five seconds to ask Jesus for forgiveness,” the man said in the same quiet tone.
“Jesus?” Snake tried to ask, but his voice wouldn’t work. The man didn’t answer. Everything was going dark and he was struggling to catch his breath. There was only one emotion going through Snake’s mind as his consciousness faded – fear.
The man used Snake’s pants to wipe the blood
off of his knife, then stepped back and wiped the sweat off of his brow. As Snake lie bleeding out, the man picked up the rifle and inspected it. It was a Remington, a fine rifle, and it had a good scope mounted on it.
He then stripped Snake of his Ghillie suit and clothing, and carefully went through his pockets. In addition to the knife, he had a Bic lighter, and a key fob for a Toyota. Snake’s shirt pocket held the most interesting item: a folded-up piece of paper. Fred unfolded it and looked it over thoughtfully before folding it back and placing it in his own shirt pocket.
The man gave Snake one final look, picked up the items, and began walking back to where he’d picketed his horse.
Chapter 23 – An Irritating Pretense
Melvin tentatively waved. The person stood within the shadow of the open back door, not moving.
“Is that a man or a woman?” Savannah whispered.
Melvin wasn’t sure. The person was wearing a heavily soiled robe of indeterminate color. Not a bathrobe, more like a robe you’d see someone wearing in a Shakespearean play. Long greasy gray hair flowed over the collar, causing more staining. The person’s face was heavily wrinkled, further impairing Melvin’s judgement of gender.
They didn’t return Melvin’s wave.
“Hello,” Melvin said pleasantly. “I’m Melvin and this here is…” he started to say Savannah, but if this was a friend of Lonnie’s, he’d eventually be told of this encounter.
“This is my little sister, Melvina.”
Savannah glanced at him. “Melvina?” she whispered. “That’s a stupid name.”
“Work with me here,” Melvin whispered back.
“You are intruders, an irritating pretense,” the person declared in a flat, emotionless voice.
Melvin frowned and held up his right index finger, casually keeping his left hand near his Glock.
“Now, that there statement sounds real familiar.” He continued frowning and then suddenly snapped his fingers. “Heart of Darkness by Arthur Clark. Am I right? No, wait, wait. Joseph Conrad wrote that one, right?”