“Thank you,” I answered. The guard pointed to closed door, which was identified by an ornate wooden plaque. ‘Colonel Ryan H. Arnold’ it read in large print, and in smaller letters below it, ‘Commanding Officer’.
I knocked three times, polite, but firm. I felt the same nerves as when I was a young soldier before a promotion board, before I reminded myself that I wasn’t a soldier, and this wasn’t a promotion board. This was a strange man with a highly inflated sense of self-importance.
“Come!” called the Colonel from the other side, in his characteristic Texan drawl. I opened the door and stepped confidently inside before closing it behind me.
“Leave it open,” he directed; I pulled it, letting it swing fully open. The Colonel’s office was large, probably at one time the principal’s if not a decent-sized conference room, and was lavishly decorated and overly ornate. The Colonel himself sat in a large leather executive chair behind a massive dark hardwood desk and toyed idly with a magnetic executive desk sculpture. Against the far wall, heavy curtains hid what was probably a window. The office was filled with at-one-time expensive furniture and other superficial signs of success. The finery was contrasted by the bizarre collection of items that cluttered every surface and shelf, except for his desk. Each item, I realized, was some treasure from a world that no longer existed. The Colonel smiled, seeing my astonishment. “Have you ever seen anything like it?” He asked.
“What is ‘it’?” I replied.
“Far as I know, it’s the last collection of Americana that has someone alive to enjoy it. These,” he said, as he rose from his desk with constrained enthusiasm, as if he were trying it hide his excitement, “Are some of the things that I’ve liberated along the way; kept them safe from the ‘stalkers and out of the hands of looters.” He had an underdeveloped sense of irony.
He pulled a large frame from a shelf and held it triumphantly; it contained a gold record, the type given to recording stars, but I couldn’t make out the name. The Colonel explained, “When we gave up on LA, we pulled West to try and regroup; we didn’t know then that there really wasn’t anyone to regroup with. We got as far as Palm Springs before we decided to head up North towards Fort Irwin, see if there was anything up there. By that time, we were pulling what we needed from some of the empty houses; didn’t know the King had a home out there. Gold record, Elvis Presley; it’s a collector’s item,” he said. “A piece of history,” he added as an afterthought. “Have a seat.”
I sat in one of the simple wooden chairs in front of the desk as he settled into his own seat.
“Bradley, I’ll be candid. I’ve allowed you into my city, I’ve given you food and shelter, personally welcomed you, even let you eat at my table. I’ve extended every courtesy to you and your girl, why are you being so secretive? What are you hiding?”
I was off guard. “How do you mean?”
“I’ve told you my story, Bradley. I’ve told you what I’ve seen, and how I came to be here. But this here is our second conversation, and I don’t know anything about you. Why are you here?”
“We’re just trying to survive, like anybody else anymore.” I felt a small amount of unjustified guilt; I told him our story. I told him about the apocalypse, where we were and what we were doing. I told him about our rescue and the National Guard base that was overrun.
He interrupted there. “Where was that post?”
I thought for a moment. “Near San Luis, I think. Why?”
“I had a friend there. I figured it was something like that. Go on.”
I continued, painfully recounting Aimee and Jake’s deaths up through our rescue. “… And that’s how we got here,” I finished.
He thought for a moment. “Why did you let your wife take your son out of the house?”
The question stung. I swallowed hard. “You had any family? Any kids?”
“No.”
“You try and stop a woman who thinks she has a chance to save one of her children, when the other’s already going to die. You can’t- there’s something too strong there. She cleared the way so her daughter could live, at least.”
“I see. I’m sorry for your loss,” he said sincerely.
The silence felt awkward. “So…” I said, finally. “We appreciate your hospitality, but we’ll be moving on in a day or so, once we’re rested up.”
“Leave?” He asked; his surprise felt calculated. “Well, you’re certainly free to go, Bradley, although I don’t know why you’d want to. I mean, we don’t want someone here that doesn’t want to be, right?”
“I suppose so. Thanks,” I said.
“But the girl stays.”
It was an awkward moment while I searched his face for the joke; looking for him to laugh or smile. He didn’t. “No, she’s not,” I said, trying to bluff that I had some say in the matter, against his word and those that followed it. He wasn’t any more fooled than I was. I thought about my pistol, and wondered if I could make it past the guards once they heard the shots.
“I’m sorry, Bradley,” he said. “I didn’t mean to give you the impression that you had a choice in that. I’m gonna clarify for you, just this one time, and then we’ll move on.” He rose from his seat and crossed to his collection of ‘liberated’ spoils; I stayed seated, unsure of what to do next as he idly rolled in his hand what appeared to be a Star Wars movie prop.
He continued, “We’re an insurgency, do you realize that? We’re not in charge any more. You know who’s in the State Capitol right now? Just a bunch of Brainstalkers wandering the halls; that makes them the government, makes us the armed resistance, right? Way I heard it last, the whole Country was the same way, with the rest of the world not too far behind. So, you and I, we have a similar problem, don’t we?”
I didn’t answer.
“Because I’m leading an insurgency, I need men and supplies, and since you plan on leavin’, you’re not really doing me too good on neither; fact is, you’ve only taken up some of my food and ain’t done me too much good so far. Like I said, I don’t want to keep you here if you don’t wanna stay. But see, Bradley, I got to think about the long term. And in the long term, numbers are going to make the difference. You know what’s different between how we fight and the way they do? Every time we lose someone, they tend to get stronger; it’s a matter of numbers, and they’re in the Brainstalker’s favor right now. We need to swell our numbers as quick as possible; the girl stays.”
I realized what he was saying. “Are you saying you’re going to breed my daughter?” He didn’t answer. “Answer me!” I shouted, springing to my feet and putting both hands on the desk. The wooden chair fell backwards with a crash; I turned to the door as the guard burst in, weapon ready. No one spoke.
Finally, the Colonel broke the silence. “Bradley, why don’t you have a seat?” He motioned to the guard who lowered his weapon and righted the chair. Reluctantly, I lowered myself into the seat. He said to the guard, “That’s all, soldier. Close the door.”
“Yes, Sir,” the man replied as he closed the door behind him. When I looked back to the Colonel, he was resting his hand his desk, and in it, a large military-issue pistol.
“You’re wearing on my hospitality, Bradley. You’d best check yourself, you don’t have a lot of options, and none of the ones you have are especially good.”
“What are you planning for my daughter? She’s eight years old, she’s a child, are you some kind of pervert or something?”
“Yes, she’ll be breeding stock, eventually, but not until she’s grown. We’ve kept us some laws, and that’s one of them. No, she’s got ten years; she’ll learn an occupation, she’ll have a place in society, but most important, she’ll be safe here. Don’t you want that for her, Bradley? Would you keep that from her?”
“She’s safe with me,” I answered.
“You think she’s safe out there? Seems to me that you two were living life on nothin’ but a lick and a promise- and not even that when my guys found you. We’ve everything w
e need in here.”
“You’re not safe in here,” I rejoined. “You may be for the moment, but like you said, they’re just growing stronger while you’re holed up in this High School. Give it time, ‘till one of the hordes happens to make it this way, your ‘city’ will be nothing more than a snack stop on their way. No one here’s going to be safe for long. How many tens of thousands of those things do you think you could hold off, once they know you’re here?”
That appeared to get his pride up. He scowled and leaned in close, “How’d it work for you, with Aimee and Jake?” He sat back, satisfied with his shot.
“Fuck you,” I replied; it wasn’t my finest argument, but the sentiment was there. He waited patiently for me to speak again. “Look,” I said, “you have a lot of people here, and I’m sure you want to take care of them. Me and Madi are going north; come with us. We’d be a lot safer in a group, and we could rebuild above the snowline.”
“You’re mistaken, Madi’s staying here with us; we’ll rebuild here. There’s no such thing as heroes any more, Bradley. Only survivors.”
“Maybe that’s true here,” I said. “Some places still have heroes.”
He smiled. “I think I can help you understand.” The door opened as if on cue and the guard entered. I suspected that he had been listening the whole time. “We’re ready now.”
“Yes, Sir,” the soldier replied.
“I want to show you something, come with me. And Bradley?”
“What?”
“Give your weapon to the guard.” I stood as the guard closed in to me, one hand leveling his rifle to my chest, the other, palm up and extended. Reluctantly, I pulled the pistol from my holster and handed it to the guard. He slipped it into his pocket and circled behind me, patting my clothes.
“This way,” The Colonel said, once he was satisfied, and left the room. Not knowing what else to do, I followed.
Eventually, we reached the science building, and took the same path into the sub-floors, stopping in front of a room labeled ‘Storage’. “You’ll enjoy this,” The Colonel said as the guard unlocked and pulled open the door. The room was empty, and the walls were lined with sound canceling egg crate. A plastic folding table was to the right, near the door, and held a single revolver and three pairs of shooting earmuffs. At the far end, a creature stood, startling me when I saw it. It was nude and slightly overweight and its skin had the tell-tale shade of death. It began to moan hungrily and struggle against the chains that I now saw held it to the wall by the neck, arms and legs. A layer of sandbags was stacked behind the creature around the anchors.
“Now, Bradley, I want to show you the difference between them and us.” He walked to the table and put on the shooting earmuffs before picking up the pistol. The guard closed the door, then put on the second pair of muffs and handed me the last, which I slipped on before joining the Colonel closer to the brainstalker. The sound of the creature was dampened by the earmuffs, but still audible. The guard waited near the door, watching.
“We’re made of the same pieces, us and them. Muscle, skin and bone. The difference is that we slow down when we’re hungry, scared or hurt. They don’t.” He accented his point by pointing the pistol at the creature’s knee and squeezed the trigger. The knee exploded, spraying black blood and chunks of bone against the sandbag wall. I never had gotten used to the fact that they don’t scream, but up close, the lack of reaction was more unnerving. Instead, it just struggled to stand upright on its damaged leg, held only by the chains, and to push forward and reach us, his natural prey.
“You see that?” The Colonel asked, with perhaps too much excitement. “He’s not scared of me, even though I just blew his kneecap all to hell. He’s not slowed down by pain; the son-of-a-bitch can only think about taking a bite out of me.” He leaned close to the creature, “don’t you?” He teased. As if in answer, it began straining against the chains, snapping his jaws in anticipation. In one motion he raised the pistol and shot the creature directly in the left lung. More nauseating fluid painted the wall and a noxious smell began to fill the room; it smelled like old death.
“You see? I just took out one of its lungs. You think it cares? You hear it having any trouble breathing? No, it doesn’t, it doesn’t need the same things that we do. It’ll live just fine like this, until…” He pressed the pistol against the thing’s forehead and squeezed the trigger. The back of its head burst outward; its face fell flat and it fell limp against the chains, still and quiet. Its eyes were still open, but its jaws were still.
“That’s what it takes,” The Colonel said. “It’s easy to hit, but hard to kill. But you and me…” he raised the pistol, and I looked up from the still body just in time to see the grip coming towards my face. I tried to move, to block, anything, but it hit in an explosion of color. There wasn’t pain, not at first, but just a violent shock that seemed to pull the world around me, narrowing it to a murky tunnel; it was a moment before my legs gave way and I fell to the ground in a disoriented heap. After a few moments, the tunnel began to clear and I was acutely aware of my surroundings- the boot near my face, the still form chained to the wall, the feel of the hard floor; I remembered who I was and what had happened, but I was in too much pain to do too much about it.
I felt myself being pulled to my feet, by the guard, I realized, and was face to face with the colonel who continued as if he had never stopped. “…We’re weak, we’re easy to kill, we feel. That’s why they have the advantage. That’s why they’re winning, that’s why we need everyone fighting on the same team. If you’re not on the team, you’re out.”
The guard let me go, and I was relieved to find that I could stand on my own, despite a slight wobble.
“You’ll be leaving immediately, I’ve had your effects brought to the gate; wasn’t too much more than the clothes you were wearing and your satchel, seems to me. The guard will bring you to them,” The Colonel said.
“What about Madi?”
“She’s been told that you’re leaving.”
“It’s night, don’t send me out in the dark,” I begged, stalling for time.
“Conversation’s over,” he said. “You’ll get everything back that you came in with, except your pistol and the girl. “Soldier,” he motioned and the guard took me by the forearm.
“This way,” the man said simply. I walked with him out of the building and into the cool night air. Clouds had begun to gather, making the night even darker than usual. As the gate was opened, then closed again with me outside, I thought I had heard Madi calling after me, but I doubted it was; I’m sure the Colonel thought of that, too.
I left, walking what I thought was North in the pitch darkness. I wondered if Madi knew that I’d be back.
Chapter XIV: Exile
I could think of no better way to describe myself than as an exile from prison, ironic as it was. I couldn’t leave my daughter, but after long days and tense, sleepless nights, I began to doubt.
Was she better off in Washington City? Was it safe? Was I wrong about the danger?
But in the daylight hours, when my fears and doubts would leave me alone, I knew the answer. The massive hordes were already in the area, and they were only getting stronger. It would only be a matter of time before everyone in that ‘city’, the Colonel, Lisa, John, Jim, the young guards… everyone, died a terrifying, painful death. I couldn’t let Madi be there when it happened.
So I watched, and that sense of purpose helped the time pass and helped to keep the fear away. I ate what I found, which wasn’t much; the occasional wild berry when I was lucky and the insect when I wasn’t. I found a stream not too far from the city that didn’t taste great, but at least it didn’t kill me.
But, always, I watched the city from the distance, hoping to find that balance between close enough to see, but not close enough to be seen; each time, I worried about the glare from the binoculars that, thankfully, they had left in my satchel. I looked for any patterns; changing of guards, regular convoys, anything
that I could use.
It took a few days, but eventually something happened. It was early in the morning and I had barely woken up with the sunrise. I heard the roar of an engine tearing down the road, faster than usual; the driver leaned into the horn with three long blasts as they approached the gate, and the guards rushed to open it, then close it again as the vehicle passed without slowing. The driver slammed on the brakes and skidded to a halt before he and the front passenger scurried out. By then a crowd had begun to gather, but the driver gestured for them to stay back. He opened the rear door, and he and the passenger reached in hurriedly.
They pulled out a large man, it looked like Jim, but I couldn’t be sure; blood covered his face, and his clothes were torn showing the fresh pink wounds underneath. At first I thought that he was dead, but I could see that he was barely holding himself up, with the help of the two other men. With one arm on each shoulder, they half-dragged him towards the nurse’s station; a few of the crowd followed, while the rest unsentimentally began searching through whatever was loaded into the humvee. A brief fight broke out over some clothing, but it was quickly subdued.
The procession didn’t make it all the way to the station, dropping Jim, what I now realized was actually Jim, hard to the ground half-way across the cement walkway. He began to convulse wildly, coughing up frothy pink blood. One of the men yelled towards the offices and Lisa came running at full speed, carrying her black nurse’s kit.
In the few moments it took her to reach him, it was too late. The process was hard to watch; he shook violently, then began clawing, with his remaining strength, at his throat as though he couldn’t breathe; then he was still. Lisa kneeled at his side- I watched her work, but there was nothing that could be done, I could see that as well as she.
The rest was quick, clearly not the first time they’ve run this drill. Lisa stood, glanced at her watch, and spoke to the other nurse who had caught up to her, who then sketched the notes onto a small pad. They both followed as the two other men stepped forward and pulled Jim towards the fence by the legs, onto the grass and away from the concrete and the buildings. They laid him carefully, then one of the men stepped forward and kneeled next to the body; he pulled a pistol from his belt holster and pressed it carefully, even kindly, against Jim’s temple. Lisa watched clinically as the man squeezed the trigger, causing the skull to erupt in a fountain of blood and brain, some of it clinging to the fence like fresh paint.
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