by Paul Kirk
Marty sat slightly apart from the couple with an excellent view of the rear door. Conversely, Connor and Amanda kept an eye on the long hallway leading to the front door. Pleasantly tired, they knew discussions concerning nighttime guard duty rotation were necessary, but for now, each rested, stomachs full from grilled venison and canned corn. It was a good time for easy discussion.
Connor crawled on his hands and knees the few feet to the fire, added another small log collected earlier, and returned to Amanda’s side. He glanced at Marty. “Were you still active when it hit?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Still recon?”
“Technically, yes. I guess I’d still be officially active if there was an operating military. Whatever that’s worth. I was on leave in my home state of Washington, near Seattle when it hit. It kicked ass all along the west coast.”
“Yeah, it was bad everywhere from what I've seen. What was your rank?”
“Captain. What about you, Connor Mac?”
“Colonel.”
“No shit, sir? Lieutenant Colonel?”
“Nope. Full bird.”
“Wow, sir. I’ve never seen a full bird so young.”
“Thanks for the compliment, I guess. I’d like to know why you’re carrying an M40-A1 SWS? It’s a beautiful weapon and all, but it’s heavy and it has a limited usefulness in today’s close assaults. To further complicate matters, I figure ammo’s impossible to find for it.”
Marty reached over to caress the barrel of his weapon. “I guess you can blame the Corp for me keeping it. You'd probably understand that, Connor Mac. Like your M-4, this weapon is who I am.”
“I hear that.”
“Once the bird flu hit,” continued Marty, “I found out I was missing it, you know? I had to find one. Because, by then, I was in a seriously killing mood.”
“I see.”
“It was surprisingly easy enough to find one. I wasn’t too far from the Seattle Armory and when I arrived there, it was under siege by a half dozen men, trying to arm themselves for the end or the world. When they rushed the front door, I picked them off, one by one, from a hillside two hundred yards away with a scoped .22. After that, I simply walked down the hill and knocked on the door."
"No kidding?"
“There were three soldiers inside, young guys, two privates and a corporal. After I slid my military ID under the door, they let me in. They were scared shitless and had no direction. I told them to disable all the weapons bigger than a rifle, choose something for themselves, and leave. They didn’t realize that there would be more people coming to take the guns from the armory and that those desperate people would breach the door and eventually overtake them."
"I see."
“And I’m not short on ammo, sir—at least, not yet. I still have 173 heavy rounds packed and twenty more in the pockets of my jacket.”
“Wow! That much ammo’s gotta weigh a ton. Show me,” demanded Connor.
“Sure,” answered Marty. He pulled his pack onto his lap and carefully removed a thick black nylon bag. He unzipped the side of the bag and handed it to Connor using both hands. It was obvious that the weight of the bag was substantial.
Connor took the bag from Marty. “I’ll be damned,” he said after he had pulled a round from the bag and held it up to the firelight. “That’s fucking awesome, Marty.”
“Yes, sir, I know. And all of ‘em are matched loads made by Dale Perkins in Dallas. You ever hear of him?”
“No.”
“His name’s golden when it comes to long range ammo. Each armory keeps 500 rounds for their snipers.”
“Why you still have so many?”
“Not so many now. I had almost 300 rounds weighing me down when I left Seattle. There was nothing left there for me any more...you know, after the Sickness, um, …after the Sickness …ah, after it took… um…” Marty stared hard into the fire.
“Marty?” said Amanda, concerned at his sudden change. “Are you okay?”
Marty turned their way, dazed and bewildered. His mouth opened and closed before he was able to speak any further. He wet his lips and his shoulders dropped.
“I lost...my wife Sandy. And my little girl—my Sarah.” Marty was weeping softly now, the tracks of his tears glistening in the firelight. He dropped his face into his hands. Amanda and Connor stared.
“I’m so sorry, Marty,” said Amanda, reaching out and touching his shoulder.
“Yeah, man, I’m sorry to hear that, Marty,” added Connor. Caught off guard, his voice held the weight of experience in losing a loved one.
Marty gained some control of his emotions and gestured to Connor for the black bag. Grasping it hard, he replaced it inside his backpack before glancing at them both.
“It's done and gone, colonel. And not a fucking thing I can do about it.” The fire popped loudly as if it were an exclamation mark to Marty’s words.
“I know the pain, man,” said Connor. He leaned against Amanda and his eyes took on a faraway look. “I know the pain.”
Marty grabbed the brass fire poker and stirred the fire. He kept his back to them both, wiping his nose with his shirtsleeve, sniffling.
“I’m sorry, guys,” he said, clearing his throat. “I didn’t mean to start crying like a fuckin' baby.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Marty,” said Connor. Feeling the urgent squeeze on his shoulder, he turned to Amanda and she flicked her head toward Marty, her eyes suggested she should go to him, to comfort him. Connor nodded.
“I'm, uh, not used to talking about...about, um, Sarah. Sandy. Oh."
Distracted, Marty prodded a log in the fire and did not hear Amanda rise and approach him. He continued trying to apologize.
"I, ah, um, sorry. I still get...”
Without a word, Amanda slipped in front of Marty. Face to face, she wrapped her arms around him in a strong embrace; stiffening, Marty turned toward Connor, not yet moving. After a moment, he gently wrapped his arms around her shoulders, letting his face slip into her thick, black hair. A brief moan escaped, before he straightened, placing Amanda at arm’s length. Connor stood, taking the few steps toward them. Softly, he placed his hands on Marty’s shoulders.
“Marty, there’s nothing to be sorry about. You’re a part of our team now. Your pain is our pain. You understand?”
“Copy that,” said Marty. His voice was just above a whisper.
“Amanda and I decided we want you to join up with us and that means that, at times, our lives will be in your hands. At other times, your life will be in ours. We're a team and the only way this can work is if there's complete trust in one another. When there's pain, we'll share that pain and when there's happiness, we'll share that.”
“Yes, sir. Thanks, colonel. Thanks, Amanda.”
“Okay then.”
“That’s all?”
“Those are the only ground rules you need to know. We can deal with any other questions as they come along.”
“Uh, huh,”
“Does that explain the rules of this unit sufficiently for you, Marty?”
“Yeah, it does, sir.”
“Good. We take four-hour night shifts. You’re first up. Wake Snuff when you come in.”
“Quit callin’ me that.”
CHAPTER 2.18-Shopping at FedX
“Major, please instruct Captain Daubney to secure the perimeter a hundred yards north of the FedEx. Tell Shamus to prepare for an Option Four emergency liftoff. Primary mission objectives remain in force.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Hannah? Can I come out to the FedEx?” asked Nicole. She tucked CJ into the small makeshift safety seat anchored next to her on the helicopter bay floor. He had remained asleep throughout the entire trip which had left Nicole well rested herself. The helicopter door stood open and Nicole studied the strip mall parking lot. A few abandoned cars were surrounded by weeds and trash and, at the far end of the lot, there was a thirty-foot high 'burn pile' of human remains, remnants of t
his community’s attempt to ease the effects of the accumulating dead.
“No, Nicole, I don’t think that’s a good idea. You should remain in the ‘copter.”
“Can I ask why?”
“You and CJ are under protective guard. Too many unknowns out there.”
“Hannah, I can handle myself. You should know that by now.”
“Yes, I don’t doubt that, Nicole. I really don’t, but unfortunately the safety of you and CJ is our primary objective. I brought you along today because there are not many safer places than this helicopter. My job as president is to return you safely to Camp David where we can keep you from harm and evaluate the incredible potential that both you and CJ have to offer.”
“But, I’d like to help, Hannah.”
“You are helping. You’re allowing us to take you and CJ to Camp David for evaluation—that’s help enough. You wanna help more? Make sure you keep your head down and out of harm’s way. Our little reconnoiter of this target is not your concern.”
“But, Hannah—“
“It’s not Hannah right now. I’m speaking to you as the President of the United States.”
Nicole studied the president’s insistent and serious face. “Okay, I understand, Madam President.” She offered the colonel an impertinent salute. “Make sure you take good care of the major—I’ve grown quite fond of him.”
“Nicole, I ensure the safety of all my men,” said Colonel Starkes. She leaned out the helicopter door. “Major O’Malley?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Proceed. There’s plenty of daylight left, but we’re a bit exposed here. Be quick about it.”
“Understood, colonel. C’mon, guys. Let’s do some shopping at FedEx.”
CHAPTER 2.19-Was that you?
“Snuff, I found you and Mac by following the sounds of the gunfire at that subdivision. That was you guys, wasn’t it? What happened there? It sounded intense?”
They walked side-by-side due east, Marty scanning the horizon from north to east and Amanda scanning it from south to east. Connor was running overwatch somewhere behind them. It was early morning and they had decided that this arrangement would work well for the next few days as they got to know one another. Amanda found that she liked Marty’s easy style of walking, an almost effortless glide. She noticed too, his roving eyes and intense attentiveness to the forest sounds.
“C’mon,” he said, “I asked you a question.”
Amanda ignored him and increased her pace. After a few minutes, Amanda stopped and turned to Marty. “Only Mac can call me Snuff, alright? And I don’t even like it from him. You haven’t earned the right to call me that.” She continued her fast pace.
Marty hurried to catch up. “I hear ya, Amanda. I’m sorry, I forgot, okay? I understand and you’re right, but I just forgot. Besides, I like the name Amanda. It fits you. I promise to call you that from now on.”
“Right.”
“To be honest, it’s good to know that it bugs you. I guess I can’t promise not to forget again.”
Despite a budding anger, she grinned at his honesty. She slipped the Remington into a more comfortable travel position. “Be careful, Marty,” she warned. “I already have a nickname picked out for you.”
“You do?”
“Yep.”
“What is it?”
“I’m not telling.”
“Why not?”
"I’m waiting to see how you play.”
“What dya mean?”
“I play hard, Marty. Mac taught me that. And, I’m a very quick learner.”
“Yeah, I know. I wouldn’t expect anything less since you’re with him.”
“It was us at the suburb. That’s where I found this Beretta and Mac got his deck sweeper. We had to shoot our way out of that one.” She slid the Remington onto her shoulder and transferred the shotgun into her hands. The Berretta was a beautiful weapon, its deep-grained wood stock gleaming in the sunlight. She never tired of gazing at it.
“I was there, you know,” said Marty. “I showed up about an hour or so later and waded through the damage you guys did. Are you always that lucky?”
Amanda turned to him again. “Surf Boy, you’ll come to find that when you’re hanging with Connor Mac you don’t need much luck. You just gotta be ready to do what needs to be done.”
“Surf Boy? Really? How’d you know to call me that?”
“A lucky guess.”
SECTION 3: "Sex, Love, and Rock-n-Roll (Hall of Fame)"
CHAPTER 3.1-The Dangers of Cleveland
“Do we have any credible intelligence on Cleveland?” Colonel Starkes fed CJ from the small bottle of breast milk Nicole had provided. She lounged comfortably in the makeshift hammock stretched between the tails of two small Cessna.
“Give me a few minutes, ma’am and I’ll have your info.” Major O’Malley jogged to Captain Daubney who was talking with a corporal outside the tent pitched near the helicopter. They disappeared inside the tent and returned to the colonel in less than five minutes.
“Whatta you got?” she asked.
“Ma’am, Jimmy sent us what he had over the data link and I knew that Captain Daubney grew up in Cleveland so I thought he might be some help to us.”
“Sure, captain, thanks for joining us.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Jimmy told us there’s an official mayor in Cleveland—one elected each year since the Sickness,” said the major. “He’s voted in by the people and goes by the name of Phoenix Justice. That’s probably not his real name.”
“Please continue, major.”
“Yes, ma’am,” answered the major, either unwilling or unable to detect the sarcasm in the colonel’s question. “He’s formed quite a following, ma’am. He’s young—maybe thirty.”
“Phoenix Justice...why does that name ring a bell?”
“The majority of this report was obtained from the group he sent across the country as emissaries to see if the federal government remained intact. Colonel, there were seven men and seven women in that group.”
“Yes, that’s it! I remember. How could I have forgotten that power hungry bastard—even though I never met the man. His people came out to DC—what, was it that last July?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“As I recall, Phoenix was seeking an officially sanctioned Marshal Law declaration for Ohio. He wanted to expand his domain.”
“Yes, ma’am. He was petitioning to be appointed the Governor of Ohio, but only if a working Federal government was still in place.”
“I told the leader of that group—wasn’t his name Ken?—that if Phoenix wanted so bad to be Ohio Governor, he needed to talk with me directly.”
“Yes, ma’am. But we haven’t heard from him or his representatives since then. They haven’t set up the datalink we gave them last summer. Colonel, there's also the possibility that that group never made it back to Cleveland alive.”
“Okay, we’ll talk more about Phoenix later. I want to know more about the city. Give me some demographics. Do we have any info on their military strength?”
“We do. But, obviously its second hand data."
"Sure, I understand, continue."
"Population's a little more than 2,500. The emissaries reported that three quarters are male, but that may be an exaggeration.”
“Never show your hand before you have to, major?”
“Yes, ma’am. It may be an effort on Phoenix’s part to present Cleveland as more formidable than it is, or was last year. The primary seat of government is housed in the downtown Hilton on Crestwood Avenue. It’s likely a solid defensive structure and I’m sure it’s well guarded.
“The present population is considered self-sustainable, food-wise. One of the first things Phoenix put into place was an organized paramilitary police force under his control. He’s said to have started this immediately after the Sickness unfolded and had a man named Larry Reed, an ex-marine, run it. Apparently, Phoenix and Reed are pretty close. And the dos
sier info confirms Reed’s capabilities in this capacity. He was an MP for twenty years prior to the Sickness and, by all reports, a mostly likeable man. Jimmy’s research into Reed did confirm he was active when the bird flu hit. Also, Stevie suggests the Cleveland community should be considered moderate to well trained in self-defense. There are no children older than the onset of the Sickness.”
“No babies at all. We asked them that when they were in DC, right?”
“Yes, ma’am, and it seemed as though they were telling the truth.”
“Yes, it did, as far as I could tell,” agreed the colonel. “Give me more.”
“Yes, ma’am. Their weapons arsenal would likely include adequate access to rifles, shotguns, and sidearms with a significant amount of appropriate ammunition. This quasi-police unit was put in place early on, so it was obviously valued. And Ken, the emissary from last July, did launch into a story about losing ninety-one men two years ago during a large-scale raid attempt on their Cleveland stronghold. Apparently, a well-organized militant group from Erie, Pennsylvania initiated the raid. Ken was quite passionate about that, I remember."
"Is that where Phoenix took out Erie?"
"Yes, ma'am. He said that the Erie bunch had about 600 men attacking Cleveland from two fronts in a well-planned night raid. But all of the attackers were killed except for one. Phoenix had expected such a two pronged attack and had defenses in place. Later, the next day, he had the community drag the bodies out into the freshly tilled soil and burned the dead in rows. At the evening bonfire, he served fresh Walleye to all with fresh baked bread and told his people that the dead could help fertilize the crops that would feed their future.” Major O’Malley paused to let the colonel digest this information.