With the other two preoccupied, Natalie decided it was time to have a chat with BJ. She had a lot of questions for him, and it was unlikely she was going to find a better time to get answers. As she approached, she noticed he had once again taken to studying the blood that flecked the walls with renewed intensity.
“What's on your mind, slugger?” It was a weak attempt at humor, but it was all Natalie could muster. Plus, it didn't hurt that BJ looked like the kind of man who spent a lot of years being called “slugger.” Judging by the mild twitch of one eyebrow followed by the equally miniscule tweak at the corner of his mouth, BJ appreciated her attempt. Or so Natalie supposed; reading the man was nearly impossible.
“This was supposed to be a check-in station, manned by five or six soldiers. Just a few days ago, it was fine. These were good people.” Whatever brevity Natalie had brought to the conversation flickered and died as BJ spoke, his voice calm but his head bowed.
“That they died isn't the problem; everybody knows the risks of this work. No, the issue here...” His voice trailed off, and Natalie believed for a moment that his attention had wandered to darker things. She was surprised when instead, he turned to her and shrugged, as if awaiting her response.
...because he is. Duh. He wants me to tell him the problem. Okay. Natalie glanced around the room, hunting for an answer. The blood was everywhere, suggesting that whatever transpired here had been brutal. There were no remaining supplies, so it had been a raid.
No, could have been. Could have been a raid. Supplies being taken from a dead outpost after the fact is just as likely. There's something else he wants me to see. Natalie surveyed the room again, but there wasn't anything to find.
Gore all over the room, missing gear... nothing else. I'm not blind. Nothing else is out of the ordinary. She repeated the words to herself before pausing. Slowly, she glanced at the door, her brow wrinkling in thought. Out of the corner of her eye, BJ nodded in approval. Apparently she was on the right track.
The door is fine. The window is fine. Other than the blood, the walls are fine. How? Natalie knew the people stationed here weren't civilians. They would have known how to handle themselves in combat. Somehow, they'd been killed without any of their defenses being breached. A quick check of the floor, and Natalie's mystery deepened.
All the blockades are fine, and there isn't a single shell casing or bullet hole to be found. Military training, but nobody fired even once? She briefly considered that it may have been for the sake of maintaining silence, but it was hard to believe they wouldn't have resorted to gunplay in what was clearly a life-or-death scenario. Natalie turned to BJ, confusion plain on her face. He gave her a curt nod before speaking.
“Talk it through.” Another gravelly command, but one Natalie was willing to play along with.
“There wasn't any resistance here. Whatever happened came as a surprise, which definitely suggests it was humans who were responsible. And... it was probably an inside job.” Saying the words came almost as a realization, even to Natalie. Human attackers would have met opposition the same as if they'd been zombies, unless the outpost had no reason to believe they were enemies.
“Almost there. You're missing one thing.” BJ gave no further indication of what the final piece of the puzzle may be. Natalie tried to wrack her mind for anything else, but the clues remained the same. Either she hadn't noticed something in the room, or there was more information to be wrung from what she already knew.
Refusing to let BJ's expectations down, Natalie mulled over the scene one last time, keeping in mind everything she'd learned. The missing piece revealed itself almost immediately, but it did little to shed any light on the situation.
“The blood.” Natalie's tone was something close to awe, and BJ confirmed her suspicions with another slow nod as he turned back to his own investigation. She understood now what had him so preoccupied, and it was not a realization she appreciated.
All of the signs had pointed toward a stealthy takeover, but if that were true, why the mess? Natalie understood that killing was a dirty business, but the sheer level and arc of all the blood around them suggested an absolute massacre, not a tactical execution.
Natalie strode toward the sleeping bags, the only remaining evidence in the room that might lend her a clue as to what had happened here. There were eight bags in total, all spattered with red but seemingly undamaged from the outside. To her dismay, they proved to serve more questions than answers.
Tearing each open, Natalie found that six of the eight were filled with congealing blood, hinting that their owners had been killed while they slept. Another indicator that this should have been a clean job, and more confusion for Natalie.
BJ had settled in behind her, watching her work in silence as he absorbed the information in front of him. He was likely coming to the same conclusion as Natalie, though she hoped he would be able to find more to work with than she had.
None of this is right. BJ said this place would have had five or six soldiers. Even assuming there were six, not all of them would have been sleeping at the same time. Plus, why the extra two bags? Spares for guests? Never knew the military was that hospitable.
Every theory Natalie came up with had holes. Maybe the soldiers had been killed, neat and quick, then had their corpses torn apart by the horde sometime after. It was the best she could think of, but it still didn't fit the scene.
Natalie moved to rub her eyes in frustration, stopping short as she realized she had just been handling potentially infectious materials. There was no telling what was on her hands, but it wasn't worth the risk.
Flustered by the mystery and her own inability to even touch her face, she decided it might be best to settle in for the night and approach it again in the morning. Laying her kit down on one of the cleaner sections of the apartment floor, Natalie was nearly ready for sleep when she remembered she had one more question on her mind.
“BJ, back at the gas station... why did we stay?” Natalie believed it was a fair thing to ask, considering even she had known how much danger they were in while they were there. She was surprised when BJ fixed her with an appraising stare, wordlessly judging her for some unknown end. It made her uneasy, but a very large part of her hoped she had proven herself.
Natalie almost scoffed at her behavior as soon as she realized how badly she wanted to impress BJ. A deep pang of sarcasm hit her as she pondered starting a fan club, but it passed as she matched his evaluating look with one of her own.
Knowing everything he had done, the composure he had maintained and the level of stability he brought to the group, Natalie snickered. She could laugh at herself about wanting to be on his good side, but BJ was undeniably someone whose respect was worth having.
The two of them sat there in silence for what felt like several minutes, eyes locked in contemplation. Eventually, BJ let out a slow and heavy exhale, obviously having reached a conclusion but not appearing to be too pleased with it. Natalie had only a moment to wonder if his displeasure was her fault before he spoke.
“The first night after we found you, Marco told you about our plans for returning to base. We would walk, and if we were given clearance, we'd eventually be given use of a vehicle.” BJ's sonorous voice was marred by something else, a subtle vein of sadness or anger, dark and powerful. Immediately, Natalie knew where this conversation was going, and the revelation left a sour taste in her mouth.
“That gas station was our forward outpost, operated by another squad of soldiers. The room we wound up in was supposed to have a comm system and basic supplies, but as you saw, it had been picked clean.” BJ waved one hand at the room around them, his gaze roaming the empty ammunition boxes that cluttered the floor.
“See any similarities? Two posts, both empty with their occupants likely murdered, both looted. Coincidences are easy to believe in, but it's safer to be paranoid.” He paused again, this time returning his attention to Natalie. It was clear he was studying her once more, an indicator that he knew m
ore than she did about what was happening to the soldiers but hadn't made up his mind about whether or not he wanted to share that information.
As much as she had wanted this, to be in BJ's confidence, Natalie couldn't help but feel a small amount of regret. It was a simpler world without answers, and the age-old adage that ignorance was bliss echoed in her mind. It was a truth she couldn't argue against, and yet...
Somewhere, in a far off corner of her thoughts, she felt a courage she had never been acquainted with beginning to stir. It was a fledgling emotion, new and uncertain, but it was awake and very real. Every problem she had been faced with in the last two days had been terrifying, should have been overwhelming, but a deeply visceral part of her had welcomed the challenge. All that was left now was to decide if she wanted to keep feeding that part of herself.
Natalie felt as if she were at a crossroads. She could press BJ to continue, or she could say goodnight and let the others handle it. Memories of The Matrix brought a brief twitch to her lips. Did she go tumbling down the rabbit hole, or did she go to sleep and wake up believing whatever she wanted?
She already knew what she was going to pick, of course, but it felt unfair to dismiss all of her options without giving them at least some consideration. Natalie's sense of confidence was young, but someday it would be strong, if she wanted it to be. To her, there was only one way to make that happen.
“I'm in this now, BJ. Not just because the world went and burned itself down, either. I'm in it because I'm choosing to be.” As she spoke, BJ gave her the first full smile she had seen. It was brief, fading nearly before she knew it was there, but it happened. He belted another deep hah, satisfaction etched across his face.
“That's good. I like that. You made this your choice, not your circumstance. Smart.” BJ rumbled another chuckle, more of a hm-hm than any actual laughter. Natalie took it as a good sign. He seemed ready to discuss things further, which is why it came as a surprise to Natalie when he returned to his watch post by the door.
“Go to sleep for now. You'll take watch after I do. We'll talk more when we change guard.” BJ took a seat in front of the doorway, having commandeered a folding chair that seemed comically small against his broad body. His rifle was resting within arm’s reach on a nearby table, BJ having put it aside in favor of his axe.
Natalie wasn't much in the mood for sleep, but she knew her attitude would be different in the morning if she didn't force herself to rest now. Ignoring the thoughts and theories that were running rampant in her head was proving to be a greater challenge than she'd expected. After a few failed attempts to settle herself, Natalie was jolted upright by a scraping sound coming from near the entry.
Her heart calmed quickly as she realized it was only BJ, now holding a stone of some kind that he was methodically rubbing along the edge of his blade. Knowing that the source of the noise wasn't out to kill her, it began to coalesce into a rhythm that was almost soothing.
Lowering herself back into her makeshift bed, Natalie began to focus on the cadence of stone against metal. A vague thought wormed its way into her head, making her wonder if the sound of a sharpening weapon should be considered peaceful. The idea slipped away before it could be pondered further as Natalie eased into sleep, her urge to prepare for a hard day ahead trumping her philosophical curiosity.
“Four marks confirmed. Three male, one female, entering Outpost 12. All are armed well, though only the men appear to have advanced training. This is likely the same group that we tagged at Welsh's.” The flow of rancid yellow liquid faded to a trickle as the man finished logging his observation, a small recording device at his lips. Zipping his pants, he glanced back at the apartment building his quarry had entered.
He had been charged with tracking any movement in and out of this zone, and he was very good at his job. So far, it had been mostly uneventful. The slaughter of the soldiers hadn't been his idea, but he understood the need for it, and so he had complied without hesitation. If he were being honest with himself, the reasoning didn’t really matter; he had been able to enjoy himself with them, and that was enough.
These new people didn't strike him as being particularly special, but then, none of the survivors he had been tasked with seemed anything but ordinary. Not bothering to stifle his yawn, he turned to move back down the alleyway behind him.
Rounding the corner put him face-to-face with a particularly filthy zombie, its foul smell nearly choking the man in such close quarters. He wasted no time in slamming it aside, his arm immediately being coated in sick as it contacted the undead.
“Oh, for fuck's sake... goddamn mongrels are everywhere.” He growled in frustration even as the walker began to rise to its feet, its movements slow and confused. Above it, the man’s eyes flashed with growing rage.
He liked this jacket, and that thing got muck all over it. Clearly, the biter had no idea how challenging it was to find clean clothes in the apocalypse, and it didn't seem to care. That only served to infuriate him further.
A swift kick to the ribs, another, and another. Through it all, the creature did nothing, accepting its punishment without complaint and seemingly without understanding. Barely more than a mindless ragdoll, a revelation that only spurred his wrath further.
Eventually spent and feeling dissatisfied that his victim didn’t seem to be agonizing over its abuse, the peculiar watchman shook his head in annoyance. It was only after he realized that his attempt to educate the putrid beast had been for naught that he noticed he had managed to soil his good shoes in the process, as well.
The thought occurred to him that it might be satisfying to rip the offending creature to pieces, but he quickly noted that that would likely just cause him to become even more dirtied. The idea was briefly exciting, but faded quickly. He had business to attend to, and he was a professional. Fun would wait.
Accepting that this situation should be considered a loss and left alone, he satisfied his vexation with a handful of intense curses muttered under his breath before resuming his course through the alley.
Behind him, rising from the ground without any sign that it had just received a rather savage beating, the walker watched him leave with a look that could have passed for uncertainty. It made no move to pursue, and after a moment of inaction, it lumbered out of sight.
The man had witnessed all of this happen, despite never having turned his head. Scattered all around him were bits of garbage, nothing of any remote value and all meaningless to the wandering eye. To someone who understood their subtle implications, however, they served as a network of informative surfaces.
Shards of glass and aluminum wrappers were mirrors to inform him of his surroundings. Packing peanuts littered paths, squeaking the arrival of new footsteps or clinging to shoes and clothing to mark where travelers ventured. For all of the supposed chaos, it was in truth carefully orchestrated to give him as many new facts to work with as was possible.
Even his walk betrayed nothing of the reality around him. He made no attempts to avoid where he stepped, always appearing aimless and never hinting that anything he did was calculated. Once, a long time ago, he might have considered it all to be part of an act; an elaborate ruse to throw off anyone who might be hunting him.
Now, all of his training was second nature. He had been living this life of hunting and stalking for nearly a year, not even accounting for the time he had spent in silent practice. It had become so ingrained in him that it was no more unnatural than his own breathing, and in his mind, that made him powerful. Superior.
Ahead of him was the drop-off for his observations, an overturned trash can that was heavily dented and all but forgotten in another byway. The bottom had been ripped out, so a cursory glance would reveal that it was empty. No reason to spend time searching it, especially when death could come screaming out of the dark at any moment.
Reaching under the lip to place the recorder inside, he amused himself with thoughts of being intercepted. It would be interesting, at least, if someon
e did find this place. The observations weren’t encoded, so they would be obvious to anyone who found them. It would actually be a thrill to have another player in the game.
A smirk crawled out over his face as he considered what the future may hold in store, his thoughts content to wander now that his current duty was finished. He hoped he would be allowed to deal with the group of survivors he had reported. His playtime with the soldiers had ended too soon, and he longed for another chance to prove he was the apex predator.
Four marks confirmed, three male, one female. He tasted the words in his mind. The odds would be against him, but that just made victory all the more satisfying. He might even be given permission to have a little fun with them first. His handlers knew he needed a bit of venting now and then, and they hadn’t had an issue with granting him opportunities in the past.
Nearby, another walker hobbled between buildings. It started a lunge in his direction before suddenly losing interest, taking a moment to consider what was in front of it before limping along beyond him.
Unfortunately, it had caught his attention, and he had a grudge to settle with the undead. It looked to him like it had been a young girl, in her teens maybe, and his smirk split into a wide grin. Drawing a ragged knife from inside his sleeve, he traced its steps while offering a silent prayer of thanks.
He couldn’t have asked for a better present. The dead never responded the way he liked, but it would be enough for now. Letting his mind drift to more pleasant thoughts, a vivid image of the young woman he had spied earlier came into his mind. He was sure he’d be given new orders before long. Until then, this toy would have to sate him.
He hummed a gentle tune, once again drawing the attention of the zombie that had passed him by. Its face held no trace of fear or concern at his creeping approach, and with that disappointment he felt a small pang of sorrow.
The Phoenix Trilogy (Book 1): World On Fire Page 11