Only the Dead Live Forever

by W. J. Lundy

  “Damn kid didn’t even take the time to make his bed!” Brad laughed, pointing.

  “Yeah, but he’s got the right idea,” Brooks said as he pulled the bedding from his bag and stretched it across the mattress.

  “Where do you think Captain Bradley and the air crew are at?” Brad asked Brooks.

  “Don’t know, man, I’m thinking maybe they made it to the island? Or possibly they landed on one of the boats. Your guess is as good as mine. I’m sure Chief will find out.”

  “Yeah, hopefully we find out a lot more tomorrow. I think it’s strange, you know, finding a fleet just parked here in the middle of nowhere. Shit, you would think they would be hauling ass home.”

  “Yeah maybe. But I’m glad they were here. You mind hitting the lights. I’m ready to check out for a while.”

  Brad nodded and finished making his bed before walking across the room and shutting off the lights. He made his way back to his rack and lay awake, staring at the bunk above him. He could already hear Brooks snoring and Nelson was tossing about but still sleeping heavily.

  They were safe, he should be able to rest now, but something still didn’t feel right. Brad tried to clear his thoughts and make his mind blank so he could sleep, but his mind continued to wander. He thought of the men he’d left behind in the compound. He wondered if Hassan was okay back in the village where they had last seen him. Too many things. He closed his eyes and tried again to clear his thoughts.

  There was a clicking at the door as someone used a key on the other side to unlock it. The door lock mechanism clanked and the handle turned. The door squeaked open and someone flipped on the lights. Brad lifted his head from under a heavy green blanket. He saw one of the young escorts had replaced the trays on the table with new trays filled with eggs, while another man placed a fresh pitcher of water on the table.

  Brad rolled over and pulled the blanket over his head. He heard a third man enter the room and water was poured into a drinking glass. The third man dismissed the two guards and asked them to close the door. Brad heard the door close, but he could still hear movement in the room.

  Brad rolled over in his rack and saw a man sitting at the table. He was wearing a blue button-down shirt and black rimmed glasses. He was skinny with a pointy head. The man looked up at Brad.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Umm, is it morning already?” Brad said, slowly easing himself out of the rack.

  “Well … actually early afternoon. Almost eleven a.m.,” the man said. “I trust you all slept well. No problems?”

  “No, we’re fine … Who are you?” Brad asked, forcing himself into a sitting position. Brad stood and walked to the latrine. He relieved himself as he waited for the man to answer.

  “My name is Mr. John Smith,” the man answered.

  Brooks lifted himself from the mattress and sat up stretching; he let a big yawn then smiled. “Mr. Smith, aye? Not really original is it?” Brooks said with a grin.

  “Well anyhow, since I’m not going to get your name; why are you here, Mr. Smith?” Brad said as he walked back to the table and sat down.

  Mr. Smith said he was their debrief officer. Brad listened to him explain things as he slid a tray across the table and took in a heaping fork full of eggs. “Damn man, powdered eggs. Not cool,” Brad scowled. “Hey, do you know where Captain Bradley and the rest of our people are at?” Brad asked.

  “They are fine, Sergeant; they landed on the island,” Mr. Smith answered.

  “The island? Then why didn’t we go there?” Brad asked.

  “Just a matter of convenience. We would have directed them here as well, but they made it to the island before we could intercept them.”

  “Intercept, aye … Doesn’t sound too friendly,” Brad said, grinning.

  “Sorry, the island has been designated a safe zone. Under normal conditions, no one is allowed entry until quarantined and debriefed. The admiral spent a lot of resources clearing the island. We would like to keep it that way,” Mr. Smith explained.

  “That’s why you brought us here then?” Brooks asked.

  “That’s correct; your Captain Bradley was flying low and fast over the water. We didn’t pick him up until he was already on approach. And by that time he refused to change heading and landed on the island. No harm though, they’re going through a similar process at the airbase.”

  Nelson woke and jumped from his rack. “Hey, you guys didn’t tell me chow was here. Who is this?” he asked, pointing at the skinny man.

  “He is the man whose name we dare not speak,” Brooks blurted out laughing.

  Nelson laughed along, “Oh cool, well nice to meet ya then.” Nelson took a tray and began eating.

  “Anyhow, each of you will be debriefed by a member of our team. Nothing to be concerned with; just basic information. Where your unit was located. What you remember about the fall. If you know the names and locations of any other survivors,” Mr. Smith said.

  Nelson started to ramble, as he took a bite of rehydrated sausage. Mr. Smith quickly cut him off and said they would be debriefed individually; this now was just an introduction. Mr. Smith stood from the table and stepped toward the door. “Finish your breakfast. Your presence will be requested shortly,” Mr. Smith said as he knocked on the door and was let out by the guards.

  “And the fun begins,” Brooks said as he grabbed the glass of water and drank it down. “Don’t worry about that guy, he’s either a shrink or a spook, nothing to worry about. Just be honest with him and ask a shit ton of questions.”

  There was a quick knock at the door. The female sailor that had issued them the bedding a day earlier entered with three partially-filled sea bags. She sat them on the table and handed each of the men a form that she required they sign. She said very little, and once she received the signatures she left the room.

  “Chatty gal, that one,” Nelson joked.

  The uniforms they were given were Navy issue, but not the blue type. They were of a tan desert pattern. Brad didn’t really care what they looked like as long as the boots fit, and was happy to find that they did. He removed his Ziploc bag and placed the personal items back in his pockets, then he attached the Velcro unit patch and the flag on his sleeve.

  Brad stood to look in the mirror. He laughed. “Damn, I look like shit. Must have lost about twenty pounds.”

  “We all have buddy, we all have,” Brooks answered.

  The door opened again and one of the escorts walked in the room.

  “Sergeant Thompson, Mister Smith is ready for you,” the guard said.

  “Well shucks, don’t want to leave him waiting,” Brad said as he moved towards the door.

  25.

  Brad was led through the passageway, down stairs, and around corners. He felt like he had been brought lower in the ship, but it was hard for him to tell. Eventually they stopped at a stateroom door. The room appeared to be a dorm room of sorts, and the guard pounded on the door before opening it. Mr. Smith was sitting at a desk; Brad was directed to a chair next to the bunk.

  The man quickly asked Brad a list of generic questions: Name, social, home of record. The questions went on and on. He asked where Brad had been stationed during the fall; the names of as many people as he could remember from his unit; the disposition of this unit. The man asked Brad to tell his story in detail. During parts of the story, he would stop Brad to ask questions. He wrote everything down in a spiral note book.

  When Mr. Smith finished, he sat the notebook on a desk and offered Brad a cup of coffee. While Brad sipped at the coffee, Mr. Smith went through the notes, flipping the pages of his notebook while making marks on the paper. After an uncomfortable silence, the questions began again. Often the information was a repeat of earlier answers, asking for more elaboration.

  The time spent in the room was exhausting. Finally the man offered Brad a refill of his cup and asked if he had any questions of his own.

  “Well sir, my mind feels like it is going to explode, but right of
f the bat, is there a plan to get the rest of my people home?”

  The man looked at Brad seriously before answering. “Sergeant, honestly, we have heard sporadic reports of survivors across the globe. Some we have even verified by satellite or drone. But as of today, recovery missions are very rare. Our resources are scarce, so no. I mean I cannot say for certain that it will not happen. But I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “There has got to be something we can do. All we need is an aircraft and we can get them all here.”

  “I’m sorry, Sergeant; it’s possible it could be done. All of these notes will be sent to the command; ultimately it would be their decision,” Mr. Smith answered.

  “I see. And when will we be rotated home?”

  “Home? You mean back to the United States? Boy, you really have been out of the loop.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean there is no home; the United States as you remembered it doesn’t exist.”

  “What about all of the people? We had heard less than a few weeks ago that there were groups of survivors, that a war was waging,” Brad said.

  “It’s complicated. Yeah, there are people there, but nothing is the way it was. Everything has broken down. Yeah, at first people went back there, but a lot of them didn’t stay. Some of our crew actually fled the States. Shit, nothing is the way it was.”

  “Well what are we doing here, why aren’t we floating off Virginia or something?”

  “You know what, I’m going to try and take the time to explain things to you. It is not my job, and you are not going to like it. I can guarantee you that.”

  “Whatever, Mr. Smith, just tell me what the hell we are doing here.”

  “I was stationed at the embassy in Iraq until this shit went down. We hid in the embassy bunker for two weeks before the Marines finally got me out … and yeah, that was back when we were still evacuating people. Trust me, Sergeant, the first time I heard it, it took me some getting used to,” Mr. Smith explained.

  “I have time; just tell me why we aren’t going home.”

  “You know this was a terror attack? Or at least we are almost certain it was. Earliest reports predicted it. The classified wires warned the embassies that it was coming.”

  Brad nodded. “We heard the same stories, about how it started, about where they came from. We call them primals, after the name of the virus, Primalis Rabia.”

  “The American Continent initially held. Our government thought they had it contained. Slowly though … borders fell. It was the worst along the southern borders. All of Central and South America poured north towards refuge, dragging the infected along with them.

  “Canada was no better; yeah, they fought off the infected better, especially the more isolated parts, but eventually their governments fell. The Canadian Army moved north and inland, bringing survivors with them; they let the big cities fall. The infected … or primal mobs moved south and flooded into New York and the Dakotas all along the land borders.”

  “It only took one or two primals to infect a city. Eventually states pulled away from the government defense plans. You can’t blame them. In the early days, the President was using all of the federal troops to defend the Capitol. Can you imagine? Millions of primals in an open city! He sacrificed hundreds of thousands of troops on an idea. It was like the fall of Berlin. Instead of using resources to evacuate and protect the people … he refused to give up the Capitol.”

  “Governors ordered their national guard troops home. States consolidated, reinforcing their own borders, using the geography to draw battle lines. Regions pooled their resources. Next the military bases began to disobey orders; instead of reinforcing the Capitol, they pledged allegiance to the state governments they were hosted in. Fort Knox was the first to switch sides. The Kentucky governor took up residence in the old gold vault. They barricaded it. Last word we had, the old home of the Armor was still holding their own.”

  “The planes full of troops from Afghanistan, Korea, Kuwait, Asia, and Europe would land at Fort Brag, or Benning. Once they got off the planes, they were quickly refitted and sent to the Capitol’s defense. It was a meat grinder. Like sending soldiers to their deaths at Stalingrad. Except in this battle, every casualty reinforced the enemy. Eventually this stopped. Our men found out what was going on around the country and they deserted, choosing to return to their home bases or their families.”

  “Eventually the joint chiefs abandoned the President. They took the remaining military with them and went their separate ways. The President is presumed dead now. Or at least we think he is; it’s hard to tell. There were reports he was locked away in a bunker, so he may be okay, but they lost contact with D.C. weeks ago; either way he is no longer relevant.”

  Brad rocked back in his chair. He couldn’t believe things could fall apart so quickly.

  “So then … who is in charge?” Brad gasped.

  “That’s the million dollar question. There are at least three, what we would call national entities: The Midwest Alliance, the Greater Colorado Nations, and the United States of Texas. Don’t get me wrong. These groups are not in competition, hell, they aren’t enemies at all. They were just forced by circumstance to pull in their borders and protect their populations.”

  “And what about the joint chiefs?” Brad asked.

  “Well, they are kind of a sub-contract house now. They still hold the banner for the United States government, but they are based out of bunkers in the Rockies. What’s left of the CDC and the CIA report to them, although they’re scattered. Most of the senators and members of Congress went with the joint chiefs. Still though, for the most part they are all that’s collectively left of a national effort to fight this thing. They call themselves the Coordinated National Response Team.”

  Brad smiled.

  “You’ve heard of it?”

  “I have,” Brad said. “Done some work for them, in fact. The Lieutenant Colonel James Cloud I told you about earlier; he said he was an officer with them.”

  “That name doesn’t sound familiar. But for right now, they’re all that is left of a federal government. They still hold most of the national assets. Aircraft, oil reserves, some of the governors will still take requests from them,” Smith said.

  “What about the fleet? I guess I still don’t understand. Why is the fleet out here and not at home?” Brad asked.

  “That’s a complicated question to answer. Some say they never received solid recall orders before the fall. Maybe the joint chiefs are holding us back for another time. I haven’t really been in the loop on why the fleet hasn’t sailed. For now, we’re building a base on the island. We send raiding and resupply teams inland to seek provisions and fuel tankers. I don’t know what the long term plans are. I’m not privileged to that information.”

  “You don’t know why we’re just sitting here, or you don’t want to say?” Brad asked, frustrated.

  “This may surprise you, Sergeant, but I am just a low level analyst sent in here to take your statement. Everything I told you, any sailor on board could have shared with you. I don’t know shit else. I was a glorified courier in Iraq; I’m nobody special,” Mr. Smith said, sitting back in his chair and holding up his hands.

  “I think I’d like to go back to my cell now,” Brad said.

  26.

  Brad was led back to his room and found the space empty. The other bunks had been stripped bare and the sea bags were gone. Brad’s rack was the way he had left it. The bed was still made and the green sea bag still sat next to it. He walked across the room and lay down on the mattress. “Where the hell did they go?” he said aloud.

  There was a knock at the door. The handle turned and the corpsman from the day before entered the room, holding a stack of paperwork. “Afternoon, Sergeant,” he said as he walked to the table and sat down.

  Brad rolled to a sitting position and looked at the corpsman. “Yeah, good afternoon, I guess.”

  “So how are you feeling today,” the corpsman ask
ed, giving Brad a serious look.

  “I’m okay, where is everyone? What’s going on … am I sick?”

  “No, you’re good, Sergeant. Just coming in to tell you that you have been cleared from quarantine. This is your ID badge,” he said, while passing Brad a small identification card and a stuffed envelope.

  “You will need to keep that badge clipped to your pocket. These are your movement papers, keep them handy,” he continued. “And make sure you stick close to your assigned area, if there is anywhere you need to go, your sponsor will take you there.”

  Brad looked down at the white badge with a bold red border in his hand. His name and rank were on the bottom in black letters. RESTRICTED was across the center and GUEST at the top. Under the badge was a yellow envelope labeled MOVEMENT PAPERS.

  “Movement papers?” Brad asked.

  “Yeah Sergeant. You’ve been cleared. Go ahead and gather up all of your belongings. I need you to clear out of my medical hold. You will be moving to the island soon.”

  “Soon?” Brad said as he started to pack his gear.

  “Depends really. There’s no schedule. You just be on your toes and ready to go. They will call for you when a seat is reserved. Should be within a couple days,” the corpsman said. “Someone will be along to take you down to the temporary berthing.”

  As the corpsman finished speaking, a new face entered the room, a jovial young man dressed in the blue navy camouflage. Smiling, he approached Brad and extended his hand. “Sergeant Thompson? I’m Winslow,” he said. “I’ll be taking you to your new berthing; can I help you with your gear?”

  Brad shook the man’s hand before turning to stuff his belongings into the sea bag. “I think I got everything … Where are we going?”

  “Just down the way, you’ll like it there. More people ya know,” Winslow said. “If you’re ready, come on and follow me.”