“I’m aware.” Hastings resented her intrusion, so he fixed her with a withering glare and held it until she looked away.
The two boys kept wiping down the counters as they looked from their mom to their dad.
“So what do you need me to do, sir?” Ballantine asked, stepping in between Hastings and his wife. His eyes were flat and expressionless.
“I want you to check on the rest of the guys and ensure we’re as fortified as we can be. Then grab a mattress or two and take them down to the cellar. I’ll head down and start clearing out a sleeping space. We’ll be running out of light soon, so we need to get on this stuff. Once we’re done with that, we’ll need to establish an OP on the roof and get down to some weapon maintenance.”
“Roger that.”
Hastings went to the cellar door, located across from the avocado-green refrigerator that had probably looked fantastic back in 1977. As he walked down the wooden slat steps that creaked and groaned beneath his weight, he switched on his flashlight. The cellar was dark but surprisingly dry. Old boxes were neatly stacked along one wall, opposite the small, ground-level window that allowed a tepid glow to sneak inside. The cement floor was somewhat uneven, with a series of humps that made walking only slightly difficult. Three metal storage racks stood against the right wall, filled with mason jars of home-canned goods. He took a brief inventory: peaches, apples, flour, beets, pears, tomatoes, green beans, and even smoked fish. There was enough food to support a single person for at least a month, a cornucopia of goods.
Upstairs, the soldiers had also found several hunting-style weapons, including a nice bolt-action Marlin .308 that could certainly drop more than a few deer. The farmhouse’s owners had planned ahead, and Hastings thought it was almost criminal that the man—or woman—hadn’t been allowed to reap the benefits of that preparation.
The cellar was fairly small, big enough for only a few people. Hastings envisioned Diana, Kenny, and Ballantine’s family down there. It would be tight, but they might be safer there than upstairs. That way, the soldiers could concentrate on defending the house without having to worry about a stray round taking out one of the civilians should the reekers manage to get inside. On the other hand, if things went really bad, the civilians would be trapped in the cellar, at least until the reekers managed to break down the door and get to them. It was a choice of two potential evils, but the long and short of it was, if Kenny started acting out, there was a better chance his cries would go unheard in the cellar.
Hastings was surprised to feel the sting of tears in his eyes. Images of his family popped into his mind, riding a tsunami of grief that crashed through him. He slapped a hand across his mouth to muffle a sudden sob. He couldn’t hold it back anymore, and he fell to his knees as he wept. The feeling of loss was overwhelming, and it took every ounce of emotional strength he had left not to scream in misery-fueled rage. His wife and son had died at Fort Drum, consumed by legions of the carnivorous dead, while he was trying to help keep New York City bottled up so the infection couldn’t spread into the countryside. He felt damned. He should have been with his family, fighting to keep them safe, instead of putting it on the line for the citizens of the Big Apple, who hadn’t even uttered a thank you for his efforts.
“Hey… Captain? You all right, man?”
Hastings wiped the tears from his eyes and got to his feet. Reader was standing on the lowest step, his M4 slung, one gloved hand on the wooden handrail. The soldier looked at him with concerned blue eyes, and Hastings felt an acute sense of embarrassment that one of the men had come across him while he was so weak.
“I’m good,” Hastings choked out past the lump in his throat. “What’s up?”
“Uh… Ballantine sent me to find you. We’re all secure up top, and he wanted to know how many mattresses you wanted to bring down here.” Reader hesitated then cleared his throat. “Listen, sir, we can have this discussion later.”
“No. I’m good, Reader. Tell Ballantine we’ll park all of the civilians down here for the night. That way, we’ll have the rest of the house clear in case things go tits up.”
Twilight was fast approaching, and they needed to make sure the house was completely blacked out. It would be best to get the civilians in place and set them up with a lantern or something, just so the kids wouldn’t have to spend the night in total darkness.
“Yes, sir. Sir, there’s still running water here. Looks like there’s a well on the property, and the pump still has power. No lights or anything, but the pump still works, so we can flush toilets and stuff like that. You want me to have everyone go before we move them down here?”
“Yeah, that’d be great,” Hastings said. “Hey, do the showers still work?”
“As far as I know. Water’s going to be cold as hell, though. No power for the water heater.”
“Don’t care about that,” Hastings said. “Might be good to wash up while we can. We don’t know when the next opportunity will present itself.”
“Roger that, sir.” Reader started back up the stairs. He stopped halfway up and said, “Hey, Captain. Take some time, man. I’ll go back to Ballantine, and we’ll start bringing down some mattresses in a bit.”
“I’m cool, Reader. But thanks,” Hastings added, wiping his eyes again. They were dry. Mostly.
“Okay, sir. See you upstairs, then.” Reader jogged up the rest of the way and disappeared from sight.
Hastings took another survey of the cellar then stuffed a box in front of the single window in a bid to black it out. It wasn’t much, but it should do the trick.
*
“The dude’s messed up,” Reader told Ballantine when he emerged from the cellar.
“Who’s that?”
“He was in the cellar, bawling like a little kid.”
Carl Ballantine turned toward Sergeant Reader and fixed him with a withering glare. “The man lost his entire family at Drum, Reader. For all we know, they could be reekers. You think that doesn’t give the captain some reason to grieve?”
Reader spread his hands. “Hey, Sergeant, I was just telling you what’s up. I get that the captain’s carrying a lot of weight right now. I’m just letting you know that he might be losing some of the edge, you know?”
“Thanks for the update,” Ballantine said.
“He also said he wanted the civilians downstairs,” Reader continued. “All of them. That way, we can make the rest of the house a free-fire zone in case the reekers get inside.”
“Leaving them trapped and unable to retreat,” Ballantine said. “Doesn’t sound like much of a plan.”
“Place is stocked, Sergeant. Canned goods, all sorts of stuff down there. Whoever lived in this place knew what he was doing, and he was prepared for a long-term event. You want my opinion, the civilians would be fine down there for more than just a couple of days if they get trapped.”
“Yeah? Good to know. All right, let’s get at least one mattress down there, for the lady and that autistic kid. We need to get him out of earshot, and from the looks of it, he’s not going anywhere without her.” Ballantine jerked his chin toward the couch, where Diana and Kenny sat.
Kenny was still looking at his flapping hands in the gloom and leaning against Diana. The Asian woman looked back at Ballantine with an inscrutable expression that did nothing to hide the fact that she probably hated all of them and wished they’d drop dead in the short order. Ballantine had seen it before, liberal civilians and their hatred of the military. It didn’t faze him in the slightest.
“Okay, which room do you want us to take the mattress from?” Reader asked. “Tharinger can help me. Hey, maybe we can leave Stilley down there, too. The guy talks like he’s in the middle of an artillery barrage.”
Ballantine smiled thinly. “Would love to, but no, we need him up here with the rest of us. We’ll want every gun available. So is the captain still operational?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
Ballantine nodded. “All right. Take Tharinger and drag a m
attress downstairs. Haven’t made up my mind about my family. I might want them up here where I can see them.”
“So you’re just doing this to shut up Kenny, right?” Diana asked from the couch.
Ballantine turned to her. “We’re doing this to keep everyone safe. The boy is a special-needs individual, and he can’t control himself. Outbursts in the middle of the night would be noticed. We need to tamp down on that as much as we can; otherwise, we’ll have every reeker in the state headed our way. We’ve only got so much ammo, and there’s not a lot of us, so we have to take every precaution we can. You get that, right?”
“If it’s not safe down there for your family, then why is it safe for us?”
“There’s plenty of food down there, ma’am,” Reader said. “I actually kinda think you’d be better off down there, just in case things blow up, you know? The reekers, they’d be going after the rest of us. They probably wouldn’t even know you were down there, and you could survive for more than a few weeks on the provisions I saw down there.”
Diana ignored him, keeping her eyes on Ballantine. “Are you going to leave us?”
Ballantine put his hands on his hips. “No, ma’am, we are not going to leave you. That’s not what we do.”
Kay stepped out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “What’s going on, Carl?”
“Nothing. We’re just having a discussion. We think it’s best for the lady and the boy to sleep in the cellar, where there’s a lesser chance of anything hearing him if he melts down.”
Kay nodded. “Sounds reasonable.”
“And if things go bad, we’ll be left down there,” Diana said. “Just me and Kenny. There’s no guarantee these guys won’t pull out if things get too hot, and we’ll be left behind.”
“Oh.” Kay looked back at Ballantine with that questioning expression she always put on when she thought someone had a great point that he didn’t agree with.
“No one’s leaving anyone behind,” Ballantine said, getting frustrated. He gestured at Reader. “Get that mattress down there. Just pick one. And some bedding, too.”
“Maybe we should all sleep down there,” Kay said.
Ballantine turned back to her. “Hey, hon? I’ll handle this, okay?”
Kay shook her head. “If it’s good enough for them, then it’s good enough for me and the boys, and you too, Carl. Right?”
“I have to stay up here, Kay. And I want you and the boys where I can keep my eyes on you.”
Diana snorted. “Nothing like a double standard, huh?”
“That’s enough,” Ballantine told her. “You don’t have to like it, but you and that boy are going downstairs. End of discussion.”
“We’ll all be going downstairs, Carl,” Kay said, jutting her chin. “Kenny needs care, and if there are more of us to tend to him, the easier things will be for him.”
“God damn it, Kay—”
“He’s autistic, Carl. He’s lost his parents, and he’s already been victimized. He doesn’t understand how things have changed, and he’s going to need more help to get through this. We still have to help him. Just because he’s not like us doesn’t mean we can just throw him away.”
Ballantine threw his hands in the air. “No one is throwing him away!”
Hastings stepped into the room. The captain had hollow eyes, but he hadn’t given up. Not yet. He looked at Ballantine directly. “All civilians will bunk in the cellar, Sergeant Ballantine. We need free run of the house, and your wife makes some excellent points regarding Kenny’s care. Questions?”
Plenty, Ballantine almost shot back, but he reined himself in. “No, sir. No questions.” But he knew the tone of his voice indicated that he wasn’t thrilled with the situation.
Hastings bore down on him them, getting right in his face, coming to a halt when there were only two or three inches separating them. “Sorry you find the orders inconvenient, Sergeant, but you’re going to follow them, or I’ll break my foot off in your ass. You read me on that?”
“Yes, sir,” Ballantine said.
Hastings turned to Reader. “Reader? You’re still here?”
“Gone, sir,” Reader said, and he spun on his heel and hurried away.
Hastings looked back at Ballantine with those empty eyes of his, and Ballantine held his gaze. The captain had changed in the last few days, ever since they had abandoned their positions outside of New York. Back then, he’d been frightened, just like the rest of them. But after finding what was left of Fort Drum and facing the fact that his family was history, the officer had changed into something else. Ballantine couldn’t put his finger on it, but the captain’s new demeanor was both creepy and a bit admirable. He was keeping his shit together, whereas Ballantine was unraveling a bit at the edges. Ballantine didn’t know whether he should be envious of Hastings’s transition or a little bit unnerved.
“We’ll pull a few mattresses downstairs for everyone, sir,” Ballantine said. “Where do you want the rest of us?”
“I want two troops keeping overwatch from upstairs. They need to stay out of sight as much as possible, but they also need to be able to keep an eye on the terrain. I know we’re going to get reekers passing by, but we should keep a count of how many and which direction they move in. We want to keep heading west, so hopefully they’re not all marching in that direction. No one should engage them unless they see us and make a move first. If that happens, we’ll bring up the civilians, blast a hole through them, and return to the vehicles.”
“Understood.” Ballantine wondered if Hastings was serious about that. In New York, they’d seen the reekers mass when they sensed prey was nearby, and the only thing that tipped the scales in the soldiers’ favor were the heavier weapons, the .50 cal and 40-millimeter grenade launcher. Those were mounted in the Humvee cupolas, and they were about twenty feet away from the back door. Ballantine could cover that distance in less than a second when he had full spring in his step, but twenty feet was enough room for twenty zombies. Shooting your way through twenty corpses that didn’t feel pain or fear wasn’t exactly easy, especially since the only way to take them out for certain was with a headshot. Scoring that repeatedly while running was a tall order. But at the end of the day, it was either that or lie down and die.
“I like Guerra and Tharinger for the overwatch duty,” Hastings said. “Give the grunt work to Hartman and Stilley, with Reader on standby. What do you think?”
“I agree, sir. Guerra and Tharinger have what it takes, and they’re cooler under pressure than Hartman. Reader’s a good alternate, but I don’t know anything about Stilley, other than the sound of his voice.”
“There’s a three-oh-eight upstairs. We might be able to use that for sniping,” Hastings said. “Have Guerra check it out. And Reader said we still have running water. We should shower and get clean while we have the chance.”
“Yes, sir.” Ballantine looked past Hastings’s shoulder at his wife. Kay looked back at him with tense eyes. She could feel something was off with Hastings as well. Ballantine brought his attention back to the captain. “How’re you holding up, sir?”
The question seemed to surprise Hastings. “What?”
“I asked, how are you holding up?”
Hastings didn’t respond for a moment. “Just peachy, Sergeant,” he finally said. “Clear on the orders?”
“Yes, sir.” Ballantine motioned to Diana and Kenny. The boy was playing with her hair, and she didn’t seem thrilled by it. She didn’t appear to be the most maternal lady on the planet, but for some reason, the young autistic boy had stuck to her. “Maybe they should shower first,” he said. “A shower would be good for the boy, if nothing else.”
“Agreed,” Hastings said.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather shower alone,” Diana said.
“Well, the boy’s going to need some help, won’t he?” Kay asked, stepping forward.
Ballantine sighed, though he didn’t know whether it was in relief or despair. Kay had
taken on a mission, and she was going to carry it out.
“I’m not his mother,” Diana said.
Kay looked down at her, her expression passive. “But he seems to have taken a shine to you.”
“Yeah, well, that’s maybe because he knew me from before,” Diana said. “When his parents were alive, he didn’t pay much attention to me—only his mother, and every now and then, his dad. But he’s definitely a momma’s boy.” With a sigh, Diana pulled Kenny’s hand out of her long, dark hair. “Would you please stop that?” she hissed.
Kenny looked at her for a moment, then smiled, and reached for her hair again.
Diana made a noise in her throat and pulled her head away from him. “Somebody get this kid off me!”
“Take it easy,” Hastings said.
“I’m not his mother!” Diana snapped. “I don’t want to be responsible for him, General. You take care of him!”
“Why don’t I take care of him?” Kay said and stepped forward. She reached toward Kenny with both hands, smiling. “Come on, Kenny. Let’s go upstairs, and—”
“NO NO NO NO NO!” the boy shouted, latching onto Diana and clinging to her with all his might. No matter how hard she struggled against him, Kenny held fast.
“Get him off me!” Diana said as Kenny began to cry.
Kay stopped where she was, a stricken expression on her face.
“All right, all right, let’s all keep our cool here,” Ballantine said, looking to Hastings.
“Yeah, let’s do that,” Hastings added. “Diana, sorry, but the kid’s latched onto you. Might be best for all of us if you were to step up and deal with it. We have to work together and keep him calm.”
“I’m not going to be his mother,” Diana said.
“We’ll all be his mother and father,” Hastings said. “You’re not in it alone. We’re all here; we all depend on each other. We’ll help you out and do most of the heavy lifting where the kid is concerned, but he’s developed an attachment for you, and that looks like it’s not going to change. You have to step up and do what’s necessary to keep him calm… and quiet.”
Reader and Tharinger appeared, dragging a mattress down the steps from the second floor. They looked at the crying boy.
These Dead Lands: Immolation Page 9