The Dark Days Series | Book 2 | Sanctuary

by Cole, Christopher

  I thought for a moment and then looked back at Nathan over my shoulder. For a few moments, I gazed at him as he ate lunch with his friends on the pickup bed while the soldier was still attending to the truck. He was laughing and smiling with his friends as they tossed blueberries into each other’s mouths.

  “Score!” the dark-haired girl said, as she got one in Nathan’s mouth.

  “Okay, my turn,” Nathan said, picking one up.

  He tossed one in the girl’s mouth and turned to the boy.

  “Alright Patch, this one’s going high up. You ready?” Nathan asked.

  “Go for it!” Patch replied.

  He tossed it way up and Patch aligned himself and caught it in his mouth, then raised his arms up in victory – they all laughed with such childlike joy.

  For the first time in many years, I felt something – it was small, but it definitely pushed the numbness away. This was the first I’d heard Amara’s voice that wasn’t in my dreams. So, what was I supposed to do? What did Amara want me to do? She said it wasn’t right. What wasn’t right? My judgment of the kid? Leaving him on his path? He made his choice, why should I care?

  As the thought sank in, I knew that it wasn’t right. Willingness to risk your life so that the people you care about will live is not wrong, but out here it can get you killed. I don’t know if this place will last or what the military has in mind for these children, but I know a large number of them won’t survive. What was I supposed to do about that?

  Chapter 7

  Grim

  I stayed up pretty late sitting in my big recliner chair sipping three-fingers of whiskey, while checking the time on my watch, rubbing the outside cover while listening to its music charm. I couldn’t stop thinking about today, about the kid. He’s strong, smart, noble, and brave enough to kill zombies at a young age – but I’ve seen this too many times before. He’s determined to keep his friends alive, eventually they’ll get him killed. It’s so much easier when you do it alone . . . relying on no one, trusting no one, and not looking after anyone. How well do I really know this kid? I know he doesn’t have any misplaced sympathy toward zombies, yet he naively cares deeply about his friends – but somehow, I felt there has to be more to him than just that. Tomorrow I’ll check his file and find out more. With that I knocked back the whiskey and headed for bed.

  The next morning, I went back to HQ to see the file of Nathan Way; it didn’t provide much information: His parents, Jonathan and Clara Way, were from Portland, Oregon where they had both their son Nathan, and daughter Ellen. When things got bad, they tried to survive mostly on their own or with other stragglers, but after some months passed, they decided to venture south looking for Fort Gold Rush and other survivors. Along the way, Nathan got separated from his family and came across another group from Fort Denver. Once both groups arrived here, Nathan was reunited with his family. Also, on arrival, someone from the Denver group gave birth to a baby girl. It was reported that Nathan was with the mother and suggested the child’s name, Hope. Interesting.

  Nathan walks with his friends to school every morning and generally walks with them to the Denver group’s apartment every evening – about a mile downhill from his house. Last Sunday he went with his friends to visit a priest named Father Lawrence at St. James Church . . . friend or religious interest? The apartment is the home of the Denver group – clearly remains very close to them.

  Later, I located an empty room on the fourth floor just below the Denver group’s apartment listening at an air vent to their conversations. By the sounds of it, he knows these people like family.

  After he does his schoolwork and is done hanging out with the Denver group, he heads back to his home with the Ways just after sunset. I remained in the shadows as I got close to the house to eavesdrop on conversations inside. I hopped the fence to sneak in through the back of the garage. I hid my boots behind a bush to prevent any tracks in the house. After a while, I heard the parents talking.

  “Nathan, everyone’s been talking about the military starting some Black Shadow program, is it true?” Clara asked.

  “Yeah, it is,” Nathan answered.

  “Why didn’t you or Ellen tell us?”

  “I don’t know, I was going to tell you but— “

  “We were chosen,” Ellen interrupted.

  “What?! What do you mean chosen?!” Clara exclaimed.

  “Eventually, they’re gonna train us to be soldiers to defend this place from zombies,” Nathan explained.

  “How can they do this?!”

  “Mom— “

  “There’s no way I’m letting that happen!”

  “Mom, if we don’t, they’ll kick us out of the fort.”

  “What?” Jonathan asked, surprised.

  “They say there aren’t enough volunteers so now they’re drafting us.”

  It sounded like Clara was starting to cry and wept, “No, no . . . they can’t do this.”

  I used a small mirror to peak around the corner, making sure it didn’t reflect light.

  “Mom,” Nathan reached out.

  “No! I won’t let this happen!” Clara stated.

  “So, what are you going to do?” Ellen asked.

  “We’re going to join all the other parents aiding the Counsel Committee in protesting against the Black Shadow program,” Jonathan answered.

  “But, Dad, what if they kick us out?”

  “Kick out hundreds of people? I doubt they’ll do that.”

  “But they own this place. They’ll make us leave if we don’t follow their rules.”

  “Fine! Then, we’ll leave if they make us!” Clara said.

  “No, Mom, don’t! You don’t want to go back out there!” Nathan almost shouted.

  “We won’t Nathan, trust me. We’re fighting this.”

  “Whatever happens, promise me you won’t do anything crazy,” Ellen said.

  “We promise,” Clara said, as she and Jonathan hugged their children.

  They stayed in a hug for a while and then went to bed, but I noticed that Ellen had a look she gave Nathan – it was a look mixed with sorrow and . . . something else as she slightly shook her head. There was arguing coming from the bedroom facing the backyard. I went up the back stairs that lead to the bedroom, and as I got close, I realized it was the father, Jonathan, and the daughter, Ellen, arguing.

  “Dad, please, I can’t do this!” Ellen pleaded.

  “Keep your voice down! And this isn’t about you, this is about your mother,” Jonathan said.

  “Dad . . . please make him leave. He likes it at his friend's place more anyway. Every time I hear someone call him Nathan; I keep thinking back . . . to when he died. I know you want to help Mom and so do I, but there’s got to be a better way than this.”

  I thought to myself confused, “When he died? What? Why does she want him to leave?”

  “Ellen, it’s hard on everyone . . . it’s hard on Sonny, too, but we asked for his help and he’s helping us. There is no other way; I would have taken any other option if there was one. People in shock are fragile, so healing is complicated,” Jonathan said.

  “Dad, the whole thing . . . Sonny pretending for Mom, it just feels so wrong. Even he knows it.”

  After a silence Jonathan spoke, “Look, Ellen, I know this is hard on you now, but eventually this will get easier. We’ll get through this, okay?”

  Ellen eventually muttered, “Yeah, okay.”

  I snuck out after that unexpected discovery. So, the kid’s real name is Sonny and he’s not related to this family at all – pretending to be Nathan for Clara who’s in shock over the loss of her real son. Makes sense. He came into the city with the people from Denver. I had just confirmed his weakness – this kid’s empathy gene was as long as my kill record. He has no problem with zombies, but he’s got a serious soft spot for dead weight – people. Adding him to the Black Shadow isn’t going to help him with that. Zombies aren’t that much of a danger, except when they’re in herds and large grou
ps, it’s the humans that you need to be afraid of – they’ll always be the real predators.

  I walked back home in the dark of the city thinking about Nathan, or Sonny, and what to do about him – not clear on why I give a fuck, but somehow . . . I do. Knowing the military, they’ll teach the kids basic survival lessons and close quarter combat skills. They need advanced survival skills as well as high combat training if they want our ‘future soldiers’ to protect this place. I’ll talk to General Shepard about training needs; I know Campbell is too pigheaded to listen, even to me.

  I slept hard that night with another dream of Amara – back when the world made sense, back when I made sense. I always feel like shit when I wake up, I just want to stay in the dream and not come back. No matter how badly you want that, sooner or later you have to wake up. Since Amara, I lost who I was and reality is the real nightmare. Don’t know how much more of this I need to stick around for. I have no problems with punching my own ticket, but after what I’ve done and what I’ve become, somehow, I don’t think I’ll be joining Amara. Someone else took our life, but losing the chance to spend forever with her – that was all me. One of the saddest discoveries in life, is learning forgiveness from others is meaningless when you can’t forgive yourself. Self-reflection and self-awareness become a personal hell when you’ve fucked up so bad you can never find your way back.

  The next morning, I went straight to General Shepard’s office, but before I even knocked, he opened it and came charging out.

  I stood up straight and saluted in the same casual way, “General Shepard.”

  Never seemed to be bothered by him like Campbell; he saluted back, “Captain Harvard.”

  I walked with him maintaining his brisk pace and started, “Sir, I have some suggestions about the Black Shadow program, specifically, training needs.”

  “Well you’re gonna have to hold on that, because the Council’s calling a meeting about the program. They don’t exactly approve and they’ve got a lot of momentum as well as parents supporting them.”

  Fucking politics. I thought that was over with – but I guess it’s necessary, so it’s not total anarchy in here. Still doesn’t mean we’re civilized.

  “And your strategy on that, sir?” I asked.

  General Shepard explained, “I’ll start with the convenience of truth and try to convince them that we need soldiers to keep this place safe. If that doesn’t do it, then I’ll probably have to remind them that in here the absence of a well-trained and ready defense force will mean the difference between survival and extinction. Failing that, I’ll remind them that ultimately their governance role is advisory, they must follow our rules or there are . . . consequences.”

  “Sir, if the program is a go, what are the anticipated methods of training the selected kids.”

  General Shepard stopped walking and asked, “Methods?”

  “How we are planning on training them sir – they aren’t exactly traditional boot camp age and temperament, and the enemy aren’t professional soldiers. Are we training as Marines? Army Rangers? Close quarter combat? How are we going about this?” I asked.

  “Why are you asking?”

  “Sir?”

  “Why are you suddenly so interested, Harvard? I had you sized up as a ‘couldn’t really give a shit one way or another’ type guy. Do you have concerns for the young recruits?”

  “Sir, if these kids will be going outside the fort to kill zombies and keep this place safe, there is a guarantee that they’ll also find something more lethal – human predators. Zombies are the least of our concerns – it’s other humans we should fear. So, I’m asking about our training regimen to assess how well prepared these kids are going to be for those challenges.”

  Then out of nowhere, General Campbell appeared. He was younger than both of us, somewhere in his mid-forties with brown hair and blue eyes. He had a ridiculously big mustache that made it almost impossible to see his mouth.

  “Challenges? They’re going out there to hunt and kill walking corpses that stink worse than a fresh pile of sheep shit. How hard can that be?” General Campbell asked.

  “Well sir, as I explained earlier, there will be bandits and humans who have lost all ties to civilized treatment of other humans – including young boys and girls,” I answered trying to be patient.

  “Well, that’s what we got the Pacific Army for.”

  “Wouldn’t it be more efficient if the Black Shadow was trained to handle humans as well as zombies?”

  “It’s called Black Shadow boy, because they handle zombies not humans!” General Campbell said with his thick Texas accent.

  Boy? I smiled slowly, the kind of smile that said, ‘If I wasn’t in this shithole, I’d end you for that.’ I don’t know if this prick with ears had killed too many brain cells with the rotgut bourbon he drank, or if he was simply this stupid from the birth. In any event, it was always like we were speaking different languages.

  “Well General, these kids will be our future soldiers, so isn’t it wise to train them to fight against any threat? Human and zombie alike?” I asked.

  “Wise? I don’t like your tone Captain!” General Campbell hissed.

  “Enough!” General Shepard raised his voice.

  He turned to me and asked, “You want to oversee Black Shadow training, Captain Harvard?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well then, Captain, after this meeting we can talk about making you a company leader.”

  General Campbell scoffed, “Fine, fine, I don’t give a good goddamn. If you want to train them ‘against any threat,’ then by all means. However, I don’t think you’ll meet any such danger, Harvard – we already have boogeymen by the thousands, they’re called zombies. Waste of time in my opinion,” he said, before walking away.

  I thought, “And I don’t give a flying fuck about your opinion, ‘sir.’”

  He walked away and General Shepard grunted, “Some days I get real fucking tired of shit-kickers like him.”

  “Yes sir,” I agreed.

  I don’t know what it is about stupidity, but it works more effectively than a virus and for some reason very few people grow out of it. Why is it that dumb assholes are ubiquitous and people with all the light switches on are so hard to find?

  “Okay, I agree with you Harvard. These kids will encounter everything, they need to know the different kinds of danger waiting for them, so I’ll be counting on you to develop the training regimen,” General Shepard stated.

  “Yes, General,” I said.

  Thank God he agrees with me – if he didn’t, then this place is truly doomed. As I walked away with my new orders, General Shepard called to me and I stopped to face him.

  “Captain, we’re training soldiers, not vigilantes. I don’t want to hear about you bringing up your sense of ‘justice.’ We clear on that?”

  I look at General Shepard squarely in the eye and stated, “General, that war is over.”

  After a long pause General Shepard said, “Good, because some of us are afraid of you – and I suspect it’s for good reason.”

  “You needn’t be nervous, sir. You’re neither evil nor stupid.”

  ****

  A lot of parents were outside our parliament building as the meeting with the military and the Council Committee was taking place. Since a lot of soldiers were needed to prevent things from getting out of control, there were fewer soldiers patrolling the streets. Thankfully, there wasn’t much happening, but the soldiers handled whatever problems were happening. As I was patrolling, I saw Nathan again at his delivery job, but he was driving into a generally bad area. I don’t know why but I decided to follow. Like every city, especially big ones, there are good areas and bad areas. With the apocalypse, however, that made the bad areas worse and the good areas harder to hang on to. Somehow, with the government gone, the human cockroaches emerged from their hiding places, generally bolder than before.

  The area was strewn with old junked cars in front yards, on sides of
roads, or even half on sidewalks and streets. The houses and buildings were old, decaying, and were covered with graffiti. By the looks of these people, they were probably junkies, drug dealers, thieves, and possibly murderers. Unlike pre-outbreak America, in the fort, if you were willing to work, everyone can get out of this shithole. So, everyone who remains here has decided they aren’t interested in anything that requires daily work – taking it from someone else is apparently so much more satisfying.

  The roads they were taking were long stretches, so I had to hang back pretty far to not be seen. Most people walking in the streets quickly hid when they saw my vehicle. Those that stayed in the streets ducked their heads when I gave them hard looks.

  When they reached their destination, it was a small house near what used to be a gas station and repair garage. I parked around the corner to stay out of site while keeping my eyes open for anyone trying to make a move for the last box of supplies. I stepped out of my car. Thankfully, the soldier with the kids knew how dangerous this place is, too. As the boy and the girl went to bring the supplies to the address, I saw Nathan walking toward the abandoned gas station. What the hell is he doing? He walked in the outside restroom. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  However, while he was doing his business, two guys crossed the street toward the gas station. One of them had a dirty grey hoodie and the other was wearing an unbuttoned plaid shirt over his undershirt.

  “Hey, back up! Now!” the soldier barked at some punks walking up to the truck.

  “What? We’re just walking,” the guy said.

  “Well, walk somewhere else.”

  “What if we don’t want to walk somewhere? What if we like it here— “

  The soldier got out his Mossberg 590 Mariner and pumped it, “Start walking, now!”

  That got their attention as they raised their hands saying, “Whoa, easy man, easy.”

  “Piss off, now!”

  “Alright, we’re going. We’re going,” one of them said, as they slowly walked away.

  That almost distracted me, because when I turned, I saw the two guys were taking Nathan down an alleyway. They had a hand over his mouth so he couldn’t call for help. I instantly headed toward the corner after them – leaving behind my Colt M4A1 Carbine and Benelli M4 Super 90 in the car. I won’t need them.