He enjoyed walking up and down the line, saying hello to the young ones, stopping to converse. Sometimes, he just listened. There were many who’d seen and experienced horrible things. Chuck’s gift for empathy made them feel that they were part of this new community.
They were a sea of colors and religious persuasions—men, women, and children bonded forever by their shared experience. But that didn’t mean they didn’t need leaders. A mere thirty minutes before, Dottie had approached him.
“They’ve voted you in,” she said. “What do you think of that?”
“Voted me in? Into what?”
“Into what? Into the Baseball Hall of Fame. What do you think?”
“Wait,” he said, shaking his head, “you mean they want me on the board?”
“It was unanimous. You were nominated, seconded, then voted in without deliberation.”
He stared into her glowing eyes for a moment. “This is crazy.”
“Yes, Chuck,” she said, “the world is crazy.”
“I mean I can’t handle the—”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“I know what you’re going to say,” she said. “You’re going to give me a laundry list of reasons why we shouldn’t have you on the board of leaders. And I’m telling you don’t even try. You damn near have everyone’s names memorized and can probably write some of their biographies. People love talking to you. You have a gift for empathy. That counts for something, Chuck. Leadership isn’t about cracking a whip. It’s about connecting, setting examples, then connecting some more. That’s you in a nutshell. So, what do you say?”
“I say, how could I not accept?”
She hugged him close. “You’ll be great, Chuck,” she said into his ear.
“With you by my side, that will come easily.”
She pulled away from him. “About that.”
“What?” he said with trepidation.
“I didn’t accept their nomination.”
He looked at her. Maybe she was joking. He still couldn’t read her.
She looked down at her feet for a moment, smiling almost bashfully. “I can’t do it, Chuck. I can’t accept the adulation. Maybe it’s a personality defect. Who knows? All I know is that I do what I have to do. I can’t be rewarded for that.”
For Chuck Yarling time passed by like an old flickering film mostly sped up and blurry, but sometimes with frames of unblurred reality—slow and in focus.
Slow and in focus. From time to time, they encountered survivors who were all for themselves, who thought they could kill, steal, take whatever they wanted. At the beginning, the board had tried to reason with such people.
After that, they all deferred to Dottie. If Dottie had said they should die, they died. If she said they should be given a chance, they were given a chance. Dottie’s word had become law.
It was the last thing she wanted. Chuck could see that.
Slow and in focus. There were nights where they sat up and she opened up to him even more, told him stories like the one about the castle in Russia. Chuck’s favorites were the ones where Dottie knowingly, or maybe unknowingly, spiced up the tale with a little bit of humor.
Like the time she played a practical joke on one of her commanders. The joke was funny. The repayment was not. But that seemed to be Dottie’s life. Going from point to point all over the world, doing the deeds that mercenaries do, Chuck could see that she had not ever, not once, lost her humanity.
Slow and in focus. The campfire cast a sunset glow on Dottie’s face and transformed her white hair to flickering orange against the blackness behind her. The rest of the camp was asleep. Chuck watched her stare dreamily into the flames.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he said.
She looked up. “I might owe you change.”
“Try me.”
“I was thinking about how, before this whole thing began, I was trying to forget my past, who I was. I think I was afraid of it.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Maybe I thought it was a stain on my soul somehow. It’s funny how when I look back, I’m actually grateful for it. I don’t think I would’ve survived this thing without the skills I picked up.”
“Well,” he said, “we have a group of a hundred-plus people who share in that gratitude, I assure you.”
She twisted her face. “You should have seen me when I was green. I was cocky like you wouldn’t believe. I once short-sheeted my commander.”
“What?”
“You fold a bed sheet in half and tuck the bottom part into the top sheet, so it’s hidden. When the guy got into bed, his knees bunched up and he got a nasty Charlie horse. I caught hell for that. He made me shave my legs without water and then told me to rinse them in a basin that, unbeknownst to me, was filled with hydrogen peroxide.”
“Ouch!”
“Yeah, I learned my lesson,” she said, laughing.
“What made you short sheet the guy in the first place?”
She shrugged. “I think maybe it was a way of retaining my humanity. You can easily lose it, you know, doing what we were doing. Sure, you can rationalize all you want and tell yourself that these are bad people and decent civilization is better without them. If you’re lucky, you’ll reach a point where you realize that you’re about to become completely numb to it, and that’s scares you. So you do things that keep you feeling human. Like play jokes. Humor is the best way to navigate around inhumanity.”
She picked a pebble from the ground and tossed it into the flame, scattering a mini shower of sparks.
“Hey stranger,” Dottie said as he emerged from the tent where the board had met, “why the long face?”
“You know that foraging mission yesterday?”
“What about it?”
“We got a lot of great stuff. A whole cache of choice food and weapons. I made a motion to reward you with it. They voted me down.”
Her face went grave. “Why did you do that, Chuck?”
“Because you deserve it, that’s why,” he said, confused by her reaction.
“Am I some sort of god or something? You think you need to propitiate me with gifts? What’s next, a human sacrifice?”
His mouth had gone dry. “I was only trying—”
She disarmed him with a smile. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I’m one of you, remember? Don’t treat me otherwise, please. This has little to do with humility and everything to do with me wanting to feel normal. Give the food to those who need it most. The weapons belong to all of us. Okay?”
He felt his face flush. How could he have been so naive to her needs? “I’m sorry,” he said, earning himself a kiss on the cheek from her.
And here they were. She’d gotten them to the Atlantic Ocean. Over miles and miles they’d hiked. Hair grew long, bellies wasted away. But for the most part, they were healthy and happy. Apparently, the by-product of X-99 was that they were indeed healthy, at least physically, though the mental scars would surely haunt many of them for years to come.
“Well, there she is,” Chuck said as he stood next to Dottie overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”
“I’d love to go for a swim,” she said. “Would you like to join me?”
His heart fluttered, as this was one of the many endearing things about her—this innocence asserting itself, as if she was about to skip down a dirt road or start juggling out of nowhere. Just to feel human, he thought.
“Sure, I’ll join you,” he said. “I forgot to bring my bathing suit, but as long as you don’t mind me swimming in my underwear, I can’t think of another thing I’d rather do today.”
The entire band of travelers enjoyed their day frolicking in the ocean. When they’d gotten enough sun, they retreated to the shade of the trees. Someone brought out the fishing poles and the contest to see who could catch the most fish was on. They couldn’t seem to catch anything but little ones, but they kept them all the same. Dinner that n
ight was more than enough to feed the entire group.
They’d been lucky enough to find a pair of chefs along the way who had glorious gifts, able to make even the most meager meals into something worthy of five Michelin stars. At least that’s how Chuck felt. They’d managed to scrounge herbs and spices along the way and served them to a collective gasp.
Chuck was finished with his first helping and on to a second when he realized that Dottie wasn’t sitting with him. He found the chef and asked if Dottie had gotten any food. He said no, so Chuck made up a plate and went to find her.
It wasn’t hard. He knew her habits now: a place with a good vantage point where she could see everyone and see if anybody else was coming.
“I didn’t want your food to get cold,” he said, handing her a plastic plate of food.
“It smells delicious,” she said, and then set to picking through the food. He often wondered how many calories she consumed each day. It couldn’t be more than 500, he guessed. But she finished the fish and handed the plate back to Chuck. “Where’s dessert?”
Chuck shook his head. “What I wouldn’t give for a blueberry cobbler right now. Sounds delicious, doesn’t it?”
“It does, but I prefer cherry in case you happen to be going to the grocery store later.”
Chuck looked at his watch. “Well, I’m sorry lady, but I think they’ve already closed. Maybe tomorrow. Okay?” Chuck set the plate on the ground and gazed out over the expanse with Dottie.
More than anything, he cherished these moments, these snippets of solitude. He figured that if it were only the two of them, they could go days without talking and still seem as close as the most intimate of friends.
But tonight, Chuck had questions. They’d made it to the Outer Banks and that was where Dottie said they should go. Luckily, the bridge hadn’t been blown to smithereens, like so many other things, though there had been boats that they probably could’ve taken across the waterway.
“So now that we’re here, what do we do? Settle in or maybe plant a garden?” He was trying to keep it light, but he wanted to get to the meat of the matter.
“How many do you think will stay?” Dottie asked.
“Oh, I’d say most of them will stay for a bit, though I’ve heard some grumbling that once we’re here, some ought to strike out on their own. Can’t say I’d miss that group from Philadelphia. They’ve had nothing but complaints since they showed up.”
“I have some ideas on where they can go. Tell them to come talk to me if they want.”
Chuck would offer it, but he knew that the Philadelphians would never talk to Dottie. They had an obvious wariness about them when it came to their de facto leader.
“And what about you?” he said. “Find a quiet cabin, settle in for a few years, read two books a day and take up knitting?”
“I already know how to knit,” Dottie said.
“Well, sure. I didn’t mean—”
Her smile cut him off. “I was just giving you a hard time. Aren’t you used to that by now?”
Chuck laughed. “Dottie. I don’t think there is a thing you could say to me that could offend me.”
“Sounds like a challenge.”
“In that case, I withdraw the statement. Anyway, I wouldn’t mind finding a place on the ocean. Maybe another one somewhere inland for when the hurricanes come through. I’d take up fishing again. Maybe scrounge up some chickens.”
Then he asked a question that he’d been thinking about for weeks. “I’m sure there’d be plenty of room if... I mean, I’d love for you to join me, if you want...”
“Maybe,” she said, and then looked off the other way, back west toward where the sun was now setting. “There are some things I need to do. Some places I would like to visit. When I’m done, I can come find you. Would that be okay?”
This hurt Chuck more than he wanted to admit, so he didn’t say anything, just swallowed his pride and nodded.
And then Dottie surprised him by grabbing his arm and looking at him fiercely. “Hey, want to go skinny dipping? I haven’t done it since I was in my twenties.”
That shook Chuck from his self-pity. “Lady, as long as you can deal with my bony white butt, I’ll race you to the shoreline.”
Chapter Forty-One
Fran Markus
It was a hard day when Fran realized that the search for Dottie Roth had become more than an obsession, it had become his life. It wasn’t self-realization that had led him to this fact, it was a coup within his own ranks. He’d been so focused on finding that woman that he hadn’t heard the whispers, hadn’t seen the looks. And in defiance of his own instincts, in his bullheadedness, he was blindly ignorant to the fact that everyone would follow.
It had been late. Fran was pouring over maps, trying to figure out the best way to marshal his troops to hit the coast.
Explosions went off somewhere levels below.
Sitting behind the former Mr. Smith’s desk, Fran listened for a time. Then the explosions got closer. Flash-bangs for sure. Machine gunfire. He radioed his head of security.
“Where were you, boss?” came the panicked voice.
“I turned off my radio,” said Fran refusing to offer the excuse that he liked to turn off all communications when deep in thought.
“They’re coming at us hot and heavy, boss. I think they got control of the armory.”
Fran growled and tossed a longing look back at the maps. Maybe he’d cut and run out of the back entrance. It would certainly be easier on his own.
“Boss, did you get that?”
Fran clenched his fists. “Yeah, I got it. I’ll be down in a second.”
The radio squeaked and his head of security spoke again. “I don’t think we can hold them.”
Fran cut off any further discussion by saying, “Hold them, or I’ll kill you myself.”
The line had held. And when Fran made it to the line, he single-handedly beat them back, wielding his weapon like an old-school tommy gun.
He was shot three times—flesh wounds. He ignored them. They would heal in time. He resumed firing, a virtual robot with a weapon, until he saw them run.
Later he found out the cowards got away with more than their lives. Not only had they had stripped the armory bare but had also stolen access to most of the secret facilities along the Eastern Seaboard. It was a setback for sure, but when Fran really had time to digest it, he knew his instincts had been right in the office. Alone, he might be nimbler and not have to worry about all the BS, the paperwork, the whining and moaning. He was no manager, and he was not a people person.
He summoned the remaining men—thirty-three in all—to his office.
“We’re heading east,” he announced. “Blacksburg, Virginia to be exact. Virginia Tech campus, to be even more precise. There’s a great little underground area where we can hole up and train.”
“We ought to give up,” said Will, a younger man with red hair and glasses. He was cradling his arm.
“You hurt?” said Fran.
“I got knicked. Hurts like hell.”
“Uh huh,” said Fran. “So you think we ought to quit?”
“We don’t stand a chance against attacks,” said Will.
“I agree,” said another.
Fran scanned the group for who it was that had said that. It was a tall man who he didn’t recognize. He beckoned the man forth and told Will to step forward as well.
“I want to thank you both for your concerns,” he said. “But after careful consideration, I’ve decided that you’re both lower than rat droppings.”
He smiled at their beguiled faces, then shot them both point blank to the stunned horror of the rest of the group.
“Now,” said Fran, “I have a near-endless supply of bullets, but exactly the opposite when it comes to patience. Anyone else care to object to the plan?"
Blacksburg, Virginia.
They did drills during the day to keep his men busy. Any complainers had to cut the grass, which had overgrown the
once-perfect fields. But they found more equipment in the old Corps of Cadets where would-be officers had trained and gone to school before heading to their respective services.
Nights would find Fran either pacing the long hallways of abandoned dorms or scouring the shelves of the library looking for pictures of Montana, devouring each one with his eyes.
Then there were the maps. Coordination, planning, tactics, and strategy. Fran knew that his hold on the command was tenuous, and that had nothing to do with the attack back at headquarters. It had everything to do with the fact that there was no longer any government, at least not in the United States. So when it came down to it, there really was no mission. Before they’d tracked down the Immune in hopes of finding a cure, they had killed the infected to prevent the further spread of X-99.
But now there was only his quest to kill Dottie Roth. So he lied to his men. He told them that communications were still being passed from D.C., even though there was nothing left in D.C. but the cherry blossoms. He pictured the Potomac polluted with the bodies of the dead.
He was testing the capabilities of their communication system when he picked up a recording in broken English. It said simply, “This is a message from the Chinese government to any American survivors. We will provide supplies and medical resources to any survivors." Then a list of radio frequencies.
Fran scoffed. He hated the Chinese. Twice he’d lost jobs that had gone to Mainland Asia. He wondered if that recording was before the big fall. He wondered what was left of the billions in China. Something to think about on another day.
By the time Fran had solidified his plan, there were twenty-eight members of his team left. Two had deserted, and one had died in a training accident.
The Next Dawn Page 13