by Gray, W. S.
Sensing that these were too close for the heavy machine gun, Trey retrieved his rifle. He took careful aim and fired, dropping several of the trespassers with relative ease. However, that didn’t change the equation. The reality was that their position was about to be quickly overrun.
Turning to Marshall, he patted the man forcefully on the back. He continued to bother the man until Trey had gotten his attention. “Should we run?” Trey asked, mouthing the words slowly.
Marshall just shook his head and returned to his gun. He unleashed a hellish flurry of bullets.
Trey, seeing that the second wave of the mob had been eliminated, returned to his heavy machine gun. He directed the long barrel toward the gate and fired several rounds. After a brief pause, he shot a few more. Screams ripped through the smoky midnight air. Everywhere he looked, Trey saw horrible, macabre visions of humans flailing, overcome by pain and their imminent death. His heart raced. His body pulsed with adrenaline. He felt alive. And he experienced a simultaneous shame that he enjoyed the moment so much.
A fat man with a balding head wearing stylish glasses and a red tie crawled over the bodies atop the second row of concertina wire. “Help me,” he pleaded. When he plopped down on top of the freshly minted pile of corpses at the bottom of the inner perimeter, Trey watched in horrified fascination as the figure revealed a lower half riddled with bullet holes. Blood oozed out of the massive wounds. One leg had been partly blown off; a jagged bone gleamed in the soft yellowish cone of light cast by the security lamps.
Watching with growing dread, Trey felt helpless. He felt trapped. Unable to move, he continued to observe the man’s slow progress forward. Vaguely, he experienced an awareness that the figure was pleading for help. Aid that Trey understood he could not provide. He wanted to help. He envisioned himself under similar circumstances. But, as he monitored the situation, he slowly began to realize what he needed to do.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Then he grabbed his rifle and fired.
The man spasmed as the bullet impacted his flesh. It hit him in the shoulder. Blood oozed out of the wound.
However, he continued on, mewling and asking for help.
Trey gulped. He shot the man again.
However, the second time, he got him in the head.
Watching as the figure stopped, Trey felt a certain detached anger. Not at the man. Not even at himself. But at the world in general, for having placed him in the position he’d found himself in. Where he needed to kill in order to live.
A fresh batch of intruders ripped him from the womb of his reverie, however.
Sirens began to blare in the background. Trey heard them but paid no attention. He remembered overhearing someone saying that there would be snipers positioned on the roofs of the buildings behind them in case of an emergency. However, they were in an emergency, and none of the bastards had elected to join the fray. So, he figured he’d just continue doing his best to plow through the lines of interlopers and hope for the best.
As Trey’s senses acclimated to the loud noise of the emergency sirens signaling everyone to get to their stations, he became aware of another sound. When he turned his attention slightly in the direction of it, he discovered that one of the base’s two remaining helicopters had taken to the air. It hovered just behind the brick building for several seconds before moving forward toward the growing crowd that had seemingly cropped up out of the earth itself.
Watching, Trey dreaded what he would see. Yet, he forced himself to remain vigilant. He needed to guard their edge of the perimeter. It’d already been substantially weakened by the trespassers who’d managed to get over the concertina wire. If a group were to manage to get through again, it could spell the end of their time there on the planet.
“Holy shit,” he said. Looking out at the scene, he discovered not a hail of destructive gunfire in a brazen display of overwhelming force. No, what confronted him was a veritable blizzard of canned rations and plastic bottles of water being tossed to the crowd.
The mob milled about under the hovering craft, eagerly squabbling over the care packages being dropped on them. Yet, there was enough for everyone, and the abundance soon effectively quelled the minor uprising. People took their comestibles and began meandering away, in an instant forgetting that they’d been on the verge of getting themselves mowed down by automatic fire.
“Hunger can do strange things to a person,” Trey said, stunned by the sudden hiatus that had been thrust upon them. He shook his head, warm sweat and what was probably piss drenching his undergarments. He thought of Chloe as he reflected on the statement, the words lingering in his mind.
And, as the sirens came to a stop and the world returned to the uneasy silence that accompanies the cessation of hostilities, Trey noticed movement in the corner of his eye. Turning, he saw Sofia and Melody rushing toward him. They carried bottles of water and bags of food in their arms.
“Hey, bud. I can take the next watch,” Marshall said, patting Trey on the shoulder to get his attention. The man smiled. “Good job,” he said.
Beaming, Trey accepted the praise. Somehow, he felt validated by the kind words coming from a man of Marshall’s background. He’d never really accepted himself as a warrior. And, truth be told, Trey hadn’t necessarily wanted to. He doubted he did, even then, after all they’d overcome to reach the point where they were. The entire charade had been foisted upon him by necessity and adverse circumstances. He’d been LARPing as a fighter and waiting for someone to discover how atrocious his costume was. Nonetheless, hearing the former Navy Seal tell him he’d conducted himself honorably in a firefight helped boost his confidence.
“Hey, sweetie,” Trey said, pecking his wife on the cheek as she deposited the refreshments into their gun nest.
“Hey,” she said.
Her lower lip quivered. Tears glistened in her eyes. She looked at Trey for what seemed forever before finally speaking more than a monosyllable. “It… it sounded bad out here,” she said. Then she averted her eyes. She sniffled and wiped her face.
“It was okay,” Trey lied. In that instant, he recalled the man who’d crawled toward him, pleading for his life to be spared even while he was slowly exsanguinated and wracked with anguish. He forced himself to shove the memory aside. “It was okay,” he repeated, his tone hollow even to his own ears.
“The guys dropped them food and water and they…” Trey shook his head. He smiled. “They just left,” he said.
“Guess they needed it,” Melody said. “Gosh, why didn’t they just go do that to begin with? Save…” she left the unspoken assertion hanging in the air like an impolite joke. “I wonder what it’d be like? It must be horrible. Surrounded by zombies. Cut off from basic necessities,” she said.
Then Sofia decided to barge in on the conversation. “I want to help them, dad,” she said. “No, I NEED to help them,” she added. “They don’t deserve this. Dad, you have to let me go give them food and water,” she said.
“Honey, I…”
“NO! Dad, these aren’t zombies. They’re desperate people. And we’re already planning to abandon them. What do you think will happen when we leave, dad? Huh? Once the French leave, all these people are going to… starve. Or they’ll become no better than the zombies. Dad, you have to let me go. These people NEED us. They deserve a dignified last few hours or days,” she said, her tone rising as righteous indignation consumed her. “They can’t… JUST DIE LIKE THAT,” Sofia said.
Looking at his daughter, he knew he couldn’t deny her.
But he also didn’t know how to help her, either.
“Honey…”
“Don’t you honey me, dad. Either we do this or… I’LL HATE YOU FOREVER,” she said.
Trey grimaced. He hated the fact that the threat was so effective. And he despised the fact that his smart little girl was clever enough to realize it. Every time he caved in, she’d be emboldened. And she’d mobilize those dreaded words any time she felt they could get her
her way.
“I have to ask… oh, fuck. What’s his name?” he said, scratching his head. “Enzo,” he said, snapping his fingers. “I’ll have to ask Enzo, sweetie. I mean… it’s a big city. How are we even going to find them? And what if they try to rob us? Or just surround us?” he asked.
“Come on, dad. If they surround us, we’ll do like you always do and murder everyone in our path,” Sofia said. “It’s not that difficult,” she said. “You’re… you’re becoming someone I don’t even recognize anymore, dad. You used to be… nice. Loving. I mean, if we just go around, constantly fighting to survive… I mean, what are we even surviving for?” she asked, her tone desperate and passionate.
Fighting back the angry tide of curse words that slammed against the levy of his brain, Trey bit the inside of his cheek. He bounced one leg up and down. Drumming his fingers on the sandbag barrier, he tried to think. What his daughter wanted was… over the top. It required leaving the relative safety of their base, with all the support that it provided, and returning to the violent and unknown world of the zombies.
“You’re asking to go back out there?” Trey asked, looking at his daughter. “You want to go back into the zombie hordes?” he asked, clarifying his question. He needed to make sure Sofia understood the full import of what she wanted. Because this was something far too dangerous to risk trying on a mere whim. Trey was only willing to risk their entire mission- their very lives- if his daughter assumed full responsibility for the possible consequences.
“These are adult decisions, honey. If you want to ask me to… look, sweetie, I understand. I know you might not think so. After all… after all that you’ve seen me do,” Trey said. He gulped, remembering the scene back on Sapphira Island. Where he’d murdered an entire village of people. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and barged back into the conversation. “So… If you want to make adult decisions, then you have to start acting and thinking more like an adult,” Trey said.
“Dad, I am ten,” Sofia said. She crossed her arms over her chest.
As they talked, several French soldiers scurried to the front to examine the pile of deceased bodies. They began to pull several of the corpses from the concertina wire while others examined the defenses and sought out any necessary repairs. Trey noticed Enzo walking over to the other gunners across the way.
“Ten isn’t very old,” Trey said, smiling with mild amusement. He was distracted by Enzo’s presence. Part of him wanted to call out and get the man’s attention. But another, stronger, part of him wanted to continue the dialogue with his daughter. His daughter who thought she was old and wise enough to make heavy decisions.
Turning to Sofia, he adopted an avuncular face and tone. “Sweetie, you are VERY smart. Especially when it comes to those books you love to devour. Okay? No one is saying that you’re not. And you are so…” he searched his mental vaults for the right adjective. “You are just so everything, love,” Trey said. He reached out and patted her on the head before she could squirm away. “It’s very kind and good of you, to want to go out and help these people,” he said. “But… did you see the helicopter? I mean, they just dropped a bunch of supplies out there for them,” Trey said.
“It wasn’t enough, dad,” Sofia said.
“What do you think, Melody?” Trey asked. He realized it was a mistake almost as soon as the words had escaped his lips.
She paled. Her shoulders hunched up. She glared back at Trey, a nasty frown slashing across her rigid face.
“You leave her out of this,” Sofia said, her tone acidic.
“Honey, if we leave this base, it has an impact on all of us. Not just you. And not just me,” Trey said. “Everyone should have a say in something this important,” he said.
Suddenly, Enzo decided to interrupt them. “Bonjour. Am I in the way, here?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.
Trey smiled. He glanced at his daughter to see if she were going to make a scene. Thankful that she refrained, he decided to launch right into it. “So, my daughter here was concerned about… the welfare of the local population. She also wanted to help make sure the base wasn’t attacked again. I think she mentioned something about delivering supplies as a way to help guard against future assaults,” Trey said. She’d said no such things, but he figured he’d at least do his part to try and get permission.
Enzo didn’t react. He merely waited to see if Trey had finished speaking before responding. “Hmmm… Well, that is an interesting theory. You’re sure the girl said all of this?” he asked.
“She’s a smart girl,” Trey said, looking toward Sofia and nodding.
“We do have plans to send a team out to deliver more supplies. Not that we have much to give out. We have plenty of people here to feed and hydrate, you understand?” Enzo said. “But I do think it might be worthwhile to do that. We need to have a briefing about how, exactly, we plan to do this. As you might be able to tell… even remaining inside the base at this point isn’t necessarily the safest proposition. Venturing outside the perimeter…” Enzo shook his head. “I can tell you that my people will not be pleased. And they would be even less pleased if they were to think the idea came from a little girl. A particular foreign girl, no less,” Enzo said, nodding toward Sofia. He smiled when he noticed her insolent glare.
“Fiery little one,” he remarked. “Well, I’m glad she has spirt,” he said.
Then Enzo grew silent as he looked around. He shouted out some stern orders to one of the soldiers in French before returning to Trey and their conversation.
“If you’d like to participate in the… let’s call it a humanitarian mission, if you’d like to help with that…”
“I would,” Trey said, interrupting. He looked at his daughter again. The last thing in the world that he wanted to was to look weak in front of his daughter.
“Well, then. Okay,” Enzo said. “I’ll come let you know when the time comes. Until then, just sit tight. Let’s hope we don’t get another attack,” he said. Then he walked briskly away.
“So, you’re going to help them, dad?” Sofia asked, her tone excited and her demeanor softening.
Trey felt excited. Elated, even. But there was a distant dread that dampened that feeling. Because he understood the risks associated with venturing outside the gate. He knew that he could die. Or worse. However, he needed to keep up morale. If Sofia infected the group with her toxic, tainted pettiness and anger, everyone would have to deal with it. And he had no illusions about the conditions they’d face on the boat.
It would likely be a long ride to France.
“Yes, I’m going to help them, sweetie,” Trey said.
Chapter 7
He was about to leave the camp.
He regretted the decision.
Trey shouldn’t have told his daughter he’d help.
Standing around with seven other heavily armed French men, he kept adjusting the straps on his pack. It dug into his shoulders. Trey leaned forward to adjust to its heavy weight on his back. He kept glancing around at everyone in their small party, trying to understand how they could act like they weren’t wearing seventy pounds of gear.
Even as he fought to acclimate himself to the new conditions, Trey struggled to listen as Enzo delivered their orders both in French and then in English. When he wasn’t shifting his feet and trying to readjust his pack or heavy body armor that didn’t quite fit right, Trey felt himself bogged down by his concerns for Sofia and Melody. All of that conspired to make it considerably harder for him to focus on the difficult task of remaining alive.
“Hey,” Enzo said.
Trey blinked. “Sorry,” he said.
“Get your fucking head out of your ass. You volunteered for this,” Enzo said. “And I might add that you should try to NOT act like you’re so miserable,” he added in a lower tone. “Okay, so, you have the gist of the mission, then?” he asked, smiling.
Trey knew better than to ask questions. He read Enzo’s body language. He glanced around and saw the stern ga
zes of the other French soldiers. Every one of them except Enzo wore black masks that covered all of their faces save their eyes. But that was enough to communicate their seriousness.
“Yeah, I got it,” Trey lied.
Enzo clapped his hands. “Okay, then. Let’s go,” he said, repeating the words in French.
Striding forward toward a massive vehicle raised over a foot off of the ground, Enzo motioned for Trey to follow along. “Get in the Buffalo,” he said.
“I’m sorry… Buffalo?” Trey asked.
“Yeah, man. That’s what we call this thing,” he said.
The vehicle had what appeared to be a long crane-type arm jutting out from the front. “What’s that?” Trey asked.
“Not a lot of time for questions,” Enzo said. “But it’s a mine-resistant, ambush-protected vehicle. One of the few good pieces of equipment we have out here… even though we never really needed it until now,” Enzo said. When he noticed Trey’s blank face, he grunted and frowned. “It’s for IEDs. Booby traps. Bombs. Look, just get in the fucking back and let’s go,” he said.
Trey climbed a narrow ladder onto the back, which had been laden with boxes of food and packages of bottled water. He then got into the small passenger section. He stared out the window as the large vehicle began moving.
Within a few minutes of exiting the perimeter fence, they stopped. Trey watched as a large group converged on them, seemingly not caring that they’d likely be run over and demolished if the vehicle operator decided to simply continue on. They were quickly surrounded.
However, Trey heard a second vehicle approaching from behind them. As he turned to look back in that direction, Enzo rushed forward, grabbed him by the shirt and directed him to the exit door. “We’ve got to start throwing the supplies out,” he said. “I’ll cover while you throw,” he said.
Without thinking, Trey got to the back, where he quickly bent down and began tossing containers of food and water over the edge. He heard the anxious crowd milling about as they squabbled over the packages. But he didn’t have time to dwell on any of that.