by Gray, W. S.
Maxime and Harry once again shared a tense exchange. Then the small room grew quiet. Trey tried to avoid looking around. He wanted to just get up and walk out. Or limp out might have been the more appropriate description. Nonetheless, Trey had woken up from a beat-down and being imprisoned in a rancid closet only to be belittled and berated by his own father.
That’s how it all seemed, anyway. As the seconds ticked by, Trey realized he needed to give his dad some slack. He glanced over at Harry. His features were haggard. Deep plum bags rested under the man’s eyes. He’d been through some rough times recently, as well. And it all seemed to be wearing on him.
“Hey, dad…” Trey said softly.
“What?” Harry asked, his tone hoarse.
“I… I love you,” Trey said.
After the slightest pause, Harry smiled. “I love you, too, son,” he said.
Maxime spoke, interrupting the intimate moment. Trey watched his dad tense as he listened to the message he’d have to relay. He didn’t like seeing that. But he waited, nonetheless. Not seeing much in the way of options, he reflected on how the French military leader had maintained the illusion of control so effectively though a series of well-timed statements.
Trey never knew when such information and tactics might prove useful in the future.
“He wants you to go sit outside,” Harry said. “He’s going to deliberate.”
“But you’re going to stay in here?” Trey asked, raising his voice slightly and arching one eyebrow. He smiled and shook his head.
“What? I guess he trusts me. I don’t know. Look, just do what he says, okay?” Harry said. “I honestly wouldn’t tell you to do something if I really thought it might cause you harm.”
Trey believed him. And the fact brought a tear to his eye. Because, for most of his youth, he’d been chasing a mere moment of compassion from his father. The overarching desire to please his hard dad had been at the core of what had driven him through college. Even if he hadn’t quite figured that out during his hormone-crazed younger days, the reality was that he never could have achieved even half of the things he had in his average existence without the ignominious knowledge that his own father despised him lurking there in the background.
He’d gone on to become a lawyer. And a fairly successful one. Trey’d finished law school near the top of his class. He’d gone on to secure coveted internships with some of the most powerful people in the world. And, yet, Trey had never managed to secure the elusive paternal respect he’d so earnestly sought for so long.
Until the zombies had threatened their very existence, Trey had never felt loved by his dad.
Sniffling, he shuffled out the door, where two armed Frenchmen stood, waiting for him.
Maxime followed closely behind, his odd, vaguely Mediterranean scent lingering in the air and signaling his presence. He delivered a bevy of orders in rapid-fire French and then shut the door softly, leaving Trey in the care of the two soldiers-turned-babysitters.
“Hey,” Trey said, smiling slightly. He held up a hand and waved at the one on the left. A small, stout man with massive biceps, he wore black glasses that hid his eyes. His lip quivered, a barely perceptible gesture that lasted a mere fragment of a second. But that was the only reaction he offered. The man stood with his legs slightly apart, holding his rifle and maintaining a martial pose. Trey examined the guy as well as the man’s uniform. He figured he didn’t have much better to do with his time.
With a long, hooked nose that seemed to have been broken at least a few times, the menacing figure possessed a series of deep pockmarks on his exposed left cheek, reminiscent of an adolescence full of bad acne. His short brown hair had been shaved close to the scalp in the back. Several tattoos decorated one forearm. A small French flag patch rested on his sleeve.
“Enjoying it down here? Catching some rays on your days off?” Trey asked. He smirked. “I hear you guys love it here. None of the locals know you’re known for throwing up the white flag any time someone looks at you mean,” he said.
“Fuck off,” the soldier said, his accent thick.
“Who taught you that?” Trey asked. “I mean, it might help you order pizza in Chicago. You ever been to Chicago? Seems like that’s pretty much the standard introduction there,” he said.
“Fuck off,” the Frenchman repeated, this time a bit angrier.
“Oooh. He’s an angry Frenchman. Going to throw some frog legs at me before you surrender?” Trey asked. “How do you say Dien Bien Phu in your language, anyway?” he asked.
Just then, the door burst open. Harry barged through, his eyes excited. But his expression changed the instant he noticed the frustrated frown of the French soldier who’d been given guard duty. “What’d you do?” he asked, directing a concerned look toward his son. “Because Maxime just agreed to let you live,” he said.
“Oh, nothing…” Trey said, smiling. “I was just asking this one how to say ‘I surrender,’ in French,” he said.
Harry paled. His eyes widened. Then he just shook his head and laughed. “You know, I wouldn’t have believed you’d be capable of any of this… what, just a few weeks ago,” he said.
Trey sniffled again. He looked down at the ground. “Thanks,” he said. It was all he could manage, under the circumstances. So much more teetered on the edge of his lips. But Trey just couldn’t express the things he wanted to. Not then. Probably not ever. He wanted to ask the man why it’d taken extreme violence and the imminent threat of death to elicit feelings of warmth. Why it was that Harry had waited until then to demonstrate even the faintest inklings of empathy.
Maxime marched out and barked orders at the two French soldiers, who dispersed quickly.
“They seemed eager to get out of here,” Trey said. He smiled, watching them go. He wiped at his face. Then he forced himself back into the right frame of mind. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to get too sentimental right then.
“Yeah, well… I’m just glad we can get this all behind us,” Harry said.
“What if it’s like this…” in France, Trey left hanging in the air.
Harry’s jaw tensed. He stared off into space silently for several seconds, contemplating the statement. And all that it entailed. Then he shook his head. He smiled. “Can’t control that. If it’s kinetic when we get there, we’ll deal with it then,” he said. “Until then, we’re not out of the clear,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Trey asked. He didn’t like the sound of it, whatever it as Harry meant.
“We’re apparently going around Cape Horn,” Harry said.
Trey blinked. He tried to comprehend why that was important. “Uh…” he said.
Harry smiled. He reached out and ruffled his son’s hair. “For such a smart man, you know so little,” he said. Then he looked down at the ground, his expression growing soft. “I, uh… look, son, I know I… I know I didn’t always do a good job. Hell, I pretty much never did a good job, when it came to being a father,” he said. He held up a hand to ward off Trey’s weak protests. “Oh, Trey… I could see it in your face so many times. You don’t need to try to deny it or defend me,” he said.
He reached out and patted Trey’s shoulder. “You know, your mom used to tell me I needed to start being nice before it was too late,” he said. Harry wiped a single tear away from his eye. “God, I loved her,” he said. Harry cleared his throat. He shook his head. “I was intimidated by you. Did you know that?” he asked, looking at Trey, his eyes glistening. He smiled.
“I really was. How smart you were. How driven you were,” Harry said. He held up a hand again. “I know I was part of the reason, son. But… THAT WAS WHY I WAS HARD ON YOU. I wanted you to be better than I was. I wanted you to have it easier than me,” he said. “Sure, it would have been nice to see you doing more manly things. You know, sports, something like that. But the truth was… I was envious. Because I was never even half as brilliant as you,” he said.
“Okay, but… what’s that got to do with…” Trey st
ammered, stunned. His entire world had been thrown topsy-turvy for what seemed like the thousandth time in just a few days. And here he was, trying to figure out just how it was they were going to get to mainland France.
“Well, first, it needed to be said. I guess I still hadn’t fully realized how close I’d been to losing you. Or even to dying,” Harry said. He laughed and shook his head. “Even with that whole bug or whatever I got from the fish over there at that island,” he said.
“Still not getting it,” Trey said.
“Look, Cape Horn is going to be rough. Really rough. It’s one of the hardest patches of water in the world,” Harry said. “Normally, people would go through the Panama Canal. But they don’t want to do that. They think there could be some issues. Plus, it’s a complicated process, actually getting through it. Have to have the boat lifted out of the water…” Harry said. “They’re thinking something along the same lines as what you had originally said. That drugs were the transmission vector. And it seems that France will… look, son, this might not be as simple as just getting back to some country. Because Maxime believes that the entire world is in chaos right now. Sounds like Australia and even New Zealand have been hit hard. And they’re not getting very good communications with their command back home,” he said.
“So, basically, Cape Horn is going to make our trip longer and harder. And, by killing Enzo, we’re going to be even worse off. We were already foreigners. We don’t speak the language. Or you don’t, anyway. We’ve got a deaf black guy, a couple of little girls… I swear, without the Bishop, we’d probably be doomed. So, it was an auspicious meeting, even if I can’t stand the man,” Harry said.
“Why can’t you stand him?” Trey asked.
“He’s a Mormon,” Harry said.
Trey laughed. He shook his head. “Get over it, dad,” he said. “Plus, he’s really smart. And brave. And just a really nice person,” Trey said. Truth was, he liked the Bishop. “So, what if he doesn’t share some of the same beliefs as you?” he asked.
Harry bit off a sharp retort. He frowned. Then he shook his head. “Well, he certainly helped save our lives,” he said. “And, for that, I can be thankful,” he said. “Plus, he is pretty nice. And funny, too,” he said.
“See?” Trey said. “You have to stop being such a dick,” he said.
Harry laughed. “I’d have smacked you if you’d have said that as a kid,” he said.
“I know.”
“Well, you better warn that wife of yours. And the kiddos. Plus, it sounds like Marshall is going to have to go on the other boat. Chloe is going to have to go on it, too,” Harry said.
“What?” Trey asked. He didn’t like the sound of that. Being separated for a few days was hard enough. “Why?”
“Because they make the rules, son. That’s why,” Harry said. He grimaced. “Look, Maxime mentioned something about capacities and all that. They’re going to give those two a special bunkroom, where they’ll be the only ones. You know? Just to help make sure none of the soldiers have easy access to either one of them,” he said.
Chapter 10
Trey said his good-byes.
Then zombies attacked.
Turning, hot tears in his eyes, his hand squeezing Sofia’s as he fought the volatile mix of emotions boiling in the rusted cauldron of his soul, Trey couldn’t quite believe his ears.
Sirens pierced the solemn silence of the night. Gunshots punctuated the sudden interruption. Hearing the distinctive growling, Trey knew instantly that the perimeter had been breached by the undead. He watched as soldiers rushed around frantically, trying to get to cover.
However, most of the base’s weapons cache had already been secured on the two frigates. They’d almost literally just been ready to board for their final departure. But, instead, Trey was forced to run to a nearby wooden crate, where he crouched and produced a handgun.
Looking around, he tried to make sense of the many guttural French screams and shouts the soldiers hurled at each other as they tried to create some sort of battle plan on the fly. Chaos had punctured the tentative peace that had accompanied their imminent departure. In its wake, there could only exist extreme uncertainty that obliterated all capacity for rational thought. Trey saw two French soldiers accidentally begin firing at each other, the darkness conspiring with the developing carnage to turn friends into foes in a fraction of a second.
“Hey!” Trey called. “HEY!” he screamed. He waved one arm as Harry stumbled around, trying to figure out what was going on.
Harry crouched and hurried forward. He produced a small gun and smiled. “One last hoorah,” he said.
“Is that a…” Trey frowned. He felt his brow furrowing as he stared at the weapon in the sliver of jaundiced light cast by one of the nearby security lamps.
“It’s a Russian 9A-91. Not sure how these guys got a hold of one, but… why ask questions?” Harry said, shrugging. “I told the guy I had a secret stash of nudie pictures,” he said.
“You…” Trey laughed, despite the circumstances. “Have you ever seen porn?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“Son, I jerked my chicken in more port-a-shitters than I’d care to ever admit,” Harry said. “I would’ve never admitted that to your mother, but…” Harry chuckled. “Hey, it’s what you do when you’re a soldier,” he said. He reached out and slapped his son on the shoulder.
“Oh, my god…” Trey retched. “I just threw up in my mouth a little bit,” he said.
Then the zombies rounded the corner.
“I’m going to go over there,” Harry said, pointing. And then he was off before Trey could protest.
From his new vantage point, Harry opened fire on the horde as it approached them.
Trey watched a few of the zombies fall. This is really happening he thought. Then he added his own flurry of shots to the chorus. Since he only carried a semiautomatic handgun, he did his best to aim for those creatures that had been downed by the others, but which hadn’t been fully dispatched. He felt an immense thrill every time he squeezed the trigger and watched one of the creature’s heads explode in a fine mist of red.
Catching motion in his peripheral vision, Trey saw his dad gesturing for them to move back. He got up awkwardly, his legs cramping. Trey grimaced. But he knew he needed to fight through the pain. As he jogged, he noticed a French soldier on the ground, writhing in pain. He rushed over to the man, kneeling down and grabbing a hold of his arm.
Dragging the man, Trey ignored the pain in his legs and side. He gritted his teeth. He blocked out all outside thoughts as he sought to get the soldier to safety. He hurts worse than me, Trey thought as he moved. “It’ll be okay,” he said. Then he realized belatedly that the poor guy didn’t speak English.
Sensing someone coming up behind him, Trey paused. He tensed. Readying himself to attack, he only barely restrained himself. And he heaved a sigh of relief when he saw his dad there. “I was about to hit you,” he said, smiling and shaking his head.
“Fuck that,” Harry yelled. “C’mon,” he said. He raised his rifle and fired off several rounds.
Turning, Trey blinked. He’d been so lost in trying to ferry the Frenchman to safety that he hadn’t realized how close the encroaching horde had gotten. “Shit,” he said. “Help me with this dude,” Trey said.
“We need to go!” Harry said, the closest to showing fear that Trey could ever remember.
“Well, then pick this dude up,” Trey said. “They already think I killed one of their guys,” he said.
Grunting, Harry took one arm as they picked up the man and began scurrying forward. “Gangway,” Harry said as a bevy of bullets whizzed by. The remaining French soldiers on the ground were covering their retreat as they carried the wounded warrior forward.
“What is that?” Trey asked. His ears rang. Sweat cascaded down his face and neck. It stung his eyes. He had a hard time breathing. He wanted to pause. But he knew he couldn’t. The horde growled as it pressed on just behind them.
“Just go for the fucking stairs!” Harry called out.
They raced up the gangway, Harry a slight step ahead of his much younger son. However, Harry stopped abruptly just at the top. He sighed and shook his head. But he quickly saluted the flag and then, turning, offered a rushed hand gesture to a man standing nearby with a stiff, martial posture and rigid frown. “Autorisation d'embarquer,” he said.
“Permission accordée,” the sailor said.
“What the fuck is this?” Trey asked.
“Just do it,” Harry said. “Fucking sailors,” he said. “Come on. Come on,” Harry said.
“I DON’T SPEAK FRENCH,” Trey said.
“Autorisation d'embarquer,” Harry said. “Just repeat that. He’ll get the gist. Just wave your hand at the flag then at the guy, son. Hurry up,” Harry said.
Going through the process, Trey looked back at the poor guy he’d been forced to leave on the steps as he went through the odd ritual. “Is it really that important… to do all of that?” he asked.
“Believe me, everyone in the military loves their little perks. Look, they’ll get their guy. Come on,” he said. Harry took his son by the arm and began leading him away. Even as they moved, several soldiers shot out from their protected placed on the deck.
Turning, Trey watched as several of the French military members on the ground were consumed by the vicious horde. He paused, listening to their screams as they penetrated the veil of the night. A shiver moved through his body as he experienced pain and regret for those valiant souls’ loss. “Those guys…”
“Don’t think about it, son,” Harry said. “Just come on,” he said.
A flurry of activity hummed around them as people prepared the ship for departure. Trey bumped into someone as he walked haphazardly forward, idly following his father. “Sorry,” he muttered, unable to tear his gaze away from the tragedy unfolding below. Distracted by the macabre scene, he couldn’t help but recall in vivid detail how the same people responsible for saving his life just minutes earlier were now being consumed by the unearthly horde.