Sons of War

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

“I was just thinking the same thing,” said the other guy. “I’m all for sharing with the locals, but …” The man set his box down, his words trailing off when he saw Dom standing there.

  The soldiers remained silent as they walked out of the room, leaving him by the window. Bathed in sweat and anxious from the conversation, he turned to look outside at the streets.

  A squad car had pulled up and let out a family. Four more mouths to feed.

  The officer drove away, and Dom thought of Moose, out there doing his duty. Knowing his best friend, he was probably still driving around trying to get people to go indoors, and here Dom was, already safe and secure.

  I should be out there too.

  And if it weren’t for his father, he probably would have been. Ronaldo had demanded he come to the school with his family, and Dom had followed the order. Now he was stuck here.

  He stepped away from the window but froze when he saw a Humvee drive into the parking lot. Tires squealed and shouting followed as the driver broke through the front gate and turned onto the street.

  Two marines ran out onto the grass, waving and yelling. The two men hurried back inside, and Dom saw that one of them was Gunny Marks.

  He thought of the two army soldiers and their conversation about supplies. Was it possible they had really jumped ship in a Humvee?

  A hand touched Dom’s shoulder, and he flinched.

  “Sorry,” Monica said, seeing she had startled him.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She shrugged. “I came to find you. Do you need help?”

  “No, I’m good. You should really go back and stay with Mom.”

  “She’s crying, and I don’t know what to do to help.”

  Dom sighed and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Okay, I’ll go talk to her, but I need to find Dad first and talk to him.”

  He started away, but Monica walked up to the window.

  “What?” he said, turning.

  “Is it snowing?”

  Through the translucent wrap covering the windows, he could see pale gray flakes drifting down from the sky. He carefully removed a strip of tape and pulled the plastic back just a crack.

  “What is that?” Monica asked.

  Dom studied the snowlike flakes. They weren’t just radioactive material. They were all that remained of people vaporized in the Camp Pendleton nuclear holocaust.

  People like his mother’s college friend and his father’s fellow marines.

  Dom didn’t have the heart to tell his sister the truth about the flakes floating down.

  “Just ash from the fires,” he lied. “Why don’t you get back to your book, sis? Everything’s going to be okay.”

  -19-

  By the sixth day of holing up at Downey High School, the meager supplies of water and food were almost gone. Ronaldo paced in the hallway outside the auditorium, furious at the soldiers who had abandoned them.

  They had taken MREs, water, and, most importantly, the CBRN suits, leaving the Desert Snakes and a small team of marines stranded inside. The colonel had bugged out with his HQ staff as soon as reports of the nuclear attack came in. So with no officers here, Marks had rank. He was doing his best to hold things together, but Ronaldo was getting more anxious by the hour.

  The air filtration system was working, and the school had been sealed off, but without food and water, things would go downhill fast.

  He stopped briefly to check his wristwatch. Five after midnight.

  For the first time today, the facility was quiet, aside from the sporadic coughing or sobbing coming from the nearby classrooms that the military had turned into barracks. Over five hundred people were safely sheltering in place at the school now, and with dwindling supplies, tensions were rising.

  Ronaldo continued pacing.

  He was exhausted, but he couldn’t let himself sleep. There were too many things to worry about for his fatigued brain to shut off.

  Instead, he did what he always did when he felt anxious: he went to work.

  For the next hour, he patrolled the hallways to make sure none of the civvies were trying to break into the supply room. Two guards held sentry inside just in case someone tried to break a window from the outside.

  Another two marines stood post outside the doors. They were sitting down, but Ronaldo didn’t hassle them over it. Everyone was at the end of their rope.

  He gave them a nod and returned to where his team had camped out along a row of lockers. They had survived this long, but Ronaldo knew he had to make something happen if they were going to hold out much longer.

  If you don’t, who will?

  Marks stood leaning his back against the wall, a hand on his forehead, eyes closed. Was he really sleeping standing up?

  Of course he is. Sleeping anywhere, under any conditions, was one of the first things a marine learned how to do.

  “Gunny,” Ronaldo said quietly.

  Marks pulled his hand away and opened his eyes. “Yeah.” He blinked. “What’s up, Salvatore?”

  “I think it’s time we made a run for the supplies at the safe house.”

  Marks’s eyes narrowed. “You crazy? The safe house is almost three miles away, and we don’t even know if it’s been contaminated or raided or—”

  “The only people who know about it are right here, so I doubt it’s been raided.” Ronaldo looked around to make sure no one was listening. “It could be another week before we get the all clear, and we’ll be out of water in two days. When that happens, we’re going to be in big fucking trouble.”

  “Yeah, I know, man.” He ran a hand over his short-cropped hair and looked down the hallway, where Tooth and Bettis were leaning against their rucksacks, fast asleep.

  “I wouldn’t ask you to come, but I got no one else,” Ronaldo said. “It’s a big risk, especially without any protective gear.”

  Marks cursed under his breath. “I still can’t believe those assholes.”

  “Nothing we can do about them now,” Ronaldo replied. “But we have to do something before we run out of supplies. We won’t be exposed long.” He checked over his shoulder again. “I won’t even tell anyone we’re leaving.”

  “And what happens if we get attacked out there?” Marks stepped closer to Ronaldo and kept his voice low. “You thought of that?”

  “That’s why we got these.” He hefted his M4. “I won’t let anyone get within a hundred feet of us.”

  “You really have lost your damn mind, haven’t you?”

  Ronaldo scratched his chin. “The entire world has lost its damn mind.”

  Footsteps echoed down the hallway, and both men turned as a man helped his wife into the bathroom, carrying a fresh bucket. As soon as they opened the door, Ronaldo caught a whiff.

  They had done everything they could to keep things somewhat civilized over the past few days, but without running water, they were down to living like an underdeveloped nation.

  “I guess I could use some fresh air,” Marks said.

  “I don’t know about fresh …”

  “You know what I mean.”

  The annoyance in Marks’s tone was better than resignation, and Ronaldo patted his friend on the shoulder.

  “I knew I could count on you, Gunny. Or should I call you sir, since you’re the acting commander?”

  Marks laughed. “Now you are going to piss me off.”

  Ronaldo forced a smile as he led them to the supply closet. The route went past the auditorium, and he decided against looking inside, in case Dom was awake. His son would insist on coming with them. So he ducked under the windows and rounded the next corner in a hurry.

  “Wait up,” said a voice.

  Ronaldo and Marks stopped in the next hallway. The heavy footfalls sounded like military boots.

  Bettis and Tooth came around the corne
r.

  “Where you two going?” Tooth asked.

  “To get supplies,” Ronaldo replied.

  Bettis and Tooth exchanged a glance.

  “You’re going outside?” Bettis asked.

  “That’s the idea, yeah.”

  Bettis shook his head, paused, and said, “Not without us, you aren’t.”

  That got a glare from Tooth. “What do you mean, us?”

  Ronaldo continued walking. He didn’t have time to argue with either of them. Two pairs of boots followed, and a few seconds later, he heard a snort and the rap of more footsteps, in double time.

  “Wait up, fellas,” Tooth called out. “The Desert Snakes stay together.”

  Ronaldo didn’t stop until he got to the janitor’s closet. He unlocked the door and began the search for the next-best thing to a CBRN suit.

  “What are you looking for?” Bettis asked.

  Ronaldo grinned when he found a box of black garbage bags. He kept digging through the supplies and found latex gloves and a half-used roll of duct tape.

  “Ah, hell no,” Tooth said. “I’m a marine, not a garbage man.”

  Ronaldo held up the box. “It beats your insides melting and losing all your teeth.”

  “These teeth jokes get pretty fucking old, you know that? Do I tease you about that mole the size of Pluto on your chin?”

  “Nope.”

  “Or about that curly black pube growing out of it?”

  Ronaldo chuckled and pushed the box out. “Just put these on if you’re coming.”

  They dressed in the small closet, and a few minutes later they walked down a dark hallway.

  “Okay,” Ronaldo said, “we run to the M-ATV, drive to the safe house, then come straight back with as much food and water as we can get in the back. We come in, go straight to the clean room, and wash off, okay?”

  Three nods.

  “All right, let’s go,” Ronaldo said.

  As soon as they opened the door, the Desert Snakes bolted for the armored vehicle through the layer of ash covering the asphalt. The truck fired right up, and they tore out of the lot.

  Marks flicked on a mounted beam that augmented the headlights in cutting through the lingering haze, but it seemed nothing could penetrate the inky black of the skyline. The dense smoke created a bowl of blackness, blocking out the moon and stars.

  “Must be forest fires feeding the smoke,” Ronaldo said.

  “Another thing we’ll have to worry about when it’s finally safe to come outside,” Marks said.

  From the looks of it, that wouldn’t be anytime soon.

  The men fell into silence on the eerie drive through abandoned streets. Cars covered in the radioactive ash sat idle, like vehicles parked on a street during Christmas.

  They spotted the first body three blocks from the school, lying on a sidewalk, curled up in the fetal position and covered in ash.

  “Is he—” Tooth began to say.

  Marks cut him off. “Dead. Nothing we can do for him. Let’s just focus on what we came out here for. We’re almost there.”

  The last mile of the drive took them through more abandoned neighborhoods and a park. Tent flaps moved slowly in the breeze, exposing more bodies. People who had ignored the warning to get indoors or had nowhere else to go were already dead from acute radiation poisoning, which meant they had likely gotten horrifically high doses—twenty thousand millisieverts or more.

  Bettis crossed his chest.

  “Looks like fairly fresh tracks,” Marks said.

  A tire trail curved from a connecting street and headed east—the same direction they were going.

  “Keep your eyes peeled,” Ronaldo said.

  The safe house was tucked behind several abandoned businesses two blocks away. The Snakes’ former commander had decided to store some of their supplies there just in case the high school was attacked.

  Ronaldo just hoped the assholes who abandoned their post hadn’t come here first to raid the supplies. He didn’t see any military vehicles or tire tracks outside the warehouse doors.

  Marks shut off the headlights as they approached. He backed the M-ATV up to the main garage door. “Tooth, Bettis, you hold security while we load shit up.”

  “Of course I’ve got sentry,” Tooth grumbled. Bettis simply nodded and grunted, “Oo-rah.”

  Ronaldo froze when he saw footprints in the ash outside the window. He pointed them out, and the team got cautiously out of the M-ATV.

  Marks flashed a hand signal to Tooth, who shouldered his rifle and set out on patrol with Bettis. Ronaldo and Marks walked to the main garage door of the warehouse.

  Using a bolt cutter, Marks cut off the lock. Then he and Ronaldo moved over to the side door and kicked it in. They flicked on their tactical lights and entered the small warehouse, their beams crisscrossing through the inky darkness and capturing crates of supplies.

  “Hell yes, they did leave everything,” Ronaldo whispered. Even better, no one was home, giving them free rein to take whatever they needed.

  Marks pulled open the bay door and opened the back of the M-ATV.

  “Get as much loaded as you can,” Marks ordered, calling Bettis and Tooth back in. “Quick, guys.”

  The marines worked fast and efficiently, creating an assembly line to the get the boxes into the back. MREs, dried food from FEMA, boxes of bottled water, and several drums of fresh water.

  When they were halfway done, a voice sounded.

  Not a voice, really—more of a scratchy or raspy breathing sound.

  “Guys,” Tooth said, “I think someone’s coming.”

  Ronaldo unslung his rifle and flicked his light back on, peering through the falling ash. He pointed the beam down the street to the source of the noise, a woman crawling over the dust-covered sidewalk.

  “Shit,” he said, lowering his rifle.

  “Hold up,” Marks said, raising his fist. “Could be a trap.”

  Not a trap, Ronaldo thought. The woman had acute radiation poisoning; that much was obvious.

  “Help … me,” the woman croaked.

  “I’m going over there,” Ronaldo said.

  Marks lowered his hand. “Nothing you can do for her, man. But knock yourself out. I’ll finish loading this up. We leave in five.”

  Ronaldo trotted over to the woman and crouched beside her.

  “Ma’am,” he said, reaching out with a latex glove.

  She tried to lift her head. When she finally saw him, she let out a screech.

  “Get back!” she yelled.

  It occurred to him how he must look in the dark, wearing garbage bags, like some alien creature in a space suit.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  As he reached out to her, she grabbed his arm and pulled, shredding the bag he had taped over his arm.

  He yanked free of her grip and fell on his butt. Cursing his stupidity. Now he, too, was exposed to the radiation.

  “Don’t touch me!” she screeched.

  “Chill out, lady,” Ronaldo said.

  She pushed herself up to her knees. Vomit had dried to her shirt, and her exposed skin was smeared with ash. Going down on all fours, she scrambled away like a wild animal before collapsing to her stomach and moaning.

  “Salvatore, we got to move!” Marks said from the truck.

  “One minute.” Ronaldo replied. He waved Bettis over.

  She raised a hand to shield her face from the glow of his flashlight.

  “Who are you?” she said. “Where am I?”

  Tooth and Marks walked over.

  “Dude, we got to go,” Tooth said.

  “We can’t just leave her here,” Ronaldo said. “She needs help.”

  “She needs a priest,” Bettis said. He handed his rifle to Tooth and
bent down beside her.

  “I’m a chaplain, ma’am. Would you like me to pray with you?”

  She gave a deep, rattling cough and lay back on the sidewalk. “Everything aches,” she said. “I just want to sleep.”

  “We got any extra blankets?” Ronaldo asked.

  Tooth brought one over and laid it over the woman as Bettis said a prayer and performed last rites. Leaving her there to die alone was one of the hardest things Ronaldo had ever done, but Marks was right; there was nothing they could do for her.

  They got into the M-ATV and drove back to the school, loaded up with enough food and supplies to get the occupants through a few more days.

  Marks looked over at Ronaldo, who was taping his sleeve back up.

  “What happened?”

  “Lady ripped it,” he said.

  “Shit, man …”

  “It’s fine. I’ll get cleaned off right when I get back.”

  They drove to the school’s cafeteria docking area. Several marines were waiting in the open bay door, and with them stood Dom.

  “We rinse off before we do anything else,” Ronaldo said. He got out of the vehicle and held up his hand for the marines and Dom to stay back.

  “We’re contaminated, so stay your distance,” he said.

  “What did you do, Dad?” Dom asked.

  “My job,” he said.

  “Did you guys hear the news on the radio?” one of the marines said. He almost sounded excited.

  “What news?” Marks asked.

  Ronaldo’s heart skipped. Had another city been hit with a nuke?

  Dom smiled for the first time in days.

  “President Elliot’s dead,” he said. “Killed by his own men.”

  “AMP and the rebels are meeting tomorrow to talk about a treaty,” said another marine. “The war is almost over.”

  * * *

  Antonio stood in the suite that would soon be his office, on the top floor of the Commerce Hotel and Casino. He had a commanding view of a suffering, broken city brimming with opportunity.

  Three days had passed since Elliot’s own generals ended his short, bloody reign, and with the threat of nuclear Armageddon over, the country could start on the slow and painful path to recovery.

  And though Antonio had lost more men, he was readier than ever to move ahead with his plans. Lino had lost a lot of blood but was expected to recover, and the Morettis finally knew who their biggest enemy was: Esteban Vega, the wannabe narco king, and his younger brother Miguel.