Gods of Anthem (41 page)

Uptown, the fighting’s
even more fierce; overturned vehicles sit burning, with guards hanging out of the windows and doors.

But their retaliation had been greater.

Citizens litter the pavement, faces frozen in surprise where they’d fallen. Smaller bodies amidst the devastation force me to stare at the back of the headrest instead.

We drive north into “plastic” territory, then up to a building with the Authority’s insignia at the apex. This must be their headquarters.

Despite my confusion, they pull me from the car, hands still bound in front, and bring me over to a waiting group.

Two people with familiar faces—Reginald and Karma Cromwell—stand there like they’ve been expecting me. And between the two leaders of the Authority, in the flesh … is Jeremy Writer.

“Liza,” he says, purple eyes wide, “are you okay?”

“How sweet,” the woman says above my yammering, confused questions. “He’s always been a charmer. Gets that after you, Reginald.”

Reginald gives a non-commutative grunt in answer.

“What is going on, Jeremy?” I ask.

“Liza,” he replies in a voice laced with guilt. “Meet … my parents.”

Once on shore,
I link up with Cory, who keeps shaking his head and staring at his feet. I knew he’d fold, but this … how can he not be ready to take back our home?

“Everyone round up,” I yell over the crashing waves as we slosh out from the green foam.

Soft sand sinks beneath my boots. The beach is dotted with soldiers, mostly regular ones; only a few Specials have been sent along to hedge our bets. We’re roughly two hundred strong, and Cory’s ducked his duty, so it’s up to me. Someone has to give operating procedures.

“Vero, I’m field promoting you to sergeant.”

She nods, saluting. I request that she get everyone into formation, then bring me the platoon leaders.

They section off, both men and women.

Women on the front line hasn’t been an issue after the last big war, when a warm body with a gun became the main qualification. Several of our heroes’ names on our great monument before it was destroyed had a “missus” before it. Vero’s proven herself head and shoulders above the other Specials, but men like Sergeant Nolan will continue to spout negativity about women on the front line.

I walk down the formations. They stand at attention, heels pointed toward the water, and all have brave faces that hide their fear well. I don’t need them to have idiotic courage, just regular courage. I want to tell them this, but I instead give each group a passing nod and, looking as many as I can in the eye, will them to be strong.

Team leaders step forward with Vero. They’re leery of me. That’s fine. Diverting their fear from what’s to come is as good a plan as any.

“Private—” I read the name tag of the soldier nearest. “Stagg.”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“Do you know what I am?”

“Sir?”

“I asked if you know what I am.”

He looks unsure, but shouts, “A member of the American Army, sir. Sergeant Hatter acting platoon sergeant and operations commander for this mission, sir!”

“Correct. But, what I mean is
what
I am, not who.”

“I’m not sure what you’re asking, sergeant!"

“What I’m asking, soldier”—and I say it loud enough to get everyone’s attention—“is do you know what I can turn into?”

No answer.

“Anyone?”

A private steps forward. “Sir, I hear you can turn into a giant, sir.”

Coughing covers some laughs, and my mouth turns down to avoid cracking my own smile. “Well, I suppose it could be worse, fuzzy. Get back in line.”

“Roger!”

I position myself where all of the leaders, at least, can hear me over the wind and the waves. The orange sky makes everyone glow, and I wish we had a flag to help set the mood. My words will have to do.

“Do you know where you are, soldiers?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“When you later take off your boots, the dirt that falls out of them belongs to us. It belonged to our fathers, and our fathers’ fathers. Ladies and gentlemen, we are home.”

Vero steps forth. “Can I get a hooah!”

“
Hooah!
”

A few smiles open up the faces of a once seasick, pale, and industrious crowd. Life sparks in their eyes, and some inch forward to hear me better.

“I’m no Sergeant Nolan,” I tell them. “If he were here, he’d probably say something about you not needing to live forever, or that the chicks back home love a hero. But I’m not going to say any of that. We don’t need any more stiffs, so this is what you’re all going to do: You’re going to be careful. You’re going to keep from making mistakes. I don’t need stupid bravery or dumb luck; I need quickness, wisdom, and real leadership. Remember your training, and come back in one piece. And that’s an order!”

“Yes, sir!”

For a moment, I let nostalgia overtake me, and the wind quiets. “We can’t lose what’s ours already, soldiers. Not again.” A few look down at their feet. “This place holds our memories, and the Authority took our country without our permission. Now that we’ve returned as prodigal sons and daughters, what are we going to do? … I said: What are we going to do!”

“Take it!”

“That’s right! And nothing will stand in our way! For home!”

And two hundred soldiers yell back, “For home!”

Vero
and I move into the lead, and she stays close, ready to radio the team leaders with their orders. Once we get near the buildings on the boardwalk, I hold up a hand, and everyone waits.

“It’s quiet,” says Vero.

“Take cover,” I call back.

A faint noise comes from between the buildings—shuffled, dragged feet.

“Stiffies,” someone whispers.

“Lots of them,” Cory adds unhelpfully.

Inwardly, I shudder, but outwardly I give a hand signal that has everyone putting their backs to the nearest building and checking ammo.

The first stiffie walks by, and I can’t comprehend what I’m seeing. It’s got on a backpack that looks new and—

“They’re rigged!” I barely yell out before it explodes.

The blast flings me across the street, and I’m catapulted into the next building, feet first. Luckily, the wall was already crumbled from previous battles, so I land on a pile of rubble and I’m less dead than I should be.

Unfortunately, my ears are ringing and my limbs don’t work. More bombs explode, raining plaster down onto my head. I cough and fight to sit up, but everything’s blurred in a haze.

I struggle onto my side, now facing the burning boardwalk, and watch the carnage continue. Somewhere from a safe distance, the Authority’s triggering stiffies strapped with bombs whenever they get close to us.

When the feeling finally returns to my legs, I begin to crawl—the moans of the living are much louder than that of the zombies’—and my hands squish into a pulpy mess of what could only have been a soldier.

My search for surviving team members is slow going with only one leg functioning properly. When I find Defoe, he’s got his hands pressed over a hole in his stomach that’s gushing lifeblood in a steady stream, and Vero’s nowhere to be found, not in time. No amount of Special could help him now, anyway.

Stiffies steadily climb over the concrete mountain to get to us; the smell of blood draws them in like a dinner bell. Smoke stains the air, making my eyes burn. I stay between the zombies and Defoe, firing when I’m certain I have a good shot. At least I can keep him from being eaten … alive.

The streets are littered with bodies, both zombies and ours. I can’t spot any movement of green fatigues near me, but I also can’t see beyond the felled buildings to know if the other teams had fared any better.

“Defoe?” I say, but when I turn, he’s already gone.

Another zombie’s gotten close, still wearing a UPS uniform that’s shredded in strings and barely covering his skeletal-thin body. He’s got on a backpack, too.

The explosion knocks me from my perch.

Only this time, when I land, I’m staring up at an orange sky between a swirl of smoke and concrete powder while my vision slowly shrinks.

A
steady buzzing in my head wakes me. Feels like I’ve been lying in the same spot for hours. Rolling over onto my belly and dragging myself toward the one single building that’s still standing, I’m truly lucky that the blast had killed the zombies nearby.