The Darkest Place: A Surviving the Dead Novel (3 page)

On the catwalk, Deputy Glover stood with her hands cupped around her mouth shouting something unintelligible at the people making noise. After a few seconds, the clamor stopped and the townsfolk slowly began climbing down.

“The hell they doin’?” Cole muttered.

Hicks shook his head. “No idea.”  He kept his place in ranks, shifting restlessly, until a few seconds later the throaty rumble of a tank engine echoed across the field.

“All right, kids,” Ashman called out, grinning. “Make some noise.”

Hicks took off his right glove, pinched his fingers between his teeth, and let out a piercing whistle. The men around him began shouting a colorful tapestry of insults, threats, and general obscenity. Holland joined them by loudly clanking his tomahawks together. To Hicks’ left, he watched an M-109 Howitzer round the corner of the wall and roll into view.

Jonas gave the order to pull back but keep the infected bunched together. With the front ranks of infected only fifty yards away, the troops slowly led the undead toward the self-propelled artillery piece. When Jonas gave the order to break ranks and run, the horde had reformed into a teardrop shape pointed straight at the barrel of the Howitzer’s 155mm cannon.

Once safely out of the way, the soldiers and militiamen put in their earplugs and waited. Hicks watched the Howitzer’s six-man crew lower the vehicle’s spades and back up over them. Once the massive gun was stabilized, the crew loudly exhorted to their audience to get ready for a little Killer Junior action.

“Oh, this is gonna to be good,” Holland said, rubbing his hands together.

Vincenzo tapped Hicks on the arm and leaned in close. “What the hell is a Killer Junior?”

“Direct-fire fragmentation round. Nasty shit. Just watch.”

The horde was less than a hundred meters from the Howitzer. The soldier manning the .50 caliber machine gun held up a hand and counted down three, two, one…

BOOM.

The backwash from the blast slapped Hicks in the chest like a giant, invisible hand. A cloud of white smoke obscured the horde, then quickly dissipated. The shot cut a swath through the infected, reducing more than half their number to a maroon-colored mist. Hicks listened to the artillery crew shout back and forth while they reloaded, and then, when the horde recovered and resumed its previous teardrop-shaped approach, the Howitzer thundered again, leaving only a few dozen walkers in its wake.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God,” Vincenzo whispered. “Why didn’t they just do that to begin with?”

Hicks laughed. “Why does the Army do anything?”

“Good point.”

Sergeant Ashman stood up and turned to his men. “All right, fellas.” He raised his sword and pointed it at the few remaining infected. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a bite to eat. Let’s mop up and get the hell out of here.”

Hicks took up his spear and went to work.

The rest of the day was routine.

First Platoon returned to their barracks and cleaned their weapons. A short time later, the civilian contractors showed up and cooked them breakfast. Then came PT—led by Sergeant Ashman—followed by an equipment inspection carried out by the platoon’s squad leaders. After inspection came the filling out of requisition forms to replace anything worn beyond usefulness.

These events preceded a patrol of the town’s perimeter, which was really just an excuse for Ashman to lead his men on an eight-mile road march in full combat gear. Consequently, when they returned at 1300 hours for lunch, they were ravenous.

The afternoon consisted of cleaning their barracks, digging new latrines, and expending a portion of the company’s training ammunition in the urban combat facility just outside Fort McCray. Then they cleaned their weapons again, marched back to the barracks, and ate their evening meal. At 1800 hours, Lt. Jonas told his men to check the watch bill and keep their ears open for alarm bells, but otherwise, the rest of the day was theirs.

Hicks wasn’t worried about having to stand watch. He had drawn the mid-watch the night before, and he knew Ashman was a sensible sergeant who knew better than to wear his men out with unnecessary sleep deprivation. Still, he checked the bill just to be sure. He wasn’t on it.

As Hicks was stowing his gear and preparing to leave, Holland sat down on the bunk across from him. “Going to see Miranda?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll never understand how you landed her. Half the platoon tried and failed. Even Cole struck out, and that guy is a bona fide pussy magnet.”

“Just lucky, I guess.”  

“Everybody’s in love with her, you know. We all hate you because she picked you over the rest of us. I’ll never understand why. You barely talk, you’re not intelligent or charming, and your face looks like a bowl of smashed assholes. I don’t get it. What does she see in you?”

“Must be my southern charm.”

Holland began unlacing his boots. “You must be hung like a horse. That’s gotta be it. How big is your dick? Eight, ten, eleven inches? It’s the only explanation.”

Hicks found himself laughing. “Tell you what, Derrick. You enjoy spending the rest of the evening pondering the dimensions of my penis. I’m gonna go see my girlfriend.”

“I hate you, Caleb. I’m gonna kill you in your sleep and
steal
your girlfriend.”

“Stay out of trouble, amigo.”

“Never in life. You coming by Stall’s for drinks tonight?”

“Probably not.”

“Can’t say I blame you. All right, man, have fun.”

“Adios.”

*****

The Hollow Rock General Store was a short walk from the VFW hall, which was one of the many reasons Hicks was grateful his platoon was garrisoned in town and not with the rest of Echo Company at Fort McCray.

The afternoon was warm, the springtime sun still well above the horizon, leaving a few more hours of daylight before nightfall. It was a welcome reprieve from what had been a long, dark winter. As he walked, Hicks thought to himself that given the choice between another winter like the one just passed, and dealing with marauders and infected on a daily basis, he would take the extra combat action any day of the week.

Besides, he liked combat. Being close to death made him feel more alive, although he would never admit it out loud. Especially not to Miranda.

The CLOSED sign hung in the window when he reached the general store. Undeterred, he went around back and knocked three times, paused, knocked twice more, paused again, and knocked three more times. There was a shuffling sound, the clicks of locks disengaging, and the door opened.

And there she was.

If he could have seen through Miranda’s eyes, he would have beheld a subtle shift in his features. A brightening of the eyes, a slight curving of his lips, a gentle gaze that held Miranda’s and said much without saying anything at all. Caleb was not a terribly expressive young man, but Miranda had learned to read him. She stood in the doorway for a moment, hand on outthrust hip, head slightly tilted, smiling sweetly, and let him take her in. She had lived in her own skin long enough to know what men saw when they looked at her, and in most cases, she hated being stared at. But with Caleb, it was different. She liked it when he looked at her. And touched her.

Among other things.

“Mind if I come in, pretty lady?” Hicks asked.

She reached up, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and pulled him down for a kiss. It was only when she stood close to him that she realized how tall and broad he was. He had a slouching, lazy, head-lowered manner that made him look slender, narrow, and a little awkward. It was deceptive until you looked at the thickness of his forearms, the breadth of his shoulders, or the understated springiness in the way he moved. He looked thin and light, but in truth, he was six-foot-two, two-hundred-ten pounds, and very good at concealing his physical prowess. And she loved every inch of him. Scars and all.

“How was work?” she asked.

Hicks shrugged. “Dug a latrine. Cleaned my gun. Shot some infected. Captured a few insurgents. Same old, same old.”

Miranda shook her head. “You’re crazy.”

“It’s part of my mystique.”

The heel of her palm rebounded gently against his forehead. “Get in here, soldier boy.”

Hicks stepped into the back room of the store and looked around. Several rows of metal shelves dominated the space, bearing inventory stacked to the roof. Sunlight filtered in through a window near the ceiling, highlighting dust motes floating in the air. Hicks reached up and passed his hand through a golden ray, sending the little white flecks swirling. He watched them turn and shift while Miranda shut the door and locked it.

“I just have a few things to finish up. Why don’t you have a seat?” she said.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

He took a seat on a stool under the window and watched her work. She had tied her light blonde hair back in a loose ponytail, a few errant strands framing her pale, oval face. She wore no makeup. Her clothes were loose, designed for comfort, and durable. Her boots had steel toes.

Hicks couldn’t take his eyes off her.

He remembered the first time, at her invitation, he had gone to visit her at her trailer. She had answered the door with her hair styled in loose curls, slender body clad in a skimpy little red thing, scarlet high heels on her feet, flowery perfume making his head swim. He stopped breathing. His hands shook when Miranda laughed at him and led him inside. He smiled at the memory. No one had made him feel that way since-

No. Don’t go there.

He closed his eyes and willed the memory away, took a few deep breaths, and pictured an empty black void in his mind, deep in the shadows where the demons live, where no light ever shines. The emptiness swelled and stretched and cast aside the pain of loss and regret. In a moment, he was warm, and quiet, and in control again.

A hand touched his face and he jumped.

“Are you all right, Caleb?”

“Yeah, sorry. Think I might have dozed off. You startled me.”

Miranda cupped his chin in her hand and ran a thumb over the mess of scars on his left cheek. “At least you didn’t come up swinging. I heard Thompson does that sometimes.”

Hicks nodded. “That he does. Caught me on the temple one time. Damn near knocked me out.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“You weren’t mad at him?”

He shrugged. “Five second rule. He’s a big guy, strong as hell, seen a lot of combat. I shouldn’t have been standing so close.”

“That’s terrible.”

“It’s the world we live in.”

The hand fell away. “Come on. Enough sad talk. How about you buy a girl a drink?”

Hicks stood up and kissed her on the cheek. “Sounds good to me.”

`

*****

The good thing about the enlisted club at Fort McCray was they accepted federal credits, the currency by which soldiers were paid.

The bad thing about the enlisted club was it was full of grunts.

They had taken a booth in the back, out of sight of the bar. Nevertheless, people still kept finding excuses to wander close to their table and stare. Hicks was not quick to anger, but the attention was beginning to wear on his nerves. When soldiers wandered too close, he shot them a look that informed them in no uncertain terms they were not welcome. A few weeks ago, it would not have done any good. But now, in the wake of what Miranda had termed The Wilson Incident, Hicks had a reputation among the men of Echo Company.

“We are not going to have another Wilson Incident, Caleb,” Miranda said, as if reading his mind.

He looked down and spun his glass, remembering.

*****

Private Randall Wilson was a giant, standing six-foot-ten and just shy of three hundred solid pounds. Hicks knew his story the same as everyone in Echo Company. He had played inside linebacker for Alabama, and after a stellar, record-setting junior year, was expected to go early in the draft.

Then the Outbreak happened.

He fled the University of Alabama when the National Guard showed up to evacuate the campus. The convoy he traveled with made it all the way to Colorado, only losing a few dozen people along the way. Not long after arriving, with his only job prospects being to hunt salvage or join a federally run farming or construction corps, he opted to join the Army.

By then, Fort Bragg had been secured, and after basic training in Colorado, he and many other newly minted soldiers were flown to Bragg for advanced infantry training. Shortly thereafter, he had been assigned to Second Platoon of Echo Company.

While Hicks’ platoon wintered in Hollow Rock, the rest of Echo Company had traveled to Kansas to assist with revenant extermination efforts. Due to Kansas’ proximity to Colorado, its wealth of good farmland, and the overcrowding in Colorado Springs, the President had proposed a bill to help settlers relocate to the mostly abandoned state and begin growing crops to support the burgeoning population. The idea was met with great support and enthusiasm, but faced a serious problem.

The infected. Over two million of them.

So the President, facing the end of his term in office and concerned with his legacy, did the only thing he could. He called his generals and staff into a meeting, explained what he wanted, and told them to find a way to make it happen. A month later, they had a plan drawn up and were mobilizing troops and assets to carry it out.

At the beginning of the offensive—dubbed Operation Relentless Force—General Phillip Jacobs, head of Army Special Operations Command, wrote a brief, now-famous speech that he sent to all commanding officers at the company level. From there, every platoon CO in the Army read it to their soldiers in an effort to motivate them and mitigate their fears.

“I won’t mince words,” General Jacobs wrote. “You all have a tough job ahead of you. There are roughly 2.8 million infected in the state of Kansas, and only 100,000 brave men and women being sent to kill them. Which, when expressed in those terms, may seem like an insurmountable task. But I assure you, it is not. To prove this assertion, let us do the math. As I pointed out earlier, there are 100,000 troops being deployed. Therefore, in order to exterminate every infected in Kansas, each of you needs to rack up a body count of no more than 28. Put that way, it doesn’t seem quite so difficult, now does it? So before you head out, I want you to check the magazine in your rifle and make sure you have at least 28 rounds in it. You should have several more magazines also loaded with at least 28 rounds on your person. If you don’t, talk to your supply sergeant. Then grab your gear, lace up your boots, and go kick some ass. Your country is counting on you.”

Despite the general’s encouragement, it was a long, brutal winter marked by hardship, hunger, constant danger, and the loss of many comrades. The battles of Wichita and Topeka were especially bloody. But the Army and their accompanying volunteer militias got the job done, and thousands of settlers had applied for land grants.

After leaving the front and arriving at their new forward operating base (FOB) at Fort McCray, Second and Third Platoon had initially treated First Platoon with disdain. Their impression was that while the rest of the company had spent the winter half-frozen, half-starved, and up to their eyeballs in walkers, First Platoon had been fat and happy and snuggled next to a warm fire banging hot civilian chicks. First Platoon was quick to inform them that while they had not fought as many walkers, they had faced more than their share of trouble from insurgents and marauders, and had taken casualties.

Upon hearing the stories, most of the soldiers of Second and Third Platoon eventually accepted that First Platoon had not spent the winter in quite as much luxury as originally thought. And while Second and Third Platoon had killed thousands of walkers, they had run into very little trouble from the living. It only took a few encounters with marauders after the spring thaw for them to realize just how tough life had been for First Platoon. Consequently, for most of Echo Company, the subject had ceased to be grounds for argument.