The Dying of the Light (Book 1): End (9 page)

The squad was silent, realizing the importance of what I had just shown them. From the back of the room came a sharp snort and we all turned quickly to see Maxwell approaching us. None of us had seen him in weeks, and we had been wondering what had happened to him.

“He’s right, you know,” he said. “All these trainers and instructors are accustomed to training people to deal with normal threats, which doesn’t include zombies. Blake, what would you suggest?”

I looked at my squad, who were all waiting for me to answer. “Well, sir, I would suggest that we use the training that we’ve received as a baseline for further work. I know that my squad has some very well trained martial artists amongst them, and I’m sure the other squads do as well. If we combine their knowledge of our true enemy with the training we’ve already received, we should be able to work up some more advanced training scenarios. But all this martial arts is — or should be — a secondary consideration, sir.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, because the whole
point
should be to keep the damned things as far away from us as possible, sir. That’s the single most important thing to remember about zombies. At a distance, they’re essentially harmless. It’s only up close that they become so dangerous. So while the throws and hand-to-hand are a still a good idea, just in case, we really should be focusing on how to escape being grabbed or pinned with these exercises. The knives and clubs and what-not… well, ideally we should never get close enough to use them, sir.”

Maxwell merely grunted and looked thoughtful.

“One other thing, sir.”

“Yes, Blake?”

“We’re not just going to be fighting zombies, sir. We’re going to be fighting regular people as well. Even our own turned friends and other soldiers. Walkers don’t start out as walkers, sir. They’re normal people to begin with, and those people will be scared, angry, hurt and more than a little crazy. We need to be prepared to fight not just the walkers, but also those who are infected but not yet turned, not to mention those who might become infected, too.”

I looked around at my fellow soldiers, and realized that none of them had come to this conclusion yet. It was a startling thing, to realize you would have to deal with the regular people as well as the zombies. Maxwell cleared his throat.

“Well, son, you’ve given us all something to chew on, haven’t you?” I winced at his phrasing, but he continued without noticing. “I’ll pass this along, and we’ll see what adjustments can be made. Good thinking, Blake. Fall in!”

Without thought, we fell into our standard formation, drilled into us after months of training. Covered in sweat, we were prepared to listen to our commander.

“Part of my responsibility here is to see to it that you are all in tip-top shape at all times, and that includes mentally. Blake here,” he said, pointing to me, “has just shown us that hardly any of us are thinking outside of the box on this one, especially us stick-in-the-mud military types. Obviously, we’re all too close to this, and we need a break. You’ve all been working at this non-stop for nearly three months.”

“So, we’re going to bust you out of your routine and shake you up a bit. As of 2000 hours this evening, you have all been granted a 48-hour pass.” Surprise registered on all our faces, but even more so when Maxwell smiled. “You’ve earned it. Report back to your barracks no later than 2000 hours two days from now, and we’ll continue your training. Until then,” and he broke into the biggest grin we’d seen from him yet, “consider yourselves ordered to have fun and not think at all about walkers. Dismissed!”

There was a ragged cheer of sorts from the exhausted soldiers — and one civilian — and we fell out to our barracks. As we were leaving, I spotted Doctor Adamsdóttir entering from the side of the room. She and Maxwell were close in conversation, and if I hadn’t seen it myself, I never would’ve believed it.

Ol’ George was nervous.

Him? And the doc? No way, I thought. Never in a million years…

I lost my train of thought as Eaton yanked me out of the door, pestering me with questions about the local sightseeing opportunities. Lost in our own conversation, I quickly forgot about our leader and the doctor.

Most of our team spent our first day off in months seeing the sights in Denver or Colorado Springs, or visiting friends and relatives. Alpha squad had little of the latter nearby; I had none, as my parents were long dead, and everyone else I had known had died in Fall Creek. So when Eaton and Barnes suggested that we have a nice dinner out the next night, the rest of us readily agreed.

Reynolds, Gaines, Martinez and I had been seated by a young hostess at one of the better steak restaurants in Denver. I had never been able to afford to eat here, but now that we were on the Army’s dime, it seemed the logical choice.

Who knows when we’ll get another chance?

We were all in evening wear, having had more than enough of uniforms for the moment and taking the rare opportunity to dress however we wanted. Barnes and Eaton had taken that idea to heart and had informed the other four of us in no uncertain terms that what we — meaning, of course,
they
— really needed was a night out on the town in style.

And damn if they didn’t succeed
, I thought as the girls entered the restaurant.

On the low side of medium height, Rachel Eaton had long brown hair that was often pulled back into a ponytail, and her brown eyes could pierce like augurs right through those unprepared for the intelligence behind them. She entered rooms like she owned them, and though she didn’t monopolize conversations, she made damned sure that you knew she was there. No back seats or sidelines for this one.

She had really pulled out all the stops tonight, in a black and white patterned strapless dress that set off her toned arms and prominent collarbones. Her dark hair was pulled half up in a clip, revealing sterling silver and teal earrings that matched her tasteful belt and open-toed heels. A black clutch purse completed the ensemble, and it was a toss-up as to whether she or the captain drew more stares.
Kimberly
, I admonished myself.
Her name is Kim. Not Barnes and not captain. Kim.

Kim was stunning in a spaghetti-strapped deep green cocktail dress that perfectly matched her eyes. The dress fell to just above her knees, clinging to her slim legs as she moved. Long silver earrings accentuated her graceful neck and tanned shoulders, and her hair fell curling down her back in an auburn cascade. I was too flustered to even notice anything else as she and Eaton moved across the room arm in arm.

She and Eaton —
Rachel,
I thought — had outdone all of the guys by leaps and bounds. We were suitably attired, but the girls had every head in the place turning, male and female alike. They had reminded us that they were more than just soldiers, and I doubted any of us would forget that lesson again.

Kim laughed at a comment from Rachel. I looked away as she turned my way, hoping for help from Gaines, who was so obviously trying not to look at Eaton that it was almost pitiful.
He’s not going to be any help.

Somehow we managed to stand at the girls’ arrival, and fumble our way through greetings. I tried to think of something debonair or at least mildly interesting to say, but failed because I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off Kimberly, who, of course, hadn’t noticed and was deep in whispered consultation with Eaton, both sitting across the large table from me.

In desperation, I turned to my left and asked Reynolds — Captain Tom Reynolds, Air Force, 22
^nd
Special Tactics Squadron out of Tacoma, Washington — if he’d ever been here before. He looked back at me with a smirk as he shook his head.

“No, sir. A friend recommended it. You might ask Captain Bar… uh, Kim, though. I think she was stationed here at one point.” Holding his menu up as though he was having trouble reading it, he nodded in her direction and winked at me as he grinned.

Bastard.

I turned back to Kim, as though I hadn’t been practically drooling over her ten seconds before. “Well, Kim? Have you ever been here?”

Her eyes sparkled as she turned my way and flashed me her thousand-watt smile.
Good grief,
I thought.
I’ll be useless if I can’t get her out of my head.
“Just once, sir. Though it feels like a lifetime ago now.”

“Stop calling me sir,” I mumbled. I should’ve given up on it by now, but I couldn’t seem to get them to stop. “How was the food?”

“It was amazing, si… David.” She had made the effort, and I quickly squashed the little voice inside my head that told me how good it was to hear her say my name. “The T-bone was phenomenal, and the crab cakes, and… well, I’m getting even hungrier just thinking about it.” She looked around for a waiter, and I sighed.

I just can’t,
I thought.
Not now, not with all that’s coming. I have to focus, buckle down, and forget how gorgeous she is.

I sighed again as the waiter arrived. “I’ll have a Jack-and-Coke.” I caught his arm as I noticed the two girls talking quietly across the table. “Make it a double, please,” I muttered to him, and caught his slight grin as he nodded.

“Certainly, sir.”

As it turned out, our fellow squaddie Reynolds was quite the conversationalist and dinner companion. He kept us entertained throughout the meal with funny anecdotes and critiques on the wine and the food, and always made sure that our glasses were full and our palates delighted by the sensations of the food and drink he suggested. He claimed to have been an engineer in his civilian career, though he did like to entertain.

Kim was right, this food is excellent,
I thought sometime later as I leaned back.
I feel like a turkey ready for Thanksgiving dinner. Oof.

I looked around the table and noted that everyone else also appeared full and in some cases, a bit tipsy. I realized I’d helped go through at least four bottles of wine between the six of us.

“So,” I said, to no one in particular. “What’s next on the schedule?”

A whispered conversation later, the girls presented us with a united front. I glanced at the other guys and confirmed that they were as nervous about this as I was. What did these two have planned now?

“We want to go dancing,” said Kim. Rachel piped up, too. “And not somewhere cheap; someplace nice.” She actually shook her finger at me and I surprised myself by nodding.

“Why not?” I motioned to the waiter and he came over to the table quickly.“Where can we find a nice place for dancing?” I was certain I didn’t slur my speech at all, but the waiter looked at me as though trying to translate what I had said.

“Dancing, sir? What kind of dancing did you have in mind?”

Helpless in the face of this most daunting of questions, I gestured to the girls. “Well?”

“Salsa,” Kim said, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Evil, evil woman.

The waiter smiled and leaned down to give her what I could only presume were the directions to whatever den of iniquity he had in mind to seal the doom of the men in Alpha squad. Gaines began poking me in the ribs.

“What?” I hissed at him, surreptitiously holding my side where it felt like I’d been stabbed with the blunt end of a screwdriver. I looked up at Gaines to see the most pitiful hang-dog expression you can imagine.

“I can’t dance, man. At least not that salsa stuff.” Okay,
he
looked scared. I patted him on the shoulder and told him not to worry, I had it on good authority that Colonel Maxwell wouldn’t let us go down without a fight, and I’d think of something.

Maybe it had been more than four bottles of wine, after all.

Suddenly, the waiter was gone and we were all standing in preparation for our departure. I grimaced and wondered how I would pull this off. The only time I’d ever danced in my life was at a cousin’s wedding, and my date told me I’d left bruises all over her feet. I was not looking forward to this.

I turned to Reynolds to ask him if he could show us a couple of quick steps out of eyeshot of the girls at some point, but he demurred.

“I won’t be joining you this evening, sir,” he said. I looked at him, and he quirked a smile my way. “My tastes lie in… other directions.” I followed his quick glance and saw meaningful glances pass between our waiter and Reynolds, out of sight of the others. I looked back at him and realization dawned at that moment. Tom merely smiled.

“Well,” I began lamely. “Uh, good luck?”

He laughed and clapped me on the back, turning me to face the others. “My friends, I’m afraid that life calls me elsewhere, and I won’t be able to join you. Have fun, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” He winked at me, and I mustered everyone outside to the waiting cabs. Again, the girls had insisted on separate transport.

This could not end well.

Somehow, Gaines, Martinez and I managed to arrive before the girls. Much to our surprise, Martinez was able to teach the other two of us a few steps before they arrived. I asked him where he’d learned.

“I grew up in Miami, sir,” he answered. “There, if you don’t know salsa, you don’t know nothing. They taught us in school, too.”

I laughed and clapped him on the back. “Good thing for us,
mi hermano
.”