These Dead Lands: Immolation (57 page)

Everson knitted his salt-and-pepper eyebrows behind his glasses. “Here? At the Gap?”

Hastings shook his head. “I don’t think so, no. But definitely at the outer barricades. Depending on how many of them there are, they’ll start bleeding around the edges. I don’t think there’ll be any reekers in the local wire tomorrow, but I’d count on it by the day after.”

Everson nodded. “Okay, sir. I’ll redouble the efforts tomorrow.”

“Who’s the best, and who’s the worst?”

“The worst would have to be Walker, surprisingly. Turns out the reason he’s so good with a baseball bat is that he’s pretty much afraid of firearms. Typical bully, I guess, huh?”

Hastings snorted. He looked over at Walker, who was sitting by himself on a lower bunk halfway down the barracks. Walker met Hastings’s eye for a moment then looked away. “Yeah, he’s got some pussy factor to him,” Hastings said. “Think you can get him over the line?”

Everson shrugged again. “Not everyone has what it takes, sir. And under this timeline… well, who the hell knows? But he’ll either make it, or he won’t. And if he doesn’t, I guess he’s going to be zombie chow.”

“Okay. So who’s the class leader?”

Everson pointed at the far end of the building. “Your lady friend, Miss Li. Seems like she can back up her nasty attitude with action, if she has to.”

“She’s not my lady friend, Everson,” Hastings said, even as he wondered why he felt the need to contest the reference. It wasn’t as if it mattered what anyone thought.

Everson looked confused then nodded. “My bad, Captain. Guess I read things the wrong way. Anyhow, she’s the top student. Seems to have enough fire in her belly to do what needs to be done, and she isn’t frightened of the M4. I do think she might be better suited for that little Sig short barrel she has. With your permission, I’ll switch her over to that tomorrow, get her acclimated to the reduced muzzle velocity and the like.”

“You know the Sig?”

Everson nodded. “Oh, yeah. Nice little piston-driven weapon. Don’t need to worry about keeping it spic and span all the time, and it doesn’t have to be babied the way the M4 does. I don’t have a real feel for its overall durability, but it does come from a top notch manufacturer. A shame we don’t have more of them to go around. Anyway, given the fact she’s the smallest, it makes some sense for her to transfer to that weapon. It’s not like it’s going to destroy her performance or anything. The way I see it, these folks aren’t going to be up on the line, so if they need to go to guns, it’ll be at knife-fighting range.”

“You might be right about that,” Hastings said. “Though if the bottom drops out, maybe they’ll have to shoulder a little more weight. What were you training them on today?”

“Hundred yards.”

Hastings considered that. A hundred yards wasn’t exactly close. “Okay. If you feel you have the time, have them drill at two hundred yards and inside of fifty. They’ll need to become accustomed to different sight pictures.”

“I know that, Captain. I’ll do what I can with the time we have. The goal here is to just approach proficiency, not produce riflemen. Am I correct?”

“You are.”

“Good. I’ll squeeze in as much live-fire training as I can, but I do want to ensure everyone can master at least the basics of maintaining their weapons. That’s a priority for me, and it just makes sense. You agree?”

“I do. You have a free hand here, Everson. You do whatever you think is necessary to get them at least somewhat self-sufficient if things go bad.”

“Well, that’s already happened, hasn’t it?” Everson gave him a grim smile.

Hastings sighed. “Yeah. I guess we’re a bit past things just going bad, huh?”

Everson nodded. “That was about five exits ago. Anyway, things are progressing, and for the first day, folks are coming along.” The old Marine paused, running a hand over his bushy beard. “So what’s happening up front?”

“Just like here, defenses are going up. Always too slowly, but we’re getting there. I think we’ll still be setting up after we make initial contact, but we should have time for it.”

“You ever get a good count?”

Hastings stretched a bit, trying to work out a stubborn kink in his lower back. “I haven’t been fully briefed about what the recce flights found, but I heard it’s in the millions. It’s the motherlode of reekerdom coming right for us.”

“Millions. Jesus.” Everson seemed to age another ten years. “Yesterday, it was fifty to seventy-five thousand. Now it’s… what? All of Manhattan Island?”

“With a good portion of New Jersey and eastern Pennsylvania thrown in for good measure,” Hastings said. “It was never going to be pretty, Everson.”

“Yes, sir. I just didn’t expect it to go from extremely unattractive to outright butt-ugly in less than twenty-four hours.” Everson lightened up. “Hey, we have some beers. Want one? I go for Bud Light, but seeing as you’re a sophisticated Army officer, we also have some Corona.”

Hastings felt a small smile form on his lips. “Maybe later. I think I’m going to hit the showers and try to scrub off some of this Pennsylvania summer. After that, I’m gonna get some chow.”

“Well, it’ll probably be only Corona by then. I’m having a tough time keeping Slater away from the Bud. Bastard also eats the cans afterwards, which means there’s not a chance in hell of us recovering the deposit.”

Hastings surprised himself by chuckling. “Well, I guess he’s doing what Special Forces does.”

“Yeah. Fucking up everything for the rest of us.” Everson laughed.

Hastings shook the man’s hand. “Thanks for everything, Mister Everson. Keep doing what you’re doing.”

“You got it, Captain. You better hit the shower and get some rack time. You look like you’re dead on your feet. You been sleeping at all?”

“No. No, not really.”

Everson gave him a speculative look then nodded. “Well. It’ll come. Probably while you’re in the middle of combat, but hey, a little nap never hurt anyone.”

Hastings snorted again. “Well, I hope that won’t be the case. I’d hate to wake up and find out I’m dead. Thanks again, Mister Everson.”

“My pleasure, Captain. It’s good to feel useful again.”

Hastings proceeded farther into the barracks. He saw Guerra lying on his back on one bunk, wearing only his ACU trousers and the regular-issue tan T-shirt. His hands were clasped behind his head, and his dark hair looked damp. The staff sergeant was staring up at the bottom of the bunk above him. A small speck of dried blood adorned the underside of his chin.

“Looks like you cut yourself shaving, Sergeant Guerra,” Hastings said, touching his own chin. “Either that, or you came across the most incompetent jihadi executioner ever known.”

Guerra smiled and started to sit up.

Hastings held up a hand. “Don’t get up. You look like you’re comfortable right where you are. Mind if I take a knee?”

Guerra shook his head. “No, sir. Go right ahead.”

Hastings shrugged out of his ruck and let it drop to the floor. He unslung his rifle and sat down on the bunk across from Guerra, placing the weapon’s butt stock on the floor between his feet. “What’s the status of the barricades you were working on?”

“One’s fully established, and the other is at least baselined. Still a ton more work to do, but it’s coming along, sir. I made contact with a family of Amish out there, too.”

Hastings raised his eyebrows. “Amish?”

Guerra nodded, smiling. “Believe that? Amish. Like the real kind. They’ve fortified their property, and from the looks of it, they’d already had some contact. There were quite a few reeker bodies lying around outside the fence.”

“Where was this?”

“Across the creek, on the other side of one of the bridges. I told them they should come in, but the old guy I talked to didn’t want to leave. I tried to explain that there’s a shit storm headed their way, but he didn’t seem to be very interested. I guess he thinks that if his people keep their heads down, the reekers will ignore ’em. Of course, there’s a bigger chance that Michael Moore might ignore a defenseless box of Twinkies, but the guy just didn’t seem to sense the urgency.”

“How many of them are there?”

“At least one family, maybe more. Big farmhouse backed by a lot of cultivated land. The house is surrounded by a stockade fence, but if the reekers come in sufficient numbers, it won’t even slow them down.” Guerra leaned forward. “Listen, sir. I was wondering if sometime tomorrow I might be able to go back to them. Take them some weapons. I told them that if things get bad, they should head for the barricade, but they’ll have a tough time making it across the creek and through the wire with only a couple of hunting rifles and shotguns. Presuming they even have that much.”

“Not so sure a few rifles will make much of a difference, Guerra. If they want to stay, a battalion of infantry won’t save them. And our guys are probably going to be a bit too busy to try to help them.”

“Yes, sir. I know that.” Guerra looked down at his hands and rubbed one of his knuckles. His right hand had a few cuts on it.

“What happened to you?” Hastings asked.

Guerra looked up. “Huh? Oh, I just got bit by some wire. Nothing to worry about, sir.”

“We should worry about everything, Sergeant. Make sure you put some antiseptic on those cuts. Infection’s something we need to stay on top of. Even a little wound could lead to something really nasty. Pass that on to the rest of the men, if you would. Hygiene is more important now than it might have been a month ago.”

Guerra nodded. “Will do, sir. But I don’t think it’s going to be much help, not with Stilley and his rancid pits following us around.”

Hastings smiled. “Yeah, he is pretty ripe. Well, I’ll let you get back to resting, Sergeant. Thanks for the update.” He started to stand.

“Uh, sir? About those rifles …?”

Hastings hesitated. “Why are you so interested in the Amish, Guerra?”

“Well, they’re people, sir. Not as many living folks around these days as there once was. I mean, don’t get me wrong. We were probably due for a thinning of the herd, but this is a bit much, don’t you think?”

“You really want to believe handing them some rifles and ammunition will make a difference, Sergeant Guerra?”

Guerra fidgeted on the bunk a bit. “I don’t know. Probably not. If they stay where they are, they’re going to die. But unless you order us to enforce an evacuation for their own safety, then we should at least try to be neighborly and lend a hand where we can, right?”

“You think they’d allow themselves to be relocated?”

Guerra shrugged. “Don’t know about that, sir. If it was me and I saw the military standing up a blocking position in my backyard, I’d probably start packing some bags. But these Amish, they don’t seem to be so concerned about it. Maybe they don’t know enough to be scared, or maybe it’s just the way they are. But it doesn’t seem right, leaving them out there to fend for themselves. Even if they won’t listen to reason.”

Hastings sighed. “All right, Guerra. I don’t see any harm in it, but transferring weapons offsite is going to be a tall order. Not so sure we still have rock star status around here any longer, now that the zombies are marching in. We probably used up all the cachet we had, being part of TF Manhattan. I’ll take it to Victor and Jarmusch and see what they have to say about it. If they’re good with it, I’ll come back to you.”

“Fair enough. Thanks, sir.”

Hastings bent over and clapped Guerra on one beefy shoulder. The dude was still solid, even though no one had been to a gym or even practiced much in the way of PT over the last few months. “Thank
you
, Sergeant Guerra. I like that you’re keeping your eyes open and reminding us what we’re here to do. They’re Americans, and it’s our job to keep an eye on them.”

There was an embarrassed quality to Guerra’s smile. “You know what, sir? A couple of months ago, I wouldn’t have given a shit. But after what we saw in New York, I guess I’m about to turn a new leaf. Hell, maybe I’ll even vote Democrat in the next general election.”

“Let’s not start crossing bridges that we can’t even see yet. There might never be another general election.”

“Well, that’s fine too, sir. I can live in a dictatorship if I have to.”

Hastings shook his head. “Sergeant, you are some piece of work. All right, I’ll come back to you later on your request.”

“Thanks again, sir.”

Hastings nodded and gathered his gear. As Guerra stretched out on the bunk again, Hastings lugged his stuff over to his own bunk. Nearby, Kenny was twirling around, an old magazine in his hands. There was no sign of Diana, and Slater seemed to be overseeing the boy for the time. The Special Forces master sergeant nodded as Hastings dropped his ruck at the foot of his bunk. Hastings nodded back and watched Kenny flip through the magazine’s pages mechanically, from back to front. The fair-haired boy held the publication upside down, so Hastings knew the kid wasn’t reading it. Instead, the boy seemed to be deriving some sort of mental stimulation from blasting through the pages.

Slater drifted over. “You hear the news, sir?”

“What is it now?” Hastings asked.

Slater glanced back at Kenny for a moment. Hastings thought it was an odd set of circumstances, the weird SF dude watching over an autistic kid who couldn’t even go to the bathroom by himself. “Nothing bad, sir,” Slater said. “Rawhide established contact. CG USASOC is in command, and I understand they’re giving Victor direction for next steps.” Slater pronounced the acronym for US Army Special Operations Command as “you-sa-sock.”

“Well, that is good, I guess. Looks like you were right about Bragg, after all.”

“Yes, sir. Anyway, I don’t have all the details, but more information’s coming out regarding the overall picture. Turns out there’s a fortified city out west, either Denver or Salt Lake or something like that. And Bragg’s been able to eradicate most of the reekers in their immediate vicinity, but I’m going to guess that’s just a temporary condition.”

“Okay. What else?”

Kenny let out several “Koo-shas,” and both men looked over at him. For an instant, Kenny returned each of their glances. Then he smiled and went back to rifling through the magazine while babbling to himself.