These Dead Lands: Immolation (13 page)

“We’ll pull a few mattresses downstairs for everyone, sir,” Ballantine said. “Where do you want the rest of us?”

“I want two troops keeping overwatch from upstairs. They need to stay out of sight as much as possible, but they also need to be able to keep an eye on the terrain. I know we’re going to get reekers passing by, but we should keep a count of how many and which direction they move in. We want to keep heading west, so hopefully they’re not all marching in that direction. No one should engage them unless they see us and make a move first. If that happens, we’ll bring up the civilians, blast a hole through them, and return to the vehicles.”

“Understood.” Ballantine wondered if Hastings was serious about that. In New York, they’d seen the reekers mass when they sensed prey was nearby, and the only thing that tipped the scales in the soldiers’ favor were the heavier weapons, the .50 cal and 40-millimeter grenade launcher. Those were mounted in the Humvee cupolas, and they were about twenty feet away from the back door. Ballantine could cover that distance in less than a second when he had full spring in his step, but twenty feet was enough room for twenty zombies. Shooting your way through twenty corpses that didn’t feel pain or fear wasn’t exactly easy, especially since the only way to take them out for certain was with a headshot. Scoring that repeatedly while running was a tall order. But at the end of the day, it was either that or lie down and die.

“I like Guerra and Tharinger for the overwatch duty,” Hastings said. “Give the grunt work to Hartman and Stilley, with Reader on standby. What do you think?”

“I agree, sir. Guerra and Tharinger have what it takes, and they’re cooler under pressure than Hartman. Reader’s a good alternate, but I don’t know anything about Stilley, other than the sound of his voice.”

“There’s a three-oh-eight upstairs. We might be able to use that for sniping,” Hastings said. “Have Guerra check it out. And Reader said we still have running water. We should shower and get clean while we have the chance.”

“Yes, sir.” Ballantine looked past Hastings’s shoulder at his wife. Kay looked back at him with tense eyes. She could feel something was off with Hastings as well. Ballantine brought his attention back to the captain. “How’re you holding up, sir?”

The question seemed to surprise Hastings. “What?”

“I asked, how are you holding up?”

Hastings didn’t respond for a moment. “Just peachy, Sergeant,” he finally said. “Clear on the orders?”

“Yes, sir.” Ballantine motioned to Diana and Kenny. The boy was playing with her hair, and she didn’t seem thrilled by it. She didn’t appear to be the most maternal lady on the planet, but for some reason, the young autistic boy had stuck to her. “Maybe they should shower first,” he said. “A shower would be good for the boy, if nothing else.”

“Agreed,” Hastings said.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather shower alone,” Diana said.

“Well, the boy’s going to need some help, won’t he?” Kay asked, stepping forward.

Ballantine sighed, though he didn’t know whether it was in relief or despair. Kay had taken on a mission, and she was going to carry it out.

“I’m not his mother,” Diana said.

Kay looked down at her, her expression passive. “But he seems to have taken a shine to you.”

“Yeah, well, that’s maybe because he knew me from before,” Diana said. “When his parents were alive, he didn’t pay much attention to me—only his mother, and every now and then, his dad. But he’s definitely a momma’s boy.” With a sigh, Diana pulled Kenny’s hand out of her long, dark hair. “Would you please
stop
that?” she hissed.

Kenny looked at her for a moment, then smiled, and reached for her hair again.

Diana made a noise in her throat and pulled her head away from him. “Somebody get this kid off me!”

“Take it easy,” Hastings said.

“I’m not his mother!” Diana snapped. “I don’t want to be responsible for him, General.
You
take care of him!”

“Why don’t
I
take care of him?” Kay said and stepped forward. She reached toward Kenny with both hands, smiling. “Come on, Kenny. Let’s go upstairs, and—”

“NO NO NO NO
NO
!” the boy shouted, latching onto Diana and clinging to her with all his might. No matter how hard she struggled against him, Kenny held fast.

“Get him off me!” Diana said as Kenny began to cry.

Kay stopped where she was, a stricken expression on her face.

“All right, all right, let’s all keep our cool here,” Ballantine said, looking to Hastings.

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Hastings added. “Diana, sorry, but the kid’s latched onto you. Might be best for all of us if you were to step up and deal with it. We have to work together and keep him calm.”

“I’m not going to be his mother,” Diana said.

“We’ll
all
be his mother and father,” Hastings said. “You’re not in it alone. We’re all here; we all depend on each other. We’ll help you out and do most of the heavy lifting where the kid is concerned, but he’s developed an attachment for you, and that looks like it’s not going to change. You have to step up and do what’s necessary to keep him calm… and quiet.”

Reader and Tharinger appeared, dragging a mattress down the steps from the second floor. They looked at the crying boy.

“Oh, man, this isn’t what we need right now,” Tharinger said.

“Get that stuff downstairs, and when you’re done, have Hartman and Stilley take over,” Ballantine told them. “Tharinger, you and Guerra stand watch upstairs. Reader, you back them up.”

“You got it,” Reader said, still staring at the sobbing boy.

Hastings walked over and put a hand on Kenny’s arm, but the kid shook it off violently. The child tried to grab Diana, but she moved away from him, her expression one of near-disgust.

That pissed off Ballantine. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked her.

“I’m. Not. His. Mother. Asshole!”

Kay said, “Diana? Could you just hug him, please?”

Diana laughed acidly. “Are all of you stupid?”

Kay pushed past Ballantine with such ferocity that she almost knocked him and Hastings over. She put her face in Diana’s, moving in until they were only inches apart. Even though Kay was taller and at least thirty pounds heavier, the small Asian woman didn’t back down.

“You think you can take me?” Diana asked, glaring up at Kay.

“Could you hug him, please?” Kay said again. “Sorry for the inconvenience, little miss, but could you treat him like a human being and give him some comfort, before the zombies hear him and kill all of us?”

The two women locked eyes for a long moment, neither of them backing down.

After a tense few seconds, Diana relented. “Oh, fuck this shit. Come here.” She reached out to Kenny and drew him close to her.

He immediately began playing with her hair, and his outbursts ebbed right away. He still babbled to himself worriedly, occasionally glancing up at the people in the room, his eyes full of fear.

“Don’t you worry, little man,” Kay cooed. “We’re all going to help you out, okay?”

If Kenny heard her, he gave no indication. He merely continued to play with Diana’s hair, as oblivious to the look of scorn on her face as he was to everything else.

*

They had to
shower in the dark. The civilians went first, with Kay and Diana teaming up to wash Kenny, who danced and hooted in the cold water. He’d had a small bloody bowel movement in his diaper, but the act hadn’t seemed to cause him any physical distress. In fact, Hastings hadn’t even noticed it until he caught a whiff while helping Diana get the boy upstairs. He had taken the soiled disposable garment downstairs to the kitchen, wrapped it in several plastic shopping bags, then tossed it into a corner. There was nothing else that could be done with it, and he certainly wasn’t going to leave it outside. The reekers would home in on it, and no one wanted that.

Getting the boy down the basement stairs took some doing, even with Diana’s halfhearted participation. Ballantine’s sons—Josh and Curtis—helped out, trying to entreat Kenny into the darkness of the cellar. But Kenny was obviously frightened of the dank darkness that welled below like some bottomless maw. Hastings turned on his red-lensed flashlight, and that made things easier. Kenny continued to babble to himself, uttering something that sounded like “koo-
sha
” over and over again. He kept Diana’s right hand in his left, never letting go of her even while Hastings panned his light around, illuminating everything for Kenny to inspect.

“Hey, there’s some neat stuff down here!” said Josh, Ballantine’s eldest boy. He reached for one of the LED lanterns on a shelf.

Hastings put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, holding him back. Josh would probably grow up to be a big strapping buck like his father. But at nine, he was just another skinny kid, all bone and angles.

“Don’t turn on one of the lanterns unless there’s an emergency,” Hastings said. “We don’t want any of the zombies to see the light.”

“Can they see us down here?” the boy asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, your light is on…”

“Mine has a red filter over it,” Hastings said. “Red light doesn’t travel as far as white light, and those lanterns are plenty white and bright.”

He shined his flashlight across the room, revealing the mattresses that lined the floor from the bottom of the stairs to the far wall. Folded blankets had been stacked on each mattress, and one of the soldiers had donated his modular sleeping bag to the effort. Hastings suspected that if he checked, he would probably find “Ballantine” written on it somewhere.

He helped everyone get situated then laid down some ground rules. “Don’t make any noise if you can help it. If Kenny starts acting out, try to calm him as much as possible. Don’t bother him, and let him do whatever he wants to do, so long as it doesn’t involve a lot of noise or any bright lights. If any of you have to go to the bathroom, you’re free to come upstairs. Just try not to wake everyone up. If you hear gunfire, stay here until one of us comes for you. In that case, you’ll need to use one of these”—he held up an olive-green bag—“which is called a wag bag. Basically, you do your business in it, toss in the toilet paper, and seal it, like so.” Hastings showed them how to open the bag then demonstrated how to close it and drop it inside the carrier bag, which was then sealed with an industrial-size zip lock. “Make
sure
the bag is sealed tight, so nothing leaks out. Believe me, you don’t want that. Then toss it in that trash can right over there.” He turned and shined the flashlight on a small white wastebasket one of the soldiers had brought down from the kitchen. “Any questions?”

“What about Kenny?” Diana asked.

“What about him?”

She rolled her eyes. “If he takes a crap in his diaper, should I wrap it up in one of those things and toss it in, or what?”

Hastings thought about that for a second. “No. I’ll bring some more trash bags down, and you can bag it in one of those before you toss it. Ah, that reminds me.” He picked up a white box of moist wipes. “These are for Kenny, since I guess he can’t wipe himself. The rest of you should use toilet paper. But remember, we have running water here because of the windmill out there that’s powering the pump, so we’re good for a while. Again, these are only in case you’re here for longer than we’ve planned.”

“How long will that be?” Diana asked. The tension in her voice was coiled as tight as a serpent waiting to strike.

“We’ll muster before dawn. We’ll have some chow then get ready to move out. It’s July seventh, so the sun should be up around five thirty. We’ll hit the road then. It’s currently”—Hastings checked his watch—“just about ten o’clock. You have seven hours to try to get some rest.”

“We’ll be fine,” Kay said softly.

“Speak for yourself,” Diana said. “You don’t have someone pulling on your hair all night.”

“Try and deal with it,” Hastings said. “Seven hours. That’s all you’ve got to get through before we jump out and try to avoid the zombies tomorrow morning.”

Kenny went “koo-
sha
” again in the darkness. Hastings panned the flashlight’s beam over to where he and Diana were sitting on the mattress by the far wall. There was nothing for the boy to play with but a rough surface on one side and Diana on the other. Hastings was beginning to think the cement wall might be the more appealing of the two. Kenny was already lying on his back, the fingers of his left hand undulating slowly in Diana’s hair. Diana looked more than a little strung out. Hastings attributed that to exhaustion, but for all he knew, she could be a heroin addict going through the early stages of withdrawal.

“Okay, it looks like Kenny’s getting ready for some down time,” Hastings said in a low voice. “Let’s let him get to it. Does anyone need anything? Mrs. Ballantine, you and your boys are good?”

“Yes, we’re fine, Captain. Thank you.”

“All right, guys. Sleep tight.”

Hastings glanced around one last time then left the cellar.

*