These Dead Lands: Immolation (19 page)

“How many shooters are on post?”

The medic shook his head. “You’ll be told that by the ground commander’s staff, sir. Sorry, I’m not allowed to discuss the disposition of the post with anyone, and besides, I only know my little slice of the pie.”

“Is there anyone other than military on the post?” Hastings asked.

“Not on post, no. There was a FEMA camp with about three thousand folks down the road, but it was wiped out weeks ago. Now if you’ll excuse me, sir, I really have to get back.” The medic hustled out of the barracks.

“A FEMA camp,” Guerra said. “Three thousand people. Awesome. They should’ve just rung the dinner bell.”

“What the hell else were they gonna do?” Stilley asked.

Guerra sat down heavily on a cot. “
They
who, Stilley?”

“Well, the Guard and FEMA,” Stilley said. “I mean, they gotta save the civilians, right? Hell, we did, with that little boy and that Chinese woman.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” Guerra said.

“He’s right,” Hastings said. “It’s our job. We have to try to take care of the people who are depending on us.”

“I already screwed that up,” Reader said. He had stretched out on a cot and was staring at the ceiling, hands behind his head.

“Not your fault, bro,” Tharinger said. “That lady back there absolutely looked like a reeker.”

“She did,” Hastings said. “I almost went to guns on her myself. You did your best, Reader. Don’t kick yourself in the ass over this. Anyone could have done it. Anyone.”

Reader only nodded.

*

A cooked dinner
was served at six o’clock, and the troops dug in with gusto. It wasn’t the most exciting chow they’d ever had, but it was warm and didn’t come out of a bunch of plastic pouches, so it was automatically categorized as one of the best meals they’d had over the past month. They ate with the civilians, and Hastings found himself paying more attention to Diana and the boy sitting next to her. In her presence and under less stressful conditions, Kenny was actually quite compliant. He didn’t drink juice or milk, just water, and he eschewed most of the food, save the french fries and hot dogs. He ate two of the latter and pretty much all of the former. Hastings handed over his share of fries, as did Ballantine and Guerra. Kenny smiled, and for once, he looked like a happy kid, even though he didn’t interact with anyone in a meaningful way. When Josh or Curtis tried to talk to him, Kenny only gazed at them blankly, then looked at his right hand for a moment before going back to his meal.

“Why won’t he talk to us?” Curtis asked. He had his father’s dark hair and his mother’s petite nose.

“He’s autistic, honey,” Kay responded. “He doesn’t act like we do.”

“What’s autistic?” Josh asked. He more closely resembled his father, with broad shoulders and oversized hands. The boy exhibited an easy confidence his younger brother seemed to lack. Probably a real scrapper, but at the same time, he didn’t appear to be the kind of kid to push around his younger brother. Hastings wondered whether that was truly the case, or if it was a recent development brought on by the zombie apocalypse.

“His mind isn’t as developed as yours,” Ballantine said between bites of chicken. “He’s in there, though. He just can’t communicate with us.”

“So will he get better?” Curtis asked.

“We’ll have to see,” Kay said.

Diana snorted. “Don’t count on it. The kid’s a retard.”

Everyone stopped eating, even Stilley, who had been going at the food nonstop.

Reader glared at Diana. “Lady, you’ve got some nerve. The kid’s defenseless. He needs help. Show some mercy.”

“I don’t do mercy,” Diana said. Her eyes shone hard and bright.

“You might want to reconsider that,” Ballantine said. “The kid’s latched onto you something fierce. I don’t know why, though. Maybe he sees something in you the rest of us can’t.”

Diana smirked. “Not a chance.”

Kay started to say something, but Hastings beat her to it. “Let’s not start this again,” he said. “Let’s just eat. Things are going to be different tomorrow, so let’s just keep things cool. All right?”

The soldiers murmured their assent. Kay glared at Diana, who only smirked again. The older woman shook her head and went back to her meal. Kenny just continued eating his french fries, oblivious to the entire conversation. Hastings envied the boy to a degree. Like him, Kenny had lost everything. Unlike Hastings, though, Kenny didn’t seem to mind it.

Hastings would give anything to be able to shelter his heart from the constant pain he felt, from the staggering loss that numbed him to everything else. Other than the fact that he wasn’t running around eating people, Hastings didn’t feel much different from a zombie.

*

At six thirty
the next morning, they were rousted from sleep by a military police captain named Chan. After the introductions had been made, he handed three booklets to Hastings.

Hastings read the titles and snorted. “You’re kidding me, right?” They were copies of TC 25-20,
A Leader’s Guide to After-Action Reviews
, a training circular created to help soldiers and commanders standardize their after-action reports.

“Nope,” Chan said. “Every new unit that comes into the post has to write up their AAR. We’re trying to get a handle on what’s going on in the world, and AARs help us get the big picture. You guys have an hour. After that, you and your senior NCO are coming with me.”

“What about the rest of us, sir?” Guerra asked.

Chan cut his eyes over to the stocky Hispanic soldier. “You’ll stay here and wait for orders.”

Ballantine crossed his arms. “What about the civilians?”

“What about them?”

“Three of the civilians are Sergeant Ballantine’s dependents,” Hastings said.

“Oh. What about the others?”

“They’re mine,” Hastings blurted. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ballantine give him a sidelong look.

Chan frowned and raised an eyebrow.

“In a manner of speaking,” Hastings added. “I want to keep tabs on them.”

“Well, no one’s going anywhere for the time being,” Chan said. “But if they get moved, you’ll be notified.”

“Might be better if I get notified
before
they get sent anywhere, sir,” Ballantine said.

“Relax, Sergeant. No one’s getting shipped off without you being in the loop.” Chan looked back at Hastings. “You good to get your AAR together, Hastings?”

“Yeah, Chan. Not the first one I’ve done. Anything else?”

Chan shook his head. “See you in an hour.” He spun on his heel and left the barracks.

Hastings waved the troops toward a nearby table and handed the booklets, paper, and pens to Hartman. “You’ve got the neatest handwriting,” he told the soldier.

Hartman wasn’t thrilled. “Gee, thanks. Good to finally be recognized for something.”

*

Exactly one hour
later, Chan returned to collect Hastings and Ballantine. They had finished drafting their after-action report, but since there hadn’t been enough time to go into substantial detail, the document was brief and to the point. One of the things left out was the killing of the civilian. It seemed pointless to include it, and Hastings didn’t want anything untoward to happen to Reader, who was still reeling from the incident. Hastings was at a loss when it came to recommending corrective actions. How did one unravel the zombie apocalypse, without going out and killing all the zombies and then figuring out how it had started? The scope of the circumstances was simply beyond him.

“It’s brief,” Hastings said as he held out the document, “but we got everything in there, starting with our deployment to New York until we got here.”

Chan waved it away. “You keep it. If you’re ready, why don’t you guys follow me?” Without waiting for an answer, the Asian officer turned and headed for the door.

Hastings looked at Ballantine and shrugged. The senior NCO didn’t look happy, but orders were orders.

“Come on, Carl,” Hastings said. “Your family’s going to be okay. They’ll be here when we get back.”

“If they’re not, there’s going to be hell to pay,” Ballantine said.

“Keep cool,” Hastings said. “Let’s go.”

It was still early in the morning, but the sun was up, along with the humidity. Hastings’s undershirt immediately grew sticky across his chest and shoulders as he and Ballantine followed Chan across the parking lot. Several soldiers were milling around two Strykers parked on either side of the building. Chan led them to a Humvee. The driver was leaning against the front fender, smoking a cigarette. He tossed it to the asphalt and ground it out as they approached, then pulled open the door, and climbed behind the wheel. Chan claimed the shotgun seat, so Hastings and Ballantine piled into the back.

“Where we headed?” Hastings asked as the driver pulled the Humvee out of the parking lot.

“Colonel Victor wants to talk with you,” Chan said.

“Who’s he?”

“One of the brigade commanders out of Campbell, with the 101st. He pulled almost two battalions out of Philly when the net went dark after New York and DC fell. I guess he wasn’t going to hang around and let his entire brigade go down. Still lost almost half of it, from what I hear.”

“He’s got two battalions here?” Ballantine asked.

Chan nodded. “More than that. Two understrength battalions from his combat brigade, plus several units from Campbell and Riley. None of them are full strength. Even a few stragglers from Drum.” Chan turned and looked into the backseat. “I hear your post went down fighting.”

Hastings had been looking out the window while Chan spoke. Fort Indiantown Gap didn’t seem unusually prepared. There were fortifications being erected and plenty of troops. But it was as if they were preparing to fight a human enemy, one that could be deterred by triple layers of concertina wire and HESCO barriers arranged to produce choke points. All good, but the 10
^th
had tried the same in New York, and none of that had worked. In the end, even an entire light infantry division hadn’t been enough to hold back millions of cannibalistic ghouls.

He suddenly realized Chan was expecting a response of some kind. “Sorry?”

“I said, I hear your post went down fighting.”

“What? Task Force Manhattan?”

Chan faced forward again. “Fort Drum. You with us in the here and now, Captain?”

The MP’s attitude bugged Hastings a bit. “You fight the dead, Chan?”

Chan hesitated before answering. “No. Not directly.”

“Then you have no fucking idea just how big the hammer is that’s swinging for your head.”

“Pass that on to the colonel,” Chan said. “He knows you’ve got some time against the reekers. That’s why we’re taking you to him.”

*