These Dead Lands: Immolation (22 page)

Apparently, no one had ever told those people about quickly crossing danger areas, like streets, or not standing in the fatal funnel of a doorway. All of those were things he chalked up as common-sense living skills and not something strictly military related. After all, people in other countries seemed to get it. Of course, if you dragged ass crossing a street in some of the countries around the world, there was a very good chance you’d get run over, and no one would even blink as you lay dying on the ground.

Fucking civilians, they’re all clueless
.
You can’t live without them, and you can’t fucking kill them. Unless, of course, they’re zombies. Then it’s game on.

The fact that some of the civilians with them were also dependants—Ballantine’s family—put things on a whole other level as far as Guerra was concerned. And then there was the stripper and the autistic kid, as odd a pair as there could be.
What the fuck are we going to do with them?

Guerra could think of a few things that he could do with the stripper, but any way he looked at it, the kid was a gigantic liability he couldn’t figure out how to resolve.
The kid can’t even wipe his own ass and he goes ape-shit loud for no reason at all sometimes. How do you mitigate that in a risk assessment matrix?

Guerra chuckled. Everything in the Army required a risk assessment to be conducted and a commander’s signature in case shit went wrong and there was a 15-6 investigation. The prospect of doing a risk assessment worksheet for the zombie apocalypse and having to write “Kenny loses his shit and starts screaming” in the hazards column was pretty unusual. Not to mention it sure as shit wasn’t covered in the risk assessment training he’d received. But it was a very real concern and something that could get everyone in the group killed if they weren’t careful.

He hoped the captain and Ballantine were also chewing on the issue in the backs of their minds and would find a solution, since the only one he could come up with involved something drastic happening to the kid. That probably wouldn’t go over too well with the rest of the group.

Puta madre,
what I’d give to go back to just dealing with dumbass privates doing dumbass shit, like bouncing checks and paying twenty-nine percent interest for five years on a car stereo.

The thought of things going back to the way they were seemed to creep into Guerra’s mind quite a bit lately, and he often found himself thinking about stuff in the past instead of things that had happened since the outbreak. He knew that was a coping mechanism, according to one of the head shrinkers who spoke to the unit after they got back from being overseas. There was nothing like mandatory “therapy” in an auditorium with a hundred-plus soldiers to miraculously fix eight months of constant combat in an hour.

It’s no wonder so many guys were fucked up and walking around pretending like everything was back to normal
.
How fucked up is that? You spend so much time over in Afghanistan or Iraq, day in and day out, doing the same thing, then one day you get on a plane, and the next thing you know, you’re back CONUS trying to deal with the sensory overload, not having a weapon on you, and trying not to freak out when you see something on the side of the road as you drive by, hoping it’s not an IED.

Looking back on all of it, Guerra thought it didn’t seem so bad compared to what he was experiencing lately, though there was a sense of familiarity to zombie apocalypse. It was still combat, just a different type. He could only imagine what it must be like for civilians having to deal with society breaking down. For them, it must’ve been like being thrown head first into a wood chipper.
What’s Ballantine’s family going through?

Kay Ballantine was sitting with her boys at the other end of the barracks, trying to hold her family together as best she could. Guerra had noticed how Ballantine’s behavior had shifted since finding his family. It was one thing to go to work and come home to your people. But when your family was right there, watching you work, that was a different story.

Guerra knew what it was like to let that demon out, and he had seen it come out in others while deployed overseas. There was something about the act of fighting for one’s life and taking the life of another person that brought out the primordial parts of a man. It was frightening, nauseating, and invigorating, all in one wave of emotion. It was also addicting in a strange way. The demon that came out while doing those things, once released, wanted to come out more and more. It was what kept a man alive day-in and day-out when others were trying to take his life.

The people Guerra and his fellow soldiers became during those moments was not something he would want his family or loved ones to see. Because once that demon was released and others had seen it, it could not be forgotten. Guerra knew this firsthand.

As a young boy, he had idolized his father, and his father was a kind and gentle man with Guerra and his mother. He had very fond memories of him and his father doing things together as he grew from a boy to a man.

However, Guerra also knew a demon lived inside his father. He had seen its face once.

Guerra and his family had been on their way home from a local market with their day’s worth of shopping when they were stopped by a couple of men on a side street. The men wouldn’t be happy with just taking the groceries. Guerra’s father offered them his wallet and watch, and Mama gave up what little jewelry she wore, but the thieves wanted more. Guerra’s mother, to be exact.

Papa struggled with one of the thieves while the second went for Guerra’s mother. When the second thief grabbed her, Papa’s demon made itself known. He became a whirlwind of rage as he savagely beat the first thief down, then he moved to the second, who was holding his wife. Papa began beating the man, and they fell to the ground together.

Mama grabbed Guerra and pulled him away as his father struggled with the thief. As the two men rolled around on the ground, guttural, inhuman sounds came from the pair. Papa shoved his thumb deep into the thief’s eye socket while strangling the man with his other hand. The thief curled up into a fetal position and went limp. In a rage, Papa got to his feet and began kicking and stomping on the thief’s head while screaming at him.

The first thief got up and attacked Papa from behind. Guerra’s father turned and fought him with the same rage. The demon was in full control, and Papa was no longer there. Soon, the first thief was on the ground and suffering the same fate as his partner in crime. Finally, Papa looked over at Guerra and his mother. Standing there, Guerra stared at his father’s face, and what he saw frightened him. The face did not belong to the father that he knew; it belonged to someone else, someone fearsome. Then as quickly as it had emerged, the demon disappeared.

Papa returned to being that kind and gentle man that Guerra knew and loved, but Guerra never looked at his father the same way after that day. He had seen what slept inside his father, and he knew what that demon looked like when it was released. The images were always in the back of his mind even in his pubescent years, when Guerra was going through the typical rebellious stages and would push his father’s patience. That little voice inside his head would remind him of what his father was capable of when his mouth seemed to run on without his brain engaging first and he would push his father to the limits. Guerra was sure that little voice had saved him on more than one occasion because he had been a handful during those years.

While deployed, Guerra had met his own demon on several occasions, and he knew what and who he became when in that mode. He didn’t like the thought of his mother or father ever seeing him like that, so he wondered how Ballantine’s wife and children were handling not only what was happening but seeing the demon in Ballantine during battle.

“Hey, Missus Ballantine. How are you guys doing?” Guerra asked as he walked over to the family. “Do you or your boys need anything?”

Kay was sitting on one of the lower bunks, folding some freshly laundered clothes. Guerra had to admit, having clean clothes again was one of Indiantown Gap’s many benefits.

She smiled at him. “No, not at the moment. The boys and I are doing fine, thanks. They really seem to like the MREs. I think between the two of them they’ve eaten an entire case so far.”

Guerra chuckled. “If I were you, I’d make sure they drink plenty of water if they’ve packed away that many MREs. Otherwise you’re in for some seriously constipated boys for the next few weeks. You know what we call them—”

“‘Meals Rejected by Ethiopians’ or ‘Meals Rarely Edible’? Yeah, I’ve heard them all before, Sergeant. But thanks for the tip. I’ll make sure they drink plenty. And I’ll see if I can get them to slow down on them some. Do you think they’ll get us another normal meal at some point, like the one we had last night?” Kay asked.

“I’m sure they’ll let us all eat at the dining facility once everything gets sorted out. When the captain and your husband get back, we should have a better handle on how things are going to play out. In the meantime, if you think of anything you or your family needs, just let me know. I’m making a list of things for all of us,” Guerra said. “I’d also take advantage of the showers while you can. You never know when we’re gonna be without hot or even running water again. Just let me know when you or Diana want to use the facilities, and I’ll make sure everyone knows to stay out of the latrine until you’re done.”

“Thanks. I appreciate you looking out for us.”

“No problem, ma’am.” Guerra nodded to her, then turned and walked down the room’s length.

Diana and Kenny were sitting side by side on the last cot. Guerra wondered how to approach her. Sometimes, Diana was okay, but other times, she was a real bitch. No one in the group could make any sense of why Kenny, of all people, had latched onto her the way he did. She had made it clear that she didn’t want the job on more than one occasion, but nevertheless, she always ended up taking care of the boy. No one else could keep the kid calm, and Guerra wondered how long she would be able to stick with the gig.

She was trying to coax Kenny into eating an MRE cracker with grape jelly on it, but Kenny wasn’t having any of it. Guerra could tell she was getting frustrated.

“Have you tried giving him the peanut butter or the jalapeño cheese yet?” Guerra asked as he walked up.

Diana smirked at him. “Do I look like the retard whisperer to you?”

Guerra shook his head. “Man, you really are all heart, aren’t you?”

“Look, I’ve never done this shit before. I don’t know how to take care of
normal
kids, let alone an autistic one. You think because I have a pair of tits that I automatically want to play mommy?”

Guerra stopped to think about those tits for a second before replying. “Hey, I’m just trying to help here.”

“If you want to help me out, how about finding me some more diapers and wipes for this shit machine here? Can you do that, genius?”

Guerra ignored the attitude. “Yeah, I can do that for you. I’m making a list of things people need. I saw an AAFES exchange on the way in, and one of the medics told me it’s still stocked and open for everyone on base. What size diapers should I put?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Diana motioned at Kenny, who was more interested in examining his fluttering hands than anything else. “Look at him. Get size ‘big’ or whatever you think will fit him.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

Diana took a deep breath and looked down at the cracker in her hand. “If they have any tampons, those would be great.”

Guerra almost choked on his tongue but managed to keep his cool. “Okay, no problem. Any special kind I should ask for? You want the ones with the, uh, wings?”

Diana busted out laughing so hard that she dropped the cracker. She looked up at Guerra then pitched forward as she succumbed to another gale of laugher. Kenny glanced at her then went back to watching his hands flutter and flap before him. Guerra instantly felt like an ass, and to his great embarrassment, everyone in the barracks was staring at them.

Diana settled down and asked between giggles, “Have you ever had a girlfriend before? You
do
like women, don’t you?”

“Of course I’ve had girlfriends,” Guerra snapped. “What does that have to do with anything?”

She snickered. “Well, Romeo, you do know there’s a difference between tampons and pads, right?”

Guerra cleared his throat, confused by the question that left him momentarily struggling for a response. “Look, I know that they have different kinds, but I’m no expert. If you want to be a smart-ass about it and give me a hard time then just forget I asked. You can figure out how to handle your bleeding problem on your own. Otherwise, tell me what you want, and I’ll try to get it for you. Think you can do that?”

Diana grinned. “Sure, tough guy. Pick up whatever they have, tampons or pads. I’ll let you decide. Impress me with your knowledge of feminine hygiene products.”

*

Hastings looked Colonel
Victor square in the eye. “Sir, from what I’ve seen of the base’s current fortifications, we need to make some substantial improvements if we expect to face and survive a large assault from the reekers.”