These Dead Lands: Immolation (48 page)

“We have different containment plans,” Hastings said. “Those containers we’re going to put up? They’re big and heavy. They’ll be like solid walls. The dead won’t be able to climb them, and they won’t be able to move them. We can fight from on top of them and take the reekers out before they get too close.” He waved his hand. “We’ll set them up away from the fort, on bridges and roads, and we’ll start knocking them down out there. If we have to fall back, we’ll fall back to secondary fighting positions and keep it up. If we’re lucky, we won’t have to diminish our perimeter much at all. In other words, the farther away we keep them, the safer everyone will be.”

“Okay. I believe you,” she said. “But what if that doesn’t happen?”

“We’ll come back and get you guys and head out. Probably on one of the trains.”

“And if you don’t come back?”

Hastings was getting a little annoyed with the sudden round of questioning. “We’ll work something out, some kind of system where you guys will be able to evacuate.”

“To where?” she asked softly. “Where could we go?”

He shrugged. “We’re working on identifying other population centers that haven’t fallen or areas that could be easily defended. Once we find something, we’ll develop plans to get out there.” When he saw his response hadn’t satisfied her, he added, “Listen, we haven’t been here for very long. We need some time to plan our actions. Right now, we’re in a good place, and we don’t have to run, but the Army always plans for every contingency. We’ll get something worked out.”

“Okay,” she said after a long pause.

“But in the meantime, if something
does
happen, you guys need to wait for us,” Hastings said. “Kay has a radio, and Ballantine’s taught her how to work it. I’ll see if I can get one for you, so that way, we’ll be able to stay in touch.” He pointed at their vehicles, sitting nearby. “We have the trucks, too. Better if you have a Humvee or hook up with an MRAP crew, but if you can’t, you have access to the pickups. If you need to leave, use those. Find a house, barricade yourselves inside, and try to reach us on the radio. We’ll come for you.”

“And if you don’t, we’re on our own.” She folded her arms across her chest. “A stripper, a housewife, and three little boys, one who would have major troubles getting through a normal day, much less a day in the world as it is now.”

Hastings sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”

“Gee, thanks a million, General. I mean, Captain. I mean—” She gave him a jaunty salute with her left hand. “Sir.”

It was a fumbling attempt at levity, but it was enough to make Hastings crack a smile. “Call me Phil.”

“Hi, Phil. Call me ma’am.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Diana smiled and put her hands back in her pockets. “We should learn how to shoot. Me and Kay, if she doesn’t already. Maybe Josh and Curtis, too. I know how to use a gun, but that little rifle you gave me is a lot different from my pistol.”

“We can see to that. Not so sure about the boys. I’d have to leave that to Ballantine. Absolutely not Kenny, though.”

Diana shook her head. “No. Not him. He’s … too innocent.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“He’s autistic and maybe mentally retarded, too. But there’s a sweetness to him. I saw it when he was with his parents. He’s not one of those detached autistic kids. He’s able to relate to people at a certain level.”

“People like you.”

Diana sighed and shook her head. “Yeah. I never said he was a good judge of character.”

“You seem to be getting along all right. You haven’t threatened to kick me in the nuts the entire time we’ve been talking.”

“Wait. It’ll happen.”

Hastings snorted. She gave him a small smile before turning away to look down the line of barracks. Hastings did one of his scans of the area.

“All right, Phil,” she said. “I’ll catch you tomorrow. Hope you can get some sleep. I’d better get back inside. For all I know, Kenny’s pissing all over the floor.”

Hastings frowned. Her acerbic tone left him confused. For the past few minutes, she had been acting like a normal person and discussing Kenny in a compassionate way. Then suddenly, she was acting as though the boy was more trouble than he was worth.

“You need help with him, you let us know,” he said. “I know taking care of a kid is a lot of work, especially one like him.”

“I’ll manage. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Diana returned to the barracks, leaving Hastings alone. He looked up at the sky, watching the stars wink in and out of sight as the clouds sculled across overhead.

Scotty. Terry.

His eyes burned as tears spilled and ran down his cheeks.

*

When Ballantine got
to the assembly area, the sun still hadn’t risen. In the predawn gloom, he checked out the long line of tractor trailers idling in the darkness, their lowboy trailers laden with CONEX containers. Also along for the ride were several five-ton trucks, most of which were full of cargo, while the rest carried a company’s worth of troops. Security was provided by four MRAPs. No Humvees were there, but a bleary-eyed Hastings had explained that the Humvees were too soft and that they needed to be pulled off the line wherever possible. Ballantine didn’t disagree, and so long as he had an MRAP to ride in, he was willing to sacrifice some marginal speed for armored security.

He saw a bunch of officers milling around the MRAPs, so he headed in that direction, carrying his usual lightfighter loadout. The soldiers he would be working with were from the 2
^nd
Battalion, 327
^th
Infantry Regiment, part of the Colonel Victor’s Brigade Combat Team. They were Airborne troops serving with the 101
^st
Airborne Division out of Fort Campbell, Kentucky.

Ballantine approached the officers and saluted. “Captain Vogler.”

“Sergeant First Class Ballantine,” Vogler said, returning the salute. “Are you joining us?”

Vogler was a beefy, red-faced sort with broad shoulders and an almost equally broad forehead. He looked like the poster child for Good Ol’ Southern Boys Gone Bad, but Ballantine knew that impression wasn’t true. He had met the officer the night before when his train had rolled in, and Vogler had congratulated him on a job well done.

“Yes, sir. If you’ll have me, that is.”

Vogler nodded. “Hell yes! A lightfighter is always a good thing to have around, especially since the rest of us are too slow and fat these days. I take it your commanding officer sent you my way?”

“Yes, sir. Captain Hastings figured it would be a good idea for you to have someone on site who’s familiar with the techniques we used in New York. He thought I might be able to bring a little bit to the table and toss it into the mix with what you guys figured out in Philly.”

“You ever been to Philly, Ballantine?” Vogler asked.

“Yes, sir. A few times.”

“You ever eat at Chink’s Steakhouse?”

Ballantine thought that was an odd question. “Uh, yes, I did, sir. It was highly recommended, and it was certainly pretty good.”

“It’s gone.”

Ballantine blinked. “Well, a lot of establishments were shut down due to the emergency, sir.”

Vogler waved one big hand in the air. “No, no, not because of that. They drove the place out of business because of the name. All the liberal PC dirtbags had a hissy fit because it was called Chink’s. You know, like what you’d call a Chinaman?”

“Yes, sir. I know.”

“Anyway, I finally make it to Philly, and I’m looking forward to one of those world-renowned cheesesteak sandwiches, and what do I get? Not a goddamn thing.”

Ballantine was severely confused. “Captain, did you get any sleep last night?”

“It’s all right, Sergeant,” a first lieutenant said. “He’s so pissed about Chink’s closing down that he’s been going on about it for almost two months.”

“Damn right I’m pissed about it,” Vogler said. “But I guess there are bigger things to get worked up over now. Ballantine, your boss is the guy behind all these taskings, isn’t he? The trains, the defenses in depth, and whatnot?”

“Yes, sir,” Ballantine said. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Hell no, not from where I sit,” Vogler said. The sky had brightened, and Ballantine could see that Vogler was sporting what practically looked like a five o’clock shadow. “I’m glad for the motivation, actually. Ever since we fell back to the Gap, we’ve been wondering what the hell we were going to do to get some payback. I don’t know what you lightfighters drink up there in the North Country, but whatever it is, you must’ve given Victor a shot of it. He hasn’t been this spooled up in weeks, and personally, I’m all for it.”

Ballantine didn’t know exactly what they had gone through in Philadelphia, but whatever it was had been bad enough for the remains of the Brigade Combat Team to fall back to the Gap. However, he didn’t feel that Vogler and his staff of young officers truly appreciated the shit storm that would eventually be headed their way.

And it’s not up to me to straighten them out.
“Just glad to help out, sir. But today, we’re just establishing some forward defenses.”

Vogler nodded like an eager puppy. “Oh, yeah. We’re ready for it.”

“Great, sir. Great. So where do you want me?”

Vogler looked at the first lieutenant standing next to him. “We have any spaces left in the MRAPs, Jonesy?”

“Fourth one down,” Jonesy said, pointing to the rear of the convoy. “Glad to have you aboard, Sergeant.”

“Happy to be here, sir. Happy to be here.”

“Catch you out on the interstate, Sergeant Ballantine,” Vogler said.

Ballantine saluted and stepped off. He found the idling MRAP as the sun broke over the eastern horizon like a bright baleful eye that made the sparse clouds shine with an almost ethereal luminescence. He nodded at the troops sitting behind the rig’s windshield and walked to the rear of the vehicle. The boarding ramp was still down, so he put a foot on the bottom step and looked up into the slab-sided vehicle’s interior. Several soldiers stared back at him.

“Hey, I’m Ballantine. Vogler told me to catch a ride with you guys. His XO said you had room?”

One of them waved him up. “Come on in.”

Ballantine trotted up the ramp, shrugging off his heavy rucksack as he did so. There was maybe half a seat left, but Ballantine shoved his butt into it anyway, forcing the other men to shift deeper into the truck. He plopped his big ruck between his feet then secured his M4. The members of the One-Oh-Worst looked at Ballantine with some suspicion as he fussed with all his lightfighter gear. They weren’t as well equipped as he was, and they regarded his heavy ruck with smirks.

“Well, well, it’s Climb to Glory personified,” a sergeant first class said. “You hauling a golf bag in there somewhere, Butch?”

“Well, well, it’s the Pukin’ Pigeons greatest hits,” Ballantine responded. “Everyone take their Dramamine? If not, don’t worry about it. I didn’t polish my boots. Heave-ho if you need to, boys.”

“You one of those guys from Tenth Mountain that rolled in a few days ago?” another soldier asked.

“Yep.”

“Huh. So you work for Captain Glory, is that it?”

Ballantine was confused. “Captain Glory? No, I work for Captain Hastings.”

The soldier nodded and sneered. “Yeah. Captain Glory. That guy must be blowing the command group through a glory hole, seeing as how he’s giving us all this work.”

Ballantine was the biggest guy in the vehicle, so he didn’t know why the 101
^st
troops were giving him shit. “Well, hell, boys. I understand you guys pulled in a couple of weeks before we did. Seems like your officers had enough time to figure out what had to be done, but no, they waited for some lightfighters to show up and get the post squared away. Am I right?”

The sneering soldier raised his hand to his face, pantomiming a blow job while sticking his tongue up against his cheek. “Lightfighter candy, right?”

Ballantine looked at the sergeant first class sitting across from him. “So you in charge of these guys or not? Because I’ve got a job to do, and this fucker here’s about to get listed as KIA before we even start rolling,” he said, jerking a thumb at the soldier next to him.

The NCO turned to the soldier. “That’ll be enough, McBride. You ought to know better than to start fucking around with a guy who’s a lot bigger than you are.”

McBride looked at his companions for some sign of support, but no one volunteered any. He adopted a surly expression and waved the comment away. “Yeah, okay. Didn’t mean nothing by it.”

“Uh huh.” Ballantine remained unconvinced. “Tell you what, son—you keep your trap shut, and we’re going to get along just dandy.” He studied the sergeant first class. “So you know the op, right?”

“We deliver a bunch of containers to the far side of I-78 overpass at Swatara Creek then arrange them into a wall formation and harden them so the reekers can’t get past them.” His dark face was somewhat pockmarked, and Ballantine thought he looked Asian, even though his nametape read
MAHON
. “Word is, this is going to be a type of firebase setup.”

“That’s correct,” Ballantine said. “Another is going up on the Swatara Gap Bridge. These’ll be the first two defensive barriers. Hope you guys don’t have a problem sweating your balls off doing heavy work, because this is what we’re all going to be up to for the next couple of weeks.” He jerked a thumb out the vehicle’s open rear. “And the weather looks like it’s gonna hit the high eighties, with high humidity. Hope everyone has their CamelBaks filled up.”