Only the Dead Live Forever (14 page)

25.

Brad was led
through the passageway, down stairs, and around corners. He felt like he had
been brought lower in the ship, but it was hard for him to tell. Eventually
they stopped at a stateroom door. The room appeared to be a dorm room of sorts,
and the guard pounded on the door before opening it. Mr. Smith was sitting at a
desk; Brad was directed to a chair next to the bunk.

The man quickly
asked Brad a list of generic questions: Name, social, home of record. The
questions went on and on. He asked where Brad had been stationed during the
fall; the names of as many people as he could remember from his unit; the
disposition of this unit. The man asked Brad to tell his story in detail.
During parts of the story, he would stop Brad to ask questions. He wrote
everything down in a spiral note book.

When Mr. Smith
finished, he sat the notebook on a desk and offered Brad a cup of coffee. While
Brad sipped at the coffee, Mr. Smith went through the notes, flipping the pages
of his notebook while making marks on the paper. After an uncomfortable
silence, the questions began again. Often the information was a repeat of
earlier answers, asking for more elaboration.

The time spent
in the room was exhausting. Finally the man offered Brad a refill of his cup
and asked if he had any questions of his own.

“Well sir, my
mind feels like it is going to explode, but right off the bat, is there a plan
to get the rest of my people home?”

The man looked
at Brad seriously before answering. “Sergeant, honestly, we have heard sporadic
reports of survivors across the globe. Some we have even verified by satellite
or drone. But as of today, recovery missions are very rare. Our resources are
scarce, so no. I mean I cannot say for certain that it will not happen. But I
wouldn’t count on it.”

“There has got
to be something we can do. All we need is an aircraft and we can get them all
here.”

“I’m sorry,
Sergeant; it’s possible it could be done. All of these notes will be sent to
the command; ultimately it would be their decision,” Mr. Smith answered.

“I see. And when
will we be rotated home?”

“Home? You mean
back to the United States? Boy, you really have been out of the loop.”

“What do you
mean?”

“I mean there is
no home; the United States as you remembered it doesn’t exist.”

 “What about all
of the people? We had heard less than a few weeks ago that there were groups of
survivors, that a war was waging,” Brad said.

“It’s
complicated. Yeah, there are people there, but nothing is the way it was.
Everything has broken down. Yeah, at first people went back there, but a lot of
them didn’t stay. Some of our crew actually fled the States. Shit, nothing is
the way it was.”

“Well what are
we doing here, why aren’t we floating off Virginia or something?”

“You know what,
I’m going to try and take the time to explain things to you. It is not my job,
and you are not going to like it. I can guarantee you that.”

“Whatever, Mr.
Smith, just tell me what the hell we are doing here.”

“I was stationed
at the embassy in Iraq until this shit went down. We hid in the embassy bunker
for two weeks before the Marines finally got me out … and yeah, that was back
when we were still evacuating people. Trust me, Sergeant, the first time I
heard it, it took me some getting used to,” Mr. Smith explained.

“I have time;
just tell me why we aren’t going home.”

“You know this
was a terror attack? Or at least we are almost certain it was. Earliest reports
predicted it. The classified wires warned the embassies that it was coming.”

Brad nodded. “We
heard the same stories, about how it started, about where they came from. We
call them primals, after the name of the virus, Primalis Rabia.”

“The American
Continent initially held. Our government thought they had it contained. Slowly
though … borders fell. It was the worst along the southern borders. All of
Central and South America poured north towards refuge, dragging the infected
along with them.

“Canada was no
better; yeah, they fought off the infected better, especially the more isolated
parts, but eventually their governments fell. The Canadian Army moved north and
inland, bringing survivors with them; they let the big cities fall. The
infected … or primal mobs moved south and flooded into New York and the Dakotas
all along the land borders.”

“It only took
one or two primals to infect a city. Eventually states pulled away from the
government defense plans. You can’t blame them. In the early days, the
President was using all of the federal troops to defend the Capitol. Can you
imagine? Millions of primals in an open city! He sacrificed hundreds of
thousands of troops on an idea. It was like the fall of Berlin. Instead of
using resources to evacuate and protect the people … he refused to give up the
Capitol.”

“Governors
ordered their national guard troops home. States consolidated, reinforcing
their own borders, using the geography to draw battle lines. Regions pooled
their resources. Next the military bases began to disobey orders; instead of
reinforcing the Capitol, they pledged allegiance to the state governments they
were hosted in. Fort Knox was the first to switch sides. The Kentucky governor
took up residence in the old gold vault. They barricaded it. Last word we had, the
old home of the Armor was still holding their own.”

“The planes full
of troops from Afghanistan, Korea, Kuwait, Asia, and Europe would land at Fort
Brag, or Benning. Once they got off the planes, they were quickly refitted and
sent to the Capitol’s defense. It was a meat grinder. Like sending soldiers to
their deaths at Stalingrad. Except in this battle, every casualty reinforced
the enemy. Eventually this stopped. Our men found out what was going on around
the country and they deserted, choosing to return to their home bases or their
families.”

“Eventually the
joint chiefs abandoned the President. They took the remaining military with
them and went their separate ways. The President is presumed dead now. Or at
least we think he is; it’s hard to tell. There were reports he was locked away
in a bunker, so he may be okay, but they lost contact with D.C. weeks ago;
either way he is no longer relevant.”

Brad rocked back
in his chair. He couldn’t believe things could fall apart so quickly.

“So then … who
is in charge?” Brad gasped.

“That’s the
million dollar question. There are at least three, what we would call national
entities: The Midwest Alliance, the Greater Colorado Nations, and the United
States of Texas. Don’t get me wrong. These groups are not in competition, hell,
they aren’t enemies at all. They were just forced by circumstance to pull in
their borders and protect their populations.”

“And what about
the joint chiefs?” Brad asked.

“Well, they are
kind of a sub-contract house now. They still hold the banner for the United
States government, but they are based out of bunkers in the Rockies. What’s
left of the CDC and the CIA report to them, although they’re scattered. Most of
the senators and members of Congress went with the joint chiefs. Still though,
for the most part they are all that’s collectively left of a national effort to
fight this thing. They call themselves the
Coordinated National Response
Team
.”

Brad smiled.

“You’ve heard of
it?”

“I have,” Brad
said. “Done some work for them, in fact. The Lieutenant Colonel James Cloud I
told you about earlier; he said he was an officer with them.”

“That name
doesn’t sound familiar. But for right now, they’re all that is left of a
federal government. They still hold most of the national assets. Aircraft, oil
reserves, some of the governors will still take requests from them,” Smith
said.

“What about the
fleet? I guess I still don’t understand. Why is the fleet out here and not at
home?” Brad asked.

“That’s a
complicated question to answer. Some say they never received solid recall
orders before the fall. Maybe the joint chiefs are holding us back for another
time. I haven’t really been in the loop on why the fleet hasn’t sailed. For
now, we’re building a base on the island. We send raiding and resupply teams
inland to seek provisions and fuel tankers. I don’t know what the long term plans
are. I’m not privileged to that information.”

“You don’t know
why we’re just sitting here, or you don’t want to say?” Brad asked, frustrated.

“This may
surprise you, Sergeant, but I am just a low level analyst sent in here to take
your statement. Everything I told you, any sailor on board could have shared
with you. I don’t know shit else. I was a glorified courier in Iraq; I’m nobody
special,” Mr. Smith said, sitting back in his chair and holding up his hands.

“I think I’d
like to go back to my cell now,” Brad said.

26.

Brad was led
back to his room and found the space empty. The other bunks had been stripped
bare and the sea bags were gone. Brad’s rack was the way he had left it. The
bed was still made and the green sea bag still sat next to it. He walked across
the room and lay down on the mattress. “Where the hell did they go?” he said
aloud.

There was a
knock at the door. The handle turned and the corpsman from the day before
entered the room, holding a stack of paperwork. “Afternoon, Sergeant,” he said
as he walked to the table and sat down.

Brad rolled to a
sitting position and looked at the corpsman. “Yeah, good afternoon, I guess.”

“So how are you
feeling today,” the corpsman asked, giving Brad a serious look.

“I’m okay, where
is everyone? What’s going on
… am I sick?”

“No, you’re
good, Sergeant. Just coming in to tell you that you have been cleared from
quarantine. This is your ID badge,” he said, while passing Brad a small
identification card and a stuffed envelope.

“You will need
to keep that badge clipped to your pocket. These are your movement papers, keep
them handy,” he continued. “And make sure you stick close to your assigned
area, if there is anywhere you need to go, your sponsor will take you there.”

Brad looked down
at the white badge with a bold red border in his hand. His name and rank were
on the bottom in black letters.
RESTRICTED
was across the center and
GUEST
at the top. Under the badge was a yellow envelope labeled
MOVEMENT PAPERS
.

“Movement papers?”
Brad asked.

“Yeah Sergeant.
You’ve been cleared. Go ahead and gather up all of your belongings. I need you
to clear out of my medical hold. You will be moving to the island soon.”

“Soon?” Brad
said as he started to pack his gear.

“Depends really.
There’s no schedule. You just be on your toes and ready to go. They will call
for you when a seat is reserved. Should be within a couple days,” the corpsman
said.  “Someone will be along to take you down to the temporary berthing.”

As the corpsman
finished speaking, a new face entered the room, a jovial young man dressed in
the blue navy camouflage. Smiling, he approached Brad and extended his hand.
“Sergeant Thompson? I’m Winslow,” he said. “I’ll be taking you to your new
berthing; can I help you with your gear?”

Brad shook the
man’s hand before turning to stuff his belongings into the sea bag. “I think I
got everything … Where are we going?”

“Just down the
way, you’ll like it there. More people ya know,” Winslow said. “If you’re
ready, come on and follow me.”

Brad slung the
bag up over his shoulder and followed the man into the hall. He quickly noticed
that the door was left unlocked and the escorts were gone. “So no more guards?
You trust me now?” Brad asked as they walked.

Winslow
chuckled. “Dang, Sergeant. Nahh … That was just for infected watch; standard
procedure with all the inbounds. Although we haven’t had any in a long time,
you know,” Winslow answered.

“How long you
been on this ship, Winslow?” Brad asked as he stepped through a hatch and made
his way around a corner.

“Me? I been here
since we sailed out of Norfolk. Shit, since the beginning I guess.”

“Yeah? That’s
cool. So when are we going back to Norfolk?” Brad asked.

Winslow stopped
walking and turned to look at Brad. “Norfolk? Did you hear we were going back?”
he asked Brad, his voice suddenly turning serious.

“Ahhh yeah … I
mean … I assumed that’s where we were going,” Brad bluffed.

“I don’t know
about that, Sergeant. Norfolk is gone, nothing there but primals. The admiral
is in charge now, and I don’t think he wants to go back to Norfolk. We got the
island now.”

“The admiral?”
Brad asked.

“Yeah … Hayes.
He saved us, you know, after everything started. He pulled everything together.
You got nothing to worry about, Sergeant. Hayes is real smart.” Winslow looked
at Brad’s face as if he was searching for something, then he turned and
continued to walk down the passageway.

“So nobody goes
back to the States then? You don’t worry about your family?” Brad questioned

“Come on,
Sergeant just follow me. We’ll get you settled in and you’ll like it here
okay,” Winslow said, avoiding the question.

Nearing the end
of the passage, Winslow reached down and pulled open a hatch door. “Well, here
we are Sergeant, go ahead and grab yourself a rack; the head is right across
from you. I have to make a quick run, then I’ll be back to take you down to
chow.”

Brad thanked
Winslow and stepped into the space. There were rows of bunks with worn
mattresses, most of which appeared to be empty, so he walked toward the back of
the space. He saw Brooks and Nelson sitting at a table along the back wall. The
steel table was fixed to the floor and painted an ugly gray, with vinyl green
bench seat cushions. Brad walked through the space and tossed his sea bag onto
an empty rack as he walked toward the table.

“So what are you
all thinking?” Brad said as he sat at the table.

Nelson just sat
silently, shaking his head. Brooks looked up and leaned back away from the
table. He strained his eyebrows as if he was searching for a thought, and then
finally spoke.

“Something isn’t
right, Brad. I talked with a couple of the sailors, trying to dig. The fleet is
just sitting static, no orders, and no movement. Just sitting at anchor and
everyone seems fine with it. Like it’s a blessing,” Brooks said.

Brad placed his
hands in front of him on the table, using his finger to scrape at the chipping
paint. “I know what you’re saying. I don’t know whether to be frustrated or
creeped out. I get that these guys have been through a lot, but shit, just sitting
parked in the middle of the ocean?”

“So what do we
do about it? We mess up and we might find ourselves in the brig,” Brooks asked.

“You heard from
Sean?”

“No, he’s
probably tied up in the Chief’s Mess. I’ll track him down later. You can count
on that.”

There was a
clank near the front of the compartment. They heard the hatch swing open and
boots slap the deck. Brad looked down the aisle and saw a smiling Winslow
walking towards them. “Hey fellas, you all ready to go grab some chow? It isn’t
much, but it’s food,” he said.

Nelson was the
first to his feet. He almost leapt towards Winslow. “Heck yeah buddy, just show
me the way. I’m hungry enough to eat the ass end out of a buffalo!”

They followed
Winslow back into the passageway and down the hall to the galley. After a short
walk, they found themselves at the back of a long, slow moving line. Brad
looked down the long line and shook his head. A tall sailor in front of him
turned around.

“You the new
guys on board?” he asked.

“Yeah, we just
got here yesterday,” Brad answered.

“Damn, heard you
all had it rough out there.”

Brad gave the
sailor a puzzled look. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“Word travels
fast on this bucket. Sorry about the wait. The ship is at close to twenty
percent over-manned right now.”

“Really, why is
that?”

“Shit, half the
fleet is dead in the water with skeleton crews doing basic maintenance. Fuel
running out on most of ‘em. Crews have been consolidating to the main ships.
But hell, makes the work a lot easier. You know, with so many onboard. Most of
us only work three days a week.”

“Why don’t they
move everyone to the island?” Brad asked.

“Only certain
personnel go to the island. Anyone responsible for keeping the ships running
and floating stays onboard. You all should be leaving soon.”

Brooks nudged
Brad in the back to get his attention. Down the long line, he could see a
number of people walking down the passage. As they got closer, he identified
Sean wearing the same uniform he had been issued earlier, walking with the
group. Many of the others in the party were dressed in the usual blue
camouflage. A few of the men were wearing khaki uniforms.

Sean locked eyes
with Brad and moved closer to him in the line. He slapped Brad briskly on the
shoulder and formally asked how he was doing before he moved down to Nelson and
gave the same formal greeting. Brad turned and was ready to ask Sean what was
going on when he watched him shake hands with Brooks and give him a firm pat on
the back. The two SEALs exchanged brief words, then Sean nodded his head and
was gone.

“What the hell
was that?” Brad asked, looking back at Brooks.

Before Brooks
could speak, Winslow spoke up. “That’s just ship politics, Sergeant; all the
Chiefs and Officers making their rounds. Looks like your guy is fitting right
in.”

“Well, seems
messed up to –,” Brad began to say, then caught Brooks’ disapproving glare.
Brooks was slowly shaking his head side to side and gave Brad a cold stare.

“— But yeah, I
know how that stuff goes. Chiefs can’t be hanging out with us turds, right?”
Brad said with a grin, causing Winslow to chuckle.

“Yup, even at
the end of the world we still can’t get along,” Winslow said, laughing.

They made their
way through the galley line. Unlike any mess hall Brad was accustomed to, this
one was a lot smaller. The food wasn’t great either. The mess attendants gave
everyone the same thing without asking. The serving sizes were carefully
measured and placed on the trays. Brad received a scoop of rice, a cup of black
beans, and some sort of unrecognizable soup.

“Yeah, food
isn’t so good lately. We count on the salvage teams to supply us. So it’s been
a lot of beans and rice the last few weeks,” Winslow explained.

They found some
empty seats in the galley and sat, quickly eating their meal. Brad looked
around the room and saw plenty of smiling faces. They seemed accustomed to this
sort of life. You wouldn’t know a war was going on outside. They just appeared
to be tired from long shifts and fighting boredom.

Brad finished
his food and pushed away from his tray. He watched Winslow, who was chatting
with another sailor seated behind him. Suddenly there was a loud
whoomp
of an explosion; they could feel the vibration shudder across the steel floor.
A claxon horn began to blast. Men calmly jumped to their feet and began pouring
out of the galley.

“What the hell
was that?” Brad yelled.

“Could be a lot
of things. I better get you all back to your compartment. Come on, let’s go,”
Winslow said, almost pushing them out of the galley.