The Last Bastion of the Living: A Futuristic Zombie Novel (5 page)

a
s s
he was about slip through the doorway, Dwayne whispered in her ear that he loved her. She smiled at the familiar words of endearment
,
then joined the throng of people moving through the long glass tunnel to the main terminal. Glancing back, she saw Dwayne heading in the opposite direction.

The main terminal was not nearly as busy as it had once been when all the trains had been running and had been open to the general public, but it was still fairly crowded. She quickly wove her way through the rush of people, avoiding the drably dressed professionals hurrying to the government facilities. Joining a group of other soldiers, she spotted a f
amiliar face
.

“Another day, another credit,” Lindsey joked, falling in step beside Maria. Heavily favoring one leg, she leaned on her cane as she walked. The blond soldier had been terribly wounded in the last assault on the
Scourge
and now manned communications. Before the fall of humanity, her injury would have been easily repaired, but with resources low, she was disabled for life.

“It never ends, huh?” Maria answered.

“Nope. Day after day, same old, same old. Though, according to the president, things sound like they
’
re looking up,” Lindsey answered with a wink.

“The biggest load of bullshit I
’
ve heard in a long time,” Maria groused.

“I almost believed him,” Lindsey admitted, shrugging. “Then I remembered what I hear every day when I
’
m on duty and I stopped being a dumb ass.”

“Something
’
s gotta give soon. They have to figure something out,” Maria said, her dark eyes scanning the crowd thoughtfully.

“They
’
ve been saying that
ever since the first
Scrag
outbreak
,” Lindsey reminded her with a shrug of her shoulders.

“True. And the last time they got a great idea on how to push the
Scrags
out of the valley Ryan died.”

Lindsey pressed her lips together, her eyes lowering. It was difficult for her to talk about Ryan. “They
’
re talking about shutting down another train. I also heard a rumor about mandatory blackouts at sunset.”

Maria shook her head. “Then why did
President Cabot
make all those promises?”

“Maybe he knows something we don
’
t?” Lindsey shrugged again. “We can hope.”

“Hope is all we got,” Maria decided. “But I did see something weird on the train on the way here.”

“What was that?” Lindsey asked.

“An
aircraft
.”

Lindsey
’
s eyes widened. “They were grounded.”

“I know, but everyone on the last train saw it,” Maria answered.

“That
’
s what I get for
taking the ground tram. Damn. I would have loved to have seen it. The sky has been empty for over a year.” Lindsey lightly chewed on her bottom lip.

“Everyone got so excited when they saw it, but I
’
m not sure how I feel,” Maria admitted.

Lindsey leaned heavily on her cane as she slightly frowned. “Maybe it
’
s a good si
gn. If
they
’
re
running the aircraft
maybe
w
e
’
re
close to something big.”

They reached the end of the terminal where the transports were loading up soldiers and whisking them to their assigned duties.

“We need to get a drink soon,” Lindsey decided, “catch up.”

“Yeah. Definitely. Send me a message and we
’
ll hook up,” Maria answered before swinging herself up onto the transport that would carry her to the wall.

Leaning on her cane, Lindsey gave her a small smile. “And if I find out anything on that air
craft
, I
’
ll let you know.”

“Rumors are going to be flying,” Maria reminded her.

“I have a way of finding out what isn
’
t bullshit,” Lindsey assured her, then walked on.

* * *

As Dwayne passed through security and into the main building that housed the leadership of
The Bastion
Constabulary and their staffs, he noted the absence of the usual hectic bustle. This
didn
’
t
bode well. The last time he had witnessed this sort of inactivity in the HQ was right before the last disastrous push against the
Inferi Scourge
. Between the air
craft
, the
p
resident
’
s speech, and the abrupt cancellation of all his meetings, his growing sense of unease definitely
didn
’
t
seem without merit.

Tucking his hat under his arm, he strode down the long corridors that would lead him to his office. Like the rest of
The Bastion
, the hallways and offices were austere with black tile floors, pale gray walls, and very little ornamentation. Only the flag for
The Bastion
and the crest of the Constabulary decorated the main corridor. He noted that there was definitely tension in the air as the lower officials of the Constabulary spoke in hushed voices. A few glanced in his direction, but quickly averted their gaze. He was most likely the highest ranking officer in the building today and people didn
’
t want to be seen gossiping.

Reaching his office, he glanced at the doorway across the hall that led to Commandant
Pierce
’
s office. The doors were shut.

“She didn
’
t even come in today,” Petra, his assistant informed him as she stepped into the corridor to greet him.

“Something
’
s up,” he decided.

He slipped past her into the small block of offices where his staff worked. Petra followed, her pad in her hand.

“Absolutely,” Petra agreed.

She was efficient, smart, and tenacious. Very tall, a little too thin, and fine-boned, she reminded him of an avian predator. Her slightly hooked nose and narrow face only added to that impression. Her thick curls were pulled back from her face into a braided bun and her uniform was immaculate.

As he hooked his hat on a metal coatrack and slid out of his wet jacket, he inclined his head toward her pad. “I know you have your ear to the ground. Talk to me.”

“I admit I have been in communication with a few sources,” she said, the corner of her mouth quirking upward.

He entered his personal office and flipped on the coffee maker in the corner. He desperately needed caffeine. “And what did you discover?”

“Commandant Pierce didn
’
t come into the office this morning, but her assistant sent a communiqué informing me that all her meetings were canceled, including the one with you. Then word began to filter in that all the
echelon of the government
was canceling meetings.” She tucked her long body into a chair, her pad resting on her lap.

Dwayne slid into his somewhat comfortable chair behind his big ugly desk. “All divisions?”

“Every single one. I did some sleuthing and found out that an air
craft
picked up the
president
’
s counsel
and delivered them to the capital. Which is where they have been since early this morning,” Petra informed him.

“I just saw an air
craft
heading toward the capital.”

“Ah, now, the i
nteresting part is that the aircraft
you saw was seen landing and departing from the SWD.” Her fingers lightly caressed her pad. “I received that information right before you arrived.”

“The Science Warfare Division? Interesting. They
’
ve been incompetent since the beginni
ng of all this. I wonder what
’
s changed.” Dwayne set his hands on his desk and tapped the surface. The keyboard display popped up and he entered his password. Scanning through the communiqués being sent out by the senior officers, it was obvious they were all in the dark. “Do you know anyone in the Science Warfare Division?”

Slightly inclining her head, Petra affirmed what he suspected. “I have been in contact with a few people I know.
They
’
re
scrambling for information as well. There are rumors of a covert operation being implemented by the SWD, but there are no specifics about what that operation may be.”

“I hate being in the dark,” Dwayne complained.

“I will attempt to remedy that,” Petra vowed.

“You really are a tenacious creature,” Dwayne mused.

“I would have made a fantastic investigative reporter before humanity fell,” she conceded. “Of course, there will only be so far I can go before the information I secure for you will be considered top secret.”

“That has never stopped you before,” Dwayne said wryly. “You know how the Constabulary works.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“If I
’
m going to be efficient in my role as the Castellan, then I need to know what my dear Commandant is up to and she
’
s not going to tell me herself.” Dwayne folded his arms over his chest, feeling grim and uncertain.

“Understood. I
’
ll report back as soon as I have something.” Petra slid out of her chair and moved toward the doorway. “Will you need anything else?”

Dwayne shook his head, staring at the empty slots in the calendar glowing on his screen.

Petra shut the door behind her as Dwayne twisted his chair a
bout
and stared out the narrow window toward the capital building.

Chapter 3

As she hurried up the narrow cement staircase toward the heavy steel door at the top, Maria dragged in deep breaths of stale, humid air, preparing herself mentally. It was always hard to face what lay beyond the high walls of
The Bastion
. No matter how many times she patrolled the walls, her heart always sped up during the first few seconds on duty.

Her body armor was heavy and slightly claustrophobic
. S
he
hooked the
strap of her weapon
onto her armor, and i
t settled against her chest, a comforting, familiar weight. Her breath reverberated in her helmet as she swung around a landing and headed up the next flight of stairs. Above her, the door to the outside slid open and dark shapes blotted out her brief glimpse of the low-hanging, gray sky. The shapes morphed into soldiers descending the stairs after a long shift on the walls. They wore somber expressions
inside
their helmets as the hurried past her. Maria fiddled with the strap on her
weapon
one last time, then took the last few stairs in a rush.

Walking out onto the platform, her breath caught in her throat. The sky spread out in a panorama of dark clouds. Lightning flashed deep within the storm, and thunder echoed through the valley seconds later. Before her, the endless sea of the
Scourge
filled the
wide expanse of the
valley all the way to the foothills of the mountains towering above
The Bastion
. The creatures of her nightmare
howled into the storm winds, their voices rising up to greet her. The sound of the
Scourge
crying out sent chills flowing down her back, her muscles seizing, and she forced a deep breath into her lungs. It was difficult to see them and not remember the terrible day that she had lost Ryan and almost her own life.

The virus that had brought back the dead also did a superb job of preserving them. Though many of the
Scourge
wore the grievous injuries that had killed them, th
ey still retained a startlingly-
fresh appearance. Wounds still wept blood and their flesh was remarkably free of decay. They looked disgusting, smelled rank, but were not rotting. They were dead, feral corpses that could survive the extreme heat of the summer and the terrible cold of the winter. The
ISPV
was potent and horrible in its power over the dead.

Swallowing hard, Maria hurried past the silent Maelstrom Platforms toward her post.

“Fucking goddamn
Scrags
,” Special Constable Kurt Jameson grumbled next to her as they took up their positions.

“Same old, same old. Never changes,” Maria answered, understanding his frustration all too well. It felt fruitless to stand on the walls day after day and stare down at the monsters humanity had become.

Jameson made a big show of hocking up a wad of phlegm, leaning over the rail, and spitting at the upturned faces far below. The action disgusted Maria and she averted her gaze. B
eneath
her, the
Scourge
howled and raged.

“Man, I wish we could just unload on them. Just fire away, watch their fuckin
’
heads explode. Instead, we gotta just stand here so the civvies feel we
’
re doing something to protect them. It
’
s all show, Vanguard. I signed up to kill me some goddamn zombies,” Jameson said
,
resorting to outdated slang to describe the
Scourge
. He was bitter that right after he had joined the armed forces the brass had clamped down on ammunition expenditures. The stores were running low with no way of replenishment.

“Hey, you know we
’
re not supposed to use that word,” Maria chastised him. “And we do what we gotta for the people we serve. It makes them feel comfortable and safe to see us up here.”

Jameson shook his head with agitation. His face was young and handsome under his visor with strong cheekbones, a square jawline, and large brown eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. Fastening his intense gaze on her, he said, “You got to see action. You
’
re one of the lucky ones. You actually got to kill some of them.”

“The final campaign was a failure,” she said tersely.

“Yeah, but it was an all-out assault on the
Scrags
right outside the wall. The engineers almost got the perimeter up before you got swarmed.”

“And causalities were high,” Maria reminded him, trying not to lose her temper. “I was lucky to get airlifted. I still have nightmares.” Her voice sounded harsh, but she couldn
’
t help it. So many had died in
the
fruitless push against the
Scrags
.

“We should just open fire on them. Kill them all.” Jameson waved at the masses of
Scourge
reaching toward them. Sometimes the
y
would push up against the walls, crushing the bodies of their undead comrades into pulp. “I don
’
t know why they keep holding us back.”

“The tiltrotors don
’
t fly anymore. We wouldn
’
t have air support. And you know how every bullet has to be accounted for. Ammunition is scarce. You know we can
’
t fire without due cause or we get reprimanded.”

“There has to be a way,” Jameson persisted. Though he was always too exuberant in his desire to kill, she had never seen him so agitated. The
p
resident
’
s speech had them all on edge.

“Orders are orders, Special Constable. We do our jobs,” she answered after a brief hesitation. Expressing her frustrations wouldn
’
t be conducive to their time on the wall. It was mindless work, but it had a purpose. The well-trained soldier inside her struggled with just being an object of display in order to give a sense of security to the populace of the city. Looking down at her weapon, it felt ineffectual in her hands. The clip was loaded, but she wouldn
’
t be firing it. She would unload her weapon at the end of her patrol and turn in the full clips.

“C
’
mon, Vanguard, the orders are shit.” Jameson shook his head, his helmet bobbing up and down on his dark hair.

“Keep your opinions to yourself. Don
’
t let the Section Officer hear you, or it will be your ass.”

Jameson grudgingly obeyed, but his sour look reflected her own mood.

With a sigh, Maria looked back over the throngs of the
Inferi Scourge
filling the valley. Standing on the massive steel wall, she felt insignificant and overwhelmed.

* * *

“You asked to see me, sir?”

Maria ducked through the narrow doorway and into the small sweltering office where the Section Officer could usually be found. Today she was nowhere to be seen. A stranger sat in her place.

The thin man behind the desk glanced up. “Vanguard Martinez?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take a seat.” He gestured to a chair.

The military headquarters was a massive stone building built flush against the wall. It was heavily fortified with re
i
nforced steel. The interior was claustrophobic with low ceilings, thick walls, and warm air. Sitting on the uncomfortable metal chair, she tried to concentrate on anything but the sweat trickling down between her shoulder blades. Her dark hair fell over her shoulder in a long braid and her uniform clung to her moist skin. The armor had coolers, but the building was stifling. A fan whirled in the corner, lightly ruffling the short blond hair of the man before her. He was dressed in
a white civilian suit
, but had the aura of a man with power. Intently studying the scrolling information on his notepad, he lightly tapped his stylus against the desk.

“I
’
m the assistant to Commandant Kitchens. Do you know who that is?”

“Head of the Science Warfare Division,” she answered. She didn
’
t want to add that that arm of the military hadn
’
t done jack shit for the
Constabulary
in decades.

“Correct. My name is Mr. Petersen. I am here because you were selected by your superiors. I have been told you have an excellent record, are in perfect health, and can be counted on to perform to the utmost of your abilities.”

“Thank you, sir,” was all she could think to say.

“
You
’
re
of Dominican descent, I see,” he continued, his index finger lightly brushing over one of his pale eyebrows as he read the pad.

Maria was uncertain what her ethnicity had to do with her performance as a soldier and tried not to bristle. Instead, she nodded. “And
Puerto Rican
. But my family was located in San Antonio in the Republic of Texas when the
p
lague started.”

“Most Latino families are very tight knit,” Mr. Petersen continued in his bland voice. It was completely devoid of any inflection she could use to determine his intent.

Slightly shrugging, she answered, “I guess. I can only speak for my own family.”

“I see your father, Vanguard Mariano Martinez died fighting the
Inferi Scourge
when they invaded the sewer system a few years ago.”

Swallowing hard, Maria slightly inclined her head in the affirmative. It was still difficult to discuss the death of her father.

Mr. Petersen turned his gaze toward her when she
didn
’
t
verbally respond.

“Yes,” she answered, her emotions threatening to choke her. “Yes, he died fighting the
Scrags
.”

The man behind the desk regarded her for several long moments before returning his attention to his pad. “I see you have several siblings and your mother is still living.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you close to them?”

“As close as I can be.”

“Clarify that statement.”

Maria shifted in her chair uncomfortably. “They live on the far west of the city. It
’
s hard to get over there more than a few times a year. Since the trains shut down, it
’
s difficult to find transportation.
It
’
s a full day
’
s walk to reach that side of the city.
”

“Yes.” He tapped the stylus on the screen a few times. “
You
’
re
single. Never married. Correct?”

She thought of Dwayne, but she nodded in the affirmative. “Yes, sir.”

“Are you presently involved with anyone?”

“I don
’
t see-”

“Are you presently involved with anyone, Vanguard?” Mr. Petersen
’
s gaze was unnerving.

Maria shook her head. “No.”

“I see you can
’
t have children due to a grievous wound you received in battle. They removed your uterus
and ovaries
.”

Swallowing hard, she answered, “Yes, sir.” She was uneasy with the personal aspect of the questions.

Mr. Petersen moved the stylus over the pad, making notations and sorting through several files she could see glowing on the screen. “Are you happy?”

“Sir?”

“Are you happy? Do you find your life satisfying in the city?”

Maria rubbed her lips together.

“It
’
s not a difficult question.”

Reluctantly, she answered, “No. I
’
m not.”

“Do you find your patrols on the wall to be a waste of your time?”

“It
’
s not for me to judge my orders,” she answered briskly.

“But do you find your patrols on the wall to be a waste of your time?” Mr. Petersen
’
s gaze was piercing.

“I am aware that a show of strength is important for the morale of the citizens.”

“But you feel ineffectual?”

Nodding tersely, Maria glared at the man across from her. He was picking at her wounds, making her angry and vulnerable. “I do not understand the line of questioning.”

Mr. Petersen leaned over the pad and made a few more notations.

“I am a good soldier,” Maria continued. “I am well decorated for my bravery in the field. I have done my duty without question.”