Judgment Day (Book 3): Retribution Page 11

  She was very proud that he had made a stand, but worried now that her rash suggestion might doom them all. “So what’s next?”

  “I received a shipment of weapons from General Perry in San Diego. Now I need to speak to everyone, civilian and military. If they’re willing to risk death to protect their freedom, I’ll lead them. Anyone who doesn’t agree can leave. I’ll use up precious fuel and fly them to another city.” He leaned across the table and clasped her hand. “I want you to be my liaison to the people.”

  She drew back her hand in surprise. “Me? I’m not even American.”

  “You are now.”

  He reached into his jacket, removed a folded slip of paper, and handed it to her. She glanced at him puzzled, but took the paper and began reading.

  “But … but this says I’m a United States citizen. I don’t understand.”

  “It’s within my powers to grant citizenship in an emergency. The oath of allegiance is on the bottom. Read it and sign.”

  She hesitated. “But I’m Egyptian.”

  He frowned and sighed. “Bahati, we don’t know if there is an Egypt any more. The Middle East heated up during the plague. A few nukes got tossed around. Your home may be gone. Alexandria may be gone. Even if it survived, you may never get the chance to return. Become a citizen. We need you here.”

  His plea made her dizzy. The thought that her family, her friends, even her country might be gone sickened her to her stomach. “I … I don’t know.”

  “If you sign this, I can make you my liaison to the civilian population. No one will question you.”

  She stared at the paper; reread its words and the oath. The writing blurred as her eyes swelled with tears. His proposal moved her, but signing the paper would be admitting that everything she loved would be gone. “I have to think about it.”

  “Please do. It’s a big step, I know.” He leaned back in his chair. “In a few days, I’m going to bring everyone together and announce my plan. Weapons training will start immediately afterwards.”

  “I want to fight,” she said, surprised at the certainty of her words.

  He shook his head. “I need you as my liaison. I’m not comfortable around most people. I am with you. With you, I can be honest. You make me honest. That’s a rare quality; one I need. There are plenty of people that can shoot a rifle,” he smiled, “or dig a ditch.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she promised.

  “Good. Now, maybe I’ll try one of those martinis you’re so fond of.”

  Five days later, she was a U.S. Citizen, liaison for Colonel Schumer, and the envy of her roommate Elise.

  “Do you need a secretary?” Elise asked upon learning the news. “I can type, a little.”

  The two were sitting outside in the cold for a little privacy. Bahati pulled her head down inside her collar when a strong gust of wind whipped down the street. “I don’t even know what my job entails yet.”

  “Maybe he just wants you close by.” Elise smiled wickedly. “I’ll bet he’s hot for you.”

  “He’s a perfect gentleman,” she replied, feeling the need to defend his honor more than hers.

  Her roommate nudged her in the side with her elbow. “Those are the ones you have to watch out for.”

  “Really, you are so wrong about him. He feels comfortable around me. We talk. That’s all.”

  Elise shook her head. “It’s a waste of a good man, if you ask me. Still, he is handsome.”

  Bahati smiled and giggled. “He is that.”

  “Mark my words,” Elise said, “any man that says he can be comfortable around you is either hot for you or gay.”

  “He’s not gay,” Bahati insisted.

  “Then there you are. He wants you.”

  Bahati quickly discovered that her new job consisted of countless meetings with citizen groups and community leaders, some not fully supportive of Schumer’s plan but sickened into action by his revelation that the rumors of blood banking people were true. Another task was coordinating volunteers. True to his word, the Colonel accepted over two thousand civilian volunteers and immediately began training them in the basics of weapons handling. More difficult was teaching them to work as a cohesive force. Most had worked on the Big Ditch surrounding the city. He reminded them of that unity, that sense of pride of accomplishment. Lastly, was the matter of military discipline. This proved almost impossible. Realizing the effort was not worth the time involved, he settled for a reasonable degree of cooperation, reminding them that their lives and the lives of their friends and families were on the line.

  Only twice did the shooting instructor allow her to fire a rifle. The first time, the sudden unexpected recoil sent her flying backwards, landing her on her butt. She was more embarrassed than injured. The second time she managed to hold onto the weapon as she fired it, but missed the target by several yards. She quickly realized that her talents lay elsewhere. She discovered she had a flair for organization. Following Colonel Schumer’s guidelines, she arranged the volunteers into units with as many of the most experienced people in each unit. She was surprised to learn that a very large number of women had volunteered, many of whom excelled in marksmanship, vehicle maintenance, and even heavy weapons This made her ineptness with the rifle even more unbearable, driving her to work doubly hard at her new job.

  By month’s end, Schumer was satisfied with his new militia.

  “They’re better than I expected,” he confided to her in his office one evening as they sipped coffee. A cold, drizzling rain outside made the night seem even gloomier. Long gone were the lengthy conversations over drinks at the Z-Bar. She missed the intimacy of the bar, but at the same time was glad that work kept them from growing too close together. She found Schumer charming, but she wasn’t eager to begin a relationship with him in spite of her growing attraction to him. She needn’t have worried. During their several weeks of close contact, his manner and conduct had been exemplary, much to the disappointment of Elise. Am I disappointed? She wondered.

  “They trust you,” she said as she set her cup aside. The hot coffee helped combat the chill she felt when looking outside.

  “I hope I’m right.”

  “People have to make a stand. They realize that what happens to others can easily happen to them. Fighting for survival in a post apocalyptic world sometimes means taking chances.”

  He took a sip of his coffee, eyeing her over the rim of the cup, and replied, “We might soon get a chance to test that theory.”

  She cocked her head to one side stared at him. He had been close-mouthed all afternoon, as if hiding something. She realized he had been so since receiving a radio dispatch just after lunch. “What do you mean?”

  “General Perry in San Diego has been replaced. No one seems to know what happened to him. I received word from a sympathizer that two C-130 Hercules are in Phoenix. The troops there are on alert. I think they mean to replace me as well. I think this is the showdown.”

  Her breath caught for a moment. “How many men?”

  “Each C-130 can carry up to ninety men. I suspect they are bringing armored transports as well, so maybe one hundred to one-hundred-twenty men.”

  She brightened at the prospect of so few troops. “We have more people.”

  He shook his head. “Up until now it’s been a game. Faced with an enemy willing to kill, they might think differently. Only seventy of my men chose to leave, but who knows how many might change their minds rather than kill fellow soldiers.”

  “Shoot them down. Don’t let them land. You have helicopters and jets.” Her bloodthirsty comment startled her, but she was more frightened than she was willing to admit.

  His reproachful tone chastised her. “I can’t kill innocent men. First, I have to talk to them. They might surrender or even join us.”

  “You could die.” Once the words left her mouth, she realized how she really felt about him. She could not even bear to contemplate his death.

  “We’ve all faced death one way o
r another. I don’t expect to get out of this life alive.”

  His cavalier attitude toward death angered her. Her voice became more strident. “What about the rest of us? If you die, what do we do?”

  He looked at her as if her anger surprised him. “Why, carry on, of course. Is one death so important?”

  She fell back in her chair, closed her eyes, and sobbed, “To me it is.”

  She hoped that he might come to her, offer her comfort. Instead, he remained where he was, silent. She heard him take another sip of coffee, set down his cup, and cross the room. When she opened her eyes, he was staring out the window.

  “It’s beginning to snow now. Perhaps you should leave before the streets become impassable.”

  He had changed the subject in an attempt to dismiss her concerns. She decided to press further. “Do you want me to go?”

  He turned to her. Silhouetted by an outside streetlamp, his profile seemed hard, but she noticed a slight grin on his lips.

  “Of course, I don’t. I’ve come to enjoy your company, perhaps more than I should. You must know that if things go badly, anyone associated with me might be in for a rough time.”

  “I’m willing to risk it.”

  He lowered his head and sighed. “I’m not. Later, if things go well …”

  “You mean when all’s right with the world,” she shot at him. Her words came out more harshly than she had intended. He was trying to protect her and she knew it, but she didn’t want protecting. She wanted him to hold her in his arms. She wanted him to show her that he cared.

  He shook his head and met her harshness with kindness. “Not that long, I hope. If we can hold this conversation a few days from now, it might go differently.”

  She slumped down in her seat. She had lost. He was adamant about playing the perfect gentleman in spite of his obvious feelings for her. “Very well.” She retrieved her coat from the coat rack and slipped it on. “Are you going to stay here all night again?” She suspected that he had slept on the short sofa in his office more than once.

  He smiled at her. “It might be a long night.”

  She made one more attempt to break through his self-imposed wall of propriety. “Let me stay here with you.”

  He shook his head. “I have to think. When you’re around me, I find I think of you too much.”

  She was stunned. It was the first time he had openly confessed his feelings for her. It was a triumph of sorts. “Then I can’t stand in the way of military matters. I’ll leave.”

  “I can have someone drive you home,” he offered.

  “No, I’ll take the train. The cold air might do me some good.”

  She glanced back at him as she closed the door. He was leaning with his hands on the windowsill, head bowed, eyes closed. His lips moved in silent prayer.

  Once outside, she immediately regretted her decision to walk. A brisk cold wind from the north drove the snowflakes at her like frozen raindrops. By the time she had travelled the few blocks to the train station, she was shivering. The heater in the TRAX train barely kept the inside temperature above freezing, but even that small comfort was better than the alternative. Few passengers shared the car with her – a young couple clinging to each other and whispering, an old man and his dog, and a young soldier. Everyone else was inside their homes avoiding the inclement weather. On a whim, she walked the length of the car and sat down beside the soldier, no more than a boy, reading a paperback novel.

  “Are you ready to fight?” she asked.

  He stared at her for a moment before answering. “That’s my job. I’m not so ready to die, though, but then Thoreau said, ‘The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it.’ Every day is a gift isn’t it?”

  His answer caught her off guard. She hadn’t expected such a philosophical thought from a soldier or from one so young. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  “If you mean am I ready to protect you and the other civilians, then the answer is yes.” His face twisted into mask of rage but his voice remained quiet. “I’ve seen what munies look like hooked up to those machines. I won’t let them do that to my friends, my buddies.”

  She nodded. “We’re all ready to fight. That’s why we’ll win,” she said with certainty.

  He smiled. “I wish I had your confidence. We might beat them the first time, but they won’t give up that easily. If you want to control the enemy, you can’t leave an intact fort on your lines of communication.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The soldier carefully placed a bookmark on the page he was reading, closed the book and laid it beside him with his hand resting on reverently, as if he knew such books would not be printed again for many years. As his gaze lingered on it, she suspected he would rather be reading than holding the conversation into which she had drawn him.

  “They won’t give up. They’ll just keep sending more men, more planes, until we’re beaten. In the end, we’ll lose.”

  She stared at him in disbelief and shook her head. “No. They can’t.”

  He offered her a sympathetic half smile. “They’re not zombies. The Big Ditch won’t stop them.”

  She leaned back in her seat, silent until the train reached her stop. The soldier resumed reading where he had left off. He acted as though he had shrugged off their conversation, but his words disturbed her. He was willing to fight though he knew they would lose in the end. It took a special kind of courage to fight in the face of such adversity. Such courage should not suffer a tragic end. Did Colonel Schumer share the young soldier’s sense of hopelessness? Was he even now pacing the floors of his cold, empty office fretting about the coming battle? She wanted to reverse her journey, join him in his uncertainty, but he had sent her away. The train jerked to a stop. She hopped off, gathered her coat tighter about her against the pelting snow, and hurried home.

  11

  Tucson, Arizona

  Two armed men stopped the bus at the gate. Mace kept the engine idling just in case, but when the men saw Trish, they rushed to roll open the gate. They ushered the bus into the warehouse through an overhead garage door where curious onlookers quickly surrounded it. Arms eagerly embraced Trish when she stepped off the bus. Her news of Bob Krell’s death dampened the joy of seeing other survivors, but the small community greeted them warmly.

  Trish’s mood toward him had turned somewhat icy. Instead of the few days delay he had promised, she had remained at Agua Caliente for almost two weeks. Erin had been so distraught at the loss of the Level 4 lab and her inability to work that he, Vince, Elliot and several others made trips to Yuma and Casa Grande to find replacement medical equipment. Five hospitals and three medical supply warehouses later, they had located most of the items on her list. A sheet of thick acrylic large enough to serve as an observation window had been the most difficult to find, but after much deliberation, it was decided that a smaller piece would serve just as well. The dimensions of the observation window could be reduced to accommodate it. They had left Erin and her crew eager to resume their work.

  The warehouse, a 50,000-square-feet cinder block building containing mounds of canned food, bottled water, clothing, and electrical appliances, was partitioned to provide dozens of smaller rooms with a common eating area. A basketball court took up a small area near one of the dozen metal delivery doors. It looked cozy and safe, but Mace wondered just how secure it was. Outside, coils of razor wire topped the fourteen-foot-high, reinforced fence surrounding the warehouse, but by itself, Mace doubted that even the formidable fence could have kept the zombies out. Trish had informed him that the Tucson Survivors Society, as they called themselves, manned the roof twenty-four hours a day with automatic weapons and a cache of Molotov cocktails. On the way in, he had noticed the two men at the edge of the roof, weapons ready. The scores of zombie skeletons outside the fence testified to their determination to defend themselves.

  Emmanuel Garza, a short, stout, thirty-two year-old Mexican-American veteran of Afghanistan, led the group. B
ecause of their common backgrounds, he and Mace hit it off from the beginning. After exchanging greetings, Mace got down to specifics. He was distressed to learn that of the twenty-two survivors – ten men, nine women, and three children under the age of twelve – only fourteen had any experience with a weapon.

  “We’re secure here,” Garza boasted. “Luckily, we don’t have to venture out for supplies. We have water from a tank on the roof, propane for generators, and a few solar panels. Zombies come at us from time to time, but we beat them back easily.” He scratched his head. “Though it’s odd there weren’t any around when you arrived. Usually there’s at least a handful around the fence. I would have thought the sound of your bus would have brought more.”

  Trish had also commented on the absence of zombies upon their arrival, but he had dismissed her observation as unimportant. In his eagerness to drop her off and return to Agua Caliente, he ignored her unease. Now, he had a gut feeling that he had made a big mistake. That feeling was reinforced when a call rang through the warehouse from the men on the roof.

  “Zombies!”

  Mace stared down at the crowd of zombies surrounding the fenced warehouse from the roof and felt a moment of dismay. He had walked blind-eyed into a trap. Garza approached him across the roof after speaking with one of the guards. Mace flipped his hand-rolled cigarette off the roof and watched it flutter to the ground.

  “Frank says they’re not milling about like they usually do,” Garza said. “They seem to be waiting for something.”

  “They suckered me easily enough. They waited for us to come inside.”

  “They’re not that smart,” Garza noted.

  “Oh? They’re smart enough.”

  “That remodeled bus is pretty effective. You shouldn’t have a problem.”

  “It keeps them at bay, but if that gate opens long enough for us to leave, they’ll pour through in a flood.”