The Last Bastion of the Living (The Last Bastion #1)(14)

“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 president’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 reinforced 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 plague 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.”