Monster Island(49)

“Tactical.” Jack looked away from me for a while. Clearly a man given to poignant pauses in conversation. Finally he gestured at Ayaan with his shoulder (his hands being busy with the shotgun). “She’s a skinny, right? A Somali.”

“A ‘skinny’?” I demanded.

“Just Army slang. No offense meant. I was a Ranger with the 75th.”

He didn’t seem to feel the need to elucidate on what that might signify. Judging by the way Ayaan tensed up and even let out a little gasp I was able to tentatively fill in some blanks. The 75th Ranger Regiment, as I later confirmed, was the outfit that tried to capture Mohammed Aidid at the Olympic Hotel in Mogadishu back in 1993. The outcome of that mission saw the first time in history when a dead American soldier was dragged through the streets of a foreign capital.

“She’s proven herself to be a valuable ally,” I protested, but he quieted me with a look. This, it seemed, was something he wanted to talk about.

“I wasn’t on that detail at the Hotel, I was back at the base playing cards all day. I saw plenty of other shit, though. The skinnies were smart. With all of our training and discipline they still got the better of us. Committed, too. I saw skinnies get shot and drop their weapons and other guys, kids and women even, would run out into fire to pick up the weapon and shoot at us some more.” He shook his head and looked right through me. “We were occupying their land and they wanted us gone. We should never have been there and when Clinton broke contact I was so glad to come home. You’re telling me it’s the skinnies who made it through this plague okay, that they didn’t get overrun like we did?” I nodded in confirmation. “I’m not surprised at all. Just keep it to yourself. If these people knew our only hope was signing up with Somalia… I don’t think a lot of them would want to go there.”

I guess that was all he wanted to say. I kept prodding, using my dated knowledge of Army acronyms and slang to try to draw him out but he would only answer in monosyllables after that. Finally he got up without a word and wandered away. Eventually Marisol came back with a couple of blankets for us and a can of creamed corn that Ayaan and I gratefully devoured. It was clearly the best the survivors had to offer. They must have been living out of cans the whole time.

“I see how impressed you are with our accommodations,” Marisol said, watching us eat. “I do hope you’ll stay as long as you like.” Something seemed to change in her, a mask falling away and she sat down next to me. “I hope Jack didn’t hurt your feelings. He can be a bastard, but we need him.”

I had actually wondered about her, not him. What could her bad attitude and lousy jokes actually accomplish down here? I asked a different question. “He’s in charge of your defenses?”

“Sweetie,” she said, batting her eyelashes in a halfhearted attempt to regain her studied insouciance, “he’s in charge of everything. He fixes the generator when it goes down. He organizes the search parties that bring in our food. Do you know how much food two hundred people go through in a day? Without him we would die. Horribly.” She took the empty can from my hand when I’d finished eating. “Of course, I shouldn’t underemphasize the importance of my little hubby. The old man does a pretty bang-up job himself. At least stay to meet him. Tonight he's giving his State of the Union address.”

Night was falling and we no longer had any way to protect ourselves against the undead. It looked like we didn’t have any choice.

David Wellington - Monster Island





Monster Island





Chapter Thirteen


Author's Note: Starting Monday I will be away from my computer for two weeks. Regular updates will continue but I won't be able to post comments. Please continue to let us know what you think of the story. I hope you will all enjoy what's to come.

–David Wellington

“You… you can’t be serious,” Gary said. Mael kept moving deeper into the dark museum, through a sculpture garden lit only indirectly by windows on the outside. “You honestly expect me to believe that you’re going to walk out there into the city and start killing survivors?” As the Druid hobbled along the mummies began to emerge from the Egyptian wing, clutching Canopic jars and heart scarabs to themselves. A supremely frustrated Gary called for Noseless and Faceless to come as well-he didn’t necessarily want to get outnumbered just then. “Anyway, this isn’t where you would do it. There are maybe a handful of people left in this city-”