Monster Nation(55)

Clark sputtered in surprise. 'That's preposterous. There's still work to be done here and I'm not leaving until that work is done and it isn't done until I say when it is done!' Guilt, he thought. He was feeling guilty for his earlier doubts.

The Second Louey looked down at his flight boots. 'Sir, begging your pardon but I'm just the messenger and' sir, I've been flying over this town back and forth all day. I'm truly sorry but when you say there's work to be done'there's not. We haven't seen any sign of real survival since this morning.'

Ice cubes trickled down Clark's spine. 'That's,' he said softly. 'That's not the kind of attitude I like to hear,' he continued but he couldn't finish the rebuke. He tried to remember when the last survivor had climbed aboard the HEMTT. The last time they'd seen anyone else opposing the infected.

He took a second to think about what that meant, but only a second.

'Sergeant Horrocks,' he called, 'did you hear what this man had to say? It's time for us to make a tactical withdrawal.'

Formerly known as a retreat. The National Guard'and the Federal Government'had written Denver off.

'Get your asses in gear, my little babies,' Horrocks screamed at his platoon, walking away. 'We're popping smoke!' At the news some of the troops offered up a weary cheer.





Monster Nation





Chapter Three


Dear Sis:

The elms outside my window are dying, which hardly seems like a big deal now, does it? And yet I can't help but look at them, at the sickly leaves and the branches that just aren't budding. Someone came by today to paint them with medicine but stopped before he was half done, everyone is so distracted right now. Heard San Francisco was gone, now how could that be? How do you lose an entire city? The nurses turned off the television before I could find out. Please visit soon, if you can.

Love, Irene

[Letter delivered to an abandoned apartment in Minneapolis, MN 4/8/05]

The tiny house stood on short stilts above the floor of the box canyon. A narrow row of stairs lead up to a weathered wooden door that didn't quite fit its frame. Behind the house stood a white cylindrical tank, probably the fuel supply for a generator or a gas stove. Nilla spent most of an hour checking the place out, climbing the rocks all around. No road, not even a path lead to the misshapen door. As far as she could see in every direction lay nothing but desert. Who would live in such a desolate spot?

She was asking herself that question when the door swung open, revealing a rectangle of cool darkness beyond. Unable to move fast enough to find cover Nilla did what was starting to come natural'she hid away her energy, made herself invisible.

A man stepped out of the house and onto the first of the steps. He wore nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and a white beard that descended in bushy curls to the middle of his chest. His head was shaven, or perhaps just bald. His skin had the sallow shade of undyed leather and he looked like he might be a hundred years old or perhaps only sixty. He scratched the back of one thigh and stared right at Nilla. 'That's pretty good,' he said. 'Please, come inside. We need to talk.'

'I heard a guy on the tv today, I think he was an evangelist or something.'

'Yeah.'

'He was talking about the end of the world. Saying''

'Yeah.'

''right, saying maybe this, you know. Maybe this is it. Judgment day? And we're being punished because of our sins. And that got me to thinking''

'Yeah?'

'Well I mean if we've already been judged, right? If God has already decided who's good and who's bad and all that shit' then what we do from now on just doesn't matter. Like we could, I don't know, maybe you and I could. Well.'

'Yeah.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah.'

'I'll be right over.'

[Telephone call between two local customers in Boise, ID, 4/8/05]

'Fuck you!' With a baby screaming in the crook of his left arm he lifted his shiny pistol and fired again. Bannerman Clark wondered if the man was even aiming. He certainly wasn't hitting anything. 'Fuck you,' he yelped with every shot. His voice had gone hoarse with it.

With a hand signal Clark sent Squad Three forward to back the man up. The infected citizens of Fountain, Colorado spun and dropped and beat their heels against the sidewalk, one after the other. After the fall of Denver the soldiers knew to take their time and line up perfect head shots. Anything else was a waste of ammunition.