would fix things. Oddly, it did. Children changed him. His kids became his center; their chaos gave him a sense of stillness he needed. He wanted a hundred and settled for three: Kristina, age four, Lilia, age three, and Victor, the youngest, still a baby.
Rod cannot imagine what happened to them. He has had no contact with his family for twenty-three days. They lived on base at Fort Benning, Georgia. The base was evacuated, and Rod still has not been able to find out where they went.
If he finds his children okay at the other end of this thing, he will hand in his rifle and become a priest. If not, he will curse God. He does not know what he would do if he lost them. He heard the Infected kill and eat children instead of convert them. He cannot even imagine someone eating his Victor. Just trying would destroy his sanity.
Captain Mack is right. They are going to have to take America back one house, one building, one city at a time. Rod will be there, fighting every step of the way, until he gets home.
♦
The column coils in front of the hotel, the vehicles grunting like giant metal bulls as they nudge into their final positions. Rod closes the hatch and touches his front cargo pocket, where he keeps his mission notes. The boys glance at him with wondering expressions, sweating in their armor and fatigues. It’s still hot as hell today, especially inside this metal box on wheels.
Outside, a voice blaring through a megaphone addresses any locals in the area, competing with the final strains of “Ave Maria.”
Attention! Attention! Military personnel are present in this area.
“All right, listen up,” Rod says. “The hour is at hand. If anyone’s got any last questions, now’s the time.”
The boys stare at him. Half of them are clean shaven. The other half are working on wispy combat mustaches.
Troops are preparing to advance. To avoid injury, please remain in a secure location and wait for further instructions.
Finally, PFC Tanner, a gangly kid from Wisconsin, raises his hand. “Do you think you could see the Washington Monument from the roof? Maybe even the White House?”
The other boys crack grins. They are afraid of Rod. They’re not even sure of his humanity. But they cannot help themselves. Following an unspoken Army tradition, they have to test their sergeant.
Tanner explains, “This is my first time in DC.”
“You’re not a tourist, fuckchop,” Rod says, fixing him with a hard stare. “You’re a soldier. I want you watching your sector, Private, not seeing the sights.”
“Is it true there ain’t gonna be any light inside?” Lynch wants to know. “We’ll be doing this by flashlight with the night vision goggles?”
“You afraid of the dark, Corporal?”
“No, Sergeant. Just what’s in it. Those little jumpers are fast.”
The boys wince. They hate the ugly, whining little hoppers more than anything. They see the stinging as sexual—violent rape by another species.
“We don’t know what we’re going to find in there,” Rod says, acknowledging their feelings. The truth is the hoppers terrify him as well. “But this is what we do. You did this a million times over the past year in Afghanistan. You’re good at this. The stakes may be higher here, but the job is the same.”
The boys glance at each other and nod. The ramp drops, flooding the passenger compartment with gray light.
Do not run at military personnel. Repeat. Do not run at military personnel.
“All right, let’s roll,” Rod tells them.
The squad files out of the vehicle and fans into a circle around it, establishing security. The other squads are also dismounting. The soldiers from the new flamethrower units pull their tanks onto their backs and help each other fasten the belts; these units, along with the Stryker gunners eyeing the street, will provide outside security for the operation. The street is sprinkled with shell casings. It stinks of blood and death here. The Marines and combat engineers have
Rod cannot imagine what happened to them. He has had no contact with his family for twenty-three days. They lived on base at Fort Benning, Georgia. The base was evacuated, and Rod still has not been able to find out where they went.
If he finds his children okay at the other end of this thing, he will hand in his rifle and become a priest. If not, he will curse God. He does not know what he would do if he lost them. He heard the Infected kill and eat children instead of convert them. He cannot even imagine someone eating his Victor. Just trying would destroy his sanity.
Captain Mack is right. They are going to have to take America back one house, one building, one city at a time. Rod will be there, fighting every step of the way, until he gets home.
♦
The column coils in front of the hotel, the vehicles grunting like giant metal bulls as they nudge into their final positions. Rod closes the hatch and touches his front cargo pocket, where he keeps his mission notes. The boys glance at him with wondering expressions, sweating in their armor and fatigues. It’s still hot as hell today, especially inside this metal box on wheels.
Outside, a voice blaring through a megaphone addresses any locals in the area, competing with the final strains of “Ave Maria.”
Attention! Attention! Military personnel are present in this area.
“All right, listen up,” Rod says. “The hour is at hand. If anyone’s got any last questions, now’s the time.”
The boys stare at him. Half of them are clean shaven. The other half are working on wispy combat mustaches.
Troops are preparing to advance. To avoid injury, please remain in a secure location and wait for further instructions.
Finally, PFC Tanner, a gangly kid from Wisconsin, raises his hand. “Do you think you could see the Washington Monument from the roof? Maybe even the White House?”
The other boys crack grins. They are afraid of Rod. They’re not even sure of his humanity. But they cannot help themselves. Following an unspoken Army tradition, they have to test their sergeant.
Tanner explains, “This is my first time in DC.”
“You’re not a tourist, fuckchop,” Rod says, fixing him with a hard stare. “You’re a soldier. I want you watching your sector, Private, not seeing the sights.”
“Is it true there ain’t gonna be any light inside?” Lynch wants to know. “We’ll be doing this by flashlight with the night vision goggles?”
“You afraid of the dark, Corporal?”
“No, Sergeant. Just what’s in it. Those little jumpers are fast.”
The boys wince. They hate the ugly, whining little hoppers more than anything. They see the stinging as sexual—violent rape by another species.
“We don’t know what we’re going to find in there,” Rod says, acknowledging their feelings. The truth is the hoppers terrify him as well. “But this is what we do. You did this a million times over the past year in Afghanistan. You’re good at this. The stakes may be higher here, but the job is the same.”
The boys glance at each other and nod. The ramp drops, flooding the passenger compartment with gray light.
Do not run at military personnel. Repeat. Do not run at military personnel.
“All right, let’s roll,” Rod tells them.
The squad files out of the vehicle and fans into a circle around it, establishing security. The other squads are also dismounting. The soldiers from the new flamethrower units pull their tanks onto their backs and help each other fasten the belts; these units, along with the Stryker gunners eyeing the street, will provide outside security for the operation. The street is sprinkled with shell casings. It stinks of blood and death here. The Marines and combat engineers have
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