Sheridan walked over to a corner of the room that had not yet been completely covered by black writing. He held his list up and Pam and Miguel could see that the Captain had already begun transcribing much of his list onto the chapel wall. He added the names of the soldiers that had been lost on this last mission, and he paused before adding the final name. Instead, he handed the pen to Miguel.
Miguel took the pen. He found a space on the wall and wrote the rank, “Sergeant First Class.” He then handed the pen to Pam.
Pam finished the name, “Carl Harvey.”
“Sergeant First Class Carl Harvey.” Captain Sheridan nodded at the words in approval.
“A great friend.” Pam placed her hand on the wall as if channeling the spirit of Carl.
“A great commander.” Miguel placed his hand next to Pam’s.
“You will be missed.” Captain Sheridan joined Pam and Miguel in a long moment of silence.
Epilogue
Dr. Henry Damico stood behind his wife Kelly with his arms wrapped around her waist. They stood on the deck of the U.S.S. Ronald Reagan. The blue ocean was slicked brown with garbage that floated in all directions. The subtle stench of refuse and rot carried on the gentle breeze, and the warm sun gradually cooked the pool of human waste that collected in tangles throughout the fleet. Here and there, a ghoul splashed and floundered about… rising and falling helplessly with the waves.
“So, this is the fleet.” Kelly looked out toward a tightly packed group of nearly a hundred small civilian boats, many slung together with rope. A large cruise ship passed near the floating slum, sending a series of waves through the makeshift settlement like a rolling earthquake.
“This is the fleet,” Henry answered.
A moment of silence passed between them, and then Kelly responded. “I’ll take this over a DDC any day.”
Henry hugged Kelly tightly as he reached up to wipe a tear from her eye.
“There are a lot of problems.” Henry answered after a few more minutes of silence. “We’re running out of food. There isn’t enough skilled labor. The military is deserting. We have a long journey ahead of us, and not everyone is going to make it.”
Kelly nodded. “But some will.”
“I hope.” Henry replied.
“You don’t have to be out here.” A familiar voice called out from behind Henry. The Admiral stepped into view next to Henry and Kelly, and he looked out over the ocean with a sigh. “When we get moving, it won’t stink so much.”
“I didn’t feel it was right to not watch.” Henry answered.
The Admiral didn’t reply, but he clasped his hands behind his back and gazed out over the fleet.
“I’m sorry about the situation on the Boxer, Ed. Don’t punish Sergeant Ramos or Specialist Grace. I tied their hands.” Henry had been dwelling on what had happened on the Boxer. His hypocrisy had been eating at him since his return to the Reagan, and a part of him felt like he did not deserve to be breathing. So many people had died aboard ships that had been quarantined and abandoned under his policies.
Admiral Edward McMillan chuckled. “What am I going to do, Henry? Demote the last two veterans of a unit that has saved probably half the civilian lives in this fleet? Should I court-martial them? Throw them in the brig and guard them with soldiers? Soldiers that are just itching to desert to the Horizon Pacific, so they can booze and whore away the rest of their lives? I don’t have many good soldiers left, Henry. Their punishment will fit their crime.”
“What’s that?” Kelly asked, hopeful that Miguel and Pam would not face a penalty too serious. She had seen the burden on their souls at San Onofre. Carl’s burden had been too heavy for him, and when he had died… that burden had passed to Pam and Miguel.
“I will pin a medal on their chests and give them a few days off, but after that, they’re going right back to the same job they’ve been doing for the last year,” McMillan replied, “and Henry… he gets the same, only no medal… and no vacation.”
Henry nodded silently.
The Admiral stepped close to Henry and spoke softly. “It’s really easy to get drunk on power, Henry. Be mindful of when you’re using your power for others… and when you’re using that power for yourself. It’s one thing to lose good people, it’s another thing for good people to stop being good because it’s easier than making the hard choices.”
Henry nodded. He had seen the line of corruption blur, and he understood how people—particularly people in power—could cross that line.
Kelly squeezed her husband’s arms around her, and the three of them stood quietly observing the calm ocean around them.
“Have you seen this?” The Admiral produced a full-color flier from his pocket and handed it to Henry.
Henry held the flier out so his wife could read it.
“There is a solution!” Kelly read out loud. A caption in large red letters hung over an image of a mushroom cloud. Below that was additional text; “We’ve lost too much. Let the Mexicans know you’ve had enough. Write your representative and tell them to support the nuke!” The last three words were in bold, glowing text.
“What the hell is this?” Henry crumpled up the flier and threw it into the ocean. “This isn’t political.”
“I found that in a loaf of bread that came from the Horizon Pacific.” The Admiral frowned. “Someone’s playing a public image game…”
“Allan Nostrum,” Henry sighed. “Sick.”
“He’s smart, Henry.” The Admiral replied. “Sick and smart.”
An enormous black object emerged from the ocean depths, its smooth steel hull breaking the surface of the green-blue water. Two circular cracks emerged in the submarine’s hull as missile hatches prepared to launch their deadly contents.
“I didn’t feel it was right not to watch, either.” McMillan said.
The warship floated in the water silently for a few moments, and Henry felt almost as if it was hesitating. Then, with a high-pitched thunderous boom, two missiles streaked vertically out of the launch tubes into the air… leaving a smoke trail as they went. In less than a minute, they vanished into tiny specks. They were headed southeast to deliver a deadly payload.
“We’re supposed to be at war with the undead… not each other.” Kelly broke the silence. “It’s sad that this was the only solution we could come to.” Her tone was not one of regret or moral reproach, but one of sad acceptance that the world they now lived in was such a dark and horrible place. Their survival might require the world to grow darker, so that it might eventually grow bright.
“Sometimes things get so fucked up there aren’t any good solutions.” Admiral McMillan stated absently.
Read on for a free sample of The Dark Times: A Zombie Novel
Prologue
The year 2018
Life can turn on a dime, and sometimes the turn has already come and gone before we even see it coming.
“Ron, I think I found a movie for us to watch. Hurry up. It looks like it’s already started.”
Leah put the remote control for the television down on the couch and took a sip of her Bloody Mary. The shaft of celery periscoped from the top and jabbed her cheek. The cocktail was the perfect complement to the bag of popcorn she had pulled from the microwave only minutes before. The saltiness of the popcorn brought out the richness of the spicy tomato blend that cracked the ice in her cup.
“Yeah? What is it?” Ron poked his head from the kitchen’s entrance into the living room.