Barker looked to see who Weasel was talking to. “Petal, Weasel. She was in Rizzo. Petal, since you’ve got a heartbeat, that means he wants to fuck you.”
Petal scowled at Weasel from underneath her unevenly cut bangs. “How would that make him different from everybody else?”
Early had his big hands in his pockets and was leaning his shoulder against the wall. The hallway corridor was wide, the walls basic cinderblock but covered with so many thick layers of paint it looked—and felt—like plastic. Just like the high school he’d gone to, all those eons ago, in Decatur, Georgia. They were positioned just back from the lobby of the complex. Through the tall windows—nearly all intact, which itself seemed a minor miracle—they could see the parking lot and beyond that a sea of tall grass waving in a light breeze.
“So what’s your story, young lady? What was it, Sarah?”
He turned his head. On the other side of the corridor was the lone female member of Uncle Charlie’s team. She looked to be in her twenties, although Early had observed that the older he got the less accurate he was estimating ages of youngsters like her. She was short and stocky, with blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. As he studied her he realized the thickness came from muscles. She was a serious weight lifter. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d exercised just for the sake of exercise. It had probably been before she kissed her first boy. He eyed her thick arms. Or girl. Whoever.
“Mission support staff. Logistics,” she said tersely.
“I weren’t after your name, rank, and serial number, or even your favorite color, I was mostly jes’ interested in how you came to find yourself in our urban paradise.” He waved a hand.
For appearances, to anyone who peered through the windows or wandered into the lobby, his M1A was leaning out of sight in a doorway a few feet behind him, as was his plate carrier. He was wearing the suppressed .22 in a shoulder rig, but to see that someone would have to be inside the building, and by then he would know whether or not he needed to grab his rifle. Sarah had some sort of fancy suppressed short-barreled carbine, the magazine pouches on her vest stuffed with spares, and she’d set all of it in an alcove six feet to her rear.
“Just lucky, I guess.” She gave him an intense once-over and he didn’t shy away from her gaze. Instead, his eyebrows crept up his tanned forehead and he waited, expectantly. He had a big frame and wide shoulders, and in another life might have been fat, but like almost every Irregular she’d seen so far he looked half-starved. It was hard to doubt their motivation when it seemed they had to struggle just to feed themselves. Not that the rest of the country wasn’t having a rough time of it, but still. “You mind me asking you some questions?”
Early shrugged expansively. “Ask away.”
“I’m surprised at how old some of you are. War is a young person’s business.”
Early smiled. “That’s not much of a question, but I get ya. And you’re right, it certainly is. Every aching inch of my old body agrees with you. But I like to think we bring some perspective to this thing. We can remember better than most, certainly better than anyone your age, what it was like before things all turned to shit. So, hopefully, when this is all over, we can find our way back.”
“How long have you been fighting?”
“When they declared martial law, started shutting down media groups for broadcasting the truth, arrestin’ folks who dared to criticize politicians and asking cops to kick down doors looking for stuff that had been legal the month before, that’s when I knew it was serious. But I thought it would blow over, bunch of fatmouth politicians making wind as usual, things would go back to the way they’d always been. But they didn’t. They got worse. Still, I always had faith things would work out, that even the idiot politicians would figure it out, if we all raised our voices enough. There was a civil rights rally at the local state house. A peaceful protest, with a lot of families, wanting their voices to be heard.” He shook his head. “The police fired tear gas and waded in with batons. Then somebody fired a shot, no one will ever know who, and the cops mowed down a couple dozen people before cooler heads prevailed. The rest got thrown in jail, no bail, charges of terrorism and incitement to riot, just for being there and wanting to exercise freedom of speech.” He sighed. “That was when I realized I’d been lyin’ to myself how bad it really was, and that it was time for the fourth box.”
“Fourth box?”
“You’ve got four boxes to defend your country from within, darlin’. Soap, ballot, jury, and ammo, in that order. You can debate, vote, and go to court to right wrongs, and you pray to God you can fix everything that way, because once you go ammo box, there’s no going back, there’s just going through.”
Sarah thought for a while on that. “You’re right, I don’t really remember what it was like before. The war started when I was in junior high school. I was raised in Wyoming and taught right from wrong, and I could see that what they’re doing was wrong. That what we’re fighting for is right. We’re fighting for freedom, and justice. Not just for us, but for everyone. That’s why I joined up, as soon as I got out of high school.”
She gave him a sidelong glance. “Someone your age—no offense—you should be home, playing with your grandchildren, not having to fight a war.”
Early nodded. “I don’t disagree, Miss, but my only baby girl died on those capitol steps before she could bring anyone into the world.” He licked his thin lips. “So there’s that.”
Yosemite arrived mid-day, one of the squad in severe pain from injuries he’d suffered two days before. He’d fallen through some rotted stairs inside a house, and been stabbed in the thigh and forearm by splintery shards of wood. The bleeding had stopped but the wounds were warm and probably infected, and the squad was out of medical supplies. One of Uncle Charlie’s people was a medic and professionally cleaned the wounds, stitched and redressed them, and gave him some antibiotics.
Flintstone arrived in early afternoon. They came in through the tunnel, six men, everyone in the squad sweating from heat and apprehension. They were surprised at the crowd inside.
An hour later Early was back at his post in the main corridor when a busty woman about fifty appeared, wading through the thick grass in front of the building. She strode confidently across the parking lot to the front door, then, after peering through the glass for a bit, tried the handle.
“Out taking an afternoon stroll?” Early drawled leisurely, back to leaning against the wall. “It’s a hot one, but the breeze helps a bit.”
She was in a blue and white plaid shirt with large checks over tan slacks, and no visible weapons. The front of the shirt was unbuttoned down to her impressive cleavage and her sleeves rolled up to combat the heat. Her long brown hair was pulled pack and tied with a piece of 550 cord. The woman looked from Early to Sarah and back again.
“She’s too young for you, the two of you’ll never make it work,” the woman announced.
Early glanced at Sarah, who blinked in confusion.
“Maybe I’m jes’ arm candy. One a them trophy husbands,” Early opined. “Only kept around for their glorious body and oversize romantic talents.”
The newcomer snorted. “How would I know whether or not that’s a damned lie, I’ve been trying, unsuccessfully, to get you naked for years.”
Early nodded. “That you have. Consider me one of your few failed missions.” He jabbed a thumb. “Sarah, Brookelynne, Brookelynne, Sarah.” He studied Brookelynne as the woman walked up to them. “Just out wandering through the city at random?”