“I don’t think such a thing is possible,” Adam said. “I’ve spent more a century among the dead. I’ve seen undead capable of frightening, lifelike things — but for ferals to work together, like a pack? That’s beyond their grasp. Their only drive is self-preservation.”
“Fair enough,” Thackeray replied. “Just remember that things change. You changed.”
“I did,” Adam said, “but by choice — and they have no will.”
He passed under the lizards hanging from their branches and gave the men a wave. “Be safe.”
“The East Coast!” Thackeray called. “Remember!”
Adam didn’t look back.
Six / The Wall
“The Wall” actually referred to the security wall surrounding the entire Great Cities region. In addition, each city had its own type of barricade set up around its perimeter. In the event that the outer Wall was breached, citizens could rest easy while troops swarmed the “dead zone” between cities and cleaned out the rotters, be they man or animal. But such an incident was thought impossible by most, because the Wall was the pride of the Cities.
The work of two generations of Senators, it was three stories tall and five feet thick, concrete poured over a steel skeleton with roots buried deep in the earth. Every thousand yards there was a guard post, where soldiers would ascend a ladder or stairs to the walkway atop the Wall and monitor the badlands. It was understood by all that if badlanders approached the Wall seeking asylum, they could be taken in. But if they refused to undergo the standard quarantine procedure, they were assumed to be infected and would be shot.
There were two or more men for each guard post, and more at the gates that appeared every few miles; but there was one section where only one man kept watch. Neville Dalton preferred his solitude and made no secret of it. He had lobbied the brass for weeks to allow him to work with his dogs instead of other soldiers.
Rottweilers, the dogs had been trained privately, by Dalton, for months prior to his Wall assignment. They could sniff out a single rotter hiding in the night. At least that was what he told the brass. All he knew was that the dogs were simple, straightforward companions who knew their place and didn’t complicate everything the way people did. They would walk the Wall inside the dead zone from dawn to dusk while he sat perched atop it, sniper rifle in his lap.
Most of the other troops were scared of his Rotties. Even Major Briggs had refused the opportunity to meet them, although they fell into rank at the sight of him. So Dalton had finally gotten his way, and the arrangement was quite comfortable until the afternoon when he heard a Jeep pull up, and the nagging cough that could only mean Tuck Logan.
“How’re you doing all by your lonesome?” Logan asked with a filthy grin as he ascended the ladder. “They just wanted me to come out and check on ya. Don’t worry, I won’t tell ‘em anything. But you should know that Senator Gillies might be coming out to see the dogs.”
Dalton arched an eyebrow. “That might be interesting.” He tried to ignore the flies buzzing around Logan.
They both had been part of an elite unit known as Hand of God. Led by Ian Gregory, a stalwart Christian, the unit had exclusive membership requirements that would’ve raised a shitstorm if any limp-wristed civilians had known about it. Yes, even Logan was a God-fearing Christian, though he behaved like an apostate these days. Ever since the withdrawal he’d become more and more… unusual. The flies were evidence of that. He was on one of the burn teams that were called in to put down rotters, once they’d been marked and paralyzed by a sniper’s bullet; and he seemed to enjoy most the responsibility of carrying the charred remains off to be buried. Dalton suspected that Logan spent a little extra time with those remains. His greasy, unwashed hair and darting eyes were overlooked by his supervisors, but Dalton had a keen eye, a sniper’s eye, and he saw into Logan and knew that he was fucking them, wasn’t he, rutting in a pile of ash and rotten meat like some sort of animal. Worse than an animal. Logan meant trouble.
“So,” Dalton muttered, “they sent you to check up on me.”
“For the Senator,” Logan said. “They want to know that your dogs are as well-trained as you say.”
“Well, climb down.”
“What?”
“Climb down and I’ll call them in.”
Dalton plucked a whistle from his shirt pocket. Logan started down.
Dalton watched him standing there at the bottom, staring dully; he almost wished he had the guts to sic the Rotties on him. He blew soundlessly into the whistle
They came running from either direction, keeping a tight formation alongside the Wall. They saw Logan and quickened their pace. The man fidgeted, glanced up at Dalton. “Are they—?”
They surrounded Logan and stood frozen, staring up at him. He saw their legs trembling, saw them fighting to restrain themselves. They smelled the dead on him. He was terrified.
“Break!” Dalton called.
The dogs settled on their haunches and let their tongues hang from their jaws. Logan was still too scared to move.
“Let him go, boys,” Dalton said as he came down. The dogs sat about him and waited patiently while he checked each for injury. Satisfied, he sent them off to play.
“The Senator ought to be impressed,” Logan said breathlessly.
“I should think so,” Dalton said. He gave Logan a smile. It was chilling.
“Sergeant Gregory?”
Gillies was ruggedly handsome and fit for his age. A man of sixty, he carried himself well, and his pressed suits made him look like he was from another time — he didn’t belong in the living Hell of this world. But here he was, talking with Ian Gregory atop the Wall like it didn’t mean anything.
“My entourage is down below, touring the facilities,” Gillies said. “The reason I’m up here, though, is to make you an offer.”
“Me?”
“Absolutely. You studied at Seminarium Vita, didn’t you?”
“Yes sir.”
“As did I. Glorious institution. Tragically, I hear it’s burned to the ground. We are its legacy, men like you and I. Do you remember all you learned there?”
“I believe so.”
“And you implemented those teachings in a rather controversial way. Hand of God.”
“I did what I felt was right.”
“Of course you did. I admire that. Too many men forget their faith the second they step onto a battlefield. You never did. Even though you, yourself, lost men out there.”
Gregory lowered his head. Not just men.
Barry had been a devout believer and a woman whose beauty was not diminished by her tough demeanor. They had fallen in love quickly, and he might have proposed but for the fact that she would have been forced to leave his unit. So they lived in sin for a while, but those were the circumstances they had to live in. God wanted them together, both were sure of that.
And he’d sworn to himself that his love would never interfere with the unit’s operations. And it never did, until—
“I’d like you to lead my personal security detail,” Gillies said. “What say you?”
Gregory didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what he wanted. He spent most days atop this wall just staring down, wondering what it would be like to fall and never wake up.
But, again, he knew what was right, and he saw the Lord at work in this situation.
“Yes. Yes sir.”