[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
caught carrying a weapon was to be shot on sight. No exceptions had been
made and after a few examples, thoughts of dissent were now virtually
nonexistent.
It wasn't like the civilians had any great reason to venture outside
anyway, Skip knew. Downtown Gettysburg had become an armed military
encampment. Smoke from burning trash barrels choked the sky and the air
was thick with the stench of the latrines and the bodies burned in the
pit on the town outskirts. Garbage rotted in the gutters, despite the
work detail's efforts to pick it up. The streets were filled at all
times with armed Guardsmen. There were no utilities; things like running
water and electricity belonged to the past now, but generators had been
set up for the officer's quarters, and for some of the enlisted men.
When the townspeople were allowed outside, it wasn't exactly a cause for
celebration. Able-bodied men were used for slave labor, although nobody
called it that out loud. Instead, it was referred to as a work detail,
and it was strictly enforced. The soldiers were, for the most part,
happy with the arrangement, as it meant somebody other than them got to
do the grunt work like digging latrines and disposing of bodies.
Those civilians who resisted were used in more onerous tasks, the most
popular of which was bait detail. When a patrol ventured into the
surrounding fields and villages, they would take a dozen or so civilians
with them. One at a time, the unfortunates would be put 'on point', and
forced to walk ahead of the group. Any zombie lying in wait would
inevitably attack the lead
127 individual, giving the soldiers plenty of advance warning.
Individuals sent on bait detail were considered expendable.
Women were used for 'morale'. For most, this involved sexual enslavement
in the Meat Wagon, although a few of the elderly or the absolutely
unappealing were allowed to work in the mess hall and at other menial tasks.
Those women who repeatedly resisted the use of their bodies were also
sent to bait detail.
What disgusted Skip most of all was the compliance of the civilian
Page 84
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
populace. Their spirits broken, the vast majority simply accepted this
lifestyle. Some of them even seemed to prefer it. A few of the men had
proven themselves and were "drafted" into the unit and allowed to carry
a weapon. Especially appalling to Skip, were the women who enjoyed being
a sexual conscripts: post-apocalyptic whores who didn't seem to mind
sucking ten dicks a night, as long as it kept them relatively safe and
alive.
He clenched his fists.
Why didn't they rise up? When the unit was away like this, they easily
outnumbered the soldiers left behind. Why did they just blindly accept
it, like sheep? Maybe the alternative didn't seem all that appealing to
them. Or perhaps they were scared.
like him. Scared of staying alive but even more terrified of dying.
These days, death offered no escape from the futility of their lives.
When he was in high school, Skip had dated a Goth chick that had been
obsessed with death. So much, in fact, that she'd tried to commit
suicide several times. He'd been upset by this, blaming himself, her
parents, the school and a number of other things; until he realized that
killing herself was part of the fantasy-part of her obsession. She
hungered for what came after.
Riding in the Bradley, listening to the tracks rumbling
128 beneath his feet, Skip found himself wondering if she was still
alive, and if she was still hungry for what came after.
Second Lieutenant Torres pointed on the highway map at a town labeled
Glen Rock. "We are here. Captain Gonzalez wants you to take some men and
recon this town here." He indicated a small town marked Shrewsbury,
nestled on the Pennsylvania-Maryland border. "The Captain says that
Colonel Schow wants to abandon the Gettysburg encampment in favor of a
more secure location. Determine if Shrewsbury fits our requirements."
Staff Sergeant Miller nodded. "I can do that."
"Staff Sergeant Michaels, you will take another squad here." Torres
pointed to York. "Again, this is only a recon mission. Do not engage any
hostile forces unless you are attacked. Just observe and report back.
Meanwhile, I am to take the rest of the unit and the prisoners and
report back to Gettysburg."
"I'll take PFC Anderson," Miller said.
Michaels cleared his throat. "Anderson was killed during this morning's
raid."
"Shit," muttered Miller. He ran a hand through his greasy hair; his
military buzz-cut long since abandoned. "Alright, then I want Kramer."
"Fair enough," Torres nodded. "Staff Sergeant Michaels, you can take
Sergeant Ford."
"Good deal. I want Warner, Blumenthal and Lawson too."
"No, screw that!" Miller protested. "That leaves me with Skip, Partridge
Page 85
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
and Miccelli, and I don't trust that shifty little fucker Skip! I think
he'd rather shoot us all in the back than shoot a zombie. You notice
that he never fucks the whores? I think he's a faggot."
"Too bad! You got Kramer, so you're stuck with them! I'm not taking all
the fresh meat!"
129 "Enough," the Lieutenant barked. "You've got your orders! Carry them
out. Miller, if you have reason to believe Private Skip does not have
this unit's best interests at heart, and you can prove it, then we'll
deal with that. Otherwise, that is all."
Staff Sergeant Miller snapped off a salute, lit a cigarette and stormed
away.
"Prissy little fucker. Who does he think he is? I was patrolling Atlanta
after the terrorist attacks while that fucker was still in high school."
After successfully raiding Glen Rock, they'd camped at the nearby
National Guard Ammo Dump as planned. The secure site was removed from
the town and the highway, accessible only by driving down a two-mile
gravel road that led into the woods.
The ammo was stored above ground in engineered bunkers that looked like
hills of dirt, all identical in size and lined up in neat rows. Each
bunker had a door built into its side and each door had a sign
indicating what type of ammunition was stored inside. A security fence
surrounded the entire complex.
The tractor-trailers were parked between the mounds. The doors of one
hung open, and a line of soldiers were wrapped around it all the way to
the cab.
He dropped the butt to the pavement, ground it out with his boot heel,
and considered the line.
"I need to get laid before we go."
He approached the Humvee that the three Privates were assigned to and
banged on the hatch. A moment later, it opened and an acne-scarred
Private, barely out of high school by the look of him, peered out.
"Get me Skip, Partridge and Miccelli."
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]