The Remaining: Trust: A Novella (6 page)

But then: “Rocky-Six, stand by for Yankee-Six.”

Abe took a deep breath. Felt his heart tapping against the inside of his throat.

Out on the bridge, the gunfire had come to a stop. Abe could no longer see the shapes of the infected running wildly toward Fargo Group’s convoy.

It’s okay. We did it. We got it done.

“You got Yankee-Six. Go ahead, Major.”

“What do you have over there, Lucas?”

“All enemy combatants are down. We have two wounded in need of medevac ASAP.”

Abe nodded absently. “Rocky-Six to Fargo-Six. What’s your situation on wounded?”

“Uh…four wounded. Three in need of medevac.”

“Rocky-Six to Copperhead-Two-One. You guys switch to medevac role, you copy?”

“Two-One copies.”

Abe pointed to the bridge, though he doubted anyone in the helicopter was looking. “Grab Fargo Group’s wounded, then the wounded from the two buildings on the north end, and then we have one for pickup as well. Should be six total.”

Two-One copied and Abe quickly instructed Two-Five to maintain a flyover in case their door gunners were needed again. He watched one of the big birds turn and bank back toward the north end of the bridge, while the other rose and arced into the sky for overwatch. He directed his attention down again, to the sergeant whose radio Abe was still holding, still tethered to the man’s vest by electronic cords. He was bent over the wounded man, now stuffing the hole in his leg with gauze soaked in coagulating agent. The wounded soldier was moaning, but he was close to passing out, just barely feeling the fiery sting of the coagulating agent reacting with his blood.

Abe knelt down next to the sergeant. “He gonna be all right?”

The sergeant shrugged, avoided eye contact with Abe. And Abe saw more tension in it than just a man caring for a wounded. This was a man caring for his friend. His expression and lack of eye contact was not an accusation to Abe, though Abe could not help feel that little question in the back of his mind—
Was it worth it?
The sergeant simply knew that hope was not something to believe in. He knew it from the ghosts of other dead friends, and dead family. And his expression was the resignation of preparing for another.

A voice from behind them: “Major!”

Abe turned and saw the soldier who had entered the building with him, clinging to the ladder, just his head and shoulders above the line of the roof. His eyes were slightly widened, his face set into serious tones. Abe felt wary. “What?”

“I found something.” The soldier nodded his head to the side, his eyes glancing down into the building as though he had X-ray vision to see inside. “Uh…you need to see it.”

Abe nodded sharply. When he turned to the sergeant, the man was unhooking the radio manpack from the side of his vest.

“Here,” the sergeant said, passing the radio to him. “Take it, sir. I’ll stay with him.”

Abe hesitated for the briefest of seconds, then accepted the pack. He slung the headset around his neck and simply held onto the radio, rather than affixing it to his vest. There was really no room for it there anyway. Then he turned and went to the ladder, leaving the sergeant and his rapidly dying friend on the roof, waiting for their medevac.

The soldier waited for him at the bottom of the ladder. Abe descended, dropping from the last few rungs. He looked at the soldier expectantly, but the soldier simply motioned him forward again, through the broken window, over the jagged glass, and onto the desk once again.

Inside the building, the smoke had cleared. It seemed oddly still and quiet compared to the clash of guns and explosions that had wracked it only moments ago. Abe passed cubicles with bullet holes in them. Paperwork strewn about. Family photos toppled onto the floor. Office chairs overturned. In one of the cubicles, a stuffed animal sat atop a dark computer monitor—a grinning monkey holding a red heart that said
BE
MINE
on it.

Little ghosts of the people who had once worked here, punching the clock day to day, lost in the mundanity of their existence. Perhaps wishing for adventure and action and not knowing how horrible it would be when it finally came for them. These cubicles like time capsules. These little glimpses into an old world Abe feared would never be brought back to life.

Outside of the cubicles, the world was the chaos of death and gore that Abe had become more comfortable with. It shocked him less now than the sight of forgotten Valentine’s Day gifts and workspace decorations. There were bodies splayed out all along the hall that ran the length of the buildings, between the shattered windows and the bullet-riddled cubicles. Abe counted seven in all, including the two he knew he had killed. They all lay in different poses. Some of them curled up into little balls, huddling in dark corners. Some of them were slouched against filing cabinets. Others lay flat on their backs or stomachs. A few were missing limbs. All were bloody, and that blood was speckled with dirt and dust and chunks of debris. Their weapons had been removed and were piled up in the center of the room, leaning against a windowsill.

The soldier had done what he was supposed to do.

Remove and confiscate the weaponry. Search the bodies.

Still, Abe looked on them with suspicion. “What? What’s the problem?”

The soldier seemed to be taking them in as well. He stared at the bodies with a strange mix of regret and disgust, his head shaking just slightly. He turned to the major and met his gaze directly. He spoke softly. “Sir, every one of these fucks has a Green Zone day pass.” He gestured at them with his rifle. “Every damn one of ’em.”

Abe stood. He stared. And for a moment, the words were just words. Then he felt a hot prickle overcome the back of his neck. He felt warm, then cold. “Greeley Green Zone?” Abe asked, his voice low, almost choked. Stupid question, perhaps, but he could think of no other.

The soldier nodded.

“And you checked them all?”

“Every fucking one, sir.”

“They all have day passes.”

“All of them.”

Abe felt his scalp itching. He scratched it. Rubbed it. Felt sweat on his brow like he’d done something wrong and been caught red-handed. He knew he hadn’t done anything wrong. But the sensation remained. It looped steel cables around his guts and cinched them tight.

His first instinct was to tell someone.

His second was to tell no one.

“Fuck me,” Abe said quietly. Then he pointed a stern finger at the soldier standing in front of him. “Don’t say a fucking word about this. You understand? Not until I figure out what I’m supposed to do with it. Not a fucking word.”

The soldier shook his head. “I ain’t sayin’ shit, sir.”

The headset that hung around Abe’s neck squawked at him. He jerked when he heard it, like he’d been stung. He snatched up the earpiece and set it to his ear. The transmission came in suddenly.

“…runnin’ southwest on a surface street, paralleling the railway. You want us to engage?”

Abe didn’t wait for anyone else to step in and attempt to hand out orders. He keyed the radio quickly. “Rocky-Six to that last unit. Can you repeat your last traffic? I only got half of it.”

Static.

“Yeah, Rocky-Six, this is Copperhead-Two-Five on overwatch. Just spotted two males getting into a blue Jeep Cherokee from the ground floor of one of our target buildings. They’re heading southwest on a surface street, paralleling the railway. Do you want us to engage them?”

FOUR

Abe pinched his forehead, the thumb and index finger of one hand pressing into his temples. He spoke clearly and followed radio protocol very deliberately. “Rocky-Six to Copperhead-Two-Five. That is negative. Negative. You are
not
cleared to engage. Maintain sight of the vehicle but do not engage it. How copy? Over.”

“We copy five-by-five, Rocky-Six.” The pilot’s voice was casual. “We’re hanging back, maintaining sight.”

Abe was already running for the end of the hall. He keyed the radio as he stepped over the glass and back outside. “Rocky-Six to Copperhead-One-Three. I need a pickup from the roof. Just me.”

“Copperhead-One-Three, we copy. We’re en route.”

Outside, the world seemed bright yellow. Abe could still see his breath in the air as he quickly attached the radio manpack to his rig, but the sun was warm. Once he attached the radio, he scrambled up the ladder to the top-tier roof. The sergeant and the wounded soldier still sat there. Abe had nothing further that he felt he could say, so he said nothing at all to them.

Abe knelt down, shucking off his helmet. He could hear the buzz of Copperhead-One-Three getting louder. He slipped the headset onto his ears correctly, then put the helmet back on over it. He could feel the wind and the sound of the helicopter growing over him. He remained there on one knee as the bulbous, little black helicopter lowered itself to the rooftop.

When the skids touched, Abe ran and saddled one, hooking himself to the lanyard.

He looked to his left, saw the two soldiers still waiting for medevac. The sergeant looked up at Abe, his expression enigmatic. Abe nodded once, and then keyed his mike. “I’m secure on board, One-Three. Punch it.”

“Roger.”

The helicopter lifted, tilted, and fell away from the rooftop.

Abe swallowed against the feeling of his insides lifting into his throat. “Rocky-Six to Copperhead-Two-Five. Where’s the location of the vehicle right now? I’m in One-Three and we’re on the way to intercept.”

“Okay, it looks like we’re heading south on…Interstate 25. Not sure he knows we’re behind him. But he’s hauling ass.”

Trying to get back to Greeley
, Abe thought.

He could not let that happen, though he wasn’t sure why.

I have to deal with this
, he kept thinking.
I have to squash it.

Like it was his fault and he didn’t want anyone else to know.

Was it? Was it his fault?

“Alright, One-Three, get me there,” Abe said, then hung on.

The Little Bird nosed down, rotors charging the air, and Abe felt the acceleration pressing him into the outboard bench. They rose as they gained speed, everything below them falling away frighteningly fast. Abe’s legs ached from clutching the bench so hard. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand and not how far below him the cityscape of Cheyenne was flying by him, all dusky and tan. Dried out like a hide.

The Little Bird pilot spoke up over the radio. “Major, we’ve got a visual on ’em.”

Abe felt his midsection tighten. “Bring me in alongside of them.”

He watched the terrain roil underneath him, the industrial buildings being replaced by houses, and the houses replaced by brown grasslands. Then I-25 floated lazily across his field of view, from right to left, until they were on the western side of it, heading south. Looking straight into the hazy blue distance, Abe could see Copperhead-Two-Five up high and maintaining their visual. On the ground, a speck of a car moving rapidly in and out of the stalled vehicles that peppered the interstate like an obstacle course.

They dropped altitude. Abe felt it in the falling sensation of his stomach and the slight change in the sound of the rotors. The zigzagging speck on I-25 began to grow into a blue SUV, the distance closing rapidly.

Try to get compliance first
, Abe thought.

Then,
Just remember you’re by yourself.

The gap continued to close, the pilots finessing the controls to get them alongside the erratic vehicle. Power lines were whizzing by now, so close underneath them that Abe wanted to tuck his feet up a little more. The top of every power pole seemed like it was going to gouge the belly of the aircraft and rip him out of his seat.

They came up alongside the vehicle and Abe could just see in the windows. There were two occupants. The driver and a passenger in the back right. As the helicopter pulled abreast of them, and then slightly forward, Abe watched the eyes of both occupants shift first to the bird, then straight to him, eyelids stretched wide, mouths gaping.

Abe held his rifle with one hand, held the other out, palm facing them, and he shouted, though he knew they could not hear him. “Stop! Stop!”

Both occupants just continued to stare.

Eighty miles an hour, going forward.

Eyes affixed on Abe, they didn’t see the vehicle in front of them.

The driver tried to swerve out of the way. Abe watched his hands crank the steering wheel. Smoke flew from the brakes, and the Jeep’s wheels pivoted right, but they slammed into it, taking off the front bumper in an explosion of mechanical parts and bits and pieces of fiberglass.

Abe flinched away from it, swearing loudly.

The Jeep canted, spitting blue smoke as its tires tried to stay on the ground, but the mangled front axle sent them into a counterclockwise spin, leaving black streaks of burned rubber behind them. Then the left wheels lost their grip on the ground and the vehicle pitched onto its side with a horrendous crash. The glass seemed to explode out of the vehicle, every window detonating simultaneously. On its side, the vehicle continued to skid for another fifty yards, turning as it did until it was pointing in the opposite direction. It slid into the dried grass of the median and kicked up a cloud of brown dust that enveloped it like the earth was swallowing it whole.