Savages by James Cook Read Free Book Online Page B

enough to make the place uninhabitable. We could rebuild, but they could come right back and do it again. And again. So what was there to do?
    Leave , was my first thought. Call in every favor. Spend whatever I had to spend. Pack up everything, head for Colorado, and start over. Allison is a doctor, and I can fight. We would have no trouble finding work in the Springs. Or somewhere else, maybe. I’d heard from acquaintances that for the right price, I could buy a plane ride to the Florida Keys, and from there, a boat to the Caribbean.
    That part of the world was doing comparatively well, if the rumors were to be believed. Cuba, Barbados, Jamaica, St. Lucia, all safe places. Plenty of weapons, stable government, sustainable food supplies, and most importantly, no infected. Everything a person could ask for.
    But what about Gabe, and Elizabeth, the Glover family, and all the other friends I had made? I couldn’t just leave them. Could I? They were all capable survivors. They did not need me. I would miss them, but I could live without them. Right?
    The smell of food cooking reached my nose. Not surprising considering I was sitting on the roof of the chow hall. The smell did not entice me. I had no appetite. Probably would not until I was back home with my wife. Then we would talk and figure out what to do next.
    I stared across the long field leading to Hollow Rock. The only movement I could see was wandering infected. The moon was almost full and the sky was clear, allowing me to see all the way to the north gate. Hollow Rock was quiet. Fort McCray was quiet. No lights, no laughter, no loud voices coming from the enlisted club. Everything but the barracks and the chow hall were closed. The sentries on the perimeter wall carried suppressed rifles and wore NVGs. Noise discipline was in full effect. Same for Hollow Rock. It had taken a while for things to settle down over there, but they finally did.
    So what now, Riordan? What’s the plan?
    For right now, I sit here and try not to think too much. Eventually I will get tired, and I’ll see if I can scrounge up something soft to sleep on. Tomorrow, I’ll find Gabe and grill him for information. Or the guys in Delta Squad. Or Captain Harlow. Or someone.
    It was late in the night before I got tired. A supply sergeant who owed me a jar of instant coffee—no small debt in a world where coffee grew rarer by the day—earned himself a chunk of credit by issuing me a ground mat and a sleeping bag on the promise I would return them in the morning.
    When I slept, I dreamed I was on a small boat and Allison was on a distant shore. There was a swarm of infected approaching at her back. The forest behind them was on fire. Allison did not seem to notice. She smiled, and waved, and rubbed her large round belly with our child in it. I screamed at her to look back, but she did not hear. The boat drifted farther away, the fire blazed higher, and the moans of the undead grew louder. I tried to jump overboard and swim to her, but my legs would not respond. I screamed until my voice died in my throat, to no avail. I did not understand why Allison could not hear me, why she didn’t sense the danger. Then the boat was being tossed by heavy waves, and voices shouted at me from under the water, saying, “Hey, wake up!”, and I could not breath, and …
    My eyes opened. Someone had clamped a calloused hand over my mouth. In the dim half-light, I saw a face wearing NVGs with a finger over its lips. I relaxed and nodded.
    “Sorry,” I said when the hand let go.
    “S’okay. Happens all the time.”
    The soldier stood and turned to walk away. “Does it happen to you?” I asked.
    He stopped. “It used to.”
    “But not anymore?”
    “No. I wish I knew why.”
    The door to the drill hall closed gently as the sentry went back out on watch. I lay with my hands behind my head and watched the high windows turn blue, then gray, then pale yellow. With the morning came birdsong—high, melodic, and