Page 28 of Redemption
And silence may give us another day.
No one talks. No one moves. We barely breathe, even all the way down here. I hear the creak of the hatch opening and then a muttered curse.
“Shit…”
Gunshots ring out, prompting the rest of us to jump into action as we race up the stairs to help out Weingard and Bulwark. Since I was already standing, I’m the first to make it up the stairs, weapon drawn and at the ready, but it’s already too late as I see both of them, lying limp and bloody on the staircase as four of the infected chew, and rip, and bite, and gnaw at their bodies. I unload my entire magazine on the motherfuckers, clearing house before I reluctantly turn to Weingard and Bulwark.
At first glance, you would think they were dead. Hope... they were dead. Bulwark’s stomach is torn open, his guts spilling out into the stairwell. Weingard’s neck is shredded, his trachea exposed as blood pours out from the wound. But as I step closer, both of their chests rise and fall with stuttered, gasping breaths.
They’re still alive....
“Fuck!” I yell through my clenched teeth, the sound echoing down the stairs just as the rest of the squad reaches my position at the top. I wipe my face with the inside of my shirt before looking down at the blood smeared along the walls and the floor. There’s no saving them. We have some medical supplies down here, but not enough to reverse the damage done to them. They have, at most, seconds left.
Which means we have only seconds left to decide.
From what I’ve seen, either the dead stay dead or they turn into those cannibalistic zombie things. It’s a fucking crapshoot as to which outcome will occur. We can either let them die as they are and see if they turn, or… we could end this hereand now for sure. I hate to do it—I’ve known these guys for years, and it’s going to fuck with my head for the rest of my life—but there’s no coming back from an attack like that, and there’s no disputing the truth of the matter. They’re suffering, and, at this point, there’s no saving them. I’d rather put them out of their misery now than potentially see them at their worst.
As I maneuver closer, Bulwark’s eyes connect with mine. A stammered breath is released through his nose as he clenches his jaw with what little strength he has left. He looks to Weingard, unmoving on the floor next to him, before returning his gaze to me. A silent plea is spoken through his eyes before he closes them and, with the smallest, almost imperceptible motion, nods his head. Only once. That’s all he needs to do. Because with just that tiny bit of acknowledgement, I know what he’s trying to say. The permission and forgiveness he’s granting me in his last act on this planet.
Taking a deep breath, I pull out my Kabar and position Weingard on the floor in front of me on his chest, giving me access to his back and neck. We learned early on that you need to destroy the connection between the brain and the rest of the body. Either by blunt force, a bullet, or with a knife, as I’m doing now.
With a shaky hand, I place the knife in the hollow part at the base of his skull and aim up towards the crown of his head, muttering a softforgive mebefore I thrust deep, sinking my knife right up into his brain. I do the same to Bulwark, just after he succumbs to his wounds and loses consciousness, thankful he doesn’t have to feel the pain anymore. And then I stoically open the hatch and carefully place their bodies just outside the bunker door.
They deserve funerals. They deserve family saying their last goodbyes. But we can’t store dead bodies amongst the living, even if we might also be dead by this time tomorrow.
Once they’re settled outside, I turn to the others. “I’m going to take the next shift on post. Go get some rest.” The rest of the guys nod and make their way back down to the main subterranean unit while Waverly makes his way over to where I sink down onto the ground, just inside the slightly open hatch.
“You had no choice. You did what you needed to. They’ll know that by the mercy you granted them in death.” He pats me on my back, but I’ve had enough. I’ve looked into the eyes of too many of my brethren and mutteredI’m sorrymore times than I can remember.
There’s only so much a guy can take.
“It’s been a fucking week of this shit. How many more of our own guys do we have to take out before we ultimately die too?” He doesn’t respond, not that it surprises me. What the fuck would he even say to pacify my anger? My sadness? The fact that I’m losing fucking control? “WE. ARE ALL. FUCKED.” I strain to keep the words between us, trying my best not to rouse suspicion amongst our lower ranks, but I’m at my wit’s end, here.
My hand inches towards my handgun in my leg holster as I start to rock back and forth. This is too much. Too much. The human brain isn’t equipped to handle this much trauma. This much death. This much sorrowful remorse for the lives I had no choice but to end. The anxiety is piling up. I haven’t slept in three days, constantly keeping one eye open in case one of them manages to get past the guard at the door. It’s too much. Too much. “We gotta get out of here. We can’t keep on doing this.Ican’t keep on doing this.”
Waverly wraps his arm around my shoulder, blowing out an easy breath.How is he so fucking calm?“What other option do we have?” he asks, the fucking words grating on my already fractured psyche. I don’t think about my response, the action taking over my body before I can stop it. My mind forgets the gun at my side as my fist connects with his jaw, the impact throwing his ass to the ground. It’s like I’m having an out-of-body experience as I rise from the floor, hovering over him as he coddles his bloody cheek in his hand.
“Did you not fucking hear me?! I CANNOT FUCKING DO THIS ANYMORE!” I push away from his shocked face, needing to calm down. My fingers dive into my short hair and pull, using the pain created to snap myself out of this mental deterioration. I’m on the verge of losing myself, and Ican’tlose myself. Not now. I have too many people relying on me right now.
Pull it together. Fucking breathe and pull it together.
My jawline hurts from how hard I’m clenching my teeth, from how hard I’m trying to not fall apart and finish this once and for all. My fists clench in disgruntled fury, my body trembling uncontrollably. I’m not at all ok. In fact, I’m the farthest I’ve ever been from the concept.
I take some time, breathing deeply through the trauma, my mind melting in my skull as I rein the chaotic energy down to a more stable level. Once I’m calmer and feeling less like a ticking time bomb, I turn back to Waverly, now perched on a step and leaning against the wall as he assesses me with narrowed eyes. “Sorry, man.” My words are almost silent as they battle with the cacophony still rioting—only slightly subdued—inside my brain.
He shrugs, still holding his cheek. “No harm done.”
I take the place next to him on the top step, lowering my voice. “We either need to escape and find another bunker—one that’s actually functioning properly—or just fucking end it all. Shut the door for good and either take a bullet to the head or suffocate later on. Honestly, it’s probably the more humane choice given what’s waiting for us on the other side of the door.” I turn my gaze, meeting his. “But I can’t just sit here maintaining the status quo. In this bunker, we’re stagnant. Rotting. Waiting for a variable to come and collect us when we’re the fucking variable. We’re the ones who need to act. To leave and live, or stay and die.”
He shakes his head, pulling me to him and placing his face directly in front of mine. “Regardless of what you think, there is no surrender, Cruz. So, don’t fucking think like that. I, for one, am not going to die in this damn hole. You best believe we’re going to get out of here. We just need a plan.”
“Yeah, but that’s the problem.Whatfucking plan? Every damn time we open that door, another one is there. And another one and another one. It’s fucking airborne.” How we haven’t contracted it yet is beyond me. We lost our gas masks early on when the hostiles took them right off our shocked faces during the first round of attacks. The other day, we found some handkerchiefs and wrapped them around our faces as a last-minute substitute, but seriously? We all know that’s probably not stopping anything, especially after being exposed during the initial invasion. So, what good are they besides keeping exploding brain matter from making its way into my mouth?
“We just need to make a run for it.” He thinks for a second, looking toward the door. Darkness fills his expression. “The next closest bunker is three streets over, near the chow hall. They can’t all run after us. They can move, but come on, we’re used to running every damn day. We can outmaneuverthem and make it to the other bunker before they catch us.” He leans closer, voice dropping an octave before continuing. “If we lose some in the melee, then we’re just going to have to take the collateral damage for what it is: a means to survival.”
What the fuck?
My head jerks back at his insinuation. “Collateral damage? You can’t be fucking serious! You’re talking about our men down there! Not some fucking military surplus to allow your snide ass to escape!”
