Page 31 of Redemption
Walker steps to my side, standing in solidarity with me. “Absolutely not. We are not putting ourselves above those we serve,” he adds, shutting the idea down.
Only... Waverly doesn’t care, doesn’t even balk at the dismissal. “I was afraid you’d say that.” It’s not until I hear the footsteps of some of the others entering the room that I realize what’s about to happen.
Baker and Campbell lunge, grabbing Walker before he can respond, while Torres and Hughes head straight for me. I throw a punch at Hughes, but he manages to dodge my attack, leaving me open enough for Torres to secure my arms behind my back. “Are you fucking kidding me?! We were a unit! A fucking brotherhood! And now you’re just going to give all that up for what? A fucking massacre at your own hands?! To save your miserable asses?!”
“With how fast this all spread, they’re all fucked either way.” Waverly picks at his fingernails, flicking them as if he doesn’t give two shits about anything other than himself. “And if they can’t fight their way out of it like we’ve been doing all this time, they’re not worthy enough to survive the epidemic. It’s time to separate the wheat from the chaff, gentlemen.”
“YOU MOTHER FUCKER!” Walker’s voice echoes in the narrow corridor. “THEY SHOULD HAVE LEFT YOU OUT THERE TO ROT!” He turns to the rest of the guys, both standing in the hallway and still in the room. “Guys, I know you’re scared, but please, you cannot be so careless. You’ve each sworn an oath to protect and defend against all enemies, foreign and domestic.INCLUDING HIM! His destructive way of thinking is a disgrace to everything you stand for!”
Waverly stalks in front of the Lieutenant, slithering like a snake as he takes him in. “Sir...,” he grins connivingly, his smile wide and overtaking his face, the evil emanating from his blackened stare showing just how insane the past week has made him. “The base has fallen. It can be assumed that we may be the last survivors within its borders. It can also be assumed that if a fucking virus overtook an entire military establishment in less than a day, that the rest of the country doesn’t stand a fucking chance. There are no longer any rules. There is only survival. And we’re doing it my way.”
“No. NO! We can’t do that!” I yell back at him as I’m frog-marched back to one of the other rooms, separate from where they’re leading Walker. “YOU CAN’T DO THAT!”
He looks back at me with such disdain I know I’ve officially lost. “We do what we must to survive, Cruz. As I stated earlier, it’s us or them, and I’m not ready to die just yet.”
I’m thrown into an empty room, landing hard on the floor. The door slams, ending the fight on their end, but I leap up from the ground and charge against it.
I’m not fucking done yet.
I bang my fists against the metal door as hard as I can, screaming my thoughts through the barrier to try to get some sense into him, but in the end, it’s no use. My pleas aren’t heard. There’s no hope left anymore.
Only deaf ears and maniacal schemes.
∞∞∞
I’ve lost count of the days I’ve been held in this room, isolated from whatever it is they’ve done outside these four walls. Waverly insinuated that he was going to use civilians as live bait to lure the undead away from the building and the surrounding vicinity, giving us, or ratherthem, enough room to escape and find either another hideaway or get off the base completely. Either way, it isn’t looking too good for me.
They’ve given me water every day and food rations once every other day, but I suspect my days are limited. I’m surprised they didn’t outright execute me when I disagreed with their motives. Lieutenant Walker, too.
I have no idea where they’ve taken him, only that they dragged him down the hall when they unceremoniously threw my ass in here. At first, I was convinced they killed him, but the walls here are thin, allowing me to eavesdrop on some of their conversations.
Turns out, they’re going to use him. Lieutenant Walker’s a pilot in the air wing with access to aircraft and the knowledge of how to fly one. It’s a useful tool to have. One that none of us grunts can match, that’s for sure. Add that to the convenience of an airbase literally only miles from our current location, and you have the workings of a decent plan for evacuation. They just need the clearance to make it to the airstrip.
And, from what I’ve heard and seen from my window, their diabolic plan is working.
Shortly after I was thrown in this room, I overheard Waverly’s broadcast.“Hello? Hello? Is anyone out there? This is Sergeant Waverly of the United States Marine Corps. We have retaken the military base, location: Jacksonville, North Carolina, and have cleared it of all threats. I repeat, we have retaken the military base, location: Jacksonville, North Carolina, and cleared it of all threats. We are reaching out to anyone who is currently isolated and in need of assistance. We have supplies, food, and medical assistance for any who wish to have it. Anyone who wishes to step aboard the military installation will have to pass medical checks to ensure they are not infected, but all are welcome. Over.”According to the muffled hallway scuttlebutt, the message was recorded and has been playing on repeat every day since.
These particular communications towers, from what they’ve said, have a signal strength strong enough to reach miles away. Unfortunately, they also have the capability to reach survivors from all over and lure them in with the empty promise of safety and security. They’d believe the transmission without a doubt, I’m sure. Why wouldn’t they trust the military? We’re supposed to be the good guys, after all. Only, when they got here expecting sanctuary, all they’d get is a massacre. No one would even stand a chance.
After the initial transmission, the localized numbers of infected visibly reduced within the first week. Whether they escaped the confines of the base or simply wandered to another area within is unknown. I can only wish their broadcast failed. I can’t imagine seeking refuge, only to be slaughtered when hope was at its highest.
There certainly is none left in the room I’ve been kept hostage.
An exhausted sigh comes from the other side of the room.
Nick. Poor bastard isn’t doing well at all.
They threw Lance Corporal Balor in here with me the other day.We’ve been friends for a few years now, and, sadly, he’s one of the few who’s actually still alive from my platoon. The gruesome events surrounding the insurgence have hit us all hard, but none so much as Balor. Even though he had survived, his constant, unrestrained screams filtered loud and clear from the other room, causing Waverly and his sycophants to throw him in here with me for relief from his perpetual torment.
PTSD is no joke, and he’s in the thick of it. The symptoms vary throughout the day. He could be seen looking at a picture of his girlfriend early in the morning, quiet and reserved. Then, just a few hours later, he’d be clawing at the walls to be let out. “The screams,” he’d say. They’d echo around in his mind, bombarding him with a constant reel of pain and torment, refusing to stop their torture until he snapped out of it or eventually passed out from exhaustion.
I had to wake him up just yesterday from a nightmare, his fingernails dragging across his temples as he yelled with tears in his eyes,“Make it stop! Please!”
You might survive a fight and live long enough to leave a battlefield, but it never truly leaves you. The memories resonate and dig deeper, burrowing into your mind like a parasite while refusing to be forgotten. I, too, can’t forget the sounds of our fellow brothers dying all around us. The terror in their voices as the swarm overtook the group. Their cries for help. Their screams of pain. The growls and screeches they bellowed as they turned before our very eyes. The bullets whizzing past to counteract their newfound aggression against us. The explosions.
And then the silence.
Nothing hits you more than the debilitating sound of silence in the aftermath.
