“She’s a feisty Latina, what can I say,” the First Lieutenant said with a bemused smile. “And she has a reason to be mad. As far as she is concerned, we kidnapped her.”
The Major General scowled at him. “She’s clearly unhinged. Question the man.”
“Yes, sir.”
*
Bill stared at the photos, then up at the soldier with the kind eyes. He sat in a chair, his hands folded on his lap. So far the treatment here had been good though he had heard Jenni screaming more than once since he woke up. But, in a way, that was to be expected.
“We’re just civilians,” Bill said at last. “Survivors making our way.”
“Are you a militia of some kind?”
“No. No. Just trying to survive, really.”
“Religious affiliations?” “You mean a cult? No. No. We have some Christians, Catholics, a Jewess, a few Hindus, an agnostic or two…maybe even an atheist. And some guy who believes in aliens,” Bill answered honestly.
The black man looked thoughtful. “And you did all this yourself? No pre-planning? Just spur of the moment?”
“Out of necessity, sir. Really. I mean, you gotta survive somehow when the dead come back.” Bill shrugged a little.
“Did you hear the order go out in the first days to report to Madison?”
“Honestly, no. I was just trying to live,” Bill answered.
The soldier nodded again, looking thoughtful. “Well, martial law was enacted and all civilians were ordered to report to rescue centers. Madison was the one the people in your ‘fort’ should have reported to.”
Bill just stared at the soldier, not understanding. “It is our responsibility to ensure the safety of the civilian population and keep our nation alive in any way possible,” the soldier continued. His expression was grim now.
“Yeah, so?” The soldier sighed. “My superiors plan to take over the fort. They want to know if there will be an armed response.”
Bill blinked slowly, then lowered his head. He thought long and hard, swallowed a few times, then looked up. “It’s our home.”
The soldier nodded sadly. “Yes, I know. What are the chances of an armed response?” Bill sighed. “I don’t know.”
The soldier looked surprised, then nodded. “All right. Thank you.”
2. The Pendulum Sword
Katarina studied the fancy bottle that read “hair gloss” and with a shrug, began to pour the clear liquid onto her palm. She had taken it from Blanche’s bathroom and figured it had to be good stuff. Hell, most of the writing on the bottle was in French so it had to be good.
The thought of Blanche made her frown. Nothing had been as satisfying as leaving that bitch stranded in her big swanky mansion with one bullet and a can of chili. Curtis and Katarina had considered taking bets if Blanche would actually use the bullet on herself, but then they both started laughing when they both realized she wouldn’t be smart enough to do that. It was a cruel thing to do, but after Blanche had done so much harm, she didn’t feel any guilt.
Katarina spread the clear glob over her hair, rubbing it in per the instructions. She was dressed in jeans and a pretty green sweater. Bill had asked her to join him for a drink when he got back and she wanted to look her best. Nervously, she ran her fingers through her red hair, trying to tame the frizziness that made it look like a lion mane. She was disappointed she and Curtis hadn’t run into Ray. They had spotted a car crumpled against some trees at the base of the hill where Blanche’s mansion sat and suspected he had rolled it on purpose. Steam was still billowing out from under the hood. Most likely he had taken off in Stephen’s car. They had found a stash of empty boxes inside the house. After what had happened to Juan, she had an itchy finger. She had originally lobbied to put Blanche down like a rabid dog, but Travis’ idea to dump her at home with just one bullet had been all too delightful.
Her hair wasn’t looking much better yet.
Just as she had gotten back from dumping Blanche, Bill caught her by surprise with his talk of a drink. He was such a nice man she hadn’t expected him to really pay much attention to her beyond her job at the fort. She wasn’t used to nice men even noticing her that much.
Frowning into the mirror, she again put more glop on her hair. It was still frizzy. All her life she had been teased because of her unruly red hair. All sorts of names had been tagged onto her throughout her life. All of them were annoying. “Bozo” was probably the worst.
She had been a walking bulls-eye in school. Her mother was almost fifty and her father well into his sixties when she was born. He had died before her tenth birthday. Katarina had tried to believe they had her out of love, but years of hard housework made her wonder if they had been lucky enough to give birth to a live in maid that would help them through their twilight years. All her older siblings, nearly 20 years her senior, ignored her parents and her. With good reason, she thought. Her mother had been a nagging shrew, but Katarina had stayed with her faithfully until the end...
She sighed.
..until the end of the world.
She still couldn’t believe Bill wanted to have a drink with her. It just wasn’t that he had asked her, it was how he had asked her.
Men didn’t usually hit on her. At least good men. Of course, in her entire life she had been with only two men and both of them had done a good job of ripping out her heart. It wasn’t until she finally got a job outside of her mother’s stuffy home that she had even mingled with men. In high school, she hadn’t had one single date.
Her mother had sculpted her life to be her helper and Katarina had dutifully fallen into that role. When it became apparent to her mother that her retirement check wasn’t stretching far enough, Katarina had been ordered to work.
Katarina, the ever faithful and long suffering daughter, finally had an excuse to escape the house and work at the local diner. It was then she learned how cruddy men could be. And worse yet, she had learned how to avoid dangerous situations. Sometimes out-of-towners were the worst. Some of the truckers seemed to think she was easy pickings because she wasn’t “that purty” and had to be hard up. More than one had told her that, “You’re damn lucky to have any man wanting to stick it to ya.”
She had smiled and bore it all. That was what she always did when things were tough. She took care of business. In Nerit, she had found someone just like her. Yes, Nerit was different, darker, and more confident, but Katarina knew Nerit understood her immense sacrifices and her inner strength.
Katarina always did the dirty jobs. The hard jobs. And without complaint. The day the first zombie rushed into the diner and latched onto a customer, it was Katarina who had picked up the cleaver and brought it down on its head. And when the customer rose up and lunged for her despite the huge gash in his throat, she had once more brought the cleaver down. Looking outside, she saw what was happening and ran out to her little car, blood splattered, and with the cleaver in one hand.