Milepost 291

CHAPTER NINE

“Looks like we’re soldiers now,” Jorge said, standing sentry by the front door.

“Oh, hell no,” Franklin said, checking the magazine of the semiautomatic he’d taken from Hayes. “They’re solders. We’re freedom fighters.”

Robertson had regained consciousness but was in no shape to fight off the rest of the squad. But Franklin wasn’t even sure the other soldiers had heard the gunfire; otherwise, they would have come barging in minutes ago. Still, he wasn’t going to leave the young lady and her dad until he was sure they were safe.

At least as safe as anyone could be in After.

“Does it bother you?” Jorge asked, scanning the yard and the surrounding houses.

“Does what bother me?”

“Killing.”

“You know I treat my goats and chickens like royalty. But those things…” Franklin spat in disgust. “They’re lower than animals. Lower than Zaps, even.”

“I am ashamed,” Jorge said. “Not for killing them, but because I no longer feel any regret. Or anything.”

“You ought to feel like a goddamned hero,” Franklin said. “You probably saved that girl’s life. If not her life, at least whatever chance she had at a future.”

“If that would have been Marina, I would hope someone would do the same.”

“You’re worried sick about your family, aren’t you?”

“Some things are in God’s hands.”

“Well, it was God’s hands that just got yours bloody, so I’d put plenty of salt on that wafer before I swallowed it.” Franklin checked the living-room window, and then looked in the kitchen. “They’re stocked with food and supplies.”

“Do we take them with us?”

“They’re better off staying put. They’ve got a system that works, and Zapheads haven’t bothered them. They’re making it.”

A muted thunderclap erupted in the distance, followed by a staccato burst of noise.

“The rest of the patrol,” Jorge said.

“Sounds like they’re a good ways down the mountain. I’ll bet they didn’t even hear our little party.”

“Then what are they shooting at?”

“Probably each other. Most survival preppers believe you have to sacrifice your morality, because helping others makes you weak. When you cross that attitude with whatever line of bullshit Sarge has been feeding them, you get a bunch of psychos with assault rifles playing Wild West.”

“It’s not the world I want to raise my family in,” Jorge said.

“I guess you can ask God why His hands screwed that one up,” Franklin said, slinging his weapon over his shoulder and going back through the house to check on Robertson and his daughter.

Robertson was conscious and alert, his head swathed in a folded pillowcase. He rested on the bed, propped against the headboard. His daughter wiped his face with a wet towel. Franklin and Jorge had piled the two bodies in the closet and shut the door. Franklin figured that was all the memorial crypt the assholes deserved, but the stench of decomposition would make the house unlivable in a day or two.

“How you feeling?” Franklin asked the injured man.

“Like I drank two quarts of bourbon, only without the giggles,” he said.

“I want to thank you,” the girl said, not meeting Franklin’s eyes. He figured she was still ashamed about what had almost happened to her, even though she had done nothing wrong. She just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time when the wrong thing came along.

Guess that can be said for all of us.

“You two have done okay for yourselves so far,” Franklin said. “Goes to show that most of us are better off without people, because a big slice of the population will always be maniacs. Only now they don’t have to answer for their sins.”

Robertson put his arm around his daughter. He likewise probably felt shame for not protecting her well enough. “Strength in numbers, though. If you hadn’t been here—”

“Then they wouldn’t have been here. We’re all just making this up as we go along.”

“I was a fool,” the man continued. “I thought hiding was the best plan, laying low and hoarding, instead of looking for other survivors.”

“Well, no telling how many preppers are holed up in their private bunkers, ready to drink their own piss for the next twenty years. I don’t call that a ‘life’ for a free man.” The teen finally met his eyes and he gave a crooked smile. “Free woman, either.”

“But now we have more than just Zaps to worry about. We didn’t know if there was an army left, but we thought they’d be the good guys.”

“There ain’t any good guys anymore. Just the dead and the ones that wished they were, plus a few who finally got their chance to call the shots. And I don’t even know where you put the Zappers in that equation.”

Robertson waved off his daughter’s nursing, although he winced in pain with the motion. “What should we do?”

“There’s a whole squad of these goons holed up in a bunker on the parkway.” Franklin nodded at the closet. “When these two don’t come back, they’ll send out another patrol.”

“Maybe we should all stick together.”

The girl’s eyes brightened with hope, as if loneliness was even more unbearable than the fear and uncertainty, but she sobered at Franklin’s stony expression.

“Jorge’s going to be looking for his family,” Franklin said. “And I need to get back to my compound. I’m expecting company, and the place isn’t built for a tribe. Nothing personal.”

Robertson shrugged. “Yeah. I guess when you come down to it, we’re all on our own.”

Franklin headed for the door, but the teen raced from the bedside and blocked his way. She stared him down with defiant blue eyes. “Shay,” she said. “My name is Shay.”

“Good to meet you, Shay.”

“You can’t just leave him. That would make you no better than that rapist scum.”

“Shay!” Robertson said, with a mixture of pride and annoyance. “These men saved our lives. They don’t owe us anything.”

“Don’t do it for us,” Shay said, still locked on Franklin’s face so he couldn’t glance away. “Do it so they don’t win.”

Franklin sighed. “How long will it take you to pack?”