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BEN
Six months ago ...
That rat bastard Johnson was up to something. Johnson and his little weasel, Ryan. Ben was certain. Those boys had a charisma inherent to high school bullies.
Ben was convinced they were going to go for the food. For the past week, Johnson’s lackeys had been sneaking off in the middle of the night in pairs. He suspected they were setting up a new headquarters and planned to steal all the supplies for themselves.
Ben saw the way Johnson looked over the rations, at the way he leveraged the best food for himself and the soldiers. He liked having power over people.
Just last week, he’d bullied the college kids into smaller rations.
“Who’s going to keep you safe?” Johnson had reasoned. “If you don’t have us to protect you, the zoms will get you.”
The rest of the soldiers were just as bad. They were all obnoxious pricks who subscribed to pack mentality. And Johnson was the leader.
Ben was going to make sure the college kids weren’t left high and dry when Johnson made his move. In fact, if everything went according to plan, Ben didn’t intend for any of them to be around come tomorrow night.
He made his way through the dark hallway and slipped into the dorm that had been converted to a stores room. He looked for things that could be carried easily. Powdered soup mixes and packets of Top Ramen. Bottles of aspirin. He scribbled a list with a broken pencil on a Post-It Note, making note of everything he planned to steal.
He’d lead the kids away tomorrow night. Sneak out all the ones who hadn’t thrown their lot in with Johnson. Five miles north of here was a town. McKinleyville. He didn’t think Johnson would follow them all that way. Ben just needed to make sure they had enough supplies to hold them over a few days until they found a new home base.
He considered recruiting other soldiers to join him. There were two on the outside of Johnson’s gang. The first was Ash. The fact that she was female put her at a disadvantage with Johnson. He respected her because she was tough, but she wasn’t part of the inner circle.
The other was Caleb. The young man was close to Johnson for reasons Ben couldn’t fathom, but he wasn’t like the rest of the soldiers. He knew the way they bullied the college kids was wrong. But he didn’t do a damn thing about it, which in Ben’s mind made him as guilty as the rest.
In the end, Ben decided it was too risky to trust Ash and Caleb. They spent too much time with Johnson. Ben had to pull this off on his own. He—
“Stop!” someone yelled. It sounded like Caleb. “Don’t do this! Johnson, stop!”
The sound of shattering glass sent a spike of adrenaline through him. Ben jumped to his feet just as gunfire peppered the air.
No.
He tore out of the room and sprinted to the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time.
No.
He flung open the door, running full tilt toward the sound of battle. Screams clawed at him, urging him onward.
It wasn’t the screams of zombies. It was the screams of people. Of college kids.
The double glass doors leading out into the courtyard were shattered. Ben threw himself through the opening, not feeling the shards that tore right through his clothes and his flesh.
He burst into the courtyard, confronted by the sight of blood. So much blood. It ran toward the large drain near the center of the open area, bright red slashes against the gray pavement.
His brain flashed through a sequence of scenes. Blood on the hard-packed ground in an Iranian village. Blood spurting through his fingers as he tried to staunch a bleeding friend on the desert ground. Blood spraying like a popped soda can when the grenade went off near the meat shop in Somalia.
His life could be painted in a series of blood patterns.
It took him several heartbeats to wrench himself free of the memories. He careened back into the present just as a bullet grazed the tip of his ear, sending a burn up and across his scalp.
Ben leaped for cover in the doorway’s alcove. He gripped his Sig and peered around the corner.
That’s when he finally saw past the blood and registered the bodies. The youthful bodies in brightly colored clothing.
Erin. Jason. Scarlet. Andy. Ted. Ginger. What’s-his-name who never shut up.
Their names scrolled through his brain in red kiosk lights. Red like the blood that matted their hair, marred their clothing, and drizzled across their skin.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” sang a voice.
Johnson. That motherfucker.
“Come join your friends, Benny.”
“What the fuck have you done?” Ben bellowed.
“I just expanded our rations,” Johnson drawled.
That’s when Ben saw Caleb. The tall, handsome African American kid from San Diego crouched behind a pillar, gun in hand. He had a clear shot at Johnson.
“Come on, Benny,” Johnson said. “You know that crew was just dead weight. All they did was take, take, take.”
“You murdered them!”
“Watch your voice, Benny. You’ll bring the zoms.”
“I’m going to make you a zom, you sick fuck.”
Johnson sighed loudly. “That’s why I didn’t ask you to join us, Benny. You pull your weight, but you’re a cranky fuck. Isn’t he, guys?”
A chorus of voices answered in the affirmative. Ben saw them. The young soldiers and the college kids who had thrown their lot in with Johnson. They clustered around him like high school bullies guarding their ringleader.
Ben counted them off in his head. Every last murderer. Every last fucker who was going to die for what they’d done.
Across the courtyard, Caleb raised his gun. Ben watched him take aim at Johnson.
Do it, he urged silently. Put that fuckhead in the grave.
But Caleb only stood there, gun raised. And stood, and stood, and stood.
With a sinking feeling, Ben realized he wasn’t going to shoot. The fucker was going to let Johnson walk.
Rage clouded his vision. Ben leapt out, a gun in each hand. He fired blindly in the direction of Johnson and his lackeys, then dove back toward the safety of the building.
Miraculously, he wasn’t hit. Sheer dumb luck. He charged back through the shattered doors and made a break for freedom. Gunfire followed him.
As he fled, the last thing he saw was Caleb, still standing behind the safety of the pillar like a coward.