The old vet eyed him over. “Ya know, you’re the fourth person
who’s tried to rob me today. One sumbitch even bit me just a bit ago. Now, with
each one of those lootin’, greedy little bastards, I exercised my Second
Amendment right with extreme prejudice, especially with the one who tried to
eat me. Now give me one good reason why I shouldn't liberate your insides from
your body.”
“I can give you three, Master Sergeant,” Nathan answered,
keeping his voice steady and confident. “First, I will pay for the things that
I took.”
Kapinsky seemed surprised that Nathan had addressed him by
his rank. Most civies were completely ignorant to what those stripes on his
sleeve represented. He was also impressed with the fact that the young man
before him showed no fear, especially since he was looking down the barrel of a
12-gauge tactical shotgun.
“Second, I have a lady at home who needs my help, and I would
cross rivers of lava and fight any army that stood in my way to get back to
her.”
This kid was serious. He didn’t show any fear because he
was hell-bent on getting home. He was either stupid in love with this girl, or
just plain stupid,
Kapinsky thought.
“And third, Master Sergeant, with all due respect, you look
like shit. You need to get to a doctor and I could help you get to one. Mercy
hospital is just a few blocks north; I’m sure that between the two of us, we
could get there in good time.”
Narrowing his eyes, Kapinsky lowered the shotgun. “You know,
son, you’re the first person today who’s been straight with me. In my
experience, the only men you can trust are honest ones. Plus, the fact that you
didn’t piss yourself where you stand while I held you at gunpoint tells me that
you‘ve got some grapefruits between them legs of yours. You’re gonna need ‘em
for what I’m about to ask you to do.”
The roughneck walked by Nathan and headed towards the front
counter. “Grab your gear, son and follow me.”
Picking up the backpack and duffel bag, he followed the
Master Sergeant past the counter and through a door that led to a small storage
room. The space was dimly lit, illuminated by a single naked light bulb which
hung from the ceiling in the middle of the room. Various military items lined
the shelves along the perimeter of the large closet. Situated in the center was
a small wooden table and an old office chair. Resting on the table was an
ashtray, a cigarette, Army issue Zippo, a shot glass, and a half-empty bottle
of Jack Daniels. He set the bags down next to the doorway.
For some reason, a scene from Pulp Fiction flashed through
Nathan’s brain. He didn’t see a ball gag, or a large trunk holding a
leather-clad man anywhere in the room, so he doubted that his new Army buddy
was planning on sodomizing him.
Well, that’s one thing that’s going my way,
he thought.
“Um, sir, I’m not sure what we’re doing in here, but maybe I
should just pay for all this shit and get you to the hospital.”
Kapinsky walked around the table and sat down in the creaky
old chair. “Have a seat, son,” he said as he opened the whiskey and poured
himself a double shot.
Nathan looked around the room, but the old war vet had taken
the only chair. Seeing a five gallon bucket nearby, he slid it over to the
table and sat down, looking like a kid sitting at the grown-up table.
“I’m not gonna charge you for any of that stuff,” said
Kapinsky, nodding to the bags on the floor. “I won’t be needing money where I’m
going.”
He threw the whiskey down his throat and slammed the empty
shot glass down onto the table. The burn of the shot threw the man into a
coughing fit, throwing small flecks of blood onto the table. When the hacking
finally stopped, the Master Sergeant poured another double and slid the glass
towards Nathan.
“Here, drink this.”
“Oh… Um… Thanks, but I’m more of a fruity, umbrella kind of
guy. I appreciate…” Nathan started, but the man across the table interrupted.
“Drink the fucking whiskey.”
The glass was to his mouth and the liquor screamed down his
gullet. He managed to set the glass back onto the table and gave a rough cough
from the fiery sensation that permeated his throat. Kapinsky gave a wry smile.
“You’ll thank me later for that,” he said.
He poured himself another shot and gulped it down, managing
to stifle a second fit of blood-spraying coughing. He then picked up the
cigarette and lit it up with the well-worn Zippo. Nathan could picture the man
sitting in the jungles of Vietnam, lighting up a smoke with the same lighter.
After taking a long drag, he placed the cigarette in the ashtray notch and
exhaled slowly. Smoke billowed out around him and gave the room a creepy haze
that one might see in an old noir film.
“So here’s what’s gonna go down Private,” Kapinsky said,
looking Nathan straight in the eyes. “I ain’t goin’ to no doctor. There’s no
point in it. One of those freaks out there bit me and now I have it. I
don’t know what it is, but I’m no dumbass; I’ve seen what happens to people who
get bitten.”
He picked up his smoke and took another long drag.
“I’ve been throwing up strawberry jam for the past twenty
minutes, so I have a feeling this is gonna happen soon and I can tell ya right
now, I’m not ending up like one of those things.”
He slid his shotgun across the table.
“So my question to you Shirley, is do you have the chutzpa to
give me an honorable death?”
Nathan stood and cleared his throat, not sure how he should
answer. He had never killed anyone before and he didn't want to shoot an
unarmed man. Self-defense was one thing, but this was just plain murder.
“I’m not sure I can do that, Sarge. I mean, I’ve never shot
anybody before. Couldn’t you just do it yourself?”
The man’s eyes squinted. “If I could do it myself, then you
wouldn’t be standing here right now, would you? I asked you for an honorable
death. A soldier’s death. There’s no honor in me taking the coward’s way out by
offing myself.”
Nathan stepped towards the table, poured another shot of JD,
and raised it to his lips with a shaky hand. The second shot went down a little
smoother than the first, but it still felt like battery acid to him. The
painful burn paled in comparison to the knot that was forming in his stomach.
Kapinsky flashed another sardonic grin at him and took another deep drag on his
smoke.
“Quit pussy-footin’ around and help an old soldier find some
peace. The alternative is me shooting you in the leg and then eating you after
I turn into one of those zombie-things,” he said as he exhaled another plume of
smoke.
Nathan sat quietly back down on the bucket as he contemplated
the task before him. Shooting people in a video game was one thing, but this
was for real. He felt for the old guy, but could he do what the retired Master
Sergeant asked of him? He wasn’t sure. Kapinsky finished his smoke and lit
another. He released a long, tired sigh.
“I killed a lot of people during the war. A lot of them were
the bad guys,” the Master Sergeant started, his tone was somber. He took
another drag on his cigarette.
“A lot of them were not. Women, children… They all ended up
in my crosshairs. The enemy had employed guerrilla tactics the likes of which
we never encountered before. Charlie began using civilians as weapons; they
strapped explosives to children and gave guns to the elderly. Soon, everyone
became the enemy. I told myself I was serving my country; doing my duty and
becoming the best damn soldier I could. In the end though, all I had become was
a murderer.” The man took another long drag on his smoke. “I’ve got no more
fight left in me, kid. The tank’s empty. All I’m asking is for you to send me
off in a blaze of glory.” Kapinsky poured another shot and gulped it down.
“We’re in another war, son,” he said as his stare bored into
Nathan’s. “The enemy is out there and this time, we’re not going to win.
There’s nobody left to save us, kid. Mother Nature has taken over and She will
destroy us with merciless efficiency.”
The two men sat in silence. Nathan contemplated the man’s
words. There was no question that Kapinsky had seen a lifetime of horror during
his service. No doubt he suffered from Post-traumatic Stress Disorder, but this
didn’t sound like the ravings of a disturbed man. It was a confession and a
warning. Perhaps it was his small way of atoning for his sins. The Master
Sergeant had gone paler and paler as the minutes ticked by. Another coughing
fit started; more of the thick, dark blood spurted from Kapinsky’s mouth.
Nathan picked the shotgun off of the old wooden table. It
felt heavy in his hands.
Fuck, I’m actually going to do this? I’m going to
blow this guy away. Right here.
He didn’t want to do it, but it was far
better for the old war vet than the alternative.
“Okay, so how do I do this?” he asked as he turned the gun
over in his hands.
The Master Sergeant’s grin grew into a huge smile, exposing
blood-stained teeth. “That’s the spirit, soldier!”
He poured himself one last shot for the road, drank it, and
dragged on the cigarette again. Nathan could tell he was trying to savor his
vices as much as possible for the few remaining minutes he had left. Sarge
pulled the last drag of his smoke into his lungs, throwing him into a fit of
coughing which sprayed more red flecks of fluid onto the whiskey bottle. After
a minute, the coughing subsided and the vet was finally able to catch his breath.
“I don’t have much longer, son. Better get this over with
quick,” he said as he straightened himself in the chair. “You see that switch
on the side there by the trigger? That’s the safety. Right now it’s engaged, so
you need to flip it up.”
Nathan disengaged the safety and stood square in front of the
table, lifting the gun up and taking aim at Kapinsky’s chest.
“Okay, I think I’m ready. Are you sure about this?” Nathan
asked.
A look of seriousness washed over the soldier’s face. “Son,
I’ve seen women tortured and raped for days at a time. I watched napalm melt
the flesh off of screaming babies. I have never been more goddamn sure about
anything in my fucked-up life.”
There was no tough-guy posturing. No facade. The man spoke
like a man ready to let go. To absolve himself of the horrors that he had seen
and done. Nathan took aim down the barrel of the gun, his pulse was racing at a
furious pace and his breathing was bordering on panting. He took a moment and
closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down. He wouldn’t be doing this guy
any favors if his nervousness caused him to miss. He regained some of his
composure and opened his eyes.
The vet stared back at him with blood-red eyes, his skin had
gone three shades paler. A maniacal grin spread across his face and just as
Nathan was about to pull the trigger, Sarge uttered his last profound words; a
quote from his favorite war movie.
“NOTHIN’ LIKE THE SMELL OF NAPALM IN THE MORNING!”
Nathan squeezed. The boom stick thundered in the confined
space and kicked him back. Instantly, the man’s head liquefied into a fine mist
of blood, brains, and bone. The velocity of the shotgun blast painted the floor
and back wall with fine bits of gore. Nathan lowered the gun, feeling the ache
in his shoulder from the recoil. He stood there for a moment looking at the
remains of Master Sergeant Michael Kapinsky. A moment later, he reached for the
whiskey, poured himself a glass, and drank. After two more shots, he turned and
walked out the door, grabbing the backpack and large duffel bag on the way.
He stopped in front of the checkout counter and eyed the
phone sitting by the register. He reached over, picked up the receiver and
dialed Evelyn’s cell number again. Just like before, he couldn’t get through.
This time, the automated message responded with “All circuits are currently
busy…” In a last-ditch effort, he hung up and then dialed Julie’s landline. If
things were getting bad at the old homestead, then she would have most likely
taken Boomer over to Julie’s place. No answer. Now Nathan feared the
worst.
He tossed the phone over the counter and strode out the shop
door. He had to find a way out of the city and he had to find it fast. The
subway seemed to be his only hope. He turned left and continued down Liberty
Avenue, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. The streets were a
mess. Crowds of people had abandoned their cars and were now moving through the
streets as one terrified mass around the gridlocked cars. Mixed among the crowd
were those infected by this unknown illness in varying degrees. Some were
recently bitten, while others stood hunched over spewing vile jelly from their
mouths.
While he walked, he noticed more and more people had turned;
snaking out their forked tongue and gnashing their clawed fingers as they
staggered down the road. What struck him as odd, was the fact that not all the
afflicted were attacking the healthy people. Bloody tears streaked their faces
as they walked, pushing those who came too close away from them.
Keeping a brisk pace as close to the buildings as possible,
he reached into the weapons bag and pulled out a Smith & Wesson M&P9
9mm pistol. He paused underneath a store awning and dug out a box of rounds,
then ejected the clip and began loading the ammo. As he finished loading one
clip, he grabbed two spare clips from the duffel and began to load those as
well.
As his hands slid the ammunition into the clips, his eyes
scanned the crowd around him. Somehow, no one on the street had given him a
second glance, which he thought was funny, since his mercenary attire made him
stand out.
Thank God for small miracles,
he thought as he continued to
arm himself.
Nathan finished filling the spare clips, secured them into
the ammo pockets in his jacket, loaded one into the pistol, and chambered a
round. He found one of the leg holsters that he grabbed at the surplus store
and strapped it onto his right leg. Picking up the machete, he began to secure
it to his left leg when he noticed that his luck had just run out. In front of
him, in the middle of the street, stood a young girl who couldn't have been
older than ten or eleven. He froze.