Marine Summer: Year 2041 (6 page)

I had little to no sleep that night, I found myself volunteering for other guy’s watches. I wanted to stand that wall. I wanted to fight. If only one more alien wretch would make it past our walls. I wanted its head.

Buckley said the latest radio transmission had reported fighting in Oklahoma. The bastard alien aircraft probably made it through, barely. He thought more might come, though, and since we were short on ammo, he decided it would be best if we retreated.

The plan was to make it back to Bismarck, find transportation, and seek out another base. As I stood watch, Buckley stayed up all night trying to make radio contact with the nearest military outpost in Billings, Montana. His efforts were unsuccessful.

The clouds had cleared by morning. The sun was finally peeking over the wooded skyline, and I could feel its warmth on my face. I didn’t know much about North Dakota winters, but during my first, the sun didn’t make many appearances.

Since Buckley had taken refuge in what was left of the armory, the others were scattered around the campfire in pup tents, sleeping two by two. When Sarge emerged that morning from his wintery den, he clapped his hands as an alarm clock.

“Drop your cocks and grab your socks!”

It struck me as funny, made me chuckle. There was no way any of the others would have taken their socks off in this bitterly cold country. If they did, they were crazier than Buckley.

“We got a long day ahead of us, ladies! Get some grub in your bellies and get that important paperwork filed before we head out!” he said.

Important paperwork was his way of telling us to go take a shit. That was one thing since joining the Corps that amazed me—they actually did tell you when you could take a dump, eat, sleep, or do anything else, for that matter.

Our first order of business was to send Keller to serve with the other Marines in the sky, as Buckley put it. We placed his remains in the armory and set it on fire before heading out. Sarge said if the enemy came calling, Keller would hold them off; they would investigate the smoke before searching for us.

He took the lead. The rest humped in a two-man formation except for the last three. They marched behind us, pine branches dragging behind them to cover our tracks through the snow. Only a few had ammo. I clung tightly to my ax; some only had homemade clubs to protect them. It was a thirty-mile hump just to get back to Bismarck. It would be nightfall before we hit the town.

Bismarck, North Dakota

Deserted.

“It’s a fucking ghost town,” Buckley said.

Buildings were boarded up or vacant with the front windows smashed, their contents pillaged.

“So now what, Sarge?” I asked.

“Butler, congratulations. You just made Lance Corporal. You take five of these men and branch out east. Look for anything still capable of running.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Stop with the sir shit. This ain’t boot camp.”

“Aye-aye…si…I mean, sergeant!” I stammered. I was confused by the formality of it all.

“Boy, I’m just a higher ranking enlisted is all. We put our pants on the same and we piss with the same tool. Get your shit together; lead by example.”

I snapped to attention, saluting him, not knowing that wasn’t proper either.

“Don’t fucking salute me, you jack-wagon. I’m not an officer. I work for a living! Did I make the wrong decision in promoting you? Do I need to pick someone else, you limp-dick tool-bag?”

“No, sergeant, I can do this, I swear!”

“Then take your five men and meet back here in two hours, copy?”

“I copy, sergeant.”

I chose three men who had ammo: Johnson, Wilson, and Allen. Houserman was my next pick, followed by Woods, because he had an ax like mine.

We ducked in and out of alleys, trying to stay off main streets. Every car or truck we found had been stripped of parts; most didn’t even have wheels. Houserman noticed an old bus behind a burnt-out church, the front charred from the flames. The tires looked good and the motor was intact, but the fuel gauge was pegged past empty. Houserman said he could get it running if we found some fuel, so we reported it back to Sarge.

“Diesel! In this cold! You have to be fucking kidding me!” he said.

“I can get it started,” Houserman insisted.

“Sarge, there’s a gas station about two clicks away from that bus. You can see it from behind the church; its sign is still standing,” I reported.

“If they still have fuel, we’ll need somebody to go bilge diving. Who’s up for it?” Buckley asked, looking around for a show of hands.

I stepped up. “I’ll do it.”

I would have volunteered to go through the first two weeks of boot camp again if I had known what it was actually going to be like, having to shimmy down the manhole into a dark tank that smelled like ass. I was covered from head to toe in diesel when I climbed back out. I had one uniform left; the one I was wearing had to be burnt. Standing stark naked in the snow in the field beside the gas station as a couple of guys rubbed ice and snow on my skin to try and eliminate the smell, I thought that I would risk frostbite a million times over just to get rid of that stench.

Salvaging parts from other cars and trucks, Houserman had the bus running in two days, which was good since supplies had dwindled to the bare minimum. Buckley had been sending search parties out around the town to ransack houses and bring back anything edible or useful.

“Bundle up, this jalopy don’t have a heater,” Sarge said as he turned the key, the old bus wrestling to turn over. “Come on…come on…” he said, his head pressed to the top of the steering wheel. “You can do it, girl, come on.”

The batteries were dying due to the cold; the whining of the engine was faint and weak.

“Houserman! You said this thing could run!”

“It will, give me just a second,” he said, taking off outside.

We had taken every car battery we could find in a one-mile radius. Houserman jumper-cabled the last two remaining batteries.

His voice muffled, we could barely hear him say, “Try it now; don’t give it too much.”

The chariot that had once brought people to Sunday church services finally started to show life as it began to sputter and puke, black smoke billowing from the tail pipe.

“Get your ass in here, Houserman!” Buckley barked at him, a smile appearing on his face. It was possibly the first time any of us had seen him smile.

Houserman slammed the hood and boarded the bus. Sarge didn’t even let him take a seat before he stomped the accelerator, sending him flying down the aisle of the bus.

“I got you,” I said, grabbing his arm, pulling him into the seat with me.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Travel was slow going over unplowed highways. It felt like we were the only ones left on earth; there were no signs of life anywhere. A trip that should have taken around six hours took 14. I don’t remember too many car trips from my youth, and this one didn’t help bring back any memories.

We reached Billings close to midnight. It too was desolate. It was like people had just stopped in the middle of their daily lives and disappeared. Empty cars with open doors were parked in the middle of streets, unshoveled drifts of snow blocked store entrances, and the only light in town was coming from the one working headlight on our bus.

“What the fuck happened here?” Buckley said faintly.

“What now, Sarge?” I asked.

“The army has an outpost about twenty miles outside of town. We’ll go there.”

“What about fuel?”

“We’ll check out this gas station,” he answered me, pulling off into the station, “Holy shit, look at that.”

I stood up to get a better view behind him. Two cars were still parked at the pump with nozzles in their tanks, just sitting there.

“What do you make of that?” I asked.

“I don’t know…but it ain’t right. Johnson! Give Butler your weapon. The rest of you stay here. Houserman, you take the driver’s seat. First sign of trouble, back this bitch out of here.”

We zigzagged our way through the parking lot, trying to stay behind cover until we reached the store’s front door. I knelt down behind a trash can as Buckley hunkered down next to the door. I watched as he reached up and pulled the door wide open. When he motioned to me, I went to him; I would be the first to enter. As I entered, he followed, his hand on my right shoulder. My rifle swept the left side and his the right. The store was vacant.

“Clear,” he said.

I followed his lead. “Clear.”

Items were still stocked on shelves; the coolers were full. It was creepy.

“Something happened to these people,” he said.

I browsed the items on the shelf. Then a rustling sound behind me got my attention. I drew my weapon and turned toward sound.

“Sarge!” I called.

“I heard it.”

We proceeded to the rear of the store. A door was open, rocking in the wind. Buckley eased the door open, snow blowing in on the floor at our feet. We burst through, only to find ourselves behind the store, alone.

“Stand down, nothing here.”

“Copy that,” I said, relieved it was nothing.

“Look here, it’s a generator,” he said.

I watched as he twisted the cap off the tank sitting next to it.

“I’ll be damned, it’s full! Let’s give it a try.”

He turned the key on the generator and the store came to life. Lights inside glowed bright, and the glare from the sign out front lit up the woods behind us. He started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” I asked. I didn’t understand the humor.

“We’ve got heat, food, and a place to crash. What else could a man ask for?” He grinned at me. “Go get the others and black out the store windows. We don’t want to give away our position. And get Houserman to disable that sign.”

It had been a long time since I had felt heat. It was nice not to have three or four layers of clothing on. Eating something other than MRE’s was also nice for a change. I quickly developed a fondness for Twinkies. In history class they taught us about the Romans, and how they purged after stuffing themselves with food. That’s how I felt. I ate till my stomach hurt and I almost wanted to puke.

“Don’t get spoiled, boys. We need to ration some of this food out. We’ve still got a long way to go,” Buckley said.

I smiled at him, “Come on, Sarge, one more Twinkie…” I began to say, when a scratching at the back door stopped me from finishing my sentence.

Buckley jumped off the counter where he’d been lounging. He rushed to the back wall, leaning his head around the corner. The scratching noise was getting louder. He gestured for me to move down the hallway. He took a knee about six feet from the door. When he lowered his hand, I yanked the door open as fast I could.

I shut my eyes and waited for Buckley to start shooting, but nothing came. His hysterical laughter and the sound of whimpering caused me to cautiously open one eye. A frail little mutt waited at the door, tail wagging, waiting to be invited into the feast.

“Come here, boy,” he called to it.

Uncertain, the mutt waited outside the door, his front paws prancing on the ice, unsure if he wanted to make our acquaintance.

Feeling grateful I wasn’t dead, I joined in trying to coax the animal inside. It was terrified and trembling from the cold. I took a Twinkie out of my pocket, splitting it in half, and offered it to him. The dog, still fearful, inched its way to the snack and swiftly snatched it from my hand.

“There ya go, boy. Want some more? Come on, you can come in here, come on,” I said, softening my voice. “Come on boy.” I made kissing noises with my lips.

The timid pup cautiously followed me as I stepped further back, the others backing off to give the animal space. Once we cleared the hallway, Buckley shut the door.

“Poor guy,” Houserman said, “his ribs are showing. Probably hasn’t had a good meal in weeks.”

“One of you clean out one of those empty cans and get that dog some water,” Buckley said.

I spent the next few hours making friends with the dog as the others slept. I fed him till he had enough. Then he lay down beside my leg, resting his head on my lap. Running my hand down his soft brown coat not only relaxed him, it did the same for me. We both fell asleep.

I felt a hand on my shoulder shaking me and looked up from my slumber to see Sarge standing over me.

“What time is it?” I mumbled, my mouth dry.

“Time to go. You need to wake the others and say bye to your new friend.”

“But Sarge, he’ll die out here.”

“Sorry kid, where we’re going is no place for a dog.”

The animal rolled over on his back, patiently waiting for me to rub his belly, his paw smacking at my hand.

“Come on Sarge, please? I’ll look after him. He won’t be a problem,” I pleaded.

“We might get into some shit. A barking dog can give away our location, and we can’t risk it.”

“Okay Sarge,” I sighed.