Orders will be waiting for you at Fort Orange in Albany, then C-17 back to SeaTac. Try not to burn down the entire city of Seattle.
PART II
Chapter 18
The interior of the C-17 Globemaster was packed to the limit, filled with reclaimed electronics, car parts, gold bars, all the loot of the modern world to keep the light of civilization burning. Reclamation teams followed the path of the Army, disassembling cars, recovering precious metals, siphoning gasoline. It was shipped to depots and sorted. The jewelry was melted down into ingots for easy transport, the gasoline and oil fed into fuel blivets.
We sat on either side, our gear piled at our feet. Taking off, the pilot had performed a sharp, twisting climb to avoid random potshots, leaving my stomach somewhere behind. I tried to sleep, but I was drawn to the small window as we chased the setting sun.
Below me, the flat plains of the Midwest stretched out. The great rivers, the Ohio, the Mississippi, the Missouri had all broken their banks and flooded great stretches of the countryside. Here and there in the darkness below gleamed one or two spreads of lights, fortress towns that somehow survived. Ship lights gleamed on the Great Lakes, moving to Buffalo from the railheads in Green Bay, carrying supplies and troops to New York. I remembered how it all looked, the great spread of lights where Chicago, Detroit, St. Louis had all been. Now they lay faintly shimmering in the moonlight, reflections of the billion shards of broken glass that lay like sand on the beach.
We approached the Columbia Federal District, once known as Washington State, with the bulk of Mount Rainier shouldering its way above the clouds, and touched down in the light rain that always seemed to hang in the air. The pilot’s voice came over the intercom. “Welcome to SeaTac airport. There is a shuttle bus to JBLM at the USO desk. Please go through customs and declare all weapons. Thanks for flying Zombie Air!” Very frigging funny.
I lifted my Alice pack onto my back, picked up my duffle, followed the rest of the guys down the ramp and into the closest building, where an Airman stood with a clipboard. He took a copy of each of our orders and ran our CAC cards through a reader.
“I see you guys are coming from the Wild Wild East. When was the last time any of you were here?”
“Doc and Jonesy, I mean, Doc and I were here last year. I’m pretty sure SPC Redshirt was here pretty recently.”
“I was just here for Basic Training, never saw anything outside the base,” said Redshirt.
“OK, well, then you have to understand some things have changed. You are going to have to wait two days in quarantine and all personal weapons have to be left here to be reclaimed when you fly back out.”
“What the hell? Since when?” I went everywhere armed. We all did.
“Well, bad riots last year in response to the government-forced resettlement plan. Under the federal emergency mandate, personal firearms and weapons are not allowed in the Columbia Federal District unless you are part of a law enforcement agency. In addition, all personnel arriving from areas not under federal control must remain in quarantine for prevention of spreading reanimation virus.”
He sounded like he was reading from a bad movie script and looked bored as hell. We were tired and suffering from jet lag so none of us argued with him about it. Just grumbled and bitched as we started pulling guns, knives, grenades and various bludgeons from holsters and pockets. The more stuff we dropped in the amnesty box, the bigger his eyes got. When we finally finished, the box was filled to the top.
“You know,” one of the two Military Policemen standing there said, looking at all the hardware we carried, “you all think you’re so badass rolling in here with all this. How freaking bad can it be out there? I think you’re all so full of shit it isn’t even funny.”
I ignored them and kept dealing with the Air Force sergeant. He was about to lock the box and hand me the key and a hand receipt listing all the items when I heard a commotion behind me.
“Oh shit, she’s turning!” yelled Doc, and he swung Brit, who twitched and spasmed, screeching and howling at the top of her lungs, toward the MPs, who reacted like a grenade had been thrown at them. Brit sank her teeth into the hand of the one who had called us full of shit, and he screamed like a little girl. His partner fumbled to load his pistol while the Air Force sergeant dove under the table, dropping his clipboard.
The scene was absolute chaos for a second, until Brit abruptly stood up and started laughing.
“Who’s full of shit now, you pogues?”
“You freaking bit me!!”
“Didn’t even break the skin. Wimp.”
Ziv had stepped in front of the other MP, who had finally managed to load a magazine in his pistol but hadn’t racked the slide. He stared him down, then sidled past and out the door. Brit passed them, laughing, and the rest of us filed out.
Outside, Doc passed us each one of the weapons he had grabbed out of the lock box in the confusion. I took my .22 automatic and slipped into my coat pocket, feeling a lot better, and we boarded the shuttle bus to Joint Base Lewis-McChord.
Chapter 19
Brit put Game of Thrones back in the DVD player and hit play, then started chowing down on popcorn again.
“How many times are you going to watch this?” Red, Doc, Ziv and I were playing spades, and Doc and I were losing, badly.
“As many times as it takes. Gotta see my girl burn shit up with her dragons. Plus I got the hots for Captain Tightpants.”
I threw a spade down on diamonds, but Red cut me with the Big Joker. That kid had all the luck, and he put it to good use.
“Play again? Make it a thousand.”
Doc threw his cards down. “No, I’m tired. Gonna hit the rack.”
“I’m going to head over to the front desk, see if we can get out of here any sooner.”
We had been in quarantine for more than a day now, and it was getting boring. I could see Mount Rainier in the west, and I knew that Seattle, with all its civilization, was only an hour away. After being out in the wilds for two years, we all wanted to get to it.
The Specialist at the desk was playing Call of Duty and ignored me for a minute. I stood patiently until his match ended.
“SPC Esposito,” I read off his name tag, “how the hell do we get out of this place early?”
“You really want to get out of here early?”
“Sure do. You know none of us has the plague. We’ve been out in the wild for two years, and I want a fraking steak.”
“Simple. Take me with you. I’m a clerk now, but I’ve got a tour in Iraq as an 11B and a tour in Afghanistan as an MP.”
I looked him over. A little heavy-set from sitting and playing Xbox all day, but a few months in the wild would take care of that. We could use another shooter, and anyone who wanted to go with us might be crazy enough to fit in.
“OK, when we head back to the Wild, if your command OKs it, you can join our merry little band.”
“Cool beans!” He turned to his laptop, printed out a release paper and signed it.
“There you go. Cleared of quarantine. Go over to North Fort and draw quarters, and you’re expected at Building 4387 at 0700 Monday morning for inbriefing. Have fun, and stay off the MP blotter.”