“Again?”
“Nooria, my guts are rotting from deer steak, snake jerkies, First Strike Rations and especially HOOAH! Bars. Let my body stash on some real food for a change.”
“I can’t believe you’re eating this shit,” Pete remarks looking at the restaurant’s red and yellow electric sign.
“See, son? That’s why I have as much food back here as I can.”
“It was exactly fast-food I was meaning.”
The Top lowers his window.
“Welcome to McDonald’s. May I take your order?” a voice asks outside.
“Three double quarter pounders with cheese, two Angus Deluxe Snack Wraps and a large Diet Coke, please. Anything for you, Mikhailo? One Cheeseburger and a mineral water. Nooria? Two more bottles of Dasani—”
“Get a large Dr. Pepper for me,” Pete says, ”but not the diet shit.”
“—and a large Dr. Pepper but not the diet shit.”
“Sir,” the voice says, “please restrain yourself from using offensive language on our premises.”
Hartman furrows his brows. “Uhm — what’s your name, please?”
“Keisha, sir.”
“Now listen up, Keisha. I am the customer, you the staff and I outrank you. You will serve me no matter if I call your food shit, your premises a shithole or you any name! Is that clear?”
“Sir, I will have to call my manager if you continue to—”
“Just kidding, Keisha. I love your meals, your restrooms are always clean and you have a very pleasant voice.” The Top takes a deep breath, lowers the window to the bottom and starts shouting into the microphone outside. “But if you continue lecturing me on political correctness instead of serving me within two fucking minutes, I swear I’ll go inside and tear the headphones off your ears to make you hear me better — I am hungry and want my order, now! Is that clear, Keisha?”
A moment of silence outside.
“I got your order, sir. Please proceed to the next window.”
“That’s the spirit, Keisha, that’s the spirit! Add a coffee to my order. As black as it gets—I don’t want you to think I’m a racist. Thank you very much!”
Three minutes later the Top switches off the engine in the parking lot and greedily unwraps his first burger.
“That’s exactly the attitude why I went AWOL,” Pete says and draws on the straw in his coke cup.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” the Top asks munching on his burger.
“You spend the best years of your life with barking commands and screaming at people who might be better and smarter than you. The Corps brainwashes you to think you’re the best and brightest in the universe but once you’re back to the real world, nobody gives a shit about you but you keep acting and talk like a brainwashed jarhead, thinking you are someone, not realizing that all this only makes you an arrogant jerk!”
The Top stops chewing and looks into the rear view mirror to see Pete’s eyes. “It was that lecturing tone in that little ho’s voice that pissed me off. Maybe I overreacted. But think about how many jobless white males got refused just because that place had to take her to promote fucking diversity!”
“Who would want to work at such a place anyway?” Pete asks with a voice that is now strangely trembling.
“Pete, listen up,” Tarasov quietly says, turning back in his seat. “You might think that you are some very special person, deserving much better than what you got, and yes, maybe that special person is hiding deep inside you. But for God’s sake — have a look at yourself. Even the toilet cleaner in that restaurant is better off than you.”
“It’s the restroom our Ukrainian friend is meaning, son.”
“Stop calling me son, you asshole!” Peter screams back. “Thanks for your fucking coke, and now let me go! I need — I must—”
“Uh-oh.” Tarasov sounds concerned now. “Someone’s trying to escape.”
“That’s fucking right! Let me out of this fucking car! Let me out or I fucking kill you all! I have to—”
“Look at me, my little brother.”
Nooria’s soft voice relieves the mounting tension. The Top opens his next burger, Tarasov turns forward shaking his head in disapproval, and Pete, although reluctantly, looks into her eyes.
“Pete, you are tired. Come closer, I will help you relax.”
Slowly, like a stray dog that has been beaten all its life and now hearing the first friendly words in a long time, Pete moves closer to her.
“Come closer to me. I do not bite. You can rest your head on my lap. Yes, like this. Let me help you. I will heal you, Pete.”
She places her hand on Pete’s sweating forehead.
“Gosh,” Pete whispers, “your touch feels good.”
“Here, drink water… lots of water,” she continues and puts the Dasani bottle to Pete’s trembling, chafed lips. “Close your eyes. Sleep… sleep now, my little brother.”
“Who are you?” Pete mumbles. His panting slows down, and soon his hands too stop trembling. He sinks into a deep sleep, his head resting in Nooria’s lap. For a moment there is deep silence in the car.
“Nooria, you never cease to amaze me,” Tarasov whispers.
“Could we drive to a place to sleep, Top? It is not very comfortable here.”
“Sorry, Nooria,” Hartman replies. “I had to pull back my seat to make place for my legs but even so, the steering wheel keeps hitting against my balls!”
He puts the half-eaten burger back to the paper bag and starts the engine. “Let’s hope that motel room comes with a microwave.”
12
Near to the tower overlooking the valley beneath the Tribe’s mountain fortress, about fifty warriors have gathered in the shade of a camouflage net spun out between two trees. Sitting on plastic chairs, they face a large map of the new Zone fastened to a wooden board.
A few of them wear the heavy exoskeletons of Lieutenants with their helmets off, others only a light fatigue. Only one warrior is wearing full combat armor. He is standing at the briefing board with his helmet and face mask on, his M249 slung across his shoulder. Semper Fi is written on his helmet. He stands at attention and salutes when the Colonel appears from the tower.
“Attention on deck!”
“As you were,” the Colonel says. He looks over his men. “Warriors, I am irritated.”
No matter how many battles they have seen, the Lieutenants shun his eyes, ducking like schoolchildren who are about to be reprimanded for doing some mischief. Even the buzz of a lonely fly circling in the tent can be heard.
“During the past two weeks, our patrols have been constantly harassed by hostile fire. However, this morning was the first time that we suffered losses in an ambush. Three men are dead and one vehicle destroyed because of a small mistake and a great amount of embarrassing recklessness!”
One Lieutenant jumps from his seat and stands at attention.
“Sir, I apologize for my men’s mistake,” he says with a gloomy look all over his face.
“That vehicle crew consisted of idiots, Lieutenant Nelson, and got what idiots deserve. This land does not tolerate mistakes, and I even less so. Remember — for a Lieutenant of the Tribe, a mistake committed by his men is a mistake committed by himself. This applies to all of you. Am I understood?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” the Lieutenants reply.
“Nelson, only your rank prevents me from handing out severe punishment on you. There aren’t many Lieutenants left and I prefer you falling honorably in battle than being cast out from our Tribe. You are relieved of your command and assigned to base duties until I decide what to do with you. Get out of my sight.”