Chapter Twenty Five

Hanson and I spent another hour talking and occasionally kissing, then we killed a few hours wandering around camp meeting people. I quickly learned D-Nav wasn't the only one who refused to shake hands and I stopped trying after the third rejection. I didn't take it personally. Everyone was welcoming, doing their best to let us know the extra manpower we represented was a relief. At the same time, there was no denying most of the troops were on high alert. Unlike the lich and the immunes, the bulk of Zed's forces were uninfected humans who were risking their lives by remaining so close to the front lines.

We were talking to one such man—an assistant chef at the Mess—when we heard gunshots from somewhere close by. The human high-tailed it into the closest trailer and slammed the door shut behind him without bothering to say goodbye. When we looked around, we saw several others running for cover in the same way while a second group—mostly silver-eyed men and women—bunched up in the center of camp.

Walking over to join them, we kept our hands on our side-arms while we waited to hear a report from whomever had been shooting. The answer came two minutes later when the door to the Intelligence trailer popped open and an overweight man with pimples called out, "All clear, but we need someone to take the backhoe and a flamethrower out to the Northwest perimeter to deal with a downed straggler."

Two volunteers immediately headed out—one to the Armory for the flamethrower and another to the maintenance bay to get the keys to the backhoe. It took another twenty minutes for word to spread and the other trailers to start opening their doors again.

Eventually, as the lingering sunlight disappeared, I caught Hanson yawning and walked him to the billet bus so he could get some real sleep. He wanted me to lay down with him—I don't think he knew I didn't need to sleep—but I gently refused.

"I think it's time I called home," I said. "Those gunshots were close. I have a feeling they're not going to be the last and I want to talk to my dad before things get crazy."

Hanson looked at me in alarm. "What do you mean?"

"Where there's one zombie, there will be more. I wouldn't be surprised if the Commander has us move camp later tonight. You should get some sleep while you can."

Hanson huffed, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "If you want me to sleep, don't tell me shit that'll keep me awake."

"Sorry," I mumbled. "If we're going to be together, you should probably know ahead of time I'm a dick."

He shook his head and offered me a weak smile. "You're not a dick. You're trying to keep it real. This is our lives now. Forewarned is forearmed, right? It's better I'm aware of the possibility in case I get woken up in the middle of the night. And it's not like the zombies will be coming after me. You're just telling me so I can be better prepared to help defend the uninfected. Right?"

I nodded rather than open up my mouth and possibly say something else disturbing. It was enough to satisfy him. He rose up on his toes to kiss me goodnight, then headed into the billet bus without me. I raked my hand through my hair once I was alone. A mere month ago, I never could have imagined I'd be where I was—or imagined who I'd be with. When I thought too hard about it, it completely boggled my mind.

I headed for the Intelligence trailer, hoping to get a tablet I could use as a distraction. Directly inside was the Commander. Seeing him made me freeze outside the door. As soon as he noticed me, he shut the binder he'd been looking at and smiled at me in welcome. "What can I do for you?" he asked.

I stared at him wide-eyed and hesitated. I'd meant to find a lowly tech—not the highest ranking soldier in camp.

He laughed when I finally told him the reason for my visit. Then he personally did the work of fetching a tablet I could carry in my cargo pocket and registered my access to the Zed database. He suggested I loot some earbuds the following day so I wouldn't bother anyone else in my platoon when I wanted to watch a movie or listen to music. While he was at it, he also gave me a sheet of paper with mine and Hanson's brand new bank accounts.

I must have stared at the bank sheet too long because he explained, "We aren't expecting you to work for free. Money isn't worth much of anything at the moment, but this account will be used to accumulate exchangeable credits for when the economy returns to normal. If you have any family in the Quarantine States, you can use the Zed database to transfer credits to them. They can use them to get extra rations and better housing if they're stuck in a refugee camp. I'm not saying that's how you have to use them, but you should be aware it's an option."

"I'll keep it in mind," I replied. "My dad is in Santa Fe, so they should be okay for now. I think the heat would dry out any zombies before they could reach him, as long as there isn't an outbreak in town."

"Have you called him yet?" the Commander asked curiously.

"Not yet. To be honest, I haven't turned on my phone since I got it back from the instructors at the boot camp. I'm kind of scared to find out what sort of messages are waiting on me."

"That's understandable, but you shouldn't put it off. There's no telling how much longer cell service will hold out in this area."

The news startled me. "I thought it was all automated and could hold out indefinitely without human interference."

"Normally, that would be true. However, a lot of satellites in orbit only stay there because human technicians regularly correct their courses. We've already had reports of a few being destroyed by collisions with space debris. It's only a matter of time before something hits a major communication satellite and cell phones cease working entirely. It's not like we can currently send up a shuttle to make repairs."

"What about cell towers?" I asked in concern. "Don't they relay calls?"

The Commander shook his head solemnly. "Nearly all cell phone carriers use direct satellite relay these days. It's cheaper and the coverage is wider. Cell towers are mostly a remnant from decades past, although we're looking into reconnecting the network as backup."

The information gave me a sense of urgency I hadn't possessed previously. It was one thing not to call home when I thought I could do it any time I wanted. It was another thing to know my chance might disappear at any moment.

"I better go call him," I said. The Commander gave me a sympathetic nod and suggested I make my call on the far side of the medical trailer, since not many people lingered around there. It was the most privacy I'd be able to find in camp.

I took his advice and found he was right. Where the backside of the other trailers were covered in stockpiles of materials or set up for people to gather in small groups, the medical trailer was completely devoid of life. I didn't have to ask why. No one liked hospitals and I didn't see why the medical trailer would be any different.

I sat using the front wheel as a backrest and pulled my phone out of my pocket. It took several minutes to gather the courage to turn it on, then I had to hurriedly mute the ringer when it loudly announced I had missed text messages.

One hundred sixty-eight missed messages, to be exact. They dated all the way back to the first report of zombies on the news. I thumbed through them, scanning them without taking the time to actually read them. From the looks of it, my dad claimed he'd talked to the school, they'd be sending me home, and I shouldn't worry too much. The very next day, he messaged again, saying all planes were grounded, it was too dangerous to travel, and I needed to stay where I was.

There was a message saying he'd tried to drive his car to come get me, but the follow-up told me he'd been turned back by roadblocks set up specifically to keep people from doing what he tried to do. Afterward, there were updates about how they were fortifying their home and a message letting me know he'd bought a gun so he could protect me after I arrived. A few days after that, he frantically texted to find out when the school was scheduled to be evacuated by the military—apparently he heard something about it on the news.

"Everything will be okay. Listen to the Army and get here safe. I love you."

There were more preparation updates to let me know I hadn't been forgotten and random bits of news from the quarantine zone. He'd opened his house to both of my Uncle's families, so all of my cousins were there. Mixed with the updates were pleas for me to message back so he would know I was okay. At the end, he wrote, "I'm assuming you lost your cell phone in the chaos. That's okay. I got you a new one. If you somehow manage to get this, call home immediately. I love you."