“Holy Mary, Mother of God,” Vincenzo whispered. “Why didn’t they just do that to begin with?”

Hicks laughed. “Why does the Army do anything?”

“Good point.”

Sergeant Ashman stood up and turned to his men. “All right, fellas.” He raised his sword and pointed it at the few remaining infected. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a bite to eat. Let’s mop up and get the hell out of here.”

Hicks took up his spear and went to work.

THREE

The rest of the day was routine.

First Platoon returned to their barracks and cleaned their weapons. A short time later, the civilian contractors showed up and cooked them breakfast. Then came PT—led by Sergeant Ashman—followed by an equipment inspection carried out by the platoon’s squad leaders. After inspection came the filling out of requisition forms to replace anything worn beyond usefulness.

These events preceded a patrol of the town’s perimeter, which was really just an excuse for Ashman to lead his men on an eight-mile road march in full combat gear. Consequently, when they returned at 1300 hours for lunch, they were ravenous.

The afternoon consisted of cleaning their barracks, digging new latrines, and expending a portion of the company’s training ammunition in the urban combat facility just outside Fort McCray. Then they cleaned their weapons again, marched back to the barracks, and ate their evening meal. At 1800 hours, Lt. Jonas told his men to check the watch bill and keep their ears open for alarm bells, but otherwise, the rest of the day was theirs.

Hicks wasn’t worried about having to stand watch. He had drawn the mid-watch the night before, and he knew Ashman was a sensible sergeant who knew better than to wear his men out with unnecessary sleep deprivation. Still, he checked the bill just to be sure. He wasn’t on it.

As Hicks was stowing his gear and preparing to leave, Holland sat down on the bunk across from him. “Going to see Miranda?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll never understand how you landed her. Half the platoon tried and failed. Even Cole struck out, and that guy is a bona fide pussy magnet.”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

“Everybody’s in love with her, you know. We all hate you because she picked you over the rest of us. I’ll never understand why. You barely talk, you’re not intelligent or charming, and your face looks like a bowl of smashed assholes. I don’t get it. What does she see in you?”

“Must be my southern charm.”

Holland began unlacing his boots. “You must be hung like a horse. That’s gotta be it. How big is your dick? Eight, ten, eleven inches? It’s the only explanation.”

Hicks found himself laughing. “Tell you what, Derrick. You enjoy spending the rest of the evening pondering the dimensions of my penis. I’m gonna go see my girlfriend.”

“I hate you, Caleb. I’m gonna kill you in your sleep and steal your girlfriend.”

“Stay out of trouble, amigo.”

“Never in life. You coming by Stall’s for drinks tonight?”

“Probably not.”

“Can’t say I blame you. All right, man, have fun.”

“Adios.”

*****

The Hollow Rock General Store was a short walk from the VFW hall, which was one of the many reasons Hicks was grateful his platoon was garrisoned in town and not with the rest of Echo Company at Fort McCray.

The afternoon was warm, the springtime sun still well above the horizon, leaving a few more hours of daylight before nightfall. It was a welcome reprieve from what had been a long, dark winter. As he walked, Hicks thought to himself that given the choice between another winter like the one just passed, and dealing with marauders and infected on a daily basis, he would take the extra combat action any day of the week.

Besides, he liked combat. Being close to death made him feel more alive, although he would never admit it out loud. Especially not to Miranda.

The CLOSED sign hung in the window when he reached the general store. Undeterred, he went around back and knocked three times, paused, knocked twice more, paused again, and knocked three more times. There was a shuffling sound, the clicks of locks disengaging, and the door opened.

And there she was.

If he could have seen through Miranda’s eyes, he would have beheld a subtle shift in his features. A brightening of the eyes, a slight curving of his lips, a gentle gaze that held Miranda’s and said much without saying anything at all. Caleb was not a terribly expressive young man, but Miranda had learned to read him. She stood in the doorway for a moment, hand on outthrust hip, head slightly tilted, smiling sweetly, and let him take her in. She had lived in her own skin long enough to know what men saw when they looked at her, and in most cases, she hated being stared at. But with Caleb, it was different. She liked it when he looked at her. And touched her.

Among other things.

“Mind if I come in, pretty lady?” Hicks asked.

She reached up, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and pulled him down for a kiss. It was only when she stood close to him that she realized how tall and broad he was. He had a slouching, lazy, head-lowered manner that made him look slender, narrow, and a little awkward. It was deceptive until you looked at the thickness of his forearms, the breadth of his shoulders, or the understated springiness in the way he moved. He looked thin and light, but in truth, he was six-foot-two, two-hundred-ten pounds, and very good at concealing his physical prowess. And she loved every inch of him. Scars and all.

“How was work?” she asked.

Hicks shrugged. “Dug a latrine. Cleaned my gun. Shot some infected. Captured a few insurgents. Same old, same old.”

Miranda shook her head. “You’re crazy.”

“It’s part of my mystique.”

The heel of her palm rebounded gently against his forehead. “Get in here, soldier boy.”

Hicks stepped into the back room of the store and looked around. Several rows of metal shelves dominated the space, bearing inventory stacked to the roof. Sunlight filtered in through a window near the ceiling, highlighting dust motes floating in the air. Hicks reached up and passed his hand through a golden ray, sending the little white flecks swirling. He watched them turn and shift while Miranda shut the door and locked it.

“I just have a few things to finish up. Why don’t you have a seat?” she said.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

He took a seat on a stool under the window and watched her work. She had tied her light blonde hair back in a loose ponytail, a few errant strands framing her pale, oval face. She wore no makeup. Her clothes were loose, designed for comfort, and durable. Her boots had steel toes.

Hicks couldn’t take his eyes off her.

He remembered the first time, at her invitation, he had gone to visit her at her trailer. She had answered the door with her hair styled in loose curls, slender body clad in a skimpy little red thing, scarlet high heels on her feet, flowery perfume making his head swim. He stopped breathing. His hands shook when Miranda laughed at him and led him inside. He smiled at the memory. No one had made him feel that way since-

No. Don’t go there.

He closed his eyes and willed the memory away, took a few deep breaths, and pictured an empty black void in his mind, deep in the shadows where the demons live, where no light ever shines. The emptiness swelled and stretched and cast aside the pain of loss and regret. In a moment, he was warm, and quiet, and in control again.

A hand touched his face and he jumped.

“Are you all right, Caleb?”

“Yeah, sorry. Think I might have dozed off. You startled me.”

Miranda cupped his chin in her hand and ran a thumb over the mess of scars on his left cheek. “At least you didn’t come up swinging. I heard Thompson does that sometimes.”

Hicks nodded. “That he does. Caught me on the temple one time. Damn near knocked me out.”