The Dead Among Us (Chapter 3: Just for Snickers)
1318 hoursSo, long story short, we cleared the base out fairly quickly. Turned out we had more people on the ground then we thought. Most of them soldiers, obviously, and the majority of those being Special Forces and stuff, since that what this base was mostly dedicated to. We did have a fair few amount of civilians on base, but those were either military families living on base, or lucky folks that managed to get in during the initial evacuation of Houston. We had to take a few minutes, all of us, to just to sit for a moment and think about what all we just did.At about 1346 hours, we decided to take a death toll-- not of the undead we had put down, but of those that went down fighting. Turns out, we had lost much more than we thought in the process of fighting these things off. Many of them were brave young soldiers-- practically kids-- that gave their lives for their squad-mates. I can't imagine what their family would think if they saw their 18- and 19-year-old sons killing themselves for a bunch of people that those parents don't know. But then I realize, wait, they're probably with their parents now-- I mean, if that sort of thing actually EXISTS. We don't really know for sure.So I put down the helicopter after we had made our rounds to collect body counts from various districts of the base. Total, we got exactly one hundred ninety two. I couldn't help but feel sad, because I knew they were good people. They had to have been. And to think that they could've lived here, survived HERE. It sickened me, but I thought, so few lost in the final fight. The base's population last I heard was roughly eight thousand units. Our total population now... upwards of three hundred. The only issue is how much food that'll take up.You see, Fort Brazos has three food pantries. And no, I don't mean the little closets in your mamma's kitchen. I'm talking, huge hangars dedicated to food and drink. These things are meant to hold at least 6 months worth of food, for eight thousand grown-ass men, breakfast, lunch, dinner, desert. Now, you do the math. 180 days of food for eight thousand soldiers, how much food do you think that'll be for only about three hundred? A lot. At least five years. All non-perishable items. But what would we do after that? There's no way we're moving if we can help it. We're not leaving. This is ours. We fought and spilled blood for it.[INTERMISSION]When I meet up with Storm again, I swear, he looks like how my Great Uncle Darwin did when he went through Vietnam-- He had a red bandana tied around his head, stained with blood and sweat, and he was carrying an M240 Rambo-Style with his SCAR-H over his back. Sweat dripped from his long, beautiful mane and his chest puffed heavily while he met my eyes. Behind him stood a group of at least 50 people. Following him. Most of them in uniform, but only the small
majority. The rest were clearly civvies. And they were following him. They practically considered him their leader, and I didn't blame them. I patted Storm on the back, and told him, you did good, old friend.You did good."Thanks, Jack... I couldn't have done it without you." So Storm and I walked towards base HQ, and we slowly realized... Storm is the only living officer, retired or otherwise, on this base. Making me the second highest ranking. It just goes to show you that the brass are all either dumb-ass heroes, or lazy fat cats. And most of them are the latter, based off of personal experience. Storm is probably the only brass hero that I know of that isn't a dumb-ass. He's taken more bullets than I have (although, he was never tortured, but I'm no hero). I tell him, Storm, look at these people. Let me tell you something. I know I've been hard on you, I say, and I'm sorry. I think everybody deserves a second chance, especially you. These people look at you like you're a damn leader, and frankly, I think you'd make a great one. I'm not cut out, okay? I'm just not. That's why I never went brass like you, I finish. You're the hero. I'm just the guy everyone counts on to be the Deus Ex Machina. Storm gently nudged my shoulder and said, no, that's not true, and wrapped his arm around me while we walked up the eerie, desolate streets of the residential area, the crowd behind us lingering where we left them. It was time we observed our work. I could imagine how this must look to the average person: two grown ass men, one almost a foot taller than the other, cuddling and walking down a nightmarishly hectic street at the end of the world as we know it. Cars were wrecked, doors and windows smashed open, and one final thing topped it off the best: an empty swing set on a front yard, the seat dangling with scraps of meat and dried blood lathered all over the lawn with a few bodies strewn here and there, and then a deceased German Shepard in an MP uniform laying on the ground with a gun under his chin. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened here. Never minding all that, the two of us continue on, and my mind drifts back to Felice; the son of a bitch actually fell asleep while we were flying around. Good God, that's boredom to an extreme. So I tell Storm I have to go, and he lets me without protest. I dash off down the road back towards the helipad, hoping that dog hasn't woken up yet. Good. I decide it's been a hell of a day, and since Storm's still got his headset, I tell him, hey, why don't you see about getting people settled in the barracks. Designate some sentries. I think I'm gonna take a little nap, and I tell him, I'll hop on the graveyard shift tonight. He gives me an affirmative and goes offline. Now, given that my boyfriend has a rather small figure and given that these seats are rather large, I find it rather appropriate that I
attempt to pick him and have him cuddle with me in my seat, with it pushed all the way back (Darwin had taken it upon himself to install CAR seats in the bird, rails and everything, "to make her more comfortable"). Felice stirred mildly, but I had rather difficulty with the whole thing. We were smuggled rather closely together, and I had no problem falling right to sleep with him in my arms. He was so adorable, ya know? Something so small, so cute no matter how much he tried to deny it, there was no way I could resist snuggling with him. He mumbled something and my eyes snapped open, and I made out, "That you?" Yeah, baby, it's me. I looked down at his leg, and it looked like it was doing fine. Fel bled like a stuck pig, which I've personally never seen happen, but that's because he did indeed take shrapnel to the thigh. My biggest worry is that it had sliced open his Femoral Artery, and you don't just SURVIVE that. Nevertheless, this adorable thing was doing just fine, being a real trooper. He fell right back to sleep, his head laid down on my chest. He was so warm and cuddly, I fell right back to sleep too. 1647 hoursWhen I woke back up, Felice was gone off of my chest. I sat up, looking around rather panicked. My door was wide open and there was a cool breeze floating through the gap. I picked myself up out of the helicopter and tried looking around for Fel, but there was not a sign of him-- save for a dirty, faded boot-print on the helipad. I called out for him, but nobody answered. I kept looking around, but I couldn't see ten feet in front of me; a rather bleak, eerie fog had set over the fort, covering everything in a blanket of milky clouds. I put a hand on my holster to make sure my revolver was there-- it was. Taking a step towards the stairs of the helipad, I heard a blood-curdling scream from behind me.He was waiting for me. Felice was standing at the other end of the pad, blending in perfectly with his pale grey and pink skin, and when I started to leave, he came dashing at me. His mouth was foaming and blood dripped from his beet-red eyes and his snout. I quickly turned tail and started running as fast as I fucking could before whipping out my gun, turning around, and pulling the trigger with my eyes closed.1647 hours (actual)A dream. It was a dream. A fucking nightmare was more like it. My face was drenched in tears, and Felice was wide awake, staring at me with an expression of fear. I patted his head gently, tenderly combing my fingers through his hair. It's okay, I told him. It was just a dream. I'm okay. You're okay. Nothing's wrong..."In all our time together," he told me, and that time had been rather extensive, "I've never once seen you cry. Now I wish I never had." Looking down, I saw why. He had claw marks around his throat, faint scratches, right where
his faint scars where, and I knew I had hurt him. My heart sank, and I told him, I'm sorry, that wasn't me."I know, Jack. You're not you when you're angry. What was the dream?"I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't even want to think about it. He let it slide, and we got up. Apparently the rascally little devil must've woken up long before I had, because for the strangest reason, my belt and my jeans button had been undone. He chuckled when I started getting my pants adjusted, and I didn't even bother to ask. Little punk. Hope I clawed you good for that... doing it while I was asleep, oughta give you a piece of my mind!"Hey," hey reasoned, grinning at me from his copilot seat, his boots kicked up on the dash-- something I hardly tolerate-- "I didn't get that far, so quit."I decided to let it go, and we were out of the bird and ready to get to work.We had a long road ahead of us.