Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
DEZ
I stared at the tray ceiling of my moderately sized living quarters, my mind replaying the same sequence it did every morning since the first day I arrived at the so-called safe zone:
“So, she’s your wife?”
“That’s what I said.”
“If that’s so, where’s her ring?”
“We bartered it for food.”
“She said you two aren’t married.”
“She lied.”
“Why would she lie?”
“Because I told her to.”
“And why would you do that?”
“Because I don’t trust you.”
Of course, Larke would say we weren’t married.
I’d spent months getting closer to her, turning the dial higher each time, only to continually push her away the moment heat emanated from the burner.
I showed my rifle more affection than I showed Larke, so it wouldn’t have crossed her mind to think that I would have claimed her as mine.
Asked them to house us together, yes, but to say that she was my wife?
Knowing Larke, she’d probably envisioned me lying next to “Bethany” with the gun’s nozzle on a pillow.
“So, what did you do before, Dez?”
“I was in private security.”
“Military experience?”
“Navy.”
“Highest rank?”
“CPO. E7.”
“Is that Special Forces?”
“No, Special Forces is Army. I was SpecOps. Naval Warfare.”
“Which means?”
“A SEAL, ma’am.”
After hearing about my previous experience, the woman’s entire demeanor changed.
She scribbled the words “Military, SEAL-EP” in her notebook and then stood, removing a long Q-Tip from a plastic package.
I obliged her by opening up for a swab, and she lightly tapped my wrist before sending me to a bench to wait for the test to finish processing.
Once it was determined that I was not one of the infected, I was escorted onto the grounds.
That was a little over three weeks ago.
I hadn’t seen Tapley since.
Although a tough and brilliant attorney who’d faced war criminals and drug lords throughout her career, she always did so inside a courtroom and with the benefit of around-the-clock protection.
While I’d never faced this specific situation, I’d encountered similar circumstances, and the rules rarely changed.
A loner was as good as dead.
Still, as upset as I wanted to be—with Larke, myself, this place—she saved our lives that first day we arrived.
I took an oath to protect her down to my last dying breath, which would have been impossible if I’d gotten killed and left her on her own.
Then, my resistance might have placed a target on her back for being affiliated with a rebel.
But I missed her.
Like fucking crazy.
What I wouldn’t give for another chance to sit next to her on her sofa, staring into her eyes while we listened to a song that seemed to have been written with her in mind.
What I wouldn’t give to lie next to her in bed while we read together, a gesture almost as intimate as if we’d spent the night naked and wrapped around each other.
I slapped my alarm clock until it quieted, rolled out of bed, and walked to the unit’s open-concept living area. Tall, picturesque windows, which would have been coveted and overpriced only months ago, offered a sordid reminder of how still the world had gone.
There were no people.
No animals.
Not so much as the rats and raccoons had stuck around, as if the current state of things was too much for even them.
The train solely operated to bring more refugees to the camp under the pretense of universal safety and equal treatment.
The lot on the other side of the walls harbored empty cars and a bus that looked like it had been brought to a stop by a lamp post. Since I’d been there, I’d seen only one person on the outside who looked like they could have been infected, and they were promptly put down by one of the wall snipers.
I left the window and headed for the map I kept tacked to a wall where I might have put a TV had this been a year ago.
To others, it was a chart of the weekly routes from my role as a Fort Totten guard.
But, in my mind’s eye, it glowed with the locations I’d searched so far in hopes of finding Larke.
To go from spending every day together to now not having seen her for—I glanced at my calendar—twenty-four days, three hours, and thirteen minutes, I felt like I was missing a ventricle.
As far as I knew, we were in the same location, but I wasn’t yet able to confirm whether that was the case.
Then, as a former SEAL, I was considered a VIP resident.
As a former prosecutor, I wanted to believe she’d received the same designation, but four principles determined hierarchies at the safe zone: the ability to build, heal, farm, and protect.
Everyone else was considered non-essential, or Non-Essentials.
I was a Protector, my level set at the highest rank for a guard: Class One Elite.
Sighing, I ran my fingers through my hair, crossed off the area I’d searched the day before, and went to the bathroom to prepare for my day.
Once finished with my morning routine, I dragged on the all-black uniform that regularly made me want to turn my weapon on myself and stepped out into the main corridor.
A few other guards, these in gray camo, made their way down to the “mess hall” on the ground floor.
From what I’d gleaned in the last three weeks, the safe zone had started as an apartment community that the government seized from the original developer.
However, the need for a safe space for citizens arrived quicker than expected, which explained the construction still underway on the farthest edge of the complex’s perimeter.
My living quarters were on the seventh floor out of eight. Yet, I bypassed the elevator and took the stairs, in no mood to be stuck inside a windowless box and expected to engage in small talk about ridiculous shit as if all was right in the world.
Loud chatter and laughter greeted me the closer I got to the repurposed grand event hall. Then, swallowing my annoyance, I entered the large room with the checkered flooring, ornate coffered ceilings with gilded accents, and communal tables.
A few of the guards tossed head nods my way.
Several others waved.
I ignored them all.
I wasn’t there to make friends. I was there because I couldn’t leave without my girl.
Once we were reunited, we would be done with this place.
Afterward, I would try to get in contact with my team.
Gage was the farthest out on the West Coast. Next was Mike, who was down in Texas.
No one knew what continent Giorgio was on, so I’d put my energy into meeting up with Julien first. He and Ari were the closest in Virginia.
That was, unless all of this mess had driven them out.
I went to grab a tray.
The head cook, Mae, grabbed it instead.
“Good morning, Dezzie,” she greeted.
I was always in awe of how brightly she still smiled despite all the other shit. She wore her silver hair in a low afro, and although it had been roughly twenty years since we first met, her eyes were exactly the same—deep brown, clear, and kind.
“Good morning, Mae,” I returned. “Aren’t you tired of taking care of me?”
“Of course not. You’re my son.”
“As if I ever could be.”
“Dezzie, I would have loved the chance to raise you as my own, but we did just fine, didn’t we? And look how good you turned out.”
I smiled.
Without Larke, I smiled only for Mae.
“Now, what do you want first?”
Knowing she wouldn’t back down, I pointed to the first stainless steel-covered dish with the word “eggs” on a placard in front. The safe zone was still building up their farm, so our eggs were powdered. Yet, when Mae was cooking, they tasted like the real thing.
“I’ll take some eggs,” I said. “And what’s that next to the oatmeal? Are those dates?”
“Yep, and they’re almost as sweet as me.”
My smile grew. “Impossible. But I’ll have a bowl of oatmeal with a few of the dates, some walnuts, and a protein bar. While you do that, I’ll grab some coffee.”
“No, you’ll grab yourself a seat.”
I’d yet to win an argument with her.
I took a seat at one of the solitary dining tables situated along one wall, which were specifically for the black-uniformed guards.
Most Class One Elites were from Special Operations Forces in their respective military branch.
People like us were usually inclined to form teams and alliances, but we had also gotten strategically split up from friends, family, and other loved ones.
Physically, we were capable of causing a stir, but psychologically, we harbored chips, scratches, and dents.
Mae placed the food tray in front of me and then brought over a spare chair to sit on the other side of the table.
I dug into my eggs.
After a while, she said, “Still no sign of her, Dezzie.”
Finding Larke in this place posed enough of a challenge, but finding her based on a description would be twice as difficult.
I had no photos of her.
When things were “normal,” I’d assumed I was keeping them safe by backing them up on a cloud drive.
One I might never again be able to access.
Now, I wish I’d treated the photos like priceless artifacts, from those we’d taken around the DMV area on our usual outings to the ones I’d take when she wasn’t looking:
Larke standing beneath the Constitution Avenue NW street sign.
Larke at the Cherry Blossom Festival silhouetted by rows of blooming pink.
Larke ordering Cajun food from a food truck.
The 100th time Larke ordered food from that same Cajun food truck.
Larke asleep in my bed the couple of times she’d had to crash at my place.
Those, I should have held on to like a one-of-a-kind art piece.
“Thanks for trying,” I offered.
Mae tapped out a rhythm on the wooden tabletop with her fingernails. “You know, you’re one of only a handful of these pig heads who I think is still decent enough on the inside. You’d be surprised how quickly a little bit of power, and a little bit of status, can change somebody.”
I wouldn’t be surprised at all.