"People will do anything, no matter how absurd, in order to avoid facing their own souls. One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.” ―Carl Jung

  Malcolm’s awareness returned to the sight of an ashen pile stacked higher than a garbage dump. The stench of charred human remains still filled his nose and the remnants of twitched limbs poked out thd tall heap. A convoy moved down the road behind him, with a single Humvee that would stop for Malcolm. He turned to enter its passenger seat, the driver, Thompson, pulled back into the long line of army vehicles and drove away from the quartered off parking lot. Malcolm looked in the rearview to see Captain Kemper and while he checked his earpiece, there was the chatter of multiple companies; there was no Liam Campbell to be found.

  Outside the checkpoint, the convoy drove through a city whose streets were cleared of civilians following the outbreak. Its buildings had been reduced to strategic capabilities on the maps Malcolm was looking over. They passed a hotel complex that was appropriated to house multiple infantry regiments. Several vehicles from the convoy splintered into the parking lot before the rest turned a corner. A local stadium came into view with medical signs covering every entrance. FEMA helicopters came and went from the parking lot, unloading food and basic medications beside the lot.

  “...How many civilians are in there?” asked Thompson.

  “Couple thousand.” Malcolm answered. “They have cots lining the field, and rooms made out of stalls.”

  “Are they sick?”

  ‘They’d have turned already.” Malcolm answered. They exited the Humvee and began to walk across the scene of army tents and fortifications. As Malcolm’s commanders began to splinter off to find their troops, he passed a platoon gathered by a campfire where they were boiling water.

  One of them had a radio sitting on their lap and the crowd continuously hushed one another so they may hear.

  “…You know I’d be taking your calls if the phone lines weren’t down…” the host said. “…Outbreaks of the Naegleria Flu have been confirmed in the following cities: New York, Boston, and Baltimore. Cincinnati, Des Moines, and Columbus. Tallahassee, Miami, and Savannah, in Georgia. Austin, Huston, and Albuquerque…”

  The private holding the radio was breaking sweat. Malcolm stepped through to retrieve an MRE as the crowd’s silence dragged on. The host continued, “…I’m afraid I have worse new. Since the last of my staff left to be with their families…I’m by myself in the studio now. So, I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep broadcasting. But I sat here with you during my cancer battle; I’ll stay right here with you to the End…Now, let’s wait on what tomorrow will bring. Please adhere to your local quarantine and curfew guidelines…”

  “Fuck!” A random soldier yelled. “That’s another station copping out!”

  “He said he’ll stay until he can’t.”

  “For how long?! No one on Mercer Island is telling us what’s going on out there! We’re supposed to boil all our water now!”

  “Would you get it together?!” another yelled.

  Malcolm, opting to stay uninvolved, filled his canteen from a previously boiled kettle. He crossed to a curb and sat with his MRE heated up.

  It doesn’t matter how low morale gets, it’s here or out there, which is getting worse by the day.

  He ate roasted beef with mashed potatoes, green beans and biscuits. Everywhere he looked, Malcolm looked for Liam. He expected Liam to appear as an apparition, like he did through the walkies; every face in the vicinity gave Malcolm no mind and the street beyond was deserted.

  No one’s declared a new Commander over the checkpoint, yet everyone still calls me Major. How many days did I miss this time?

  He swallowed the last bite under a sigh, Malcolm then drew a cigarette from a fresh pack. The first puff was succulent, and his stress blew out with the smoke.

  A French voice came from behind. “Mind if I poach one off you?”

  Malcolm turned and it was Lieutenant Sarah Clairet. “Never thought you a smoker.” He translated.

  She walked over and placed a foot on the curb next to Malcolm. “Yea well, it’s the modern Black Death…can’t care much about lung cancer.”

  Malcolm smirked and handed her his pack. She sat down as he passed the lighter. “Don’t go saying that; we burned all the hospitals.”

  Clairet nodded as she lit her cigarette; she coughed on her first drag.

  “You good?” Malcolm asked.

  “Yea…” she responded. “…Did you hear?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Did you hear about Louisiana?” Clairet finished.

  Malcolm’s next drag was deep. “No…”

  Her chin dropped while puffing. “One of the stations said that the Quarantine Zones in Baton Rouge and New Orleans were finished…”

  “But?”

  “…I don’t know. People are losing their minds…Flu or no Flu…” She shut her eyes as she smoked. “…Everything’s falling apart…”

  Malcolm kept his eyes ahead. “This was always going to get worse before it got better.”

  Clairet took a deep sigh. “You know...I barely told you anything about my family…”

  Malcolm looked at her, confused; she continued.

  “…You already know my parents immigrated to Louisiana from Canada, after six months in Michigan. I was technically born there, hence my Huron Ink. Believe it or not, my sister and I were both tomboys. Seemed to run in the family…Hell, it may have been the swamps! My point to that is...there’s really no wondering how we wound up in the service…Rachel? She was stationed in the Philippines before we landed in Korea…” Clairet looked at Malcolm with glistening eyes.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Malcolm’s mouth hung open. “None of our bases were evacuated…”

  “I talked to her the night before the operation…It was just like every call we’ve had before. She was supposed to rotate back home two days later…only to mention that the Filipinos were placing travel restrictions.”

  Malcolm beamed. “They already knew something was wrong.”

  “And Rachel’s rotation got delayed…The last thing I said to her was, ‘I’ll skype you from Pyongyang.’ She said, ‘I’ll bag a buck with Dad for you.’ And that was it...Now, I’m here, and we abandoned her over there…”

  Clairet sucked hard on the smoke as a tear broke. “She’s dead. I know it.”

  Malcolm didn’t know what to say. “Sarah…”

  “…What kills me is that I’ll never know how she died. I don’t know what’s worse; if it was slow, or if she’s a Berserker now…I…hope she didn’t die like that…” Clairet nearly chocked. “How fucked up is that? I want my own sister to have died quickly!”

  Malcolm’s chin dropped, but he could still see her hand shaking. “…What matters is that she did live…” Malcolm stilled her hand. “The whole world’s dying, plague or no plague…how we go out is a matter of pride. If you and her knew what Life is, then shouldn’t you be glad?”

  She seemed dazed by this. “If having a full childhood together is what you mean, then yes…”

  “Hold onto that.” Malcolm affirmed. “It may be better not knowing what really happened to her…and for that, I’m sorry.”

  She nodded. “What about Connor?”

  Malcolm almost winced, “What about him?”

  “You haven’t seen him. Do you know if he’s…”

  “No…” Malcolm answered. “He and Meryl. I don’t know where they were or what they were doing when the Outbreak started.” Malcolm sighed deeply. “McElroy was supposed to bring them here; instead, he’s held up on that island and won’t speak to me.”

  Clairet looked perplexed. “I thought Meryl told you she didn’t want Connor to see you. Before you left.”

  Malcolm cocked a brow. “She’s the mother of my child. I can’t rip him away from her…”

  How does she know that?

  Clairet finished her cigarette, dropped the butt, and she placed a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “I’m sorry the colonel lied…”

  Malcolm dropped his eyes. “I’m…sorry about your sister…”

  She cupped his chin. “I’m sorry again that I was such a cunt back at the tunnel.”

  “Daniels was your friend as well…you were right to be upset.”

  “…You were right…” Clairet kissed Malcolm on the lips. She held it for a moment while Malcolm’s eyes popped in shock. She broke contact with him and smiled while he was confused. “What’s wrong?”

  Malcolm leaned back. “I-I…”

  “What?”

  “Sarah…you’re scared right now. That’s what this is.” Malcolm stood up. “We’ve been serving together since Day One; it’s a shared trauma, that’s it.”

  Clairet seemed puzzled. “I never needed you for confort, Mal…”

  Malcolm’s face flushed. “…What did you call me?”

  She winced. “You want me to address you by rank?!”

  “Listen…”

  Clairet stood up, revolted. “I’ll listen once you start acting like the same person.” She walked away and Malcolm stood flabbergasted. He took out another cigarette and fumbled to light it.

  Malcolm chased the nicotine buzz with a deep inhale, and then a familiar guitar rhythm began to sound faintly in the distance. He turned his head, and the rhythm grew in volume; it was coming from a building across the deserted street. Malcolm looked behind him, there was not a single face who was acknowledging the music. Looking both ways, Malcolm carefully followed the vibrations until he had crossed the street.

  Flicking half the cigarette to the ground as he entered the alley, Malcolm heard the rhythm coming from an ajar door as the sky’s lighting began to shift dimly. He could see the backs of a squad walking to the alley’s opposite end as the propellers of a helicopter whirled into the distance. Malcolm drew his pistol and cranked it beside him while peering inside. He entered the ground floor and followed the music until he was at a stairwell. Malcolm stared up for a moment, waiting in case more soldiers came out, after which he began to rush up the stairwell.

  As Malcolm passed the building’s floors, the music became that of Blink-182:

  “…What’s My Age Again?

  …What’s My Age Again?”

  Malcolm followed the looped rhythm until he was at the rooftop. He bashed the door open and stepped circled every direction while stepping out.

  Liam’s back faced Malcolm and was sitting in a foldable vacation chair, staring in the direction of Lake Washington beneath a rising sun. Malcolm was dazed by the sudden passage of time.

  Liam’s feet were propped on a bucket, but they came down when he looked at Malcolm. He stood with a bourbon bottle, and his other hand seemingly conducted the loud music. “Isn't it dandy when shit just occurs in Nature? In our Nature? From the Undead, to real ghost stories!”

  Malcolm said nothing as he strode over to Liam, who chugged a mouthful of bourbon before Malcolm whipped him with the pistol. One hand had grabbed Liam’s scalp while landing blow after blow. By the time Liam’s face blooded, Malcolm was out of breath and his grip on the gun was trembling. He held it close to Liam’s mouth and Malcolm’s eyes were swollen to black holes, “Turn that off!”

  Liam respectfully spit blood down his chin, rather than Malcolm’s face. “Look around…you see a playlist I can alter? Pulling that trigger will make you feel better for, maybe a week.”

  Malcolm grinded his teeth. “You’re a voice in my head!”

  “Oh, that’s a doozy, isn't it? I’m in your head; the music’s in your head. Could the Living Dead be a product of your head as well?”

  By now, Malcolm thought he was seeing double; he slid the gun into Liam’s mouth. “…I’m not insane…you’re not real!”

  Liam couldn’t speak, but the look in his eyes said he had no words left; they closed gently. Malcolm, who had never seen this in a dying person, remembered every dying face that stared back at him.

  “…This isn’t murder…” Malcolm pulled the trigger. A burst of blood and brain drained out the back of Liam’s skull.

  Malcolm had blinked once; Liam and the blood were gone. Yet a bullet hole sat on the floor of the roof where Malcolm had fired. He felt a rush of lightheadedness that nearly sent him to the ground, and he stumbled to get his footing. He turned to see Liam standing by the closed door.

  “Did that make you feel better?”

  Malcolm tried to raise the gun, but his arm was wobbling. “It used to…”

  “I know…” Liam smiled. “I was there. I saw the look on your face every time. Having a wife couldn’t tame you, and you just had to be a schmuck when you finally bag the hot redhead.”

  Malcolm noticed the blood dripping from his own nose. “…Why did she kiss me? How does Clairet know that stuff about Meryl?”

  Liam rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m with a genius...She fucked you, dumbass!”

  Malcolm opened his mouth to respond, but a sharp pain stopped him.

  “...Now ask yourself. When would she have been doing that? When would you have told her about your failed marriage? When she was spending all that time with me.”

  Malcolm had to spit blood from his mouth. He drew his smartphone to check his reflection, only to see that his face was turning purple and its swelling was a certainty. As the blood leaked down his chin and nose, Malcolm’s brown eyes shriveled before dropping the phone.

  “It’s because...we’re the same person…”