Stephen Knight - Slaughterhouse

Muldoon shook his head. Turner would love it if he were to go gonzo and hang out in the woods, dealing with the Klowns all by himself. Too bad he’d have to deal with another dose of bitter disappointment. “Wizard Seven, Crusher Three-One. Roger that, we’re falling back now.”

“Beauty,” was Turner’s cryptic response, but Muldoon smiled at the brimming disenchantment the message contained.

The battalion bugged out, fighting a rear-guard action the entire way. They paused at the cavalry motor pool, taking a precious ten minutes to raid the facility for ammunition, food, vehicles, fuel, even spare uniforms. The Klowns didn’t make it easy, but Thunder kept up the pace, burning through their mortar ammo at a blistering pace until, in the end, they were hitting the infected horde with smokers. It was enough.

The battalion had killed thousands of Klowns, severely attriting the Infected’s forces until they were down to several packs of hard-core harassers that were easily bottled up by the newly-rearmed Alpha Company as it swapped places with Charlie. They didn’t have to hold the line for long. First Battalion wasn’t staying, and while Echo jumped forward to escort the civilian convoy element further up the road and cover Thunder’s retreat, Alpha mopped up.

By the time the convoy was back on the road and barreling northbound on Fort Drum Road toward the small town of Evans Mills, there wasn’t much left in the way of pursuers. Walker had the foresight to send a Raven buzzing over Evans Mills. They had determined the town was mostly vacant, as it had apparently burned to the ground over a week ago. The news was welcomed by Lee, who didn’t want to run from one fight into another. The plan was to skirt as much of the town as possible then drive out into the farmlands around Jenkins Road.

There, they would halt the column for a fast refit and repair before continuing.

The lightfighters of First Battalion, Fifty-Fifth Infantry, had earned a few minutes of rest.

Lee walked with Walker toward the line of ambulances. There were more wounded than the medical vehicles could hold, so others had been pressed into MEDEVAC service, from monstrous HEMT cargo trucks to civilian SUVs. Walker seemed nervous, fidgety, trying to look everywhere at once despite the presence of Turner and three of his top NCOs. Lee understood why the major was so ill at ease. After all, they were going to check up on General Salvador, and there was little chance the general was going to take it easy on Walker for abdicating command of a lightfighter battalion.

But Lee wasn’t really even thinking of Salvador. As the sun rose above the horizon, he was happy to be starting a new day without having to wear a MOPP face mask. He could smell the warm air, feel the light breeze on his face, and hear the chirping of birds and the rustle of equipment as the battalion set about conducting a quick reset. Of course, he could also smell his own rancid body odor, but every silver lining came with a little bit of cloud.

Salvador was housed inside one of the ambulances. The medical company commander had been killed days ago, and his executive officer, Captain Wurst, was in charge. Wurst had been treating Salvador directly, and when Lee and Walker approached, he shook his head.

“He’s taken damage to a heart valve. There’s not a lot we can do out here,” Wurst told them.

Lee nodded with a sigh. “How long does he have?”

“He should have died two hours ago. I don’t know how he’s holding on,” Wurst said. “Listen, we’re infusing him with plasma, but there’s not a lot left to go around, and we do have other patients who can use it…”

Lee exchanged a glance with Walker, than asked, “So you want permission to deny treatment to Salvador?”

Wurst looked up at Lee, suddenly hard faced. “Sorry, aren’t you the guy I’m supposed to ask?”

“Yes,” Lee said. “Answer the question.”

“Do I really need to, Lee?” Wurst stepped back and waved a hand at the row of stretchers holding other patients. “I’ve got thirty-four wounded, three of those critical, one whose injuries are pretty much untreatable in a field situation. We need to find a surgical hospital to save that guy, and the general. We can’t go back to Drum, and we can’t go into Watertown. Or Brownville, or Dexter, or any other town where there’s a trauma center. Can we?”

“Probably not,” Lee agreed.

“Then it seems to me we need to start using our supplies on those we can save, and stop wasting them on guys who are about to answer a greater calling. But you have to make that call, Lee.” Wurst pointedly avoided addressing Lee as sir .

Lee didn’t punt. “Save as many as you can,” he told Wurst. “If you’ve triaged patients and know who can respond to primary care and who can’t, then do what’s necessary. Keep the terminal patients as comfortable as possible, but heal the ones you can save. Including Salvador. Is that enough guidance for you?”

Wurst nodded. “That’ll do it.” He looked at Walker. “You agree?”

Walker looked surprised. He ran a hand over his bristly chin and nodded slightly. “Yeah, Captain. I agree.”

“Can we see Salvador?” Lee asked.

Wurst gestured toward the ambulance behind him. “Sure, he’s not going anywhere. And it’s not like you’re going to make matters any worse. Anything else? I’ve got patients to tend to.”

“Have at it,” Lee said. “Thanks for all your efforts. Seriously.”

Wurst took in a deep breath, and nodded. “Yeah, all right. And thanks for yours. Seriously.” The narrow-shouldered physician hurried off, heading toward the row of litters.

“Let’s get it over with,” Lee said, advancing toward the ambulance. Its diesel engine still ran, clattering away in the morning light.

He pulled open the back door, and climbed inside.

General Salvador on a stretcher on the right side of the ambulance. An enlisted male nurse was tending to him. Salvador wore an oxygen mask connected to a tall, green metal tank in one corner. IV bags hung from the ambulance’s metal overhead. The general’s uniform had been cut away, and his lower body was covered with a blood-dappled sheet. Blood-soaked bandages covered the wound in his upper chest. There was also a larger wound in his stomach, where the tumbling rifle round had managed to exit after tearing its way through his abdomen. His flesh was pale, and his chest rose slowly as he took shallow, laborious breaths. Through half-open eyes, he stared at the ambulance’s overhead.

Lee waved the nurse out. “We need to talk to the general. We’ll call you if we need you.”

The nurse looked down at Salvador. “He’s not really too talkative at the moment, sir.”

“Go,” Salvador said softly behind the oxygen mask. “Leave me… with the liars… and cowards.”

The nurse looked from Salvador to Lee then back again, then he sighed and slipped out of the ambulance. Walker and Turner climbed inside, the latter pulling the door shut behind him. In the cab, a uniformed soldier peered around the bulkhead separating the two compartments. When he saw who had come aboard, he pushed open the driver’s door and got out, leaving the ambulance running.

“Walker,” Salvador whispered.

“Yes, sir. I’m here,” Walker responded.

“You’re… a coward. Get… get out… of my… sight.”

Walker started to protest, but Lee frowned and nodded toward the door. Walker glanced at the dying man, then opened the door and climbed back out. He closed it gently behind him.

“From S-3…to battalion…commander…in a…what? Month? What a… career,” Salvador said, taking harsh breaths between his words. “Hey… Turner…”