John Ringo - Islands of Rage and Hope

“Crap,” Smith said, turning around.

“Sorry, Smitty,” Faith said. “That was sort of pushing the limit, wasn’t it?”

“A bit, ma’am,” Sergeant Smith said.

“It’s like the only guys I meet are my subordinates,” Faith said, frowning. “Not to dump on you, but it’s sort of getting weird. I’m not, you know, gay. But there aren’t any guys I meet who I like and I’m not the boss. Sorry to, you know…bitch I guess.”

“Not a problem, ma’am,” Smith said, frowning. “I guess it’s kind of tough on you that way.”

“I think Da did this on purpose,” Faith said, darkly. “He knew I was going to go for the Marines so he put them all off-limits!”

“That, yeah, sort of sounds like a dad, ma’am,” Smitty said, grinning.

“Not that I’m like super attracted to you or anything, Smitty,” Faith said. “More like a brother kind of thing.”

“That’s cool, ma’am,” Smitty said. “I can handle brother. Better than most of the alternatives.”

“Hey, it’s getting crowded.” Faith’s entry to the water had broken the ice, sort of. Plenty of people were still on the beach but there were more people getting in the water. “Let’s go check out the resort.”

“Ma’am, with due respect, are you nuts?” Smitty said. “It’s outside the perimeter.”

“This island is as clear as a liner after we’re done,” Faith said. “We’ve got guns.”

“And no reloads,” Smitty pointed out.

“Spare mags,” Faith said, pointing to her pistols. Each holster had two integrated magazine pouches.

“One mag,” Sergeant Smith said, tapping his slung weapon.

“There may be booze,” Faith responded.

“With your permission, ma’am,” Sergeant Smith said, “I’m going to go ensure that that largish resort is clear, ma’am. Prevent infiltration and all that.”

“Well, you shouldn’t go by yourself, Sergeant,” Faith said, nodding. “I’ll be your backup. Or maybe vice versa.”

“Hey, Rusty,” Faith said. “Sup?”

“Hot as hell in all this gear, Faith,” Seaman Apprentice Robert “Rusty” Fulmer Bennett III said, shaking his head. “Can’t wait to get off.”

“Have to talk to somebody older than me, Rusty,” Faith said, grinning.

“Uh…” the seaman apprentice said, his mouth hanging open.

“Close your mouth, you’re attracting flies,” Faith said. “We’re gonna go check out these buildings outside the perimeter. Don’t shoot us.”

“Uh, okay, Faith,” Rusty said. “Is that safe?”

“No,” Faith said. “But I figure somebody else is going to wander over there, and better me and Smitty than some civilian.”

“Okay, ma’am,” Rusty said.

“Hey, Rusty,” Smitty said. “Check the time and pass this on to the Marines when they take over. If we’re not back in an hour, send the reaction team.”

“Okay, Sergeant,” Rusty said.

“Jesus, Navy,” Smitty muttered as soon as they were out of earshot. “And it’s worse these days.”

“The lack of ‘aye, aye’ you mean?” Faith said. “They’re civilians that just raised their right hand. But they did raise their right hand, if you know what I mean.”

“Hope he passes on the message,” Smitty said. He had his M4 in a tactical carry position and was scanning the surroundings. “Should we be making noise, ma’am?”

“This one I’m not so sure,” Faith admitted. She still hadn’t drawn her side arm. “I wonder what’s in here?” she said as they came to a container that had floated ashore.

“Please God, it’s not illegal immigrants,” Smitty said as Faith used her trench knife to pop the seal on the container.

The interior was filled with large plastic cases.

“Running shoes,” Faith said, looking at the manifest. “Explains why it floated. This is useful. Maybe Rusty can find a pair in his size. Keep going?”

“Sounds good to me, ma’am,” Smitty said. He’d turned to cover the lieutenant while she explored. “There’s a small hotel up the beach.”

“Trying to get me into a bedroom, Sergeant?” Faith asked.

“Now why would a brother do that, ma’am?” the sergeant asked.

The one-story hotel had a small pool half filled with green-tinged, debris-filled water. The rooms were mostly open and had been ransacked. Ditto the tiny bar and kitchen.

“What is this?” Faith asked, looking behind the bar. There was a cluster of…junk. Some blankets, children’s toys, remains of what looked to be fish and maybe rats. Human bones. “Phew. Stinks.”

“Looks like some sort of nest, ma’am,” Smitty said.

“A survivor?” Faith asked. “No.”

“Probably a zombie, ma’am,” Sergeant Smith said. “Too nasty even for a kid.”

“That’s new,” Faith said.

“We didn’t really clear many houses in the Canaries, ma’am,” Smitty said, shrugging. “Maybe that’s how they live when they’ve got the materials.”

“Point,” Faith said, walking out of the open bar. “I want to go check out the big resort before our hour’s up. How come you said an hour, anyway?”

“Because that’s about as much time as we should take, ma’am,” Sergeant Smith said. “And if you’re going off exploring, you make sure people know where you’re going, ma’am.”

“Point, again, Sergeant,” Faith said.

“God,” Faith said, looking down the long wading pool at the Cuisinart Caribbean Resort. “Why didn’t I get to go places like this before the zombie apocalypse?”

The resort centered around a three-story building with a vaguely rococo style. A series of villas in the same style lined the beach. A large zero-edge pool led from the main building to the wading pool which continued nearly to the beach. On the west side of the pool were additional support buildings. The pool was flanked by a line of palm trees waving in the trade winds. At the beach, at the base of the wading pool, was a circular “beach bar” with a folding canvas cover. Prior to the apocalypse it had been a rather idyllic spot with a wonderful view of St. Martin in the distance.

The pool was again half filled with green-tinged water. The wading pool held barely a skim of water so foul she was pretty sure even the zombies wouldn’t drink it. The lawns were covered in blown debris, mostly limbs and leaves, and a tropical storm had thrown the chairs and patio tables around in a helter-skelter mess. The canvas cover, despite having been folded down, was torn by the winds.

There was a small skull, some fine blonde hair still attached to it by a scrap of skin.

The one thing going for it was that there didn’t appear to be any infected.

“I dunno,” Smitty said. “A little paint, a little police call…”

“Let’s see about the villas, first,” Faith said. “I’d like some idea if we’ve got infected behind us.”

The villas, however, were inaccessible. All of the windows and doors were covered with solid steel shutters that were locked on the inside. Even after circling one of them, they couldn’t find an entrance that wouldn’t require entry tools.

“Somebody was careful to prep this place,” Faith said, standing by the westernmost villa’s private pool with her hands resting on her hips.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sergeant Smith said.

“Okay, main building it is,” Faith said.

The main building was also covered in steel shutters but at some point someone had already broken in. The shutter on the main ocean-side doors had been forced open.

“Oh, not without a flashlight,” Faith said, poking her head up to see through the opening. “No light. Well, not much.”

“How’s it look?” Sergeant Smith said.

“Zombies have been in there,” Faith said, sniffing. “But…not a bunch or not real recently. Sort of trashed out but not bad…Sergeant, I think…we might have found a land base.”