Kody Boye - Sunrise

“We still have to watch our backs,” Steve sighed. “We’re under military order now. It’s their way or the highway as far as they’re concerned.”

“Which is bullshit, as far as I’m concerned.”

Dakota stepped forward, toward the sole, bar-covered window in the room. “What do you think this place used to be?”

“Huh?” Steve asked.

“This building. There’s bars across the windows.”

“Probably a nuthouse, from the looks of it,” Ian said.

“A nuthouse?”

“Yeah. You ain’t ever seen an asylum?”

“No, not really.”

“I think this place used to be called David’s Ward or something. I’m not sure. All I know is that it isn’t named what it used to be.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” Dakota sighed, looking outside. “At least we’re safe.”

From his current perspective, he could see all the way across the opposite parking lot, toward what used to be a park.

In a distance, a lone zombie shambled on.

She alone showed him what the world had become.

A knock came at the door just as the sun was beginning to set.

Rising from his place on the cot, Dakota crossed the room and pressed his hand to the doorknob. A quick look out of the peephole showed Corporal Marks in full attire, cheeks wind-burnt and eyes looking tired as ever.

I wonder what they were doing? He frowned, looking back at his companions. Both were asleep. “Guys,” he said. “Wake up.”

Steve rose first. Curled on his side, he opened his eyes, then shook his head, rolling onto his back and running a hand through his hair. “What’s up?”

“Jamie’s here.”

“Who?”

“The corporal. Remember?”

“Him.” Steve sat up. “Ian, wake up.”

“I’m awake,” Ian groaned.

Dakota opened the door, offering the soldier the best smile he could. “Hello, sir.”

“Good evening,” Jamie said. “Can I come in?”

“We were just sleeping,” Steve said. “Go ahead.”

“Sorry I’m late. Private Roberts and I were working on getting the infected away from the area.”

“How’d you manage that?” Dakota asked.

“Sound displacement. A late comrade found that if you’re able to make noise in an area other than the one you’re currently in, the infected will run off.”

“So you were tricking them,” Steve chuckled.

The corporal smiled. “We spent the last few hours shooting dummies at the cars down the road with silencers.”

“Pretty clever, Corporal.”

“Yes, very.” Jamie looked about the room, lips pursing in thought when he saw Ian’s still form on his cot. “Sir? Are you feeling well?”

“I’m good,” Ian said, throwing his legs over the cot. “Didn’t mean to not answer you.”

“No need to apologize. Just making sure.”

“We had a rough two days,” Dakota sighed.

“I can imagine. How long did it take to fortify the bus?”

“A day, day-and-a-half,” Steve said. “What’s it to you?”

“No reason.” He paused. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll get on to business. The sergeant’s instructed me to assign jobs to the civilians based on any useful skills they might have. Can any of you do anything other than cook or fix cars?”

“I’m guessing you’re filled in those departments.”

“Yes.”

“Nothing I can think of,” Steve said.

“I used to be a plumber,” Ian said. “I don’t know if that’s any help.”

“It should be,” Jamie smiled. He turned his eyes on Dakota. “What about you, sir?”

“Me?” Dakota said.

“Yes, you.”

Dakota smiled at his stupidity. “I don’t know. I was still in school when this happened.”

“He can grow shit,” Steve said.

“You mean like vegetables?”

“He’d been growing tomatoes before we ran out of water.”

“I didn’t have the right stuff,” Dakota replied. “I was growing plants out of makeshift terrariums.”

“The sergeant would like to hear that,” Jamie said, reaching up to brush the hairs on his chin. “Mr. Shaw, sir. Private Roberts has asked me to tell you that he would like to take a look at your arm after dinner tonight.”

“He gonna fix me up?” Ian asked.

“Yup. He sure will.”

“My arm’s been killing me.”

“I can imagine. Getting shot isn’t much fun.”

“No,” Ian sighed. “It isn’t.”

A guilty twang of hurt strummed across Dakota’s heart. It hurt to think that they had been on opposite sides little more than two days ago.

Oh well. Not much we can do about it now.

“I guess that’ll be all,” Jamie said, stepping back toward the threshold. “Mr. Earnest, if you think of anything that might be useful, please, don’t hesitate to talk to me or the sergeant.”

“I’d prefer to talk to you,” Steve chuckled. “Your sergeant seems like a bit of a hardass.”

“He is, but it’s good for us, especially in times like these. Thank you for your time. Dinner will be at six, just out the door and to your left.” Jamie gave one last nod and closed the door behind him.

“Why did you mention that?” Dakota whispered.

“What?” Steve asked. “That you’ve got a green thumb? It’s fucking good, Dakota. We wanna get on their good side.”

“We don’t have to worry about him. He’s not going to do anything.”

“I wasn’t saying that.”

Dakota could barely hide the blush that crossed his cheeks. Steve raised an eyebrow, but quickly brushed it aside by standing and turning the doorknob. “Either of you want to take a look around?” he asked.

“Not me,” Ian said.

“Koda?”

“Gladly,” Dakota said.

He was more than willing to get out of the room.

Six o’clock arrived with a stream of rain and a flash of lightning. With the lights on and the curtains drawn, the place looked wholesome, even inviting in a strange, tragic sense. The smell of fresh food drifted down the hallway and the sound of voices echoed across the walls, welcoming Dakota, Steve and Ian as they made their way toward the lobby.

“I didn’t expect this,” Dakota said, pushing his hands into his pockets.

“Neither did I,” Steve replied. Ian grunted and raised his hands to cough. “You ok, big guy?”

“The rain’s a killer on my sinuses.”

“The pressure?”

“I have no fuckin’ idea.”

“Not much you can do about it.”

“Not really.”

Dakota looked up. Seated around the table were the two deputies, the sergeant, and two other men that looked to be civilians, one a near white-blonde and the other a brown-haired man with a thin beard and glasses. Neither Jamie nor Private Roberts were anywhere to be seen.

I hope they weren’t reprimanded for what they did.

Who was he kidding? Of course they’d be reprimanded—if not already, then soon, most possibly at dinner. Like Steve had said earlier, the sergeant struck Dakota not only as a mean person, but a vindictively manipulative one at that. This afternoon, when he tried to make them feel guilty for seeking shelter, then earlier, when he was yelling at someone at the top of his lungs—his voice spoke of needles, whips and lashes, of pain and cruelty reserved only for those he felt he could conquer with his presence alone.

I can barely stand to look at him.

“Dakota,” Steve whispered.

“What?”

“Stand ready.”

Dakota shook his head, nodding at the sergeant when they approached the table. “Gentlemen,” the sergeant said. “Please, seat yourselves. Dinner is being made as we speak.”

“You must be the new ones,” the white-blonde man said, stirring his companion’s eyes away from the deputies across from them. “My name’s Michael. This here is my friend Dustin.”