Joseph Talluto - White Flag of the Dead

My thoughts were interrupted when someone knocked and Sarah stuck her head in my door.

“You decent?” she asked.

“No, why?” I grumbled, not really sure I wanted to hear what problems we had today.

“You might want to get down to the training area.” Sarah said cryptically.

“Why?” I wasn’t in the mood for trouble.

“Just go. You’ll see. I’ll be in the library if you need help.” She said as she closed the door.

I looked at Jake, who was just finishing his cereal, and said, “We should just go live in the woods.” Jake didn’t answer, he just looked at me with his ‘chocolate browns’ and grinned. That always lifted my spirits. I picked him up and brought him upstairs to the ‘day care’. That was what we called it. It was a classroom that was used for teaching the kids we had, and also for watching the kids that were not old enough for school. We had been extremely lucky that we had managed to have two elementary teachers and one high school teacher among the survivors. They taught the kids, and two moms watched the little ones when their parents were on duty or chores or whatever. I brought Jake up there as much as I could, since he loved to play with the little kids. I figured it was good for him, and the workers liked him there since he was so good-natured.

After I had left Jake, I went back to my room and decided to go for a walk. I knew I needed to see what was happening in the training room, but I also wanted to take a look around the neighborhood. I was curious as to the habitability of some of the homes, and I was also curious as to who might have some stores of firewood in their yards. I also wondered if there was still anyone out there, or if they had all been infected.

I suited up for combat, putting on my black cargo pants and boots, my long sleeve shirt and black field jacket. Thanks to our recent raid, I had a lot of new clothes. I especially appreciated the new underwear. I belted on my knife and SIG, and made sure I had a few zip ties in my pocket, as well as a couple of karabiners. I put on my backpack, which held three days worth of food and water, as well as a radio, first aid kit, two foot crowbar, and emergency blanket.

I put on my gloves and balaclava, and put my goggles on my forehead. I slipped two extra magazines for my carbine in my side pocket, two extra magazines for my SIG in the breast pocket of my jacket, and slug my M1 over my shoulder, attaching it to its clip on my backpack.

As I passed my window, I looked at myself and wondered for the hundredth time how the hell a school administrator managed to get himself into this mess. Although I had to admit the effect of the outfit was a bit thrown off by the bright red backpack on my back. Oh well, it worked, and in this world, that was more important than looks.

I headed down the hall to the training room and I could already hear a spirited exchange.

“Jesus Christ! Will you shut the fuck up! Why can’t you just do what you’re told without opening your stupid mouth?”

That would be Nate. I guess training was in session and somebody didn’t want to be there.

“I swear to God, if you open your dumb fucking mouth one more fucking time I am going to shove this fucking stick so far up your fucking ass you will be the world’s ugliest fucking popsicle!”

That was a good one. I hadn’t heard that before. As I reached the door I could hear the object of Nate’s anger, and shock of shocks, it was Frank Stearns. His voice was like nails on a chalkboard. Some people could stand it, others couldn’t get near it. I tolerated it because I had to, not because I wanted to.

“You don’t have to shout at me and I am really offended by your language. How dare you single me out in front of everyone else.” Frank nasally voice sounded really indignant, and I realized Nate was going to murder him if I didn’t intervene. You did not question Nate and his methods. He wanted you to survive. If you showed aptitude, he trained you privately to hone your skills and make you better. If you just didn’t get it, you were shown rudimentary skills and assigned to group tasks. You never went on raids or recons. Nate and I were near equals in skill with firearms, but he could take me eight out of ten times with a knife. We practiced unarmed combat three days a week and worked out five days a week. Sounds like a lot, but in all honesty, there wasn’t much else to do besides read. I trained as much as I did so I could teach Jake when he was old enough.

I stepped into the room just as Nate, with his face red, stepped forward towards Frank. Frank was standing at his full height, all five foot four inches of him, and his face was screwed up in righteous anger. Frank was dressed as I was, although he had no weapons on him. Nate insisted people train with their gear on, since they needed to be able to know their limitations in terms of movement and speed. “What’s up, gents?” I said, trying to defuse the situation before someone got hurt. Our doctor was busy with a small flu outbreak among the older people. She didn’t need to deal with fist fights.

Everyone in the room stopped and looked at me. Some shifted nervously and grasped their training weapons tighter

Nate Coles just spared a glance in my direction but fixed his gaze back on Frank. “This useless piece of useless shit feels like I am picking on him and making him work too hard. Everything is ‘too serious’ or ‘too hard’. I have been working with this fuckhead for the last month and he has complained every fucking second of it!”

I looked at the rest of the room. I needed to let Nate handle it, because I didn’t want to undermine his authority in his training room. But I needed to get Frank out of there before Nate seriously lost it and lost credibility with the people he needed to teach. Jason Coleman, one of the people we rescued from the Big Circle, was there, as well as his wife. Dean Cotton, a former plumber was there, and Martin Oso, a financial manager who hated zombies with a passion nearly as great as Charlie’s. They were all sitting on the floor against the wall, watching the exchange between Nate and Frank. Carl Witry was there, a former drama coach for the local high school, and he agreed to act like a zombie for the training classes. He was an average-size guy, but he could project his voice like nobody else. We used him for entertaining the kids and reading books to them. That was how he earned his keep. Nate believed in realism, and Carl was in ragged clothes and a fair actor. If you screwed up, Carl would actually bite you. He bit my hand once in training. After I thumped him for it, I thanked him for the lesson, and never got bit again.

Frank yelled back. “I don’t see the point! Why do all of us have to train? Not all of us should go out on raids! Some of us are too valuable to risk!”

Nate’s eyes turned deadly and things didn’t look good for Frank.

I stepped in. I had my goggles and balaclava on, so it must have seemed somewhat intimidating, which was the point. “Why are you so valuable, Mr. Stearns?” I asked quietly as I stepped closer to Frank, casually placing my hand on my SIG.

Frank looked up at me. “I am the office manager for the executive staff of David McCormick, legislator for the 33 ^ rd district. Without me, his whole office will collapse, and the state legislature will follow.”

I have no idea how I managed to keep from laughing. I stared at him for a full minute, and the rest of the room stared at him as well. Carl Witry had his mouth open, but I don’t think he was playing zombie at this point. I finally made a decision.

“You’re finished here. You don’t have to take training any more. It’s wasted on you.” I said.

Frank smiled smugly at Nate, not fully realizing what I was saying.