“Loud,” I said. “Firefights are loud.”

“And who likes loud noises?”

I dropped my magazine, stowed it, and popped in a full one. “Infected.”

“Here’s what we’ll-”

A crash and a scream echoed from downstairs, making us both jump. Tyrel keyed his radio. “Rojas, you all right?”

No response.

“Rojas, can you hear me?”

Silence.

“Rojas?”

FIFTY-SIX

“We have to go down there,” I said.

Tyrel pointed his rifle down the stairwell. “On me.”

As I followed him down, I did my best not to look at the shredded limbs and gutted torsos littering the stairs, or slip in the disturbing amount of blood. The air in the narrow passage smelled of copper, raw meat, and shit. I had to bite down hard to keep from gagging. Finally, we emerged at the second floor exit.

In the hallway ahead of us, Rojas sat with his back to the wall holding his mid-section. He turned his head when we opened the door.

“Stay there!” he shouted.

“What happened?” Tyrel replied, although I am certain he already knew the answer as well as I did.

“Goddamn sniper.”

“Can you crawl over to us?”

“Probably.” He sighed and winced. “But I don’t see much use in it.”

Tyrel blinked. “Are you insane? The infected are coming!”

Rojas, his face twisted in pain, moved his hands. A torrent of blood spilled from his midsection. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t let them get me.” He patted his pistol.

“Oh no …” I muttered, staring at the gunshot wound. My stomach felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. If my recall of Gray’s Anatomy was correct, the bullet had hit one of the large arteries running near the centerline of Rojas’ body.

“Rojas, I want you to listen to me,” Tyrel said. “I can treat that wound. There’s still a chance you can survive. But that’s not going to happen if you stay there.”

The man I had come to know and respect over the last seven months turned his head and smiled. “You a doctor now, Jennings?”

“No, I’m a SEAL. I have medical training, you ass. Now get the fuck over here.”

Rojas chuckled. “SEAL, schmeal. Y’all ain’t shit. Buncha spoiled, overrated glamour boys. You wanna be a real man, be a Ranger.”

“We can argue about it upstairs. Come on, man, you can’t stay here. If you don’t start moving, I’m going to crawl over there and drag your sorry ass.”

“Nah, man. Don’t bother. It’s over.”

“Don’t talk like that. Nothing’s over.”

Rojas leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. “You wanna know something? I’m not scared. I always thought I would be, but here at the end of it, I think I’m just relieved.”

Tyrel’s fists balled up. “Rojas, stop it. I don’t want to hear any of this all-hope-is-lost bullshit. I’m coming over there to get you.”

“I was married. I ever tell you that?” He rolled his head to look at us, eyes glassy, tears running down dark cheeks. “Had me a pretty wife and two little girls. Still got a picture of us all together.” He patted his chest pocket. “Take it with me everywhere.”

The tension went out of Tyrel. He sat down and leaned against the doorsill. “I didn’t know that, Miguel,” he said, using Rojas’ first name. “You never told me.”

“Yep. Met her not long after I graduated AIT. Got married down in Rosarito, near where I grew up. You ever been down there, by any chance?”

“Lots of times.” Tyrel said.

“Oh yeah, that’s right. You were in Coronado. That’s where they send all you SEAL pussies.”

Tyrel smiled with red-rimmed eyes. “Fuck you.”

“Best thing ever happened to me, homes. I loved that woman, those girls. I was in Afghanistan when the Outbreak hit. Took three weeks to get us home. Shit was crazy, man. You think things were bad here in the States, you should have seen what it was like over there. Fucking pandemonium.”

Tyrel nodded. “I’ve been there. I can imagine.”

“When I got back, I deserted. Ain’t ashamed of it either. Soon as my feet hit American dirt, I stole a car and hauled ass to Baja. I knew that was where they would go, to my family’s place. Somebody got there first, though.”

At this admission, the trickle of tears became a flood. Miguel Rojas sobbed, one bloody hand covering his face. “The house was burned down. They took everything. My wife, my girls, my parents, they were all just these black burned things.”

I could not see any more at that point. I sat down beside Tyrel and leaned my forehead on his shoulder.

“I buried them there on the beach, slept the night next to their graves. Left Baja the next morning and didn’t look back. Wound up in Colorado Springs. Hid in plain sight, didn’t tell anybody I was in the Army. Fell in with the militia. Been living day to day ever since, trying not to think too much about the past.” He looked around and let out a bitter snarl. “And here it ends. Fuck it. I guess this place is as good as anywhere. I’m ready to be done, amigos. I’m ready to see Veronica and the girls again. Been too long. Way too long.”

He reached a hand down at his side and began fumbling at his pistol holster. “It’s strange, losing everything. You think your life is over, but it’s not. You just have to find something else to hold onto. Something else to live for. Me, I’ve been living for the militia. For money, for booze, for women, for whatever distracts me. But now I know I wasn’t really living. I was just waiting. Passing the time the best way I knew how. My wife would be ashamed of me.”

Seeing he didn’t have much left in the tank, I moved past Tyrel and crawled to Rojas’ side.

“Caleb!” Tyrel hissed.

I ignored him and put my back against the wall next to Rojas. “Shit, man,” he said. “Help me out here?”

The moans of the infected became loud enough I could hear them past the ringing in my ears. I could even hear the crunch of their footsteps in the snow outside. I reached down and drew Rojas’ pistol. He looked at me and said, “You mind?”

“No. I’ll do it.”

He nodded and patted me weakly on the knee. “Thanks, man. I’m glad it’s you. We had some good times these last few months, huh? We made a good team.”

“Miguel, it’s been an honor,” I said. Then I raised the gun, closed my eyes, and pulled the trigger.

FIFTY-SEVEN

I did not leave him for the infected.

The manufacturer of his MOLLE vest had installed a handle on the back so a soldier’s comrades could pull him to safety if he was too wounded to walk. I gripped it and began tugging him across the floor, head bowed, teeth clamped shut. When I had to cross a window, I dropped to my side and pulled with one elbow on the ground. Outside, the infected drew closer, their moans pouring into the hallway like a flood.

“Come on,” Tyrel hissed. “Move your ass.”

I redoubled my efforts, drawing deep breaths and surging forward. Rojas was not very tall, but he was solidly built and heavy with muscle. My breathing soon became labored from the strain. Finally, I crossed under the last window and stood.

I said, “Help me pick him up.”

Tyrel gripped Rojas under the arms and laid him over my shoulder. I bounced a few times to balance the weight while Ty hastily locked the stairwell door.

“Go on ahead,” I told him. “I”ll carry Rojas upstairs, you go lock the other stairwell.”

Tyrel nodded once and pounded up the stairs. A few seconds later, I heard his footsteps over my head as he sprinted across the third floor hallway.

The climb was not an easy one. The stairs were slick with blood and gore, the stench making breathing difficult. I focused on taking one step at a time, not thinking about the end goal, just the task immediately in front of me. Like that old joke:

How do you eat an elephant?

One bite at a time.

I made each surge of thigh muscle and stiffening of back a mission unto itself. Plant the boot, lean forward, flex the core, push. Now repeat. Again. Again. Again. Finally, I reached the third floor landing and emerged into the hallway. The bodies of the men who attacked us were still there, still dead. I had not noticed it before, but a thin film of blood covered the floor from wall to wall. The cold had coagulated it, turning the pool into a thick, gooey mess. There was no way I was going to cross that while carrying Rojas without slipping, so I set him down gently.