Legacy

“Okay, that should hold for now. Is the rest of the room secure?”

“Yes, ma’am. All accounted for.”

The Major smirked, admiring the barricade she and the Lieutenant had just constructed out of desks, filing cabinets, book cases, cubicle walls, and a copier. “I feel like I should jump up on top and sing about the ‘blood of angry men’.”

“Sorry, ma’am? I’m not sure I understand the reference.”

Les Misérables, Lieutenant. Never heard of it?”

“Oh…right.” He glanced over at her, concerned. “Are you hurt, ma’am? I thought for a second that one of the bastards got you.”

 She rubbed her left bicep. “No…no, I’m fine. Thanks for the assist.” A crackle of static came over their radios.

“Red Leader and Eagle Two, status report.”

The Major took a deep breath. “It’s not looking good. Eagle Two and I are holed up on the top floor of the Federal Reserve building. Infected are about five floors down, getting closer by the minute.”

“Stay where you are, a rescue chopper is on the way. Were you able to fulfill the objective, Red Leader?”

“Affirmative, we got the supplies from the drop. Unfortunately we were jumped on our way back and had to make a detour. Eagle Two is carrying the supplies now.”

“Good. We need those supplies, Red Leader. We’re running low on bandages, painkillers, and other medical supplies. More refugees show up every day.”

The Lieutenant cleared his throat. “Has there been any progress on finding a cure for this damn thing?”

“That would be a negative, Eagle Two. We’re still not totally sure what caused the outbreak. Some think it was cordyceps, some think it was a cancer cure gone wrong, the Rapture, voodoo, scopolamine. We just don’t know for sure yet.” An awkward pause, the Lieutenant shared a glance with his superior.

“...I’ll patch you through to the pilot. Just a moment.”

The Lieutenant turned his mic off. “Okay, Major, cut the bullshit. You're not okay.” Another crackle of static came over the radio.

“Red Leader, infrared cameras are showing that the horde you encountered got through the fire door four floors down...They’re moving fast.” The Lieutenant ground his teeth and turned his mic back on.

“What’s the ETA on that chopper?”

“Eight minutes out, Eagle Two. It could be longer though, the weather isn’t cooperating today.” Shuffling her gun around, the Major set the timer on her watch. It was a large, rugged, stainless steel, solar-powered altimeter watch with a compass around the edge. The face was about two inches in diameter, and the display wasn’t too busy, unlike a lot of similar watches she had looked at before. It had been a gift from her father for her latest promotion a while back. Eight minutes and counting. The Lieutenant could hear the mob now through the deserted office building. Toppling over furniture and making hideous croaking noises as they went. He glanced at his Superior Officer.

“Major?” The look on her face was a million miles away. “Major!” That seemed to get her attention.

“Is your weapon loaded, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Let’s get back to the defense structure we made. We need cover—stay low, stay quiet.” The Major turned the volume of her mic as low as it could go without being on mute.

A loud crash echoed through the empty office building.

“Red Leader and Eagle Two, this is the pilot of Rescue Chopper One. We’re six minutes away. What’s your status?”

“RC1, they can’t talk right now. Infrared cameras are showing that the horde is three floors below them. Double time it; they’re getting closer as we speak.” The Major switched her mic off, but left her transmitter on so she could still hear the chattering of HQ.

“Lieutenant, come closer. I don’t want to raise my voice anymore than I have to,” she whispered.

Cool light from the overcast autumn sky outside filtered through the picture windows, illuminating her muscular frame. In truth, she was built like a brick house; at least that was what the other guys said in the locker room. Confidence, control, and warmth seemed to radiate out of her pores. She was breathtaking, a classic Amazonian beauty, olive skin, dark hair, and dark almond shaped eyes. The Lieutenant in contrast was of average height and athletic build and about as white as you can get, more a basketball player than a linebacker. Pale blue eyes and a thick mop of dark red hair cropped close to his head. Compared to the Major, he was downright puny. Then again most everyone looks downright puny standing next to her.

The Lieutenant crawled over on his stomach. “What’s wrong, Major?” She didn’t say anything. Her dark eyes were glassy and far away, full lips pressed into a thin line. She swallowed, placed her assault rifle and pack on the ground, and took a deep breath before shrugging off her army jacket. She was wearing a cotton USMC t-shirt underneath. She showed the Lieutenant her left arm.      

She had a tattoo of the US Marine Corps seal on her left bicep. Just below it a red circular bite mark oozed blood and a viscous black substance.

“Shit,” he hissed. The Major put her jacket back on without a word and handed the Lieutenant her assault rifle, pack, knife, watch, and dog tags, which she put in one of the external zipper pockets on her pack for safe keeping. The Lieutenant quickly strapped her watch on his wrist.

“Give those to Felicia and my knife to Henry. Distribute the rest of my belongings and gear as you see fit.”

“How much time is left?”

The Lieutenant looked confused and checked the watch. “Um, four minutes and counting. Major, you can’t be seriously be thinking about staying here!”

She looked at him with what he called her ‘Drill Sergeant Face.’ Stern and blank, like a brick wall. “I am and I will. Dammit, Lieutenant, you know I’m a dead woman walking! I intend to take as many of those bastards down with me as I can.” She stared at the Lieutenant’s face; it was one of numb shock mingled with despair. “Don’t worry; I’ll save the last bullet for myself. I’ll also take my cyanide pill for good measure.”

A loud crash echoed close by.

“Red Leader-”

“I know. This is Red Leader, also known as The Major. I’m compromised. One of the Infected bit me less than an hour ago. I’ve transferred my supplies except for my side arm over to the Lieutenant. He’ll carry everything back to base.” The tone she used was one of resignation. But her voice didn’t waver, not even as a tear rolled down her cheek. There was a beat of silence on the radio. The horde’s groaning grew louder. The Major and the Lieutenant shared a look, clearly thinking the same thing. They’re right below us.

“It’s been an honor serving with you, ma’am.” The Lieutenant turned away, not even hearing the radio operator, crying openly now as tears rolled down his face in fat, silent drops. The beating of a chopper’s rotors came over the din of the horde.

“Red Leader and Eagle Two, this is RC1. We can see the Federal Reserve building. Two minutes to contact. What room are you in? Give us visual confirmation.” The Lieutenant turned around and shot the glass out of the window behind them. The groaning of the horde increased exponentially in volume as they shuffled and ran towards the noise.

“When that chopper gets here, run. Don’t look back. You hear me, Lieutenant?” He sniffed and wiped his eyes and nose with his sleeve.

“Yes, ma’am.” The Lieutenant’s reply was caught in his throat. The Major looked him over; just barely a man. 

“You’ve done well, Lieutenant. I’m proud of you. You came to me; let’s face it, a cocky little shit. You were the class clown of your entire platoon, charismatic.” The Lieutenant laughed, it sounded a little manic through his tears. The Major continued. “But I saw you had the potential for greatness. From day one, when you comforted a few of your platoon mates who were feeling homesick and how you settled disputes between them fairly and without bloodshed on most occasions. You let your officers under you have input in the leadership of your men. All this you’ve shown throughout your time here under my command. That’s why we—the rest of Command—have decided to promote you and name you as my successor.”

The Lieutenant was at a loss for words. He was shocked; the gears seemed to be turning in his head, re-playing what the Major had just told him. He must have heard her wrong. “Ma'am, I don’t know what to say…”

“I know you’re scared and you think you’re the least qualified person to lead our little Scooby Gang, and that you don’t want the position.” She paused. “That’s precisely why we decided to name you.” The Lieutenant worried his lip between his teeth. “Listen, kid, you’re a Major in all but name. We’ve been grooming you for command for the better part of the last year. A promotion ceremony would be a formality at this point. Besides, I’d been planning on retiring from active duty soon anyway.” Now the Lieutenant was the one with the far-off look in his eyes. “Hey, look at me.” He turned his face toward her. “We all have faith in you; I have faith in you. Say yes, Lieutenant. I know you’re going to go far. Farther than I ever did.”

Then several things happened at once. First the timer on the watch went off, beeping like its little life depended on it, with the Lieutenant scrambling to shut it off. Then the double doors at the opposite end of the room started protesting loudly under the weight of the bodies pressing against them. She pulled her student into a fierce, motherly embrace. “It’s been an honor and a joy getting to know you and see you grow up.” She didn’t let go until the Lieutenant backed away. The Major pulled a grenade out of her pocket. At that moment, the chopper appeared outside the broken window, a rope ladder dangling from its open doorway. The Major yanked the pin out of the grenade.

“GO, NOW!” The Lieutenant threw the shoulder strap of his gun over his shoulder, hoisted all the Major’s gear, and booked it to the window. Hesitating, he threw a glance over his shoulder, just as she hurled the grenade at their hastily constructed barricade. He jumped, arms flailing as he reached out for the rope ladder.

The seconds seemed to pass by in slow motion. It’s the adrenaline that’s doing that. The voice in the back of his head sounded suspiciously like the Major. He was hauled up into the chopper, too numb to move. The chopper was about ten yards away from the open window, safely out of range of the blast. Craning his neck, he twisted around to get one last glimpse of his mentor. The grenade sailed gracefully through the air, hitting their barricade. The resulting explosion was deafening and blinding, forcing him to turn away from the resulting fireball. All the glass windows on that floor shattered from the blast. After the smoke cleared a bit, he saw her.

Her back was to him, standing tall and strong. She handled her gun—a Glock—with careful, calm precision, letting the zombies come to her and making every shot count. The Lieutenant turned away. It was only a matter of time before his Superior Officer and mentor was overrun. He wanted his final image of her to reflect how she was in life: Strong, unyielding, and proud.

I promise to lead the others by your example. I won't let you down ma’am. They were miles away from the building by now. He turned back towards the Federal Reserve and gave his mentor a final salute. I’ll make you proud.

Intervention

Early that afternoon the weather had taken a turn for the worse. The wind churned the sea below the cliff, and the overcast sky threatened to break any moment into an applause of rain. Away from it all, Mary is sitting comfortably in her favorite armchair, swaddled in a blanket, and enjoying a mug of honey and lemon-sweetened Earl Grey. The cordless phone is nestled just as snugly in its charging cradle on the end table, illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp, and accompanied by an old framed black and white photo of a handsome young man in uniform, smiling awkwardly into the camera. 

The mood is broken by the ringing of the phone. Mary waits five rings before she answers. She always gives them five rings, so they have a chance to hang up if they want to. 

“Hello?”

“Hello—is anyone there? I just really need someone right now. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.” The voice is male, young—probably in his mid-20s—and scared. 

Another one. No matter what she did, there would always be more. Succumbing to the illness that had them convinced that they were alone in their struggles, that no one had been in their position before, that no one cared about them; that the world would be better off without them in it.

“Well, I’m here. You can talk to me.” She settled back in her chair, making herself comfortable for what might be a long conversation. “Make it quick though,” she says with a little chuckle, “I’m 90 years old, and I’m not exactly getting any younger here.”

“Wait, is this the suicide hotline?”

“‘Fraid not, honey. You’re off by one number. Don’t worry, you’re not the first person to make that mistake.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry for bothering you.”

She chuckles again. “Oh no, it’s no trouble at all.  It would surprise you how often it happens.” Her eyes drift to the two unlabeled 3-inch binders on her book shelf. One is white, the other is black. “But I’m here now, so you might as well talk to me. You wouldn’t want to die knowing that you interrupted an old lady’s reading for no reason would you?”

“Uh, no, of course not! I’m so sorry, you’re right, Miss—?”

“Please, just Mary. We don’t need to stand on ceremony when a young man’s life is at stake.”

“Right…”

“Young man, are you still there?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry. It’s just—I’ve had a lot on my mind lately. I’m a musician, but I haven’t been able to write or play anything in months. I’m behind on rent and my landlord is threatening to evict me if I don’t pay soon. And I can’t go to my parents about it. All I’ll get is a lecture about perseverance from Dad, about how I need to suck it up, be a man, and all that garbage. Mom will just passive-aggressively remind me of how I’m a disappointment compared to my older brother, with his high-paying job at a law firm and gorgeous family. I can’t do one thing right. Everyone would be better off if I wasn’t around anymore—

“You know; you remind me of my late husband in a lot of ways.” She’d heard enough; letting him beat himself up any further would be pointless.

“I-I do?”

“Yes. We spoke for the first time at a church function in ’46. It was a small town, so I’d seen him around before. All the girls in town were wild for him, a brave, handsome man who’d just come back from the war and was now getting his education,” she looked at the picture on the end table, a small, secret smile spreading across her face. “He was reserved, almost shy. I was shocked at how quiet and vulnerable he sounded when we first spoke. We hit it off and were married the next year. I didn’t know it at the time, but he was going through his own struggles.”

“What kind of struggles?

She hesitated; talking about this was always hard, no matter how many times she did it. “He was having trouble sleeping and re-adjusting to civilian life, and he was the first person in his family to go to college. There was a lot of drama going on in his family, all because of him, he thought. He was going to school, he didn’t want to run the family auto shop, and he didn’t marry a good Italian girl.”

She shook her head in disbelief. Even all these years later, it was still ridiculous. “Of course, I knew practically none of this: both of us were working and going to college, me for nursing, and him for law. Every dime we made went towards tuition, rent, or a down payment for a house. He thought that I was too good for a poor, broken grease monkey like him,” she smiled a little to herself, “I love him, but dear God, he could be so incredibly dense sometimes.”

“How did he turn things around, if you don’t mind me prying?”

Her smile deepened. “I’m glad you asked. I came home late one night and caught him sitting at our kitchen table, a bottle of whiskey in his fist and eyeing his service pistol. We had a long, hard talk. Once he started everything just came tumbling out. I chewed him out for not telling me what he was going through. I snapped and told him I wasn’t a goddamn psychic and I couldn’t help him get through his shit if he didn’t tell me about it. We’re a family, a team, and we support each other. The look on his face, I don’t think he’d ever heard a woman use that kind of language before, much less have it come at him from a little slip of a thing like me!” She laughed, and the young man on the other end joined in.

“But he got better, right?”

She nodded, “Oh, yes. It took him some time to open up, and even then it was still incredibly hard for him,” she glanced over at the binders on her bookcase again, “but we got through it together until his heart attack ten years ago. That’s what counts.”

The young man on the other end was quiet for a moment. “Wow, I don’t really have anyone in my life like that.”

“It wasn’t just the tongue lashing I gave him though; it was his attitude adjustment that did the trick.” She walked over to her bookcase, selecting both the binders and bringing them back to her chair. The white binder was full of brightly colored cards and stationary. The black one was full of newspaper clippings. She flipped through the white binder as she spoke.

“How so?”

“Well, he realized that he couldn’t carry all his burdens by himself, that asking for help didn’t make him weak, and that he was allowed to cry and be vulnerable.”

There was a long, shuddering sigh on the other end. When the young man spoke, it sounded like he was trying to hold back tears. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough Mary.”

Mary sat straight up, slipping into the voice she used with uncooperative patients back in the day. “Now you listen to me, young man! You are strong enough. We tell boys and men that being sad is weak, and that only sissies cry. Real men cry. Real men admit when they’ve done something wrong and ask for help when they need it. You will get through this. Years later my husband came home every night, exhausted, but happy. Because not only had he fought for every success he had, but also because he knew he had back up. And I also knew that he would do the same thing for me.” She closed the binders and started putting them back on the shelf.

“If…”

She waited for him to continue. She looked at the black binder still in her hands, not wanting to jinx anything.

“If I managed to succeed at something, could I tell you?”

Thank God. “Of course! In fact, I’m counting on it. Work hard, I don’t know how much longer I’ve got.”

“Mary, please, with the mind you’ve got?”

“Flattery won’t get you any special favors, honey. Now, what’s your name?”

“It’s Henry, Henry Allen.”

“Well, Henry Allen, I’ll give you my address, I’ll expect a card and an invitation to your first performance.”

“It’s a deal, Mary.” She quickly gave him her address. 

“Then I’ll let you go Henry. You enjoy the rest of your day.” She smiled triumphantly at the black binder on her shelf. Not today.

“I will. Thank you for taking the time to listen. You have a nice day too.”

She hung up the phone and placed it back in its cradle to charge. Her tea had gone cold by now, so she took it into the kitchen and placed it in the microwave.  With Henry’s card, that would make 100 bright cards to 50 obituaries. Exactly double. No matter what she did, it would never be enough.

She had a good feeling about Henry, though. She looked forward to hearing from him again soon.