And now here is an excerpt from the next chapter. I know I take forever to write, but I figure quality over quantity! Thank you to my readers for waiting!


“Ready rifles!” the Specialist yelled.
The firing squad clicked off their safeties and shouldered their rifles.
“Fire on my command!” The specialist yelled again with more intensity.
The five men lined up against the wall twitched out of fear. They had bags over their heads. It was looked at as a courtesy for the soldiers. This wasn’t personal.
“Would the guilty like to say any last words?” The specialist asked to the men waiting for execution.
There was silence. The only sound was the gentle breeze as snow was pushed around the ground. The soft short breaths of the men tied up pierced through the silence. Clouds of vapor appeared out of the bags.
After a few moments, the specialist shrugged. “Very well.” He raised his hand, “Ready!”
As he was about to scream fire a mumble was heard from one of the prisoners.
“Hold!” The specialist yelled. “Would the guilty like to speak up?”
The voice was still a mumble, but clearer. He said, “You won’t win.”
The specialist looked at his watch. He had a little time.
“Lower rifles!” He glanced over at one of the men guarding the execution. “Private Stetsen! Would you please remove the bag from the man’s head?”
The private nodded and jogged over to the man in the middle of the five against the wall. He removed the bag to reveal a bloodied pulp of a face. It was still bleeding from the beating each man had received as part of the demonstration.
The man spit blood into the ground and looked up at the specialist. Just like the other men, he was in what looked like cheap prison garbs. His arms were tied behind his back by thick rope.
The specialist approached the man and kneeled down about two meters from him.
“I’m sorry. It sounded like you said we will not win? Correct?” He asked.
The man glared at him. “Freedom always finds a way.”
The specialist had to chuckle at that. “I hate to tell you this buddy, but you were free about two days ago.”
The man spit into the ground again. “You think what we had was freedom? You systematically kill and intimidate everyone who opposes the military, then demand tribute. You’re nothing more than war mongering pieces of shi-“
His words were cut short as the specialist slung out his Beretta sidearm with lightning speed and put a round right through the man’s kneecap. The man screamed in agony and collapsed under the pressure of his own weight. He lay on his stomach screaming into the dirt.
The specialist walked closer and kneeled right next to the man. “Oh cut the melodrama. It makes for shitty TV just as much as in real life.” He paused and stood up to look at the crowd of 40 off duty soldiers that had gathered for the execution. “Did yall hear that guys? He thinks we’re pieces of shit!”
One man in the crowd screamed, “Got a nice ring to it!”
There were some chuckles in the crowd.
The specialist looked back down at the man in the dirt. He knelt and pulled his head up by the hair so he could see the soldiers. He pointed at the man with his pistol in the other hand.
“This little piece of ungrateful human garbage, thinks we’re the shit in the world. The soldiers. The poor suckers who got sent to hell holes in the middle of bum fuck nowhere to get shot at.” The specialist glanced down at the man. “Hell I bet this dude can’t even name the first four ranks in the army infantry, and he’s telling me what I’m doing is wrong.”
There was silence.
“You know how many of my buddies died for you?” The specialist asked.
The man was still in pain, but silent.
“Estimates say about 84 guys in green bit it during the evacuation effort.” The specialist said with a cold murmur. “Fun fact, we were told to evacuate three hours earlier. But the CO thought saving a few extra civvies may help with the bad press after this blew over.” He looked to his left and pointed to one of the corners of the huge eight foot wall built around the complex, “He’s actually hanging just over that wall!”
The man still knelt silently.
“Really? You got nothing?” The specialist asked.
“Y- You wont wi-“ was all that was hear before his head snapped back and hit the ground in a pool of blood. The Specialists sidearm gave off some heat in the cold weather and seemed to have the gun smoke like in old westerns he watched as a kid.
“Some guys can’t be taught with logic I guess.” The specialist spun his sidearm in his hand twice and slid it into his holster with ease. He spit on the body and spun his finger in a twirling motion to the sky as he walked behind the firing line.
“Alrighty then boys and girls!” He said, “Let’s pop some heads eh?”
He raised his hand, “Ready!”
The sound of five men clicking the safeties seemed to echo through the courtyard.
“When I say fire!” He paused and looked at the prisoners. “At least it’s pretty toasty down under if you get my drift.”
The Specialist pulled a cigar and lit it in his mouth before saying, “My names Marcus.” He dropped his hand, “Fire!”
After that, he pulled the cigar out of his mouth and let out the drag. It felt nice. He loved his job. He was a simple man. Where most men searched for meaning in things like their job and how they could change the world, Marcus found meaning in existing. He did his job. He was just a soldier. A man who worked for other men, and he enjoyed every second of it. He wasn’t a killer, unless you told him to be.
Marcus took another puff from his cigar. “Get me the cleanup crew! Santa ain’t gonna show if these guys are by the fire place.”
There was awkward laughter. Sometimes he didn’t even know what he was saying. It just kind of flowed.
A moment later the cleanup crew, who was dressed head to toe in hazmat suits, picked up the bodies of the executed men. They took them up the stairs to the top of the wall and tossed them over. The next morning the bodies would be gone. The infected were smarter than people realized. They never showed up by the gate during the day. They acted like raccoons, taking away the bodies at night and out of sight. As sickening as it was, at least it kept them from getting desperate. Regardless of how strong the walls were, the higher ups knew that the base was still pretty rickety. It wouldn’t take more than about seventy to show up and ruin their day.

He took another long drag from his cigar and exhaled, watching the smoke dance around in the cold winter air. It was beautiful.
As he was about to take another drag, a beep on his satellite phone alerted him. He quickly pulled it from its holster and pressed the button to connect the calls.
A second later an older voice came on the line. “Marcus, this is Wilhelm. Do you read?”
“I read you Wilhelm. Need the report?”
“As soon as you can. My office in ten.”
“Copy that Cournel. En route.”
Marcus slapped the antenna down and slid the phone back into his holster.
He started his long haul to the HQ after putting the cigar in his mouth. He put both of his hands into his jacket pockets. It was his, “at ease” stance. When he walked through the complex the other soldiers knew he was calm. There wouldn’t be any awkward salutes, or standing at attention, but he would still get the standard head nod. He liked it this way. There was no need for formalities in times like these.
One soldier yelled from his perch on the wall, “Morning Sir! Good morning aint it?”
Marcus chuckled, “What are you, a fucking weatherman?”
The soldier laughed and went back to his post.
Marcus took another drag from his cigar and puffed it out.
The past two weeks had been straight hell.
***