The leg was healing fine, and thankfully, his awkward step near the river had only caused temporary discomfort. The general had been getting antsy by the time they’d finally returned to the group, but Belmont took the heat for August as soon as the berating began.

They’d marched down the highway all day after that in relatively high spirits. They’d recently been betrayed and abandoned by a squadmate and left for dead outside the dome. They’d learned that zombies were very real and very hungry, and a flesh-eating bug spanning from the size of a cat to that of a horse might be waiting around every corner. Despite all that, the squad walked on cracking jokes and wearing smiles. It was just human nature, August supposed. To smile in the face of danger was better than bowing down to it or cowering uselessly before it.

The sun was making its way down. The conifers and birch that had been flanking them all day started projecting their shadows onto the road. Smiles faded, and jokes came in longer intervals before stopping altogether as the air cooled and the world around them silenced. August still wasn’t used to the silence of the world outside the dome. The great metropolis never had a dull moment, and your ears eventually got used to the constant noise. Out here, the silence of night was so complete that August’s ears sometimes conjured up a strange ringing to compensate.

“We better find camp soon,” Sterling said.

“It’s not even suppertime,” Wolf said.

“We find a spot. We stop to eat, relax for the evening, sleep at night, get going in the morning, no?”

“No,” the general said.

“What do you mean, no?” Sterling asked.

“We eat once we stop for the night,” Wolf said. “We don’t stop until an hour before sunset. We’ve got to make as much progress as we can.”

“Not like we have much food left, anyway,” Dalton West added.

They pushed on a bit farther in complete silence. August doubted he was the only one who agreed with Sterling, but no one said anything. Of course, they all wanted rest, and the general knew it. He probably wanted it, too, but the man was dead-set on completing the task at hand. It would have inspired August if not for his rumbling gut and aching feet.

Something blocked the way on the road ahead, a massive rectangular container of some sort. It was painted white with a gradient of dirt, thicker the closer it got to the road. The vintage transport trailer sat alone on the road. A pair of four-tired axels held it up at the back, but the front, where it should have been hitched to a truck, touched the pavement.

“Well, I can’t pass this up,” General Wolf said. He let out a deep cough and managed to keep it from echoing somehow. “I’d prefer if we continued on a bit longer, but this is a gift. We won’t find shelter like this for a long way, that’s for sure.”

The squad let out a collective sigh of relief and halted before the trailer. Sterling stepped up to it and knocked on a wall. Nothing responded.

“The firebox won’t need to run all night,” Wolf said. “This might be the best sleep we have all trip.”

August had preferred the sleep in the parking lot. He glanced at Rosek. She was staring at the trailer through puffy eyes, the wounds made her expression unreadable.

The group moved to the back of the trailer, and Dalton West climbed up onto the little black step, took hold of the handle, and pulled it open. He nearly fell back but caught his balance at the last second. He chuckled. “Thought it’d be harder to open.” His face melted into a nasty grimace, and August would swear he saw the sniper’s skin turn green. West jumped from the stair, ran toward the wall of darkening trees off the road, and retched.

“What is it, Colonel?” Wolf asked. “Ace. Check it out.”

“Yes, Sir!”

Pistols and Wolf’s skybeam aimed at the trailer. August readied his own rifle and approached the door that had swung closed again once West had left. He climbed the step, opened the door, and saw only darkness. A pungent fist of rancid air punched at him. He reeled back but kept his balance.

“What is it?” Sterling asked.

“I don’t know,” August could barely speak through his gagging. “The smell…”

“Bodies?” Wolf asked.

“No,” August said. “Rot. Rotten food. Meat, maybe. I don’t know.”

“Alright, get down from there, Private,” Wolf said.

August was glad to obey.

West stormed back toward the group, his face still green. “We aren’t sleeping in that thing, General. I don’t care what you say.”

General Wolf stepped forward and grabbed Dalton West by the Kevlar. “I don’t know what pisses me off more, Colonel. That you would dare to openly defy an order like that or that you’d assume I’d have my squad sleep in such filth. We obviously aren’t sleeping here, but if I wanted you to sleep in there, Colonel, that’s exactly where you’d be sleeping, got it?” He let go of him with a little shove and overlooked the rest of the squad. Someone’s stomach rumbled loudly. “Let’s keep going. We’ll find a little place off-road somewhere and get some rest. I’m sorry this trailer didn’t work out.”

Wordlessly, the squad gathered and continued along the dusk-stained road.

* * *

They’d found a nice little place not too deep in the woods. It was a small clearing with relatively flat ground and a protective canopy of conifer boughs. The firebox ran all night with the lid on. The squad slept in a tightly-knit circle, their most compact sleeping area yet. Belmont had tended to the general’s wound and checked in on Rosek’s and August’s. Everything was healing fine, though she’d voiced some concern over Wolf’s cough. It had started soon after the stinger had pierced him, and Belmont found it unlikely that the events weren’t somehow related.

Dawn seemed to come as soon as August closed his eyes, and they were off again. They were blessed with another clear, sunny day. August continued to be amazed at just how beautiful the wilderness was outside the dome. Once the sun climbed a few hours into the sky, the chill of the previous night had fully left them, and the group was in high spirits again.

A short time after noon, the conifers and birch trees had transitioned abruptly into vast overgrown farmlands. One of the fields had an old rusted tractor at its center. The farmhouses were wooden and decaying. Not a single one stood strong, and some had even collapsed completely. But even rotten buildings weren’t enough to tarnish the beauty of the land. A warm wind blew through the swaying fields and pushed a pleasant current through August’s suit while the sun warmed them from above. It was easy to forget about the blood-thirsty monsters that lurked behind every corner.

Rosek’s swelling was finally starting to go down. Vivid shades of purples and blues took its place. It still tugged at his heart to look at her, but at least she could smile now without wincing. The mech suit moved along at a steady pace, as they all did.

A few hours later, as the sun began to lower ahead of them, West and Wolf resumed their argument from before. It hadn’t taken much to start—just a simple comment from Dalton West. “I have every right to deny sleeping in filth like that, General.”

The general continued forward, never looking back. “That you do. And I have every right to call you out on defying my orders, especially when you do so while the rest of the crew is watching.”

“Come on,” West said. “We’re all equal here. Can we drop this rank bullshit? We’ve gone through enough, and besides, this isn’t even an official mission anymore. We’re just six assholes out on a camping trip now.”

“Negative,” Wolf said. “Without rank, there is only chaos. I am still your general, West. You had the chance to leave back in the parking lot. You didn’t take it. That means you are still part of my squad, and what I say goes. Simple as that.”

“You only outrank me because of seniority,” West said. “Everyone here, Hel, everyone back home knows I’ve got the highest dolo kill count. I’m just as, if not more, qualified than you. With respect, Sir.”

“Your objections are noted, Colonel,” Wolf said. “I’ll make sure to submit them to the proper authorities when we return home. But for now, keep those over-qualified ears open for your next order, got it?”

Silence.

Sterling broke in with a chuckle. “Big words, there, movie man.”

“Stay out of this,” West said.

“You still got the talk,” Sterling said. “But you’re old, man. I’m curious. How many in that famous kill count of yours has occurred in the last say… fifteen years?”

Dalton West said nothing.

“That’s what I thought.” Sterling inspected his fingernails in a dainty posture as he spoke. “Sure, you killed a few back there at the gas station. Maybe you’ve still got a bit more than I expected, but you’re old. Your time has come and gone.”

West turned suddenly and shoved the exterminator to the ground. He ripped the sniper rifle from his back and fell to one knee. August didn’t know if he should intervene or not. The man was going to kill him. Sure, Sterling might’ve been asking for it, but this was taking things too far. August looked to the general for further instructions, but the rifle went off. August shot his eyes to Sterling. The exterminator sat on the asphalt with a hand groping along his chest. His face was ghostly white.

The gun wasn’t aimed at Sterling. August followed the point of its barrel to a shower of yellow guts that rained from the sky far away over the fields. Dalton West stayed on his one knee, still looking through the scope. He grinned. Sterling got to his feet and joined the rest of the squad in watching the guts rain down in brilliant golden droplets.

West got up, slung the gun on his back. “You were saying?”

Sterling gave the sniper a mocking smile and continued toward the setting sun.