Global warming is a thing. I know this because of the present state of the weather. It is early October and I am sweltering in a heat wave.

I hate hot weather!

My recent trip to Rome only reinforced this truth for me.

I had been sent back into the hectic three weeks ago. For two God damn weeks, they had me doing the dog and pony show.

Two Weeks!

I was paraded around several events and ceremonies in and around London. They were tightly controlled and organised, so I had as little interaction with anyone as they could get away with. Unfortunately, this didn’t help because the press was there in full force. Always asking questions.

They decided to have me only attend three events when it dawned on them. I properly would have fled if they tried to do any more. They were horrific and excruciating times of me smiling, shaking hands, and accepting the awards. I had to give a speech for each, but thankfully they kept it short and to the point. The first time was so bad that I almost puked.

Honestly, I would rather face a zone in my underwear than go through that again. I’m still having nightmares about it.

It didn’t help when I eventually did get home. I found the outside amount of my house was mobbed. I have a permanent security detail just outside my house now, stopping people from approaching. Everyone and thing needed to pass a security check. There was some talk of moving us to a secure location. Some nut jobs had been making threats against my mother and me.

With this, my mother now understands why I avoided the press and limelight for all these years. She has found the entire situation to be extremely disturbing and does not appreciate the disruption to her life. It is hard for her to get out and see her friends.

I gave her a great big. I told you so!

She did not appreciate that and made sure I knew it, but she now understands why I valued my privacy. That was a course after the massive grief I got for doing what I did that day outside the Vatican. I did not tell her about the rest, but she found out from an exposé of my actions throughout the day, which got me another round of grief from her.

I’m currently in my back garden setting up the patio furniture. I got a large umbrella covering the table to save myself from the sun beating down intensely today. My mother had finally gone to one of her social outings and I finally had some peace, apart from the prying neighbours.

The garden is a paved-over area that has no plants in it. Of course, apart from the weeds growing up between the stone slabs.

Note to self must take care of those. Sometime.

I’ve been looking forward to this for a few days since I had seen the weather report. I’m preparing just to spend the day chilling. I have a large cabin cooler full of cider and ice ready to drink.

Of course, all this is ruined as soon as my phone goes off.

I go back into my kitchen, where my phone is located on the tabletop and see who is calling. It turns out it’s a text message. I read it and I’m pretty surprised who it’s from. I text back and make some adjustments to my plans for the back garden.

I go into my garage’s back door and pull out another cooler of cider I have. It looks like getting company, so as a good host, I must be prepared. There’s drinking to be done!

The cooler has wheels, so I move out to sit next to the other. I get another deckchair open up and put it next to the table. This was fine for who was coming.

I receive a second text message to which I reply and then leave my phone next to a radio generating static. It is on the far side of the kitchen and is relatively low, so I don’t notice that noise when in the garden, but I have the phone volume turned up here when it rings or alerts me to a text message. The reason I do this is for the simple fact that smartphones of any type are, in fact, excellent listening devices and the static acts as a basic white noise generator.

I have become increasingly concerned about means of surveillance on me and taking countermeasures when possible. I have come to the opinion of it’s not who is listening but how many now.

About 20 minutes later, I heard someone walking around the side path of my house. Looking across, I see Henry wander into the garden.

“Hey, John.”

“Henry, what are you doing in my neck of the woods?”

“I needed a getaway and, well, to talk to someone. You know?”

“Sure, take a seat. But first, give me your phone.” I hold my hand.

He’s not sure why but he shrugs and hands me the phone. I go into my kitchen and place it next to mine. I then walk out back into the garden. He is now sitting on the other deckchair, which I’d indicated. I moved over and sat next to him. This was not a typical Henry. Something was bothering him, so I decided to wait and let him tell me what in his own time.

“Why do you want my phone?”

“Don’t want anyone listening in on our conversation.”

“Bruv, you’re getting paranoid as hell!”

“Is it paranoia when they’re doing it?”

He falls silent on that point. We both know there is extensive monitoring of zone operatives when they are not on active duty. For many reasons, like snapping and going on a killing spree or just offing themselves. Both of which have happened much too often.

“Watched you on the feeds at the award ceremonies these last few weeks.” He changed the subject.

“God, don’t remind me. I was ready to quit right there and then and say fuck it all!” He laughed at my reaction, knowing how much I wouldn’t say I liked the public spotlight—the crowds outside my house for a few weeks with clear evidence of why.

The crowd was a mix of zone watchers, zone deniers and members of the public with different reasons for being there. It got so bad that they clogged up the local roads and the police had to come and disperse them. Several had tried to enter my home, much to my mother’s horror; thus, we now have a permanent security detail.

“I know I went through it almost as bad. But hell, man, you got a lot worse and I did!” He was still laughing at the situation and chuckling happily.

I placed the device on the table and switched it on, generating a low background hum of static noise. Henry indicated the device with a raised eyebrow querying me what it was.

“White noise generator.” I told him. He just shook his head, knowing it was just my paranoid beliefs needing to be expressed. We both leaned back in the chair, relaxing in the exceptionally not usual heat for this time of year.

I reach into a cooler and supply both of us with a cider. I used a bottle opener throwing the caps back in the cooler. I don’t say anything and wait for him to speak. Visiting me like this was very unusual, so I decided to wait and not press until he was ready. We enjoy several minutes of silence, but eventually, he begins to talk.

“Rome was bad.” He began talking.

“Yes, it was.”

I don’t say anything. “The whole day and what happened to Sarah and the others.” He falls into a silent, thoughtful few minutes, reflecting on what is going on in his head.

“What we saw. What you did at the Vatican. Remembering. In my time as an operative, I’ve never really seen shit like that. Those things you know, the big ones we took down and then ones at the end that just ripped us apart.” I still said nothing and just let him talk. His eyes were not focused on anything.

“We’ve both seen things. Things we can’t explain to others. They always ask, don’t they? The ones that will not go into zones. They always ask.”

He falls silent again, so I start talking.

“I tell them don’t ask because I will not tell them.” Henry looks at me when I say this. “I tell them that they can only experience it and my trying to explain it does nothing in helping them understand. So, I tell them don’t ask.”

“But this time, they saw it.”

“Yes, this time they saw it.” I agreed. I think the footage is still doing the rounds on the feeds. Some claimed we were heroic, some that we were foolish, most agreed we were crazy as hell. We both thought silently and drank.

“They’re starting to understand what we are up against and that we are losing.” He starts up the conversation again.

“Yes.”

“You have seen the feeds. The growing protests and now riots?”

“Can’t miss them.” It was true that they were growing features on the feeds.

“Bloody stupid people. Destroying everything like that. Don’t they see it is only making things worse!”

“Fear makes fools of us all.” I told him, not remembering where I had heard it, but I thought it fitted the situation. “The fear they’ve had since the zones first appeared has resurfaced. They can’t hide from it anymore.”

“That’s true.” He agreed.

We fall silent again and continue drinking, moving on to our second bottles. I hand him a bottle opener.

“I’ve heard a rumour.”

“What?” I ask. Not really interested but humouring him.

“Zone command has halted all zone sweeps.”

“Okay, that’s news to me.” I told him. I changed my mind. That was interesting.

“This is not official. But I’ve seen many operatives and support personnel at command that are normally deployed. I don’t mean a few; I mean most. It’s bizarre, but I don’t think I’ve actually sent in an operative to clear a zone in the last two weeks.”

I frowned, processing that bit of information. That was outside the norms completely. Something has happened to spook them.

“Word down the grapevine is that many zones are changing. Before they stopped, operatives were running into a lot nastier things in them.”

Again, I say nothing but it is a disturbing rumour. And in the back of my mind, I’m afraid it’s true. I decide to change the subject and maybe not for a better one.

“So why are you gracing me with your presence?” I ask Henry.

“What can I say? I just needed to blow a little steam.”

“Right.” I turned my head and looked at him sceptically.

“Bruv, it’s been a hard few weeks. How am I supposed to impress all the girls with you stealing all the limelight?” That was a flash of the old Henry. And I think he knew it. But I wasn’t buying it.

There was a moment of silence because I was not buying it. Then Henry just sighed heavily.

“I don’t think I can go on.” He said. As he said it, he seemed to deflate a little. This honestly surprised me as he was the rock that many in our band of misfits relied on. But part of me was not surprised in the least.

“Rome. Rome was so bad. We lost many people we were trying to get out. You know the situation, zombies and ghouls hitting us when we’re trying to evacuate. We lost many people.” His eyes were distant and were tearing up remembering. “There was one group before we sent to join you at the Vatican. We lost several kids to an attack. It was bad then, but we were caught up in the moment. It hit me later.” He was choking up now and went quiet again. Damn, it must be nasty to affect him so. I could still hear the screams of those we could not save.

“Anyway.” He shook his head, clearing it. “I think I reached my limit, John. I just can’t go on anymore. The fear, the injuries and the constant unknown. It’s all just too much!”

“I understand.” I told him and he looked at me, knowing that I did. “I want to get out too. Hell, I was jealous that Sarah had gotten out, even costing her arm. The same feelings you got now I have. The only reason I don’t just say fuck it all and quit is a simple question. One question that haunts me is if I don’t do it, who will they send?

Think about. All those people who are getting dragged into this through the conscription act. Now I know we didn’t want to do it in the first place but ask yourself can you live with the fact that they have to go in and do what we’ve been doing for years?

Will this change? The simple answer for me is that I can’t. No matter how much they piss me off by throwing me into God knows what. I can’t live with the knowledge that someone could have gone in and killed in my place. My conscience just won’t let me live with those thoughts. With all the shit I have been through, probably. The pain, injuries and fear it’s all building up. For now, that voice inside of me remains.”

He goes quiet again, surprised by my rant. I know he’s thinking about what I just said to him. We know that going to a professional for help would never truly be enough because of what we do. We could only express these things to someone who had been through what we had.

“What scares me, John, is I think I’m getting to the point I can live with it.”

In saying that, he seems relieved, like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. I knew then that he wasn’t lying or just bitching. He was reaching breaking point. I wondered how much more he could take before he just said no—no more.

“Okay.” That was all I could say.

“What not going to give me one of your infamous pep talks?” He asked jokingly, trying to lighten the mood.

“No. I have said what I needed to. The rest is up to you. I understand you and where you are at, know that.” The way he looked at me, he knew I did.

We didn’t say much after that and just quietly drank. Each is lost in our thoughts. We made more small talk but did not say anything, to be honest. Henry was in his head most of the time and I did not push respecting it.

But a new thought had come into my head now and one that had me concerned about how much longer we could rely on him.

How much longer can they rely on me?