Free Tooth and Nail by Craig DiLouie Page B

as far north as they can see. Smoke hangs like a pall over the scene, drastically reducing visibility. Some of the cars are on fire, billowing thick, oily smoke.
    They see no people.
    Gunfire snarls in the distance, intense and violent.
    A chill trickles down Bowman’s spine.
    “Other than that shooting, things seem pretty calm this morning,” the Platoon Sergeant says.
    “Right. No sirens. No traffic. For that matter, I don’t see any new patients trying to get into the hospital. It’s eerie.”
    “I sure would like to know where all the people went who were driving those cars. Looks like some kind of battle took place out there last night, just outside those roadblocks. Maybe you are right about one thing, sir.”
    “What’s that, Mike?”
    “Maybe we are in a Twilight Zone episode.”
    Behind them, Mooney and Wyatt hustle up in full kit, followed by McGraw.
    “Sir, Private Mooney reports!” says Mooney, standing at attention.
    Wyatt repeats the ritual.
    Bowman turns and regards them. “So you’re the guys who like recon missions.”
    Mooney and Wyatt exchange a glance, fidgeting.

Wouldn’t it be cool if you could kill everybody you hate?
    The endless lines of abandoned vehicles stretch into the gloom, surrounded by piles of luggage, clothing, junk and dead bodies. The soldiers weave slowly through the wreckage, carbines at the ready, heading north. Mooney fights the urge to vomit as he notices that the driver of one car has been mostly decapitated with the exception of his jaw, which sprouts a red beard. Wyatt excitedly points out another car that plowed into a McDonald’s restaurant and now stands riddled with bullet holes, blood splattered across the windshield, the driver nowhere to be seen.
    Shock and awe, Mooney thinks.
    “Some kind of war happened here, cuzin!” Wyatt says. “Hey, lookit!” He rushes forward, leans his carbine against a car, and starts stuffing his pockets with something he found on the ground. “I’m rich! Too bad all the stores are closed.”
    Mooney coughs on the toxic haze. The unending horror of this patrol is sucking the life out of him. Every step feels sluggish, like swimming through air, like running from his worst fears in a dream.
    “This lady is naked!” Wyatt crows. “Oh, gross, I can see her brains! Hey Mooney, you want some of this money? It’s everywhere.”
    “Joel, put that back. We’re already in enough trouble without you looting. And you’re going to get sick if you keep picking stuff up off the ground.”
    The stress is causing an incredible headache to bloom in the front of his skull. He can feel the veins in his forehead begin to throb. He squats, leans forward and retches over a pile of clothing soaked in black oil. Baby shoes, a bra, a couple of pairs of gym pants.
    Wyatt appears in front of him and says, “You don’t look so good, dude. Maybe you’re the one who’s got the bug.”
    “I don’t have it.”
    “Oh, you got vertigo. Just pretend we’re back in Iraq. Then it’s all good.” His eyes widen and he does a double take. “Wow, that cop car is upside down!”
    “Shut up, Joel,” Mooney says, spitting. “Please shut the hell up.”
    “Don’t tell me to shut up when I’m just trying to help!”
    “Just keep your voice down. You’re going to bring those things down on us again.”
    “Oh my God, wouldn’t it be cool if we woke them all up and they came at us again in a human wave, like a million of them?” Wyatt laughs his shrill laugh. “No sweat, boss. I’ve got a gun this time. There are many like it, but this one is mine! If the crazy people show up, I will terminate them with extreme prejudice. It’s like Christmas came early this year. It’s legal to kill people!”
    Mooney stands, ready to resume their expedition, but immediately sees a dead young girl with vacant eyes seemingly staring back at him from the rear window of a Volkswagen Jetta. He closes his eyes.
    Shock. And. Awe.
    Wyatt says, “I mean, wouldn’t