Free Marine Summer: Year 2041 by B. E. Wilson Page B

if we helped them, they’d let us live out the rest of our lives unharmed.”
    “How the fuck did you communicate with them?” Buckley asked, seizing a handful Wyatt’s hair and forcing his head up.
    “They know our language. They know everything about us. Said if we poisoned everyone that came through here, we could stay here. We got tired of the killing though, that’s why we tried to scare you away. We couldn’t stand it anymore. We didn’t want to kill anymore.”
    “How many? How many did you kill?” Buckley screamed at him.
    “All of them,” he blubbered.
    Shaking his head, Buckley released him, standing back up and holstering his pistol.
    “Son, where’s the bodies?”
    “At the bottom of the hill,” he nodded toward the picturesque valley that I had admired so much.
    I was the first to make it to the edge. Looking down, I only saw brush, trees, and snow.
    “I don’t see them,” I said.
    “Let’s go down there,” Buckley said.
    We only had to walk about fifty yards past the timberline when hell appeared. Rotting corpses and skeletons lay piled together, mangled in an atrocious heap of carcasses. Two to three hundred remains rested at the bottom of that hill, stealing its beauty and turning it ugly.
    As we returned to the camp, Wyatt begged for his life. “Please don’t kill me. I’ve got weapons, ammo, and everything you need is here. It’s yours, please, just don’t kill me.”
    Buckley wouldn’t even look at him. “Son…we’ll take everything. But you’re a traitor. And in a few minutes, you will be judged, and that judgment will be death.”
    We fastened Wyatt James to the lone flagpole overlooking that valley of death. His hands tied behind his back, he stood awaiting his fate, watching as we emptied their stockpile of weapons and packed up their supplies.
    Finally, all of us in a line, ten yards in front of him, we became the firing squad, his inevitable doom. We all listened as Sarge condemned the man.
    “Wyatt James, you have been found guilty of treason, consorting with the enemy to murder your fellow man. I have no pity for you. You are a disgrace to the uniform, the Army, and this country. For your vile sins against mankind, you will be put to death.” Turning to face the traitor and look him in the eye, Buckley asked, “Do you have any last words?”
    He had no more tears. I think he had accepted his fate. He just shook his head and closed his eyes.
    “Platoon—Ready!” We raised our rifles. “Aim!” I nervously looked down the sights as Wyatt looked up to the sky.
    “I’m sorry,” he silently mouthed the words.
    “FIRE!”
    It was done. I don’t know how many shots actually hit him, but Buckley said they were all head shots. No rounds hit the body. He showed no emotion as we packed the gear down the hill, although I was struggling with mine. Two soldiers had died today because of the enemy, both with the help of my hand. I didn’t feel this way when I split that alien bastard’s head open. But these two, they were soldiers.
    We left the last one, James, hanging where he died. And for those who had turned him, when they came calling they would find a note. It was a simple note Buckley nailed to his chest.
     
    We will find you and we will kill you .

10
     
     
    My emotions were starting to get the best of me. If it wasn’t for the love of my new friend, I thought my heart would turn black. Buckley didn’t argue with me again about getting rid of the dog. As we headed west, it wasn’t that important to him. I named him Rags since we had fashioned a coat out of rags to keep him warm. He would become the only source of joy in our ranks on that old ragged bus. The only part that irritated Sarge was the pit stops. We had to bus train Rags. But as much as Sarge griped about it, he still stopped to let the dog out to do his business.
    We went from barren town to barren town. At times it felt like the world had forgotten about us. It truly looked like