Class of 2013 - 20

Chapter Twenty

While James and I were headed out to capture a zombie for Alice, Sweet, Lea, and Chien were back at base – Chien and Lea waiting while Sweet sought out recruits. If any of the newbies wanted to tag along on a mission and had proper experience, he was going to let them go along. After all, this was admittedly a bigger, potentially more dangerous, mission than what James and I were doing. However, Sweet was at a loss as to what exactly he should be doing. Novik was, for all intents and purposes, the leader of the survivors from Perris High. Yet, they were within the confines of our base, under our protection, using our supplies, so that also meant that he should have some amount of pull.

His dilemma…? What his methods should be in recruiting from our newcomers. He could easily have them all gather without speaking to Novik, or he could give Novik some recognition as another leader. Neither option seemed all that great to him. The second left the chance that Novik would speak for all of them without even consulting them, and the first might make an enemy out of Novik. It was a tough decision, but he decided to take the first option’s risk. After all, Novik and the rest of his survivors didn’t have weapons of their own, and aside from Novik, it was doubtful that any of them had any training. If worse came to worse, it wouldn’t be all that hard to have P.M.A.’s cadets rally against Novik and bring weapons to bear on him. In fact, it would probably be incredibly easily accomplished.

Heading to the back of the school, he was glad to find that the entire group of thirteen survivors was gathered already – it saved him the trouble of having to have them all brought together. What surprised him though was seeing Novik in the middle of an apparent speech of some kind. He wasn’t sure what he was on about, but whatever it was didn’t put Sweet’s mind at ease. It was less the words and more the tone of voice that he was using; it sounded like the same way that a preacher… or cult leader… usually did. Adding to that of course was the fact that he was speaking in a different language: some sort of Eastern European dialect, but he couldn’t pick out what exactly. He doubted it was Russian though, he knew what that sounded like at least, how it moved and flowed as it was spoken. Russian, much like German, could often sound full of bravado and (in some cases) anger, but there was always a sort of musical sound to it as well.

This… wasn’t that. Novik’s closing had sounded like the Sunday service of a cracked out Bible Belt preacher. Briefly, Sweet wondered if any of them had even been able to understand the man's words. Perhaps, he mused, it was better if they didn't have any idea what he was saying. Forcing aside what he was feeling at the moment, Sweet strode forward toward the group and cleared his throat, the action getting Novik’s immediate attention. Sweet could have sworn that the man had glared at him for a second or two before he put on a politician’s smile and spoke up.

“Commandant Sweet, hello!” He said, the cheery tone seeming far less comforting as it slipped from the man’s thin lips. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this little visit?”

“Well Novik, I’m sure you must have figured on this happening sooner or later, but I’m here to do some recruiting.” He looked toward the group of high school students. “I’m looking for volunteers to fill the ranks of our fighting forces. We have thirteen total at the moment that are on call for combat operations. That’s most of my group.” The five remaining being Sophie, their two daughters, and the eleven year old twins. “I would like to have another seven to bring that number to an even twenty. The rest of you, those that don’t volunteer for this, will be expected to work here around the base; be it inventory, construction, cooking, cleaning, maintenance, or whatever else that may need to be done. Those that volunteer will be taught the arts of combat. Everything from hand to hand fighting, all the way to shooting and, if need arises, demolitions.”

Without a pause, someone immediately stepped forward. Christine. While Sweet was focused on her, he noticed the hateful glare that Novik gave her back as she stepped past him.

“Christine Fury, at your service, Colonel.” She said as she stepped up to him, and even gave a proper salute. “I’m no good at hand to hand, but I’m proficient with pistols and shotguns of various calibers, Sir.”

“Fury…” Sweet replied slowly, thinking about the name. It seemed familiar to him somehow – right then it dawned on him, and he blinked. “…As in the Mayor’s daughter?”

“The very same, Sir.” She nodded. “My uncles were the Fire Chief and the Chief of Police. The latter being my firearms instructor.”

“Well, good to have you aboard. There’s a mission lined up for this morning, if you’d like to be assigned to the detail.”

“What’s the mission?”

“Locating and acquiring a semi truck with a refrigeration unit attached. It’ll increase our capacity for storing frozen goods, and thus the amount of supplies we’ll have for the future.”

“I’d be happy to take the mission, Sir.”

“Good. The Major and our Markswoman will fill you in on the details.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Anyone else?” Sweet looked from Christine to the rest of the group once more.

“Why should we?” Called out one of the jocks, the mobile brick shithouse stepping forward as he spoke. “How do we even know that you can fight, anyway?”

Off to the side, Novik facepalmed, and then just extended his hand out toward Sweet in the motion of ‘take it from here’. Sweet smirked.

“Would you like to try taking a swing at me?” The Commandant asked, stepping to the side and around Christine, the cheerleader turning to watch the events unfold. “Tell you what… if you can hit me… if… then I’ll walk away right now and not say another word. Sound good?”

The jock grinned as he walked forward. “Sounds good to me.”

“Well then boy, what’re you waiting for? Lay me flat so we can get this over with.” Sweet smirked a little. “Or is me not being smaller and weaker than you a turn off?”

The jock snarled and charge the last few steps, bringing up his fist and throwing a slopping punch. Sweet sidestepped and stepped back, dodging it easily; the jock nearly stumbling when his fist didn’t connect. He recovered though and continued swinging, throwing fists wildly in the hopes that one would connect, but to no avail. Each and every one missed, and all because of the simple little steps that Sweet took backward. When it became apparent that the jock was wearing himself out, Sweet sidestepped one last time and then stepped in to dodge the other fist that was thrown from the opposite direction. Before another could come up, his shoe was firmly planted in the jock’s abdomen. As he bent forward from the pain, Sweet’s knee bent higher and introduced itself to the jock’s face as it came down.

As if his face had hit a spring, his upper half bolted upright, and Sweet turned his body to the side, kicking into his stomach again – but this time the kick sent the jock sailing through the air a good ten feet before coming down hard and rolling another ten. He stayed in that position for a moment, and then slowly stood straight once more – turning his head to look over as three of the jocks moved to check on their fallen comrade. Well, the dumbass had asked for it.

“Anyone else doubt my abilities?”

Nobody said a single word.

A few minutes passed before more volunteers came forward, and he had a grand total of six. Surprisingly, one of them was actually the infirmary bound jock that he had shown what was what. The other four were another cheerleader, and the three jocks that had checked on the one he’d used for soccer practice. This left just one more to fill his quota. Unfortunately, nobody was stepping forward, and it looked like the recruiting was done… until Novik spoke up.

“Johnny!” The boy that responded by looking up was wearing a jacket just like the others were, but this one looked far too stringy and shy to be a football player. Looked kind of skinny too, and not in a healthy light either. “Yes boy, you. Over here. Now.” Sweet gave Novik a curious look, and the man lowered his voice as the boy began making his way over. “He could use this, Sweet. The kid’s an addict, but I think this would be good for him. Might help him get past the drugs, y’know?”

“Ah… yeah, maybe.” Sweet nodded. “What’s he hooked on? Meth? Coke?”

“No idea.” Novik shrugged, “I’d guess heroin from all of the fucking needle marks in his arm. Sad thing to see, it really is. I took a look at his grades once. He could’ve been top of his class. Was getting straight A’s, and then all of a sudden his grades tanked and those needle marks started showing up on his arm. He barely had passing grades at the end of the year.”

“So why is he wearing that jacket then? He’s obviously not a player if he was having the academic trouble… and he doesn’t look healthy enough for it either.”

“He went out for the football team. Didn’t make the cut, but I let him be the water boy. My son…” He nodded over to where a young man was standing with Christine and talking, “…was the quarterback of the team. It was actually his idea to get him the jacket.”

Sweet nodded in understanding, then tilted his head a bit as he looked at Christine and Novik’s son – then his eyes widened slightly and he blinked as the two teens kissed. “I take it that they’re a couple then, Novik?”

“Yes sir, they are. Can my boy pick ‘um or what?” Novik smirked a little. “Gotta admit, sometimes I’m jealous. The kid got all the luck as soon as he popped out of his mom.”

Sweet chuckled a little at that. “He’s a lucky kid.”

After that he was quiet though, and while he ensured that his face didn’t betray anything to the coach standing next to him, he couldn’t help but wonder if that meant the girl was willing to cheat on her boyfriend – and if so, why? The kid looked good, well groomed, tall (though not much taller than Christine herself), and in some light he seemed to carry himself very much like an aristocrat. To be on the football team, much less to be the actual quarterback, the kid had to have good grades too – so he was probably smart. The clothes he wore spoke of good fashion sense and expensive tastes as well; after all, while he was wearing his sports jacket, the rest of his ensemble was comprised of, essentially, the makings of a suit. Hell, he was even wearing black, laced shoes with a mirror shine. There was something here that wasn’t adding up. Christine didn’t seem to sort to cheat for no reason.

Despite the strangeness of it, Sweet pushed those thoughts aside as Johnny came to stand in front of them. He was a tall kid, lanky looking from the drug abuse, but his eyes showed a spark of intelligence that was still left inside his shell. The body was worn and ragged from the drug use, but his mind was sharp. The shyness showed through easily as well, or perhaps a lack of self confidence really, as he stood before them. His head was down, and his eyes were on the ground as he waited quietly for acknowledgment from the men.

“Johnathan, you’re going to be the seventh man that Commandant Sweet here needs. I want you to do everything that this man tells you to do from this moment forward. Do you understand?” Novik spoke with a sharp edge to his voice – the verbal equivalent of a knife being held to the young man’s thin neck.

“Y-yes, S-s-s-sir!” The boy stuttered, which made Sweet raise a brow. Speech impediment? Natural maybe? Or was it drug induced? Rather… perhaps… was it due to a lack of drugs and the beginning of withdrawal? He couldn’t be sure, but he doubted the boy stuttered naturally. He was banking on it being the onset of withdrawal, being that there was no way for him to get a fix from anyone. “W-what are my orders, Sir?”

“First off, tell me if you know how to use any weapons.”

The boy smiled a little bit. “A-anyone can use a shotgun, S-sir.”

Sweet grinned a little at that and nodded. “I suppose that’s true. Now…” He paused for a moment, and then spoke again. “…Johnathan, tell me what it is that you’re hooked on. If you’re going to be on my team, I need to know exactly what your damage is.”

The young man’s eyes went wide and he looked between the coach and Commandant quickly, as if it was suddenly dawning on him that Novik had spilled the beams about him being addicted to something. Of course, how else would he know? The jacket covered his arms.

“Well?” Sweet questioned; brows raised.

Johnny looked away, and then back to him slowly, eyes downcast as he spoke softly. “Opioids, Sir.” He nearly whispered it, but Sweet was surprised at the more technical description. “Opium, morphine, heroin… it’s all the same basic thing, really. It’s all derived from poppies. I tried to detox over the summer. Went in to rehab even, and it worked. But when I came back to school, my dealer was still there, and slipped me some. That’s all it took to get me hooked again.” He glared hard at the ground then. “I hope the bastard gets what he deserves.”

“You don’t think that he’s dead already?” Novik asked, brow raised.

“No sir. Scum like him doesn’t die so easy.” Johnny scowled, then turned his and spat to the side. “No, doesn’t die easy at all, as unfortunate as that is for everyone else.” He looked Novik in the eyes for a brief second, and then to Sweet. A quick glance to the side, and the Colonel caught sight of the tight, thin smile on the coach’s lips. “Anything else?”

“Yeah.” Sweet said, looking to Johnny again. “I want you to go to the front when Christine does. You’re going on the mission with that team.” He paused, and then added. “And since I don’t want you having shakes and cramps while you’re holding a gun…” He took out a small pad of sticky notes and a pen from his pocket, scrawling something down and handing him the top paper square. “Give that to Chien. It’s a requisition from me for a small dose of morphine from the infirmary. Just enough to make you stable while you’re on the mission. When you get back we’ll figure out how to get you through withdrawal and off of the damn drugs. Alright?”

Johnny’s eyes lit up when he heard that little promise. “Y-yes, Sir! Th-th-thank you, S-sir!” With a nod from Sweet and the Colonel’s motion of a thumb toward the front of the school, the boy was off like a rocket. Flash, eat your heart out.

After Johnny was gone for a moment, Novik finally spoke. “You’re going to give him what he’s addicted to, Sweet?”

“I am.” Sweet nodded. “Only a little bit. Just enough to make sure he doesn’t accidentally shoot someone during their mission. I’ve seen this kinda thing before. I’ll fix him.”

“Good luck, Colonel. To both of you.” Novik said, and Sweet nodded, stepping away to head up to the front of the campus.

“Christine!” Sweet let out a sharp whistle. “Double time, to the front!”

“Yes Sir!” Came the quick reply from the ginger cheerleader, and after a quick kiss to her boyfriend’s lips, she turned and began to take off. However, Novik’s voice brought an abrupt halt to her movements.

“Actually,” His voice cut in, “can I have a moment before she goes? I’ve been meaning to talk to her. Father of the boyfriend kind of stuff. You understand, don’t you Colonel?”

Sweet nodded. “Of course.” Even so, he couldn’t help noting the scowl on Christine’s lips, nor the confused look of her boyfriend. “Just make sure she’s up there soon. They won’t be leaving until she’s with them.”

“Got it.” Novik nodded. “Christine dear, if you would please?”

She let out a soft sight of resignation, her shoulders slumping. “Yes, sir…” Her head hung, the cheerleader slowly walked back to the sports coach, a look of dread written clearly upon her lovely face. A brief pause, and Sweet turned to walk away, intending to talk with his wife.

==X==X==X==

“I don’t like this guy, Sophie.” Sweet scowled as he paced back and forth in his office, his wife sitting on the cot they shared in the corner of the room, watching him. “I don’t like him one bit. There’s something wrong with him; something majorly wrong with him.”

“Well then… what is it? You say something is wrong with him, and while I trust your instincts, you’re not saying what it is.” Sophie replied, only the slightest bit of her accent remaining to color the words. “This isn’t Afghanistan, after all. You can’t just shoot the slimy bastard and say he pulled a gun on you first.”

Sweet blinked and stopped abruptly, whirling around to look at her with his eyes wide, about to defend himself and say he wouldn’t do such a thing… and then he saw that coy little smile upon her delicate, full, French lips.

“I had to stop your pacing somehow.” She shrugged. “You were going to wear a hole through to China at the rate you were going.”

Sweet paused for a moment and smiled slightly. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right.” She grinned, “I’m a woman.” Sweet rolled his eyes, and Sophie laughed, a hand covering her mouth. After a moment, she spoke again. “Now really… what is it that has you so worked up?”

“Like I said… I don’t really know, Sophie. I just have this feeling that Novik is bad news.” He sighed, and she motioned for him to come to her. With only the slightest hesitation, he did so, and she put her arms around him. “It’s times like this that I miss Alexander. He had this sense about people. Could tell good from bad within the first few minutes of knowing someone.”

“Captain Goodhew was a good man. Most good men have that ability. So do you.” Sophie said softly, kissing his neck and nuzzling against him a little, her long brown hair cascading over one shoulder as she leaned against him. “If you feel that there’s something bad about this man, then there most likely is.”

“I know. It’s instinct and all that. The problem is that I have no evidence to support anything. All I have to run on are these gut feelings, and if I start down that road, what kind of example will I be setting for everyone? I can’t just throw out rule of law and swap it for gut feelings. If I do, we could end up with the Salem Witch Trials all over again, or maybe even worse.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, though relaxed some as he felt Sophie’s fingers running through his hair. “What should I do, Sophie?”

“If you really think that there’s something bad about him, you need to find the evidence and prove it. Isn’t it really that simple, Nate?” Sophie smiled, and Sweet looked to her with a slightly bemused grin. “What?”

“You sometimes astonish me with how simple you can make things, Soph’.”

She gave him a playful half glare. “Is that a compliment or an insult, Colonel?”

“You may take it as you wish, Agent Boudreaux.”

“Oh my, now that sounds naughty.”

Sweet’s eyes went wide. “Sophie!”

For her part, Sophie simply doubled over laughing on the bed, and then suddenly stopped and sat upright. “You can pitch and I’ll play catcher!”

“Oh my god!” Sweet flopped back on the bed, “How the hell do you come up with these things?” He put a hand on his forehead.

She grinned and leaned over him, long hair falling down like curtains around them both. “I’m a French woman living in America that’s married to a Marine. Does that satisfy your curiosity, or should I write out the equations for you?” Stealing a kiss like she was Bugs Bunny’s daughter, she then quickly hopped off the bed and headed for the door, giggling like a schoolgirl.

The moment that she reached the door, however, two strong arms wrapped around her from behind and pulled her back into a tight, protective embrace.

“Yes…?” She trailed off with a little smile upon her lips, glancing just slightly over her shoulder as she felt him lean down. “Something I can help you with dear?”

“As a matter of fact there is…” Sweet trailed, whispering in he ear. “…we have a game to play, don’t we my dearest?”

“Really?”

“Indeed…”

“Well then, I suppose we have to play, now don’t we?” She cooed softly to him as she turned in his arms, her own going up to hang around his neck.

“Yes we do… After all, I haven’t gotten to properly spend time with my wife since we were reunited, and I have missed her terribly...”

“And I have missed my most handsome husband.” It was then that she leaned up and kissed him, smiling happily as it was returned. “Take me to bed, my dearest lover.”

Sweet smirked. “To, or in?”

Sophie grinned wickedly. “The first is a must, my darling husband…” She leaned to whisper in his ear, raking her nails down his back in that slow, seductive way as she pressed herself against him. “…but the second is always negotiable.”

==X==X==X==

A couple of hours later, Sophie lay beneath the sheets of the makeshift bed in Sweet’s outer office, turned on her side with her head propped up by her arm, watching as Sweet rifled through various papers and things about his office. A lazy, satisfied grin was upon her lips as a curious brow raised. There didn’t seem to be much method to her husband’s apparent madness, but she wasn’t pointing that fact out… at least not just yet. She was too curious to do so for the moment. However, she was going to question him about what he was doing.

“Nate… what is it that you’re looking for?”

“That number you gave me when we first met; the one for Rousseau.” He answered as he continued to go through files and folders. “Damn it…. I know it has to be here somewhere.”

“For Rousseau?” She raised her brows. “I thought you hated him…?”

“With every fiber of my being. That will never change.”

Sophie paused. “Alright… then why are you looking for his number? In fact, why did you bother keeping it after we got married? That was only for if you had to contact me, and only if I was under cover in the field. I’m not even sure if that number would still be good to reach him. After that case was solved, I’m pretty sure that special task force was parted out to other units. After all, Interpol might have plenty of manpower, but it’s usually all hands on deck at all times. You know how the international cat and mouse game works.”

“Yeah, I know, but if there’s even a remote possibility that I could contact him, or anyone at Interpol with that number, then there’s the chance that we can get their help.” He paused for a moment, grinning at her. “Besides, if I toss your name around a little, I’m sure someone will want to help. Now isn’t that right?”

Sophie rolled her eyes with a little grin. “My, my… isn’t my darling husband just the little name-dropper?”

Sweet grinned. “Hey, whatever works, right?”

She shook her head. “I suppose so… but what do you want to get in contact with Rousseau for anyway? He can’t exactly help us, you know.”

“Ah, but that’s just the thing… he can help us.”

The French brunette raised a skeptical brow. “How exactly? Do you expect him to call in a favor and have a French cargo plane land out in the park?”

“No, no, not with the zombie situation…” He paused, “…though actually, I bet he could make that happen. He did seem to have a lot of pull seven years ago.”

“Interpol isn’t the CIA, Nate.”

“I know that, but even so, it does have access to men and equipment.”

“They wouldn’t dare break a UN quarantine though; especially not this one.”

Sweet sighed. “It was a nice thought while it lasted at least.” He shrugged, “Oh well… anyway… the reason I want to get in contact with Rousseau is simple. Interpol keeps records on international travel, at least when it comes to persons of interest, right?”

“Well, they don’t keep records for the most part, no, but they do have access to records.” Sophie sat up on her elbows then. “Why?”

“Because I don’t think Novik was born here.”

“What do you mean? Where do you think it was that he came from?”

“I think he’s from somewhere in Eastern Europe.”

“Where?”

“I’m not sure, unfortunately. I heard him talking earlier though, and while in regular conversation his accent must have bled out over the years, he was definitely speaking in some European language – and not one of the romantic ones, either.”

“Where would you say if you had to take a guess?” She sat up completely now, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed beneath her breasts, her face betraying that she was starting to collect information. So much for being retired!

“Hungarian… Ukrainian… Romanian… Bosnian… Serbian… I can’t speak a word of any of those, but I could at least tell it wasn’t Russian or German. Sure as hell wasn’t Polish, either.” Finally he opened a file and pulled out an old business card. “Ah, finally! Found it!”

“Okay, so now another question, oh husband of mine.”

“What’s that, dear?”

“Just how exactly do you plan to call him?”