The Eric S. Brown Zombie Omnibus

By Eric S. Brown

This massive collection of short stories, novelettes, and novellas contains fiction dating from the start of Eric's career in 2001 to present day. Within its pages you'll find traditional zombie tales, animal zombies, intelligent zombies, factories that sale the dead as slaves and party clowns, superheroes vs. zombies, and tales set everywhere from deep space to the battlefields of Vietnam to the Civil War. This book is a must have for not only fans of Eric S Brown's fiction, but also for diehard zombie collectors across the board.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eric S. Brown
• Release date: May 4, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311758866

Book preview

A Bad Day at Work

Shannon pulled into the factory’s parking lot and killed the car’s engine. He took a last sip of his morning coffee and placed the cup in the car’s holder before getting out. He could hear the production line running as soon as he stepped out of the vehicle. The line never stopped unless the machinery broke or a Z got loose and had to be put down. He sighed as he made his way into the building to the spot on the line where he worked pausing only long enough to stop at his locker to and pull on the standard issue thigh high boots and thick rubber gloves required for the cleaning chamber area.

Harold was waiting on him when he reached the chamber. A clean Z had just been taken through on the belt and it would be a minute or two until the next one came rolling in.

You’re late, Harold snapped.

It’s Monday. Cut me some slack, Shannon shot back. I had a rough weekend, okay?

Damn it Shannon. It’s my daughter’s birthday and I still have to buy the clowns. You said you’d be here early today, remember?

I’m sorry man, Shannon said sincerely. I forgot.

Harold nodded his forgiveness and started to head out. Harold, Shannon said, Are you really going to buy Z clowns for her party?

Harold laughed. Kids love the Zs buddy. They don’t understand what they are or where they came from. They just think they’re cool as hell. Katie’s been asking for a pet one for months. If I don’t get those clowns, my wife will have my head.

Shannon smiled. Hope you don’t see any familiar faces.

Me too, Harold grimaced at the thought and left the chamber leaving Shannon alone with his thoughts. Ten years ago, the Zs had humanity on its knees. If you saw one of them you either shot the damn thing in the head or ran like hell away, now the Zs were just another part of life. The Zs were used for everything from pets and party clowns to crash test dummies and scientific research. People even bought them to use them for simple grunt labor that they could be trained to do and other things he didn‘t like to dwell on. When wild Zs were caught, they were shipped to factories like this one where they got cleaned up and packaged for sale. The most dangerous job on the line was the first one. Those poor guys had to pull out the Zs’ teeth, sew their mouths shut, and pull out each and every one of their finger and toe nails. As much as that job sucked, Shannon knew Harold would agree with him that theirs was worse in its own way. They were the ones who got to clean the rotting bastards from to head to toe and then some. Scrubbing zombie asses was not Shannon’s job of choice but it paid the bills.

He heard the belt ping the all clear signal as the heavy metal doors on the right side of the room opened up and the belt rolled a Z into the chamber. The Z was male and looked to have died in his early twenties. He was well built and nude except for a few pieces of his former clothes that were so caked onto his body, they had almost literally became part of its skin. A metal chain extended from the spot below where it stood on the belt up to a containment collar fixed tightly around the Z’s neck. The Z’s hands were handcuffed together in front of it and its feet were latched to the belt as well. The company didn’t take any chances when it came to safety. The Z looked at Shannon and its lips strained against the thread holding them shut as it tried to moan.

Shannon picked up the hose from the floor where Harold had left it and sprayed the thing down with a stream of pressurized water. After the initial wash, he hit a button on his control console and the ceiling opened up to dump a fragrant mixture of sterilizing fluids and perfume onto the naked corpse. Shannon cursed as he noticed not all of the spots of cloth had come off the thing’s skin in the process. He was going to have to scrub the thing. Picking up a long, gray brush, he walked over to the corpse and carefully used the tool to pick off what was left without tearing the thing’s flesh. The closer a corpse looked to being actually human or at least intact enough to pass for one, the higher the price it could be sold for on the open market. The dead man stared at him while he worked but Shannon was long used to the dead staring at him and paid the thing no attention, focusing solely on the job at hand. Finally when he decided the corpse was clean enough, he stepped back and hosed it down again just to be sure before hitting the button to move it on down the line. The belt’s safety warning pinged again as the conveyer rolled the corpse out of the room through the doors which slid open on the left wall.

Taking a seat at the control console, Shannon waited for the next Z. He longed for a cigarette. Shannon had given up the habit a bit over a year ago but sometimes like today when things just weren’t going his way, the cravings still hit him hard. Luckily He didn’t have to wait too long for the doors to open. The belt rolled in a woman in her late thirties. Her skin looked as human as he’d ever seen on a Z and she was strikingly beautiful in a haunting kind of way despite the large, bloated mound with passed for her stomach. There was no question; she had died with child. Shannon was no doctor but he guessed she had been pretty far along in the pregnancy. He imagined the people who ran the factory would have been pissed if they saw her. Other than the belly, she was certainly sexy enough to be sold on the black market for a hell of lot more than the company was going to get out of her through their usual channels of distribution. As sick as it was, some people got off on the dead. At least they didn’t argue back in the bedroom if you decided to try something new or say they had a headache when you really wanted it. You could do anything with the dead. Anything, if you were careful. Most everyone who worked at the factory knew things like that went on from time to time but no one was stupid enough to talk about it in anything other than whispers in the break room. Shannon really didn’t care one way or the other or as long as he got to keep his job.

Shannon got up from his seat and began the process of hosing her down. As the harsh stream of water struck her, her stomach ruptured like a rotten fruit being squashed under a heavy boot. A mess of maggots, pus, and tar like blood poured onto the belt along with what was left of her unborn child as the female Z tried to howl in vain.

Damn it! Shannon raged. He was going to have to defect the bitch out. No one wanted to buy a Z with a gaping hole in its stomach and its intestines dangling out. The paperwork was going to be a nightmare. He raised the hose again to wash the crap that had come out her off the belt but his day got considerably worse. The child was moving in the pile of pus and gore. It was a Z too. Yep, sure enough, the universe hated him and there was a damn little monster wriggling about on the belt to prove it. The thing was horribly rotted and gnawed on by the maggots that had been living inside its mother with it.

Shannon walked over and picked up the baby Z by one its legs to throw it in the bio-disposal unit across the room but the leg simply fell off as he carried it. The little creature hit the floor with a wet thump. It lay still for a moment and Shannon almost allowed himself to hope that the fall had cracked the tiny thing’s skull but it soon began to whine. The sound was like nothing he’d ever heard before. It sounded almost like the cry of a real baby except for the disturbing hisses of air venting from the numerous holes in the creature’s throat as it cried. He watched as the thing rolled over and started to try to crawl towards his feet using its little rotted arms to pull itself across the floor. Instinct told him to stomp its head into a pulp but he felt the mother-Z’s eyes burning into him. A muffled moan rose up between her sewn tight lips as if she were pleading with him to spare her child. He took a breath and told himself the things were just Zs. They weren’t really alive and he needed to get them the hell out of here. The baby Z had to be destroyed and the mom defected out but he just couldn’t bring himself to smash the tiny monster in front of female Z. Maybe he was getting soft but he decided to reach down and pick the tiny Z up like a baby, cradling it in his arms. It stunk so bad he had to fight not to vomit from the stench of its rotted flesh. It groaned hungrily at him.

Kid, I ain’t your daddy and I ain’t your lunch either, he mumbled to the mass decayed flesh in his arms.

Before he knew what was happening the little Z reached up to touch his cheek. It was fast, for a Z so decayed and damaged, catching him off guard. One of its tiny fingernails pricked his skin as clawed at him. The cleaning chamber’s lights suddenly shifted to a pale red as the biohazard alarms begin to blare. Shit! he screamed and ran to the bio-waste disposal unit, chucking the little monster down the chute. Shannon heard its body thumping against the metal of the inside of the chute as it half rolled, half slid its way into the incinerator. He prayed to God that he could convince the factory’s security team that it had been the junk which had fallen out of the mother-thing onto the belt that had set off the alarms. If they found out what had really happened in the chamber, he was going to be in some deep, deep shit. Hell, he was already dead. It was just a matter of time until the prick on his cheek killed him from the dead virus which he was sure was already circulating in his system. At best, he had days to live and that was if he somehow managed to get medical help without the authorities finding out but he was damn sure going to fight for every second that he had left. Right now, his first problem though was making it out of the factory alive. He closed the chute and turned around just in time to see two men in full contamination suits, who were armed to the teeth and carried massive assault rifles in their hands, enter the room. He opened his mouth to greet them and try to explain the situation but he never got the chance. The men opened up with the assault rifles on full auto. Bullets tore the mother Z apart where she stood, still desperately trying to moan for her child, and Shannon along with her. One of the security personnel fired a well-aimed shot and Shannon’s head exploded as a stream of high velocity, hollow point rounds turned his face into tenderized meat. His shredded and lifeless body slumped to the floor where his blood intermingled with the perfumed waste of the day’s cleanings.

The Last Man

One would think that being one of the last men left alive on the Earth would be fun. Hell, maybe it would be if the damned dead stayed in their graves. The fantasy of being chased by a mob of ladies who want you takes on a different tone when their flesh is gray and decayed and they want your body for the literal taste of its blood and meat. I should have known better than to try to break into the women’s prison but, damn, I mean it’s like twenty degrees in the sun and the snow is still falling. One minute, I have just finished breaking the lock off the main gates and heading in with dreams a warm fire watching the furniture burn with a roof over my head and the next the ladies are coming out of the woodwork all around me. They pour into the prison’s yard like kids who have just seen the ice cream truck pull up. I stand there with the gate’s broken lock in my hands and watch them come.

At last my mind snaps out of it and I jerk my 9mm from its holster. A few well placed shots splatters the brains of the three closest onto the snow staining it a blackish red. There’s no way I can take them all down. I guess they number above four dozen in all. Turning my back to them I high tail it towards the trees of the forest outside the gates. Why in the hell, I wonder, couldn’t all of the movies about slow zombies be right as I hear their nearly frozen joints popping as they sprint after me.

When I reach the trees, I risk a look back. One of them, a blonde with only a jaw, is right there in my face. In a panic, I grab her by the head and slam her face over and over again into the bark of the nearest tree until my hands are soaked with the black crap that passes for the blood of the dead. I drop her corpse and look up to see the others are only a few feet away and closing fast. No time to take another shot at them with the pistol. Again, I’m running, dodging trees and leaping over the obstacles of the forest floor. I zig and zag through the woods hoping that if I get out of the pack’s line of sight maybe they’ll lose me. No such luck. The damn things are like bloodhounds when they smell warm flesh. My hand fishes around in the pocket of my heavy coat as I pant and my legs pump. I pull out my only grenade looted from the body of half-eaten soldier a few towns back and pull out the pin, tossing it over my shoulder. It lands too close. The force of the explosion knocks me from my feet and sends me rolling.

When I come to a stop, I leap to my feet despite the searing pain in my back and hold my 9mm ready. Pieces of several of the ladies lay twitching in the snow not far away. The rest of the pack comes trampling over them. I empty my clip in a series of thunderclaps over the cacophony of their hungry howling. Oh yeah, great fun to be the last man, I think as the first one of the women tackles me and we go sprawling. As the ladies pour over me, I don’t scream. Instead I find myself laughing as their mouths rip through my clothes and find what they seek. I kept right on laughing until a set of yellow teeth tears my vocal cords from my neck.

As We All Breakdown

Charles sat staring at the TV screen in disbelief. It seemed as if the world had gone crazy overnight. Every station the yacht’s small satellite dish could pick up was filled with the same kind of horror whether they were broadcast in English or not. The dead had risen and the living, were being hunted into extinction. Most nations had declared a state of martial law and there was talk of a small scale nuclear war going in Europe as that nation’s government declared war on its own major cities. Charles watched a live on the spot from somewhere out of the area around New York where a reporter had found himself trapped with what was left of an army unit that had been trying to hold the barricade around the city proper. Now the unit and the reporter, barely still being able to broadcast at all, were surrounded inside of a church they managed to reach. Soldiers fought the things which were smashing out the chapel’s windows and forcing their way inside even as the reporter screamed for help on the airwaves to whoever might be watching.

When Charles had set sail for his vacation, there had only been rumors and isolated cases of the virus, if that was indeed what it was, which now held the whole world in its decaying hands. He got up and turned off the TV heading for the bar. He removed a bottle of Vodka and poured himself a drink. He hadn’t really drank in years. The bar was more for the parties he held on board the boat with his agent and other writers than himself. The clear liquid burnt his throat like fire on its way down as he swallowed the glass full in a gulp. Charles walked back over the couch and sat down again with the empty glass still in his hands.

He’d stocked up the supplies on the boat for his vacation trip. He hadn’t really been planning on heading anywhere specific, just out here into the open waters where he could be alone to work on his novel and get away from people. He figured, if used sparingly, he had enough fuel to keep the yacht’s power on and engine running for two weeks. Food and water weren’t a problem either. He had enough stored up to last even longer than the fuel. But what good did any of it do him? he wondered. The way the news made things sound, it looked as if this was the end of the world and he was alone with nowhere to go. He couldn’t go back to the harbor he’d sailed from in South Carolina. He didn’t dare to. The southern states had been where the virus started in the United States and he couldn’t head north either. The footage he’d seen of New York told him that much. Up there, the cities had become war-zones. He imagined the harbors everywhere were either sealed off by the military or over ran with people trying to flee the mainland.

In a fit of impotent fury, he hurled the glass he held into the wall. It shattered as tiny pieces of it clinked to the floor.

Charles wondered suddenly if the dead could swim. Would he be safe even out here? He had only one weapon on the yacht. He got up and went to his desk. Fumbling with the keys he produced from his pocket, he opened the desk’s second drawer. As it slid open, he looked down at the fully loaded 9mm. He doubted it would be enough should anything happen. He didn’t keep extra ammo on board. The singular clip the gun itself contained was it. Charles had never honestly imagined using the thing but being who he was he kept it around just in case.

The gun’s cold metal felt good in his palm and helped to calm him a bit. He headed into the bedroom, locking the door behind him, and laid the gun down on his nightstand making sure the safety was on in case it slid off in the night from the bouncing of the waves. Then he collapsed onto the bed without bothering to turn down the blankets and began to cry as it all sank in. His money mattered for nothing now, what few friends he did have despite his reclusive life-style were surely dead, and there would be no going home.

When he awoke, it was dark outside. The light of the stars reflected on the waves below and the night was peaceful and quiet. It was everything he’d sought when he set sail but the beauty of it haunted him, the silence his own personal hell. He stumbled into the living quarters and searched for the TV’s remote. When he found it, he clicked the screen on to find only gray, crackling static on channel after channel. Finally he gave up.

Minutes later, he sat beside the ship’s radio in equal frustration, calling out his S.O.S. time and time again to the empty waters around him. He hadn’t bothered to shave and a rough shadow had crept onto his tan cheeks. He rubbed at it absently as he stared at the gun he’d carried to the desk with him. He could pick it up, he knew, and end it all here and now but somehow that seemed wrong. He’d been spared by luck when so many had died. He had to stay alive, had to find others, and start over. This couldn’t really be the end. To take his own life seemed the coward’s way out and he owed himself and the world more than that.

The days went by slowly. Charles had begun to keep a journal more to stay sane than for any other reason. He doubted any one alive would ever find it. His beard grew while his supplies dwindled. He’d set a course for the outer banks of North Carolina. He knew it wouldn’t be safe there but he figured it was as good as a place as any to try for. He wasn’t entirely sure that was where he was really headed however. His navigational equipment wasn’t working and it seemed, as insane as it sounded, that the stars themselves had changed too and couldn’t be trusted.

By the end of his second week on the yacht, he’d reached land again. Not a port, just an empty beach. There appeared to be only sand and trees awaiting him over there but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the yacht yet. He could always break out the emergency raft and paddle across the shore tomorrow if it was really safe. He had to be sure. He put down the anchor and settled in for a long night of watching the sand. As he watched the shore the trees stirred in a gentle fall wind until their calmness lulled his wary body to sleep.

Somewhere around 3 AM, he was awakened by a commotion on the sand. Several human sized figures ran up and down the length of the beach, howling and snarling at the yacht and him. Even in the darkness, he knew the people on the shore were dead. They were like animals that had spotted a prey they couldn’t quite reach. At least, Charles hoped that the last part was true. The TV was still dead and no answers had ever come to his desperate cries on the radio. He guessed he had hoped humanity would get it together and get back control before he had made it here. It had been a false hope and now he sat within sight of the dead which had over ran the world, still alone, and with much less than when he had started. Heading back out to sea didn’t seem to be an option, only madness and death awaited him out there as he died of thirst. Pulling up anchor and drifting along the shore to another spot seemed pointless as well. The things would surely follow him and even if they didn’t others of their kind would be there to take their place. It was over.

The world was dead and he was too even if he was still breathing. It was only a matter of time regardless of which course he choose. All he had left to do was to decide how he would meet his end. He got out the emergency raft and inflated it, lowering it into the water. With the 9mm clutched in a white knuckled hand, he started on his way to beach and home.

Deadlier Country

Elijah laughed bitterly at the hand fate had dealt him. When the dead had begun to rise, he'd leapt into action. Elijah had always been a loner. There were no loved ones or friends in his life to hold him back and prevent him from fleeing the city as quickly as possible. He was one of the first looters on the streets as the chaos erupted. He'd systematically sought out the supplies he would need from a .22 rifle with several boxes of shells to a shotgun for stopping power and a sidearm, to a large hiking pack which he filled with canned foods, bottled water, and camping gear. Some of it, he bought from shops that were still open despite the hell around them and the rest he stole. He thanked God he hadn't been forced to kill anyone for what he needed. He had however had a brawl with a gun shop owner who was trying to close up and lock down as he'd entered. Elijah had crammed all his stuff into a SUV he hotwired and sped out of the city without looking back. The interstate had been covered with abandoned and wrecked cars so he couldn't travel as fast as he'd hoped he could. There had even already been packs of the dead wandering the roadway but none that he hadn't been able to avoid. He'd thought his logic had been sound. Get away from the city to the far less populated countryside and he would stand a much better chance of surviving to carry on long after the cities had burned and been overrun by the legions of newly risen dead.

Elijah drove for hours straight into the middle of nowhere. Only when the road turned to gravel, the last house he'd seen was a couple of miles behind him, and the trees surrounded him on all sides did he stop. He ditched the SUV, carrying all he could on foot, and headed out even deeper into the woods. His plan had been so perfect, well thought out and executed without a snag. Weighted down by his supplies, he'd hiked as far as he could before he'd made camp, still patting himself on the back for making it out here with so little trouble. It wasn't until the first of the creatures came bounding out of the trees at him with saliva and blood dripping from its hungry mouth that he realized just how huge of a mistake he'd made. Elijah barely managed to get his loaded shotgun up and ready in time to defend himself. He squeezed the trigger with the creature so close that when the shotgun's blast blew its decaying form apart, its blood and intestines splattered over him. He fought down the urge to vomit as taking the time to do so could cost him his life. He heard movement in the brush and knew the thing hadn't been alone. Snatching up what he could from the gear he'd laid out, he took off sprinting away as fast as his legs would carry him. His breath came in ragged gasps and his whole body burned from the effort as he forced himself to keep going. The houses he'd quickly driven by not long before were now his only hope. He made a point to cut through a small creek hoping the moving water would cause the creatures to loss his scent. The image of the one he'd shot lingered in his mind. Its body had been torn to pieces on the ground before him but its head had remained intact, twisting in the dirt of the forest floor as its teeth continued to snap hungrily.

At last, Elijah saw a house in the distance. Truth be told, it was more of a shack which appeared to have been abandoned for years but he didn't care. It had walls and a door and that was enough for his purposes. He reached inside himself and found the energy for one more burst of speed like a runner who sees the finish line in sight. He didn't try to open the door or see if it was locked. He barreled into it throwing his weight against its wooden frame. The cabin's door slammed inward and he went toppling across the floor of its single room. He jumped to his feet discarding the meager supplies he'd been able to salvage and with his shotgun still in hand raced back to the door and slammed it shut. Its hinges had been damaged but it still worked well enough from him to get it closed. His eyes scanned the room desperately searching for anything he could use to brace the door with. The cabin was clearly deserted. Other than a single chair, a desk, and a small stack of wood beside its fireplace, its sole room was empty. He wondered if it were some kind of way station for hikers who needed a respite from the elements but didn't have time to dwell on the question of the cabin. He scooted the heavy desk against the door and slid to the floor leaning his himself on it. Only then did he allow himself a moment to breath.

A wolf howled somewhere in the night outside. It was an unnatural cry of sickening pain which ended in a gargling wheeze. The howl didn't surprise Elijah. The wolf he'd faced off with had had half its upper back exposed with both its fur and flesh torn clean from its body. In the flash of his shotgun, he'd seen the white bone of its spine before the weapon's blast had struck the creature. He figured if the dead humans formed packs to hunt the living, wolves certainly would as hunting packs were already part of their instinctual nature. That's why he had ran from his camp. There was no way that wolf could have been alone and the howl proved it. There was no telling how many of the damned, rotting animals were out there circling the cabin.

His eyes were drawn to the fireplace. He hauled himself up and went over to it, fishing around in his pocket for a lighter. He quickly got a fire going and then hurried once more to add his weight to that of the desk against the doorway once more. Not having a fire had not been an option. If wolves could come back to life too like people then the last thing he needed was an undead squirrel crawling down the chimney to rip his face off.

Why in the hell had he thought only humans would come back? He cursed himself.

The cabin's only window exploded in a shower of glass as the first wolf leapt through it. Elijah jerked up his shotgun, pumping a round into its chamber, as the thing landed gracefully on the floor across from him. It tried to growl at him though its throat had been torn out. A wet, flopping sound filled the room as its windpipe vibrated where it dangled from the thing's open neck. It tensed up to pounce at him as Elijah pulled the trigger and took his shot. This time his aim was true and the shotgun's blast burst the wolf's head like an over ripe melon.

Elijah felt his makeshift barricade buckle against his back as the scratching against the door began. He held his position holding the door closed by shoving his backside into it as two more wolves came through the window. Cursing he tossed his shotgun aside and drew the pistol holstered on his hip. The fight was over before it truly started.

Elijah fired getting off a trio of shots. Two of them struck the lead wolf sending it sprawling but his third shot went wild as the second wolf grabbed his gun arm in its teeth and ripped at his skin. The first wolf got up and charged him going straight for his throat, cutting through his jugular and windpipe alike as its massive jaws closed around his neck.

Elijah's body twisted and fought against his fur covered attackers as his blood flowed out onto the wooden floor. His body rolled away from the doorway no longer holding the desk in place. The door slid open under the force of the paws pushing against it outside and still more wolves entered joining their brothers in a feast of warm, once living flesh until all that remained of Elijah was bone and scattered pieces of clothing.

Know When to Run

I repeat: This is unit 13! We need immediate artillery support at the previously established coordinates! Riley yelled into the comm. gear on his helmet. A creature came bounding over the barricade straight at him as he jerked up the barrel of his assault rifle level with its chest and fired a burst into the thing. Its rotting body toppled back over the barricade but Riley knew the thing would be back. He hadn’t been able to hit its head.

We’ve got to get out of here, sir! Danny cried over the growing moans and howls of the creatures across the barricade from them. We can’t hold them!

Riley popped his empty clip out and shoved a fresh one home. Alright! he agreed waving a hand at the rest of the unit. Fall back! His eyes scanned the surroundings behind him. We’ll regroup at that church over there!

Under Riley’s direction, the reminder of the unit broke off the line darting for the church. Private Dodson stopped in the middle of the road carrying the unit’s only remaining M-60 trying to lay down cover fire as the others ran and the dead poured like swarms of ants over the barricade.

Danny reached the church first and looked back just in time to see Dodson go down. The things were all over the huge man, ripping at him with their teeth and nails. Danny tried the church’s door and found it open.

Riley was the last to reach the church. He hurried inside with the dead on his heels as Danny and Warren slammed the heavy wooden door behind him. Its lock slid home but even so the two privates were left pressing their weight against it to brace the door against the pounding of the hordes of dead outside.

Davis and Moore were the only other two members of the unit to make it inside. Shit! Riley snapped as he glanced down the rows of windows which lined the chapel’s interior. Already one window had been shattered and Moore stood emptying a magazine at the things trying to crawl through it. Get something against the door to slow them down! Riley ordered moving towards the back of the church. This place is a deathtrap! We’ve gotta move!

Davis was ahead of him. She reached the doorway at the rear of the chapel and moved to kick it open but the door flung itself open. A thing dressed in the blood stained robes of a priest came howling towards her. Her rifle clicked empty as she brought it to bear on the thing. In the next second, she was down with the thing on top of her, pulling at her hair as it fought to sink its yellow teeth into her flesh.

There was still no sound of an artillery barrage outside Riley noticed. He wondered if base camp was in the shit as deep as his unit was. In the end, he supposed it didn’t matter. They were on their on.

More windows had been shattered and there were at least a dozen of