"Then I'll go too," she said, starting an argument that they had gone over a dozen times already.
"No, you stay here. Keep an eye on things. I doubt those Nike fucks will do anything behind our backs, but just in case…" Rudy didn't know how to finish the thought, so he just shrugged. "It'll only be a few hours. Tejada says we're just going to recon the place and then head right back."
She didn't say anything, and that was somehow worse to him. He kissed her on the forehead, still feeling like the luckiest guy in the world. "I love you." And he did.
She nodded, unable to say the words. But that was ok. He had heard the words before. He sighed, grabbed his rifle, and turned to leave.
From behind, he heard her say the words. "I love you too." He paused then and waited for her to put her own jacket on. She caught up to him, and he squeezed her hand, wishing that they weren't wearing gloves so he could actually feel her skin against his.
He walked out the door with his love by his side, still marveling at the fact someone could say those three words to him.
****
Walt stood on the white snow that covered the grass of the Nike campus. They were in the northwest corner of the campus, stamping their feet and going over final instructions. He thought the plan was stupid. He thought it was a terrible idea, but he was still going to go through with it. He couldn't believe he was going to, but it was too late to say no. He would lose respect if that happened, and respect was really all he had these days, that and American Express. He shifted, feeling the weight of the bowling ball hanging from his back. In a heartbeat, he could have it pulled and swinging, ready to smash any of the dead that came too close to him.
They were all there, the eight soldiers, led by Tejada, Rudy and Amanda, and himself, everyone who had made it out of Portland alive. Day, hideous as a Picasso on acid, stood hopping from foot to foot. Day couldn't handle the cold. He had complained about it all winter long. Periodically, he would blow into his hands to try and break the winter chill that clung to his digits.
"Man, it's so cold, I bet I could see you fart," he said to Whiteside.
"Me? You're the one that can't handle his beans," Whiteside shot back. He was small in stature but thick for how small he was. His head looked like it belonged to someone twice his size though. Whiteside had bags under his eyes like he was permanently hungover. Walt didn't much care for the man, but he was good in a pinch, and loyal as hell, though he'd just as soon bust your balls as ever say anything nice to you. Day complemented him well.
Brown stood off to the side, praying. He didn't do it loudly, but he offered up a small prayer, his lips moving ever so slightly, his almond-shaped eyes covered by rounded brown eyelids. Walt had given up on religion, but if it made Brown feel better about their upcoming mission, then he was all for it.
He called it a mission, though no one else in the group had called it that. That was exactly what it was to him… a mission. His first chance to show that he had learned his lessons. Sure, he had helped clear the campus of the dead, but this was his first time going out into the shit with all of Tejada's training stored in his noggin.
Max Masterson, Izzy Allen, and Gregg maneuvered a metal ramp into position. Nike's eggheads had designed the ramp. It was wide enough for two people to walk side by side and made of a wooden frame that had been covered in sheet metal to give it some durability. The plan was to line it up with the top of the wall that surrounded the campus, hit the Annies hard, and then plop down on the other side. Walt didn't like the plan, as it required someone on the other side to push the ramp up and over the wall for their return. Maybe they should have put a hinge in the middle or something, like a drawbridge. Why didn't the eggheads think of that?
Walt had a feeling that getting out would be the easy part. Maybe the shit would hit the fan so hard out there that they would be forced to move on. He wouldn't mind if that happened. It wouldn't bother him one bit. The Nike campus had a way of making people soft, and he was trying to do the opposite. He wanted to be hard, like a rock, like old American Express, waiting to be unleashed upon the dead.
With a groan and a clang, Masterson, Allen, and Gregg slid the ramp in place. He watched as everyone fell silent. They checked their rifles once again, making sure that the safeties were off. They checked the straps on their gear. They were each outfitted with an empty bag. They would fill these with food if the store they went to check out wasn't completely scavenged down to the shelves. He didn't like the bag. It felt cumbersome, confining, but food was the whole point of the mission, so the bag stayed.
Brown finished his prayer, and Tejada called over to him. "Whiteside, Brown, you're up first. Clear the way. Allen, Gregg, you're up after. Clear out anything else. I don't need to tell you bastards to be careful when you jump off the wall. You twist an ankle when you land, and you're up shit creek without a paddle, and that means so are the rest of us. Tuck and roll, get to your feet,
