19
MANHATTAN, NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK
MARCH 7TH
Jake woke feeling refreshed for the first time in ages. He couldn’t even remember the last time that he’d gotten as good a night’s sleep as he had in the apartment. Beside him, Sergeant Turner still slept soundly. They’d shared an overly-comfortable king-sized bed and neither had gotten in the other’s way.
He rolled his ankles gently for a moment to loosen the joints and then sat up. While he felt rested, he still felt way older than his twenty-five years. His body had taken a pounding in Ranger School, then he went directly into fighting the infected before he’d even gotten a chance to go on his first field training exercise with his platoon. Nothing better than real-world experience.
The lieutenant swung his legs over the side of the big bed. The events of the previous night came back to him. They’d accomplished the first part of their mission. They’d found one of the scientists from Columbia University. Against all the odds stacked against them, they’d actually done it. Sure, the guy was a little cuckoo in the head, but who wasn’t these days? The sun was shining outside and he had some MRE coffee in his rucksack. It was going to be a great day.
After he relieved himself in a bottle, Jake went out to the apartment’s living area. Taavi sat at the counter, sipping on a cup of steaming liquid, which Jake assumed to be coffee as well.
“Good morning, Taavi,” he said cheerily. He was in a great mood.
“Good morning, Lieutenant Murphy.”
“Coffee?” Jake asked, pointing at the cup.
The taller man lifted a bright yellow tea kettle. “Tea. Much better than coffee. There’s a box of it in the cupboard.”
“Huh. Guess there’s some things that get passed over, even in the apocalypse. How’d you heat the water?”
“I made a fire on the balcony,” he replied, staring off into the emptiness of the kitchen.
Jake looked at the glass door leading to the balcony. He saw a large metal mixing bowl with the charred, smoking remains of whatever the Iranian used to start the fire.
“Ah… What did you use for firewood?”
“The side table,” Taavi replied without looking back. “It was flimsy and easily broken. The wood inside is very dry. It caught fire quickly. The varnish helped to spread the flames.”
Jake shrugged. That’d work. “Any of it left?”
“Yes, of course. I only needed one table leg to heat the water.”
Jake took the tea kettle and emptied a bottle of water into it, then set about the task of starting a fire in the bowl. He needed to use the serrated blade on his Gerber to make deep cuts into the wood, which then allowed him to break the table leg. He was almost finished with the task when he realized that he hadn’t seen Grady Harper.
He stuck his head back inside and said, “Hey, Taavi. Where’s Harper?”
The older man stared into his cup of tea as if he hadn’t heard him. “Taavi? Earth to Taavi.”
Finally, the Iranian swiveled in his chair and looked at Jake. His face was gaunt and he had circles under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept. “He went hunting again last night.”
Jake’s stomach dropped. “What?”
“He left the apartment. Said he was going hunting.”
Jake surged to his feet, letting the table leg he’d been working on drop to the balcony’s concrete floor. “What do you mean?” he demanded, stomping into the apartment.
“He needed to clear his head. Apparently, killing things clears his head.”
“Mother fucker!” Jake hissed. “That son of bitching piece of shit cocksucker!”
“What’s wrong, LT?” Sergeant Turner asked from the master bedroom. Jake heard his feet hit against the floor as he rolled out of bed.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
Sergeant Turner emerged from the bedroom, M-4 in hand. He scanned the room for threats, then eased. “Where’s the spook?”
“Hunting!” Jake replied in exasperation. “Taavi said he left the apartment in the middle of the night to go out hunting. Whatever the hell that means.”
“It means that sonnabitch went out to kill something,” Turner said. He pointed at Taavi’s mug. “Coffee?”
“No, it is tea. There’s a box of it in the cupboard.”
“I’ll stick to coffee. Thank you.” Turner sauntered into the room, seemingly unconcerned by Harper’s absence.
“He’s the whole fucking reason we’re here,” Jake grumbled. It had been an annoying nuisance while they were on the move to New York. Harper would leave and go hunting the infected at night when they were active, but he was immune to them, so Jake hadn’t worried too much after the first couple of times it happened. Now that they were in the city, though, it was an entirely different situation. There were other people around who could shoot back.
“What are we gonna do about this?” the lieutenant asked.
“Well, sir. I’m gonna have a cup of hot coffee—haven’t had one since we left the Strykers and their water heaters back in Jersey. Then, we’re gonna wait for the dumbass to return.”
Turner walked out to the balcony and bent over out of sight. When he straightened back up, he held a few small pieces of wood, which he tossed into the bowl. Jake watched him for a moment as he busied himself lighting the fire before cursing and returning to the bedroom where his gear sat in the corner. He retrieved his canteen cup, a bottle of water, and a packet of instant coffee from the MRE. He would have preferred a regularly-brewed coffee, but this was just as good.
He returned to the living area and made his way to the balcony. “Mind if I heat some water too?”
“That’s the spirit, sir,” the old veteran said, smiling.
The two of them sat on
