"C'mon, Cam, I think it's sexier if you leave it longer," Becky pleaded.
"Sexy enough that you'll let me in bed?" Cameron asked with a smirk.
Becky put her hands on his shoulders, put her lips next to his ear, and whispered, "I don't think so." She may have accepted the fact that someone else was carrying his kid, but was still punishing him for it. And while Cameron certainly would've liked to resume that aspect of the relationship, he wasn't a douche and endlessly pushed for it. The fact that Becky was back by his side at all was more than enough for him.
"Take it all off, then."
"Fine," she pouted, turning on the razor picked up on the most recent supply run. Becky proceeded to shave off all of the hair off of Cameron's head.
In that zombified new world there was no need for neat, fancy haircuts, so people pretty much had two options: let their hair grow, or take it all off…. And Cameron hated long hair.
After a quick rinse in the shower, Cameron was ready to do another day of guard duty at the construction site. The wall was nearing completion on the east side of town. Everyone was hard at work so that the wall could start being built through the cleared section of the hill.
That was where Cameron was. He was simply in those woods with Becky ever alert for zombies. It may not have been as common for gunshots to be heard, but it wasn't alarming. But it was odd when many shots were fired, followed by some more. And they didn't stop either.
Cameron and Becky became more alert, both raising their rifles, looking for any targets.
"We've got hostiles!" the radio said. "Ah, fuck! I repeat we've got—" Another shot was heard in the distance, and simultaneously the radio transmission was cut off.
"What the fuck?" Cameron thought out loud.
"Hostiles?" Becky said.
"Wait," Cameron said, thinking back to that family from Lancaster, "could that possibly mean—?"
The bark on the tree next to Cameron suddenly burst into pieces, causing him and Becky to duck down and scramble around behind the tree. Still low, Cameron tried to peer around the tree but more bullets were fired at him, and he just barely got out of the way.
"We've got hostiles too!" Cameron shouted into his radio.
The woods around Cameron now sounded like a real battlefield. Not the one-sided killing of zombies, but man-to-man fighting. In hopes of fighting back, Cameron pointed his rifle around the tree and fired a few rounds blindly. Becky too looked around the tree to fire, but instantly pulled back when bullets came flying her way.
"I'll cover you," she said, blindly firing around the tree. "Try and flank the bastard!"
Nodding, Cameron ducked and ran when Becky fired at the aggressor. Before taking cover again, he spotted the son of a bitch. The bastard looked like one of those stereotypical douches that always rode around on Harleys—like the Hell's Angels or something. He had camouflage draped over his back, and under that was dirty and ragged clothing.
Cameron pointed his rifle to shoot him, but the prick already trained his rifle on him! Diving to take cover, Cameron ended up behind another tree, his jeans grazed by the gunfire.
"Do you see him?" Cameron asked.
"Yeah!" Becky responded
The two of them nodded at each other, and simultaneously they left their cover to fire down upon the enemy. Nowhere to go, the bastard tried to retreat, but Becky placed a few well-aimed rounds into that fucker's back. She and Cameron moved forward to check if the man was dead.
He was not. He was still breathing, so Becky ended his life with a round to the back of the head at point blank range. Cameron marveled at how long a way she came from that timid, but brave girl back at the Target.
Not saying anything to each other, they started quickly making their way back to town. But they didn't get far. Soon enough they started taking fire once more, and this time Cameron went down with a flesh wound to his right arm.
"Cam! C'mon, you can still run!" Becky screamed at him, trying to haul him up.
"Well, well, lookie here," a greasy voice said behind her. Cameron saw the man approaching, and Becky tried to swing her gun round, but the new enemy hit her on the head with the butt of his own rifle. She went down with a bloody bruise on the side of her forehead, but she was still conscious.
Cameron tried to take out his pistol, but the man already trained his gun on him. "I'm supposed to take as many of you wimps alive as possible, so let's not try to make this any harder than it has to be." The man reached behind Cameron to pull the pistol out from his belt.
"You got some?" another said, stepping into their clearing. The both of them were of the same breed as the first.
"Yeah."
"Oh, you're a cute one, ain't ya?" the new fucker said, putting his finger under Becky's chin and lifting her head up a bit. Don't touch her! Cameron raged inside his head. "You 'n' me are gonna have some fun."
"Fuck off," was Becky's response.
Anger flashed through his eyes, and he slapped her across the face. "You'll be learning a new attitude soon enough," he promised her.
Cameron had never been more pissed off in his life. With both of their attention on Becky, he took his knife out of his pocket, and rammed it into the leg of the one that had shot him. The bastard screamed in pain, and the other looked over to see what had happened.
That gave Becky the chance to reach for her own pistol, and fire two rounds into the gut of the bastard that slapped her—followed by two more into the one that Cameron had stabbed.
The person that slapped Becky was still alive and bleeding profusely from the belly. He was trying to reach for his gun, but Cameron already stood up and stomped down on his hand. Looking down at the piece of shit with utter loathing, Cameron crouched down and said to him, "That's my girlfriend, you fuck!" And with even less empathy than he had for zombies, he plunged the knife right through the sternum into the enemy's heart. Slowly, Cameron watched with cold satisfaction as the enemy struggled, until he was finally dead.
"Are you okay?" Cameron asked, helping Becky to her feet.
"Yeah," she said trying to stabilize herself. The bruise on her forehead was swelling and her lip was bleeding, but for the most part Becky was fine.
Cameron picked up his rifle, put his pistol back in his belt, and put his knife back into his pocket after wiping off the hostile's blood. His wound still hurt like none other, but if could walk he could fight. It was lucky they didn't check Becky for her pistol otherwise the two of them might've been done for.
They carried each other as they continued back to town. On the way they came across reinforcements. It turned out that the hostiles also tried attacking from the west, but the response on that side was a lot quicker. They were told to head back to town.
Cameron couldn't scale the trucks due to his arm, so they had to go around the perimeter and enter through the road. Once they made it to the clinic, they found more people that were worse for wear. They ranged from a flesh wound like Cameron's, to something that wouldn't stop bleeding. The medic was in over his head and had to call on others to help.
"Cam!"
Marge ran up to him, giving him a tight hug. Cameron returned it, grateful that not only did he and Becky make it through, but that Marge and the baby were safe too.
Becky was getting stitches and had an icepack on her head. Since his arm only had to be disinfected and bandaged, Cameron went back out. It might have been bad in that wooded hill, but the construction site was hit even harder. By the time he got there he saw bodies of both people he knew, and those of hostiles scattered throughout.
About two hours after the attack took place a quick head count was performed on everyone in town—both alive and dead. Nobody was missing. The casualty report was thirteen dead militia, six dead civilians, seventeen casualties, and twenty-six dead hostiles…with one captured alive.
Major Kyle, who was wounded himself, did the interrogation personally. It was conducted in the community center. Five people stood guard outside, while two were inside—Cameron was one of the two. The hostile was duct taped to a chair, and was bleeding from a flesh wound on his right calf.
"Where did you come from?" he asked point blank.
"Fuck you," was the out of shape, wrinkly, gray-haired bastard's response.
Major Kyle promptly took out his pistol and shot the bastard's left leg. The man cried and screamed in pain, as the Major watched him squirm. Cameron was probably enjoying the sight of that a little too much.
"I asked where the fuck you came from!"
"You're military!" the prisoner shouted in agony. Most of the original Guardsmen still did their patrolling in their uniforms. "You aren't supposed to treat captives like this!"
Without thinking, the Major shot the other leg. "And your one brain dead mother fucker if you think I'm playing by the rules! My people spent months making this place what it is today, and you just come in thinking you can take over."
He didn't say anything. After letting out even more cries of agony, he just bit his lip to stifle the screaming. "You know I can't kill you while you have information I want," Kyle said dangerously, pressing his gun on the kneecap. "We'll be keeping you alive just enough so you can feel every ounce of pain. And when you pass out, we'll wait 'til you wake up so we can simply continue from where we left off."
"I have my rights god dammit!" was the terrified and desperate response. "This is still America!"
"We changed the legal drinking age, and lowered the voting age. Now that may not seem like a whole lot, but I have no problem calling our leader up so that he can toss the Eighth Amendment out the fucking window!" Kyle shouted, blowing off his kneecap. The prisoner howled in even more pain and agony, struggling against his bonds and was loosing a lot of blood.
A half hour later just as Kyle was about to take off a finger, the prisoner shouted, "We came from Monroe! Okay? Monroe—it's a place way to the south of here. Please stop! PLEASE!"
"If you're lying to me I'll be back," Kyle told the prisoner menacingly. Wiping the blood off, Kyle made for the door. With his actions also came what was popularly dubbed the Kyle Doctrine, which stated that any person that took away another's basic human rights, were no longer considered worthy of those same rights themselves.
"Monroe?" Cameron asked.
"Sir," Perry said, "could that mean—?"
"It'd make sense," the Major said, still wiping his hands. "They did have similar weapons as us."
It looked like the time had finally come to head for that National Guard armory.