The Longest Midnight: A Zombie Novel by J.J. Fowler

Author:J.J. Fowler [Fowler, J.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severed Press
Published: 2016-11-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Six

Colonel Tarte lay on his back, dozing off in his private sunbathing chamber. A lit cigar rested in the ashtray on the floor beside him. It was peaceful moments like these when he thought of his sister. She was so young when the soldiers terminated her for the bite, he thought. Why couldn’t I save her?

The entrance door swung open and an old, frail, communications officer stepped into Tarte’s private sanctuary.

Tarte was annoyed. “What?”

The old man cleared his throat and spoke nervously, “Sir, you told me to inform you of any news.”

“Well?”

“There is none, sir. However, they were last reported near the target.”

“I know that, you imbecile.”

Tarte sat up and picked up his cigar. He took a drag and blew a large plume of smoke toward his subordinate and then bent over coughing.

“Yes, sir. You did know that, but I felt it necessary to inform you of no changes.”

Tarte controlled himself and then stood up. “Did I tell you to inform me of no changes?”

“Well, no, sir. I took the initiative.”

“Quiet. Are they still in that shack?”

“Yes, sir. They are very close to the target.”

“Stop repeating yourself, old man.”

“Sorry, sir. I meant—”

Tarte slammed his fist into the man’s face. The frail soldier lurched back from the blow and collapsed onto the white tiled floor. “Quiet. I’m thinking.”

The old soldier stood back up and rubbed his injured chin. Tarte took another puff of his cigar, dropped it on the floor, and crushed it with his boot. “It’s time we sent a rescue mission.”

“But, sir, we’re under constant attack. We cannot afford to send a force after them.”

“Do you not learn, Captain? We need those men.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Inform all platoon commanders to come to the control room immediately.”

The old man nodded his head and left.

Tarte sat back down on his couch and picked up a glass of whiskey resting beside him on an adjacent table. He swirled the whiskey around the glass gazing intently into it and thinking about her eyes. Then he drifted into the past…

The death squad burst into their apartment based on a tip Tarte’s sister was bitten. They confirmed the bite and shot her as Tarte’s mother screamed. His father already lay unconscious on the carpet for resisting the invaders. His sister’s terrified blue eyes met Tarte’s the moment before a 9-millimeter round tore through her brain and sprayed the young and frightened Tarte with his sister’s blood.

The glass of whiskey fell out of Tarte’s hand and shattered beside his feet. He didn’t notice it. Why would he? She was gone forever.

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