Read Online The Rabid Brigadier by Craig Sargent - Free Book Online
Authors: Craig Sargent
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together since he’d
been out of the bunker. It gave him a sudden stirring of hope in his guts. It almost hurt—hope. He had pushed it all down.
The new America seemed… likehell, from what he’d seen so far. He had been fighting through a sea of blood from the moment he’d emerged after five years
of living hidden inside a mountain fallout shelter. And the people he’d seen had been pretty fucking bad. These were the first
who… seemed even vaguely to be on the side of life. Maybe things could be put together again. Maybe Humpty Dumpty could be
glued and stitched up and placed back up on the wall. Maybe.
“My dog,” Stone suddenly said loudly, feeling an instant wave of guilt for not having thought of it before. “Where is—”
“He’s fine. I promise you. He knew we were helping you. He was trying to help you when you went down—licking your face, trying
to lift you by pulling your collar up, to get you moving again. The guards reported they had a problem with him at first.
But once he saw that he couldn’t do anything and that they had good intentions, he let them treat you. He was taken to a special
pound we have; they’re handling him well, I swear.”
“You don’t understand; he doesn’t get along with other dogs. He’s a real scrapper. I’ve seen him—”
“There are other pitbulls here, Mr. Stone,” she said with a smile as they reached the ground floor and walked along another
antiseptic hall. “General Patton III breeds pitbulls here—as his namesake did. The dog handlers have much experience in handling
the animal.”
“But—but,” Stone stuttered, somehow not imagining the animal allowing itself to be caged and fed army gruel—and God only knew
what all.
“After dinner, I’ll take you there. First thing.”
Stone hesitated. He should see it immediately. But the dog would have eaten first before coming to save him. And he was starving.
“After dinner,” Stone agreed, walking a little faster as his stomach began growling from even the thought of food. It had
probably been days and days since he’d eaten anything beyond the muck they had been feeding into his veins.
She led him past a guard who sat on duty at the front door. The soldier, a private, jumped to quick attention as he saw her
coming. He was young, in his late teens or early twenties, with an almost gawkish look about him. He gave the NAA salute—fist
about three inches in front of the nose, arm stretched out sideways, parallel to the ground.
“He’s okay,” she said, nodding at Stone, who walked just beside her. “He’s been cleared for minimum supervision. He’ll be
in my custody.”
“Yes sir, Lieutenant,” the man said, dropping the salute.
“At ease, Corporal,” Nurse Williamson said. She led Stone out the door and into the sunlight. It was so bright it instantly
made his eyes tear up and he had to stop for a second.
“Come on now, I can’t carry you,” she said, looking at him impatiently.
“Look Ms. Nurse,” Stone said coolly. “I was shooting craps with the grim reaper just twenty minutes ago; it makes a guy a
little dizzy. You should try it sometimes.”
“Sorry,” she answered, giving him a real smile for the first time, which quickly froze as she turned away. “Come on, let’s
move it.” They walked down a concrete pathway and out onto a main road, asphalt, very smooth and black as if recently put
down, and turned to the right. The camp was laid out logically and simply—all square buildings with wide thoroughfares between
them. There were barracks to one side, each about sixty feet long by twenty feet high, over fifty of them. A cleared field
was filled with vehicles—maybe forty jeeps, two dozen plus half-track type vehiclescovered with thick steel armor, on high reinforced super wheels—the things looked lethal—and more of the tanks he had seen
the night they rescued him, nearly twenty of them, all the same model—the
been out of the bunker. It gave him a sudden stirring of hope in his guts. It almost hurt—hope. He had pushed it all down.
The new America seemed… likehell, from what he’d seen so far. He had been fighting through a sea of blood from the moment he’d emerged after five years
of living hidden inside a mountain fallout shelter. And the people he’d seen had been pretty fucking bad. These were the first
who… seemed even vaguely to be on the side of life. Maybe things could be put together again. Maybe Humpty Dumpty could be
glued and stitched up and placed back up on the wall. Maybe.
“My dog,” Stone suddenly said loudly, feeling an instant wave of guilt for not having thought of it before. “Where is—”
“He’s fine. I promise you. He knew we were helping you. He was trying to help you when you went down—licking your face, trying
to lift you by pulling your collar up, to get you moving again. The guards reported they had a problem with him at first.
But once he saw that he couldn’t do anything and that they had good intentions, he let them treat you. He was taken to a special
pound we have; they’re handling him well, I swear.”
“You don’t understand; he doesn’t get along with other dogs. He’s a real scrapper. I’ve seen him—”
“There are other pitbulls here, Mr. Stone,” she said with a smile as they reached the ground floor and walked along another
antiseptic hall. “General Patton III breeds pitbulls here—as his namesake did. The dog handlers have much experience in handling
the animal.”
“But—but,” Stone stuttered, somehow not imagining the animal allowing itself to be caged and fed army gruel—and God only knew
what all.
“After dinner, I’ll take you there. First thing.”
Stone hesitated. He should see it immediately. But the dog would have eaten first before coming to save him. And he was starving.
“After dinner,” Stone agreed, walking a little faster as his stomach began growling from even the thought of food. It had
probably been days and days since he’d eaten anything beyond the muck they had been feeding into his veins.
She led him past a guard who sat on duty at the front door. The soldier, a private, jumped to quick attention as he saw her
coming. He was young, in his late teens or early twenties, with an almost gawkish look about him. He gave the NAA salute—fist
about three inches in front of the nose, arm stretched out sideways, parallel to the ground.
“He’s okay,” she said, nodding at Stone, who walked just beside her. “He’s been cleared for minimum supervision. He’ll be
in my custody.”
“Yes sir, Lieutenant,” the man said, dropping the salute.
“At ease, Corporal,” Nurse Williamson said. She led Stone out the door and into the sunlight. It was so bright it instantly
made his eyes tear up and he had to stop for a second.
“Come on now, I can’t carry you,” she said, looking at him impatiently.
“Look Ms. Nurse,” Stone said coolly. “I was shooting craps with the grim reaper just twenty minutes ago; it makes a guy a
little dizzy. You should try it sometimes.”
“Sorry,” she answered, giving him a real smile for the first time, which quickly froze as she turned away. “Come on, let’s
move it.” They walked down a concrete pathway and out onto a main road, asphalt, very smooth and black as if recently put
down, and turned to the right. The camp was laid out logically and simply—all square buildings with wide thoroughfares between
them. There were barracks to one side, each about sixty feet long by twenty feet high, over fifty of them. A cleared field
was filled with vehicles—maybe forty jeeps, two dozen plus half-track type vehiclescovered with thick steel armor, on high reinforced super wheels—the things looked lethal—and more of the tanks he had seen
the night they rescued him, nearly twenty of them, all the same model—the
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