Woods and Tomlinson cautiously made their way up an escalator, long shut down with the rest of the convention. Other than the calming cooing from the pigeons looking for shelter from the roaring storm outside, Woods heard only silence.

  I went with a couple friends to an anime convention. It was held in this building. I remember it well. I cosplayed as Itachi and made a jackass of myself trying to impress some pretty girls. They laughed in my face, but I stuck to my guns and walked off thinking I was suave. I bet just being a marine would be enough now. Who am I kidding? Those girls are probably frags now.

  The two marines stepped onto the second level and scanned their surroundings. Trash littered the floor and snow swept through broken windows huddling into corners. Rats scurried between rooms as shadows crept along the walls.

  “Doesn’t look all that bad for being abandoned for such a long time,” Woods commented.

  “What were you expecting?” Tomlinson asked. “Night of the Living Dead?”

  “Truthfully?” Woods responded with a nod.

  Tomlinson raised his rifle and poked his head through the nearest door. “Keep sharp.”

  Woods picked up a discarded paper cup and read the faded label. “Dunkin’.”

  The lance corporal glanced back at his partner and tilted his brow.

  Wood examined the empty cup. “That’s right, you’re from California. You don’t really have a Dunkin’ Donuts.”

  “We had one…two towns over.”

  “I think our town had twelve in a mile radius.”

  Tomlinson reached and grabbed the cup. “Must’ve been the best coffee to be that successful.”

  “America runs on Dunkin’, Corporal T.”

  Tomlinson crushed the cup and threw it over his shoulder. “It runs on shit coffee and MRE’s now.”

  Woods gave him a smirk. “If you can’t handle coffee at its worst, you don’t deserve it at its best.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Tomlinson inspected the next room. “I used to say the same thing about In N’ Out fries. Man, they were gross. Always limp and cold.”

  Woods leaned against the neighboring wall. “I heard the burgers were good.”

  “They were great!” Tomlinson clapped Woods’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s head back. Nothing’s u—”

  “Hello?” A voice creaked out from down the hall.

  Woods raised his weapon and approached slowly. “Identify yourself!”

  A stout man with a bristly mustache stumbled into the light. With raised hands and a trembling face he called back to the marines. “Gabe! M-My name is Gabe!”

  Tomlinson poised his rifle at the man’s chest. “That’s far enough, Gabe. Turn around and show us your neck.”

  Gabe did as told, spinning around and lowering his Red Sox’s jacket to expose his neck. “N-No aliens, see.”

  “He’s clean, Corporal,” reported Woods.

  Gabe nodded his head vigorously. “Yes, sir.”

  Tomlinson walked past Gabe, his trigger finger still ready for a fire fight. “Anyone else with you?”

  Gabe shot off a rapid succession of words too jumbled for either Tomlinson or Woods to catch. “That’s why I’m here—You have to save my family—They are trapped in a nearby apartment!”

  Wood patted the frightened man’s back. “Slow down, Gabe.”

  Tomlinson pulled his radio to his mouth. “Captain, we have a civilian up here. Over.”

  A faint crackle buzzed over the coms before Diaz’s voice responded back. “Is he in need of medical?”

  “No ma’am, but he looks in distress all the same. Over.”

  “Roger. Head back, Corporal.”

  ***

  Patrol always had a way to make the day interesting. Whether it was killing Helix or just finding a hidden cache of twinkies and honey buns in a Cumbie’s; patrol always had a way to make the day interesting. Today was no different.

  It turns out Gabe was sent by his family to get help. His apartment was a hotspot for Helix.

  Burns unfolded a map of Boston. He pointed to the Convention Center. “We are here.”

  Everyone nodded.

  He rubbed his finger down a stretch of lines that made up the streets. “We need to get here.”

  “Huntington Ave,” muttered Diaz. “Two klicks.”

  About a mile. It would be nothing if we had our Smokes. We’d have armor and firepower to take down an army of Frags, but we’re on foot—in a blizzard.

  “Captain Rand has that route,” Burns said. “Let’s radio and let him investigate.”

  “This is our chance,” whispered Diaz.

  “What is?” asked Kekipi.

  Diaz’s eyes lit up. “To prove we are better than the Dead Man Division! To get some!”

  Christ, not this shit again. I should have joined the Coast Guard.

  Burns nodded and let out a low growl worthy of three packs of cigarettes a day. “Oorah, Captain.”

  Woods let out a long sigh. “Semper Gumby, always flexible!”