Carrion (The Bren Watts Diaries #1)

Chapter 111

I could only imagine how annoying it would be to see the endless recruitment ads and propaganda on TV that cropped up after the president's address days ago (or perhaps, months ago when the outbreak occurred). Instead, I only saw the aftermath: strewn flyers everywhere, distributed and thrown off the planes and helicopters (I found a lot within the woods—talk about littering), propaganda posters set up around the camp, and then the way the soldiers talked about the war...it was as if they genuinely believed they could clean out and smash their enemies in the Red Zone—against the millions of multiplying vectors heading their way through standard warfare.

I reckoned that kind of blind trust had their way of stringing you along toward that fabled finish line. Even the slightest qualms about the campaign were squashed away if someone slapped a red, white, and blue-striped banner over it. People would go wild when someone sang the song of freedom.

It was something I could work with.

Still, Captain Drucker had formed a tight ship, drilled in a strict schedule that all soldiers within the camp must adhere to, and Garcia tightened that grip at all cost. They always had four soldiers guarding the gates at all times. One on each watchtower and two on the platform above the gates. Every hour they would have two teams of two soldiers patrolling the perimeter for break-ins and weak points along their makeshift barricades. Still, according to Garrett, it had been three weeks since their last encounter with a vector, and the soldiers had been remiss of their duties, to which he complained endlessly about.

"They were busy lining up to have an appointment with the women than going about looking for monsters," Garrett said as if using the word 'appointment' wouldn't make yourself gag. "Sometimes, I'd find myself thinking that there's actually no war going on like this is just an adult summer camp. You forget so easily around here."

Again, another thing I could work with.

The women avoided me. They had probably heard about Aria and me going into the "fuck tent" earlier, perhaps thinking that Peter and I had done the dirty with here since Berry and Donahue kept teasing us about diving for the goods when we only got here.

"Aria is off-limits," Berry said. "That's Captain Drucker's girl. I mean, if she willingly went in there with the two of you, then, I guess, she's not waiting any longer. Garcia's gonna give him an earful about you two. Better be careful and step on your tiptoes when he comes back tomorrow." He let out a thunderous laugh.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

Berry and Donahue shared a knowing grin. "The captain wants Aria's virginity, I bet. He seems to go wild about that, even saving that other chick. What's her name? Holly, yeah?"

"Quit your bullshit, Berry. Captain Drucker never once went into the tent with the other women. He's not that type of guy," Garrett said, shaking his head.

Donahue scoffed. "That's because he wants the women in his private sex den."

Berry rubbed his fingers together. "And the captain likes them young and ripe."

Donahue slapped him on the arm. "Shut up," he hissed. "Or we're gonna get in fucking trouble."

Fortunately, Berry never mentioned that again. I had no intention of meeting this Captain Drucker, and Aria would certainly never talk to him again if I could do something about it.

I wondered if Aria had spoken to the girls yet about tonight (hopefully, without giving me away). I wished she had already. It would save me a lot of trouble. But, unfortunately, I had not seen Aria for a while since our talk, so I assumed she was busy dragging some of the girls for a private chat.

Still, I didn't stop the soldiers from running with their assumptions about me, letting them believe what they wanted to believe. It was easier to warp their image of me, especially when they still thought of Peter as the intimidating figure. No one would take a second look at the short, skinny kid next to a towering guy like Peter Gauthier.