A State of Survival

Sarge II

The cozy plane Joe had felt like he was riding a few hours ago in the quiet streets of Oxnard had long since spiraled out of control, dropped from the sky, and crashed into million pieces on the ground. He had been thrust from being a lone survivor back into a semblance of civilization, and he was totally thrown from his element.

The medic crouching next to Joe stood and gave him a satisfied smile. "The stitches should heal the wound within about two to three weeks. Maddie's lotion seems to have saved you from the worst of infections."

Joe gave him a little nod and smiled. "Thanks, Ian. I appreciate your help." The middle-aged veteran shook Ian's hand before standing up and heading for the door. As he gripped the U-shaped handle and pulled the metal towards him, Joe found himself face-to-face with a young red-haired guard. The soldier wore a torn blue T-shirt and jeans, carrying a pistol in one hand and the other, a large plank that seemed to serve as a shield was dangling on his arm.

"Hey," the man said in a casual tone, "you're that 'Sarge' guy?"

Joe looked at him, realizing what the trooper was most likely here for. "Yeah. Are you taking me to see the base commander now?"

The soldier nodded and placed both hands on the pistol. "For your information," he said, his eyes alert and focused on Joe, "you'd be hard-pressed to find an individual in our base who's gained complete trust within their first week of staying. Anyone trusted in our base has to do a lot of heavy liftin' over 'bout a month, and that's if Hoffman lets 'em in."

Joe contemplated this information before giving the man a shrug. "Not asking for instant trust. Just want a few more bites to eat than I get out there."

The soldier scanned Joe, apparently seeing if his words were true or not. "We do have daily breakfast, lunch, and dinner. If that's really what you want, you're in luck." He gestured with his arms. "Come on. Hoffman's got plentiful patience, but even it has its limits."

Joe was led by the soldier out of the mess hall. They walked the entire center area, and Joe had to crouch as he slid through the red linen blanket. Sure enough, Becca was there, sitting in front of her carved wooden crate of a desk with her arms crossed. Joe took the seat in front of her, motioning for her to speak first.

Becca leaned back on the smooth brick wall and took in a breath. "So... hello, Sarge. You are here because you want to join the base?"

Joe nodded. "Yes, that is my intention."

Becca's gaze was like that of a hawk as she studied Joe, assessing his demeanor and the sincerity behind his words. Joe could feel a bit of a chill down his spine, and his head began to itch.

"Alright then, Sarge. Let's start from the beginning. Maddie tells me you helped her and Frank when they were in trouble. Care to elaborate on that?"

Joe leaned forward slightly and the pairs of dark brown eyes from both adults met. "It was a chance encounter, really. I was passing through the area and saw them cornered by an infected. I did what I had to do to help them get out of that situation."

Becca's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "And how did you end up wounded?"

Joe's gaze shifted as he pieced together the memory in his mind. "That damn thing got too close. Managed to scratch me before I could finish it off."

Becca's expression remained stoic and she continued to heap on the scrutiny. "And Maddie vouches for your character. She says you are different from other survivors."

Joe nodded. "Yeah, it seems she believes in me." He skimmed Becca's reaction as she went silent, still locking eyes with him but loosening her focus. Finally, Becca opened her mouth to continue the conversation.