Lobo Malo

Chapter 2 - Changing of The Guard

Arlington National Cemetery
1145 EST

"The only difference between this place and Richmond," Gregory muttered to himself, "is the dead are properly buried here."

Between marching and the occasional bicycle assist, it had taken Paxton Gregory nine days to reach this point after his flight from Nags Head. Nine days of power bars and boiled water, of furious runs and agonizing waits for hostiles to pass him by, seeing just how truly devastating the Dollar Flu had been. He'd seen plenty of CERA quarantine areas over the winter and spring, and more than a few mass graves as well, but nothing had truly been able to prepare him for Richmond. The former Confederate capital, now a former state capital really, had not a single living soul to be found within its city limits. For the first time, a sense of the absurd hit Gregory, the near-childish futility in pretending that there was a United States anymore. The ideal might still remain, but when you had state capitals completely devoid of human inhabitants, it was hard to really believe the nation still existed as a functioning entity.

Perhaps that was why he'd come to Arlington. If there was a better reminder of what it cost to fight for one's country, he was hard pressed to think of one more conveniently located. He walked along the paths, seeing the headstones from the Civil War all the way up through Afghanistan and Iraq, oddly comforted that this one place was still considered sacrosanct despite the world burning down around them all. Eventually, Gregory found himself standing at the Tomb of the Unknowns.

Leaning against the crypt stood a body, still more or less upright despite all that decomposition and scavengers could do, wearing formal Army Dress Blues. Gregory realized it was a member of the Old Guard, the unit specifically tasked with watching over the Tomb of the Unknowns. He noted the lack of bullet holes on the uniform or the remains. Even at the height of the pandemic, at least one member of the unit had carried on the tradition as he was probably dying from Green Poison. Death is lighter than a feather, duty is heavier than the mountains, Gregory thought.

Bracing to attention, he saluted the remains. No doubt the Old Guard would have complained about the form, but they might well have appreciated the sentiment. "Rest easy, soldier," he said softly. "You've earned it. And you're in fine company." Gregory held the salute for a full minute, then turned and resumed his course. If one soldier could guard a crypt while dying of the worst disease ever to befall Mankind because that was his job, then Paxton Gregory could damned well fix a few lousy computers.

* * *

A light rain began to fall on Gregory's dark skin, beading on his close cropped hair, as his watch began to pulse slightly. He was getting close to his objective. As he moved, a radio message came in over the watch. It startled him a little since he hadn't heard any kind of comm chatter in the last nine days. The watch and his SHD node were clearly capable of receiving, and probably sending, but the radio silence had been so complete he hadn't even thought about it.

"Any JTF or Division agents in the vicinity. Be advised: the White House is currently under attack. Any personnel in the area, please assist. Do not use comms to reply."

Gregory's mind digested the information quickly. If anybody in the area was being told not to use comms, it could only mean the comm network was somehow compromised. And if that was the case, the White House wouldn't want to let the attackers know help was on the way. Better to send out open distress calls from a known location than allow the enemy to possibly localize and intercept relief forces. Clearly, the situation was more dire than just a simple computer malfunction.

He unslung his rifle and proceeded north towards the White House. The sound of gunfire echoed ahead of him, still distant, but not so far away he couldn't tell it was a serious firefight. Certainly bigger than MacCrae's raid on Nags Head. As he moved, Gregory came up to what was supposed to have been a Christmas village. Between the bursts of distant gunfire, he heard a far more immediate sound: two human voices.