2️⃣103: Three Lives Chapter 01 - CHECKPOINT 🚧

It's been 15 years since the world ended. If you consider the United States, the world.

Canada is also gone, but no one ever talks about Canada. It's always "the apocalyptic streets of Los Angeles" and "San Francisco looks the same" or "the forgotten gem of Kansas City." Now everyone considers Kansas City a great city, but before everything went to shit, nobody wanted to move there. The closest Kansas City ever got to being popular was when they won a couple of football games Taylor Swift attended because her boyfriend was playing.

Aside from football, people only "visited" Kansas City on Interstate 70, driving through Missouri and Kansas on their way to Colorado. They would only say, "Hmm, looks like we're in Kansas now." Closer to the western edge of the state, where you cross from the Central Time Zone to the Mountain Time Zone, was the Mount Rushmore of dad joke opportunities for the 21st century Clark Griswold to turn around and say to his kids, "Look at that, it's still 9am! Told you we'd make up time on the road!" The wife would quietly roll her eyes, the daughter would be tuned out listening to the latest episode of Call Her Daddy, and the son would respond with, "Dad, what's your birthday again? I want to see what you get for the Florida Man Challenge. Mine is 'Florida Man gets arrested for possession of fentanyl when he shows up to the police station to report that his stepdaughter won't replace his favorite crack pipe she destroyed by throwing it out of the window.' That's fun, I guess. It's not that crazy for Florida, though. Mom's is, 'Florida Man gets caught dragging ATM machine down the highway after realizing his secret male lover is actually a woman who's actually his long-lost-sister who convinces him to steal the money so they can run off together to Georgia.' That one's a little weird. Do people really dream of running off to Georgia?"

"That's pretty romantic when you think about it," the mom would respond as she stared out the window, trying to identify what decisions she made in life that led her to be in this car at this very moment, driving through Kansas for her family's yearly vacation. It was a far cry from the Mediterranean beaches she dreamt about in high school and college. Realizing what she’d said, the mom quickly corrected herself, "I mean, the doing something crazy for the person you love part. Not the incest or the running off to Georgia. Actually, never mind, forget I said anything. How long until we get to the hotel, honey?"

"Just over three hours, unless you've all changed your minds and want to visit the World's Largest Ball of Twine. We can take this next exit, turn around, and be there in no time. I don't know about you, but I'm always ready to get my twine on!"

"Dad, don't ever say that again."

"Sweetie, I told you not to say sexual things in front of the kids."

"That wasn't supposed to be—"

"I texted you your dad's birthday so you can do your little challenge. You know he doesn't like to say his age out loud."

"Perfect, let me look it up. Dad, your Florida Man story is 'Florida Man identified as patient zero for Broward County's chlamydia outbreak after sleeping in bed surrounded by over two dozen frozen lizards before attending local swingers party.' I don't think I understand this one."

"That's what mom wrote as the caption on her gender reveal video when they found out you were going to be a boy," the sister would comment without opening her eyes or removing her supposedly noise-canceling headphones.

"I think that's enough Florida Man Challenge for one day," the mom would interject, "Why don't you listen to the audiobook for your summer reading? If you finish it now, you don't have to worry about it for the rest of your summer vacation."

"Florida's so weird. Mom, is that why we never visit your stepsister when she always invites us to the beach?"

"Honey, let's not bring her up, okay?"

"Fiiiiine," the boy would say, and they'd all go back to driving in silence.

But that family is not what this story is about. They have nothing to do with what this story is about. It's a remnant of a not-so-distant past people yearn for not because they enjoyed those times but because they'll look for anything to distract them from the present. There's no better way to complain about the time you're living than to reminisce about things that weren't that good but appear good to people who didn't experience them.

If you were wondering, Florida is still Florida even after the world ended. You'd think the near-total collapse of Earth's greatest modern superpower would have people raving about a tropical state with 1,351 miles of measured coastline (without including the barrier islands). Still, many of the millions of displaced Americans and people from around the world decided to settle somewhere north of Atlanta. Since Florida is now the only place they can vacation, they'd prefer not to spend their time there all year round (among other reasons). Even in a semi-apocalypse, people didn't change their minds about Florida, but no one hesitates to look back fondly on the good ol' days of Kansas City. Why do we always wait until we lose something to start talking about how great it was?

Maybe if we had learned to appreciate things while we had them, none of this would've happened. Or maybe everything would've happened the same way regardless of how nice we were to each other or how much we "appreciated" what we had. Who really knows? A couple million people showing love to a Midwestern city wouldn't have stopped one man hellbent on shaping society according to his vision.

We're told that great movements change the course of history. That people banding together for a single cause will make the world better. That dictators can be toppled, and oppression can be defeated if we all just put aside our differences and fight together for the common good. If we all just go out and vote!

That’s all bullshit.

The real power to change things lies with a handful of individuals. Money and resources aren't shared; they're collected and hoarded. The ultimate goal is to collect enough of one thing everyone wants so you can dictate what the masses have to fight each other about.

The sharp ones will tell you to focus on tangible assets like oil, which is always in high demand, gold, which never depreciates in value, or diamonds. They've been making synthetic diamonds in labs for years now. They look just as beautiful as the real ones, and no one can tell the difference until you analyze them at a molecular level, but they never caught on. No one will ever say it out loud, but the real value of diamonds is knowing some indentured African worker died from heat exhaustion while digging for them. You need to make sure it's heat exhaustion and not dehydration. Dehydration is what brings on the lawsuits. It's not a good look for a global conglomerate to not be able to supply their "workforce" with bottles of water (especially when they make the products themselves). Child slavery? You can litigate yourself out of that one. There's already a blueprint for it.

Anyway, dead Africans. That's why diamonds are so expensive. It's the status symbol of having enough money to pay for a sanctioned human sacrifice. Because of that, somewhere in what's left of this world, a corporate lawyer is popping a rare bottle of champagne that costs more than a public-school teacher's yearly wages.

Of course, none of this is ever mentioned at fancy dinner parties or when your favorite social media "culture" account posts about the latest rapper removing all their teeth and replacing them with diamonds. Enjoying diamonds in those settings is socially acceptable because all diamonds today are "Conflict-Free Diamonds." Even though claim there's no more conflict for diamonds, there always seems to be a war in the countries that supply them.

In case you were also wondering, yes, there are still influencers, rappers, celebrities, nepo babies, extreme (racist) political pundits, news anchors that get drunk on live TV during the New Year's Eve broadcasts, and all the regular things you had in society back before shit hit the fan. There are fewer of them now, but they still do the same things. Sometimes, it feels like despite everything changing, nothing ever really changes.

Those wars that are always going on? They’re mostly about oil now. Oil and "global influence" (whatever the fuck that means). You'd think by 2041, we'd have moved past depending on oil, but climate change isn't that big of a deal anymore. Since 80% of North America is a wasteland, there's no need to worry about air pollution from the 45,000+ daily flights that could've been avoided by having a decent rail system or the burning fuel from oversized pickup trucks that people drive on the highway for twenty miles to an office park so they can sit in their cubicle all day answering emails and circling back on things from a previous meeting. The people left are so stacked on top of each other it would be impossible for everyone to drive a car. The public transportation options along the East Coast are now some of the best in the world. They had no other choice. All it took for Americans to start caring about having an ample supply of trains and buses was the near-total collapse of society.

Supposedly, Texas has a great rail system. At least, that's what they say. You can never trust what comes out of there. You're more likely to get a believable statement from Pyongyang than from Austin. Austin's still the capital, and it's still weird, just not weird in the way people meant when they started saying, "Keep Austin Weird." It's an entirely different type of weird you don't want to get into. Unless… you're into that kind of stuff. In which case, the kids still refer to that as a "red flag."

In the USA of 2041, people don't have the time to think about where diamonds come from, how much less oil is being consumed, or how weird Austin is. They're too busy trying to survive.

"Surviving" means something different for everyone. For some people, it's making it through the day without yelling at their co-workers. For others, it's finding something to eat, a warm bed, and a roof to sleep under. Even when people seem to have everything together, there's no telling what they're going through.

It wasn't always like this. There was a time when people had hope for the future. A time when they felt their elected leaders were working for the betterment of the country. That time was short-lived, but it still happened. There's nothing anyone can say to take that away. In 2020, despite a global pandemic, the crumbling economy, and the death of nearly half a million Americans (most of which could've been prevented with a proper government response and choosing to have empathy for others), people felt things were changing. There was hope for the future (sort of).

It wasn't long before all that went to shit.

Cries of a stolen election, followed by the events of January 6th, 2021, led us down a path that brought us where we are today. Many would say the first domino fell that fateful day in Washington, DC. But the first step towards the current state of affairs happened on January 12th, 2021, when then Governor of Texas Michael Nguyen declared Texas a Sanctuary State for "any and all individuals who are being unjustly persecuted by the federal government for their role in protesting the fraudulent elections."

That was the first flap of the butterfly's wings.

It was a cold day in Texas on the morning of January 12th, 2021. The temperature was 35 degrees on the steps of the capitol building in Austin when the 9am press conference began. Governor Nguyen stepped to the podium wearing his trademark bolo tie and grey suit without any other winter apparel in sight. His smooth, hair-free head shimmered like a bowling ball despite the clouds loitering above, while his 6'4" 289 lb. frame cast a long shadow over the reporters standing at the foot of the steps below him. For those on the governor's side, it felt like the Texas sun was shining bright, piercing through the thick gray clouds. They took it as a sign that the truth would finally be revealed. Governor Nguyen was doing just as he promised, cleaning mud off the layers of a bureaucratic agenda that had worked endlessly to bring down hardworking Americans. He was standing up to a government hellbent on stripping his constituents of their freedoms and their God-given right to say and do whatever they believed in.

"Today is the first day in a new chapter not only for the great state of Texas but for this entire nation," Nguyen said as clouds of cold air seemingly came to life from his lips like a Patronus after every word he uttered. The press corps in attendance was shivering in their mittens and long winter coats. Governor Nguyen was not shivering; he was not hesitating; he was steadfast and resolute. You could feel the determination in every word he spoke.

"Today is the day we start to take our country back from those who wish to erase everything this great nation stands for. What our Founding Fathers fought to create. What we have defended for hundreds of years. Today, we take a critical step towards the greatness we know lives inside each and every one of us."

It wasn't a long speech, but it was enough to convey exactly what he wanted to say and stir the passion in every person he spoke to. Time felt like it was moving slower than usual that day. Not many people saw the speech when it aired live, but since then, it's become the most-watched piece of content across all video-sharing services worldwide. Things might’ve moved slowly that day, but the next five years happened in the blink of an eye.

Governor Nguyen put out a call to anyone and everyone who felt like the federal government had been nipping away at their freedoms. A call to all the brave Patriots who stood on the steps of the Capitol to protest tyranny. "You're safe in Texas," he declared confidently," We're ready to welcome you with open arms."

Soon after, the mad dash began. Texas, Arizona, and New Mexico declared they would not uphold the election results. "The federal government's claims are incongruent with the state's electoral college findings. Endorsing this decision would betray the votes cast by the hardworking people in this great state. We are working to find a new path forward that more accurately represents the will of our citizens." That was their official statement, verbatim, for each state. The dominos continued to topple as other states joined Texas and offered support for what they felt was true justice.

By the end of 2021, Texas publicly declared it was looking for a new path forward after losing trust in the federal government. Washington didn't know what to do. They didn't take it seriously at first. They debated sending in the Army Reserves to get things in order, but that risked further alienating the rest of the country. Who's going to trust a government that openly and unabashedly attacks its own people? Would they arrest all the politicians? What civilians were on their side? Would the soldiers even follow such orders? Nobody in the Pentagon or the White House had answers to these questions. So, they waited, and they watched. Confident it would never get far enough to warrant a large-scale military response.

In February 2022, the states of Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Oklahoma, Arkansas, and Louisiana formed an alliance. Quietly, throughout 2021, politicians had been drafting a new Constitution and legislation to be voted on, freeing this alliance from the shackles of federal oversight. Before the snow had melted in Washington, DC, they rushed through resolutions in each state, voting and ratifying a new treaty, a new nation. They called it the Texas Free Union (TXFU for short). There were talks of more states joining this new union. Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, Florida, Kentucky, Tennessee, the Dakotas, Iowa, Idaho, Montana, and even Virginia expressed interest in supporting Texas' plan, but the President made a concerted effort to provide unheard-of sums of federal funding to keep them in line. Many felt that Florida would be the critical state to swing the nation in favor of Texas. And while many Texas sympathizers in Tallahassee dreamed of joining this sovereign union, they knew it wasn't in the cards. So, they waited and vetted their time until an opportunity arose. Just like Michael Nguyen had done for all those years.

The next day, after signing their new constitution, Texas began building the wall. Not a wall along their southern border, but along their northern borders. A wall separating them from the rest of the US. A wall meant to protect them from any potential invasion by the federal government. The wall was built along the parallel 36 30' north, seceding any land above that line originally belonging to TXFU to the federal government of the United States of America. The Free Union had to give up valuable stretches of land, but they felt it was a worthy compromise to protect their way of life.

It takes a massive workforce to build a wall along nearly 2,500 miles of land, but Michael Nguyen had been planning this since the earliest days of his political career, long before he became governor. His "tough on crime" stance had always been the backbone of his campaigns since he first ran for city council in his hometown of Waco, TX, in 2002. "If you don't want to do the time, don't do the crime" was the slogan that had endeared him to Texans from all over the state and many others around the country who identified with his political leanings. Once he came into office, the incarceration rate slowly ticked up, and crime drastically went down. First in his city, then the county, then the rest of the state.

Texas housed the most total prisoners out of any state, a stat Michael Nguyen had always been proud to bring up. "Contrary to what many people believe who seem to live in a fantasy world where there is no murder, theft, rape, or violence, I think it's important we keep dangerous people at a safe distance from hardworking citizens who obey the law. If that means we have more people in our facilities, that's something we must live with. I'd rather provide rehabilitation opportunities to those who need them than let innocents suffer at the hands of those who are viciously trying to take away their freedoms."

As he campaigned for more prisons to be filled with more prisoners, he also made a concerted effort to improve the living conditions of every jail in the state. "Just because people are in rehabilitation doesn't mean they need to suffer more. I'm working with facilities all over the state to improve conditions for plumbing, sanitation, hot water, and air conditioning units in all living quarters and common areas. The only way we can help these individuals in desperate need is by providing them with the resources that allow them to get better."

These policies were the preferred talking points of those who supported Nguyen. More people were incarcerated than ever before, but people could sleep better at night knowing that even though someone could go to jail for 10 years because of petty theft, they at least had clean running water and central air to protect them from the unapologetic Texas heat. These "rehabilitation facility improvements," as they were referred to by Nguyen and his followers, were welcomed with open arms by the business owners and entrepreneurs of the state. To them, it was an opportunity to continue expanding their investments while slowly wrestling away control of their most important resources from the federal government. One economic and social pillar at a time, Michael Nguyen, led a slow march towards total independence that nobody noticed as the digits in their bank accounts continued to creep up and their standard of living slowly rose. Stockholders everywhere were raking in dividends and payouts like never before, and with an independent energy grid that could run without relying on anything outside of the state, there was nothing Washington could do to stop them.

Tech leaders in transportation, energy, construction, and communications flocked to Texas, leaving behind the strangling regulations and high taxes of coastal states like California and Massachusetts. As the prisons filled up, they built more to accommodate the ever-increasing population of incarcerated individuals. "We want to provide everyone with an opportunity for rehabilitation," Nguyen would say. He was careful with his words, never mentioning "prisons," "jails," "cells," or even "prisoners." He even got the chance to open his own facility, the Nguyen Rehabilitation Center. Forty thousand acres of land with enough cells to house nearly 10,000 inmates and double the size of the previously largest penitentiary in the state. The prison was located just outside Amarillo, conveniently close to where they would first break ground for the new border wall.

But even the thousands of prison laborers weren't enough to build the wall aas fast as they needed to, so they found more people willing to work. There was an open call to anyone and everyone who believed in what Texas was doing to move to the state and help build. They were promised a generous working stipend and a permanent place to call home once the wall was finished. This new workforce needed housing; to make it, they needed another workforce, so more people came in. More buildings went up, and more houses were built. The country hadn't seen a mass movement of people like this since the early 20th century. Laborers from other states and even from around the world came to play their part in helping secure the Texas Free Union.

For the first time in decades, there was relative peace between Texas and Mexico. Nguyen agreed to a treaty with the President of Mexico, allowing laborers to cross the border and receive full citizenship in exchange for their work. "If you believe in our values and what we're doing, we believe in you. Texas is your home, too." Texans were hesitant at first. Opening the borders to Mexico wasn't what they had in mind when they were fighting to protect their rights. But all the new laborers quickly fell in line out of fear of being sent to a rehabilitation facility. "I may not understand what they're saying half the time, but if they can respect our laws while making a damn good breakfast burrito, that's fine by me!" Was the response from the average Texan. Crime at the border drastically went down. People attributed it to Governor Nguyen's actions of creating work opportunities for immigrants, but many believe he made a secret pact with the cartels. Providing them with safe passage through Texas and past the North Wall so they could smuggle whatever they wanted to the rest of North America.

That's how the wall was built. Things went smoothly along the plains of Northern Texas and Eastern New Mexico, where a continuous slab of concrete 30 ft high and 40 ft deep was raised so it could be seen by the naked eye from miles away. They had to get creative once they reached the Rockies, the mountains of Arkansas, and the swamplands of Louisiana. Luckily, oversized bundles of razor wire did the trick. Even with that, sections of the wall were built like a junkyard with crushed cars stacked on each other to form the barrier or shipping containers piled five high to stop anything from getting through. These areas were a far cry from the ominous concrete structure Michael Nguyen had envisioned for years as he carefully maneuvered the pieces that set his plan in motion. Many thought these sections wouldn't last, but they held steady against the hordes of restless people looking for shelter when mass panic began after the initial outbreak.

The first sign of a disease, and the subsequent fall of most of North America, happened during the World Cup in 2026. Many people thought it was unconscionable that FIFA would grant the world's most famous tournament to a continent not only thousands of miles long but separated amongst four nations, two of which were teetering on the brink of war. But FIFA had never been one to shy away from a country because of a few silly human rights violations. The money offered upfront by the USA and Texas was something global soccer leaders couldn't ignore. They tried to save face with protestors around the US by penalizing Texas. Instead of two cities hosting games, Dallas and Houston, there would only be one, Dallas (and no elimination bracket games to be played in Dallas, either). The games from Houston were awarded to Orlando, Florida, solidifying the state's decision to maintain neutrality against the federal government.

It all started in Los Angeles. Patient zero for the outbreak was the Belgium goalkeeper. In the waning minutes of Belgium's 0-4 loss to defending champion Argentina, the entire world watched live as he suffered what appeared to be a seizure following Julián Álvarez's 89th-minute goal on a masterful assist from Captain Lionel Messi. The crowd went silent as medics rushed to help the fallen player. One by one, they all began to experience violent seizures themselves. The crowd panicked, commentators were speechless, and the broadcast quickly switched from live on-field action to the control booth in Atlanta as hosts tried to remain calm on air while collecting all the facts.

In the following hours, a string of similar incidents popped up all along the west coast. Reports emerged from the host cities of San Francisco, Seattle, and Vancouver that people of all ages and demographics were suffering violent seizures culminating in death within minutes. The President of the United States called a press conference to assure the world everything was under control. By that time, it was too late. People panicked. They rushed to the airports, filled the highways, and tried to find any means possible of evacuating from the hot zones. American infrastructure was already teetering on the brink of collapse before the influx of fans from around the world, but this was its tipping point. One by one, western cities fell to riots and panic. As people tried to head east and south, the government urged everyone to remain calm.

Texas locked down its borders. Mexico sent extra patrols to protect their northern lines, and the rest of the world watched in horror as friends, family members, and their greatest soccer players became just another tally mark in the death toll. The eastern states took in all the people they could until the hotels and temporary rentals reached capacity. As people rushed to leave California, they crowded the highways, and traffic reached a standstill. People got out of their cars and started walking. They had no idea where they were going, but they felt they had to keep moving. Flights in every single city from Los Angeles to New York were grounded. They couldn't risk a potential infection getting out of North America. Over the following 48 hours, millions of people attempted to move towards the east coast. Before long, it was evident the mass exodus would only cause more problems. As infections and deaths popped up in Iowa and Nebraska, far from the initial World Cup action, the White House made a drastic decision. They shut down everything west of St. Louis and announced a two-hour warning window before the Air Force started bombing bridges along the Mississippi River. In a matter of days, most of North America fell. Protected by Texas' North Wall, Mexico abandoned Baja California, declaring anything west of the Colorado River as lost. The bombs from the Mexican and Texan militaries began to drop without warning. Las Vegas, Palm Springs, Mexicali, Tijuana, even as far as San Diego. Hundreds of millions of people were left to fend for themselves against a disease they didn't understand, cast away by a government that was supposed to be prepared for anything. Texas, the US, and Mexico all felt they could survive if they could contain the mass movement of people toward the uninfected areas. As the death toll spiraled out of control and borders were closed off, they never could've imagined what happened next.

Trés didn't like to think much about those days. It always reminded him of what his mother sounded like when she called him to check in on his brother living in Houston and how he never picked up the phone. He never managed to get in touch with him after that. It was a vastly different conversation than they day before when she'd called to ask if he was going to watch the World Cup. Unlike his friends, family, and neighbors in Miami, he never cared about soccer. They always teased him for wanting to play American football, but that never got to him. He had nothing against soccer. He just preferred to play something where he could hit other people without getting in trouble. It was the best way he had found to let out his anger.

He was only watching the games because he was on leave from his post at the US Army Reserve Center in East St. Louis. It was only two days, so he figured he'd stick around town instead of flying back home to visit his mom for less than 24 hours. She told him any amount of time with family was worth it, but he was stubborn and preferred not to make the trip. "We can just Facetime," he would say. "Facetime is not enough," his mom would respond. And they'd go back and forth for a few minutes before hanging up, always promising to make it down to see her “very soon.”

Trés and his college buddy Bern were 20 beers deep and amusing themselves by looking up translations for words in Dutch as the single TV in their favorite local bar played the final World Cup match of the day. Nobody in the bar was paying attention to the game; they were all there for the $5 beer bucket promotion that was only available while there was a soccer game on TV. Bern celebrated the 89th-minute goal by ordering a round of beer buckets for the entire bar. They were already drunk, and $50 more wasn't something to lose sleep over. Everyone at the bar cheered on Bern's hospitality before collectively falling silent as they noticed what was happening on TV. Bern quickly lightened the mood by looking up the Dutch translation for seizure and declaring, "Another round of buckets in honor of that guy's BESLAGEGGING!!!" The bar erupted in applause. They turned away from the game and back to their conversations. Blissfully unaware of what was transpiring in Los Angeles thousands of miles away.

Later that night, Bern & Trés stumbled back to their rooms, looking forward to two days of sleeping without being violently awakened by their alarms hours before sunrise. That was the last good night of sleep Trés ever had.

It was unusually cold that April morning as Trés walked towards the I-55 bridge that connected East St. Louis to what was left of its namesake city. Interstate 55 was the only dry path across the Mississippi River that still existed south of Lake Itasca in Minnesota. When the federal government decided to cut off access to anyone traveling east, they wanted to make it impossible for anyone attempting to cross without them knowing. You could brave the waters of the Mississippi if you found something to help you traverse the river, but the military was stationed every half mile, ready to shoot down those who dared try.

After the fall, Trés and Bern had been assigned a place to stay on Weiman Ave on the city's northern end, a beautiful home near the railroad with enough space for a family of five. They felt guilty having so much room for themselves while people still lived in refugee camps and tent cities after more than a decade, but they weren't about to argue with the US military and get kicked out on the street. Most of the area was occupied by military personnel, the final frontier against what inhabited the other side of the river.

Trés reminisced about the day everything changed as he walked by Spanky's Lounge on Piggott Ave. It was a slight detour stopping here on his way to the bridge, but he wanted to take in the small dive bar where he had his last happy moments, in case he never saw it again. The letters on the building still read "Spanky's Lounge," and they still served beer buckets, but the place he knew and loved was just a distant memory now. Every night, it was overrun by soldiers drinking away the pain from the world they'd been left with. Trying to clear their minds of the horrors that waited just across the river.

There were several checkpoints on the interstate before making it to the bridge. No one was allowed to cross without proper authorization, which Trés had. One by one, they looked at his papers, stared him up and down, typed a few things on their computers, and grunted to convey he was authorized to keep moving. No conversation was had. They didn't care to know why he was crossing the bridge. They were just happy it wasn't them. The lack of conversation ended once he reached the final guard station.

"Perry, get the fuck up here," said the soldier on duty as he saw Trés approaching in the distance, "I need you to tell me whether I'm going crazy or not. Is there an idiot walking towards us right now looking like he's getting ready to cross the bridge?"

"There's definitely someone walking this way," Perry responded.

"No shit, Sherlock. Stay here with me in case he tries anything."

As Trés approached the cement barrier, he heard the soldiers speaking from afar, "Well, well, well, if it isn't the ghost of shitstorms past making his way back to his old stomping grounds. Tell me that isn't DMW Trey coming back to say after all these years."

"DMW?" Perry asked.

"Dead Man Walking," the soldier responded. "Any time that guy goes out with people, someone dies.”

Trés wasn't in the mood to hear anything the soldier had to say. He walked up and handed him his papers.

"No fucking shit," the soldier said, looking over the papers, "You really are going back over. What's it been, four years? Not gonna say anything? You haven't changed one bit. You at least remember me? I know the beard is new, but you never forget a smile like this." The soldier grinned from ear-to-ear while turning to either side like he was on a catwalk and wanted Trés to get a good look at every corner of his face. "I'm going to take it by your usual silence; that's a yes."

"Burke, who the fuck is this guy?" Perry asked.

"Perry, listen close you little dipshit, because today you're finally getting some real training."

"Fuck you, asshole. I've been posted here almost as long as you."

"But not nearly as long, and I'll remind you of that until my dying breath. Anyway, this right here is Trey Alexandre, former University of Illinois Fighting Illini starting Cornerback from 2019-2022, that is, before he washed out of college and was rescued by joining dear ol' Uncle Sam's team fighting the good fight for freedom all over the world and especially here in the great state of Illinois. Remember that story I always tell you about my dad losing all our money on the Illinois Bowl Game loss versus Mississippi State in 2023? This brooding middle-aged man was on that team."

"This is the idiot that gave up the go-ahead touchdown?"

"This is the guy."

"Mr. Alexandre," Perry stepped forward and offered his palm for a handshake, "It's an honor to meet you. I'm a big fan of anybody who has caused this asshole pain in his life. Thank you for sucking at man coverage."

Trés remained silent and motionless, no change of expression on his face.

"Perry," Burke said, "I'm going to let that one slide on account of you still holding your hand out like a fucking idiot. Put that shit away and look over the details of this crossing permit while I check to make sure Touchdown Terry over here isn't carrying any contraband on his way to what's left of good ol' St. Louie."

Burke stepped forward, ready to frisk Trés, and Trés immediately stepped back. "Looks like your shit out of luck," Perry said, head still buried in the papers Trés had given them. "These papers here state this man is crossing the bridge on direct orders from the Pentagon. It's signed at the bottom by Pierre Alexandre, whose title is 'Chief of Staff to the Secretary of Defense.’ This shit is as official as it gets."

"No shiiiiiit," Burke said, "That's why you crossed so many times? All these years, you had that hook-up straight from the Pentagon? Here I thought you were just some fuckup who got the short end of the stick and kept getting sent on suicide missions. Who's the guy who signed your papers? Your dad? Your uncle? Your brother? Cousin? Boyfriend? You know what? I don't give a fuck. I was having the same old boring day I have every day, and now I get to see an old friend. Never thought I'd say this, but I'm happy I was on duty the day you decided to cross."

"Why is that?" Trés asked.

"He speaks!" Burke was elated. "I knew you hadn't gone fully mute on me yet. I'm happy to see you, Trey, because we haven't seen anyone at this post in a really long fucking time."

"Long fucking time," Perry said.

"That's right, long fucking time," Burke confirmed. "Since the last time you went out and back, we've had maybe a dozen or so groups cross the bridge west. Not a single one of them ever returned."

"We have bets, too," Perry said, "Any time someone crosses, we bet on whether they're gonna make it back, how many make it back, and how many body parts they'll be missing. I'm a hopeless romantic, so I always bet that someone's gonna make it back. Burke over here never believes anyone is coming back, and he's been right every time so far."

"That's not what hopeless romantic means, you fucking moron. Anyway, don't listen to this kid. He's still a little green behind the gills. How much time does it say he has to make it back, Perry?"

"Says here he has six weeks."

"Six weeks! That's a lot of time for something to go wrong. Forgive me for saying this, but I sure hope something goes wrong for you. I'm actually going to bet everything I have that we'll never see your sorry ass again."

"That's kinda fucked up, don't you think?" Perry said. "I mean, I know we're betting on whether this guy dies, but we can at least wait until he leaves to talk about it."

"Don't worry about showing any respect for this asshole; I know he doesn't have any for us. Isn't that right, Big T?"

"Are we done here?" Trés asked.

"Perry, is he good to go?"

"There's nothing left for us to do except open the gate."

"Private First Class Perry, would you be a gentleman and open the gate for our friend Thierry here? Did I say that right? I know how you are about people pronouncing your name."

Trés didn't break eye contact with Burke while waiting for the gate to open. Perry disappeared into the guard post for a few seconds before the 20-foot-tall steel door rumbled to life and split open down the middle, revealing a scene Trés hadn't seen in years but had been burned into his memory. The first hundred feet after the gate was clear of any trash or debris. It looked like a pristine, newly paved slice of highway. After that, it was an entirely different story. Bumper-to-bumper wouldn't be a worthy description. It looked like someone had taken a snowplow through the world's busiest traffic jam and started pushing back cars on each other to clear the road. Broken glass, dented steel, and lifeless bodies lay all around.

"Sorry about the mess," Burke said with a grin, "We'd clean the bodies, but we don't know if they're infected too. Don't want to risk it, ya know?"

Trés stepped forward without acknowledging what had just been said. Perry walked out of the guard booth and hurried up with his papers as he was about to cross the threshold where the gate stood.

"Mr. Alexandre!" he yelled, waving the papers high. "Don't forget these. You'll need them to get back in."

"What makes you think he's actually getting back here?"

"If you're betting he's not going to make it, I'm betting he is. I don't want no excuses from you about paperwork when he makes it back, and it's time to pay up. By the way, do you remember Chuck Kirkman? He was on a 10-man unit that went out with you back in '37; we went through basic training together. I'm just wondering if you could tell me anything about what happened to him. I know his mom would love it if I could say he fought dying to save somebody or some shit like that. You know, being a fucking hero."

"Don't know him," Trés replied, and walked past the gate.

As Trés stepped carefully towards the pile of cars and broken glass, Burke turned towards Perry and said, "Why you trying to suck his dick like that?"

"I'm not sucking no dicks, you said this guy has always made it back, and I wanted to know about Kirkman. You may not have any friends, but he was my friend."

The gate shut with a resounding bang that shook the pavement. Trés was officially on the other side. As he wracked his brain to remember the path through the mess of cars, he heard the conversation continue on the other side of the gate.

"That guy's a fucking asshole," Burke said, "For all we know, he killed Kirkman himself just so he could survive. Matter of fact, that's what I'm going to say. Since he's never making it back, I'm telling the world that Kirkman died because of him, and now everyone can finally have someone to blame."

Trés wasn't one to let what others thought of him get him riled up, but he had no plans of returning to gossip about his character (whether he came back dead or alive). He called back to the soldiers.

"You mean Carlos Kirkman?" he asked, turning back towards the checkpoint.

Perry and Burke's heads popped up over the gate as they reached the top of the guard tower.

"That's him! Good ol' Chuck! I knew you'd remember him. How'd he go out? Any chance he’s still alive? What do you know?"

"Yeah, I remember him," Trés said, "That guy was a prick. Got himself and the rest of his friends killed. If only he had listened to me, they'd all be alive right now." And he began to walk away.

"Fuck you, cocksucker!" Trés heard Perry screaming behind him, his voice beginning to crack. "I don't give a fuck if you come back now! I don't care if I lose all my fucking money to this asshole! I hope you break your leg, get a staph infection, and when you've finally decided to off yourself, you realize you have no bullets left, and you get eaten by the fucking zombies!"