The Dying of the Light (Book 1): End by Jason Kristopher Page A

sir.”
     
    “Then tell me what I want to know. Now.”
     
    “He hit on me, sir.”
     
    “Who did?”
     
    “The fa… Reynolds. After our leave a few weeks back. He was drunk off his ass when he came in the barracks and he hit on me.”
     
    I looked over at Kimberly, who was obviously trying to control her temper. Rachel stood beside her, equally pissed.
     
    “Tom would never have done that,” Kim whispered to me. “I don’t care how drunk he was.”
     
    “I know, Kim. Let’s just let Daniels handle this.”
     
    “What exactly did he say?” asked the provost. “What words did he use to make you think he was hitting on you?”
     
    “Uh, well… he said we… um, should get drinks some time. And he said it looked like I was losing weight, and I looked good. And some other stuff.” Ames looked down at his hands, clenched in his lap.
     
    The door to the interview room slammed open, and Commander Anderson stormed in, looking as pissed as I’d ever seen him. “Thank you, major,” he said to Daniels, who looked stunned. “That will be all for now. I’ll take it from here.”
     
    “But you can’t… this is…” Daniels started to protest, but then looked at Anderson’s face. “Yes, sir.” He stood up and left the room without even the briefest of backward glances.
     
    Anderson walked over and put his fists on the table, leaning forward. “You asshole.”
     
    Ames didn’t even look up.
     
    “We’re fighting a fucking war against the goddamn undead,” Anderson continued, his voice never raising. Those of us in the viewing room struggled to hear it through the pickup. “And you go and pull some dumb redneck shit like this. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
     
    Anderson leaned closer. “I should feed you to Chauncey right now.”
     
    Ames went as pale as I’d ever seen anyone get; he knew that he could be disappeared, and no one would ever know. He cowered back in his seat.
     
    “But I’m not going to,” the commander said, straightening. “I don’t have to. Act like that again, and your own people will take you out. I won’t have to lay a finger on you.”
     
    I glanced over at Powell, and saw him nodding. I hope it was an unconscious agreement.
     
    “We need everyone we can get in this fight. Reynolds is ten times the man — ten times the soldier — that you are. If I had to choose… well, it wouldn’t be a choice. So let me make myself perfectly clear.” He walked toward the door, turning back to look at the cringing man that had replaced the bigoted jackass who sat there only a few minutes before. “If I ever hear so much as a peep out of anyone that you’ve tried this shit again, I guarantee you that you and I will have that little meeting with Chauncey. Understood?”
     
    When Ames didn’t reply, Anderson continued. “Is that understood, soldier?”
     
    “Yes… yes, sir.” Ames finally answered.
     
    “Very well.” He knocked on the door, and Daniels opened it. “Put him in solitary for a week. Let him think about what he’s done. He’s also offered to forfeit his pay for the next month to some suitable charity. I’m sure you can find one.”
     
    Daniels’ grin was quick. “Oh, I’m sure I can, sir.”
     
    “See to it then,” Anderson said, and left.
     
    I turned to the others as Daniels escorted the white-faced Ames from the room. I couldn’t help but look at Powell, who was staring into the now empty room, and only turned to face me when he noticed the scrutiny. He came to attention as he turned to Kimberly.
     
    “Captain, on behalf of Bravo squad, I apologize for Ames’ actions. I assure you, it won’t happen again.”
     
    “It better not.” 
     
    We headed back to the infirmary, anxious to check up on our friend. Still sleeping, Drewson told us, but he assured us that he would inform someone the moment Tom was cleared for visitors.
     
     
    Several days later, we were sitting in the briefing room, wondering why we’d been