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You wrinkle your nose, amused despite yourself. “So the loudest people left behind ended up in the hot seat.”
“Exactly.” His voice goes flat again. “They’ve been ordering National Guard and state guards units up and down the East Coast to submit, let themselves be deputized. Most told them to go pound sand. They’ve got their own problems, and nobody’s giving up working machines or supplies just to look official.”
“And where does the unit you’re subcontracted to fall under?” you tilt your head, curious.
That’s when his face brightens, eyes catching a spark of unshaken pride. “The 111th Field Artillery Regiment is too busy conducting peacekeeping operations to comply with the recall order.”
>>What’s the food situation?
Harper leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Food’s not the biggest problem. Not for Hampton, anyway. Norfolk and the Hampton Roads were major shipping hubs – rice, grain, canned goods, you name it. Most spoiled when the grid went down, but enough was sealed and dry-packed that, with careful rationing, we’re not about to starve anytime soon.”
Your stomach rumbles at the thought of eating something other than a tasteless ration brick. Heat rises to your cheeks as Harper laughs.
“Amen to that. But to digress, between feeding three thousand soldiers in the regiment and…” He hesitates, tilting his head in the universal gesture of doing mental math. “…about twenty, closer to twenty-five thousand civilians. Families, retirees, folks who made it inland before the worst of the flooding hit. Not everyone’s from Hampton originally, but it’s where they ended up.”
That’s…a small city. People. A real community, not just shadows haunting empty towers, or piles of meat in an underground lab.
<span class="mu-i">Mere percentage of both cities’ populations combined. Almost 90% casualty rate.</span>
“…so few?”
The survivalist’s gaze darkens. “…everything just happened so quickly. If you weren’t being trampled to death in the riots, your implants cooked you from the inside out when the CME hit the planet. After that, there was the flooding and earthquakes…”
He shakes his head. “But there’s enough food. The rationing is strict, but nobody’s gone hungry just yet.”
>>Got any clothes?
Harper glances over, his brow creasing just enough to make it clear that he’s giving it some serious thought. “Yeah…figured that plugsuit wasn’t exactly designed for a Sunday stroll.”
You glance down at yourself, and the faint warmth that rises in your cheeks is not from embarrassment as much as an acute awareness of his deliberate courtesy. Harper hasn’t once let his eyes linger or drift below your shoulders.
(cont.)
