Dallas Run

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Nelson hated border-guard duty.

He squinted up at the bright April sun, mentally cursing the Civilized Zone Army. While he was at it, he also cursed his immediate superior officer, Lieutenant Garber, and the commander of the armed forces, General Reese. For good measure he added in President Toland, the heat wave, and life in general.

Six more months, he told himself.

Six more months and he could kiss the damn Army goodbye! His two-year enlistment would be up and he could return to civilian life. He’d be free again! Free to let his hair grow if he wanted, free to wear whatever clothing he liked, free to stay out as late as he desired or to sleep in until noon without having an officer or a noncom standing over his bunk and bellowing for him to get his lazy butt out of the sack.

Oh, sweet freedom!

Nelson smiled at the thought of his honorable discharge, and shifted his attention to the stark, oddly ominous structures silhouetted against the southern horizon. The skyscrapers of Dallas, even at a distance of 15 miles, gave him the willies. He recalled all the horror stories he’d heard about the savagery reigning in the former metropolis, about the scavengers and the gangs and the mutations, and he wondered why anyone in their right mind would choose to live there, to exist in such squalor and filth amidst such danger. Living in Dallas didn’t make any sense, not when the Civilized Zone border was so close.

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