Cinderella Liberty by Cat Johnson Page A

her uppermost in his mind. Enough to make the off chance he'd get to see her on video on Zippy's computer screen enticing.
    No such luck today. Trish's pretty smile wasn't on the computer. Instead, some ugly dead guy stumbled his decaying corpse across the screen. Zippy was watching that television show he liked so much. Something about zombies. The man had gone insane when he realized the Wi-Fi in the cans wasn't strong enough to stream video. Thank God the tech guy here had managed to get this season saved on an external hard drive. It might have been the only thing that prevented Crash from strangling Zippy to stop his incessant ranting about missing the new episodes.
    Zippy hit pause and glanced over his shoulder as Crash walked across the CLU toward his rack. "Did you see the email that came through this morning?"
    "The one from the Maintenance Chief about keeping our weapons close? Yeah. That's why I'm carrying that thing again." Crash tipped his head toward the M4 he'd leaned against the wall just inside the door when he'd walked in.
    General orders specified that they carry a weapon at all times on Leatherneck/Bastion, but the week they'd gotten there his OIC, Captain Lee, had told Crash just carrying his pistol was enough and he could lock up the semi-automatic rifle. Today, after receiving that ominous email that troops were to not only carry their weapons but also make sure to keep them close, Crash had gotten the M4 back out. Why the change, he wasn't sure.
    "What do you think is up?" Crash asked.
    "Who the hell knows? There must have been some sort of a threat. I swear, the way the press is nowadays, Trish gets more information at home than we get from the command, and we're the ones freaking here." Zippy frowned at Crash. "What are you doing?"
    "My mom emailed. It's my aunt's birthday next week and I forgot. I gotta send her a card."  
    "Next week?" Zippy cocked a brow. "It's not gonna make it in time."
    "Nope. Probably not, but at least I can say I tried." He was in friggin' Afghanistan. His aunt would just have to understand.
    Crash pulled his address book out from the drawer of the rolling plastic storage unit the last inhabitant of this CLU had left for them when he'd shipped out. It was one of the better things they'd discovered upon moving in.
    They'd also inherited a bunch of cans of protein powder from the last occupant, but a few doses of that had taught them that all it did was give them gas. Two guys in a tiny confined space, both farting up a storm thanks to some body building powder, was not worth whatever muscles it was supposed to give them. He'd dumped the rest of the cans on the shelves at work for the other guys to take if they wanted.
    Having gotten what he'd come for, the book containing his aunt's address, Crash grabbed his weapon and glanced at Zippy. "You going back soon?"
    "In a bit. I just want to finish this episode."
    "A'ight." Crash shook his head at Zippy's taste in television and headed back out into the glaring sunlight, across the annoying rocks and into the steel headquarters building where he worked twelve, sometimes thirteen hours a day.
    The Master Sergeant glanced up as Crash walked in. "We just got word from the Maintenance Chief."
    "Yeah, I saw the email."
    "No, not that one. A runner came by to pass new word. Apparently the Chief just had a meeting."
    That news piqued Crash's interest. Here might be an explanation about the reason for the heightened security. "Yeah?"
    "He reemphasized about the weapons. To not just have them with us, but to keep them at arm's length at all times."
    Arm's length at all times. That meant Crash would have to sleep with the M4 next to his rack rather than by the door, and he'd need to figure out how to take his pistol into the shower with him. Lovely. "That all?"
    "Nope. There's more good news." The sarcasm was clear in the Master Sergeant's tone. "We're all going to have to take roving duty after work. The shift runs from eighteen hundred to