The Fleet by John Davis Page A

in brown leather,
his lover by his side and a flask of scratch in his hand; not so
much.
    The plan was
rather simple. The shuttle would make its way the drifts – a very
remote string of worlds on the fringe of charted space. The exact
opposite corner of the last known Viscion position, by design. They
would soon be followed by a larger ship, a freighter. The Lucky
Lady would be filled with weapons and supplies, as well as nearly
twenty Husk and a reserve shuttle. In case the shit got thick.
    Dalton's team
would land and search out survivors, at which time his pilot would
ferry them back to the freighter in orbit. As the team became
fatigued, they would platoon out with other husk on standby aboard
the Lucky Lady. Though Dalton didn't see himself resting. It was
his last hurrah. His one chance to get outside of the comfort zone
and raise some hell. It'd been a long time coming, and he planned
to savor every last moment of it.
    “Whiskey-One,
your team is cleared for takeoff.” a voice announced over the com.
Stinging each and every one of those aboard the shuttle – knowing
the time had come.
    “Copy that...”
the pilot replied, turning to his XO. “I'm not sure what to call
them sir?”
    Dalton
understood. In all of the planning, he'd forgotten to do one thing
as commander. Name their city. While it was a struggle to do sober,
he mulled the decision.
    “Resilience.”
    “Copy that
Resilience Actual.”
    His words took
a moment to register with those within the control center of the
city. Finally answered by the man in charge of their rebuilding
efforts.
    “You take care
of yourself, buddy,” Adam said. His voice crackling over the radio
com as the shuttle began pushing up into the stars. “Resilience
Command out.”
    It was the
first time Cambria had been on a planned military flight. She'd
been aboard shuttles before, but usually in panic mode. Thinking
nothing of a swift rescue.
    This time
seemed different. Her brain seemed to journey to a thousand
different places within only the span of a few seconds. Cambria had
always imagined elaborate planning on board such a flight into
combat, but that wasn't the case. Each soldier remained unnervingly
silent. Each of them broadcasting a look of ready on their
face.
    It frightened
her. Wondering if this were in a fact a one way trip, knowing they
were flying into the heart of it all. The place where the infection
first began.
    The
drifts.
    It had been
Cambria's home growing up. She'd worked here and there, scraping up
enough money to lease a small airship and begin working. Smuggling.
None of it legal, but all of it local. Those jobs led to money,
which eventually led to the purchase of her very first ship. The
Outer Heaven.
    Cambria's
ambitions to be wealthy by way of underground trading led her and a
small crew into a bar looking for work. Instead, she found a man
who looked beaten down and homeless. From there, Dalton James
became a friend – which led to a lot more. Complete and total
love.
    For what he
lacked in etiquette and fine clothing, Dalton more than made up for
in experience and honesty.
     
    *
     
    “All quiet.”
one of the armed men said. Wearing a look of fatigue and starvation
as if it were a rental tuxedo.
    “Good,” Johnny
replied. “Been a few nights since I had any kind of decent
sleep.”
    The Revolver.
A nickname Johnny had earned around the area. Until the infection
began to spread, at least. Quicker with a six-shooter than anyone
could imagine. Just as mean-spirited too. Unless he considered you
a friend.
    “Getting tired
of living on shitty beans and,” one of the cowboys added. “Well,
more shitty beans.”
    A group of
eleven of them. Armed to the teeth, though each carried the most
basic of weaponry. A revolver – perhaps a shotgun.
    “It'll pass
with time. Just got to keep surviving.” Johnny replied with a
nod.
    “Hell, we
still don't even know where the infection came from.” the cowboy
replied. Several within the group