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best to yell. “I’m wounded and require assistance. My tank was just blown into no-man’s land. Some of my crew may still be alive. Please… we need help.”
    A burst of machine gun fire ripped through the air, the thump, thump, thump of the bullets whizzing directly over the captain’s head.
    Norse was in shock. Why are they firing at me , his confused mind kept asking. Why are my own men shooting at me?
    His body told him to turn and run, but his heart wouldn’t let the command reach his legs. It all wasn’t right… it wasn’t fair… he wasn’t one of the Skinnies.
    A bright spotlight flashed on, the beam temporarily blinding Norse. “Captain, I’m sorry, but you know the rules as well as anybody. Turn around, sir. Go find help inside the wall. I can’t let you get any closer. I will order you shot.”
    An adrenalin of rage surged through the officer’s veins, pushing the pain aside and clearing his mind. “How dare you shoot at your commanding officer? Are you fucking crazy? Now send someone out here right this minute and render assistance to me and my crew, or I’ll have your ass up on charges.”
    When no response came from the roadway, Norse took a step forward. Again, the machine gun sang its song, this time sending stinging bits of dirt and grass into the officer’s body. A different voice then carried through the air. Norse recognized his colonel’s gravely tone. “No more warnings, Captain. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it’s got to be. Turn around and walk away, or we’ll take you down.”
    Norse believed him, the only question remaining in his mind was whether or not to die right here, or turn and face the horror that was Houston.
    “Fuck it,” he whispered. “I’m not going to give these pricks the pleasure of gunning me down.”
    The once proud, serving officer of the United States Army started to pivot, but then paused. With his good arm, Norse issued a final salute – using only one finger. He then turned into the night and began to hobble away.

    It took all of his energy to stumble out of the demarcation zone. Desperately needing to rest, Norse made his way to a nearby tree, slumping awkwardly to the ground with his back against the trunk.
    He began to regret his decision, the exertion of his stroll bleeding off the anger and fury that had driven him away in defiance.
    Fear. It soon dawned on the wounded officer that he was scared. Resting on the ground, alone in the night with a battered, weakened body, Norse began recycling the tales of horror that he’d heard about Houston.
    According to every rumor, the Bayou City was a place ruled by anarchy. The population was said to be desperate, leaderless and out of control. Tales of cannibalism, mountains of dead, rotting corpses, and ruthless gangs dominating the streets filled the wounded officer’s mind. It was a nightmare beyond dying from Ebola.
    For a few moments, Norse was convinced he’d be better off turning back toward the army units and marching purposefully into their fire. At least it would be over with quickly.
    Anything, he deemed, would be better than becoming some desperate, disease-ridden animal’s dinner. He wondered briefly if they killed their victims before consuming human flesh. Maybe they boil you alive , he worried. Maybe they just eat you raw while you’re trying to crawl away.
    Panic formed in his gut, a sweat of fear beaded on his face. “No,” he whispered to the night, “I’ve suffered enough for one evening. I’m going to turn around, and let them shoot me.”
    “Why would you do that?” came a strange voice.
    Norse turned, another level of fright overtaking his body. He spotted the legs of a man and then a rifle butt descending toward his skull. For the second time in less than an hour, Captain Shane Norse’s world went black.

    Norse awoke in a small, dim room equipped only with a toilet and sink. Bolts of thunderous pain surged through his skull, the agony causing his intestines to twist