Long after stopping at the store and clearing the shelves of every flavor and brand of energy drink, every soldier was present and accounted for. Team leaders checked their rosters. Squad leaders did headcounts twice. They were California bound.
“Crunch … Crunch… Crunch…”
The sound repeated over the radio like a broken transmission.Sergeant Long and Adume’ had already turned theirs off. Except for Sergeant Jeffery Scott.
“Crunch … Crunch… Crunch…”
It kept going. No sign of stopping.
Jeffery grabbed his mic. “Get off the freakin’ radio, Scayes! I know that’s you doin’ that dumb crap on purpose!”
A second later, what unmistakably sounded like a fart blasted across the net. The entire bus tried not to explode.
“Scayes! I’m comin’ for you! I’m comin’ for your family! I’ma burn your freakin’ house down, bro! No fartin’ on the radio!”
He held a straight face for a full two seconds before it cracked.
“…Seriously though,” he added, forcing composure, “nice one. Hard copy.”
Laughter finally broke loose. Almost three days of driving.Stopping. Driving again. Repeat.
Thirty soldiers per bus. Over one hundred twenty from Louisiana rolling west. Tensions stayed high. Someone was always arguing. A couple of shoving matches broke out between stops. No one lacked energy. No one lacked opinions.
But they never lacked drivers.
They finally pushed through Arizona. It was around five in the morning when Jeffery saw the California state sign. He had never seen it in person. Never thought he would. The sun was rising.
As they passed what looked like a national forest, the ground changed. The earth was stained high with dried water lines—two feet up trees and buildings. Cabins stood crooked, half-buried in mud. Jeffery reached for his radio.
Before he could key it, Adume’s voice broke a long silence.
“Sergeant Adume’ here. We’re turning back. Flooded over about a mile ahead. We’ll need boats.”
“Roger,” echoed down the convoy.
Jeffery slowed his LMTV to a stop. Third in line of eight. One by one, the vehicles turned around. Adume’. Long. Then Scott.Then Scayes. Then the rest of the attached company.
They had pushed farther than expected. Everyone knew why.They parked near a cluster of cabins, about a hundred feet away. The other company staged roughly fifty feet behind them. Fifteen minutes later, everyone was in formation. Jeffery and Scayes walked forward, already arguing.
“Alright,” Scayes said, “paper, rock, scissors. Whoever loses is active First Sergeant.”
“It’s forty soldiers, Scayes. You can’t handle that?” Jeffery laughed, poking at his nervous energy.
“Why can’t you do it?” Scayes shot back.
They squared up.
Long cut in. “Are y’all seriously playing a game to determine who leads? Because I can do it while y’all are being childish.”
Jeffery and Scayes both looked at him.
“With all due respect,” Jeffery said flatly, “no.”
“I won! You lose! First Sergeant!” Scayes shouted prematurely.
“Hey! No cheatin’. This is serious,” Scott said with mock gravity. “I really don’t wanna be First Sergeant.”
The chant began.
“One, two, three, shoot.”
Over and over.
The other company stood in professional formation while Scott and Scayes turned leadership selection into a sporting event. Fourth squad started cheering. Sides were taken.
Finally—“Paper, rock, scissors, SHOOT!”
Jeffery won. He jumped, shadowboxed the air, celebrating. Then he stopped. Scayes was smiling.
“You lost on purpose,” Jeffery accused slowly. “You piece of work…”
Scayes walked past him, patting his back. “Negative, First Sergeant. Negative.”
They turned to face formation. Scayes squared up properly now, facing Scott. The platoon aligned behind him. Jeffery’s smile faded. His posture changed.
“Company!”
“Platoon!” Scayes echoed.
“AttennnnnTION!”
Boots snapped together.
Scott’s voice hardened.
“Troops! We’re going to be here for a while. Make this ground your home. Each platoon will have a tent. Each platoon will have a water buffalo. PCCs and PCIs—everybody. While we are here, you will be assigned a job. That is your job until further notice.”
He paused, scanning faces.
“Platoon Sergeants, take charge of your platoons. Move your people. Let’s get to work.”
“Company … ATTENTION!”
The shift was immediate. Playtime over.mScott walked toward the stand-in First Sergeant from the other company.
“We’re setting up over there,” Scott said, pointing to higher ground.
Sergeant Kinglet studied the terrain. “We’ll likely stay here.”
“We’ll need search and rescue teams. Aid and litter teams. Probably shoring crews too,” Scott continued, already building a mental checklist.
Kinglet studied him.
“You wanna gather intel today, hit it hard tomorrow? Give the troops one last breather before we go twenty-four seven?”
Scott exhaled slowly.
“…Yeah. Sounds good. Gather yours. I’ll gather mine. Meet back here at 1800.”
“Roger that, First Sergeant,” Kinglet replied.
Scott moved farther out from camp. The ground turned soggy beneath his boots. It was eerie. Where they stood looked evacuated, not destroyed. Furniture still inside the cabins. Doors shut. As if life had simply paused.
But just miles away—Everything was gone. He realized it then.They would have to send E4 and below to build camp while the NCOs drove into the dead zone to assess the damage. He knew what they would see. Dead bodies. The thought clenched his chest.
“Scayes! Long! Adume’! Over here.”
They approached.
“What’s wrong, Scott?” Scayes joked. “Who we gotta kill?”
Scott didn’t smile.
“Get your guys set up. We’re taking an LMTV into the flooded zone. I’ve got numbers to call tomorrow. We’ll need boats.”
No jokes now. They understood.
Scott, Scayes, Long, and Adume’ pushed the LMTV as far as it could go. The deeper they drove, the worse it became. Streets erased. Neighborhoods flattened. Schools buried. Shopping centers gutted. It looked like a forgotten third-world disaster zone.
The water was thick with mud. You couldn’t see more than a foot below the surface. The deeper they went, the higher it rose.Debris floated everywhere. At least they prayed it was debris.Near the limit of where the vehicle could safely move, they saw bodies.
Three. Resting atop what might have once been a storefront wall. No one spoke.
Scott finally gave the order. “Turn it around.”
As they reversed course, the other company’s vehicle passed them heading in. A silent nod between leaders. On the way back, more bodies surfaced briefly in the wake of the vehicle before slipping under again. They were constantly running over wreckage .
They prayed it wasn’t people. The entire drive back to camp was silent. Scott stared ahead, jaw tight. They were here to save whoever remained. But standing in that destruction … It felt impossible.
And for the first time since leaving Louisiana, Scott wondered how much of California was already beyond saving.