Chaos Theory

by Rich Restucci

  The compound place was a walled community with several buildings and a massive wrought iron gate. A school bus with plate steel welded to the side was blocking the gate from the inside, and it moved for us when the Captain radioed our arrival. Maybe fifteen houses comprised the meat of the buildings, but several other structures were present, including some type of clubhouse.

  We came to a stop and Simmons was whisked away by a flock of corporals the moment he stepped out of the Hummer. I stepped out after him and noticed that there were several towers of plywood and four-by-fours erected near the wall, each manned with an army guy or a redneck. The two biggest houses had sniper teams on the roof, and a tank and two other tank-like vehicles were parked near the clubhouse. I remember thinking this compound might just be a great place to stay.

  A guy showed up with a couple of well-armed soldiers as we were pulling our packs out of the Hummer. He gave Ship the obligatory shock glance, but moved on quickly to Kat and then me. He came over, looked at my sling, and in all seriousness he said, “Nice job,” while nodding his head. He shook my hand and then Ship’s, then introduced himself as Dr. Smith (no shit). He asked us to follow him, and we took our stuff and did. We ended up at the clubhouse, which was apparently the command center and hospital. We had to check in, giving our full names, and where we were when the shit hit, and what our former professions were. Ship and Kat both listed Student, and I told them I worked in a garage, which was partly the truth. I had worked on some of the prison vehicles and knew my way around an engine.

  The doctor told us he would have to examine us for bites, and I got a little antsy. The one on my collar bone looked like a scrape, but the one on my leg looked exactly like what it was, even if it had healed. I had an injury, so I went first. One of the guards stepped into a little room with the doc and me, and I was instructed to remove my clothing starting with my boots. Up until then, the guard had had his finger on the trigger guard of his rifle. He rested his index finger on the trigger, but I played it off like I didn’t notice.

  Let me tell you, it was a bitch to undress, so the doc helped me. We opted for the sling first instead of the shoes, and it hurt. Pretty soon I was standing there without my shirt on, and he was checking the stitches that Ship had stuck me with. I hadn’t even known they were there. The doc looked impressed. “Who treated this?”

  “The sasquatch I came in with.”

  He smiled and pulled the bandage off of the back of my shoulder. “Hmm. Little chip of the scapula, do you have any pain here?”

  “OW! Fuck! Yeah that hurts!”

  “Yes, a small chip. I could go in and cut it out, but I don’t think you’d like it as I couldn’t spare any pain meds.”

  “Can I live with it?”

  “Oh yes, but it might get sore if it floats.”

  I harrumphed. “Then screw that noise, leave it.”

  “Your friend did an excellent job with the stitches and bandaging, but I’m unclear on how you remained without infection.”

  I told him to check the pill bottle in my pack. He pulled it out, and even though it wasn’t labeled, he immediately said, “Ciprofloxacin. Excellent.” There were six pills left, and I didn’t fail to notice that he pocketed the bottle.

  He helped me untie my boots, and then it was on to the fun stuff, “Drop your drawers, my friend.”

  I got scared, and he picked up on it immediately. Worse, his soldier buddy did too, and he frowned and the barrel of his gun came up almost imperceptibly. I didn’t hesitate and dropped my pants as best I could. The semi-circle bite mark screamed “HEY LOOK AT ME!” to all three of us, and the gun was now pointed directly at my face. The doctor hissed, “Wait!” The army kid didn’t know what to do, but he kept the gun on me and I started to sweat.

  The doctor pressed the wound hard; it was mostly healed and probably wouldn’t even scar. “When did you get this?” he said that as he breathed out. For some reason, that scared me more than the gun, but I didn’t know why at the time.

  “About a week ago.”

  “A week ago.” Guy was a fucking parrot now. “That…that’s not possible.”

  “Does it look healed, Doc?”

  “Yes but—”

  “Do I look like I want to eat you? Do I look like I’m rotting?”

  “No. No you don’t.” He furrowed his brow and folded his arms. He glanced over his shoulder and almost shit. “For Christ’s sake, lower your weapon,” he almost screamed at the poor army kid, who complied instantly. The poor kid had no idea what to do, and kept looking back and forth at me and the doc. “Go get Regan. Go! Now!”

  The kid split the room like his ass was on fire, and the other soldier burst in the room with wild eyes. He saw me standing there in my skivvies, and pointed the rifle at me. “NO,” screamed the doc and he grabbed the barrel.

  “Oh shit,” I said, and a single shot rang out. I felt my head snap back, and suddenly I was falling down a dark hole.

  Compound Fracture

  And I had called Ship a baby. Let me tell you, if you get shot in the head and it doesn’t kill you, it effing hurts. I was in and out of consciousness for a while.

  Why did everybody want to shoot me? I may have been in prison, but I wasn’t a bad guy, I just had some bad luck. Those that didn’t want to shoot me wanted to eat me, or just plain tear me to pieces. I know I’ve mentioned this before, and quite recently to boot, but I’m really, truly, a wonderful individual. Stop shooting me. Stop it. I will make you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

  Voices woke me. My shoulder hurt, but it was playing second fiddle to my noggin, which was telling me that under no circumstances should I even consider motion of any kind. I opened my eyes and that was my first mistake. It was bright, so I blinked a couple of times. This was more movement, and my head had been quite clear on not performing any type of motion. My cranium told me I was fired and I promptly passed out again.

  I was lying down on a bed, my back propped up with pillows. Voices again, and for a moment I thought the pain in my head was actually speaking to me. The door opened and I looked at the doc and another army guy. The army guy was in command; I could tell that from the moment he stepped through the door. He was also younger than I would have thought.

  The doc was all smiles. “You’re awake.”

  I don’t know how he made his voice so loud, or why it reverberated around my skull like a drum-beating hippy, but I informed the doc of my displeasure.

  “It was just a graze, sir,” said army dude. Poetic effing justice I’m thinking Ship would say.

  I raised my hand to my temple. “Let me borrow your pistol, I’ll shoot you in the head, and then we can compare pain levels.”

  “Fair enough. My name is Major Regan.” He extended his hand.

  Guy had a firm handshake. I immediately knew that even though this guy looked younger than me, and we were in the midst of probably two hundred million dead cannibals, this man had absolutely no intentions of being fucked with.

  “Sir, I wanted to speak to you about your injuries. It seems that—”

  “Where are my friends?” The not-being-fucked-with dynamic notwithstanding, I needed to know, and I was still uncomfortable with authority, although nothing like now.

  “I assure you, sir, they are quite safe.”

  I assure you, sir? Seriously? “If they’re safe, let me see them.”

  The major stepped into the hall briefly, and stepped right back, “They are on the way. In the meantime, I would like to discuss your bite mark.”

  I tried to sit up, but both my head and the doc were having none of that, and both of them said they would feel better if I remained mostly horizontal.

  “I got bitten by one of those things when I was trying to fix a car for some people.” It just came out. I didn’t mean to say it. It just leapt from my lips. What an asshole.

  The doc and the major looked at each other for a long second before the major piped up. “I’ve seen hundreds of people bitten. Good men and b
ad. Women. Children. All of them, absolutely every one died and turned inside of a day. How are you still alive?”

  “No clue.” My head hurt.

  “You’re telling me you have no idea how you survived a fluid transfer from one of the creatures?”

  “Um…” dramatic pause while I inwardly snickered at his inadvertent comedic transgression, maybe a second or two too long, “no, do you?”

  This earned sideways glances from the major to the doc and vice versa. Smith was flabbergasted. “Do you have any idea what this means?”

  “Uh…”

  “It means we could fabricate something from your blood! An antivirus! A vaccine! We could inoculate thousands so that if they were bitten, or even if they died of natural causes, they wouldn’t turn.”

  “So you’ll need my blood? But I need that…don’t I?”

  The doctor smiled. “We only need a few vials.” He lost himself in thought. “Of course, I don’t have the equipment here to process an antivirus. We will have to figure out how to appropriate the things we will need. Setting up a clean room should be easy, but…”

  Ship and Kat arrived with a wiry guy as the doctor kept talking to himself. Kat smiled and came over to take my hand. Ship looked like the Hulk and just stared at me reproachfully. Kat looked at the major with venom. “Who’s the dickhead that shot him?”

  “Whoa, Kat. That list is getting long. I’m not dead, and everybody is tired and scared. I don’t blame these folks, and you shouldn’t either.” Kat blushed and nodded, probably remembering that she had also put a bullet through me. The Major seemed taken aback, but only for an instant. I didn’t know then nor do I know now if it was because of what Kat said or what I said.

  Ship passed me his notebook: Next time, duck.

  “Love you too big guy, kisses.” I blew him one, and he actually smiled.

  The wiry guy smiled too and introduced himself as Lynch.

  The major, the doctor, and the wiry guy left us after some more interrogation, and Ship and Kat left me soon after so I could get some much needed rest. As if anybody could ever really sleep again.

  The next couple of days went without incident, although there were constant gunshots from the wall. Ship told me that the military men at this walled eleven acre complex were a mix of Army, Marines, and National Guard that had banded together when things had gone to shit in the small city of Athens to the south. They fled north through the wooded areas, dangerously low on fuel and manpower, although they had a truckload of ammo. The dead were relentless and hounded them the whole way. Ship had asked the major what kind of loss the United States was looking at, and his simple reply had been: Total.

  Also, another tidbit of info that you need to know is that I had grown a tail since I had shown up, bitten but not dead. No, dumbass, not a fuzzy new appendage on my ass; Lynch. Guy was shadowing me everywhere I went. I didn’t always see him, but I knew he was there.

  I asked Ship for the skinny on him, and apparently the guy had worked for the government in some capacity, and was on the road with Major Regan’s combined military forces when they had found this compound and sealed themselves inside. They had been making forays into the surrounding towns, picking up supplies and any survivors that wanted to come with them. This Lynch guy had been invaluable. He found stuff and people too.

  In my ignorance, I thought he was looking out for me because I was valuable, or at least my blood was. Turns out, I was right.

  We got some food together on the second day, and we sat with some other survivors and chatted. It was all the same, and after a while it became monotonous. My husband, wife, mom, dad, brother, sister, second cousin on my dog’s side, was eaten and I ran and ended up here. Everybody’s story was the same. We were the only folks to arrive in a plane though, and that seemed to get everyone’s attention. Until we told them it was out of gas.

  After lunch, most everybody dispersed, but we managed to latch on to a couple who had been eating with us. The guy, Bob, was maybe fifty, and the lady he was with was considerably younger. Her name was Carla. Between the gunshots outside, Bob began to tell us that the compound wasn’t all roses and unicorns.

  Bob worked the wall sometimes with the army guys or other rednecks (yeah, Bob was a self- professed hillbilly) and apparently ammo was getting low. There were periodic attacks on the wall by relatively sizable forces of undead. Up to now, it had been easy to dispatch them, as ammo had been plentiful, but the last time he had stood in one of those towers, the private that had been up there with him told him not to shoot unless something was crawling over the wall.

  About fifty of the things had built up in one area and they were piling up on each other. When the first hand reached over the brick and cinderblock, the private used his rifle, and had called on the radio. A team showed up with wooden spears in a few minutes to try to cull the horde. It had worked, but Bob had seen the fear in the eyes of the soldiers.

  Bob also told us that teams of soldiers had been going out to kill the things that got too close, or to try to find more supplies, or to rescue some civilians that had radioed in from an attic or a basement or a water tower in a nearby town. The returning teams were always down a man or two, and the only supplies and ammo they had brought in in the past couple of days came from Ship’s plane, although they had brought in a couple of survivors.

  In addition, some of the guardsmen were getting bossy, thinking that they were better than the civilians. These guys were barbers, burger flippers, and hardware store owners that had been called up as weekend warriors to help the regular army.

  “And have you seen our rear defenses?”

  I had to admit, I hadn’t gone to the back of the compound.

  “The front wall is tough, built out of reinforced concrete and brick, I checked. It’s pretty and it’s strong, but it’s only there because it’s visible from the street. A façade. The former owners of the houses in this complex, all of whom were dead when we got here by the way, either didn’t want to spend the money on a wall all the way around the complex, or didn’t think it was necessary.”

  I frowned, “Wait…what?”

  “The entire rear of the compound, the part that’s closest to the woods, is all chain link fence. Doesn’t even have barbed wire at the top.” He had pronounced it bobwire, which I would have thought was funny if I didn’t get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  Our spam and coffee was digesting nicely when Bob took us to the ass end of our new home. And by the way, I had never had a cup of coffee in my life pre-plague. I needed morning caffeine just like anybody else, but I drank Mountain Dew. And that could be a bitch to acquire when incarcerated. Yup I hate coffee, and F-U and your judgments if you’re a militant coffee consumer. Bob pointed to the last two houses in the area, and lo and behold a seven-foot chain link fence separated us from lots of teeth and death. The fence was maybe sixty feet behind the houses, through an overgrown backyard that once had been perfectly manicured. I thought all rednecks lived in trailers? There was a fuel tanker back here as well. Must be how they could supply all their vehicles.

  In the front of the compound, the zombies that attacked the wall or gates were brought back here when they were re-killed. There were piles of burned corpses outside the fence, many still smoldering a greasy black smoke. A crew was out there now, tending to one of the piles like farmers under careful sniper scrutiny. Rifle fire here and there put down any stray dead person who approached the crew.

  I may have actually shit myself when a man stepped out from behind one of those plastic tool sheds and said, “It may look flimsy, but it’s held out the infected so far.” It was Lynch. SOB was like a bad rash.

  Bob was quick to say good bye, and he took off with his tail between his legs. Lynch leaned against the siding of the house we were standing next to and looked off into the woods. “We have snipers on the roof, and extra towers there,” he pointed, “and there. We’re as safe as we can be, and there hasn’t been anything even close to a breach yet
.”

  “Mr. Lynch…”

  “It’s just Lynch.”

  “Fine, Lynch, what’s the story with the rest of the country?”

  “President and the Joint Chiefs are dead as far as we know. Every major city is gone. In fact, every city with a population of over fifty thousand is dead. At least that’s the intel I got before the intel stopped coming.”

  “That’s not good news.”

  “It gets better: It isn’t just here. Every country in the world has had outbreaks, and every major city is lost. We estimate more than six billion people dead. It was fast. Ridiculously fast. Probably because nobody believed what was happening. In a month, the entire planet was dead. It only hit here two weeks ago, and in just a few days, our military and civilian armies were gone. Everybody’s dead.” He looked at me. “Except you.”

  I felt dirty. I felt scared. I felt pissed off.

  He continued, “Why is it that you, a simple inmate from Cedar Junction in Walpole Massachusetts, didn’t die when everyone else has?”

  Boom. Ship and Kat both looked at me. Ship had an eyebrow raised, but Kat looked at me like it was no big deal. If this asshole had made an attempt at making my friends view me different, it didn’t work. I had saved both of their asses, and vice versa. I hadn’t known either of them for very long, but they were my family.

  “Interesting,” I said.

  “And what’s that, sir?”

  “That you could come by this information when nothing works.”

  “Who said nothing works?” He walked around the house and was gone from view.

  “Look guys, I…”

  “Forget it,” Kat said. “My dad did two years and he was the best man I know. Don’t worry, you two are still in the top three.” She punched Ship in the arm.

  “What about you, Sasquatch? What do you think?”

  Stinkeye. He wrote in his book for a long moment and passed it to me, staring off into the woods. I doubt that man even remembers his own name. He’s dangerous. We should leave, if he lets us. I have friends in the area.