by Ward III, C.
Stephan looked into Kevin’s unbelieving eyes. “Run!” he screamed.
They took off in a sprint in the direction they had been traveling, leaving all tactics behind. Stealth was completely absent. Stephan ran as fast as her legs would pump; she looked for a route between the rapidly advancing trees. She bounded over a chasm and landed heavily, grinding her shoulder into the jagged bark of a mature oak tree.
The weight of her pack was like dragging a boat anchor. Her legs ached as if she had been running on beach sand, and her lungs were on fire, gasping for oxygen like a fish out of water. Salty sweat from her brow streamed into her eyes, stinging and blurring her vision. She could barely see but thought she’d seen movement to her right.
She glanced to the side, where two Grays had flanked them quickly, and the ground suddenly disappeared from under her. She rolled twice before righting herself as she slid down a steep leaf-covered hillside. Coming to a stop at the bottom, she was jolted forward onto her stomach as Kevin tumbled into her from behind, also coming to a quick halt on the slide for life.
Untangling themselves, they helped each other up, stumbled forward, and broke through the forest into a long flat clearing. The sound of growls surrounded them.
“Go!” He pointed. “There, toward that barn.”
They tore across the clearing, racing for the safety of the airplane hangar Kevin had first thought to be a large barn. He chanced a glance back toward the forest. The Grays were already in the clearing and closing the distance quickly. He knew they’d never make it to safety before the beasts were all over them. He jockeyed a few steps to the left, stopped, spun around, took a knee, and began to fire into the mass of horrid creatures in rapid succession.
Stephan took several more strides before she heard Kevin’s first shots and spun to a halt. She watched two of them fall as she raised her rifle to provide cover fire for Kevin so he could move. In her peripheral, she saw Kevin stand quickly and turn outboard, not wanting to run into her line of fire, scanning hastily to the side, ensuring they were not being flanked.
Stephan put several rounds into each body, but it was only slowing them down, with insignificant effects. Some would fall, then get right back up as if they had only tripped. It reminded her of seeing criminals under the influence of psychotropic drugs getting tazed or shot ineffectively. The pain and shock alone would incapacitate the average person.
Kevin sprinted past her, and at about twenty-five yards to the rear, he stopped and began to fire again. Stephan took the sound of his rifle blast as a cue to get moving. She yelled, “Reloading!” as she sprinted past Kevin, deliberately giving him a wide shooting lane. She reloaded on the move, dropping the nearly empty magazine onto the overgrown grass airstrip. She stopped some distance behind Kevin and began firing again at the quickly advancing pack. As she pulled the trigger, her shoulder absorbed the recoil, and the smell of gun oil and cordite filled her nostrils while the glimmering holographic red dot transitioned from target to target.
Kevin bounded past her, yelling loudly over her rifle fire, “Forget the hangar; we’ll never make it. Go for those planes!”
When he began to fire, more rapidly now, she turned and spotted several small planes in a cluster on the near side of the hangar. She darted into the lot to find a small white passenger plane with long blue stripes across its open door. Instead of climbing in, she went prone, lying under the plane, and began shooting into the lower torsos of the half-visible Grays.
A second later, Kevin spotted her under an aircraft marked N688IM taking shots at a cyclic rate. He leapt over her, yelling for her to get in. She did, swiftly, without hesitation. They slammed the door, then sprawled out onto the cabin floor just as the remaining creatures penetrated the cluttered lot of planes.
With both of their white-hot smoking rifle barrels pointed at the door, they were breathing so loudly they thought for sure the snarling Grays would hear them. The small plane tilted suddenly as one of them ran into the wing. From inside the thin-skinned plane, they could hear the muffled, frustrated barks of the creatures frantically searching for them.
After what seemed like several minutes of silence, Kevin cautiously peeked through a window. He let out a long breath as he slid back down the side of the plane, nodding his head to say all clear.
Stephan let her head loll back against the floor, her vision blurring. She gulped in air, fully expanding her lungs. With her eyes shut, still trying to catch her breath, she whispered, “So you wouldn’t happen to be a pilot, would you?”
Kevin started to chuckle, his shoulders and belly contracting, overcome with an adrenaline-dump giggle fit. “Fat chance. I was hoping that you were a hobbyist. Ever sleep in a grounded plane before? I hope the movie’s good. I don’t know if I’m in the mood to deboard just yet.”
Not knowing if the Grays had moved on or not, they stayed locked up in the plane the rest of the day. They closed all the window shades and used a passenger blanket to cover the cockpit window, then searched the inside for loot but came up empty-handed. Not even single-serving packaged peanuts.
“I dropped four mags out there. I only remember reloading once,” Stephan said, examining her vest.
“Same here. I’m down three mags. How did we not kill more of them? They were just absorbing the hits?” he asked.
“They were still taking damage and will likely die sooner or later, but they weren’t feeling it. Your headshots put them down quick. The FFI protein must erode the pain processors in the brain. It could be possible that the fungal spore Ophiocordyceps Unilateralis has taken over the nervous system as well. That would also explain why they’re so fast. The average person’s subconscious will tell the body when to quit for self-preservation. I bet these things would literally run themselves to death to obtain a new host.”
“Wonderful,” Kevin said with a heavy sigh while reaching into his backpack and pulling out a handful of loaded mags. Luckily they were still carrying Anny and Dan’s ammo, but they couldn’t sustain many more of these engagements. They debated the need to retrace their steps in the morning to retrieve the empty mags from the grass runway.
They both studied the map that Kevin had unfolded on the floor. “Here, I am pretty sure that we are here. I’ve been in this city several times, just passing through. The city is called Houghton Lake, but it’s known as the Cross Roads of northern Michigan, where Route 55 crosses US 127. It has the largest inland lake in Michigan and a pretty big shopping mall too.”
Stephan traced her finger across the map from the coastal town of Tawas, where they had come ashore several weeks ago to the east side of Houghton Lake. “Looks like we’ve hiked about seventy miles. About another twenty-five to go. We have this pretty big metro area to bypass, or go straight through, or swim across that big-ass lake. I wonder if the infected can swim?”
“I hope not. At least there would be a chance of survival on large boats and places like Mackinac or Plum Island,” Kevin said, still gazing down at the map. “You know, when we left work, back in Detroit, this was where I was going to split from our group. I was going to follow the highway north from here to Camp Grayling, the Army National Guard base.”
Stephan involuntarily went stiff, suddenly feeling a crushing weight of anxiety. She couldn’t do this alone. Even if there were only twenty miles left to go. On a normal day, she could make that walk or jog in only a few hours. Now, it’ll take a week or two. If she made it at all. She looked up from the tattered map with misty eyes.
“Not now, though. This plague has changed everything. Most likely, Camp Grayling has been looted, or a rogue group has taken control of its armory and vehicles. Not to mention I would be afraid to death traveling on my own. And what kind of ass would I be to send you out there solo? I’ll stick with you, if you don’t mind. That little town you are heading to sounds lovely this time of year.”
She surprised him when she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him. “Thank you,” she said, sobbing gently into his shoulder.
“Of course you can stick with me.”
Later, Stephan passed out cold, curled up in a pile of passenger pillows and blankets. Kevin dug into his pack, happy to find that none of the glass food jars had broken. He pulled out the portable HAM radio and scanned the frequencies until a broken and barely readable signal became clear. He reached over and aggressively shook Stephan’s shoulder until she woke, sitting up quickly with her rifle in hand, looking around, discombobulated.
Victor, along with Curtis, who had an interest in electronics and engineering, were standing behind Art, patiently waiting for him to go through the power-converting protocol that was way outside Victor’s understandings.
A whirling fan from an inverter kicked on, and then small LED lights signaled that twenty-four-volt DC from the battery bank was being inverted to 110 AC for the radio equipment. “Here we go!” Art said enthusiastically, mimicking a child with a recently rediscovered toy.
He started turning frequency dials and flipping tuner switches that neither Victor nor Curtis could keep track of. “Have you picked up any chatter yet? Anything useful?”
Art continued dialing, lifting half his headphones off one ear. “Not really. I have picked up a distress call from a family in Columbus, Ohio, trapped inside a Blaine’s Grocery store. No one answered them. That was three days ago.”
“Have you broadcasted yet?”
“Negative,” Art said. “Town council has forbidden sending, only receiving. They are still using political voodoo to write me up an authorized script. I guess the FCC is governing at the county level now.”
“I kind of agree with them on this one. If you announce that we are a thriving community with open doors, we will be attacked and overrun by tomorrow night. It has to be scripted just right so we receive the right type of people.”
“Yeah, I understand that,” Art said faintly, slapping the headphone back onto his ear and then anxiously spinning a few more dials as if he were fishing for a trophy. He jerked the headphone jack out of the receiver and turned up the volume on the squelch box, reaching for a pad of paper.
“Good evening. This is Elizabeth Corrin bringing you another BBN global news report.
“United Kingdom citizens are reminded to refrain from unnecessary travels in personally owned vehicles. Fuel rations are expected to relax as soon as the British Pound and the Euro have officially integrated into the BRICS currency used on the open oil exchange market.
“Today, the world is at war. NATO forces are reporting substantial casualty rates mirroring World War Two levels. The EU has issued a memorandum to initiate a European-wide military- and civil service draft.
“NATO and allied BRICS forces are stretched thin on many fronts, engaged in bloody conflicts in northern Africa, Yemen, Iran, Syria, and Iraq. We are sad to report that our own local hero, Maj. Henry West of the 42nd Blockade, has been killed in action.
“Taking the entire world by surprise, the government of France has retaliated for last week’s Euro terror attacks by detonating a high-yield hydrogen bomb over Mecca, Saudi Arabia. The French president has called the drastic decision ‘a last resort crucial to preserving European integrity, historical culture, economic stability, and way of life.’
“India quickly followed suit, detonating a nuclear device in the Pakistani capital of Islamabad, resulting in millions of fatalities. Afghanistan simultaneously launched a military invasion into northern Pakistan, decimating dozens of Taliban strong holds.
“Russian President Putin and Chinese President Xi have strongly condemned Indian and French use of nuclear weapons, calling for an emergency United Nations Security Council meeting to prohibit further nuclear exchanges for the sake of humanity.
“Next, we have an update from the World Health Organization, but first a message from our sponsors…”
The handheld HAM radio lost the signal during the commercial break, infuriating Stephan, who desperately wanted to hear the WHO report, already knowing deep in her heart that it was about the spreading outbreak. “Get it back!” she cried.
Kevin, who barely knew how to turn the thing on and scan channels, couldn’t get the signal back. After several minutes of cursing, he finally turned it off. “If that was a signal from the UK, I’m surprised we got any of it. Especially inside this plane,” he said defensively.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just…” She trailed off.
“I know,” he said reassuringly.
They stayed up later than normal that night, passing a jar of carrots and venison back and forth, stabbing large chunks out with a folding knife. They discussed, dissected, debated, and theorized every piece of information they had just acquired.
By the time they finally passed out, sound asleep inside the locked plane, it seemed like they now had more unanswered questions than before hearing the broadcast.
Hidden within a dark, damp resale store at the far edge of town, Victor nestled under an improvised bunker constructed of tipped-over shelving units and moldy clothes. A small opening in his hide site allowed him to observe out the store’s broken front window while remaining concealed. Across the two-lane road was an adjacent storefront that was illuminated by large dancing flames as thick black smoke plumes rolled off a blazing tire stack.
He was distracted in a daydream, recalling details of the earlier BBN news broadcast they had received. It was a lot of information to process. He may not have believed they were involved in World War III if he hadn’t heard it himself. Even though there had been no mention of the United States in the broadcast before Art’s battery bank had drained dead, he realized the world was currently too busy with its own problems to send help. America, including this little town, was on its own.
The town council had reacted unexpectedly to the news. A particular councilman, whom Victor was not too fond of, had suggested to suppress the information in fear of causing widespread panic. He had argued that the news had no bearing on their community and would only hinder the work progress being made. Luckily, the mayor had overturned his Orwellian notion of censorship manipulation, contesting that every citizen had the right to know the unfiltered truth.
Victor had been sitting in his hide for hours. The fire was starting to dwindle down, causing darker shadows to stretch farther into the store, submerging him in darkness. He was about to call it quits when he spotted Michael and Zavier lowering down another car tire tethered by a long thick rope, hand over hand, onto the fire below. His sons had been upstairs in that second-level barricaded room for as long as he had been in the thrift store. The boys’ tasks were simple: stay quiet, keep the fire lit, and provide covering fire for Dad if shooting started.
This little mission had two objectives: The first, to see if the Grays would be attracted to a fire at night. Testing the “moths to a flame” theory. The community knew next to nothing about these things, other than that they attack on sight, without provocation or hesitation. Which led to the second mission requirement: capture one of them if they came to investigate the fire. Victor hated to admit it, but capturing a couple alive would be beneficial.
He sat up, sitting a little taller, when a familiar menacing growl echoed through the still night air. One of the creatures dashed past the broken storefront display window, startling Victor and causing him to raise the dart gun quickly. Several minutes passed before two more shadowy figures sprinted by.
Even though he’d double-checked that the back door was locked and he’d placed shopping carts in the hallway as an early warning signal, Victor couldn’t shake the feeling that they were stalking him from behind. This was the first time he had observed the Grays not sprinting full speed directly at him. He really didn’t know what to expect.
It appeared that the creatures were curious of the fire but not drawn directly to it for warmth and comfort, as people would be. They didn’t seem interested in the fire itself but more curious of the illumination it provided on the surrounding building, which made him extremely nervous. It wouldn’t take long f
or them to begin exploring.
A creature hesitated in the thrift shop doorway and then squatted, silhouetted against the fire. The black outline of the creature turned its head left and right in jerky motions. Then it gradually looked up toward the second-story window where his boys were hidden. Its body contorted as if it were coughing, producing a series of loud barking sounds. Several of the passing creatures abruptly stopped in their tracks.
Fearing it had spotted his sons and that the Grays were communicating, Victor squeezed the trigger on the dart gun, sending a syringe filled with enough sedative to knock out a horse flying into the creature’s back. The creature sprung forward, landed on its feet, and stood upright stiffly in the middle of the road with its neck arced painfully backward. One of its arms was straight out in front, clawing the air as if it were squeezing an invisible stress ball repetitively. It let out a long hiss, then fell over with a thud.
The other creatures vanished quickly, withdrawing into the night without a sound.
Victor let a few minutes pass to see if they’d return. Fearing they would but also hoping to subdue a second creature, he turned on his yellow walkie-talkie and pressed the push-to-talk button. “Seven Dwarves, this is Bad Apple. Sleeping Beauty ready for a carriage ride, over.”
“Bad Apple, this is Seven Dwarves. We’ll pull around the block now.”
Victor looked up, seeing his boys in the upstairs window, holding a similar walkie-talkie. They looked down at him, giving him two thumbs up. By the time the truck pulled around, Michael and Zavier were coming out of the building.
“Hey, wait over there. Michael, you watch back that way. Zavier, you watch that direction. Shoot anything that moves,” Victor directed while walking toward the truck.