Satan's Gate

by Walt Browning

  Kyle looked at Carver, his face puffy and red.

  “But I can make you this vow,” John continued. “I’ll get them all. I’ll kill every last one of them. I promise.”

  Kyle nodded. He caught his breath and stepped back. “No. We will. I have even more rights to kill them than you do. She was my mother, and I will have my revenge.”

  John stared at the young man. He was right. Regardless of his age, he was entitled to this.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” John replied.

  Kyle looked tentatively at Carver, unsure if he was being honest or just placating him.

  He reached out his hand to John. “I believe you.”

  Carver took his hand and they shook. Man to man. Warrior to warrior. They were family.

  “It is done,” Carver said.

  He took Kyle into his arm and gave him a man hug. With the attack and loss of his mother, the young man would never be the same. His childhood days were over.

  “John!” Chris Reedy said from the hallway. “I need you.”

  Carver heard the concerned note in his tone.

  “Get some rest. We’ll be leaving at daybreak,” John said to the young man.

  Kyle nodded as Carver turned into the hallway. He shut the boy’s door.

  “Yeah?” Carver said dryly.

  “It’s Trey. I think you better check his injury.”

  Carver began to ask a question but was waved off by the EMT.

  “Just follow me,” he said.

  They walked to the Dardens’ room, where Brett and Trey were sitting on the injured boy’s bed. They were smiling at some unknown joke. Nothing seemed to be amiss.

  “Mr. Carver wants to see how you’re feeling,” Chris said. “He wants to know when you’ll be ready to get some payback.”

  “I’m ready now!” the young man said confidently.

  “You better let me look at the injury before I have you running around the camp killing zombies,” John replied, understanding the duplicity of Chris’s request. Reedy wanted John to see the kid’s foot without raising any concerns.

  Trey pulled his sheets back and revealed a bandaged lower leg. The four-inch sterile gauze wrap had been pinned at the top with a paperclip. Reedy unwrapped the bandage and exposed the wound.

  Two parallel gashes, both penetrating the muscle, went from above his ankle to the top of his foot. The wounds had clotted, but that wasn’t what brought Carver into the young man’s room. The veins near the cuts were beginning to turn black. Tray had been infected. He had less than a couple hours left before he turned, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

  John stepped back and looked at the boys. His gaze froze their jovial banter and within a few seconds, the gravity of the situation took hold. Carver didn’t have to say a thing. Deep down, they must have known.

  “No, Mr. Carver,” Trey pled. “Please, tell me I’m all right.”

  Carver just shook his head.

  “I’m sorry,” Mr. Reedy said. “There’s nothing we can do.”

  “NO!” Brett yelled. “I won’t let you kill him!”

  Reedy tried to take hold of the boy to console him, but Brett shoved him away.

  “You will not let him die!”

  “Son, we can’t stop it.”

  “I don’t believe you. You have to help him. We can go to the hospital. They had insulin for him. They’ve got to have something to stop this. There has to be something.”

  “Brett,” Carver said. “There’s nothing. No cure. Not a thing that will even slow this down. You know that.”

  Brett stood back, his mind churning as he tried to think of a way out of the situation.

  Reedy sat down next to Trey. The boy was in a trance, his life condemned by a single bite from an infected animal. He lifted up his exposed foot and looked at it.

  “It’s turning black,” he said absently. “But I don’t feel a thing,”

  “That’s good,” Reedy said. “At least you don’t have any pain.” He reached around the young man’s head and began to adjust the pillow.

  “NO!” Brett shouted. “Leave him alone.”

  Brett pushed Chris away, sending the EMT tumbling to the floor.

  Carver stepped forward but was met by a shotgun that Brett had grabbed. He aimed it at Carver’s chest.

  “Anyone touches him, and they’re dead.”

  Carver and Reedy froze. The boy’s finger danced inside the trigger well. Just a few pounds of pressure would remove most of Carver’s heart and lungs.

  “You will not touch him. I’ll fix him. Just leave us alone.”

  Brett’s steely eyes left no doubt that he meant every word.

  “Son,” Reedy said quietly. “Just put the gun down. No one will touch your brother.”

  “I don’t believe you!” he hissed. “You’ll kill him as soon as I do!”

  “No, they won’t,” Trey said.

  He reached over and gently lifted the shotgun up and away from Carver. Brett stared at his brother, unsure what to do.

  “They can’t kill you,” Brett said. “You’re my twin brother.”

  “I know. But it’s not their fault.”

  “I can’t lose you.” Tears welled up in Brett’s eyes. “I can’t lose you. I’ve never been alone.”

  “It’s all right,” Trey said, smiling. “It’s going to happen, if we want it to or not.”

  Brett dropped the shotgun and flung himself on his dying brother. Trey held his head on top of his chest, stroking his sobbing brother’s hair.

  “It’s all right,” Trey whispered. “It’s all right.”

  Carver slowly retrieved the gun and unchambered the buckshot shells. The safety was off. He’d be dead if the kid had panicked. Even though he hadn’t been shot, he didn’t feel all that lucky. With everything he’d been through so far that day, being killed wasn’t exactly the worst thing that could have happened. He would have taken a full spread of lead, if it would bring Hope back.

  “How long do I have?” Trey asked.

  “I truly don’t know,” Reedy replied.

  Shrek sat by the bed. He was alert but calm. He seemed to understand what was happening. Every so often, the Mal would look at Trey, and the hair on his nape would stiffen slightly. He sensed the change and would provide an alarm as the transformation neared its end. Carver commanded the dog to stay by the boys’ side. Both he and Reedy left the room as Trey continued to console his brother.

  “We need to check on him every ten minutes,” Reedy said.

  “Agreed,” Carver said. “Between that and Shrek, we should have sufficient warning before he converts. I want to get Brett out of there before that happens.”

  The two men stood silently, deep in thought and sadness. It had been a hell of a day, and they still had more to do.

  Not only did Carver want to attack the infected, there was the matter of the three families from Yuma that had apparently been slaughtered. They needed to verify they had been killed but wouldn’t know for sure until the sun came up.

  “All those people dead,” Reedy said, sighing.

  “Who? The Yuma families?”

  “Yeah. It’s like they never existed. We were just getting to know them and now…”

  “You need to put that kind of thinking in a box and stow it. You can unpack it later, but for now, stay focused.”

  Carver glanced at his watch.

  “It’s an hour before sunrise. Let’s organize a group to check on the Yuma camp. Then, we’ll get together in Beckham and come up with a plan.”

  “What are you thinking, John?”

  “We need to find those infected things and destroy them.”

  “John. I don’t want you to get pissed off at me, but are you sure that’s our best move? Revenge?”

  Carver shot Reedy a steely look. The hatred in John’s eyes left no doubt about his intentions. He’d never seen such anger in one person before, especially such a capable killer.

  “This isn’t about
payback, although it will be sweet. This is about survival.”

  Carver stepped away and looked in on the Darden boys. Brett had stopped crying and they were talking quietly.

  “We were attacked. The enemy took the fight to us and we got whooped. What do you think will happen in the future? We can’t control when the fight happens if we wait for them to come to us.”

  Carver started pacing back and forth, his hands moving about as he spoke.

  “When we were in Afghanistan, our firebases were under constant attack. A rocket here, an IED there. Sappers one night and nothing the next.”

  John stopped and squared up with Reedy.

  “You know what that meant? We had to be ready for anything, twenty-four seven, three sixty-five. We never had a break because we never knew when things would go kinetic.

  “So, we went back to the basics. After all, a firebase is just a fancy term for a patrol base, right? Do you know what’s the best way to protect a patrol base?”

  “Uh, no,” Reedy replied.

  “You patrol,” John said. “You meet the enemy away from the wire and take the fight to them. After we started to do that, the base was secure, and our nerves weren’t frazzled from constant worry. You fight the enemy on your terms, at your time, and at a place of your choosing. That’s how you protect a patrol base, and that’s how we’re going to protect this camp.”

  Reedy could see that Carver’s confidence was back. Before, with the loss of Hope, he was adrift. It was frightening to see their leader, the rock of the camp, unsure of himself. Now, the old John Eric Carver was asserting himself. He must have, as he said, put it in a box and stowed it. His emotions were suppressed, and if he heard the SEAL correctly, there would be time to grieve later.

  “Let’s get the rest of the group and start organizing,” Carver said.

  “I’ll look in on Trey one more time.”

  “Good idea. I’ll leave Shrek there too.”

  Chris Reedy went into the room. Trey and Brett stopped their conversation. Trey smiled.

  “I’m so sorry, Trey,” Chris said.

  “That’s all right,” he replied. “I didn’t think I had much more time, anyway.”

  “How so?”

  “My insulin. Mr. Carver risked his life for maybe four more months’ worth. Then what? I’m dead, anyway.”

  Chris nodded. It was an incredibly mature and truthful statement. There would be no more insulin now that the world had ended. Chris knew that back when they’d gone on the mission to Temecula Hospital.

  “This will be quicker and not as painful,” Reedy said. “I want you to know that.”

  Trey just nodded.

  Reedy checked the wound. The infection had spread a few inches. They had some time.

  “Keep an eye on your brother,” Chris said. “We’ll be back.”

  Brett nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Shrek sat and watched it all. He’d stay till the end. It’s what his master wanted him to do. Then he’d kill the boy. He’d kill the new asp. It was his job, and he was good at it.

  — 37 —

  Brett Darden

  Lost Valley Administrative Office

  “I have never in my life envied a human being who led an easy life. I have envied a great many people who led difficult lives and led them well.”

  –THEODORE ROOSEVELT

  “I don’t want you to die,” Brett said softly.

  Trey gave his brother a grim smile. “Like I want to.”

  The twins sat facing each other. Trey lay on his cot, foot elevated, a dark line of viral infection creeping up his leg.

  They sat quietly for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Shrek sat nearby, his ears standing straight and his eyes glaring squarely at the dying boy.

  Trey watched the Mal sizing him up. Its gaze relentless. He looked at his leg and saw a greyish pallor absorbing his pink skin. He was beginning to feel the change.

  “I want to get up,” Trey said. “I can’t just lay here.”

  Brett helped his brother stand and let Trey use his shoulder to support his injured twin’s weight.

  “Let’s move around.”

  “Is that a good idea?” Brett asked. “Won’t that make the infection spread more quickly?”

  Trey stopped. Maybe Brett was right. What if the infection was already affecting his mind, directing him into the open where his change would be the most dangerous for those around him? Maybe the virus was making him a predator.

  “Yeah,” Trey said. “That might not be a good idea.”

  They put him in a chair instead.

  The twins spoke about past shared adventures. They laughed at themselves and cried about lost friends and parents. An hour went by quickly. Too fast for them both.

  “Hey,” Carver said as he returned to the room. “How are you doing?”

  “Okay, I guess. It doesn’t hurt too much. At least, it’s no worse than the cuts in my ankle. It’s more of a burn.”

  “Let’s take a look,” Carver said.

  Trey held his leg up for inspection. Carver saw that the tissue changes had progressed up to his knee. The tissue had lost what little hair the kid had before, and the black venous mutations had spread. His thigh was now laced with ebony striations. Another hour and he’d be a risk to them all.

  “You’re holding on,” Carver said, hoping to give the boys some solace. “It isn’t advancing as fast as I thought it would.”

  “You’re not good at lying,” Trey said. “But, thanks anyway.”

  Carver smiled and rustled the kid’s hair. Several patches of his wispy blonde locks fell off the back of his head. Trey hadn’t noticed but Brett’s eyes widened. He knew.

  “Can I talk to you, Brett?” Carver asked.

  “Sure, Mr. Carver.”

  They left the room and walked down the hall.

  “I don’t know how fast it’s going to progress at this point. You saw his hair fall out when I ruffled it. The color changes in his skin and veins may not be a good indicator. That may not be a good warning on when he’ll change.”

  “He’s still normal. When we talk, he hasn’t done anything crazy.”

  Carver stood silently. It would be prudent to move Brett to a different building and put Trey down. Like a dog that had advancing rabies, there was no cure and giving the creature more time was a danger to everyone around them.

  “Not yet, Mr. Carver,” Brett pled.

  John looked down and took pity. He sighed. It was not the smart thing to do, but he’d remembered what Hope had told him just a day or two ago. Giving the brothers a little more time wouldn’t be the smart thing to do, but it was the human thing to do.

  “Okay,” Carver said. “On one condition.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Shrek stays with you. And if he turns before I get back, you have to lock him up inside the room. Do you promise me that? I’ve got a little more to do back at Beckham, but I’ll be back in less than an hour. You should be good until then.”

  Carver drew his M9 pistol and handed it to Brett.

  “This is for your protection. If it goes south quickly, use it. But please lock him up, if you can. You don’t need to be the one.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You know how to use this?”

  “Yeah. That’s the safety,” Brett said, flicking the lever on the left slide up and then down, back into its safe position.

  “Good. Now, please get me when he changes. I’ll make sure he doesn’t suffer.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Carver. Miss Torrence was right.”

  “What did you say?” Carver asked.

  “Miss Torrence told Kyle that you were a good man. Kyle told us that once. She was right. You’re a good father.”

  Carver froze. The mention of Hope’s name threw him. He’d suppressed those emotions a while back, but just the mention of her name brought a tidal volume of anger and pain.

  Brett shoved the large handgun into the waistband at the small of his back and
pulled his shirt out and over it. He returned to his brother, and they began talking once again, like there wasn’t a care in the world.

  Carver sank into a deep, emotional well. He walked slowly back to Beckham, where the adults stood over a map of the area, planning their defense of the camp.

  About ten minutes later, Trey felt a ripple of pain shoot from his head, down his spine. It spasmed his abdomen, causing him to throw up on the floor. The vomit was dusted with black speckles.

  “You need to get Mr. Carver,” Trey said somberly.

  “No,” Brett said. “We still have more time.”

  Trey sighed. He didn’t want to die, but he didn’t want to hurt his brother, either.

  Trey felt a burning rush through his blood. The room became hot, and he felt like a trapped animal.

  “I need to get out of here,” Trey said. “I’m burning up.”

  “We can’t leave. You have to stay here.”

  “No, I can’t breathe!” Trey pled.

  Brett stepped up to the window and looked outside. The night was giving way to the morning. Filtered pink sunshine backlit the nearby trees, and the mountain tops radiated a warm hue from the pink morning sun.

  “It’s almost dawn,” Brett said.

  “I just want to watch the sun come up, one more time.”

  Brett understood.

  He helped his brother up, and they hobbled outside. Shrek walked with them, his eyes never leaving the rapidly changing boy.

  “Where are we going?” Trey asked.

  “Our spot,” Brett replied. They both knew where that was.

  They hobbled to a side path that wound around a hill to the camp’s east. A few hundred yards’ walk, and they came to “their spot.”

  A petrified bristlecone pine tree stood sentinel over the high mountain desert. It had lost its needles and cones many centuries ago. Its bark had solidified and calcified into ribbons of mottled brown, ocher, and grey. The desert floor lay in the distance. The floor of the valley spanned miles to the northeast. The undulating land was peppered with green and brown growth while in the distance, an eagle drifted on heat thermals that swirled updrafts coming off the nearby mountains.