The Marine collapses to the concrete having completed his service to his country.
Ethan scans the area around the fallen gate. Several outbuildings have cracked foundations. The newer military buildings were designed to withstand a major quake, unlike the post-Civil War structure, now smoldering ash, to his south.
Serena joins him.
“Listen.”
“I hear these trapped in the fence. You going to pop them?”
He notes the missing, sardonic old man. “This compound is a maze. Drawing them out would be better than facing them in a building.”
“Can we get the guns? This isn’t fun anymore,” Serena admits. She reaches for a rifle roasting in the sun.
“It stopped being fun the first time I raised my gun at a person.”
Serena holds the goopy rifle by the barrel with only her thumb and forefinger. “It’s a weapon.”
“It’s ruined from being in the weather, and the gunk oozing from the dead corrupts the mechanism.” Ethan adds, “If you are able to lift it with only two fingers, it’s void of ammo. Leave it. We’ll find more.”
“If they defended this place to the last man, wouldn’t that mean they ran out of ammo?”
“It’s not like the end of The Alamo. John Wayne had no reason to blow up the gunpowder stores for an enemy who doesn’t know how to use guns.”
“You’re banking on weapons, old man. Without them, my group won’t follow you north. Even if you do have a camp with electricity.”
Your people won’t last, weapons or not. “I had a small following of people I rescued. I knew about an isolated area with a hydroelectric dam. Missouri wasn’t hit with the pestilence as fast as other parts of the country. Parts of the state weren’t infected at all. I was able to locate some of the engineers who operated the powerplant. We built a fence. I brought in supplies and people who would ensure our survival. We lived better than those at the camps.”
“Most groups accepted anybody breathing. Sometimes they were infected.”
“I cured that fast.” Ethan jerks a shotgun from a Jeep flipped on its side. “It’s going to be a long day if we don’t find the armory.” He places the empty weapon on the fender.
“What keeps you going?”
“It seems like the thing to do. But my people, I’ve a responsibly to them, now.”
“You never put a gun in your mouth and thought about ending it?” Serena asks.
“No.” Not even when I found—buried her.
“My mom and I were in this group. They all did. They feasted on all the food supplies and some wine, and all put a bullet in their brains. They didn’t force it on anyone, but they left no food. A few didn’t do it. I never was a part of it. I found this group. Those knights no longer get to play swords. I thought knights were chivalrous.”
“You mean respectful and protective of women?”
“Yes.”
“It was code. It was considered honorable for a knight to win tournaments in the name of a lady he’s never met. But I’m not sure how many of them lived by the rules of being chaste.”
“You’re saying it didn’t happen?”
“I’m saying it’s a romantic view. Text from the time claims it was the way it was, but human nature takes over,” Ethan says.
“It’s a nice thought.”
“At my camp, no one will touch you. Unless you want them to.”
“How can you promise?” Serena asks.
“I removed the last rapist’s junk with a meat cleaver. We’ve one major rule—if you don’t work, you don’t eat. It prevents a lot of petty issues. But some people slip through.”
“Why not kill him?”
“I felt it was better to set an example. We’re rebuilding the world. Our camp will set a foundation for future generations.”
“You plan for future kids?”
“We’ve put a slight ban on family starting, but condoms are not a priority, so it will happen soon.”
“No punishment for getting knocked up?” Serena asks.
“No. I don’t consider it a grand idea to be dealing with the undead while popping out babies.”
“So, your camp is not safe.”
“It’s more secure than the military bases I’ve been on.”
“Then why not allow births?”
“Numbers. I need all my people, and a woman at nine months doesn’t need to be outside the fence,” Ethan says.
“You said they must work. Have them work inside.”
“Some of my best shots are women. I need them on the fence, not rocking a crib.”
Beyond the main gate, nothing jogs Ethan’s memory of his previous visit. I was occupied with the dying Sergeant. Half bluffing the man, we both had to know he was going to become a biter from his arm wound.
They leave the moan-howls behind them.
“Where’s the armory?” Serena asks.
“Not sure.” Ethan glances at a building and turns his body, as if physically retracing his movement from Dr. Ellsberg’s lab of horror. “I wasn’t privy to its location.”
She pokes the toe of her shoe at a shifted foundation. Half her foot disappears into the gap. “Some of these buildings won’t last more aftershocks.”
“No argument there. We don’t have time for a house-to-house search. I don’t trust the structural integrity of these support buildings.”
“The big, central edifice has no cracks. Not on this side.”
“Big word.”
“My ACT score was thirty, old man,” she quips.
“Smart girl. Then why do you chase a dumbass like Chet—his abs?” Ethan teases.
“Fuck off.” She increases her gait toward the large building.
Ethan fishes in his pocket. I kept Dr. Ellsberg’s key card.
On a side door to the building, Ethan finds an electronic box next to the door lock. He grips the twisted-J door handle, turns and tugs—locked. He drops the key card into the slot reader.
“Doesn’t it need power to operate?” Serena asks.
“I thought it might have a battery backup. The part of the base I was in before did. I don’t think this key card has clearance for this project.” He pockets the card.
As if a cold chill shivers her, “Maybe we should pick up the guns and get back to the boats.”
“What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing might get us killed.”
“I felt a goose step on my grave,” she confesses.
“This place gives me the creeps, too,” Ethan admits. “Let’s find the guns. I’ve more important things to do.”
“What could possibly be more pressing than scavenging an abandoned military base for supplies?” The voice belongs to a soldier sporting a clean M16.
Fuck me. People move without noise. Ethan studies the man. His unsoiled BDUs have no rank insignias or patches except the upside-down American flag on his left breast pocket. Raider?
“We’re here for supplies like you.” He has the speed to draw and drop this man before he swings his M16. No trained Marine would hold his weapon so nonchalantly. Means a surplus of supplies left to raid. He must have friends to be this brash.
“You know, any time they found a female survivor, they locked her away to test their vaccine. I haven’t even seen a live girl in a month without an arm marked with bites,” the man says.
“You’re not getting one unless you fuck’n shower,” Serena snaps. “Clean clothes don’t mask your stink.”
“You don’t have much control over your girl?”
“Fuck you. I ain’t nobody’s girl. I’m not to be owned by some old man or GI Joe with a limp dick.”
No talking my way out of this one. Ethan expects the next few seconds to end with the sun-backed soldier charging or firing on Serena. In that second, I’ll draw and end him.
Nothing.
No movement.
No more words.
The soldier lowers his weapon. “Even at the end of the world,
we never stopped doing terrible things to each other.” He places the M16 on the ground.
Not a Marine. Only one way to get a Marine’s weapon.
“I put bullets in the magazine, but I don’t know if it will fire. I didn’t want to risk it and draw more undead.”
“Why were you on base?”
“My friends and I were brought here by the soldiers. We thought we were safe. You’ve no idea what they were doing here,” the man says.
“Serena get his rifle.” Maybe he knows the armory’s location.
She grabs the weapon.
“I’ve no issue shooting you if I, for a second, believe your actions will get me hurt.’” Ethan takes the M16. He works his fingers so the man doesn’t see how he loads the weapon. Giving it back to Serena, “It will fire now.”
“You bringing him?”
“I’ve a camp in the north. I need the guns to help Serena move her people. We’ve food, walls, safety.”
“Safe? I thought the only safe road after my friends were killed was to blow my own brains out. Then some part of me demanded to know what they were doing here before I ate a round.”
“I saw the vaccine experiments,” Ethan says.
“Did you see what they did to those people who failed to be cured? Did you?”
“No.” Ethan contemplates killing the man before he completes his feral transformation.
“You should know what our government is doing.”
I’ve a good idea. “You have a name?”
“Manners went out the window. Sorry. Theo.”
“Holy fuck me sideways, Batman.” Ethan props the door open, but no amount of breeze clears the stink from the chamber.
In the drained, Olympic-sized swimming pool, hundreds of undead, crammed together, echo a muffled moan-howl. Metal plates screwed over their mouths only stifle the droning sound. Metal joints bolted to their arms connect to packs on their necks with what reminds Ethan of the first car phone antennas.
The smell of the living excites the mass.
“What did they do?” Serena asks.
“The military turned them into a cheap, horror, sci-fi B movie.” Unable to view what attachment augments the creature, Ethan moves around the pool.
“I don’t…”
“There’re wired. At least their arms are.” Ethan marches toward a booth.
“I don’t understand.”
“Theo.” Ethan says with implied command.
“They kept a few of us to wrangle the undead. We brought them here.”
“How much do I need to spell out for you, Serena?” Ethan searches the junk in the booth. “They captured undead and bolted their mouths shut. Then they hardwired spring-loaded devices to their arms…” Ethan drags out a skeletal frame from the booth. A machine pistol with an extended clip dangles at the end, attached to the right arm. “So they could remotely fire.”
“I don’t get it. The creatures won’t do what you want.”
“They will march toward the living, who won’t be expecting them to be able to shoot back,” Theo says.
“Terrifying the enemy. An unstoppable army. Even if you shot a few, they would keep coming.” Ethan flicks a button on the pack. The right arm joint springs up. “These undead shoot.” Ammo, ammo everywhere and not a round to expend. Ethan puns the famous poem. I’ve done plenty to earn an albatross. “Theo, there has to be a remote system to control them.”
“All I did was wrangle them into a room, where men in shark armor did this.”
“Shark armor?” Serena asks.
“The metal rings divers wear,” Theo says.
“How were they to get them out of the pool?” Ethan asks.
“I don’t know.”
Ethan ejects the clips. Nine-millimeter rounds. They fit none of my guns, but I won’t leave thirty rounds behind. In the part of the harness connecting to the neck, he confirms a speculation.
“Could we use these guys to protect us?” Serena asks.
“We could, but too risky. Something goes wrong, and we’re screwed. We don’t know where the remote to operate the weapon is, what it does to guide them to a target, or how they get them out of the swimming pool.” Ethan drops the harness. “Theo, do you know where the armory is?”
“Aren’t you going to figure out how to get these vectors out of the pool?” Theo asks.
“We need guns. Not these monsters.”
“They would protect us,” Theo says.
“No. Next aftershock and they would go crazy. You’d have to put them down.”
“Put them down?” Serena asks.
“Theo, I know your time here was difficult. These guys aren’t the answer. I know you know where the control station is,” Ethan says.
“It’s an army, and no other undead will even know we travel in the center of them.” Theo reaches into his jacket packet.
“No. They’re caged tigers. And you’ll lose control of them. Let’s get the rifles.”
Serena glances between the two men like a bad tennis match. She doesn’t understand, and would have guessed Ethan would shoot the man over reasoning with him.
Ethan draws with inhuman speed and places a slug into Theo’s leg. He collapses to the deck. He limp-hops to the fallen man, unable to run.
“You didn’t have to shoot me.” In Theo’s hand, he holds what resembles a Nintendo 2DS.
The aroma of blood chums the rotten mass in the pool. Ethan has no idea how they detect it over the putrefaction hanging in the air.
Theo drops the device to clamp pressure on his bleeding leg.
“Consider yourself lucky. You’re the second warning shot I’ve ever given.” Ethan scoops up the device. He flips the power button to on. The screen flashes bright and then blackens to a flashing curser, demanding a password.
He toggles the buttons with a quick response:
Up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B, A.
Nothing. “Theo, time for us to go. You have a choice.”
“I DON’T WANT to take her foot. Not if you must travel. My boss. He’s a germaphobe. Your presence here makes him nervous,” Dr. Griffin says.
“You don’t have to live in fear of this man. Kelsey has a camp. They would welcome you.” Mike keeps his statements ambiguous. Don’t promise what you can’t deliver.
“No matter how much I fear my boss, I fear outside worse. If you people have a doctor…” He hands over a sealed, business envelope. “This copy of my assessment will assist another doctor. Her other foot will need to come off, but she needs to recover from the first amputation. I was able to perform it below the knee. It will make learning to walk again easier. The infection might take her life.”
“Why, Doc? Why help us at all?” Mike’s suspicions rise. Even he knows someone with a compound like this must demand stiff payment to expend such resources on strangers.
“I may be a coward, but I do no harm. Penance maybe. Guilt. I’m safe in here while so many die out there. It felt good to help someone. I haven’t been a doctor in ten months,” Dr. Griffin says.
“Anything in this envelope about Kelsey not being infected?”
“I don’t have many subjects to study. Best I understand is some attempted to restore the brains of long-term comatose patients. Neurogenesis, it’s called. They reanimate the brain.”
“People would have to be dead for that to work.”
“R1, or what I have patented the Reanimation One virus. It would destroy the outer portions of the cortex, the part of the brain we consider makes us human. The part left behind is the basic, primitive motor functions,” Dr. Griffin explains. “I’ve documentation on the R1 to show when an exposed person dies, they return. It’s the non-exposed people who must be bit to transfer the disease.”
“So only a few people would have to be exposed to the disease to spread it?”
“Whoever developed the virus unleased it on cities around the world in a coordinated effort. You said you were in St. Louis. You have the R1 in your blood. When
you die, you will rise from the dead. If Kelsey dies, from natural causes, she won’t. She was not exposed to R1, leading me to hypothesize she was nowhere near an infected city.”
“A dirty bomb,” Mike speculates.
Dr. Griffin has no poker face to hide his confusion.
“People worry about some ISIS member, or did worry they would get ahold of some uranium and build a nuclear bomb, but what was scarier was if they used conventional explosives with a small amount of radioactive material. You don’t get the crater of the leveled city, but this radiological dispersion device releases waves of poison, leaving structures intact and people exposed before most people know there was an incident.”
“Replace the radioactive material with this virus and a major, populated city would have thirty to forty percent exposure,” Dr. Griffin says.
“Fine. But what set it off? You could expose people, but then they need to die for them to return.”
“Lack of radioactive material would allow these terrorists to move easier without being on a watch list.” Dr. Griffin activates an iPad.
“You have internet?”
“No. But I have some news reports from day one saved.” Dr. Griffin loads an article. After a few minutes, “In Chicago, there were three mass shootings. All in a five-block radius. The victims lived long enough to be transported to the hospital. It would have been a unique set of shootings, as the perpetrators didn’t seem to be firing to kill.”
“Medical teams don’t bother with the dead. EMS treats only those they can save,” Mike says.
Dr. Griffin scans another article. “Atlanta had a mass shooter who led police on a high-speed chase. He caused dozens of fender benders.”
“Exposing people and killing some. Drawing in more emergency service personnel.”
“Take out those people best able to deal with an outbreak.”
“Unleashing a plague in cities with millions. Those millions then spread to the rest of the world.” Mike asks the million-dollar question for him, “What happened in St. Louis?”
Dr. Griffin taps on the screen. “Nothing. No shootings.”
“R1 was released. I’m proof. But the shooter was never active,” Mike guesses.
No Room In Hell (Book 3): Aftershocks Page 26