Return to Yellowstone

by Heath Stallcup

  He huffed and turned his back on her. “I’m not counting it out just yet. You can choose to ignore that test subject if you like.”

  “Charles, be reasonable.” She stopped herself short of calling him closed-minded. Instead, she counted to five and took a deep breath. “In order for the curative to be effective, it has to be a single dose that can work on its own. We can’t hospitalize 90% of the population and baby step our way through weeks of gene therapy.” She sighed dramatically. “It isn’t effective unless it’s a single shot, one and done, rapid realization.”

  “Says who?” he demanded, spinning to face her again.

  “Says the government.” She lowered her voice and pulled him aside. “They need something they can mass deploy. Yes, in some instances, once the grand majority of the population has been treated, we might be able to use your gene therapy in clinical theaters for…stubborn cases. But they need a nuke, not a precision instrument that is slow with results.”

  “Your vaccines aren’t showing to be an instant cure.” He crossed his arms and gave her a smirk.

  “I’m not claiming them to be. But it’s something that could be delivered via numerous vectors.” She gave him a sad smile. “I’m counting out the gene therapy.”

  “You can’t do that.” His eyes widened with surprise.

  “I can, and I am.” She motioned with her head to one of the orderly techs. “Return her to the isolation ward and prepare her for reentry to the general population.”

  Charles was nearly pleading as he followed her. “But what if it begins to take? What if she begins to show signs of remission? She’ll be in there with them and…”

  “And if she shows any signs of improvement, we’ll remove her, and we’ll readdress the status of your gene therapy model. But until then…” she trailed off.

  Charles hung his head and nodded. “I’ll…uh, look again and see if I can target a more effective strand of the viral DNA to replace.” He stood taller and squared his shoulders. “I still think it’s our best bet at a cure.”

  She patted his arm. “That sounds like an excellent idea.”

  She watched him turn and begin stripping the protective layers from his body, then exit the ward. She almost felt sorry for him as he walked dejectedly into the next room to take his seat at his workstation.

  She picked up her mask and a fresh set of gloves. “Back to the grindstone.”

  “I can explain!” Henry held his hands up, hoping to stave off the verbal attack he knew was coming.

  Candy’s eyes were wide as she stormed toward the truck. “What in the seven layers of Hell were you two thinking?” She stopped short of swinging at the pair. “I thought you were pulling the truck back out to the yards, and then I have to find out from one of the roof guards you came back for a second run?” Her eyes were filled with enough crazy for a dozen Zulus.

  “It was my fault,” Henry groaned.

  “Yeah, it was. Totally his fault,” Wally added, taking a half-step back. “I told him not to, but no, he wouldn’t hear of it, and when I—” He stopped short when he saw the anger in her face and the betrayal in Henry’s. “Well, I did tell you it wasn’t a good idea.”

  “Henry Willis, we have enough from the first run to keep us running for at least a year, and possible two if we stay smart about it.” She shook her head. “What were you thinking?”

  Henry inhaled deeply and glared at Wally. “I was thinking, that if there really were marauders out there, and if they happen upon this place…with what we left here, they could set up shop and never leave.”

  Candy shrugged. “So?”

  “So?” Henry appeared exasperated. “So? Really? You want them camped out right under our noses? I would think that the more of this we could get locked up behind our doors and unavailable to a raiding faction, the better for us.”

  She shook her head and pointed to the setting sun. “Do you not see how late it is?”

  “Yes, and we would have been on our way back had you not rolled up here like cops trying to catch the doughnut shop before it closed.”

  “You’re not funny.” Candy bristled at his cop joke. Everyone knew she used to be a deputy sheriff before Hatcher moved her to New Mexico with a small handful of survivors from the initial attack. She turned and pointed to Wally. “And you!”

  “Me?” Wally shook his head as he slowly backed away from her. “What did I do?”

  “You should have known better. How could you let him talk you into such a hair-brained idea?”

  Wally opened his mouth, then promptly closed it. He shook his head. “Candy, you know what Hank is like when he’s got an idea in his head.”

  She ground her teeth and stomped her foot. “You two get this damned truck back to the warehouse before the sun sets, or so help me, you’ll be sleeping in it!”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Wally groaned. He shot Henry a withering look. “Load up.”

  “Thanks for the support there, buddy.”

  “We’re both in trouble because you can’t take no for an answer,” Wally mumbled as he turned and made his way to the cab.

  Candy muttered to herself all the way back to the car and nearly pushed her driver back into position. “Get us out of here before the damned sun sets.”

  As she began climbing into the vehicle, she could hear the first screams of the Zulus scattered across the town. She ground her teeth again, then slammed her door shut.

  The little car pulled in front and made for the main road, the large truck lumbering slowly behind her. The car pulled onto the main road and began its zig-zag across town, the idea being that if the Zulus could sniff them out, they’d have to cover a lot more territory before finding them.

  Candy continually watched the sun as it quickly faded from view and slipped behind the horizon. She feared being caught outside their gated community after dark. The Zulus were exponentially more active in the dark, and without night vision, they were nearly impossible to track.

  She slapped at the dash board. “Hurry up.” She glanced out her side window and could almost swear that she saw Zulus darting from yard to yard trying to keep up with them.

  “The truck is falling behind.”

  “That’s their problem. Serves them right for…oh, shit!” She pointed ahead of them where three Zulus appeared in the middle of the street.

  The driver slammed on the brakes and Candy nearly shrieked when the trio began running toward the car. “Back up! Back up! Do it now!” She pulled her pistol and leaned out of the passenger window.

  The driver was trying to accelerate in reverse as the truck bore down on them. Candy began firing at the trio when the driver suddenly swerved, allowing the big truck to pass them on the left.

  “Where the hell are they…,” Candy’s voice trailed off as she watched pieces of the Zulus explode from the front bumper and grill of the five-ton truck. “Follow them!”

  The driver threw the transmission into DRIVE and floored the accelerator. The little car quickly caught up with the truck and occasionally bounced as pieces of the attacking Zulu appeared from under the truck.

  “Jeezus, they’re everywhere!” the driver exclaimed as he swerved the compact car from one lane to the next trying to avoid body parts.

  “Just stay on their bumper!” Candy pulled the radio from her belt. “Gate, this is Candy! Come in!”

  “Go for gate guard.” The static filled reply was barely audible over the roar of the little engine and the scraping from beneath the car.

  “Have a team ready at the gates! Hank and Wally are in the five-ton and we’re right behind them. Prepare to repel boarders!”

  “Copy that.”

  She turned and eyed her driver. “You’d better be ready to shoot through that gate, then lock it up before we eat Hank’s bumper. There’s barely room to fit both vehicles in that staging area, and to come in hot and have to stop short of the doors?” She shook her head.

  “I’m ready.” He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and fe
athered the clutch on the little car.

  Hank could catch glimpses of Candy’s headlights behind them when they’d swerve to miss a Zulu that had shot under the truck. He downshifted the transmission and floored the accelerator.

  Wally leaned back in from the window and tossed his shotgun to the side. “I’m out.”

  “We’re less than a block to the warehouse.” Henry fought the large steering wheel as he tried to slide the big truck around a corner. “I just hope they got somebody on the gates.”

  Wally glanced in the rear mirror, then pointed to the gates swinging open ahead of them. “Candy must’ve called ’em.” He pushed back in his chair instinctively and braced a hand on the dash. “The inner doors are closed, Hank! You better BRAKE!”

  Hank locked up the brakes and slid into the transition area, the truck sliding sideways slightly before the front bumper smashed into the reinforced metal doors of the warehouse foyer. He glanced to Wally who was picking himself up from the floorboard.

  “Any landing you can walk away from, I say.” Hank shot him a toothy grin, then slammed into the steering wheel as the compact car Candy was in careened into the rear of the truck.

  “Son of a…” Hank and Wally jumped down from the cab and watched as a team opened fire on a quickly approaching band of Zulus.

  Candy’s car had struck the rear bumper of the truck and nearly bounced off. The driver was groaning as he crawled out of the car and Candy was cursing as she rubbed her chest where the seat belt had cinched her tight.

  Wally pointed to the front end of the car where licks of flame began popping up between the ruined front end and the crumpled hood. “Fire!”

  Hank grabbed the driver’s side pillar and began pushing it back through the chain link gate and toward the road. “Come on, dammit! Help me!”

  Wally slid in between the block wall and the side of the car. He pushed on the passenger side pillar until the car had rolled back into the street and now acted as a flaming barricade between the humans and the Zulus.

  Hank slipped in the gap of the closing chain link gate just as the roof watch started dropping Molotov cocktails on the approaching Zulus. “Serves ’em right,” Wally spat.

  Hank turned and gave him a cheesy grin. “Told ya we’d make it back okay.”

  Wally rolled his eyes, then turned toward the truck. “You get to unload this one.”

  Chapter 14

  Hatcher could see the rest of the trail leading to the top of the mountain in the quickly fading light and knew that this would be the path they took in the morning. He threw gravel as he spun the ATV around and headed back down the steep trail. The woods appeared even darker and shadows stretched across the narrow gap as he pushed the ATV even further.

  The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and he could almost feel the eyes of the infected following his path. He pushed the accelerator even harder and bent low behind the handlebars.

  From the corners of his vision, he could make out figures darting from tree to tree. If they were screaming at each other, he couldn’t hear them over the engine as he roared across the rough terrain and toward the makeshift camp. He prayed that none decided to dart in front of him or he’d be sent flying. Since the good lord hadn’t see fit to gift him with wings, he was certain that any flights he attempted would end badly.

  He took the curve on the trail a bit too quickly and felt the rear end of the ATV try to slide out from under him in the loose sand and pea gravel. He feathered the throttle and maintained his course, preventing a collision with a boulder that had once been at the top of the mountain.

  He stiffened as his lights swung around and flashed on two of the Zulus darting out from cover and attempting to flank him. He goosed the accelerator again and shot between their haphazard gauntlet. He could have sworn that he felt fingers trying to gain purchase with the material of his jacket, but he quickly tossed the thought aside. Another steep curve was directly in his path and this one led to a steep drop in the trail.

  He pushed the throttle wide open and tried to put as much space between him and any pursuers, then locked up the rear brake as he approached the curve. The little ATV tried to spin out from under him, but Hatcher locked the handle bars in a hard left and shot over the edge of the outcrop as if shot from a canon.

  He felt that tingly feeling in his guts as he realized just how much air he had caught and prayed that the ATV wouldn’t flip before his tires touched ground again. He found time slowing down and he leaned as far back as he could, trying to keep the nose of the machine up.

  He didn’t register the back tires sliding through the loose gravel, but he certainly felt it when the front tires hit and the suspension bottomed out. It took everything he had to maintain control of the machine as it slid down the hill at a dangerous speed.

  The headlights bounced across the terrain as the ATV found every divot, hole, rock, or branch in its path. Hatcher gripped the handlebars as tight as he could and almost let off the throttle when he recognized the two enormous pines that framed the exit of the path near the Visitors Center.

  He was less than a half-mile from camp, but it was a steep and dangerous half-mile, engulfed by a thick stand of old growth forest. Hatcher could still see the occasional Zulu dart between trees…or was it his imagination playing with him in the darkness? Reflections from the headlights? Whatever it was, it had his sphincter tightened and he was too close to safety to risk double checking.

  He mashed the HORN button and nearly groaned at the weak little scratchy noise it made. He had hoped to alert the sentries of his rapid approach and perhaps prepare the shooters for visitors. He doubted they could hear the pitiful sound that reminded Daniel of a sick goat.

  He let off the accelerator for a deep impression in the trail and nearly went airborne again when he came up the other side of the bowl-shaped depression. He fought the handlebars and switched between feathering the throttle and applying the rear brakes in the loose gravel until the twin pines shot by on either side.

  Like a race car driver who has crossed the finish line, Hatcher released the throttle and relaxed his grip on the handlebars until the machine burst from the low undergrowth and slid down the sandy embankment to the parking lot in front of the Center.

  He goosed the throttle once more, then slid to a stop near a Humvee. The sentries and other available personnel emerged from the shadows and Hatcher killed the engine. He pointed to where he’d come from. “We’re about to have company.”

  He slid off the ATV and pulled the M4 from around his back. He hunkered low next to the ATV and rested the barrel across the back of the small bed. The heat from the engine caused him to break into a sweat and the ticking from the cooling machine overpowered his hearing. He groaned as he kept the barrel of the rifle trained on his exit point and moved to the rear of the slant-back Humvee.

  Hollis settled in next to him and Hatcher heard the click-whir of nightvision goggles being activated. “They’re on your tail?”

  Hatcher didn’t know why he was out of breath. The machine did all the work getting him up and down the mountain, but he had to forcibly slow his breathing. “Yeah.” He stared through the scope and waited, expecting a small army to burst from the darkness at any moment. “At least, I think they were there.”

  Hollis cautioned a quick glance to the shorter man. “You think?”

  “I know at least two tried to pull me from the machine. But I kept seeing things in my peripheral vision…I can’t be sure if they were real or imagined.”

  Hollis nodded and retrained his attention down range. “And if they weren’t imagination, how strong are they?”

  Hatcher shook his head slightly. “Maybe a couple dozen.” He swallowed hard and realized his mouth was dry. “Could be less. Could be a lot more.”

  Hollis exhaled hard and slowly turned his head, hoping to see something other than dark colors in the IR range. “Stay frosty, fellas. We could be in for a real shit storm.”

  Hatcher opened his mouth
to tell him that the trail was clear enough to travel when a series of screams shattered the quiet of the night. Like a symphony of fingernails across a chalkboard, Hatcher felt his skin crawl as the screams echoed…or were they return screams?

  He turned slowly to Hollis. “That don’t sound so good.”

  One of the sentries ran back and slid in next to Hollis. “Sir, we have movement behind that low growth.” His hand pointed to the trail that Hatcher had made with the ATV.

  Sounds of cracking limbs and snapping twigs seemed amplified in the still night air. Hollis felt his blood run cold as a line of Zeds slowly appeared, their bodies appearing nearly white in his goggles from their feverish condition. “We got company, ladies!”

  Squirrel awoke with a start and his hand gripped the wrought iron railing of the balcony. He glanced around at his surroundings and it took a moment for his memory to kick in.

  The cool night air had chilled him, and he pulled himself to his feet. His body felt achey and crusted with the day’s ride. He walked stiffly into his room and peeled his clothing off. The leather jacket and pants were draped over the end of the bed and he began peeling the sweat-stained underlayers off as he made his way to the bathroom.

  He grabbed the rag again and soaked it in the tank water then squeezed it out. He ran the cool rag over the back of his neck and face before scrubbing at the rest of his body. He saved the worst parts for last and double-rinsed the rag when he was done. Even in the soft glow of the moonlight, he could see stains on the white hotel hand towel that he didn’t think he wanted to know the source.

  “If you’re gonna wait weeks to bathe, don’t question where the dirt came from.” He tossed the rag into the waste basket, then hung his clothes on the hangers to air out.

  He walked back out to the balcony and stood in the still night air. Bathed in moonlight, nude and chilled as the water quickly evaporated from his body, he stared at the distance.