“I should leave and head west.” He had replayed this argument a dozen times in his head. He knew that getting away from Simon wasn’t the problem. It was staying away from others like him. And the ragers.
Squirrel scanned the horizon and did a double take. In the darkness, things were difficult to make out, but he stared to the south and could almost swear he saw…a shadow on the horizon. He squinted in the moonlight then ran back to his room.
He dug through his duffle and found a pair of binoculars. He stepped back out to the balcony and tried to focus on the terrain, patiently adjusting the glasses until he verified what he’d seen.
Smoke.
He stared at the dark column that rose up and formed a small dark cloud on an almost pitch-black sky. If it weren’t for the nearly full moon, he’d have never seen it. He slowly lowered the glasses and continued to stare in the same direction.
“Looks like we’re heading south in the morning.”
Dr. LaRue peeled her gloves off and practically fell into her chair. She reached for her coffee and her face puckered at the cold liquid. “I’ve got to stop losing myself in this project.”
She pushed herself slowly from the chair and dumped the cup in the sink. She didn’t bother to rinse the cup before filling it again with fresher, hot coffee. She sat down gingerly and let a low sigh escape.
She closed her eyes for a moment and was startled awake by a commotion in the lab. She reached for the coffee again as she stood up and was surprised that this cup was cold as well.
How long was I out?
She pushed into the lab to find a flurry of activity. “What’s going on?” she demanded.
“One of the orderlies!” Dr. Francis yelled as she tried to hold a man down.
“What happened to him?” Vivian pushed into the lab and saw three coworkers holding down a young man, his eyes blood-red and his mouth beginning to foam.
“How did this happen?” Vivian pushed a gurney near them and the four wrestled the man down and strapped him to the wheeled bed.
Dr. Frances practically fell against the counter and blew out a heavy breath. “I have no idea. One minute he was doing his duties, the next minute, he complained of a bad headache, then…this.” She pointed to the man thrashing on the gurney. “I have no idea how he might have gotten exposed.”
Vivian felt her skin grow cold as the fear of the virus becoming transmittable through the air seized her. “Level three protocols! Now!” She ran to the nearest locker and ripped the door open. Each of her coworkers scrambled to find the rubber suits with air filtration systems.
She could feel her hands trembling as she fumbled with the suit and for a moment feared that she was going into a full-blown panic.
“Wait a moment.”
She turned and saw Charles standing over the orderly. He pulled the man’s scrubs to the side and a bloody scratch was visible near his navel. “This shouldn’t be here.” He gave Vivian a stern look. “Something tells me that he was less than forthcoming with some sort of incident.”
Vivian sighed, but left the rubber pants cinched at her waist. She walked slowly toward the orderly and peered at the spot that Charles had seen. “We can’t be certain that’s the source of—”
“Occam’s razor, doctor.” Charles motioned toward the empty air. “Which would make the more probable assumption? That the blood-borne virus suddenly mutated and this fellow was the first to feel its wrath, or that he screwed the pooch and allowed himself to be scratched somehow?”
Vivian sighed and nodded slowly. “I still want to know how this could have happened.”
One of the orderlies raised his hand. “There are security cameras all over. Surely…”
Vivian nodded. “Find the Master at Arms, check the footage. I need to know if this scratch came from an infected.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The orderly slipped out and Vivian turned to the others. “I still think that we should maintain level three protocols until we know for certain.”
Charles groaned. “You know how bad those suits are, Viv. I sweat like a pig in those damned things.”
“We all do, Charles.” She walked back to the locker and picked up the tunic. “But I’d rather be safe and wrong than right and dead.”
He dropped the man’s scrubs and nodded. “Agreed. Level three people. Come on, move!”
She pulled the helmet over her head and affixed the air hose. She could feel the temperature already rising inside the suit and prayed that the orderly returned quickly with a definitive answer.
Candy limped into the warehouse and fell into a chair. It hurt to bend over, but her leg was throbbing from the car accident. She didn’t think she’d caused any real damage, but Vicky was already poking and prodding at her.
“I’m fine, Vick. Really.” She tried to push their resident nurse away. “I’m more worried that some of the people trying to hold back the Zulus will need your help a lot more than I do.”
“They might, but right now, you’re my only patient.” She gave her a quick smile. “Now be nice and cooperative and when we’re done, Nurse Vicky will give you a lollipop.”
“You’re not funny.”
Vicky found the sore spot and Candy winced. “I’m betting there’s a real nice contusion under those pants. But it looks like it’s only soft tissue damage. I doubt seriously there’s any broken bones or you wouldn’t have walked in here.”
“I wouldn’t call it a walk. More like a hobble.” She gave Vicky a quirky grin. “Now seriously, get to the infirmary and prepare for wounded. Those sumbitches are throwing rocks now.” She stood up slowly and leaned against the wall. “The way their behavior is evolving, I give them a month and they’ll invent their own guns.”
Vicky found herself being gently pushed toward the infirmary and fought the urge to argue. “I’ll be back to check on you when this is over.”
“I would expect nothing less.” Candy turned slowly back toward the door. “We need reinforcements on the roof. Tell them to bring more flammables. We have to keep the Zulus away from the fences. There’s too many for that fence to hold.”
“I can get sharpshooters up there.” Dennis wasn’t much to look at, but he knew how to handle himself in a fight. Candy knew that by sharpshooters, he meant himself. The man could drill a hole through the center of a nickel at 100 yards with open sights.
She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Not yet. I’m hoping the fires will change their focus.”
“Consider it done.” He turned and disappeared into the darkened hallway. Candy sighed heavily and hobbled toward the door leading back out to the staging area. She pulled the door open and found the better part of her fighting force slowly making their way into the warehouse.
“What’s happening?” She tried not to sound too concerned, as her people seemed more tired than excited.
Wally looked up and gave her an exhausted glance. “They’re retreating. No idea why, but the rooftop teams said that even the Zulus headed toward us suddenly turned and disappeared the way they came.” He gave her a confused look. “It was almost as though somebody directed them.”
She stared at the man, waiting for him to add to the story, but he either wouldn’t or couldn’t. “I have to see this myself.” She turned and headed for the ladder leading to the rooftop.
“You’re wasting your time.” She looked up to see one of the rooftop members climbing down. “It’s like he said. They just turned tail and took off.” He hooked a thumb back toward the ceiling. “There’s three sentries up there now making sure they stay gone.”
Candy paused and stared at the man. “Any indication as to what caused them to…retreat?”
He hopped from the bottom rung to the concrete floor and lowered his shoulder pack to the ground. “No idea, boss. They just all suddenly stiffened, looked back the way they came, then took off. Like a silent dog whistle or something.” He rifled through the pack and pulled out three Molotov cocktails. “We were ready to light them up and the
y just bailed. Damndest thing I ever saw.”
Candy stepped out of the way of the team as they walked by her. She heard grumblings like, That was too easy, or I can’t believe they bailed like that or similar remarks as the men emptied their weapons and began putting away their gear.
She limped out to the staging area and to the gates. Two men were wrapping extra chain around the ten-foot-tall cyclone gates as she approached. “Any bodies to clear?”
Both men turned and shook their heads. “I think a few were wounded, but if there were any dead, they took them with them. Streets are clear, except for the Civic and a few random fuel fires.”
The taller of the men slapped his hands together and nodded with his chin. “The fuel fires from the Molotovs are burning themselves out. No other fuel nearby, so we just left them.”
She nodded slowly and peered at the little Honda Civic burning across the street. She sighed heavily, then turned to join them back inside. “First thing in the morning, clear the roads. I want to send runners out to see if any of them are watching us.”
“I’ll see to it,” the shorter man said. “I have first watch, anyway.”
Candy stepped through the now-dented heavy steel doors and cast a quick glance back at the burning car. She had to have a word with Henry Willis and make sure this kind of crap didn’t happen again.
Chapter 15
Hatcher rubbed at his eyes and stifled a yawn. He glanced toward the east and saw the horizon slowly fading to orange. “Why didn’t they attack?”
Hollis had previously slipped the night vision goggles off and they now hung useless from his neck. “I have no idea.” He pointed along the embankment where they had staged only hours earlier. “There were at least a dozen all along that tree line, but they never advanced.”
Hatcher turned around and slumped to the ground. “I’m too tired for crazy games. If they were going to attack, they should just do it and get it over with.” He yawned hard and laid the rifle across his lap. “I think I’d welcome the long sleep of death right about now.”
“With your luck, they’d just infect you and you’d never sleep again.” Hollis shifted his weight and continued to stare at the tree line.
Hatcher turned and gave him a confused stare. “They don’t sleep?”
Hollis shook his head slowly. “Not that I’ve witnessed.” He sighed heavily and glanced toward the rising sun. “The only time I’ve seen them even wind down was when we had the sonic generator on them. They acted like bored humans, but they never actually laid down and slept. I watched a couple of them close their eyes and sway slowly under the generator, but it didn’t look like sleep. Just…a break from pain.”
Hatcher scratched at his chin and considered his words. “I wonder how they function without sleep? I mean…everything alive needs to sleep, right?”
Hollis shrugged. “Maybe they catch cat naps that I didn’t witness. I honestly don’t know, and right now, I couldn’t possibly care any less.”
He slowly came to his feet and made a low whistle. His men rose from their positions and closed on him. “I know that nobody slept, but there will be plenty of time for that on the trip home. I want everybody packed and ready to go in twenty. Grab a bite, drop a deuce, whatever you gotta do, but we’re on the trail to grab the goo and then we’re outta here.”
There was a round of yes, sir and roger that and other affirmations as the men broke up and began packing the Humvees.
“So much for making camp at the Visitors Center.” Hatcher stretched and barely caught the MRE that Hollis threw at him.
“There’s instant coffee in there. I suggest you get as much caffeine in your system as you can. It could get ugly out there.”
Hatcher used his teeth to rip open the plastic bag and rifled through the contents. He pulled a small plastic bag out with the condiments and ripped it open. He pulled open the packet of instant coffee and poured it directly into his mouth, then washed it down with water from his canteen. “That was gross.”
He pulled another packet labeled pilot bread and ripped it open. Little more than hard tack, he chewed on it as the others went about their business. He slipped the rest of the MRE into his satchel and climbed aboard the truck. Once he was inside, he leaned back and tried not to close his eyes. He could feel the caffeine do its job as the truck pulled to the front of the line.
“Which way?” Hollis asked.
“Right through that small stand of bush. Between those two large pines.”
The driver pulled ahead and plunged through the brush. Hatcher pointed to the trail that was little more than a worn path climbing up the mountain and the driver made for it. He glanced in the rearview mirror and watched as the wide Humvee following them emerged from the dark growth like a large metal dinosaur. He felt a certain amount of satisfaction they had reinforcements for this journey.
The large, lumbering truck bit and clawed its way up the mountain, sending small rocks and debris flying as the large wheels tried to find purchase in the loose rock and sand. All eyes were on the tree line, praying that those who held them at bay last night had disappeared deeper into the woods and wouldn’t make an appearance.
Hatcher thought about their behavior and shook his head. “Have you ever heard of a Zulu not attacking before?”
Hollis shrugged. “My interaction with them is rather limited.”
“What about before? You know, when this whole thing first started.” Hatcher turned to look at him.
Hollis shook his head. “I was on a mission at the time. I really didn’t see much action against the Zeds.”
Hatcher gave him a confused look. “Zed?”
“Military jargon for ‘Z’. You know…zombie.”
“Ah. Yeah, that’s why we call them Zulus.”
Hollis nodded, not really paying attention. “I assumed as much.”
The driver looked to Hatcher. “Aren’t real zombies supposed to be dead, though? Why call the infected a zombie?”
Hatcher shrugged. “I didn’t start it. Somebody else did.” He stretched his neck and continued to watch the trees. “What else would you call them? I’ve seen some zombie movies where the infected were called zombies.”
“I’d just call them infected. I mean, they aren’t dead, so—”
“Mind your duties, soldier,” Hollis barked. “You can discuss proper labels once the mission is complete.”
The young soldier nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Hatcher gave Hollis a dirty look. “No need to bark at the boy. We were just making conversation.”
Hollis pointed forward through the windshield just as the driver slowed the truck. “Tell me that wasn’t there last night.”
Hatcher spun around and felt his stomach tighten. Two more large trees laid across the path, blocking them from ascending any farther.
“No. They weren’t.”
The truck eased to a stop and Hollis stepped out, weapon ready. “Eyes on the tree line, boys. Let’s get those logs moved and do what needs doing so we can go home.”
Hatcher leveled his rifle on the trees and began making a slow broad sweep of the area. His sleep-deprived mind kept forming moving shapes in the shadows. He tried to force himself to be more alert and almost wished he had more of that powdered coffee.
“Contact!” one of the men shouted behind Hatcher.
“Don’t shoot!” the lone figure shouted.
Hatcher froze in place, his eyes wide as a dirty and haggard appearing figure stepped from the trees, a long stick in one hand.
He stood slowly and took a step toward the filthy man. “Do I know you?”
The figure nodded slowly. “It’s been a little while, but yeah.”
Hatcher stepped forward and one of the soldiers tried to reach for him. “Sir! I wouldn’t do that.”
Hatcher shook him off. “He’s obviously not infected.” He took another step toward the figure. “But how?”
“That’s a long story, Ranger.” The figure stepped closer and Hatcher
could make out his features.
“I do remember you. You were that kid…the one that Skeeter was with.”
Buck Jennings stiffened at the name. “Tell me she’s okay.”
“Yeah, kid.” Hatcher broke into a wide grin. “She’s just fine.”
“Who’s your friend, Hatcher?” Hollis asked, his rifle still trained on Buck.
“This is Buck.” Hatcher turned and held his hands up, urging the others to lower their weapons. “He’s no threat.”
Buck stepped alongside Hatcher and lowered his voice. “Oh, I don’t know if I’d go that far.”
Squirrel stepped into the lobby and found his remaining crew standing just outside the door. They turned and faced him as he stepped into the early morning air. “We still scrounging through convenience stores today, boss?”
Squirrel shook his head. “Last night I spotted smoke. To the south.” He pointed in the general direction. “It could be nothing. But it could be something. Today we ride south and see what we can find.”
The men nodded and mounted their motorcycles. None offered to bury Slug, and few even thought of the man other than the smell that was starting to permeate the lobby.
“It couldn’t have been too far.” Squirrel added as he fired the Indian to life. “Unless it was a huge fire, or somebody decided to burn tires to keep warm, it couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen miles.”
The five motorcycles pulled out of town and he pointed to the road sign directing them toward Bernalillo, Corrales, and Rio Rancho. He pulled to a stop and pointed to the first two. “You two check out Bernalillo. You two check Corrales. I’ll go ahead to Rio Rancho. No raiding, no searching for supplies. Just look for signs of that fire and then radio me. Whoever finds it first, we’ll all meet up with them and check it out together. Got it?”
They all nodded or gave a thumbs up. Squirrel kicked the Indian into gear and accelerated back onto the road. He took the lead and opened the Indian up. It didn’t matter if he pulled away from the others. He had farther to go and was doing his part alone. He almost hoped that the others would discover the source of the smoke and it would be something stupid. A lightning strike or some lone survivor who burned a house full of ragers…something that didn’t warrant bringing in Simon. Something that precluded laying siege to a group of survivors with the cajones to take a military truck on the highway to visit grandma.
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