The Scott Pfeiffer Story (Book 2): Sheol

by Woods, Shane

  “So,” Jennifer spoke up, “now what?”

  “Don’t know, woman,” I replied. I really didn’t. This wasn’t exactly a situation I had a lot of experience in. And they still weren’t budging from their armored vehicles.

  Dave spoke up. Okay, actually, Dave shouted. His voice booming from behind me, causing several of us to jump.

  “YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO GET OUT TO TALK!” he projected, then, garnering several chuckles from all around, “MY PHONE’S SHUT OFF! COULDN’T GET THE BILL PAID!”

  Still, nobody moved for several moments. Then, an electronic crackle sounded, followed by an older man’s voice, Southern and carried deep but carelessly through the airwaves.

  “This is Colonel John Parker with the United States military,” the man spoke, his casual voice amplified through the P.A. system mounted on one vehicle. “Open your gates, and step aside.”

  We exchanged concerned glances among ourselves until Tony’s voice approached me from my left.

  “Don’t do it,” he stated, his voice dead flat.

  “Wasn’t planning on it,” I replied, then turned to the military vehicles positioned on the other side of our main gating system, announcing, “No. No, I don’t think we will.”

  Another few beats of tense silence ensued. I could feel my heart thudding in my chest, every hair on my body standing at attention. I did not like this in the least. Nothing about this meeting felt right. Before I could communicate as much, the rear gate of one of the larger trucks swung down and clanged into the open position. Then, the other followed suit. Following these loud mechanical reports was the sound of shuffling, and orders being given. From the backs of these vehicles spilled soldiers from seemingly every branch, some of them not even remotely recognizable as soldier. Not a scrap of uniform was within regs, I was sure.

  Then, as the men and women filtered from around the backs of the Oshkosh trucks, between what I knew to be “Humvees”, the doors on the truck closest to us opened. Two more uniformed men dispensed from the vehicle and took position as a man I presumed to be the Colonel exited the back of the vehicle.

  He left his door open, stepped around it, and proceeded to walk directly to our gate with the other two men pacing him at his sides.

  The man was tall, but not much more than me. A narrow character, I was certain he’d been called ‘bean pole’ by an aunt or grandparent at some point in his life. This was carried to the rest of his features. His face was sharp and lined, cheeks gaunt and a well-defined jawline. He had a head full of close-kept white hair despite not truly looking a day over fifty-five.

  His face was that of a vulture in human form. His gaze neutral, but ice cold as he strode purposefully to the gate at his end of our intake box, halting just his side of the chain link. Even at twenty yards distance I could make out the diamond grey of his eyes.

  “Mornin’, folks!” the man beamed, clasping his hands in front of him like he had some pleasant news. “It sure would be easier to talk if we could do so directly!”

  “Katie!” I called to the thorn in my side, “Open up our side only. Close it once we’ve gone through. Do not open their side. Lock the weights.”

  Without a word, Katie lowered the six-by-six beam that effectively locked the outer gate firmly by immobilizing the pulleys and weights. She then turned and came to our end to turn the crank and get the inner gate opened. I thanked her quietly and watched as she scowled and walked back to the makeshift guard shack attached to the boxed entry.

  We walked through and into the main acceptance area for our compound, the gate then rolling shut behind us. I glanced and saw Jennifer still just a step behind me and inwardly sighed. If this all went bad, she would be right up here in the heat of it.

  “I didn’t catch your name,” I spoke as six of us approached the far end of the entryway.

  “Parker,” he informed. “Colonel Parker.”

  “Good to meet you, Parker,” I replied, enjoying the momentary pause in his features as he processed this, then, “How can we help you?”

  “Actually, Scott, we’re here for you,” he replied, his tone levelling, the last words becoming gravelly as if expelling them brought some form of relief.

  “Me?” I mimicked, now it was my turn to be lost. What the hell? And how did he know my name?

  “Yes, you,” he replied, his eyes now placid yet somehow piercing into me. “A number of you, actually, but since you’re the ‘big boss’ around here… Well, take a look.”

  He produced a device that seemed somewhere between phone and tablet, but thicker, as if it too were overbuilt for the military. On it, my old driver’s license photo, name, although anything else I could have made out on the screen was taken as he turned it back away and began, presumably, reading out of the device.

  “Mr. Pfeiffer-” he began.

  “Scott,” I stated; I hated being called by my last name. It always felt like it made the situation feel so impersonal.

  “Scott,” he began, drawing it out just slightly to convey his annoyance, “Under FEMA guidelines and regulations we are here to relieve this compound and its people of all things that we deem fit and useful to the rebuild of the United States of America. It is your duty as a citizen-”

  I cut him off again as murmurs of protest sprang forth from just about everybody on my side of the fence.

  “Bullshit,” I replied. My single word bringing the world to a halt for a breath. “I’m a citizen and I’ve paid a lifetime of taxes. Your theft from me and my friends stops here, Uncle Sam. We gathered this shit to survive. We aren’t just entitled to it, it’s not just stuff we want, we need it. I have children here. I have families here. These people need to eat, to live and sleep in safety. You can’t just show up and say ‘it’s mine, gibs me dat’, you fuck.”

  Colonel Parker forced a faint smile, as if to put his mask right while he gathered himself and continued.

  “Furthermore,” he continued, “the people residing within these walls will be transferred to one of twenty-six camps spread throughout the country, designed to sustain the remainder of the population and provide them with safety and all of their daily needs, free of charge.”

  He beamed as he clearly anticipated the rush of people stepping forth to follow him to the safe promised land. Nobody moved, at least, not initially.

  “Twenty-six? That ain’t shit!” Dave spoke from over my shoulder.

  “He’s got a point, John,” I explained to the Colonel. “How many did you start with?”

  “That information is not public, nor is it relevant, Scott,” he replied, his eyes now burning into each of us like laser beams. “Especially not to you. You’re our number one guy in these parts for warrant collection.”

  “Warrant collection?” I asked, confused. “What warrant?”

  He proceeded to look into his device again and appeared to be scrolling.

  “Scott Pfeiffer,” he announced, then read, “You are hereby to be arrested and processed for charges against both man and country, including, but not limited to; murder, kidnapping, grand theft, and treason. These warrants extend to your wife Jennifer, your friends, former Staff Sergeant Tony Harris, one David Caster, and several others, those are just the ones of you I can see present.”

  I gave no response. I could hear my friends near and far, a mix of protest, fear, and speculation. I’m sure they were wondering the same as I. Was this the end of our compound? Was there about to be a fight? Then, Katie happened.

  Look, you’ve been following my tale for this long, you know she doesn’t do things, she happens. So, Katie happened.

  “Scott’s under arrest?” she asked the Colonel. “Then I’m coming peacefully.”

  “Katie!” came Wayne’s shout from behind me, “Stop!”

  It didn’t work. As soon as she opened the man-door nearest John’s men, the door was wrenched from her grasp and she was thrown to the ground despite her instant protests. A single gunshot rang out as Wayne began another shout of protest.
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br />   Turning, I could see the man clearly. He’d left his spot near the front row of vehicles, and was now falling forward at a running pace, one arm still extended holding the pistol he’d aimed at the men taking his wife, the other hand already moving toward a small hole neatly placed in the center of his button-up shirt, looking nearly like another button itself.

  The next moment was a blur of everything. Katie, realizing the sound was a shot, began wailing for Wayne as he continued his fall. The Colonel immediately began bellowing for his men to ‘CEASE FIRE’. My own crews were all hunkering down, a few blasts of gunfire already being returned from our side, dropping two of the closest from the Colonel’s crew before I could bellow my own cease fire. It lasted mere seconds. Longer than Wayne had in him, according to Clara, who perched at his side, tears breaking the edges of her eyes.

  “What. The. FUCK!?” I roared at Colonel Parker. “What the fuck kind of twisted diplomacy is this?”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Pfeiffer,” he shouted in return, “but your guy made the first move!”

  “How many shots did he fire, then?” I returned, then motioning to Katie, who lay still gripping her nose that they had busted. “And could you blame him if he did? Release her.”

  “Alright, alright,” the Colonel retorted, palms forward. “Jacobs, let this young lady up, that was entirely uncalled for.”

  The young man eased his grip for a moment, then released it as Katie looked around wearily then found her feet, nearly shuffling back to our side. Her nose ran with blood and snot, her eyes leaked with tears as she cried, each breath shaking her still fairly large body. I disliked the woman, but this was pitiful. And he was right, uncalled for.

  Fuck it, I’m going for broke, I thought.

  “Give me your pistol,” I ordered Tony firmly. He complied and placed a worn .38 revolver into my hand, which I then checked, closed the cylinder back, and handed it to Katie.

  “What?” she muttered, confused, eyes searching my face for answers.

  “Colonel Parker?” I inquired. “Kindly instruct the gentleman who shot Wayne to step forward.”

  “Oh, now Scott, you know we can’t-” he began, and once again, I cut him off.

  “Do it,” I offered, leveling my 9mm at him and watching his eyes light up with surprise. “Or I’m blaming you directly. Jennifer, Tony, Dave, Rich, Henry, all of you, follow my lead. When I give the word, or if they shoot me, Johnny here dies before any of them.”

  Somewhere from behind an Oshkosh came a yelp as a medic worked on a man we’d just wounded, followed by frantic muffled conversation.

  “Come on Scott,” Colonel Parker urged. “This isn’t a solution.”

  “You’ve given me none. No solutions,” I stated firmly. “Not one. Bring him out, or you die instead. Your men can open fire, but you’ll be the first to fall. Don’t fuck with me. I’m not in the mood today, and you just made me inconsolable.”

  “Very well, Scott,” he resigned, nearly grumbling. “Mooreland! Front and center!”

  I didn’t expect what I saw. A nondescript brunette in uniform was shoved forward, looking like a beaten dog with her arms folded and shoulders hunched. She couldn’t have been more than her earliest twenties, and she appeared as filthy and low rent as the rest of them. By the looks of it, we were all just simply surviving.

  “You shot our buddy Wayne?” I asked her, my tone pointed. “You pulled the trigger and put that round in his chest?”

  The girl sobbed as she nodded her head in the affirmative.

  “Let me hear it,” I instructed. “Let Katie hear it.”

  “I shot…I shot the man named Wayne,” she spat out between sobs.

  “Katie?” I asked, Katie’s heavy brown eyes settling on mine before going wide at my next order. “Shoot her.”

  “What?” Katie questioned again. “Her?”

  “Yeah, she fucking shot Wayne, Katie. Your husband, your children’s father,” I reminded her. “You shoot her, or I will.”

  “I-I don’t,” she stammered, “I don’t think I can.”

  I turned my pistol from the Colonel to the girl he had called Mooreland.

  “You shoot her, or I will,” I explained. “At least if you do, you can say you avenged your husband. It’ll make it easier in the-”

  Wham

  The small caliber pistol bucked in Katie’s hand, sending ripples through the ample flesh of her arm as a flame leapt forth from the end of the barrel. The round hit the girl low in the abdomen, and she clutched at the spot, issuing a forceful retch as she dropped to her knees.

  “Again, or she’ll suffer,” I instructed, trying to hold myself together. Sure, the infected looked like us, because they were, or are, us, but it never got easier to see a ‘normal’ person go down.

  “She should,” Katie muttered as she dropped the small revolver and found her own knees, beginning to dry heave over the pavement.

  “Fuck,” I muttered as I turned my gun, and attention, back to Mooreland, three shots in close succession barging their way out of my 6906. The rounds perforated neatly into the girl’s middle and upper torso, causing her to slump back onto the ground and begin gasping her last breaths.

  “While we’re at it, Colonel,” I grimaced, “Which one of you shot Tony those few weeks ago?”

  “Sorry Scott, that I do not know,” he answered, his gaze calmly on the girl as she took her last breath, shuddered, and fell limp, then he added, “I really like that pistol, Scott.”

  “Not for sale,” I offered, then to my friends, “Take a truck, get Wayne and Katie back there. Put a few of the kids on outer gate duty in her place.”

  “Oh, I’m not offering,” he intoned, “but it will be mine soon enough, regardless.”

  “You’ll have to take it, John,” I threatened. “I don’t recognize your form of government in my neck of the woods. Best to just stay away, for your own sake. You’ve got this one chance. We’re even for now. But, just for now. I hear Florida’s nice this time of year.”

  As if on cue, the soft patter of rain began to fall around us. I turned, putting my back fully to him and motioning for my friends to follow as three of our older teens moved past us to grab the revolver and work the gate. It rolled with a creak and groan as we passed, then slammed shut.

  “Catch you later, Scott!” Colonel Parker’s irritatingly calm voice lulled after me.

  I gave no reply. I merely spoke the order to clear out and secure our perimeter, and to get a portable awning up. We’d bury Wayne as soon as he was cleaned up and his effects gathered. Jennifer called into Shannon in medical and she assured us she’d be ready to make him presentable. Henry already had a radio to his mouth as well, setting up the grave digging detail like it was any other day.

  It was amazing how quickly you became nonchalant about death when you lived surrounded by it. I’m not saying it had zero effect but dealing with it now compared to on day one, things would never be the same.

  Wayne did his best to remain little more than a useful backdrop item. He was one hell of a shot, a disciplined and diligent worker, but he spoke little and made friends even less. He seemed to be happy that way, and, I supposed, after spending some years with Katie, I’d be happy to enjoy every minute of solitude I could achieve on my own as well.

  As we rolled towards the North Building, the rain grew in intensity. It was a steady shower by the time we got in and wordlessly made the climb up to command, the detail carrying Wayne and consoling Katie breaking off for the second floor in our wake.

  I walked into command and plopped heavily into my seat and lit a cigarette. No sooner had I taken a long draw of the acrid smoke was I interrupted.

  “Hey, why didn’t you answer your radio?” Ryan asked from behind me. “You need to see this.”

  “I never got your call, dude,” I said, checking my radio and realizing why. It was turned all the way down, the quietest setting next to ‘off’.

  “Shit,” I projected to him. “Sorry, man.”

 
“It’s cool, but, look,” he said as he led me into the security center, followed by Tony and Jennifer. “We recorded it when we couldn’t reach you.”

  I watched for a moment as a loop played through several different frames onscreen and then repeated. A pair of small black inflatable boats sliding upriver, the same CRRC craft civilians know from video games and movies as a ‘Zodiac’. On the next frames were more light vehicles stationed and waiting, just blocks from where we just were. On the final screen, an M2A3 Bradley. A large, tan-colored, box-shaped armored personnel carrier bristling with weapons. It seemed to lie in wait just at the edge of our furthest camera’s range, on the far side of the nearby overpass. The same route we originally took on our first arrival at this safe haven.

  “There’s more, but it was perceived and not witnessed,” Ryan continued as we processed all of this new information. “We had our driveway sensors go off on nearly half the roads we cover, and there seemed to be fighting right about, well, here.”

  He stated this as he brought up another panel on an upper screen, where across the river to the northwest of our position a pair of small black smoke columns rose lazily against the darkening sky.

  “My best guess is there were more there, but they got attacked and held back from staging,” Ryan opined.

  “So, we were surrounded,” I observed.

  “That Brad worries me.” Tony motioned to the screen where the lumbering vehicle still resided on the playback loop.

  “Yeah I know. Me too,” I stated. A fucking armored vehicle waiting to tee off against flesh and bone people. Our people. Fuck, it was positioned to attack our home, regardless of who lived here.

  “I really don’t fucking like this guy,” Dave growled from behind us.

  “Tony, get people. Right now,” I barked. “Go. Full coverage, double security teams, day and night, and watch the riverside. I don’t want so fucking much as a new fly entering our walls without being noticed.”