The Scott Pfeiffer Story (Book 2): Sheol

by Woods, Shane

  I hit the concrete and bounced, then slid a few more feet. Instant pain engulfed my entire being. I felt immediately as if two large men lit themselves on fire and held a sumo match on my body.

  I winced, turning my head and caught Ash staring at me.

  Well, it was Ash. Part of him. The man’s upper half lay prostrate on the ground right near my own position among a pile of debris from the helicopter and the building alike. The smell of blood, bowels, and smoke washed over me as I peered momentarily into his remaining blue eye, held wide by the final throe of death and unmatched by the other as it liquefied on impact with the ground.

  I pushed to gather whoever I could and get out of here and was held fast to the ground.

  “I told you, cocksucker,” came Colonel Parker’s smooth, musing voice. “That pistol would be mine, and, no, I wasn’t going to be paying for it.”

  I felt the tug back and forth as he fought to free it from the retention holster, then the pistol, my little S&W 6906, was pulled free of my body.

  I opened my mouth to make whatever retort came to mind and push myself up again. Instead, all I could manage was an instant blinding pain across my upper neck and the back of my skull, and everything faded. The world went black, then came back, then lazily faded away again. The last I remembered of that event was turning to see my wife, Shannon, and Ashley all held at gunpoint nearby. Positioned on their knees as they were roughly searched and disarmed. Dave lay motionless nearby, lain on his back, eyes closed and face peaceful but thankfully not frozen in pain.

  Then…

  Blackness.

  TWELVE

  I awoke feeling heavy but feeling a sense of motion. All I could hear was the heavy sound of what seemed to be several fans. All around was a metal skeleton and above me every inch was covered by rounded metallic paneling. It felt like I’d been shoved into a giant airduct, but while I could hear the immensely penetrating fans, I couldn’t feel the breeze they must be generating.

  I tried to look around and observe my surroundings more completely but couldn’t. It seemed as though my head had been immobilized, and my limbs as well.

  As I lay, I heard a familiar voice call out for a nurse. Something about his arm, and some water.

  I heard that same voice, a moment later, grunt an ‘uh-huh’, then fall quiet again.

  Over the noise of the five-hundred box fans, I picked up various moans and complaints of one type or another intermixed with muffled conversations and sporadic beeps and buzzes of various equipment.

  I listened and watched the ceiling, motionless, for just a minute longer before I felt a rough deep pinch in my right arm, and within moments, the world faded back to nothing, and the darkness welcomed itself back in my mind.

  “And that’s the extent of the events that led to you being with us. Here,” Agent Jeff Grayson surmised, as if he thought out loud.

  “That’s what I can recall, at least,” I assured him.

  “Well, Mr. Pfeiffer,” Grayson began, his eyes resting on me, calculating his words as he spoke them, “your story corroborates what we’ve learned from your others. I think we’re done here. With this leg of life, at least.”

  “What are you saying?” I eyed him, my companion the headache still faintly straining in the recesses of my mind.

  “You acted in perceived self-defense in every case,” he informed me, as if I didn’t already know that much. “And we can confirm, far enough at least, that Colonel Parker acted outside of his authority and without regard for guideline, public safety, or human decency. I’m moving to file the charges against him instead, as and where they’ll fit.”

  “What was his reasons?” I asked, now damned curious as to why a Colonel in the United States military would continue to pursue and harass, well, little old us, until the bitter end of death if need be.

  Before he could answer, one of the recruiting poster young men behind him exited the room.

  “Must have needed the restroom,” Grayson grumbled before turning to face me once again. “Colonel Parker fell out of communications and failed to report for some time. A common occurrence, these days. It was later found that he and his men had survived by taking advantage of the public, even going as far in several cases as to forcibly remove survivors from whatever strongholds they used for safety.”

  “That seems a bit excessive to me,” I observed. “He hit us with a fucking helicopter and a Bradley IFV, dude. I’m not seeing where he would have needed all what he took.”

  “The Brad was cobbled together and didn’t even have any rounds for the 25mm Bushmaster,” Grayson informed me. “Nevertheless, Parker wasn’t too apt to give up the luxuries he’d enjoyed in the world before it went to shit. His actions cost him dearly and he was trying what he could to survive. Had us convinced he’d brought in some big end of the world enterprise and it was going to put him back in favor with a government that doesn’t exist anymore.”

  “Sorry, doesn’t exist?” I asked, stopping and feeling the words in my mouth again before looking to Grayson for an answer.

  “We’re scattered, shattered, and smattered, Scott,” he said pointedly. “We lost contact with SecDef months ago. He was our acting president. Now we’re down to one, between you and I, absolute coward and show dog of a senator from Virginia.”

  “Where’s the president? Dead?” I postulated.

  “And several others meant to take the role if he died,” Grayson surmised. “Air Force One went down. The events that caused this are, admittedly, still not clear to us. What we know is what we’ve got here and contact with a few shattered factions across the country but even with them, our communications are sporadic at best and nonexistent at typicality.”

  “No government, no president, sounds like a dream come true if you ask me,” I chuckled, desperately trying to interject some humor into the conversation. No dice. Grayson looked as if he were a vet explaining a family pet’s life-threatening illness.

  “It’s grim, Scott.” As he explained, he became increasingly casual, less the government agent and more the man just trying to figure things out. “We concede a lot to those still out there fighting. The infected, the gangs, the raiders, Christ on a fucking mattress it’s like a video game gone rogue out there. We condoned Parker’s actions for the longest because, well, in part there was never a witness to testify against him.”

  “Then why would he risk bringing me here?” I questioned. “If I could be such liability to his run over what was left of civilization?”

  “We demanded it, at threat of persecution,” Grayson explained, “and death. ‘Bring us one of these local warlords, or you’re done, no more chances’. He probably assumed he could just steamroll you guys with his position in the government and walk away unscathed. I don’t think he’d planned on interviews and interrogations.”

  “So now what?” I asked, and the question was tailed by a loud growling of my stomach.

  “We go meet your wife and friends in the cafeteria for lunch,” Grayson explained. “Munoz here will handle rounding up Parker, we still have due process and I want it followed. In the meantime, we’ll explain what we can. Come on, I’ll lead.”

  Munoz began packing his recording equipment and getting ready to go do whatever he does. I stood and immediately stretched, feeling the rubber bands that controlled my body all work at once and instantly felt better. Not completely, but still better than a moment before. Then my thigh cramped.

  “Ah, fuck,” I muttered. “Hey Grayson, I’m not a prisoner or whatever then?”

  “No Scott.” He smiled wanly. “You’re just a survivor, like the rest of us, though I hope you make yourself as useful to us here as you did back in Ohio. Your choice, of course, but we can’t exactly expend transport to see you back home.”

  “Where exactly is ‘here’, anyway?” I asked. “Can you tell me now?”

  “Of course.” Grayson forced a smile once again. “Mister Pfeiffer, welcome to Cheyenne Mountain.”

  I nearly groaned
. Okay, I actually did groan, because it’s all been just so typical. So much so in fact that if you were to make a book or television show out of this whole ordeal it would work, because it’s all so…used? The government. The interrogation rooms. The…well, everything. Now, Cheyenne Mountain as well?

  “I’m sorry,” he offered, “it’s not the Hilton. But we have Spam. Whole lot of Spam. It’s, uh, well, let’s go have some.”

  I cleared the corner of the table and approached the door to leave, following Grayson. Before I got all the way, I paused.

  “Hey, Munoz?” I queried the tan-skinned man who had tormented me since my arrival.

  “Hey no hard feelings,” he advised, pausing to gingerly rub the bandaging he wore.

  “I brought you a gift,” I stated, watching his eyes narrow as I reached into my pocket, dug around, and produced a middle finger for his benefit. “You still a hoe, bro.”

  “Hey fuck you puto!” he challenged, though it was much less venomous than it had been previously.

  I paced Grayson the rest of the way as he spoke softly to another man who met us past the doorway. I didn’t pay attention; my mind and eyes were too busy taking in our surroundings.

  The sterility of the hallways was no less imposing than it was my first time seeing it. The hallways still moved with all types of people, it nearly breathed with their movement. But something didn’t seem quite right.

  “Hey Grayson,” I spoke, watching him acknowledge me from over his shoulder, “Cheyenne Mountain? From what I saw on TV and YouTube and such, it didn’t look like this. They said it was like being inside of an aircraft carrier.”

  “Been in many of those?” he asked. “Thought you were a civilian?”

  “Been in one, on vacation in Texas I think it was,” I informed him. “This doesn’t feel anything like that. It’s… I don’t know. It’s like a hospital minus the clutter and windows.”

  “You don’t think anything you can access via your TV is going to give you the whole grand tour, do you?” he inquired. “This is the VIP section. Used to be Top Secret, not like that matters much these days. It goes a lot further than the spring-bedded structures and five water reservoirs that they show you.”

  “Makes sense I guess.” I shrugged, relenting, “Who’s your friend?”

  “Ah, yes, this is Doctor Silverman.” He motioned his hand to the other man, who looked remarkably like Alan Alda minus the humor. The man nodded and awkwardly extended his hand and we exchanged greetings.

  “Doctor Silverman will be taking a seat at our lunch table and answering what questions I’m sure you have,” he finished, then added, “He’s one of our top researchers for this…epidemic.”

  We continued down a few more short hallways and then our small parade turned and entered a cafeteria. The purpose of the room very clear to me, rows of tables and chairs, serving counters along most of two walls with a large window displaying a nearly entirely stainless steel kitchen.

  Several tables were occupied nearer the doors, various types of military and professional sorts with men and women in white lab coats mixed throughout. At the very end of the room, I saw them. The mess of dirty blonde hair, the small child next to her, bouncing in her seat. The unruly red hair and tattoos sitting next to them.

  “Jennifer!” I called, watching my wife’s head snap in my direction as she rose instantly from her seat, “Gwen, Rich!”

  We met nearly halfway across the room in a deep embrace. I pulled her in, feeling my tall wife pressed tight against me, burying my nose in her hair and her neck as a single tear fell from my eye.

  I pulled back in time to see her wiping tears of her own but had no time to take it in as my legs were thoroughly assaulted by a much smaller embrace but matching in emotion and implied intensity. I bent down and scooped up my toddler, her nearly bleach-blonde hair falling to just above her shoulders. I gave her a big squeezy daddy hug and took in a sloppy little kiss before holding her out and checking everywhere I could on her little arms, legs, head and neck.

  “I assure you,” Grayson approached, smiling, “she’s been in the best care we could provide.”

  “You can check my bunk for the Polaroid of Parker holding her. To taunt me and threaten my silence,” I said coldly. “So, despite the recent turn in hospitality, Grayson, if my kid has so much as a scratch on her, I’m killing everyone in this facility.”

  “Please,” he replied, “let’s have a seat. I’ll have lunch brought to you. And I’ll grab that photo, if there’s any way we can use it against him, I will.”

  I found a seat opposite Rich, Doctor Silverman, and eventually Grayson. My daughter happily sitting between my wife and I as she toddler babbled and poked my various cuts and bruises. So many rough patches from head to toe now that I nearly forgot about the relatively fresh gunshot wound near my ear. It all hurt, and ached, but I was here, with my family again and at least one friend.

  We all spoke excitedly about the recent events, garnering more than a few watchful gazes as those nearby listened in. I figured it was their right to, there was no telling if some of these people had even seen the outside since the world went to shit.

  And what a strange thought that was. Those famous blast doors probably slammed shut the moment it all began, which undoubtedly meant there were many here who had never experienced it. It was nothing more to them than a play on their monitors, or a story they’d heard from others.

  At any rate, we were here now. Maybe, just maybe, we could find a way to be safe and happy as well. But I still had so many people left behind.

  Rich informed me of the things I didn’t know yet. Jennifer had been in the dark, as well, pretty much by my side until the end.

  Many of our people had managed to use the final moments to escape. Several small groups took their chances overland, marching up the riverside toward the Hashman compound. Another larger group managed to flee in one of our remaining boats, cutting the netting across the river and heading out on the head of a hail of gunfire. Many others had died or been severely wounded. Unfortunately, Rich was unable to detail the who and how as of yet, we didn’t even know how many of us were here.

  Rich himself was ambushed in a way. He had made it down safely and was able to see Henry off by boat. He had returned to round up others and aid their escape, only to be caught in a blast. He said the wall next to him literally exploded and, when he woke up, he was in a large aircraft of sorts, head bandaged, and handcuffed in place. He didn’t know much more than that and I wasn’t going to push him.

  The right side of his face had been patched over with gauze, and several strips still ringed his cranium. Despite this, the angry black-purple of bruising seeped from the edges of the bandages, contrasting the white of the material and the crimson spots of blood that still slowly wept through. The guy looked like he’d been held down and beaten by a Southpaw with a baseball bat.

  “Well,” Doctor Silverman interrupted, “I’m sure you have questions, and I have only a little while longer to remain before I return to my work. Shall we?”

  “Yeah, Doc,” I concurred. “So, you’re researching what, exactly? The virus?”

  “Not virus, for starters,” he corrected, as we all fell silent and watched him, anticipating more info without asking. “What we know is it started airborne.”

  “But not a virus?” I asked, admittedly not the most well-studied in pathology.

  “Not a virus,” he confirmed. “An infection, of sorts. A parasitic bacterium, in layman’s.”

  “What started it?” Rich inquired.

  “No idea for sure,” Silverman answered, splaying his hands to emphasize. “Our leading theory is the earthquakes. You’ll recall the ‘Big One’ that happened in California several weeks prior to all this? Our forerunning theory is that it released a previously unknown organism into the air. It, essentially, it cracked the ground deeper than ever before if you will, and unleashed an airborne threat that humans have likely never before encountered.”

&nbs
p; “But that was weeks before people started attacking each other,” Jennifer noted, “and it happened so quick. How could it take that long then just…poof?”

  “You’ll understand we are limited here, as for our research capabilities,” Silverman explained further. “From what we’ve found, it was infectious without symptoms aside from those present with mild colds or sinus issues. The parasite rooted into the lungs of our, how you’d say, ‘Patient Zero’, and there it grew stronger and spread throughout the body while it waited. And with each subsequent infection, the DNA altered to be slightly better suited for the human genome, meaning each infection happened faster and hit harder.”

  “So a cough, a sneeze, anything could spread it?” I pushed him further.

  “Yes. Exactly,” he continued. “Given the theoretical six degrees of separation, quick period to infection, long incubation, it spread nearly silently across the world until something happened, of which we still aren’t sure of. Some…biological trigger, perhaps? An unknown signal, or just bad luck and slow response from mankind as this started in Los Angeles, as opposed to China, India, or elsewhere.”

  “Jesus,” I sighed, rubbing the stitching of my old head wound.

  “Why does its starting point make it worse?” Jennifer asked.

  “Point of origin,” Silverman corrected, “the spread was likely quicker because of the population density of that region. Even more so as it’s a major point for international and local travels, tourism, so many factors. And nobody was looking. With undeveloped and developing nations, the eye toward them is sharper. Nobody expected an epidemic of any proportion to come from America. Here? No, never heard of. Shanghai? Ahhh maybe, yes, but not L.A.”

  Before he continued further, a tray of fried spam, canned vegetables, and cartons of milk, juice, and water were placed before me. I was apparently the only one who hadn’t been fed, as the others barely took notice of my feast. I began to dig in while I listened, barely tasting the food as I shoveled it into my mouth.