by Dan McMartin
“Yes. They demolished the south span to prevent the dead from crossing the bridge. As I understand it, the peninsula San Francisco sits on was the easiest place to defend since it’s surrounded on three sides by water,” Marilyn explained.
Then one of the searchers pulled Pete’s shotgun out of the Jeep. Pete wasn’t sure if that was a problem but Marilyn noticed before he could say anything. “The firearms are fine. In fact, every man, woman and child over the age of twelve is required to carry a weapon. It’s for their own safety,” she told him.
“Looks good, ma’am,” the man said after returning Pete’s shotgun to its place.
“Lock up your vehicle and follow me,” Marilyn told them. Pete did as instructed and then he and his companions followed the woman across the parking lot and into the building beyond. As she promised, doctors took each of them behind curtained walls, Anna’s doctor a woman. Once Pete was inside, his doctor asked him to undress.
“Completely?” he asked.
“Please. I don’t like it any more than you, but we have to see every inch of you,” the doctor replied. Pete began to undress and soon he stood on the cold marble floor stark naked. The doctor looked him up and down, checking under his arms, between his legs, pretty much every place he could.
“What are you looking for?” Pete asked.
“Bites and scratches. We’ll take samples if we find any to verify,” The doctor said. Pete didn’t have to ask what they would verify if they found marks.
“So you can test for that?” he asked.
“Yes,” the doctor replied as he began a more routine examination. “We’ve identified the markers that indicate the infection. We don’t know what it is or how to stop it, but we know what to look for,” the doctor replied as he listened to Pete’s heart, checked his ears and then asked Pete to open up and say ahh.
“You look fine. Any illnesses in the past month?” the doctor asked. Pete shook his head. “Good. You seem to be healthy. No marks and no sickness. If you had a cold or flu, we’d have to quarantine you here until you got over it but you’re ready to go. Get dressed and have a good day,” the doctor said. Pete grabbed his briefs and began to dress.
“Hey, doc. What happens if someone is bitten or tests positive?” he wondered. The doctor stopped as he was about to leave, turned his head and just gave Pete a look. “Oh,” Pete replied. He should have known, Pete supposed. There was no cure according to the doctor. There was little choice. They were killed.
“Have a good day,” the doctor said and pushed through the privacy curtain. Pete should have been shocked at the revelation but he wasn’t. He’d seen what the zombies were capable of and what happened when they bit someone. It wasn’t pleasant to think of killing innocent people, but keeping the survivors safe required it. He hoped it was humane, at least.
Pete finished dressing and found Anders and Anna waiting. “Where’s Gunny?” he asked.
“Still in there. I asked his doctor. Apparently, they want to check out the cut on his head. He said we could wait here. It wouldn’t be long. They have to test his blood,” Anders replied.
“He wasn’t bitten,” Pete replied.
“Just a precaution,” Anna said. As promised, it didn’t take long. Ten minutes later, the doctor returned and a few moments after that, he emerged again followed by Gunny.
“Apparently, I’m not a zombie,” he said as he joined the group.
“No, just kinda stupid,” Anders joked.
“I am friends with you,” Gunny replied and threw his meaty arm around Anders smaller frame. Just then a man in a suit announced the orientation video was about to start. The building they were in contained a small auditorium and the two dozen or so survivors that were waiting, including Pete and his friends, filed inside. Once everyone was seated, the lights dimmed and the screen came to life.
“Welcome to Camp San Francisco. I’m Colonel Paul Widman with the U.S. Army and commander of this camp. You are about to enter the city of San Francisco. Most of the city is still very dangerous but the northern and eastern sections have been cleared of the enemy. You may know them as zombies, the undead, biters, freaks, walkers, etc.” the video began.
“But rest assured, the portions of the city that have been cleared and secured are safe. You and your family or friends do not have to worry about attacks. Here, we are building a safe zone and it is expanding every day. In order for this effort to succeed, however, we need everyone’s help.
“You will be assigned a job after this presentation based on your skills and experiences. Upon reporting to your sector, you will be assigned housing. Requests to be housed with family or friends will be honored...we’ve got lots of room. Every man, woman and child are required to carry a firearm and a knife at all times. If you haven’t brought your own, you will be issued weapons. If you don’t know how to use them, you will be trained. No exceptions.”
“My office and my staff are ready to answer questions and address concerns. We are living under martial law. Threats to the order and security of Camp San Francisco will be dealt with harshly. However, this is still the United States of America. We adhere to the Constitution we’ve been sworn to uphold. Your rights remain intact. Please respect the rights of others as well.”
“I look forward to working with you in rebuilding our world. May God bless you and may God Bless the United States of America,” Colonel Widman finished. The screen went dark and the lights came up. The same man in the suit directed the audience to another part of the building for assignment of jobs and sectors. Once again, the four friends were split up.
After a short wait, Pete was seated in front of a young woman at a small desk. “Good afternoon. I’m Kylie. I just need to ask you a few questions,” she greeted him. She, like her counterparts, had a laptop computer that she entered information into as she asked Pete her questions. His name, his Social Security number, his level of education, his general level of fitness and then his occupation. Pete answered each question as best he could.
“We’re in need of skilled tradesmen. Do you know how to handle a weapon?” she asked.
“I’ve learned,” he said. Kylie smiled.
“Haven’t we all. I’m going to assign you to a construction crew. We’ve got Special Forces and Marines clearing new buildings every day. Those need to be secured and new defensive positions built. Then the Army can come in and defend the new acquisitions. You’ll be on one of the crews securing those buildings and making them habitable,” Kylie explained.
“So, I go in after the Marines but before the Army?” Pete asked.
“Essentially, yes. You’ll be assigned weapons, body armor and tools. Some of the Marines will help provide security while you work but often, the construction crews on the frontier provide their own. Look, we’re really short of construction workers and even more so those who can handle weapons,” Kylie told Pete.
“I’ll do it. I want to help,” he told her.
“Good. You will report to sector six upon arrival in the city. They will get you housing and issue you whatever you need. If you have your own supplies, you can unload them and take them with you on the buses,” Kylie said.
“Wait...what? I can’t take my Jeep?” Pete asked worriedly.
“Sorry, no. It will remain on the island. The streets in the city must remain clear for military and emergency response vehicles. Your car will be safe, I promise” the young woman replied.
“You’re sure?” Pete asked, forgoing his usual response when someone called it a car. He loved his Jeep but more than that, it was his only real connection to his old life. It wasn’t a great life but it wasn’t all that bad either, especially compared to running from the undead.
“Very sure. It will be logged and waiting if you ever decide to leave or the Colonel lifts the vehicle ban. If there’s any gas left by then,” Kylie said. Pete sighed but he wasn’t going to complain. He was happy to be here and looking forward to a good night’s sleep without worrying about getting eaten. He also looked forward to d
oing something productive. The Colonel had referred to it as rebuilding the world. Pete liked that idea.
Despair had turned into hope and now that had become determination. Maybe they could turn this thing around. Maybe the world wasn’t lost. “Have a nice day,” Kylie said as Pete left to meet up with Anna, Gunny and Anders. After Pete told them about his assignment, the others revealed theirs. Anna had been assigned to a food service crew. Pete thought she might not like it there, but Anna assured him she did.
“It will be like it was. It will be normal. No running or fighting. Just hard work and people need to eat, right?” she said. Pete couldn’t argue with that and her bagels were pretty good.
“I’ll be out there with you, Pete. I’m going to be in charge of a platoon of Marines clearing buildings,” Gunny told them.
“Apparently, I’ll be right behind you,” Pete replied. “What about you, Anders?” he asked.
“I was sure I’d be on a ship since I’m a sailor, but nope. I loaded ordinance on aircraft so they put me on one of the engineering crews. I get to place mines, demo buildings, shit like that,” Anders said.
“You’re still a squid even if you blow shit up,” Gunny replied. Anders just shook his head. Even Pete could sense the respect both men had for one another despite the constant ribbing they gave one another. The four spent the rest of the afternoon sorting through the gear in the Jeep and loading it on a bus. They left some of it there. Though Pete tried not to think they left it just in case things went wrong, but that was certainly part of it. By dinnertime, they were bound for the city. Even from the west spans of the Bay Bridge, it looked unchanged.
But as the bus exited the freeway and descended into the city, the changes became evident. Chain link fencing, concrete barriers and barbed wire were everywhere along with the armed men defending what Kylie had called the frontier. Zombies could be seen beyond and the bus drew their attention. As they approached the edge of the frontier, they were mowed down by rifle fire and more than a few tripped land mines on their way.
But once the bus made its way to the Embarcadero, the street that followed the edge of the bay where all the piers were located, the armed men were spread out more, the fences and barriers were scattered farther apart and the city seemed more peaceful.
Then Pete saw them. The protesters. Two dozen or so men, women and even a few children held signs and chanted as they marched. The signs read “Save the Undead” or “Zombies are People Too” or “Undead Lives Matter.” The foursome regarded one another. Gunny shook his head and rolled his eyes. Anders and Anna both could barely contain their amused grins.
Pete, on the other hand, remembered what Colonel Widman said about the Constitution and retaining their rights. Apparently, that wasn’t just lip service. The crowd of protestors became more agitated as the bus drove by, trying to get their message of peace and love across to the new arrivals.
“Something tells me they haven’t been out there. They haven’t seen what those things can do,” Pete observed.
“Fucking hippies,” Gunny remarked. That made the other three laugh but a moment later, Anna held up her phone. The tiny speakers played “Time of the Season” by The Zombies. That brought more laughter. The four companions listened as the bus left the protesters behind. Pete couldn’t help but smile at the thought that if protestors were allowed to do their thing, the city was truly safe.
As it turned out, only Anna wasn’t assigned to sector six, the military sector that occupied the grounds of the Presidio, the old Army based turned historical park turned military base again after the outbreak. Anna was assigned to sector three, near Fisherman’s Wharf. There, the fishing fleet still did their job and Anna would help prepare their catch.
When the bus stopped at the sector three station, Pete followed her and explained the situation. As promised, she would be allowed to live in sector six but she had to check in here first. Pete kissed her goodbye and Anna assured him she wouldn’t be far behind. Besides, the cell service in the city was great and their phones still worked, for now. Anna promised to call him when she was on her way.
“I love you,” she told him.
“I love you too, Pete replied, boarded the bus and watched as Anna waved goodbye.
Chapter 13
The horde spread for at least a mile. Five thousand, maybe ten thousand, strong. As the horde moved north, it ravaged the land and the living that were scattered here and there. Crops and fields were trampled, livestock and wild animals alike were devoured and towns were scoured of survivors.
The thought made Stanley smile. He had always been a meek man, quiet, reserved and docile. He never spoke up, he never contradicted and Stanley certainly never fought back. But now, he commanded an army of the undead. They weren’t like him though. They were mindless eating machines with no purpose beyond what he gave them.
His control of the horde wasn’t direct. They followed him, more and more joining his horde every day. But he had also learned that his thoughts could direct his followers. His will could cause the undead to carry out his bidding, at least on a larger scale. Stanley wasn’t able to order a single zombie to carry out a specific or complex act but he could cause a group of them to stop, change direction or even to attack.
It was a skill he was trying to hone as he traveled. Stanley had a purpose. His anger and need to punish those that did this to him grew with each passing day. He knew that not all humans were responsible. Stanley even reasoned that the plague possibly had nothing to do with the humans. It didn’t matter. His anger towards the humans wasn’t rational. That’s what he referred to them now, the humans. That distinction was important.
He wasn’t one of them anymore. The radiation coupled with the bite he received shortly after the blast had changed Stanley. That’s what he thought anyway. He imagined he was unique and special though for all he knew, many like him existed. But it didn’t matter. His human life was ended and Stanley was reborn. He wasn’t a savior, however. Stanley fancied himself more as an angel of death, an avenger, created to right a wrong he couldn’t quite grasp.
The humans were vile creatures to him now. Though he could reason that this wasn’t their fault, he paid that reason no heed. He blamed them for everything. The outbreak, the nuclear blast, the death and destruction. He blamed them for not only taking his life away but the lives of his followers as well.
But he didn’t see the horde as victims. He saw them instead as warriors created by God or Mother Nature or maybe just dumb luck for the purpose of destroying the old and making way for the new. And Stanley saw himself as their leader. He believed he was created to lead the army of the undead to destroy humanity.
Even Stanley chuckled at times when he thought of it. How absurd! He wasn’t a leader or a warrior. But here he was leading an army, scouring the earth of the real plague, the humans. He knew he had gone insane yet Stanley didn’t care. He enjoyed the way it made him feel. It gave him power he never knew in his old life.
Suddenly, Stanley put up his hand. The horde came to a stop though it would be five minutes before those in the rear would become aware of the order and push up against those in front of them. Behind Stanley, his thousands moaned and groaned as somewhere off to his left, he heard a scream. One of his minions, or maybe more than one, had found humans and were going about their work.
The old storefront Stanley stood next too had words painted in red spray paint on its front windows. “Safe Zone in San Francisco” it read. It was a message to friends or family, maybe even meant for complete strangers who might happen by, but the meaning was clear. Humans were gathering in San Francisco. They regarded the city as safe. Stanley laughed at the thought as he turned to look back upon his horde.
“There is no safe place from you,” he shouted. The horde stood mostly silent. They weren’t much for conversation. Their purpose was destruction and mayhem. “San Francisco it is,” Stanley said to himself, waved his arm and continued north. His army followed dutifully, mindlessly. They ha
d no idea where they were going or what Stanley had planned.
All they cared about was feeding on human flesh. They seemed docile enough until they found their prey. The scent of fresh meat, especially human meat, woke them from their shambling slumber. Slow and plodding became focused and quick. Then the carnage would begin. Flesh would be torn, bowels ripped free and muscle stripped from bone. Stanley imagined thousands, maybe tens of thousands of humans cowering in San Francisco, thinking themselves safe.
His army would go wild with bloodlust. They would tear into the humans, tear them limb from limb and devour them. The creatures in his army could die but not easily. Only a bullet or powerful blow to the head would kill them. His horde could advance into a hail of gunfire without fear. Even with a broken body, they would advance relentlessly. Stanley knew all of this because he was one of them.
And when the battle, slaughter might be a better word, was over, those humans that weren’t eaten alive would rise to join Stanley’s ranks. He laughed as he moved through the small town in the heart of the San Joaquin Valley. There were screams and sporadic gunfire as his army cleared the town of humans. By the end of the week, Stanley would cleanse San Francisco as well. He drooled as he imagined picking out a plump young woman for himself and dining on her flesh as he enjoyed her desperate screams.