Evolution Z : Stage Two (An apocalypse zombie survival thriller Book 2)

by David Bourne

  Few Answers

  That evening, Ray’s group met in the camp in front of his tent. During the day he had mentioned to all of them that they had something important to discuss. They sat on makeshift wooden stools Scott had made from tree trunks with his ax a few days ago: Chris, Gregory, Scott, Josh and Phil. The latter had send Fiona and Robbie to play with Watson so the group could talk in private. All of them stared at Ray with anticipation to hear what he had to say. When he had finished telling about his conversation with Master Sergeant Pelletier, everyone fell into a pensive silence.

  “Have you already made up your mind?” Phil finally asked.

  Ray nodded. “I’m going to do it. I need to know how Melissa and my kids are doing.”

  “I don’t like the whole thing,” Scott growled. “For my taste, you haven’t received enough information about this mission.”

  “This is the first time I’ve heard about all of this,” Josh said. “My dad probably doesn’t know anything else about this, either. He definitely shouldn’t find out, though, that you talked to us about it.”

  “He probably realizes this,” Ray answered. “I assured him I would let as few people as possible know about it. It’s obvious that this information has to stay among us, as otherwise we would upset the majority of people here, rather than help them.”

  “When is it supposed to start?” Scott asked.

  “Tonight.”

  All of them looked at him skeptically. Phil expressed what most of them thought.

  “Why does it have to happen so fast? And why doesn’t the Master Sergeant have a fucking convoy with a sufficient number of soldiers drive to the aircraft carrier?”

  “Because nobody is going to drive to the aircraft carrier. I’m going to fly.”

  “Excuse me?” asked Chris, who up to now had just been listening.

  “Screw and I fixed Little Bird this afternoon. Driving to the aircraft carrier would take considerably longer and be more difficult than flying in a helicopter. And right now, I am the only person in Fort Weeks who can fly a helicopter.”

  Phil snorted. “How fitting,” he said sarcastically. Scott cast him a questioning look.

  “Isn’t it strange that contact is established to an aircraft carrier, where someone is located who knows how the virus got started, and there is also contact with the missing ex-wife of the only pilot in Fort Weeks? And—the ex-wife of the pilot is conveniently located at a place that also holds the family of Mr. I-know-why-the-world-has-hit-the-skids-big-time. What a coincidence.”

  “What are you trying to say?” Josh replied angrily. “That my dad made up the whole story?”

  “I only want to point out that it would suit your father if Ray had an additional motivation for flying to Sanctuary.”

  “This doesn’t get us anywhere,” Chris interrupted him. “Furthermore, I saw the picture. That was Melissa, wasn’t it, Ray?”

  “That was definitely her. But I cannot tell whether she is in Sanctuary, or where on earth the picture came from. I just know one thing: I would never forgive myself, if I did not at least try to reach Sanctuary.”

  “So, what’s next?” Gregory asked.

  “You and Chris should definitely stay here. You are needed at the communications center, and maybe you’ll pick up some interesting tidbits now and then. Furthermore, the Master Sergeant wouldn’t let you go because you both are indispensable here. Phil, you should also stay here with your kids.” Ray paused briefly and then looked at Scott. In the past, the man whose lower arms were like tree trunks had pulled his ass out of the fire several times already, and Ray knew he could always rely on him. In spite of this, he still had a hard time asking him. Actually, he didn’t have to.

  “You don’t have to ask me. Of course I’ll come along,” Scott said with a faint smile, “even though I don’t like the whole thing. After all, someone has to watch over you.”

  Ray’s face expressed a deep gratitude. He looked at each one of them. “I promise I’ll try to get as much information as possible about your families, about Sanctuary, about the virus and about the worldwide situation. Just hold the fort here—and take good care of Watson,” Ray said as he looked over to see the dog playing with the children.

  “You seem to have grown quite fond of good old Watson,” Chris said with a grin.

  Ray just nodded, without looking at the others. Not just of him, he thought.

  Night Flight

  It was the small hours of the night, and Ray and Scott stood in front of the officers’ mess. Both carried military backpacks with equipment and some food, and a new ax was hanging on Scott’s hip. Ray glanced around the military base. Except for the guards on duty, hardly anyone was awake at this time. Due to the cloudless sky, the brilliant moon light shone on Fort Weeks and made the base appear almost idyllic.

  “Mr. Thompson, if you and Mr. Gerber would please follow me.” The voice of the Master Sergeant interrupted Ray’s nocturnal musings. William Pelletier walked right by the two men without even stopping to greet them. Scott and Ray followed behind him. They passed the workshop hangar and headed in the direction of the motor pool. Once they arrived there, Ray saw that the Little Bird he and Screw had worked on was sitting on the bed of a truck in one of the garages. It looked like the helicopter would not be taking off from Fort Weeks, and this was not the only surprise in store at this early hour. To Ray’s amazement, Josh was standing next to the helicopter, accompanied by two armed soldiers.

  “Gentlemen, may I introduce Private Streatfield and Private Hill. You already know my son Joshua. The three of them will accompany you on your flight.” The Master Sergeant’s voice made it clear that this decision was not up for discussion.

  “I can understand that we are getting a military escort,” Ray said. “But, may I know why Josh is coming along?”

  “There was an incident in the mess hall, as you probably have heard,” William Pelletier said. Ray and Scott nodded. The story about Billy Maddox had spread like wildfire.

  “We have absolutely no idea why Private Maddox transformed. We hope our contact on the USS George Washington might have information that could assist us. I also heard about a quick medical test, and Josh is the right person to deal with these issues. With all due respect, a medically trained person will be able to handle the information our contact might give us much better than you would.”

  I wonder what else you’ve heard about, Ray thought. He had the impression that the Master Sergeant did not disclose to him all he knew.

  “Where do we take off?” Ray asked.

  “About five miles south of here. We don’t want to cause too much of a stir on the base. According to our estimates, your flight time should be about two hours. It is almost 2:00 a.m. now. You should get there around 4 a.m. That gives you plenty of time for initial discussion, before the radio communications window opens around 6:30 a.m. Any more questions?”

  “What should we do if there are complications?” Scott asked.

  “Complications are challenges, Mr. Gerber. You grow when you solve challenges, and what might seem a difficult test now, might turn out to be a blessing later.”

  “If that were true, we have been blessed more than enough already,” Scott snapped. “Let’s get going.”

  Due to the early hour, hardly anyone noticed the truck’s exit from the base. Two patrol vehicles had started with then and would serve as an escort until the helicopter’s departure. After driving a few miles on the access road leading to Fort Weeks, the vehicles made a right turn onto a wide dirt road. The convoy drove several hundred yards further until they reached a large clearing surrounded by trees, which could be seen from the main road.

  “This is where we take off,” Josh announced.

  Ray nodded as he got out of the truck and started removing the straps securing Little Bird on the truck bed. Once he completed this task he climbed into the cockpit. Once everyone was on board, he checked all of the displays in the helicopter. Everything appeared to be fine, in
cluding the oil pump. Well done, Screw. The driver of the truck had meanwhile gotten out and watched Ray from a safe distance. When Ray held up his thumb, he repeated the sign. A moment later the rotors started to spin, the branches of the nearby trees bent backward, and Little Bird rose into the sky.

  While they were slowly climbing, Ray realized how much he had missed flying. In the past, he considered his job to be a necessary evil required to earn a paycheck and often had to force himself to go to work. This was no surprise considering how often he had a hangover that would have forced an ordinary mortal to be hospitalized in intensive care. As it often occurred in his life, he reflected on how much he missed something after it was gone. It had been that way with Cathy, and now it was with his job as a pilot.

  After they had been flying for a few minutes, it suddenly grew very quiet on board. Earlier on, the two privates had been eagerly chatting with Josh and Scott, but now a stunned silence prevailed due to their altitude. They were high up and could see the area around Fort Weeks for several miles around in the bright moonlight. The reports about the extent of the devastation had not nearly prepared them for what they actually encountered during their flyover. The landscape resembled a vision of Armageddon for wherever one looked, there were marauding undead, either individual zombies or groups of various sizes roaming about. At several points off in the distance, black smoke rose skyward from the smoldering remains of burnt-out buildings and vehicles that they previously had not been able to see from the ground. From their vantage point high in the air, it was obvious where the security zone around Fort Weeks ended. Within this zone, they could not discover a substantial number of zombies, but outside of it there must have been thousands aimlessly wandering around. The view of the world from above no longer held the fascination of former days.

  USS George Washington

  No one on board the helicopter said a word during the flight. Everyone was lost within his own thoughts. One could easily forget how terrible things were out here while existing in the microcosm of Fort Weeks and its daily routines. Ray took a deep breath. Concentrate on the flight, he told himself.

  He had to fly using a map the Master Sergeant had given him, so the location of the USS George Washington was more an estimate than a precise position. He flew in a slight left course to change toward a southwesterly one.

  From afar, they could see the North Atlantic glittering in the moonlight, and after almost two hours they reached Long Island. Ray had deliberately avoided flying over cities like Boston or New Haven—God only know what scenes would have awaited them there. After three more miles across the ocean, the aircraft carrier came in sight. A floating fortress, Ray remembered the words of the Master Sergeant. That was an apt description. As a Nimitz-class aircraft carrier, the Washington was almost 1,100 feet long and over 250 feet wide. It was worth its weight in gold.

  “Do they know that we’re coming?” Scott asked.

  “According to my dad, they do,” Josh answered. “General Dixon is expecting us.”

  It looked indeed as if they were being expected, or at least the helicopter was not perceived as a threat. The anti-aircraft guns did not track them. None of the sailors on the aircraft carrier manned their battle stations when the helicopter approached the flight deck—quite the opposite, two men directed Ray from below to a landing spot. While the rotor blades slowed down, the group picked up their gear. As they got out, they were received by the sailors who had signaled to them.

  “Captain Raymond Thompson, I presume?” one of the two men asked.

  Ray nodded and held out his hand, but noticed that this gesture was deliberately ignored. Scott threw Ray a skeptical sideways glance.

  “I am Petty Officer Decker, and this is Petty Officer Petersen. If you would, please put down your weapons.”

  Ray hesitated briefly, but then nodded again. “Stow the gear in the helicopter,” he told the others, who followed his order.

  “Thanks. The General is already expecting you. If you and your men would please follow me.”

  Decker walked ahead, followed by Ray, Scott, Josh and the two privates from Fort Weeks. Petersen made up the rear. When they reached the entrance to the lower decks, Petersen stopped in front of two doors.

  “Please have your group use the door on the right. We’ll see you inside.” Then the two sailors went though the left door and closed it behind them.

  “What the hell’s going on? I thought we would be welcome here,” Scott snorted.

  “Their ship, their rules,” Ray said.

  “Let’s go in,” Josh said. “Hopefully, the General will tell us more.”

  After they walked through the right door, they came to an air lock. They entered it and found themselves in a kind of quarantine area surrounded by thick plexiglass windows. A man in a yellow hazmat suit closed the door behind them. Decker was stationed at a control panel as he stood behind a window on the other side of the room. He spoke into a microphone, which made his voice sound strangely metallic.

  “If you could please raise your right hand and hold out your index finger. Doctor Harper here is going to perform a quick test to ensure that you have not been infected,” said the scratchy voice from the loudspeaker.

  Scott wanted to say something, but Ray beat him to it. “Of course. Please remember, though, that our communication window will close in about two hours, and we have to contact Fort Weeks before then.”

  “Don’t worry, the test will only take a few minutes. Doctor Harper, would you please get started?”

  The doctor pricked each newcomer’s finger with a lancet and took a small amount of blood. Then he poured the blood samples into five small test tubes containing a bluish liquid. Afterwards, he sat down on a chair next to the table with the samples and waited. Ray and the others looked around nervously. Petty Officer Decker followed the entire procedure from outside with moderate interest, as if he had witnessed this dozens of times already.

  “They are clean,” Doctor Harper finally said. Ray did not know how the doctor had arrived at this conclusion, but he didn’t care. The air lock opened with a hiss, and they could go to Decker into the room behind the window. “Come on. The conference room is on the lower deck.”

  General Dixon

  Decker led the group downstairs and stopped in front of a wide double door. “We are staying here,” he said to the two soldiers from Fort Weeks. Private Streatfield and Private Hill gave Ray a doubtful look, but he indicated that they should wait with a short nod.

  When Scott, Ray and Josh entered the conference room, a tall, broad-shouldered man came toward them, whose simple uniform displayed a hodge-podge of medals from various war zones and peacekeeping missions. General Dixon had steel-gray, short hair, and he fixed his piercing blue eyes on the newcomers. His tone of voice sounded like that of a man long used to issuing commands. He greeted all three of them with firm handshakes.

  “Gentlemen, I am General Dixon. Please have a seat.” After they had done that, the general sat down between two people also present at the conference table who had not risen to greet them. “The gentleman to the left of me is Admiral Jackson,” Dixon said. Ray looked at the slightly stocky, bald man who seemed to have little in common with the general. The only comparable aspect was the number of medals on his uniform. Jackson briefly nodded in their direction, but then continued staring at the table.

  “And to the right of me is the reason for your journey. If I may introduce Doctor Daniel Abbadon.” For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still, as Josh, Scott and Ray focused on the man who supposedly had insight about the backstory of the apocalypse they were all experiencing. They had already been wondering out loud what kind of person they might be facing before this introduction. Josh had assumed it would be a reserved science professor shortly before retirement age. Ray had imagined a fat laboratory nerd who would disgust him though his very looks. Scott did not care, although he was determined to wring the neck of the guy who was in any part responsible for this catastrophe. N
one of them had expected a young, handsome man in a designer suit, who greeted them with a friendly smile that displayed immaculately white teeth. “Nice to meet you all. I hope you had a good flight.”

  None of the three men answered. Ray tried to estimate Abbadon’s age. His short, black hair had no grey streaks yet, but the glasses made him look a bit older. He would guess the man was in his mid-thirties. Ten years ago he would have considered this guy a strong competitor when he was trying to hook up with women in a bar.

  “Nice suit,” Ray finally said.

  “Thanks,” Abbadon said with a smile. “Versace.”

  “What a coincidence. Wasn’t he some faggot who was murdered—or something?” Scott growled toward Ray and Josh. The latter could not suppress a grin.

  “Gentlemen, please,” General Dixon admonished them. “We don’t have any time for such silliness. Dr. Abbadon has been very cooperative, and we have offered him full immunity, as long he supports our efforts.”

  “General, no offense, but we would like to find out first what’s going on before we cooperate with anyone,” Ray said.

  General Dixon took a deep breath. “Master Sergeant Pelletier already told me you are not exactly the easiest person to get along with. Admiral Jackson? Would you do the honors?”

  Jackson stood up and took a small remote control from the table. Then he stepped in front of a large video monitor at the end of the conference table, and everyone’s head turned toward him. He pressed a button, and the screen came to life. The screensaver, which was an emblem of the U. S. Marine Corps composed of an eagle, globe and anchor, was abruptly interrupted by the appearance of a digitally animated map of the world. The map displayed varying shades of red, though some countries were completely black.