by Brown, TW
“How much were you told about this run?” Frank asked, glancing over his shoulder at the others who were trying to watch while looking like they weren’t.
“Power supply stuff…wind farm. That’s about it.”
“But they didn’t tell you we have made this trip four times before…each time ending in failure?” Something crossed Frank’s face that I was almost certain had to be anger. “We have lost people each time. The last time we got off lucky. We only lost the one…although it might have been the worst.”
“So is there a lot of zombie activity?” That seemed like the most logical answer.
“Sort of.” Frank leaned in close and his voice took on an eerie tone. “The place is cursed…maybe even by Satan himself.”
I did my best to keep a straight face. So this was how they would prank the newbie. Whatever made them happy, I guess. Personally, I thought that they could come up with something better than demons.
“How do you mean?” I decided to at least play along for a while and be a good sport.
“The little ones,” Frank breathed. “The place seems to be empty, and then, out of nowhere…the dead kids just appear.”
I felt a cold shiver work its way up and down my spine. If he was saying what I thought he was saying, I had news for them…the place wasn’t cursed. This was so much worse.
“Child zombies?” I asked.
“Demons from hell is more like it. They ain’t like no zombie. These ones…they are thinkers.”
So much for the idea of this being a prank on the new guy. I knew exactly what they were dealing with. I suddenly wished that Dr. Zahn were here. She would be able to explain things to this group. As it was, I couldn’t even remember enough of what she’d said to give a half-assed explanation.
“When was the last time you made a run on this place?”
“About five weeks ago.”
“Well then maybe they have moved on by now,” I said hopefully.
“That’s just it. They haven’t. First few times we come here, we lost people and didn’t know to what. This last time, it was like they wanted us to see them. They pulled down Tommy and I swear they just toyed with him…like a cat. Kept letting him get up and try to limp away only to knock him down and swarm him and nip at him. But they would not tear him apart…not until we all got there. Then, it was like they hid behind him so we couldn’t shoot the little bastards. And they kept biting at him, making him scream anytime we would try to get close. But the creepiest part was whenever one of us would try to bring up our gun and end his misery, they would snatch him down and attack with ferocity for a few seconds to make him really scream.”
Now I could see why they were spooked. That was the creepiest thing I’d ever heard. Sadistic child zombies? This was not shaping up to be a very enjoyable trip.
“So,” I decided to change the subject, “what is this big deal with you guys basically freezing me out. I mean you are the first to talk to me, but I can’t even get anybody to make eye contact.”
“Folks are just afraid to get to know you. You seem like a good kid, but—”
“If you get to know me and then I end up like that last guy, you’ll all feel terrible. And since you have no idea if I can handle myself in the field, I am the unknown quantity and therefore the most likely to die,” I finished for Frank.
I understood their reason. I’d always thought that was kind of silly when it played out in a movie, but now that I was in the moment, I understood their reluctance. The haunted looks on their faces spoke volumes.
Frank seemed to want to talk some more, but the order came for us to get on our feet and move out. I shot a look at the three scientist types. They had not said much of anything the entire time and even more impressive, they had not bitched, griped or moaned.
We walked the rest of the day and I was about to ask how much further to this location when we came to a halt. I did not need to ask. The sudden quiet told me everything. We topped a small rise, and in the fading light of the late afternoon, made even dimmer by the dark clouds that had not broken for a moment, I spotted a non-descript collection of buildings. It could be any business complex with an adjoining warehouse facility in the world.
I realized why it had probably been spared by raiders and looters. It just did not look like there would be anything there except defunct computers and plenty of office supplies. There were no big signs that would even give a clue that the future of electric power might reside somewhere within. And seriously, the average person would not know how to assemble a wind power grid from the ground up even if all of the components were laid out before them. At least that was my thoughts on the subject.
“We make camp here,” one of the females announced.
Up until that point, I was not sure if there was actually a person in charge, or if this was some sort of committee-based leadership. Since everybody seemed to get right to work on setting up camp without question, comment, or discussion, I assumed that woman was the boss.
“So do we have a watch rotation?” I asked her after I found a spot and allowed my quick-release tent to pop open where I would be spending the night.
“Yep, you got first watch,” she said, not even bothering to look over her shoulder at me as she knelt down and crawled inside her own tent to unroll her sleeping bag. “Take a spot on that big brown rock on top of the hill across the road. It will allow you to see down into camp, as well as get a full view of anything that might come from any direction.”
So it was obvious that this location was the spot they camped at the previous times that they had made this run. I waited to see if she would say anything else…like who would relieve me and when, but she climbed in her tent, zipped it up, and that seemed to be the end of the discussion.
I cast a longing glance at my own tent, but in all honesty, I was glad to get the first watch. That meant that, provided nothing crazy happened, I would get an uninterrupted night’s sleep.
The climb was more difficult than it looked, but eventually I made it to the top and took a seat on the big flat rock. The lady had been right, I could see for miles in every direction. We were at the base of the foothills of a mountain range, but the ground was flat with that single exception. I looked back the way we’d come and saw a few stragglers here and there; none that looked to be making a bee line for our location.
Turning back to the complex, I brought my binoculars up and scanned the area. Nothing. Not a single thing stirred down there. Perhaps the child zombies had in fact moved on, I tried to tell myself. I did not believe that for one instant. Something in my gut told me that they were down there…waiting.
***
Morning had not yet arrived, but we broke camp, policed the area, and then moved down the hill. The day would be much like yesterday. Rain. Glad I don’t believe in omens.
“Everybody pair up,” the woman barked. I’d heard folks call her Jessie. “My team will stay with the brainiacs. Frank, you and the new guy will secure the green building entry. Gail says that a herd of a few thousand is just up the road, so only use your firearms as a last resort. And when I mean last resort, I mean the bullet you are eating after being bit. We can’t have that swarm come down on us while we are inside the complex.”
At least now I knew what my job would be. When I’d been on watch, I’d noticed that there were three buildings apart from the rest. One was blue, one was black, and one was green. I had no idea why and didn’t think I would ever find out. Still, at least it felt good to have a job.
When all the assignments had been given, we started down. Not ten seconds later, I heard a baby cry followed by a low moan. What really gave me a chill was that they came from opposite sides of us, and I would swear that it was one zombie signaling another.
I heard Frank start to mutter a prayer. I kept mine quiet, but I sent a message to whatever being was in charge that was basically just a request: please don’t let me be eaten.
As we reached the mostly vacant parking lot, the light
was now enough that you could see pretty good except for the more heavily shadowed nooks and covered areas that you didn’t want to go inside anyway.
Frank and I peeled off, as did others while the team ventured into the area and everybody took their positions. I glanced at Frank and saw how wide his eyes were. This guy was freaking terrified. That meant that I would need to be extra careful. Somebody that afraid was a danger.
Another moan came from some high grass to the south of the green building. I stopped and actually had to grab Frank’s arm. If I’d let him continue walking, he might have kept going all the way until he was right in the middle of what I could only describe as a trap.
We’d had to move down a covered walkway that spanned between our target building and the blue one. There were a few side entrances; unremarkable with one exception. The lower panes of the glass door on the four that I could see had been busted out. That exposed our right side. On the left was a cluster of cargo containers like the kind that get stacked on trains or the deck of cargo ships. The doors looked shut; but a sliver of black gave away that they were not. Up ahead was the entrance to the green building. The awning that covered the entrance was about five feet from the end of the covered walkway. I counted five sets of legs standing on that ledge. I did not want to look over my shoulder, but I had to guess that we’d missed something and that there would be zombie children waiting. I could feel the hair on the back of my neck standing straight up.
“Umm…I think we’re surrounded,” I stated the obvious.
Frank spun around and took three involuntary steps back; effectively moving towards the end of the overhang and that empty space that would expose him to the zombie children on the awning. Now that he’d turned around, I could not help myself. I glanced over my shoulder. Sure enough, five zombie children between the ages of maybe eight and twelve stood in the walkway that we’d travelled along between the two buildings.
“I knew they’d still be here,” Frank breathed.
I think I now realized a further reason why nobody had wanted to get to know me. I was willing to bet that this was the same place they’d sent that other poor bastard. As for what they had against Frank, maybe he’d drawn a short straw or something.
I had my eyes fixed on the entry to that green building. What the hell was so important about it that we needed to secure it in the first place? I thought I saw some movement further back in what was probably some sort of lobby. I could see the feet shuffling around up on that awning. If I had to guess, I was willing to bet that the zombies up there were getting ready to drop on whatever came in to view. We could use our crossbows, but they take time to reload and the farthest zombie was less than fifty feet away. We might get a couple, but we were surrounded by a dozen or more by my guess. We needed to be someplace more defensible. I did the only thing that I could think of…
“Frank, RUN!” I yelled, bolting for the entry of the green building.
Just as with the other doors that I’d noticed—albeit too late—the lower section of glass was missing. I would only be out from under the canopy of the walkway for a second before returning to the relative safety of the awning over that main entrance. I was counting on poor coordination and reaction time. Please don’t all be former world champion video gamers, I thought in that instant of open air overhead.
Diving forward, I slid on my belly through little cubes of broken glass. I had my KA-BAR out as I rolled once and came up to my knees. I was hoping to clear room for Frank…and then he screamed.
I only had a second to glance and see him go down under a swarm of children. Looking around, I saw that I was in fact in a large open lobby. There was a big reception desk and a wall of dead monitors behind it. A pair of windmill propellers hung from cables in the center of the big reception area and stairs went up to the second level on either side. Two dark hallways suddenly vomited zombie children like the doors to a school on that last day when the bell rings and summer vacation is about to begin.
There were at least five floors to this building, but I imagine that the elevator was used back when there was power. A fire escape existed someplace, but I didn’t have time to search for it.
I suddenly remembered the Call of Duty: Black Ops video game and that first room you start in with the stairs that go up each side in the zombie mode. One of the best defenses is to lure them to a single stairwell and take out a few of the leaders. Then, you take off and run around to and down the other stairs, cross the room and now you are at the trail end of the zombies on the stairs. You take out a few, and then zip back, up and across to the top of the original staircase with the stupid zombies stumbling over each other as they try to turn around again. You take out a few…repeat as necessary.
Frank’s screaming grew in volume and intensity, but it was the begging that hurt my heart. He was pleading for them to stop…trying to reason with them to no avail. A loud shriek followed by a gagging gargle ended it.
I decided that I had nothing to lose. However, unlike the others, I would not die with a belt pouch full of unused magazines for my weapons. I would worry about this supposed herd later. I slung the M4 from my shoulder and brought it up. I was mildly surprised when a few of the zombie children stopped advancing. Still, more came than didn’t and I squeezed the trigger sending a short burst. My aim sucked and I saw holes appear across the chests of a few of the leaders. I adjusted and fired again. This time I took down the first two I aimed at and blew out the throat of a third.
It was time to see if I could pull off my video game defense. I sprinted for the stairs. I was halfway up when my heart felt like it exploded in my chest. I almost fell on my face from stopping so suddenly. They must have played the same game. At the top of the stairs, at least twenty faces appeared from the shadows.
I was screwed.
Dakota
By Todd Brown
Chapter 1
Seattle, Washington—Dakota wiped the rain from his eyes and ran a hand through the three days of growth that cast a shadow across his face. Inhaling deeply, Dakota sucked in an enormous blast of the cold, damp, morning air. The briskness succored his senses into fully awakening. He blinked a few times to clear his vision, although he couldn’t have dozed off for more than fifteen minutes. What I wouldn’t give for a cup of coffee, Dakota thought. Cold, dirty, and decaffeinated was no way to be at five o’clock in the bright and early. Glancing around, he corrected himself. It was dark and early.
Mornings like this personified everything that he loved about this city. Seattle, the Emerald City, where coffee was ingested more often than water. How you drank it, the brand, even the type of coffee-maker, were more important than the type of car you drove. Seattle, a city in which a convenient stretch of cloudy summer days proved ideal for scaring away visiting out-of-state types. More importantly, it kept most of those sun-loving Californians away. Those erratic summer storms were usually enough to do the trick. And if those occasionally sunless July days didn’t do it, the nearly constant chill from November to April sent them back to their places of origin where they would spin horrific tales of a dreary place, tucked back in the ominous woods. They would rant incessantly about a bunch of flannel-wearing, grunge rocking, caffeine freaks. That suited Dakota just fine.
Peering out from his place in the alley, Dakota felt that familiar and welcome tinge of excitement. Not, he imagined, too unlike that of the tiger waiting in the reeds of a water hole. This was Dakota’s water hole, the city of Seattle.
At first glance, Dakota looked like any other vagrant that hung around the fringe of Seattle’s City Center: dirty brown hair matted to his head, a tattered bandanna holding the damp locks out of his eyes. He wore an oil-stained field jacket that had been some shade of green at one time. It served not only to keep away the chilly morning air, but also managed to conceal his bulky frame. Closer inspection would reveal that Dakota possessed a rather muscular build. His height of just over six feet tall was masked by the way he now stood, slouched over and leaning
against the alley wall. The intimation of a beard, along with the grime that smudged his face, only increased his likelihood of being mistaken for a vagrant.
However, if someone took a closer look, the eyes would give him away. That was unlikely considering that most people preferred to ignore one of the nation’s most troubling epidemics. What they would see in those blazing amber eyes would belie the usually sad, sometimes angry, often empty gaze of the archetypal pan-handler. That emptiness was supplanted by a look of intensity that, at times, seemed to bore through your very soul. The compassion in those same eyes could cause you to expose your innermost thoughts. There was no trace of the bloodshot look of a wino. Instead, these eyes were crystal clear.
Dakota Cameron Riley was no pan-handler, nor was he homeless. He was an agent of the Seattle Narcotics Investigative Agency, under the direct supervision of the DEA; a division that he had belonged to for the past seven years.
After a three year stint in the United States Air Force as a military police officer, Dakota had returned home. Home was a modest two bedroom rambler in Des Moines, Washington, a suburb of Seattle. Using his service acquired G.I. Bill, he put himself through college. By sustaining a perfect grade-point-average, he had no problem gaining an appointment to the Police Academy.
Upon completion of his training, he was quickly recruited by the Des Moines Police Department. Hometown boy joins the local force made for good public relations. That was, until he issued his first citation…then he was just another cop.
Speeding tickets, along with the occasional DUI, quickly lost their thrill for him, and he soon settled into the daily grind of a police officer. September 18, 1990 would be the day that brought an abrupt halt to his ordinary life. On that day, a new door opened and Dakota stepped through it.
Dakota sat in his squad car as usual. He waited patiently for anyone who chose to exceed the posted speed limit of thirty-five miles per hour. He set up in a small cul-de-sac facing outward with his engine running. This position allowed him to monitor cars that came down the main access road to the local marina.