by Carl R. Cart
Our small party reformed, and slowly moved down the roadway. We began to pass abandoned vehicles, most in various stages of destruction and vandalism.
Dyson checked each before he passed them by. We walked easily along the blacktop. Since we could see the countryside around us for a good distance in all directions everyone relaxed a little. We made good progress. Just as my stomach told me it was lunch-time, we passed a sign that advertised the refueling station, up ahead.
The captain stopped us, and quickly explained his plan. “Sgt. Dyson and Robinson will go in and clear any hostiles, quietly,” he emphasized by dragging his finger across his throat. “Do not fire your weapons unless you absolutely have to. I will provide backup and assess the situation. Mr. Blythe will remain with you two,” he concluded, pointing to Keyes and myself.
Robinson’s ugly face split in a wide grin. He pulled his hatchet from his belt and eagerly thumbed the weapon’s edge.
Sgt. Dyson slung his rifle across his back, and pulled his silenced forty-five automatic.
We advanced slowly down the road, with Dyson and Robinson well in advance. A gravel pull-off led into the refueling station’s parking lot. The station itself consisted of two single story concrete block buildings, and a large metal garage building, its service bay doors open. Several large commercial trucks were parked nearby, and a smattering of civilian cars were scattered around the buildings, some neatly parked, others obviously abandoned in great haste.
As we entered the lot everyone donned their AVRs. Sgt. Dyson calmly walked to the left towards the block buildings. Robinson sprinted towards the trucks, and disappeared into the garage. The captain signaled us to stop, and slowly advanced into the compound’s center.
Almost immediately, an extremely decomposed zombie in a tattered set of bloodstained coveralls shuffled out from between two trucks, and advanced towards the captain, its claw-like hands outstretched to grab and rend.
The captain spun to meet its advance, but the zombie had only taken two shambling steps before Robinson’s hand axe twirled through the air and sank into the back of its head with a meaty thunk.
The zombie’s head literally exploded with the force of the blow; one of its eyes blew out of its socket in a spurt of greenish fluid. The undead target collapsed onto its knees, and slowly pitched forward to lie outstretched upon the gravel lot, a quivering mass of putrid flesh.
Robinson cautiously advanced, and stepping on his victim’s neck, yanked the dripping axe from the zombie’s shattered skull. He decapitated the zombie with two quick blows and kicked the severed, mangled head away from the body. Then he turned and moved back into the garage, one hand held before him, his axe held low in the other. Robinson scared me more than the zombies did.
A moment later he reemerged, and signaled that the garage was now clear. Dyson walked out of the first building and approached the captain. He held up three fingers, then pulled one across his throat. The three men stood talking for a moment, and then the captain signaled us forward.
We advanced into the compound’s lot. Keyes walked on the far side of Blythe, well away from the decapitated zombie, which was still feebly attempting to crawl towards us.
I noticed Sgt. Dyson was keeping an eye on its progress while he conferred with the others.
The captain watched the lot as we approached. He quickly issued orders. “Blythe, help Robinson dispose of the bodies. There is a cistern between the buildings.”
“Dyson, with me,” he added and turning to me said, “You two stay put.”
Robinson and Blythe systematically cleared the buildings. I watched in morbid fascination as each decapitated zombie was drug by its feet between the buildings and unceremoniously dumped into the cistern.
Blythe played a rude game of soccer by kicking the severed heads into the gaping hole and then gently closed the metal cover back over the cistern.
Finally, Robinson pushed a pair of fifty-gallon fuel drums into place on top, sealing the thrashing zombies into their watery tomb.
Sgt. Dyson emerged from the garage with a small sledgehammer. He knelt down beside the headless body in the parking lot, and shattered the zombie’s hip and shoulder joints with four quick blows. Still holding the hammer, he and the captain pulled the quivering body into the garage, and pinned it to a wooden work bench with four large screw drivers.
Keyes stood close beside me; she turned her head away and flinched with each blow. I assumed they were saving that zombie for me to examine. Finally, the grisly work of securing the station was done.
Dyson led us into the first building. It had been what passed for the station’s restaurant, and had a small kitchen in the back. The place was in complete disarray, and had obviously been looted.
The captain ran an appraising eye over the building’s interior. “This place was built to be secure from theft,” he stated, pointing to the metal door, and small, high-set windows. “If we post a look out on the roof, and lock up, we should be safe here temporarily. We all need to rest.”
I realized I had been running on adrenaline for almost thirty hours. We all had, with no sleep. I was exhausted.
The captain located an access hatch to the roof in the building’s mechanical closet. He propped a rickety ladder underneath and scrambled out onto the roof. He looked down and spoke. “Lock the place up and everyone get some sleep. I’ll come down in a couple of hours and switch out.” With that he lowered the hatch.
Sgt. Dyson moved through the building, locking doors and securing window latches. Everyone quickly cleared a space on the floor and spread out their sleeping bags. I shrugged off my shirt and boots, and stretched out. Although I could not imagine sleeping after so much excitement, I was out in a moment.
OPS ORD 14-1
SECURE ADDITIONAL SPECIMEN V73-3 VIRUS FOR FURTHER
EXAMINATION
V73-3 PROBABLE HAET-MOMBAU VIRUS, CONFIRMED AS PREVIOUSLY UNIDENTIFIED
ASSIST BARRY BY ALL MEANS POSSIBLE TO EXPIDITE RESEARCH
OTHER RECON TEAMS KIA OR MIA
PROCEED WITH EXTREME CAUTION
ORDERS END
Chapter 7
06:35 a.m. Zulu
Government Refueling Station
Central Africa
I awoke much later. It was dark, but I could see Blythe and Dyson sitting at a table nearby. A primus stove cast a dim red light upon their faces. They were talking softly. Dyson was smoking a cigarette and cleaning his pistol, which lay disassembled upon the table. Blythe was doing the same with his KGP-9. He noticed that I was awake. “Hey, Doc, we got some hot tea going here, and we found some bourbon. You want a cup?” he asked.
I didn’t normally drink tea, or bourbon, when I first woke up, but I decided to join them. “Sure,” I answered.
“Bring your pistol, Doc,” Dyson suggested.
“Which will it be, Doc?” Blythe asked, holding out an empty canteen cup.
“I’ll just have the tea,” I answered.
Blythe poured me a cup of tea as I sat down. I passed my gun to Sgt. Dyson. He quietly showed me how to break the firearm down, and clean and reassemble it. He did it the first time for me, then had me do it again myself while he watched. Eventually, I got the hang of it.
“We’ll make a merc out of you, yet,” Blythe laughed.
“I hope not,” I countered, laughing quietly.
I noticed that the captain and Keyes were still asleep. I assumed Robinson was on watch. “Should I go up and relieve Robinson?” I asked.
“Not necessary, Doc,” Dyson replied. “All the beauty sleep in the world ain’t going to help that butt-ugly SOB.” We all chuckled at that one.
The captain must have heard us talking; he got up and quietly slid into a chair at the table. “Things are secure here at the moment,” he said. “Dr. Barry, I want you to examine our friend in the garage. Maybe you’ll get through an autopsy without being interrupted.” He looked at Keyes. She was still asleep on the floor.
“Let her sleep, Captain,�
� I suggested. “I can do the basic work without her.”
The captain climbed the ladder and spoke to Robinson, alerting him to our plans. I grabbed my medical pack and the laptop computer, and followed Dyson and Blythe outside. The captain remained behind.
We quickly crossed the lot and walked inside the garage. Blythe shut the door behind us. Dyson rummaged through the garage and returned with a kerosene lantern that he lit and sat upon the workbench. “Yell if you need us, Doc,” he said. Blythe sat down at the door we had entered and Dyson moved to the rear. Both men peered out into the lot, watching for zombies.
I powered up the computer and connected it to the microscope. Then I donned my AVR and pulled on surgical gloves. I unrolled my field surgeon’s kit and selected my snips. Utilizing them, I quickly cut away the filthy coveralls from the twitching torso.
I immediately noticed that this zombie was in an advanced state of decomposition. Loops of rotten intestines and shriveled organs protruded from gaping holes in the abdominal wall and shredded skin. Sections of exposed bone shown whitely in the lantern’s light.
As before, I noticed that although damaged, most of the major muscle groups were intact. I opened the abdominal cavity and removed the stomach. It was shriveled and almost completely desiccated. I cut it open; inside were small pieces of undigested human tissue.
The stomach was not functional; no digestion was occurring after death. I had surmised this.
I split the breastbone and removed the heart. Laying it on the table, I halved it and held each piece up to the light. The organ was rotten, and the blood inside had dried to a crusty black paste; no circulation was possible.
I set my tools aside and pulled the electron microscope out of my pack. I sat it on the table and prepared slides from the heart, stomach and left bicep muscle. The slides from the heart and stomach were exactly as I had expected. Each slide revealed an advanced state of cellular degeneration, but within the same sample there were inconsistencies in the rate of decay. Some of the material was consistent with a tissue sample taken from a body that had been dead for a week or more, but other material within the same sample suggested a markedly more progressive rate of decay.
I wasn’t making any progress. I was about to change the slide when I decided to look closer; something was bothering me about the inconsistencies.
I began to notice small active bacteria colonies scattered amongst the cellular material. These colonies appeared to be digesting adjacent cellular materials at an astonishingly fast rate. I watched in amazement. The digested nutrients were then encapsulated and pushed through adjacent cell walls by what appeared to be specialized cells; a sort of carrier bacteria.
The zombies were being fueled by the cannibalization of their own bodies! Specialized bacteria were the secret to the zombie’s locomotive ability. I excitedly turned up the magnification of the electron microscope. The bacteria were magnified a thousand fold. Within each one was a virus. I moved the slide and more bacteria came into view, each with the same virus.
“Guys, I found it!” I yelled. “Blythe, get the captain.”
Blythe returned with the captain before I could do any further examination. I explained what I had found as the captain and Blythe peered through the microscope. “Do you know what this means, Captain?” I asked.
“Enlighten me,” he replied.
“Since the bacteria are digesting the zombie’s soft tissues to fuel the muscles and provide locomotion that means that the zombies have a limited life span. They will eventually be completely digested,” I concluded happily.
“How long will that take?” the captain asked.
My happiness was short lived. “I don’t know,” I answered. “I might be able to calculate the time if I could examine some sample cell cultures, but it also depends on a number of variables.”
“What kind of variables?” the captain asked.
“Things like the victim’s weight, sex, muscle mass, state of health and age before death; things like that. Plus, I don’t know the exact rate of the bacteria’s digestive processes, or how efficiently the nutrients can be transported or absorbed.”
“Damn,” the captain softly cursed. “If the zombies don’t eat you, why do they attack living people?”
“The virus causes that behavior in order to spread itself. The same thing happens with the rabies virus. It settles into an animal’s saliva glands and causes the host to froth at the mouth and become aggressive and bite. Viruses are amazing,” I concluded.
“Is that the virus?” Blythe queried as he looked into the microscope.
“Yes.” I replied. “I am one hundred percent certain that is the Haet-Mombou virus. It looks like the virus we could not identify earlier, V73-3.”
“So the virus is manipulating bacteria?” the captain asked.
“It seems so,” I replied. “But that isn’t the whole picture; it only explains how the zombies are capable of limited movement. We still don’t know much of anything about the virus itself.” I reached around Blythe to trigger the microscope’s camera, photographing the virus. The computer sent the new information to the Pentagon.
“Can we utilize this information to combat the zombies, or the virus?” the captain asked.
“Not yet,” I answered. “But it is a good start.” I inserted the last slide of muscle tissue and quickly examined it. As I had expected, the virus was present, along with the bacteria colonies.
I noticed that the bacteria were forming chains within the muscle tissue, replacing cells that were digested. That could explain the lesser rate of decay. I broke down my equipment and repacked it.
We left the garage and walked back to the main building. As we crossed the lot we could see Keyes and Robinson on the roof, they appeared to be arguing. Keyes was coming down the ladder as we entered.
She rushed across the room excitedly. “Did you find the virus?” she asked.
“I think so,” I replied. “I think I’ve figured out how the zombies operate.”
“So, we can leave now, right?” she prompted.
“No, I still don’t know how to formulate a vaccine,” I shot back.
The captain crossed to the mechanical room and yelled up to the roof. “Come on down Robinson. We are leaving.”
“Are you calling in the helicopter, Capt. Christopher?” Keyes asked.
“No, I’m not,” he replied. “We are going on to Gatou. I hope to reach the rain forest tonight.”
“But aren’t we safe here?” Keyes asked.
“We aren’t safe anywhere in Africa,” The captain explained. “Once we reach the forest, we will have to stick to the roads. It will be much more dangerous.”
“More dangerous!” Keyes shouted. She began to pace back and forth. “How much more fucking dangerous can it get?”
“Cool it, Keyes!” the captain commanded.
Robinson climbed down the ladder and entered the room. “You stupid cunt,” Robinson laughed. “Did you think this would be easy?”
“Shut up, you bastard!” Keyes shouted, her face reddening with anger.
Robinson taunted her further. “Women don’t belong in combat; they belong in the kitchen. Maybe you should stay here.”
Capt. Christopher bellowed, “That’s enough! Robinson, gear up!”
The captain grabbed his pack and pointed to Keyes’ equipment. “Ms. Keyes, get your shit together. Sgt. Dyson, we are leaving!” He snatched up the comm pack and shoved it into Keyes’ arms. He angrily pushed her ahead of him, towards the front door. “Blythe, Dr. Barry, grab your gear, now!”
We followed the commander out into the lot. “Gentlemen, your positions.” he suggested, sweeping his arm angrily in front of him. Sgt. Dyson walked ahead on point, Robinson and Blythe took the flanks. We left the refueling station behind, and struck out across country towards the rain forest.
The captain walked behind us. Keyes and I trudged along. I could tell Keyes was still very angry, and frightened. “I hope he dies here,” she grated
.
“Careful what you wish for,” I replied.
“I’m serious,” she spat back at me.
“I know, Keyes,” I offered. “But, those two assholes are half of what’s between you and me, and certain death. I don’t like Robinson any more than you do, and I don’t trust Blythe; but we need them.”
“I wish I had never come here,” Keyes sobbed. She began to cry softly.
“Hey,” I said, laying my hand on her arm. “It’ll be okay.”
“No, it won’t,” she replied. She pulled her arm away. “We’re all going to die here.” She walked ahead of me and didn’t look back. I let her go.
I thought about it and realized she might be right.
We walked on through the day; the heat was intense. By the time we had stopped to rest twice most of my water was gone. The rain forest came to us more than we traveled to it. Little by little, there were more trees, and less savannah. We stopped three times to avoid large groups of zombies. Sgt. Dyson would hurry back to us, and then lead the group around them. I dreaded sunset. We were all very tired and irritable.
Late in the afternoon the captain slowed us and moved ahead to find Dyson. We kept walking until we caught up to them. They were stopped in a small grove of trees, looking at an abandoned military truck on a dirt track ahead of us through binoculars. The truck was a large cargo hauler with oversized wheels and tires. Robinson and Blythe remained on the flanks to either side. The captain and the sergeant were quietly arguing as we approached.
“Do you think that thing will run?” Keyes asked excitedly.
The captain shot her an exasperated look. “That is just what we were discussing.”
“Look, Cap,” Dyson suggested. “Let’s at least take a closer look, it may be shot to Hell.”