by David Aslin
Ian moved quickly and grabbed another full mag from Jamal’s body and crossed the room to its one exit. He opened the door without hesitation, almost as if he welcomed death at this point. But, to his surprise there was no sign of anyone. Adding to his disorientation from what had just occurred his ears were still ringing from the rounds that he’d fired to create a passage from the duct-work into the laundry room.
Ian silently pondered as he exited the laundry, Maybe I should just find myself a comfortable corner and just take a seat. I’m so damn tired. Wait, Scout, he’s locked in the back of E’s truck. Hold on buddy ,hurricanes, bombs, zombies, and vampire special forces be damned; long as I’m breathing, I’m coming for ya, Scout, I‘m coming!
Ian powered by a revived reason to live, marched up the hallway that led from the laundry towards where, he hadn’t a clue. But he walked like a man with a mission. And his mission was to get to his sick dog as fast as he could. That very idea was even stronger motivation than the knowledge that E’s charges were set to detonate in mere minutes.
As Ian continued his rapid trek he encountered nothing. He surmised that the vast majority of the diseased were either on the other side of the prison, or worse, they’d like E had feared, had found a way to get outside of the prison walls. Leaving them access to the ferry and the people aboard which would be arriving at the island in just a few hours.
Ian passed by several offices when he spotted what he’d only hours ago had dared dream about. There it was, a sign above a door way that read:
STOP!
STAFF AND VISITORS - DEPARTURE BEYOND THIS POINT
IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED WITHOUT GUARDED ESCORT.
BEYOND THIS POINT YOU WILL BE EXITING TO
THE MAIN GATE AND FERRY DOCK/TERMINAL
NONCOMPLIANCE MAY BE SUBJECT TO
LEATHAL FORCE
After reading the sign Ian mused, Dear ladies and gentlemen, you will be escorted today by flesh eating Guards From Hell. We hope you had a nice visit with your homicidal lunatic friends and family. Did you get a chance to check out our lovely cafeteria? It’s a great place to grab a bite or be grabbed and bitten. God! get me out of this nightmarish hellhole.
Without confrontation Ian pushed open the door that led to a cyclone fence and razor-wire enclosure. There was one more guard station just before the main gate.
Ian quickly could see that there was no handle that opened the gate. It was strictly mechanical. He walked over to look inside the small guard station. In plain view was the master red colored rubber-capped button that had to be pushed to open the main gate. Ian readied himself to push the button and make a bee-line to the gate. He did just that, but to no avail. The gate would not let him through. Ian realized that the button had to be pushed at the very same time that one would push against the gate for it to open. Just one more security measure. Ian went back inside the guard station and looked all around for something that he could prop up against the button. But he could find nothing of sufficient height, or weight, to do the trick. The wall mounted button was located around three feet above a desk. After studying his predicament one more time, Ian realized the answer was in his hands. He placed his assault rifle against the button. He could hear the buzzing from the gate. His plan would work, but, it would mean that he must leave behind his primary firepower. But, the choice pretty much made itself.
Ian exited the main gate and ventured with flashlight in one hand and his 9mm pistol in the other, out into the dark night. Ian was thankful for one thing, the storm for the most part had passed. There was still some wind and rain but nothing of any consequence. As Ian got his bearings. He was confident that he was indeed heading in the right direction that would lead him back to the cemetery. And then back to the beach-head where they stashed the inflatable boat.
There were fallen trees, broken palm branches and torn away roofing tiles strewn all around. Fortunately the flashlight that he’d taken from the weapons locker was a good one. Even through all of the downed debris Ian could easily tell that he was on a well-traveled path.
He was nearly to the other side of the tiny Island when his feet nearly shook out from under him. The massive explosion that he’d been expecting just happened. It was even louder than he’d imagined it would be. The darkness of the night began to light up from the fires that the explosion created. But Ian didn’t look back, not even for an instant. He continued marching forward. Two smaller but still intense blasts, ensued. Those caught him a little off guard, but were of no real surprise.
Finally after trudging along the pathway for at least twenty minutes Ian spotted the large stone wall that surrounded the cemetery. Ian rapidly approached the entrance that would allow him to pass right through the cemetery and exit the other side, the most direct path that leads to the boat. But he suddenly came to an abrupt halt when he saw what was in front of him. Ian immediately turned off his flashlight. There were several zom’s milling around. Staring down at the recently disturbed earth and gravesites. To Ian, their behavior was almost like lost children trying to find their way home.
Ian switched back on his flashlight and began quietly walking outside the wall … he knew that he was still headed in the right direction. Every once and a while a branch would snap beneath his feet. Frightening him, as he worried that he’d given away his position to the flesh craving grave watchers.
Ian was now far past the cemetery. He knew he was getting close when he spotted where he and E had left the inflatable zodiac.
Ian quickly uncovered all of the debris from the boat and he after many rest periods managed to finally drag the boat to the water’s edge.
Ian began to drag the boat out into the now calm surf when he caught glimpse of a man staggering erratically up the beach towards him.
Ian shouted to the top of his lungs. “E! YOU MADE IT!” But the man didn’t answer, he just kept coming, closer. The man was now around thirty feet away when Ian shown his flashlight on him and could clearly make out that the man was bald, had only one arm, and was wearing the tattered to the extreme garments of an inmate. Ian instantly panicked. He knew too well the danger he was in, especially from this particular nightmarish sub-human
“FUCK ME!” Ian yelled out as he began franticly pushing the boat from shore against the tide. He worked as fast as he could to get the inflatable into deeper water but the going was slow… too slow.
The one armed man was getting closer by the second. The second Ian felt the boat was in deep enough water he managed with some strained effort to climb into the boat. He quickly made his way to the stern and immediately went through the required steps to fire-up the boats motor. But, upon hearing the motors propeller flopping against the surf, and the motor sounding louder than he knew it should… Ian realized that he’d neglected to drop the motor down into running position. The one armed zombie was almost to the boat when Ian managed to get the engine lowered. He grabbed an ore and started swinging it wildly at the one-armed decomposing assailant. After striking him a second time with full swing haymakers Ian dropped the ore and successfully throttled-up the boats motor. Ian quickly shifted the engine into reverse and gunned the throttle. The engine roared as it suddenly dropped him backwards off of his feet. Ian quickly recovered and set himself down just as waves began cresting the rear of the boat. Ian continued his efforts to force the boat to travel in reverse against the incoming tide. The boat began lunging up and down in protest of Ian’s dangerously forced maneuver. The zombie snatched and held fast onto the rope that encircled the outside of the inflatable craft. Ian managed to swing the boat about away from the Island and further throttled up the engine to full bore.
The retched cannibal flopped and bounced around violently body surfing alongside the boat. It appeared to Ian that his would-be assailant might never let go; or worse, the surf might bounce him right into the boat. Terrified of either prospect as he watched the relentless effort of the one-armed zombie hanging on that Ian remembered something Madam Zulie had said to him. But more i
mportantly, he remembered what she had given him. Ian removed from his shirt pocket a small one armed wax figurine. He tossed it into the sea. Almost instantly the one armed man let go of the rope. Due to the high speed the boat was traveling, the one armed zombie almost instantly faded from Ian’s sight left far behind in the blackness of the sea. Ian wasn’t certain for a moment whether he himself was alive or dead. He’d thought sure at one point that his heart had stopped as he thought, I sure as shit hope one armed zombies can’t swim. The tide is in his favor. God, don’t even go there. Of course he’ll drown, there is no way he can swim, not that far. Right?
All Ian wanted now was to put as much distance between himself and that Island as he could. That, and to get to Scout as fast as possible.
CHAPTER 27
REUNITED
The boat ride didn’t seem to take near as long heading back as it did getting to the Island with E. Maybe it was because the storm had stopped and this trip the boat made better time not having to fight the sea-swells. Or, maybe he was in shock so time didn’t really measure in his mind. Either way the sun was coming up as Ian pulled the boat up onto the shore back at the point of E and his departure.
Ian jumped out of the boat and ran up to E’s truck. But Ian was stunned to see that the back canopy door window had been broken open. And by the looks of all the glass around his feet, Ian quickly realized it had been broken from the inside out. Ian looked inside the trucks canopy and spotted bloody paw prints and deep scratch marks everywhere.
Ian was sickened by what he saw. Now too sad to even cry he thought to himself, E was right. He’s been right about everything all along. I was just too stupid to listen.
It was then that he heard what he’d feared to hear more than anything on Earth. Ian heard the deep growling of what could only be one thing as he slowly turned around from the back end of the truck.
“Wait. Scout, boy, it’s me. It’s Ian!”
For what was only a second or two Scout seemed to calm down. He seemed to recognize his master and friend. But those precious seconds didn’t last.
Scout like a wolf lowered his head. His eyes were that of a nightmare. He bared all of his teeth, as his mouth poured foamy drool. Now crying his eyes out Ian actually for a moment thought about letting Scout do him in. At least he might be able to hold onto his friend one last time that way. But then Ian realized that others might be infected and suffer the same fate. So he slowly pulled out his pistol and shaky handed, readied himself best he could.
“Come here boy, I love you, Scout!”
With his head poised down and his lips curled back, revealing much larger than normal canines. Scout dug the nails of his large paws into the ground. Baring all of his teeth he began growling fiercely, foaming at the mouth like a rabid, wolf. Then, all at once Scout let out an unearthly howl and in one powerful lunge, leaped directly at, Ian.
Three days later
Ian sat at the table beyond depressed. Beyond merely intoxicated as he thought to himself, They used me from the start. Clayton and his fucking vampire council. Shit, maybe before this, hell for all I know maybe Salizzar too, maybe it all was a set up, and I was the patsy, like Oswald. That’s it, I’m their goddamn Lee Harvey Oswald. Fuckers probably had Kennedy shot, an’ maybe Lincoln too. An’ God knows who else? They pull all the strings, and we’re there, I’m their puppet.
Ian looked up at the cocktail waitress from staring blurry-eyed at the newspaper that was strewn across his table, “Yeah sure, I’ll have another. Have ‘em make the next, the next one a real double. No more of this, more coke than booze, bullshit.” Ian blurted out to the cocktail waitress, slightly slurring his speech as he resumed his perfunctory skimming of the cover story of, The Times Picayune - daily newspaper.
DISASTER AT ISLAND PRISON
FORTERESSE BASTILLE JEAN-BAPTISTE LEMOYNE…
PENITENTIARY FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE
(ISLA MOUN KI MOURI)
Investigators are still trying to solve the mystery behind that massive explosion that occurred at, Isla Moun Ki Mouri prison hospital. Authorities’ say it may take weeks to identify by dental records all of the bodies including inmates, doctors, nurses, guards, and other support staff. To date, no survivors have been located…
“Okay, sir, but this is the last one we’re going to be able to serve you. Are you sure you wouldn’t like some food, or maybe a cup of coffee instead?” The waitress said trying to be as polite as she could.
Ian looked up at the waitress finding what she had just said to be somehow moronically humorous, he laughed a scoffing laugh as he replied, “Yeah, I’m sure, no food, no coffee. They might interrupt a perfectly good buzz. Don’t worry, I’m not driving, I’m taking a taxi back to my hotel, so you and the, you and the bars liquor license are not in any danger.” Ian scoffed as he continued, “Danger, you wouldn’t even know the meaning of the word. But you were in danger, deep shit, you and every other person on this god forsaken planet. But none a ya, nobody ‘el ever have a goddamn clue.” Ian glanced down once again at the newspaper as he said out loud. “No survivors. No shit! Goddamn zom’s were either blown to hell by the explosion, or, the council’s fang-toothed goon squad got the ones that, ah, fuck it! Nobody’s ever gonna know the truth about shit.”
“BUT I, I KNOW WHAT REALLY HAPPENED, GODDAMMIT!” Ian yelled out.
The cocktail waitress just shook her head as she turned to go and turn-in Ian’s drink request to the bar. But she suddenly paused and turned back around. She now could see that Ian was starting to sway in his chair besides being loud and belligerent.
“Cab or no cab, you’re done here sir. I can’t serve you any more drinks.” Ian looked up from staring intensely into his empty glass but not directly at the waitress, as though he wasn’t exactly certain of where she was standing, and he wasn’t, as he replied, “So you’re telling me I’ve been eighty-sixed. I’ve been cut-off from a bar in New fucking Orleans. Well, that’s gotta be a first. I should get my name on a goddamn plaque ‘er something for such a moment! A momentous occasion. Cut off in New Orleans now that’s a joke. Fuck’n jokes on me.” Ian silently brooded, I should have gone ahead and blew my brains out back at, Winchester Bay. At least it would have been my decision. Yeah, boy, they’d love it if I’d off myself now. Save them the trouble, no loose ends. Well, I ain’t gonna give ‘em the satisfaction. They want me dead, then bring it on mother fuckers. Ian suddenly shouted out, “BRING IT ON!”
Ian started to stand up but then unintentionally instantly plopped back down in his chair. The cocktail waitress who had, had more than her fill of Ian suddenly took a little pity on him. “Sir, can I call you a cab?”
Ian managed on his second attempt to stand up from his chair. “Nope. Not necessary. I’ve got places to go, and no people to see.” Ian suddenly looked directly into the eyes of the cocktail waitress as he spoke in a broken voice as tears began to well up in his eyes. “My wife and daughter are dead. They killed my dog. My newest friend, well, more of an acquaint, an acquaint ten… ance. Anyway, he’s dead, everyone’s dead. I wish, I wish, I was too. God Zoey, come save me!” Ian then turned and began to stagger slightly as he walked across the place which was nearly empty; it was still way too early for the nightly Bourbon Street crowds. He then stood for a second at the front door, gazing outside, he thought to himself, as he noticed that it had turned into a beautiful day, not a cloud in sight, “So this is the proverbial calm, after the storm. What the hells does it matter, there’s always another shit storm coming.”
Ian began walking up Bourbon Street when the effects of all the booze really started to kick into high gear. Just minutes ago he was serious about finding himself another bar but things were starting to spin so he decided to hail a taxi. Ian made his way to a cross street that looked to him to be a good place to hail a cab. He stood for a moment attempting to focus on the passing of a horse drawn carriage tour as he silently mused, Perfect! Just what the doctor ordered for my headache, gibberish squawking, cam
era-clicking, tourists. Ian scoffed as he proclaimed loudly towards the carriage, “Oh, Driver, take me to my hotel, or back to merry ole England with the lot of ya. Piccadilly Circus, now there’s a place a man can get a drink!”
Ian stepped a little closer to the curb; just as he’d positioned himself at the very curbs edge hoping to be easily seen by the occasional passing taxi; a young boy around ten, by Ian’s best estimation, walked up to him, “Excuse me sir. This is for you.” The boy held out a small white envelope. Ian strained to focus first on the boy, but then on what the boy was trying to hand him. Ian though reluctant, reached forward towards the boy with his right hand and accepted the envelope. The moment the envelope was in Ian’s hand, the boy took off running and then darted down a nearby ally. He’d darted off so fast out of sight, that to Ian’s blurry mind, it was almost like the boy baring the envelope had never been. And Ian might have even believed the boy to have been an alcohol induced hallucination, if it weren’t for the empirical evidence the boy left behind.
Ian stood swaying like a willow in the wind, as he opened the envelope. He accidentally dropped the envelop, but managed to hold fast to its content, which was even in Ian’s heavily inebriated state, a plain white business card. It was blank on the side he first strained his bloodshot eyes to examine. But then he turned the card over. The card merely bore one letter of the alphabet, “E.”
Even in Ian’s present highly intoxicated condition, he knew what this card meant; and at that notion even in his present rapidly growing deep depression, he couldn’t help himself but grin.
Ian reached into his pants and retrieved his wallet to file the one letter business card away for posterity, he fumbled and dropped both his wallet and the card. The wallet toppled a few feet out into the street.
Without paying attention to anything else, Ian stepped off the curb and began making his way to his wallet. It never occurred to him that he wasn’t anywhere near a crosswalk. It never occurred to him that this was a major traffic area. And, it certainly never occurred to Ian that a delivery truck had just pulled around the corner, and its driver had spotted him too late to do anything other than slam-on his brakes; but in doing so caused the truck to jack-knife and head out of control directly for a bent over drunk in the road.