Recovery: V Plague Book 8

by Dirk Patton

  I scanned to the left as he checked the right. Still no threats. The area was small, hard benches with steel rings for securing handcuffs lined the perimeter. There was an interior wall that looked like it was reinforced, solid up to five feet then ballistic glass with wire mesh the rest of the way to the ceiling. A wide door stood open a few inches, the glass reflecting our lights so we couldn’t see what was beyond.

  There were dried splashes of blood on the walls and floor, the once shiny tile littered with shell casings. Someone had fought back here. Katie and Martinez followed us into the room and would stay here to make sure nothing came in behind and surprised us.

  I gestured at the door and Crawford and I stacked up and repeated. Moving through the opening we found ourselves in a long hallway with several rooms down either side. It ended at a steel and reinforced glass door, which was also partially open. Dog, at my side, growled as we stepped into the hall. I glanced at the Colonel to make sure he understood the significance and he nodded back.

  Moving slow and quiet we approached the first door. It wasn’t actually a door, just an opening in the wall that let into a small room. An infected male wearing a filthy guard uniform was bumping around behind an “L” shaped bench, unable to find a way out. A round to his head ended his efforts. The rest of the room was clear.

  The second opening was to a short hall that stopped at a heavy door with another reinforced glass window. The door was locked but peering through the glass I could see into what looked like the part of the building set aside for the police.

  Continuing, I shot two more males dressed like guards before we finished clearing all of the rooms in the hallway. As we approached the door at the end of the hall the smell got much worse and Dog emitted a long growl. This time I didn’t need his ears and nose to tell me there were infected ahead. I could hear the low hissing and growling of males.

  We passed through the door into the main jail area. It was two stories as I’d suspected from the outside. There was a large central area that was open all the way up to a high ceiling, three of the four walls lined with barred cells. The second level was more cells with a narrow walkway running the perimeter. A set of iron stairs immediately to my left served as access to the upper level.

  Skylights set in the ceiling lit the area. It wasn’t exactly bright, but bright enough that I didn’t need the flashlight. Clicking it off to save the battery I kept scanning the area. The sounds of the infected were all around us but there wasn’t any movement. Stepping to the row of cells on my right I turned the light on and aimed it through the iron bars.

  An infected male, wearing an orange jumpsuit, stood in the back corner of the small space. A body dressed the same lay on its back in the middle of the floor. It had been torn open, the internal organs feasted on. What a hell of a way to go, locked in with no escape when your cellmate turns.

  I glanced at the Colonel who just shook his head then made another scan of the area. Not seeing any infected outside the cells I didn’t have the desire to go look at all the poor souls who’d been locked up when they or their cellmate turned. It must have been horrible in all the prisons and jails throughout the world. We moved back into the hall, staying quiet.

  Leading the way, I took us back to where Katie and Martinez were waiting. I called over the radio before we reached them, letting them know we were about to step through the door. They had taken up positions on opposite sides of the room, rifles trained on the exterior entrance.

  I had an idea of how to get through the door into the police station, but we hadn’t checked the public entrance to the building. Maybe it was unlocked and we could just walk in. Stepping back out into the morning sun, all of us headed for the front corner of the building. Pausing when I reached it, I stuck my head around to survey the area.

  The gate was still closed and there were now close to a dozen males and three females pressing up against it. I wasn’t concerned about the males. I was a little worried that when we showed ourselves the females would quickly figure out how to slide it open. Not that there were enough of them to really present a threat, but I didn’t know how many more were in the area and would show up if they began screaming.

  Making my decision, I signaled for my group to hold in place. Dropping to a knee I brought the rifle up and quickly dispatched the three females. When the last one fell I stood and started to lead the way but stopped and turned back.

  “Martinez. Stay here at the corner and keep an eye on that side door we just came out of. Be sure you can see us, too. If we can get in through the front I’ll call you.” I didn’t want to leave access to the jail area unwatched and have to clear the whole area again. She nodded and stepped a few yards away from the corner so she could see both directions.

  Moving quickly to the front entrance I tried to peer through the glass doors. The sun was too bright and all I could see was my own reflection. Pulling on the handle, the door opened easily. I looked through and didn’t need to go any farther. Heavy steel shutters that rolled down from the ceiling were in place, completely sealing off this way into the building. If the Bradley had been there it wouldn’t have been hard to breach, but...

  “Coming back to you,” I called to Martinez and let the door swing closed.

  Back at the corner I explained what I wanted to do. All of us were going to move back into the prisoner reception area. Katie, Dog and Martinez would keep watch on our rear. Crawford and I would force our way through the door into the police station.

  Back inside I took a few minutes to search the different work areas until I found some duct tape. I had expected it to be there. I doubted there were many military, police or fire facilities that didn’t have at least one roll of the damn indispensible stuff rattling around.

  Going to the small hall that led to the door I needed to break through, the Colonel took up station out in the main corridor to guard our backs. Not that we hadn’t cleared the area but we hadn’t checked every nook and cranny. There could well be infected loose in the building that we hadn’t found in our cursory inspection.

  Tearing off a long strip of tape I secured my last fragmentation grenade directly over the heavy-duty deadbolt. I stood there looking at the door for a moment, concerned that it might be strong enough to withstand the blast. I needed something to focus the energy towards the lock and prevent it from freely expanding away from what I wanted to destroy.

  Back in the hall I motioned for Crawford to stay put and stepped into one of the other small rooms. This one appeared to have been used for fingerprinting incoming prisoners and the sparse furniture was large and heavy. Grasping the top of a solid looking file cabinet I tried to tilt it away from the wall. I could barely move it. Perfect. If I could just get it out of this room, across the hall and into position.

  Waving Colonel Crawford in with me, I quickly explained what I was doing. He nodded, made a quick check of the hall before slinging his rifle, then helped me tilt and lift the cabinet. This wasn’t one of the cheap, thin walled units you see in many offices. It was constructed of heavy gauge steel and had a long locking hasp running its full height. An iron rod could be dropped through the hasp and padlocked, securing all of the drawers. Once locked, you pretty much needed a cutting torch or explosives to get it open.

  The damn thing weighed a ton, or felt like it did, and by the time we carried it ten yards and got it in position both of us were panting and sweating. Stepping back, I was happy with the results. We had shoved the edge of the cabinet against the body of the grenade and it would do a good job of concentrating the explosive force onto the deadbolt.

  I waited until Crawford was back out in the main hall, safe around the corner before reaching behind the file cabinet and yanking the pin out of the grenade. I turned and ran to join him.

  “Fire in the hole!” I alerted Martinez over the radio as I turned the corner.

  The grenade detonated with a bass thump I felt in my chest and the soles of my feet. The solid door and heavy file cabinet had muted
much of the blast, exactly as I’d hoped. Stepping back into the short hall I couldn’t see much because of the dust and debris floating in the air.

  I was heading forward to see if my idea had worked when the Colonel called out to me.

  “Major, you should come hear this.”

  I joined him, looking in the direction he was facing. I didn’t hear anything at first and started to ask what he was referring to, then held my breath when I heard it.

  “Help! Help me! Who’s out there? Help!” The voice was coming from the area with all of the cells.

  16

  “What the fuck?” I said, Crawford and I exchanging glances.

  “Someone’s alive,” he said.

  I almost said something really sarcastic and mildly disrespectful about him being Captain Obvious then remembered he was a Colonel and I was a Major. Biting my tongue I shook my head.

  “If that door is breached we need to clear the police station first,” I said. “Make sure we didn’t just release a whole bunch of infected.”

  “Agreed,” he said and we slowly turned into the smaller hall. Behind us the man kept crying out for help.

  The dust was clearing and I could see the heavy file cabinet lying on its side, a large rent torn through the thick steel. The deadbolt had been punched out of the door, leaving a nice hole. We dragged the cabinet out of the way and lights on, carefully pulled the door open.

  The explosion had warped it and it took some force to swing it far enough to pass through. Two infected males greeted us, both wearing torn and soiled Oklahoma State Police uniforms. I was in front and shot them both.

  We were in a wide hallway with several closed doors. Ahead I could see that it opened into a large space filled with cubicles. A long, chest high counter ran the width of the space, restricting access from the public area just inside the glass doors that were covered with the metal shutters.

  I tried the knob on the first room we came to, finding it locked. This was a wooden door with a standard commercial handle and I blasted it free with a burst from my rifle. Kicking it open, I scanned but the space wasn’t occupied. It was only a storage closet.

  We gained access to the next room in the same manner, finding the station’s armory. A row of M4 rifles lined one wall. Shotguns, pistols and a couple of bolt-action sniper rifles were racked on the other. A large cabinet occupied the wall farthest from the door and I stepped in and pulled it open. It was stuffed full of ammo. Lots of pistol and shotgun, but there were several thousand rounds of 5.56 mm for the rifles. I’d come back for it.

  The next room held an infected male and a body. It looked like the station commander’s office. I shot the male and pulled the door closed.

  Closest to the cubicles was a large room with tables and chairs arranged to face a small, tabletop podium. Most likely a training and briefing room. It was vacant. Behind the table was a small closet and I pulled it open carefully, standing well back with my rifle up. But there weren’t any infected, only a pegboard with several sets of keys hanging on it. Bingo!

  I grabbed all the keys and shoved them into the empty pouches on my vest that normally held grenades. Tucked in the far corner of the closet was a lightweight, wheeled hand truck. It was folded up and probably used to more easily move boxes of files. I grabbed it and carried it out to the hall where Crawford was waiting for me.

  On our way back to the jail section I stopped and checked all of the dead cops, looking for keys. I found several sets and discarded the ones that were obviously for personal vehicles. Pausing at the armory I unfolded the hand truck and loaded it down with five cases of rifle ammo, then balanced three of the rifles on top. You can never have too much ammo or be too well armed.

  Moving back through the damaged door I tugged the cart over the debris on the floor, then turned and headed for where Katie, Dog and Martinez waited. Dog was happy to see me, giving the stack of loot a good sniff.

  “Seeing you walking in with enough guns and ammo to start a small war brings back memories,” Katie said from the far side of the room. I just shook my head.

  “There’s someone alive back there,” Crawford said, bringing surprised looks to both women.

  “How?” Martinez asked. “I thought enough time had passed that if you weren’t vaccinated you would have turned.”

  “Me, too,” I said, parking the cart by the exit. “We’re going to go take a look.”

  “Careful,” Katie said.

  I nodded and led the way back toward the cells. The man had stopped calling out and for a moment I wondered if we had imagined it, then dismissed that thought as ridiculous. Maybe one of us, but not both.

  Stepping through the last door we stopped next to the iron stairs that led to the second level. Everything looked the same, but the infected locked in the cells were agitated. Well, if there had been any loose they would have homed in on the yelling and we’d be able to see them.

  “Hello?” I raised my voice.

  “Hello! Up here! Help me!” I looked up at the second level and could see a frantically waving arm sticking out between the bars of a cell at the far corner.

  The Colonel and I slowly climbed the stairs, metal treads ringing under the soles of our boots. When the man heard us on the steps he stopped waving his arm and fell quiet. The infected didn’t, their hisses and moans sending chills down my spine.

  At the top we turned right and moved along the elevated walkway. To our right was an iron safety rail painted bilious green. It was all that prevented a fall to the smooth concrete floor below. To our left were the cells. Each was six feet wide and maybe ten deep. Two stacked bunks were on one wall, a small toilet-sink combo in the back corner opposite the beds. The openings were covered with heavy, iron bars that were thick with old paint.

  Every cell held at least one infected, some of them occupied by two. We had to hug the safety rail to avoid the grasp of the males who were shoving their arms through the bars, trying to reach us. Many of the ones with a lone infected also held a rotting corpse that the infected had been feeding on.

  The smell was horrible and brought back memories of an operation years ago when I’d been part of a unit that was sent in to stop a genocidal dictator in a shithole country in an even shittier part of the world. Our first day on the ground we came across a mass grave that was still open and this was the closest to that throat constricting, bile inducing stench I’d encountered since.

  Reaching the cell where the arm had been waving, I aimed my rifle in so the flashlight shone on the occupant. He was a small man, not much more then five foot eight or nine and slight of build. In his late 30s or early 40s he had a pasty white complexion and dirty hair down to his shoulders. He stood there staring back at me, blinking in the light.

  I moved the rifle around, checking the rest of the cell, pausing when I saw a body tucked under the bottom bunk. The man turned his head to see what I was looking at.

  “He was infected,” he said. “The guards were gonna let us out. Let us take our chances rather than die locked up like animals, but they turned before that happened.”

  “How long ago?” I asked, moving the light back to his face.

  “Four days,” he said. “I’ve been drinking the water out of the toilet and pissing and shitting in the corner. Thank God you’re here. Are you the Army? Please get me out of here.”

  “Why isn’t he infected?” Crawford asked me as if the man wasn’t standing there.

  “How long have you been locked up?” Crawford asked the man when I didn’t respond.

  “Just before the attacks, however long that’s been. Come on. Get me the fuck out of here. Please!”

  “Can’t have been vaccinated,” I said to Crawford. “What do you want to do with him?”

  “What’s your name?” Crawford asked him.

  “Walker. Johnnie Ray Walker. My friends call me JR,” he said.

  “And why are you in here, Mr. Walker?” Crawford asked. “And before you answer, you’d damn well better tell me th
e truth. I’m going to go check the files and if you lie to me I will leave you in there to rot. Do you understand?”

  “Yes sir, I understand. I got caught with a bunch of guns that didn’t belong to me.” He didn’t hesitate or try to explain.

  “I’ll be back,” Crawford said and motioned me to follow him.

  We walked back down the balcony, staying well away from the cell bars and clanged down the stairs into the hallway.

  “What are you going to do with him?” I asked.

  “Don’t know yet,” the Colonel said. “First things first. Let’s get you on the road then the Captain and I will see what we can find out about Mr. Walker in the files while we’re waiting for Scott to arrive.”

  “You realize he just might be immune,” I said. “If he is they’ll want him in Seattle.”

  “Already thought about that. If he is, he just became the most important man on the planet. But I think it’s more likely he just hasn’t turned yet.”

  17

  The night passed slowly. Rachel and Bill had heard the wolves several times, but as each of the howls floated through the air it sounded a good distance away. They were unable to sleep, shivering as the wind continued to strengthen and the temperature dropped. Sometime in the middle of the night Bill had piled several larger branches on the fire and built it up until they had to move back to keep from being burned. But it provided heat. Enough that they survived.

  The day brightened slowly, a low layer of steel grey clouds pressing down over their heads. There was no sunrise, just a steady increase in the light. Returning from relieving herself behind a large tree, Rachel looked up at the sky. To the north the clouds were even heavier, the bottoms appearing swollen and dark. In the south, where she was from, that would mean a hell of a rainstorm was approaching. With the temperature of the wind blowing in her face she was afraid they were about to get a lot of snow.