Dead and Dead Again: Kansas City Quarantine

by Dalton Wolf

  “I think they’re going to do that anyway.”

  “And I’ll be here too, right where you’re leading them.”

  “Right. Just be quiet until we pass and then run down the street behind them.”

  “They’ll be going right past me. What if you make them follow you up this way?” She pointed further up the street past the gas station.

  “You’ll still be up here and they’ll go right by.”

  “No, I’ll be all the way over there in Davis Park,” she pointed at the park across the street. Sarah loved that little park and the history behind it. The park was established to honor the Kansas City Missouri mayor who had led the push to build KC International Airport as well as Truman Sports Complex, which housed both Arrowhead and Kauffman stadiums. Most Kansas Citians had never even heard of the man, but they did enjoy this stretch of plush green grass running from street to street, small trees lining the edges and a broad sidewalk perimeter.

  “I didn’t know it had a name,” Trip commented lamely.

  “Every park has a name, and a story behind the name. But that’s not important now. You guys can have them chase you down the street, just like you said, then leave them here and cross over there and come back through the park the same way I’m going to. By that time I’ll hopefully be able to cover you from the terrace above the doors.”

  “Told you she was smart,” Trip grinned fondly and nodded at her.

  The doctor’s bushy gray eyebrows rose in speculation. “That actually sounds like it might work.”

  They backtracked to check out the street to the west on the far side of the park to make sure there were no surprises approaching from that direction. The trio then rounded the building and carefully checked the south side to make sure it had remained clear. This was where they would be leading the dead, so it was important to ensure they wouldn’t be running into a crossfire, more of a cross-shuffle in this particular case.

  Impatiently waiting for Sarah to cross the street and give them a signal from safely behind the park bench, both men snuck forward to where they could see the Infected stumbling around in front of the target building.

  There was a fly-covered mass of something on the ground that indicated the Zombies had, indeed, chased something and caught it just in front of the building. Only instead of turning it into a zombie, they had completely eaten it. Trip wondered what the parameters for changing or eating were, and why the dead then remained in the area walking about in circles. Both men filed this information away for future use. Almost twenty of the Infected meandered aimlessly about and Sarah indicated with her fingers that there were another twelve further up the street, out of their line of sight.

  “Ready, Doc?”

  “Yes, sir. I hope there are no children. I don’t think I can deal with that.”

  “I didn’t see any. That was the first thing I looked for. I’m not ready for that, either…you know, old man, you could sit over there in the park with Sarah and cover me while I run around.”

  “I’ve seen you run, kid. I think it would be better if you sat across the street covering me while I do the running.”

  “But I can’t really shoot very well and you’ve had proper training.”

  “So I guess we have the best plan in place already.”

  “Ok. On three?” Trip asked.

  “No. Let’s just go.”

  Dr. MacGreggor stepped out and fired into the group of zombies. The pair had fired only six shots before all of the Infected were chasing them.

  Chase was perhaps a strong word. Pursue was closer. Amble was the word Tripper chose to use in his mind. Other than the very speedy four they shot first, the rest of the dead ambled along behind at a much slower pace than all earlier Infected had moved. They were still zombies, however, and you don’t want zombies getting close to you, so the pair of gunmen made sure to keep a good cushion between themselves and the slavering, walking corpses. They took out the fastest first so, collectively, the horde became slower as time went on.

  “I think you need to work on your math skills,” the doctor grumbled. “There are a lot more than twenty. More like forty.”

  “I thought I said a few dozen. That’s thirty-six, pretty close to forty.”

  “Hngh,” the doctor let out a non-committal grunt.

  The pair retreated backwards at a half-jog, trying to take as many as they could out as they went, but it is very hard to shoot and hit something when moving. They did have the undivided attention of what were almost undeniably walking corpses, however, and that was the plan.

  Sarah remained hidden, peeking over her favorite bench until the last dead guy was fully committed to chasing her boyfriend. With a glance and a prayer to the sky and a deep breath of flowers and freshly mown grass, she charged from cover, diagonally and across the street to her building. As she moved, she followed the two men with her eyes and realized she couldn’t just stand by and watch. When she reached the corner of her building, she paused and raised her gun, planning to shoot the remaining zombies from behind. She had a great angle, but a sound from well up the street drew her eyes and she checked her fire, instead moving her aim to this new threat. It was a car, and that meant a live person. Zombies couldn’t drive, could they? Zombies with Driver’s Licenses was something she did not want to think about. She couldn’t see much except that the car was moving erratically.

  At least there are some other people out there, she thought, relieved.

  “There’s a car coming from up the street!” Sarah screamed to the fleeing men. The fear tightened in her throat, forcing out the shriek of a Harpy diving on its prey rather than an alert warning from a concerned girlfriend. Thankfully, none of the Zombies turned at her shrill cry. Hmm, maybe they’re not attracted by sound like in the movies, she thought optimistically.

  Sliding into the side entrance of her building put her out of sight of the zombies and out of the path of the approaching vehicle, but still able to view men as they trekked backwards, away from her along the sidewalk towards the car. The terrace would have given a great view to either side of the building and of the park across the street, but she wouldn’t have been able to see up the street where the boys were running. She waited below in case they needed her.

  The pair of men, both carefully jogging backwards away from the Infected, took a moment to glance back and observe the approaching vehicle. Still several blocks up the street, the car appeared to be a classic 70’s Chevelle, rust-red with grey primer marks scattered about the hood. Trip noticed the classic ‘floating’ over every dip in the road indicating a dire need of new shocks or springs.

  “Let’s stop here and hold our ground,” he prodded the older man with an elbow, hoping to get a little help from the driver. The doctor nodded, stopped and for the first time he set the case aside, next to the building, though not quite leaning it up against the concrete. Both men then stepped back to the edge of the sidewalk, taking careful aim into the crowd of approaching Infected.

  “Nice shooting, Doc!” Trip commended the man, hoping the older man couldn’t hear the revulsion and fear, or the constant retching he was trying so hard to suppress.

  “Yes, I thought I’d be out of practice,” the doctor agreed. “Try to take more time and hold your breath before you fire,” he offered.

  Trip tried this and scored a tall, skinny Chiefs fan with one shot, though his eyes teared up as the wasted corpse sprayed blood over the shuffling gang behind it and then spilled a minor lake of blackened ichor when the body slumped to the warm pavement. But it stayed down. And that was something. It was ripping him apart to not only be killing people, fellow Kansas Citians, but also that they were his fellow fans. These were people who had cheered his favorite teams on and stood side-by-side shouting “Home of the Chiefs” at the end of the National Anthem. He had probably stood in line for food or tickets or over bathroom trough next to some of them.

  “They seem to get slower the further they go,” the doctor mentioned casually as he to
ok aim at his sixth target.

  Looking up the street, Trip noticed Sarah’s head peaking out of the side entrance.

  “Damnit!” he shouted angrily. “Get inside the building, Babe!” Then he tried to signal the driver of the car to swerve into the zombies, but paused when he got a closer look. “Uh-oh.”

  The driver’s blue-capped head slumped drunkenly over the wheel and the rumbling car gunned full-throttle towards them, weaving nearly as badly as Trip had earlier. For just a moment it seemed as if they were going to be ok as the car veered to the park side of the street. But just as Trip took the breath he was going to turn into a sigh of relief, it swerved back and jumped the curb, careening down the sidewalk straight at the pair of shooters and the shuffling crowd of Zombies.

  “Move!” Sarah shouted from her protective alcove.

  “Get inside!” Trip shouted back without looking as he grabbed the doctor and pulled for his life out of the path of the out-of-control classic car just as it slammed into the crowd of Zombies, bowling them down like the rolled ball does its wooden targets.

  “The case!” the doctor screamed in horror, his free hand stretched out in futility as Tripper dragged him in the opposite direction. The silver case disappeared under the body of the racing vehicle as it barreled past, and when it had passed, the case was gone. Sparks from the skidding container sprayed from under the bumper as the car continued past Sarah, its dual-exhaust thundering down towards the river and over the bridge at the bottom of the hill.

  “Shit!” Trip hissed. “Nothing we can do now, Doc. We’ll have to wait ‘til the cavalry arrives.”

  Their emotions much lower than a few moments ago, the men dashed across the street and edged north, shooting the remaining dead as they went.

  “This is a fucking Greek Tragedy,” Trip spat.

  “And it is getting worse,” the doctor pointed down the street where the car had headed. Car and case barreled across The Heart of America Bridge, bouncing from rail to rail as it crossed, eventually disappearing from view after it crossed the arch of the bridge and moved off onto Burlington. Adding to their newfound depression, another group of dead rounded the corner and began ambling up the street towards them.

  “OK! I’m in. I’m on the balcony!” Sarah called, unable to see them from her position. “If you can break through, I can cover you!”

  Trip stepped out and waved up to her, so she could see they’d already crossed the street to the building and all three humans started head-shooting the remaining Zombies. Twelve shots later the street was once again quiet. Trip and the doctor stared in forlorn despair past the approaching dozen zombies at the empty bridge. Tripper placed a hand on the doctor’s shoulder and squeezed.

  “Hey, it’s all guard rails and then nothing but solid buildings down there, Doc. That guy ain’t gonna last long. The case will still be there waiting for us later.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Is it absolutely necessary?”

  “It would speed up the process. I need samples of the original virus to mix other agents to determine what caused the progression.”

  “Can you clone something from scratch?”

  “I don’t know. I have all of the data from the source on a disk here. We confiscated it from the lab where it was developed. I won’t know until I get there and see what is on the disc.”

  “Where’s there?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You said ‘until I get there’,” Tripper reminded him. “Where is there?”

  “Oh. Protocol says I go to the National Bio and Agro Defense Facility. It’s the closest facility to here.”

  “You mean the Biosecurity Research Institute in Manhattan Kansas?”

  “It is the same place, yes.”

  “I thought that facility wasn’t finished yet…I mean how could it be, they just started construction a few months ago?”

  “That’s just the above ground facility.”

  “What?”

  “That’s just the new parts.”

  “What new parts?”

  “The stuff for show. Construction on the underground facilities began six years ago. The main structure has been completed for two years and newer sections will be added over several decades, I imagine.”

  “Didn’t they need Congressional approval or something for that place?”

  “That was just for the funding. But you might have noticed that when National Security is at stake, the government moves first and worries about funding later.”

  “So you appropriated the money from elsewhere?”

  “You’re most astute for a stoner, Mr. Tripper,” the doctor commented.

  Trip looked over in shock. “How’d you—?”

  “You are about to lose your baggie,” the doctor nodded suggestively at Trip’s left pocket.

  Trip reached down and tucked El Supremo back in with a silent whew.

  “Don’t worry. I was just kidding about the stoner crack. I judge each person as I meet them, by their deeds. You have proven your worth to me a dozen times already.

  “Thanks, Doc. Your shooting has done that for me.” He paused and grinned.

  “Let’s get inside.”

  “Wait, Sarah should have a great view of the surrounding area from the balcony. Is it clear?” he shouted around the corner and across the street.

  “Still clear!” She called back. “Hurry, there are faster ones approaching from several blocks to the west. A lot of them.”

  “They should mix well with the ones coming from the south,” Trip replied, and the two men looked west to see what she was talking about.

  “Are we sure those aren’t people people?” Tripper asked with some hesitation.

  “Two of the ones in front are missing arms. If they’re not Infected yet, they will be shortly…maybe”

  It looked like a race. Some kind of sick, surreal Marathon where the prize wasn’t some blue ribbon, or even the knowledge of having finished the near impossible. No, the prize in this race was food. Flesh. Human flesh. Those approaching Infected weren’t quiet like the others, either. Moving at a slow jog, they moaned and hooted, braying like a pack of hunting dogs—a pack of really lazy hunting dogs.

  “What the…” Trip started, but realized they could investigate better from safety. “Follow me,” he nudged the doctor.

  “The doors are right here,” the doctor pointed.

  “No, that’s just the side entrance. She’s locked it already.”

  The pair edged along the building, a classical two-story white-stone structure with windows six feet up running at eight foot intervals with a carved face over each one. Along the sidewalk at street level the building was peppered with squat windows with glass too thick to see clearly into and each protected with heavy iron bars bolted firmly into the walls. Upon reaching the front doors, they slowed and the doctor affectionately eyed a pair of iron sconces book-ending the opening of the entryway, appreciating the class it took to inset little flower gardens into the sidewalk on either side. A glance above revealed Mozart Insurance Company on a black sign with brilliant gold letters. Just below that a more permanent ‘Library’ had been carved into the original surface of the gracefully aging structure. The doctor noticed a movement further up and his eyes moved to see Sarah waving down from the carved marble fence of the terrace. The terrace itself was set within the confines of the structure, just above the entrance, not protruding over the sidewalk or street, but still affording a clear view of either side from the tables lining the rail.

  “Yes, I do believe this will do,” the doctor nodded appreciatively.

  “Right?” Trip asked. “Good job, Babe. I wouldn’t have ever thought of it. Great place to dig in and call for help.”

  She smiled down briefly and then looked down the street, a dark, brooding shadow creeping across her brow. Tripper noticed the tell-tale shudder as her spine told her bad things were coming. Only this time they could all see it coming.

  Crap, his mind muttered. With on
e long, lingering look down the street at the approaching horde of Infected, the two men stepped between the high carved columns that guarded either side of the large arching entryway. Trip paused and reached into the shadows, swinging a large black iron gate shut like a portcullis. The deep, heavy clang, seeming oddly musical and morbidly foreboding, rang like a bell tolling the doom of the City throughout the echoing streets.

  It ain’t even noon yet, and the world is over, Tripper took out his phone and started making calls.

  Boomer and Brick

  “There it is again,” repeated Boomer, an uneasy feeling tightening his gut.

  “Shut up, man. You’re blowing it,” his buddy leaned back and whispered in his ear. “I’m about to score with this babe.”

  “Where you think you’re gonna take her, Brick?”

  “C’mon Boomer, I—what the fuck?”

  This time they had both heard it. Sounds of gunshots and screams coming from up north, very faint, but unmistakable. They were in a valley, so they couldn’t see very far on either side, but both were certain they’d heard it.

  “Probably just some fireworks got out of control,” Brick mumbled dismissively.

  “Hey, man. You forget where I grew up? I know what gunshots sound like.”

  Boomer stood slightly over six foot in height and his broad dark shoulders had kept many a tackler from destroying his taller, leaner quarterback, Stephen “Brick Wall” Jacobs. But Brick was no wimp, either. The physically imposing, well-tanned, handsome and blonde Jacobs had obtained his nickname by making any tacklers who made it through the line bounce off him as if from a building and then he would hit his running back Boomer McClintock in stride out in the flat for big yards. The killer combo had taken South to the title three years in a row since making varsity in their sophomore year.

  “Hey, Baby!” Brick was saying to the pretty blonde who’d tried inching away from him while his attention was distracted. “Where are you going? The parade is nice, but everything goes better with me,” he schmoozed. “What say we slip into that alley and I slip into something more comfortable...I’m thinking you,” he ran a finger across her chin with a cheesy-charming smile that totally failed under such caddish circumstances.