Run (Book 2): The Crossing

by Rich Restucci

  Three seconds later, the wave of dead plowed into the door with a thud. The beating and pounding commenced instantly.

  Dallas was huffing and rubbing his calf. “Wil…Wilcox,” he said between breaths, “I swears, I felt that bullet go by!”

  “Jumpin’ Jesus! Motherfucker was gonna bite our hillbilly!”

  Dallas looked at him, then at Rick, and then everyone but Bob burst out laughing. Bob began chuckling not too soon after.

  60

  Things had gone well after Bob had dropped the blast door, although the phone call from forty feet above them hadn’t been very pleasant.

  “Honestly, and I just said this to somebody else, I wish I had ten like you guys. You think on the fly, and take zero shit. And you got civvies in the playroom too! You remind me of me. But as far as I see it, you’ve taken yourselves out of the equation. There’s no way out of that bunker for thirty-five years, (I looked it up) and you’ve got dead friends down there for company. I left the explosives near that door you lowered. I must admit, that thing is thicker than the main vault door at Langley. Well, anyhoo, there’s a pressure sensor set to the boom-boom. When that door opens, or if there’s a speck of dust that hits the sensor, anything near it goes away. Far away. I was scared shitless setting it, but I digress. While I admire you guys, you have severely pissed me off. This will not stand, so I’m going to take it out on Alcatraz. I just might be able to get my hands on the launch codes for an ICBM, and if I do, I will turn that ridiculous rock into radioactive glass. If not, I will hit that island with whatever I can, including a freighter full of my new soldiers. Have a nice life down there.”

  Androwski scowled as he made a reply, “Screw you, you son of a bitch! We’re going to… Bastard hung up on me.”

  They watched through the exterior monitors as the man in the black T-shirt strode past the dead, patiently weaving his way through the ambulatory corpses until he reached a certain point outside. He looked up and spoke into a hand-held radio. A drop line from what could only be a helicopter smacked the ground near him. He made a quick knot, attached a carabineer to the line, and was hoisted up by what must have been a bewildered crew. As the man began to disappear from the camera’s view, he gave a mock salute to those he had left behind.

  Rick swallowed hard. “I have to get back to Alcatraz.”

  Epilogue

  The torn and faded map had a huge brown blood stain completely obscuring Candlestick Park. Cyrus thought that the dim light of the loft and the circle of people studying the map, made the place look like a scene from a Jimmy Cagney movie. Cyrus had heard quite enough, but he didn’t think interrupting his son while his son was formulating a plan was supportive, and would not slight him in front of his minions. When Doc Murda was finished speaking, he dismissed five of the nine gang bangers and turned to his father with a broad smile. The giant Pee Wee, and the gunman Masta G remained as well, as they were Captains in Doc Murda’s army.

  “So, what do you think?”

  Cyrus seemed to consider for a second before he approached his son. “I think,” he slapped Murda hard across the face, “that you are an absolute buffoon.”

  Masta G raised his eyebrows and looked at Pee Wee, but the big man remained impassive. Murda cringed slightly and covered his stinging cheek with his palm as his father continued. “Am I to understand that you knew there were survivors on Alcatraz with food and supplies? Furthermore, you warned them that you were coming to attack them? You warned them?” The volume of Cyrus’ voice hadn’t changed but it seemed much quieter in the room.

  “Still looking for praise, Malik. Still looking to be the big fish. Still going off half-cocked when you’re angry. Your previous plan’s only flaw was that you were the one to come up with it. An intelligent person would have sailed over there under cover of darkness and crept into their fortress unawares, slaughtering and pillaging at will.” Cyrus shook his head. “Fool.”

  His face reddening, Malik Phillips looked at his father. “Doc Murda.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Malik Phillips is gone, I am now Doc Murda.”

  Cyrus smiled. “Then there may be hope for you yet.”

  “I wanted them to know that they were going to die for crossing me,” continued Murda, “I needed them to feel a new fear.”

  Cyrus put his hand gently on his son’s shoulder. “Undoubtedly they did. I’m sorry I lost my temper, but you know that we both have issues in that area. Revealing your plan to the enemy was foolhardy, but also water under the bridge. Something else I must bring up, however, is the wonton murder of your troops when they appear inadequate. This must stop.”

  “If they fail me, they die. Fear will keep them focused.”

  “Agreed. However, too much fear is also a bad thing. Fear can lead to dereliction, defection, or even outright revolution. Should you keep killing the soldiers for small mistakes, you will lose half of your army in punishment alone, the other half will try to kill you, or just leave.”

  “We find more every day. They join or they die. If they run, they die. You’re right though, I will administer a less permanent measure of chastisement in the future.”

  Cyrus beamed. “My son, you will be great, I can see it. Now, back to the problem at hand. We can’t get to the Alcatraz because it just happens to be guarded by a United States nuclear submarine?”

  Murda sighed. “Correct. There are military on the island as well now, and they have begun to fortify their position. They sunk one of our tug boats, but the other was allowed to leave. In addition, our TOW missile attack was successful in that there was structural damage and fire on the island afterward. The inhabitants of Alcatraz know for certain that there are other parties interested in their little sanctuary.”

  “Soldiers, fortified positions, and a ballistic submarine. Have you considered just letting the island alone?”

  Murda looked at his father aghast. “No! They slighted me! They—”

  Cyrus raised his index finger. “Calm yourself, Doc Murda, I only wish to understand the situation.”

  Murda visibly pacified himself, and took two deep breaths before he continued, “They have better weapons than we do, and disciplined, trained men to use them. Eventually, their supplies will run low, and they will need to come to the city to forage. That will diminish our supplies. War is the only answer.”

  “Now that is the most intelligent thought I’ve heard yet. Let me ask you this though; wouldn’t it be easier to maintain constant vigilance over the island, and attack the foraging parties to weaken them? When they have lost enough men, they will not be able to stand up to attack.”

  “But the sub…”

  “A technological marvel like that submarine needs dozens of people to run it. Kill enough, and that sub is nothing more than floating metal.” Cyrus appeared thoughtful. “Unless we could sink it…”

  “We tried. We fired one of the missiles at it.”

  “Ah, but did you have training on those missiles? Perhaps a small team on a small craft sent out with explosives could disable the sub enough such that they could not affect repairs.”

  Murda looked pleased. “A fine idea, sir. As it happens, I have some explosives lying around.”

  The End

  Read on for a free sample of White Flag Of The Dead

  And just for kicks…

  “Have you ever felt left out? I mean, totally neglected when you know for an absolute certainty that you should have been allowed in?” The young man covers his eyes with his hands simulating a headache. “Well, I know how you feel. I was left out. Left out of this stupid book! What kind of dummy leaves out everybody’s favorite? I know I’m your favorite because I’m my favorite. Well, fear not Bugs Bunny fans, because I will not take this crap any longer!” The blond man, a scar on his jaw, points at you, Dear Reader. “I will not fail you! I will up the tally, providing you with comic relief in the form of busted zombie heads before you can say Jack Robinson!” The kid cups his chin in his hand. “Come to thi
nk of it, I don’t know who Jack Robinson is… But who cares? The bottom line is that I’ve missed you as much as you’ve missed me. So much in fact, that I have pushed my way to the forefront of this guy’s,” he chucks a thumb toward a guy sitting at a computer, typing furiously while glancing at the old fashioned clock on the wall, “mind. I guess what I’m trying to say is: See you soon!”

  Acknowledgments

  Honestly, this is harder than writing the damn book. There are so many people without whom I couldn’t have put all this together. Thanks to all the folks on HPoTD for persuading me that my writing didn’t suck. Thanks to my family who constantly tells me I don’t suck. Appreciations to my friends, who occasionally tell me I suck, but hopefully they don’t mean it. A special thanks to all the reviewers of the first book who really liked it and said it didn’t suck. Those who think it did suck, I’m sorry you didn’t like it and screw you for being mean.

  Thanks to J.R. Jackson and the Ward Room https://wdrmmta.wordpress.com/ for making this book suck less.

  Thanks to Joy and Eve for telling me I don’t suck.

  Thanks to Zombiefiend.com for helping me along the way.

  Thanks to Chris Rawding for his inspirational drawings which never suck.

  Thanks to Dusty, my now deceased cat, for pissing on the couch. I hated that couch.

  Thanks to Tufo, Recht, Bourne, Brooks, Romero, Campbell (Bruce), Monchinski, Schannep, Frater, and Keene. You guys drive me, half of you don’t know me, and none of you suck.

  Thanks to you, yeah you, who took the time to read both the book and the acknowledgements. You don’t suck.

  If I missed thanking anybody, sorry, but I suck.

  1

  “Ugh.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Ugh.”

  “Come on caveman, your son is calling you.” My wife of six years poked me in the ribs and pushed my feet off the bed. In the background, soft music played through the monitor, indicating that Jake, our son, was awake and had activated the toy.

  “I’m too tired to play daddy today. Get someone else.” I groaned, rolling over and burying my head in my pillows.

  “Move it or we’ll never play at making another one,” she threatened.

  “Empty threat. I’m too good for any woman to give up cold turkey.”

  Ellie grabbed my pillows. “Fine. How about it’s your turn since I got up at two?”

  I rolled out of bed and lay on the floor. “I’m nothing if not fair.”

  The words “Have fun” floated over the bed and down to my ears as I started my morning routine of pushups and sit-ups. I barely felt them anymore, since I had been doing them since I was a kid. However, habits are habits, and it woke me up in the mornings.

  I walked down the dark hall, feeling very much like a zombie. I am sure I looked it, too. But things needed to be done, and as the wife said, it was my turn. Five a.m. was waaaay to early for anything, let alone getting up from a very sound sleep. Jake, my five-month old, was wiggly and wanting to move out of his crib. He was just learning to sit on his own, although he couldn’t push himself to a sitting position yet. He rolled all over creation, and dragged himself along in an attempt to crawl. We thought he was the greatest thing, being new parents, but even we were surprised at how happy he was all the time, and what an easy baby he was, if judging by the grousing my brother did about his kids.

  “Hey, buddy.” I said stepping over to his crib. Jacob had activated his plastic fishbowl, which had alerted us to his state of wakefulness. Jake looked at me and smiled through his binky, swinging his arms in excitement. How these little guys remained so cheerful all the time was a mystery to me. If I could bottle it, I would be rich.

  I picked him up and headed downstairs to make a bottle for him, since Ellie was not breast-feeding. She had tried, but it just seemed to not be in the cards, so here we were, spending lots of money on formula. I didn’t blame Ellie, how could it be her fault? She felt bad enough as it was, since she believed she was not getting that special “bonding time” that so many people say is so important. On the plus side, it allowed both of us to have some special time with the little guy, so we enjoyed it for what it was.

  Downstairs I made him a bottle and a small bowl of oatmeal cereal. The doctor had said he could start it, so we got some, and he really seemed to enjoy it. I tasted it once and it reminded me strongly of glue, but I didn’t let Jake know that. I turned on the television to see what news there could be. I generally watched Fox for news, simply because it was slightly harder to spot the bias. Ellie liked the local stuff and once in a blue moon, I turned on CNN. Most of my news came from the Internet, but it was good background noise.

  “…incoming reports remain sketchy, but there seems to be some sort of outbreak in New York City on the lower east side. We go to Hannah Graves at the scene of Angel of Mercy Hospital. Hannah, what can you tell us?” I glanced at the screen, but Jake decided to make a grab for the food bowl, so I lost the reporter’s comments.

  “Okay, thanks, Hannah. We’re going to our interview with Dr. Rafik Narwal, from the Center for Disease Control. Dr. Narwal, what can you tell us? Are we looking at a pandemic?”

  That got my attention. I picked Jake up to give him the rest of his bottle and stood in front of the television. Dr. Narwal looked bad, as if he hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep lately.

  “Nothing of the sort. We have taken precautions, like we normally do, when we have a situation where an infected person comes down with symptoms we haven’t seen before in this country. In Africa, this sort of thing is routine and would not even be a story.” Something in his manner was not sitting right with me. I had spent the last four years of my life as an administrator in public schools, and I knew when someone was lying to me, or when they were trying to cover up something. Right now, Dr. Narwal was lying, and worse, he seemed scared. When the CDC spokesman looked scared, check your antibiotic supply because things were not good. I started to think about what I had read recently, where estimates of the death toll from a pandemic avian flu outbreak, could reach 150 million. I started to pay very close attention

  “What kind of symptoms, so we will know what to look for?” Darla the commentator asked. I called her Darla because I didn’t know her name and she looked like one, anyway.

  Dr. Narwal looked nervous. “The symptoms are relatively flu like, with profuse vomiting, diarrhea, sweating and salivating. If anyone comes down with these symptoms after being infected, it is a very good idea to isolate them, as they are very contagious.”

  “Is this a new disease?”

  “All reports indicate we have not seen this strain of virus before, so yes.”

  “Where did this begin?” Why people cared about this I wasn’t sure, but maybe it gave them some sort of relief blaming someone else.

  Dr Narwal explained. “One of our colleagues was doing research in a remote village in the Congo Basin. Nothing out of the ordinary there, many of our diseases and cures come from largely unexplored regions like the Congo and the Amazon. Dr. Roberto Enillo, was researching a new virus outbreak and he discovered this new disease. We are currently running tests as to what kind of virus this is, what the incubation rate is, its survival rate in the open, what kills it, and what feeds it.

  I noticed he used only the past tense when talking about Dr. Enillo.

  “What can we tell people to do?” Darla asked, leaning forward, looking concerned for the camera. I felt her concern, and appreciated the glimpse down her shirt.

  Dr. Narwal relaxed a bit, as this was familiar ground. “People should not panic. If a relative comes down with the symptoms, isolate them and call the authorities. If you feel you are sick, go to a hospital or clinic and they will take care of you.” Something was ticking in the back of my mind, but I didn’t pay close attention as I knelt down to change a dirty diaper. . Jakey was finished with his bottle and gave me a satisfactory belch to complete his morning routine. I laid him on the floor and smiled at him, which got a full smi
le and arm flapping in response. What you don’t know about the world, buddy. I thought.

  “In world news, England mobilizes its Territorial Army for a possible containment operation near Wales. Details are sketchy at this point, but there appears to be rumors of some sort of patient uprising in a local hospital. Further details as reports come in.”

  “Okay, thanks, Hannah, in other news…”

  I turned off the news as my wife came down, yawning and stretching. “Anything on the news?”

  “Something about a new virus going around that seems to be hitting hard in a lot of places.”,” I said, placing a few toys about for Jake to play with while I got my breakfast.

  “Really? Anything I need to know about?” Ellie stayed home with Jake three days a week, after taking a year off from full time work. We did the math and realized that she would be working just for day care for Jake, so what was the point? She worked as a cardiac nurse for a hospital in the city, so she generally worked the shifts no one else wanted, Saturdays being one of them.

  “Just keep an eye out for flu-like symptoms, and call the authorities if anyone has been infected. They didn’t say anything about transmission, but that it was very contagious.”,” I replied.

  “Any reports of outbreaks around here?” Ellie asked, her eyebrows rising.

  “Nothing on the local news, but I am sure things will get out as needed, information wise.”,” I assured her. The Internet eliminated information dissemination by the media, everyone had a camera, video recorder, or some combination, which allowed them to post immediately exactly what was happening. You Tube was a great source of information, but it was better to watch with the sound off, as the posters tended to think they were trained cameramen.