Pain

by Harry Shannon

  …Champ saw her phone light up. She held it close. Saw Leanne’s face on the small cell phone screen.

  “Alice.”

  “What?”

  “My daughter. Her name was Alice.

  “You miss her, huh?”

  “Every day.”

  “You loved her.”

  “Very much.”

  “She was lucky.”

  Leanne looked nervous again. Checked over her shoulder. “I don’t have much time. Champ. Look around carefully. There must be another exit.”

  “Yeah, I already found one. It goes out into the yard. It’s small, but I think I can squeeze through when the time comes.”

  “Okay. Now, listen up. I have a plan”

  …At precisely 11:37 PM, several miles away, two men entered a specially equipped black helicopter that had been warming up at a far corner of the field. The men wore the standard black, unmarked uniforms devoid of ID or battle rattle. The extraction man belted himself into the body of the craft and tested the lift equipment. The pilot slipped into the seat and lifted off without fanfare.

  …Outside the ER the infected had become restless again, howling and wandering around the garage, the porch and the parked vehicles; the Kramer car, Theresa’s truck, the small van full of medical supplies and stuffed boxes. A few of the infected remained in odd poses, locked in that weird coma. The rest were just waiting for someone or something to attack. For the moment, the front of the ER was largely unguarded.

  …Champ, peering out through the wire mesh from that tiny crawl space, saw her opening. She knew her part in the plan. She gently pushed the screen away. It fell to the dirt almost soundlessly. Champ prepared herself.

  …Doc was alive, frantic to come up with a plan of his own. He risked peeking out through the cardboard boxes. Saw the infected sitting there in various stages of illness, covered with powders and bottles and pills. A busily tattooed skinhead cocked his head, examined a smashed packet of drugs. Doc watched as an idea dawned in what was left of his brain. The kid reached down, grabbed the well-manicured hand of the infected nun, who was lying dead on the floor. He’d seen that one of the fingers was hanging by a thread of skin and bone. Doc flinched as the kid ripped the finger away. He then proceeded to use the perfect nail to scoop up some drugs and snort a couple of lines. And Doc thought, this is hell or damned close to it…

  ««—»»

  Leanne’s operational clock read 11:51 PM. A helicopter had lifted off and crossed over their tent, low to the ground. The deadline she wasn’t supposed to know about was fast approaching. And she still didn’t have a flawless way out of this mess. The sinking feeling in her stomach told her she wasn’t going to make it out alive. But other things could work, and the child might be another matter. Loose ends… If she could just find the space to think.

  Burkhalter was driving her nuts. He kept pacing around the tent, constantly checking his watch. Something had him extra nervous. Leanne didn’t like the empty look on his face, the way he avoided looking her in the eyes. He turned his back to Leanne. She watched surreptitiously as he checked the rounds in his side arm. I’m dead the second he no longer thinks I’m necessary.

  Something made a humming sound. His communicator? Burkhalter stepped outside again, probably to get an update. Eight or ten minutes to live tops, Leanne thought. Leanne made magic with her hands. Champ’s face appeared on the computer screen.“Champ? Ready?”

  The girl looked so small and frail in the darkness. “I guess so.”

  “Let’s do this.”

  ««—»»

  By 11:52 PM the chopper was close enough to be heard, racing low over the trees. In the garage full of rusty tools, the coach with the jersey and whistle was still sitting near the old chain saw. His eyes popped open. He screamed in pain, started slapping at his arms as if they were on fire. Awake. Pissed at the racket…

  …Doc decided to make his move. The infected nearby were stoned out, sleeping. Even the skinhead with the severed finger stuck up his nose was out cold. Doc managed to survey the room without making any noise. Knew he had a chance if he could move quietly enough. Doc eased up, freed himself from the boxes, stepped over the comatose and stoned to figure a way out. He had to assume Champ was alive and that he could find her.

  …Cap also heard the chopper approaching, rotor blades thumping. The creatures in the yard outside were moving around again, one was pounding on the front door. Cap sipped some water from his canteen and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He checked his watch. Almost home. Cap took several deep breaths, closed his eyes for a moment. Pictured the mound of cash waiting on the other end of this final push. The booze, the freedom. South America, with a new name, maybe Costa Rica or Rio. Girls in thongs. Cap stood up. Time to make a break for it. He stepped over his dead friend Bowden without a backwards glance. He had the vial in one hand and his 9mm in the other.

  Cap kissed the bottle then tucked the vial back into his vest pocket for safety. Thought, Let’s fucking do this…

  …And down in the crawl space Champ was doing the same thing, breathing slowly, working not to panic, keeping her mind on what she was going to have to do to survive. She looked down at the cell phone screen.

  “Okay, Leanne?”

  Leanne looked back at her screen and the clock and in a low voice said, “Now.”

  …And out in the yard the infected were wandering and moaning and screaming and weeping, raging in search of someone to hurt. Bloodshot eyes and gaping wounds and ripped clothing, the stench of urine and fear everywhere. Out in the toolshed part of the garage the big infected coach shrieked in a high voice. His eyes burned. He covered them and peeked through his fingers. The yard was filling with bright light and a high whipping noise. The chopper! Trash and brush blowing everywhere. The racket and the brightness further enraged him…

  All the infected were bewildered, then infuriated by the racket.

  The helicopter right above them, loud and bright.…In the waiting room Cap let out a whoop as he peered out through the barred window and saw the trash blowing, the white beam. He grinned like the predator he was and unlocked the bars from the inside. He opened the front windows. And then sensed something or someone behind him. Cap whirled around with his weapon raised. Doc was standing in the doorway. He seemed battered and dazed.

  Doc said, “I think we’re all that’s left.”

  And then Doc listened. He stepped closer to Cap, flickering in the light through the slats and bars, shaded his eyes, looked outside. His jaw dropped. Hope painted his features. “A chopper? Thank God. We’re saved.”

  “Not exactly, Doc.” Cap raised his weapon. Doc flinched and stumbled backwards, pinwheeling his arms.

  “What? Wait!”

  Like threatened humans the world over, Doc raised his palms in a useless gesture intended to protect himself. He took two more steps back. Cap Rogers fired. Doc seemed hit, tripped over one of the infected passed out in the hallway. He fell backwards, out of sight. Big thump. Cap waited a moment, but Doc stayed down.

  The screams outside intensified. Cap turned to the window. Outside he could see some of the infected, most reacting to the bright light but a few responding to the sight of a rope ladder being lowered. Weirdly, one of those was a blood-splattered bride in a torn wedding gown. She kept grabbing for the rope ladder. Realizing his life depended on the next few seconds, Cap scrambled out through the window. Outside, Cap dropped to the ground. Immediately, some of the infected moved his way.

  Cap kept his attention on one thing, that beautiful rope ladder swaying back and forth in the prop wash. Go go go go…

  Cap jogged across the front lawn, past a small group of infected girl scouts in torn uniforms. They stared at him blankly. Cap kept moving, but the mob finally put two and two together and started his way, gathering speed. Cap fired, shot one of the girl scouts in the face just to be mean. Before he could spin around, a large man carrying a pizza grabbed at his arm. Cap wasted two bullets firing into the grass. T
he third nailed the pizza man in the foot, and he sat down dumbly, an annoyed look on his features, his tennis shoe spouting blood. More of the infected closed in, slowly and steadily, moaning and grunting. Cap shot again, taking out the two in his way. Everything was becoming a blur, the fog of war, a state he’d been through many times before. The yard was all jerking movement and long shadows and blazing light from above, God watching his every move. The rope ladder swayed like a belly dancer, tantalizing and just out of reach.

  …Several yards away the big coach in the ripped jersey filled the doorway into the garage. He had the old chain saw in his calloused hands. His face contorted in response to the noise and the light. He raged and bellowed as he stared up at the chopper.

  …And Cap had shot his way close enough to taste freedom. He was feeling a lot less cocky, since he was now down to his last clip. One through the eye. Another in the gut. The bright light, wind, the rope ladder. Cap was now closing in on salvation.

  11:54 PM

  In the command tent Leanne was watching her screen. Her mind computed every movement, every adjustment that would have to happen for this to work, searched for random chance to give them a bit of a boost, just some fucking Nevada luck. Reddish shapes moving, the sound hijacked from every electronic device in the area including the hovering helicopter.

  She could feel Burkhalter as he closed in behind her. The hairs fluttered on the back of her neck. How long did she have to live? “As you can see, the chopper’s there. I think that’s our last man outside in the yard, he’s got a few yards to go.”

  “Good. And?”

  Leanne’s mind raced for another answer. None. She came to a decision. Her hands flew over the knobs and buttons and relay switches. The noise stopped, the picture continued. She turned her chair to face Burkhalter. “I’d say it looks like he’s going to make it.”

  Burkhalter seemed tense. He did not meet her gaze. Leanne said, “Relax, Mr. Burkhalter. I wasn’t even issued a side arm for this assignment.”

  He shrugged. “Then at least something went right.”

  “You’re going to have to wipe out every trace of this mess, aren’t you? You have to kill me or go to prison.”

  “Not exactly. Not much chance of that. The people I work for make the law.”

  Leanne forced a chuckle. “Yeah, but they really screwed the pooch this time. Gives new meaning to the term FUBAR.”

  His hand was in his pocket. Her heart raced. Burkhalter shrugged again. “Can’t argue with that, Major.”

  “So enlighten me,” she said. “Cap is bringing the illegal virus out, isn’t he? That’s why you can’t leave any witnesses. Best hope he doesn’t double-cross you and sell it on the open market.”

  He produced his weapon, a Smith and Wesson .38. The black barrel seemed huge to her, a mouth without teeth. His hand was shaking a bit. “A double cross? That wouldn’t be my problem. I just follow orders.”

  “And shoot unarmed women in the back.”

  “Sometimes.” He cocked the weapon. “Sorry, Major.”

  “Okay,” she said briskly. “Wait one.” She stared intently until he focused. Leanne forced him to look her in the eyes. “Now go ahead, you arrogant, limp-dick little chicken shit, and I hope I fucking haunt your dreams.”

  Burkhalter couldn’t help but admire Leanne’s courage. He grinned. “Don’t worry, lady. I’ll sleep just fine.”

  Someone else said, “Drop that weapon.”

  Burkhalter stiffened. His features shifted as he realized he’d been fooled. He raised the gun, pointing at the roof of the tent, turned around slowly and carefully. Colonel Sharpe was in the tent, and the two soldiers with him had rifles trained on Burkhalter. Sharpe looked happier than Leanne had seen him in years.

  “Hey, Burkhalter,” Sharpe said, “thanks to Major Davidson here, everything you’ve said and done tonight was broadcast live and recorded for posterity. Smile, you’re about to be famous.” Burkhalter appeared to ponder his situation for a long moment. In truth, this did seem like checkmate. His face sagged. Then he said, “No, thanks.” In a flash, he stuck the gun under his chin and fired, blowing off the back of his head. Leanne ducked as pink and gray specks blew into a small cloud.

  11:57 PM

  …And in the yard with the rope ladder swaying and the mob surrounding him Cap Rogers fired his weapon at the bride in her wedding gown. Click, click. His gun was empty. But he was only a few feet from the rope ladder. He threw the pistol away. Cap punched another one of the infected, grabbed at the ladder, got it on the first try. He grinned triumphantly and climbed hand over hand. The chopper shifted position nervously and Cap almost lost his grip. Cap dangled there for a second, a panicked look on his face. He felt someone grab his leg. Adrenalin coursed through his veins. What if one of those things bit him deeply enough to transfer the virus?

  He looked down. Sighed with relief. The teenaged girl! Champ was hanging on to his leg, despite the creepiness all around her. She was either trying to hitch a ride or determined to keep him from getting away. Cap kicked at her, knocked her loose.

  He climbed one rung. Champ shoved an infected woman out of her way and jumped up again. She got both of his legs this time. The chopper tipped to the side due to the unexpected extra weight. It moved forward a few yards. Champ was dragged along the ground as the chopper moved. Light and shadow, moving pieces on a chess board at high speed.

  Champ freed one hand. She was holding a small, thick board. Champ smashed at Cap’s pockets, pounded away at him everywhere, almost as if she knew about the virus. But how the fuck did the kid figure that out? Cap kicked her and drew blood from her nose. She hit him again. Again. One of the infected men grabbed at her legs but missed. And then Cap felt ice rush through him. She hit his vest pocket. Broken glass, fluid burning through his torn shirt. The virus!

  “Aw, shit! You little bitch!” Cap loosened his grip trying to swipe at her. He fell heavily to the ground. Champ ran away swatting with the board to her left and right. The infected seemed to know he’d been firing at them, they slowly formed a circle around Cap. He pulled a knife from his boot and spun around in a circle. “Stay away from me you ugly mother fuckers!”

  Above them, the chopper pilot exchanged glances with the rope man. Maybe it was time to boogie?

  And then Cap coughed. Something burned his skin like acid. The virus had leaked through his clothing and found its way into his system through a small cut. Cap reacted instantly, stiffened and shivered like a man freezing to death. He whimpered like a baby as the realization hit him. He was infected. The PAIN…

  “No, God damn it! No!”

  It took him fast. He cried out in agony and tore at his face and hair. The PAIN destroyed his nervous system. His face twisted into an animal snarl. Cap began to chew away his own lips. Champ backed up into a tree, horrified. The disfigured Cap pulled a knife. Before he could use it on Champ, one of the infected grabbed at his arm. Cap whirled around and stabbed the man in the gut a couple times, yanked the blade out.

  Cap turned back again to stab at Champ. His cheeks were already rotting away. Champ was gone.

  Confused, Cap went for the ladder again. It was moving along the yard as the chopper wavered and the men in it struggled to decide what to do. Cap chased the ladder and grabbed on. He struggled to maintain his sanity. Hollered up at the men in the chopper. “Go! Go!”

  Champ watched from behind the tree. The light was blinding. The chopper bopped and weaved as the pilots tried to decide if they should take the sickened Cap and complete their assignment, or just drop the ladder and take off to save their own asses.

  Cap screamed at them, “The package you assholes, I’ve got the package on me. You want to say you left it behind?”

  Doc appeared in the ER window. He spotted Champ behind the tree and his heart leaped. He crawled through the window and down to the ground. He could see Cap hanging there, clearly infected, shrieking and writhing. Champ caught his eye and pointed to the truck. Doc nodded. He ran h
er way while all of the infected in the yard were distracted by the lights and Cap Rogers.

  The helicopter pilot made a decision, apparently to drag whatever was left of Cap and the virus to the home base and let the leadership sort everything out. The ladder moved again, Cap holding on for dear life, shrieking in pain. The ladder lifted up, nearly beyond reach. Some of the infected closed in and grabbed at Cap’s feet, but missed. Doc and Champ were nearly at the truck when they heard something, a faint noise that sounded like another engine.

  The big coach with the chain saw.

  He was tall enough. Pissed off enough.

  He closed the distance in a hurry, just as the chopper dipped from a surge of wind, the blade roaring and swinging. He took one of the girl scouts off at the neck without stopping. The coach was enraged by the noise, focused on the light, on Cap hanging there right in front of him..

  Cap saw him closing in, couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Just tall enough. Oh shit no… Screaming, squinting into the light, the infected coach used the saw. Even with the virus in his body, Cap’s face showed excruciating pain. The blade entered his stomach. He grunted, eyes wide, and immediately went into shock. His lower half fell to the ground below, guts splattered everywhere. The top half let go of the ladder and followed with a thump. The coach stupidly turned in circles with the chain saw as if puzzled the light hadn’t gone away. WHACK! He took one arm off the bride in her torn wedding gown. She fell to her knees and bled out. The saw sputtered and died. The chopper pilot gave up and flew away. The infected slowly calmed down as the noise abated and the too-bright glare finally went out.