The device chirped. The first soldier turned it to read a small display and put a finger to his ear. “Aladdin, Brick Four. Asset two located. ID check. Ready?”
Wendy looked up at the soldier. He was a sturdy-looking young man, about thirty years of age, with light brown skin and dark eyes. He watched in every direction, leery of danger, focused the same way Mason Jones had been when he first woke, unsure of his surroundings, untrusting of its safety. Suddenly he looked at the device again and read off the numbers on the screen. “Foxtrot-4-8-Golf-6-7-1-Romeo-8-1-2-1-3. Confirm.”
He brought his hand down from his ear and slid the device into his cargo pocket. “Positive ID,” he said to the other solider while slipping the fingertips to his glove back on and readying his rifle. “Doctor O’Farrell. This is important. Where is Larissa Jefferson? We need to get you two out of here.”
“Out?” Wendy asked. It was the first word that made sense to her. “No. She’s in there.” She pointed at the door to the Conservation Center. “In the office.”
“Any hostiles in there with her?”
Wendy shook her head slowly, a little confused by the question. Everything was happening around her faster than her brain could process. She knew the soldier had asked her whether there were people inside, but the word ‘hostile’ struck her dumb. Momma was about the only hostile person she could think of.
“Aladdin, Brick Four,” the soldier said with his finger on his earpiece. “Moving into Conservation Center.”
A loud boom erupted to the north and both soldiers flinched. Whut-dit-dit-dit-dit was the echoed response, then another boom followed by cracks and snaps of small arms being fired chaotically.
“Brick Three, status,” the soldier said, his finger still on his ear. He waited a long breath. “Three, status.”
Both soldiers remained tense. Wendy could see it in the way the kneeling soldier’s eyes narrowed as he looked through the smoky haze, and how the one standing changed his stance to cover the door as much as his partner. The whut-dit-dit-dit-dit continued to counter erratic snaps of pistols and rifles.
“Brick Three, do you copy?”
Both soldiers suddenly breathed a sigh of relief.
“Brick Three, fall back to Brick One and hold for evac.”
“Come on, Reese,” the kneeling soldier said over his shoulder. “We need to hustle.”
“Door,” the soldier named Reese said and both men shifted quickly, one taking up a crouching position next to the door, with Reese three steps out in front of it with his rifle pointing straight at it. He lit the door with a red dot from his laser sighting and the crouching soldier counted down with his fingers, then pushed the door open.
“Clear,” Reese said as he moved into the dark hallway, his rifle at the ready, jerking between aiming at the door to the amphitheater and the offices.
Wendy crawled on hands and knees after him, trying to stand. “The offices, to the right,” Wendy said. The second soldier grabbed her jacket and pulled her into the dark hallway, dropping her inside and letting the door wheeze shut behind them. Their laser beams cut the darkness as both men advanced on the open door of the office, the light from inside making their white and gray uniforms brighter. She knew the room was empty. She didn’t know why she held her breath, or expected a rain of bullets to cut them down. Maybe it was because everything in her life recently ended up in a gunfight of some kind, a life-and-death shootout. The one named Reese stepped through the threshold quickly.
“There’s no one in there,” Wendy said softly. “She’s in the office.”
The other soldier rounded the door behind Reese, checking both sides as he leaned in. He waved for Wendy to follow him and he stepped into the light. Wendy crawled through the dark hallway and crouched at the door, leaning to see in.
The second soldier moved toward the wall to the right of the two cubicles while Reese rounded the set on the left. Wendy climbed up the door frame and stepped inside, licking her lips. The tingle in her throat hit suddenly and she coughed. Both men lowered at the sound, halting.
Larissa’s moan of longing broke the quiet.
“In there,” Wendy whispered, pointing at the open office door as she once again coughed into her elbow.
The soldier named Reese held up two fingers and pointed at the closed door closest to him, then at the other soldier. The second soldier held his rifle pointed at the open door in the center, but moved to the closed door nearest him. He stood beside it and turned the knob, pushing the door open. Wendy held her breath. It was dark beyond. He stepped inside, swung around in a quick arc with his rifle in the lead, and dropped low to look under something, then grabbed the door and swung it shut.
“Clear,” he whispered.
Reese nodded and did the same with the door in front of him. When he called clear, the two soldiers converged on the center office.
Wendy reminded herself to breathe. It had only been a few seconds, but already her heart was racing. Through the open door behind her she could still make out the sounds of gunfire in the distance, reminding her that time was really not on their side.
Reese stepped over the fallen tripod at the door and went in first. He immediately called out “clear.” Wendy breathed a sigh of relief and moved to the other doorway. She knew Larissa was going to be frightened.
Inside the office there was a bed and dresser, a plush chair, two stools, and a four-legged office chair with armrests that held Larissa captive. Her wrists and legs were tied to it. She didn’t struggle to break free, nor was she sprawled on the ground—the easiest way to get her legs free if she had a modicum of wits. She just sat there, sounding out a longing moan as she stared vacantly at Reese. He stood next to her with a small photograph in his hand next to her face.
“Aladdin, Brick Four,” Reese said with a finger against his ear piece. “Asset One secure. Scramble rendezvous, evac point Charlie. Repeat, evac point Charlie.”
Reese turned to face the other solider. “You want point or payload?”
“I’ll take the girl,” the other solider said as he produced a short, sharp knife out of thin air. He switched places with Reese and sheered the straps binding Larissa to the chair in four quick cuts. As soon as she was free, though, Larissa began to thrash. Her moan turned into a hoarse scream.
“Fuck, Moby,” Reese snapped. “Did you cut her?”
Wendy pushed past Reese and the other soldier named Moby. “She’s scared,” Wendy told them. “She’s not good with change. It’s okay, Larissa.” She began cooing, loudly so Larissa would hear her over her own wild flailing. Wendy coughed as she cooed, though, which didn’t help. She grabbed Larissa’s head, forcing the girl to look her in the eyes. She cooed, bowing her head repeatedly in a slow cadence. “It’s okay.” She hummed, too, mesmerizing the girl like a snake charmer.
It worked. Slowly, it worked. Larissa calmed down and her eyes fixed on Wendy.
“I can handle her,” Wendy said.
“Let’s go,” Reese said, stepping out of the room.
Wendy picked up the wool hat off the bed and slid it over Larissa’s bald head before sliding one of Larissa’s arms around her neck to help her stand, bracing the girl by holding her waist. Please don’t bite me. She continued to coo as she led Larissa toward the door. The girl took uncontrolled, jerky steps, staring at Wendy as they moved into the larger office space.
Reese stopped halfway across the room and Wendy nearly walked into him. He had a perplexed look on his face as he stared back toward the other soldier. She thought at first he was looking at the camera, but he and Moby locked eyes. Reese looked at Wendy suspiciously, then put a finger to his ear. “Aladdin, repeat last order.”
Both soldiers looked at one another again in disbelief.
“Fuck that,” Moby said.
Reese stared at Wendy as though she wasn’t there. In his eyes she saw turmoil, anger, and disbelief. It was as though someone was betraying him and he couldn’t fathom how or why it was happening.
“Aladdin, Brick Four, Alpha Dog,” Reese said. “Confirm kill order on Asset Two.”
Wendy froze. I’m Asset Two!
Thirty-Six
Wendy’s heart thumped to a halt. Her mouth went bone dry. Her skin felt prickly all over. “Wait,” she said, but it came out a raspy whisper. She coughed to clear her throat. “Guys, wait. There’s a mistake.” She turned toward Moby. “I’m not part of this,” she said. “These people—”
“Reese,” Moby pleaded. “This is bullshit. Just leave her.”
“You heard the order.”
“Yeah. I’m not doing it. Fuck that.”
Wendy’s hands were shaking. Her legs felt numb and she realized she was sinking to the ground, Larissa’s weight dragging her down as all her strength gave out.
“Please.” Her plea felt weak, insubstantial. Her eyes were watering. Why am I crying? Get up! Fight!
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Reese said, ripping the Velcro from his pistol holster. “Orders are orders.”
“Oh shit,” Wendy said, her voice breaking. She let Larissa go and held her hands above her head, as though they might stop a bullet. Her whole body shook with fear. She looked down. She didn’t want to see him shoot her. She didn’t want the last thing she saw in life to be the object of her death. She only hoped it was quick and painless, that she wouldn’t lay there in agony like Momma had, waiting for death to take her violently.
A million thoughts assailed her all at once: Mason, her father and brothers, her sister, her mother…of all people, her mother! She should have called her mother when she was on the EPS to let her know she was alright.
The blast of a pistol rang out, blam, blam, blam, blam!
Wendy screamed and fell backwards. She hadn’t felt a thing. No hard impact, no pain.
More gunfire erupted around her. Right next to her the rapid thump, thump, thump, thump, thump of Moby’s rifle rang out and hollow shells sang as they fell to the floor. Someone cried out. Blam, blam. The rifle spat out a stream of thump, thump, thump, thump, thumps as it moved away from Wendy to find cover. Blam, blam, blam came the response from the door. Wendy screamed, covering her head as she rolled under the nearest desk.
“Brick Four, Brick Four, taking fire!” It was Moby’s voice from somewhere across the room.
“Wendy!” It was Troy’s voice.
Bang, bang, bang.
“Here!”
Thump, thump, thump.
“I know. Get the fuck over here.” Troy stood behind the door frame, waving for her to run to him. At his feet lay the body of Scott, Momma’s big servant. Larissa lay in the open only a few feet from Wendy, curled in a ball, her hands over her head, her eyes squeezed shut as she moaned out of fright. Just past her lay the body of the soldier Reese, a pistol laying on the ground next to him, his rifle trapped beneath his chest as he lay face down, still as stone.
The scene reminded her a lot of how she found Mason the night he was killed. Three bodies lay in the engine of the train, Mason and Houston on one side, and the Senator’s man Carl on the other. Blood and bullet holes marred the three of them, and she knew just by looking at Mason that he was gone even before she slid to his side and touched his cold cheeks. Dead skin is like that. Cold. It feels so starkly wrong by comparison to the living that its almost repulsive, like opposite ends of a magnet.
Thump, thump, thump.
Bang, bang.
“Would you fucking move!”
Wendy looked around to try to find where Moby was hiding. From the sound of his shots he had run to the far wall, maybe behind some file cabinets to get a good angle to hold off anyone coming into the room. It meant he would easily be able to shoot her if she tried to get out.
She crawled out from under the desk and scampered toward Reese’s body, watching the edge of the cubicle walls in case she spotted Moby so she could duck back and hide. She crawled over Larissa and still didn’t see him. She was within an arm’s length of the pistol laying on the ground beside Reese when she saw Moby’s boot.
“Hey, you all,” Moby called out. “I’ve got reinforcements coming. Give it up.”
“Fuck you,” Troy replied. Bang, bang.
Wendy flinched. Moby didn’t return fire.
She eased forward, an inch at a time. She saw his calf where the white of his snow camouflage met his boot. She inched ahead again and saw red stains on his leg. She looked up, expecting to see him pointing his rifle at her, but he was leaning away, his leg wedged against the wall for support. He’d been shot.
“Wendy, come on. Just run for it. I’ll cover you.”
“Wait,” Wendy said and lunged for the pistol, snatching it quickly. She pushed back and rolled all in the same motion, ending up nearly on top of Larissa, expecting Moby to fill the cubicle with bullets, but none came. She wasn’t sure what good having a gun would do her. She imagined shooting it in the air—to get Moby to take cover—and running for the door, but the sight of his leg wound worried her. It shouldn’t have been that bad, unless the bullet hit the femoral artery.
“Moby?” Wendy called out as she pulled the pistol close to her body, almost hugging it. She closed her eyes and recalled the sight of his leg.
“You know him?” Troy asked incredulously.
Wendy sneered and shook her head. “Moby? Are you okay? You look shot.”
“I’m fine. How about you?”
“No, you’re not. I saw your leg.”
There was no answer.
“Wendy, come on,” Troy urged, waving his hand for her to come to him.
“Moby, don’t shoot. If you kill me, he’ll kill you.” She took a deep breath, telling herself how stupid this was, but then quickly stood up, opening her eyes while facing Moby. Over the top of the cubicles she saw how he had planted himself between two file cabinets and was leaning his back against one of them, his injured leg straight and pried against the base of the other for support, his rifle trained on the front door. From his angle, he couldn’t quite hit anyone at the door, but he also couldn’t be hit by anyone unless they came all the way in.
Moby’s rifle swung to target her, the red beam of his laser sight sweeping across her eyes and nearly blinding her for a second. Her eyes snapped shut involuntarily. She turned her head, hoping he wouldn’t shoot.
“Wendy, what are you fucking doing?”
With a deep, quivering breath she opened her eyes again. Troy stood at the door, his whole body tense, like a cat ready to pounce. The laser of Moby’s rifle was burning a red dot into the frame of the door again, keeping Troy from rushing in.
Moby didn’t look good. Already his color was blanching, and the dark stain on his leg clearly showed he was losing blood quickly.
“Moby, I’m coming over to help you. If you shoot me, you’re probably going to die. Do you have a CAT in your pack?”
Moby nodded. “Left shoulder. Outer flap, marked with the med plus.”
Wendy stepped out from the cubicle and raised the pistol, pointing it above Moby. The pistol quivered in her shaking hands. Just like Midamerica all over again. She distinctly remembered holding her pistol toward Carl, the Senator’s man, as she and Mason broke through the thick, snowy bushes. Carl had been pointing a gun at them, just like Moby did now. She held her finger against the trigger guard, too afraid she might tap the trigger and fire a round accidentally. Just like she had with Carl, she aimed well above Moby’s head.
“A gun?” Moby asked.
Wendy nodded in small, jerky beats. “Put down yours,” she said nervously. “I’ll put down mine.”
“What about him?” Moby thrust his chin toward the door.
“Wendy, fuck him. There’s more coming. Let’s go.”
“Not yet. We’ve got time,” Wendy said as she stepped toward Reese’s body. “He doesn’t.”
Moby let out a pained gasp and eased his rifle down. It wasn’t so much that the wound was intolerable as the thought of letting his guard down physically assailed him. Wendy brought her pistol down a
s well, sliding the hammer back and switching the safety. That’s how close she had come to being killed. Just a tap of the trigger by Reese and it would have all been over.
God, how she hated guns.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, fighting the urge to cough.
“Wendy,” Troy whispered. “Now’s your chance.”
Wendy shook her head. Reese’s body lay face down, his pack up. She quickly crouched beside him and put a finger to his neck. Cold. She didn’t need to wait for a pulse. She yanked on the Velcro pocket with the plus sign on it and pulled out a tan roll-up bag filled with medical supplies.
“This it?” she asked Moby, holding it up. She didn’t wait for an answer, carrying it to Moby while unrolling it over her arm and pistol like it was a table. The red, rubberized strap and block with a built-in twisting rod was there, wrapped in clear plastic. Everything you needed to apply a tourniquet with one hand.
“Troy, grab Larissa,” Wendy said as she rushed toward Moby, putting her body between the soldier and the door so neither of them could shoot at one another. She knelt in front of Moby and noticed his hand was on the butt of his pistol as he glared over her head at Troy. A quick glance back showed her that Troy was holding his pistol at the ready, aimed their direction as he side-stepped toward the cubes. “Troy, just get Larissa.”
Troy nodded and ducked behind the cubicle wall. Moby relaxed.
Wendy pointed at the ground. “Come on. On the floor.”
Moby did as he was told, sliding out from where he had wedged himself to lay on the ground, hissing and wincing in pain.
Wendy put her pistol on the ground beside her thigh, away from Moby’s reach. “So, Moby. Is that your real name?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head.
Plagued: The Battle Creek Zombie Rectification Experiment Page 15