by JE Gurley
The Black Hawk, designed to replace the old Viet Nam era ‘Huey’, was a twin-engine lifting platform capable of delivering an eleven-man squad or a 105 mm howitzer with ammunition and gun crew in any terrain. On this trip, its only passengers were the Major and a small security squad. The twin General Electric T700 Turboshaft engines were capable of propelling the helicopter at speeds of 220 mph. Twin stubby fins located above the fuselage held extra fuel tanks, doubling the chopper’s normal 330-mile range. Twin 7.62 mm machine guns provided armament. The Gray Man spotted an additional 50-caliber machine gun mounted on a gimbal in the open door. The Major had come prepared.
The Black Hawk made one more pass over the resort, slowly; then landed in the parking lot amid a blast of wind that tore plants up by the root and propelled them across the grounds like tumbleweeds. Two heavily armed men jumped to the ground and took up positions on each side of the open door. Major Corzine stepped down more leisurely, straightening his immaculate uniform jacket, and looked up at the resort. The Gray Man felt the Major’s eyes lock onto his through the glass and felt a sudden chill. He stepped back from the window. Brother Malachi and Brother Ezekiel rushed out to meet the Major in the parking lot and escorted him into the building. The Gray Man downed another pain killer for the headache that had erupted since learning of the Major’s impending visit and took a sip of water to wash it down.
“Mustn’t keep the master waiting,” he growled under his breath and broke into a brisk stride toward the lobby.
He found Major Corzine sitting on one end of a blue and beige striped sofa with the two guards standing behind him. The Major sat on the edge of the seat as if the comfortable, non-military furniture offended him. Brother Malachi sat opposite him in a beige and orange polka dot chair with a bright orange cushion, the hem of his bright white robe folded neatly over his legs appearing much at home in the plush surroundings. Brother Ezekiel stood behind him mimicking the stance of the two soldiers. One hand rested lightly on the back of Brother Malachi’s chair cushion. A tray with a silver coffee pot, three steaming cups of coffee and a plate of freshly baked cookies sat on a small table between them, marking neutral territory. The Gray Man shunned the second side chair beside Brother Malachi, choosing instead to lean with his back against the heavy marble counter across the room beneath a large window. He nodded in Corzine’s direction, said, “Major,” and focused his attention on the view outside the window.
Major Corzine looked up at him and returned the nod, scowling when he noticed the Gray Man’s inattentiveness. “Hunter,” he replied sharply, raising a cup of coffee to his lips, taking a small sip, and setting it back down with a loud clink. When the Gray Man turned at the sound, as he was sure the Major had intended, Brother Malachi offered him a cup. He waved it away impatiently. He was in no mood for niceties.
He decided to come straight to the point. “Why are you here, Major?”
Corzine’s manner softened almost immediately. He leaned back and draped one arm over the back of the sofa. “Why, to offer you a lift back to base.” He gestured languidly with one hand.
“Nice try, but you didn’t know I was here until Sooks here informed you.”
Brother Malachi winced at the use of his given name. Corzine shrugged and sighed softly.
“Very well. I came to inform Brother Malachi that he will have to move his New Apostles.”
Brother Malachi leaned forward slightly in his seat, his thin face drawn even thinner by his surprise. “What do you mean?”
“We located a cache of Sarin gas at an old biochemical weapons dump in Nevada. Tests showed it to be effective against zombies. We cleared a two-square-mile area of downtown San Diego of zombies a week ago. Now, we’re disposing of the corpses and erecting barricades. We intend to reclaim several cities in this manner. Phoenix is one.”
Brother Malachi’s faced had gone pale at Corzine’s description of killing zombies. “But we….”
“Your religious beliefs don’t concern me. Phoenix is a major rail line hub and has close proximity to a nuclear reactor, which we already control. We need Phoenix. The decision has been made. Operations will begin in two days.”
“Two days? We... we can’t possibly be ready to leave in two days. Where will we go?”
“We can relocate your people to San Diego. You can help us rebuild.”
The Gray Man smiled at that. The New Apostles had no desire to rebuild the world God had destroyed. He spoke up, “I don’t think killing zombies is one of Brother Malachi’s priorities.”
Corzine shot him a scathing look. “Rebuilding America is everyone’s priority.”
Brother Malachi was adamant. “We will not leave.”
Corzine stared at Brother Malachi in disbelief. “We’re not offering options here. In two days, we release the gas in downtown Phoenix and at Sky harbor Airport. With current wind conditions, it will drift ten miles south and west before dissipating. Your little enclave is right in its predicted path.”
“God will provide a way,” he replied defiantly.
Corzine laughed. “God doesn’t figure into this. If your people can hold their breath for four or five hours, more power to you. If not….”
The Gray Man found himself feeling sorry for Brother Malachi. He didn’t believe in what the New Apostles were doing, but he admired their determination to build their own world, free of the taint of the old. They could seek redemption any way they wanted as long as it didn’t bother him. However, he knew Corzine would not let a few dozen lunatics stand in his way. The Gray Man wondered how many people hiding out in San Diego had died without warning, coughing and smothering as their eyes burned, their stomachs convulsed and their bodies became paralyzed by Sarin gas.
“Give it up, Sooks,” he said. “The Major won’t hesitate to kill your people. Hide in the desert and come back later.”
Brother Malachi stared at him. His eyes were wild as his mind tried to grasp the enormity of the situation. “But the Children of God… What about them?”
Corzine smiled. “We will wipe them off the face of the earth, one city at a time.”
At this, Brother Malachi leaped from his chair, knocking over the table holding the coffee. As the China cups shattered on the floor, he lunged for Corzine. Corzine didn’t move, but the two guards behind him raised their weapons. Luckily, for Brother Malachi, Brother Ezekiel acted quickly, grabbing Brother Malachi by the sleeve of his robe and yanking him back, placing himself between Corzine and Brother Malachi.
“The Gray Man is right, Brother,” Brother Ezekiel said. “This man will kill you.” He leaned his head against Brother Malachi’s head. Brother Malachi’s shoulders slumped. After a few seconds, he reached up, placed his hand on Brother Ezekiel’s shoulder and nodded.
“You’re right, Brother Ezekiel. I must hold my anger in check and speak with God on this.” He looked down at Corzine. “Forgive my anger. Our Acolytes will see to your comfort.”
Corzine raised his hand with his index finger extended. “One more thing, Brothers. We picked up an individual while scouting the area.” His eyes sought the Gray Man’s. “A munie. We would like for you to provide a place to keep him until we leave.”
“You can place him with my four munies,” the Gray Man suggested to Brother Malachi.
Brother Malachi nodded and turned away. As he shuffled from the room, led by Brother Ezekiel, the Gray Man looked at Corzine. “I don’t know why you bothered warning him. You knew he wouldn’t leave. If you wanted to force him to go, you would have brought more men.”
When Corzine smiled, he felt an almost overwhelming desire to wipe the smile off Corzine’s face, but he knew that the guards would shoot him down as quickly as they would have shot Brother Malachi.
“You’re a bastard, Major,” he spat at Corzine.
“I dislike religious types. They place their faith in an invisible God instead of their government.” He motioned to one of the soldiers behind him, who spoke briefly into his headset mic. “I think you shou
ld meet our guest.”
A few minutes later, a soldier shoved a man through the doorway – Vince. He stumbled, but righted himself before falling. His were pinned behind him by plastic straps, and the bruises on his face showed he had not succumbed quietly. He scowled at Corzine with undisguised hatred.
We have that much in common, the Gray Man thought.
When Vince caught sight of the Gray Man, a look of recognition filled his eyes. His face clouded and the Gray Man was certain the man would have attacked him if not restrained.
“Have we met?”
Vince limped forward and grinned through puffy, blood-spattered lips. “I saw you once at a truck stop in Gila Bend, Hunter.”
The Gray Man remembered the incident. Though he had not seen the face of the man he knew was watching him so many months ago, he knew this was him. “Ah, yes. I thought a desert mouse was watching. It was wise of you not to show yourself.”
“I should have shot you then,” Vince spat.
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
Corzine cleared his throat. “May I introduce Technical Sergeant Vincent Holcomb, late of the U.S. Air Force?”
The Gray Man’s brow furrowed in concentration. “Why is that name familiar?” he cocked his head to one side and smiled when he remembered. “Ah! You were one of the ones in San Diego who claimed to be a Hunter and infiltrated the base, freeing some of the munies.”
Vince smiled. “I wish we could have taken out more.”
“You did sufficient damage,” Corzine snapped. “Before we bleed you dry, I’ll find out where your friends are located and have them all back.”
Vince laughed and spat blood on the floor at Corzine’s feet. “Your trained monkeys already tried that.” He shook his head. “And to think I was once proud to be in the Air Force.”
“We’re saving the world,” Corzine replied. It sounded practiced to the Gray Man’s ears, as if Corzine had repeated it often. He doubted even Corzine believed it.
“You saved your own ass, you piece of shit!” Vince shouted.
The Gray Man winced as blood and spittle sprayed from Vince’s mouth when the soldier standing behind Vince clubbed him in the back with the butt of his rifle, sending him to his knees. Vince groaned from the pain and then raised his head to stare at Corzine defiantly. The Gray Man fought to keep a smile from his face. Corzine held out his hand to prevent the soldier from delivering any more blows.
“Don’t damage him – yet.”
The Gray Man left his position by the counter and walked slowly around Vince, still on his knees. Vince’s eyes followed him. “It seems to me this man would be very useful to you. Why waste him by bleeding him?”
Corzine scowled. “I owe him.”
Vince laughed. “I shot one of his pet monkeys when the helo blew me off the road. I think maybe the major was buggering him.”
The soldier raised his rifle again, and for a brief moment, the Gray Man thought Corzine would allow him to strike. Instead, he growled, “Get him out of here.” He wrinkled his nose. “See that they clean him up. He smells like a zom.”
The soldier jerked Vince to his feet and shoved him toward the hallway. Vince looked back over his shoulder at the Gray Man. Their eyes locked for a moment, and the Gray Man read a silent appeal in them. He was tempted to free Corzine’s captive just to annoy him, but the Major was not the forgiving sort. Until he had a sufficient stash of Blue Juice, Corzine pulled his strings and he knew it.
When Vince disappeared around the corner, the Gray Man turned back to Corzine. “I still say he’s too valuable to bleed.”
Corzine leaned back on the sofa and waved a hand in the air. “Only as a last resort. He strikes me as an honorable man. That sort fights the good fight, but in the end, he’s a survivor. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have made it this long. No, eventually he’ll join us. Oh, he would never reveal where his friends are, but that’s unimportant. That matter is being taken care of,” he said and then smiled cryptically.
The Gray Man noted how the Major’s eyes clouded for a few seconds, as if he was imagining what he would do to his lost sheep once he found them. Make an example of them probably. Punish them certainly. It didn’t do to have living examples of your failure roaming around free.
“Now, back to the New Apostles. If you have any control over Sooks, use it. His death means nothing to me, but his flock can be useful. Convince them to move to San Diego and I’ll make it worth your while.” He stared at the Gray Man expectantly. This was where the dickering began.
“He hates me as much as he does you,” the Gray Man replied.
“I know you’ve been building a small stockpile of Blue Juice,” Corzine began, leaning forward and lowering his voice. The Gray Man bit down on his lower lip to avoid reacting. Damn! Nothing gets past this man. “It means nothing to me if you eventually leave. You’ve done your job well. How would you like a two-year supply of Blue Juice and my guarantee that you will be one of the first to receive the permanent vaccine once it’s developed?”
The offer floored the Gray Man. Freedom. At what price? He held his breath to slow his racing heart. “I’m listening.”
Corzine motioned the Gray Man to the chair that Brother Malachi had recently vacated. He stepped over the smashed coffee cups, avoided the puddle of spilled coffee and, took a seat.
“If anything were to happen to Sooks, say an accident, his flock might be more reasonable.”
The Gray Man understood Corzine’s implications. He didn’t object to murder, he just didn’t like being the Corzine’s tool. “Brother Ezekiel might take over. They’ll listen to him too.”
Corzine rolled his eyes. “Brother Ezekiel is a follower, not a leader. He’ll be easy to deal with. No, with Sooks out of the way Brother Ezekiel will see reason. You have to deal with Sooks.”
“Why not one of your men?” the Gray Man suggested, though he knew the reason. Corzine wanted no one to know his little secret.
“It must be you and soon. I can have choppers here tomorrow afternoon to ferry them back to San Diego. The planes will be dropping their loads of gas at dawn the day after. I must return to San Diego soon. You will…ah…finalize the arrangements here. Do it for your country.”
“I’ll do it to be free of you,” the Gray Man snapped. “You see to it that I have no reason to regret our deal.”
There was a sudden bitter taste in the Gray Man’s mouth. He wondered if it was the taste of selling one’s soul.
* * * *
The guard shoved Vince through the door hard enough to make him lose his balance. As he began to fall, he rolled to his side to avoid breaking his nose. The impact with the tiled floor still sent dizzying pain shooting through his body. He rolled over and saw four people, three men and a woman, huddled against a wall staring at him. At first, they appeared frightened, but then one of the men rushed over and began yanking at the plastic straps around Vince’s chest.
“Wait,” Vince told him. “They’re too tight. Find something to slip between the strap and my body; then use a bar of some kind to twist them.”
The man found a thick telephone book and placed it on Vince’s chest, eliciting a soft moan as it touched his bruised flesh.
“I’m sorry,” the man said, stopping momentarily.
“It’s okay,” Vince reassured him. “Now, break off a table leg or something and twist hard.”
Even with the book keeping the plastic straps from his flesh, they bit deeply into his arms and back. The pressure became almost unbearable; then the straps snapped. Blood surged back to his arms and hands, inducing more pain. He sat up and shook his arms until the pain subsided. He looked over his fellow captives.
The man who had helped him, slightly balding, in his forties, looked like a former accountant. He even wore a white, long-sleeve shirt, now frayed and dirty. The other two were heavily tanned and wore jeans and work shirts. Their calloused hands hinted that they were possibly former construction workers or farmers. They looked at Vince with
suspicion.
The fourth member of the group, a plain-looking African-American woman with short dark hair and wearing baggy black shorts and a dark, loose-fitting tank top, knelt beside him. Upon closer inspection, Vince decided that she had deliberately shunned makeup and wore what she did to avoid looking attractive. Beneath the grime and a few bruises on her cheeks and upper arm, he saw an attractive woman. She handed him a damp cloth.
“Use this to wipe away some of the blood.”
Vince wondered why she hadn’t washed her own face; then he noticed the empty water pitcher on the desk. She had offered him the last of their water. He accepted the cloth and lightly dabbed his split lip.
“Thanks.”
“I’m Amanda.”
“I’m Vince.” Groaning at his protesting muscles, Vince stood and surveyed the others in the room. The man who had freed his bonds smiled at him.
“I’m Dennis. The other two are Mike and Roy. Are you a munie too?” His pronunciation of the word ‘munie’ showed his ire at the label placed on him simply for his immunity.
“No.”
“Don’t trust him,” Roy said.
Amanda shot him a scowl. “Pay no attention to him,” she said to Vince. “He’s bitter.”
“Damn right I’m bitter,” Roy snapped. He moved toward Vince and Amanda. Roy was a big man, but slightly pot-bellied. If Roy wanted to vent his anger, Vince didn’t think he would have too much trouble kicking his ass, even in his weakened state. He felt like hurting someone. “The bastards captured us,” Roy continued. “They killed that fat guy and will probably do the same to us.”
“Save your anger for the Gray Man,” Vince said. He looked around the room. “Have you tried breaking out?”
“Where to?” Mike asked. “They have guns. We don’t. There are zombies out there.”
“Did you have a gun when the Gray Man captured you?”
“No.”
“Then you’re no worse off out there. Believe me, zombies are the least of your worries.”