Outbreak (Book 1): Emerald City

by Jay K. Anthony

  Clark kept it to himself that the first time he had examined a living infected was only the night before. “Yes,” he said. “Of course.”

  “So you know how lurkers are soft inside, right? Just like you and me.”

  “Sure,” Clark said. From everything he had read, experiments on the bodies in both an animated state and after they had died, the infected retained the same internal structure as a normal healthy human being.

  “Ok,” Rocha said. “Good.” Clark could see that the soldier was excited about what he was going to say next. He had one foot up on a bench and had become animated with his hands. “Now. Have you heard that lurkers still have a pulse?”

  That had been heavily documented in the research Clark read on the ship. “Yes,” he said. “There has been a ton of findings on this. Their hearts beat very slowly when they are just standing around and even then, a pulse is hard to detect. When they get moving, their heart rate goes up just like the rest of us. Why?”

  “I’m getting there,” Rocha said. “Ok, this is what I think. You know how when one lurker gets riled up, they all get riled up?”

  Clark kept his mouth shut. He was not ready to admit that he had never been around more than one infected at a time and when he had, the infected had been strapped to a table and there was a wall of safety glass between them. “Sure.”

  “So, last week we were clearing out this mall,” Rocha said. “Command had gotten intel that there were survivors holed up in a nearby structure. So my partner, Matthews, and I … “.

  “I heard about your partner,” Clark said. “Sorry.”

  “Damn straight,” Rocha said. “He was a good man. Anyhow, we’d cleared this mall once before, but we were told there was a maintenance tunnel beneath the mall we had missed. So, we went back to check it out. The main interior of the mall was exactly the same as last time, filthy, but empty of everyone but dead bodies. But, whatever. Anyhow, we followed the intel and went down into the maintenance chase. It was dark. Really dark. It was a dark mall to start out with, but down in the basement, it was black as a coal mine. We carry night vision and tried using those, but the goggles work off of light amplification, so to really work, they need a source of light to magnify.”

  “Ok,” Clark said. He had no idea where Rocha was going with his story, but he thought he should be patient and let the soldier talk.

  “But, it was too dark,” Rocha continued. “The goggles weren’t working for shit. So, to fix this, we use red lenses to dim our flashlights. That way they put out just enough light that the goggles work again. Anyhow, down in the maintenance chase area, we found a whole bunch of lurkers. A first we tried to sneak up on them, but I swear to God, they knew we were there. There’s no explanation for it. We had been absolutely silent. I’m sure of it. But as we crept closer, the lurkers knew we were there and then came after us like bats out of hell.”

  Clark still had no idea where the soldier was going with this. “Yeah,” Clark said. “But I’m not sure I am getting your point --”

  “Well,” Rocha said. “If we couldn’t see, then how could they? Plus, you ever think how half those bastards can’t see worth a shit anyway? Some of those things have half of their face rotting off.”

  “Ok, so they can’t see. Not sure I know --”

  “Think about it! If the lurkers can't see for shit, they hear even worse, and as far as anyone knows, can't smell at all, how the hell did they know we were even there?” Rocha asked.

  “I have no idea,” Clark admitted.

  “Right,” Rocha said. He counted off on his fingers. “They can’t see. They can’t hear. They can’t smell … so what’s left?”

  Clark shook his head. “Feel?” he guessed.

  “Damn straight, they feel it!” Rocha said and slapped Clark on the back. Clark winced. The soldier was strong. “Think about it,” Rocha went on. “When a gun goes off, maybe they see the muzzle flash, and yes, they probably hear it, but I don’t think that’s what gets them moving. I think it’s the feeling, the shock wave of the bullet leaving the barrel of the weapon. That’s why they chase you when you run. When they’re after you, they feel your feet hitting the ground.”

  “Maybe when you run, they chase you because they want to eat your brains.”

  “Funny. But, I’m telling you. When you run, they feel your heart beating. It’s the vibration, man. Vibration is bad."

  Yeah, Clark thought as the rain finally began to let up. I got it. Vibration is bad. I'm so getting the hell out of here.

  TASHA

  Tanner finally freed Tasha from the barbed wire just as it stopped raining and the two of them followed the road up to the military base at the top of the mountain. As they passed the last barrier in the road, they came to a bunker made from sandbags and thick metal plates. The bunker was empty except for boxes of ammunition and an enormous black machine gun positioned on an even larger black metal tripod.

  “This is where I was when I saw you were in trouble,” Tanner said. Tasha could only nod. She was out of breath. She glanced at Tanner, who looked like he had not even gotten his heart rate up, and was impressed. He’s in a lot better shape than I am, she thought pushing her hair out of her face and looking around at Broken Top. It did not look like how she remembered it. There were some new additions to the World War II cement bunkers with barbed wire strewn everywhere, trenches dug in expanding circles, and a canvas tent with an absurdly tall radio tower. The road up the mountain ended in a small turnaround that was not even big enough for any parking spaces.

  Another soldier, decked out in gear identical to Tanner, walked out of the tent. He jumped over one of the trenches, juked around the barbed wire, and jogged over to the two of them with his gear bouncing and rattling the whole way. At five feet and seven inches, Tasha did not consider herself tall, but this soldier was short, a lot shorter than her. The soldier stopped in front of them and removed his helmet. Tasha was surprised when the soldier was not a man, but a woman, who could not have been much older than her.

  “I get that a lot,” the female soldier said.

  “You get what?” Tasha asked.

  “That look. No one expects a woman under all of this gear.”

  “Oh,” Tasha said. “Sorry. I just didn’t --”

  “Hey,” the soldier said. “Don’t sweat it. I’m used to it. My name is Ortiz. Corporal Megan Ortiz.” She tucked her helmet under her arm and stuck her hand out.

  Tasha shook it. “Tasha,” she replied.

  Ortiz released Tasha’s hand. “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” she said. “You okay?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Are you injured?” she asked. “Did any of the vegetables bite you or anything?”

  “Did the what?” Tasha asked, puzzled. “No.”

  “Good,” Ortiz said. She looked at Tanner. “Nice work out there, Private.”

  Tanner nodded and smiled. “Thanks,” he said.

  Ortiz turned and motioned for them both to follow her back toward the tent. “Williams wants to see you,” she said as she lead the way. Tasha and Tanner followed the corporal. They navigated around the coils of barbed wire and Tasha carefully leapt over the muddy, rain soaked trenches. She was almost to the tent behind Ortiz when she saw Tanner jump the last trench and then slip. She looked back in time to see the young man almost fall into the gap.

  “Shit!” he cried out as he caught himself on Tasha’s arm. His face immediately went scarlet red and he let go of her. “Oh! Wow, sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Tasha said with a smile. Tanner was proving to be an interesting guy. Ortiz held open the tent flap.

  “Smooth move, Tanner,” Ortiz said. Tanner grinned sheepishly and ducked inside the tent. Tasha followed and saw another soldier standing in front of a radio.

  “Found her,” Tanner announced.

  The soldier, taller and older than Tanner and Ortiz, held an open packet of peanut butter in his hand. He turned and nodded at Tasha. “Good work,” he said to Tanner a
nd then went back to looking at the radio.

  “That’s Sergeant Williams,” Tanner said to Tasha who could not take her eyes off of the packet of peanut butter. The smell was amazing. She could not remember the last time she had peanut butter and she wondered if he would mind sharing some of it.

  “What’s the good word, Sergeant?” Ortiz asked.

  Williams sucked peanut butter from the packet and flipped a switch on the radio down and then back up. “The hell if I know,” he said, smacking his mouth on the stickiness of the food. “I’m trying to get this damned radio fired up so we can call those guys over on Mercer Island again, but I can’t get shit out of it.” He slapped what Tasha assumed was the radio, although it looked like nothing more than a collection of dark green boxes with knobs, switches, and lights to her. Giving up, Williams turned to face the three of them. “Ortiz,” he said. “Go find Cleveland and tell him to get his head out of his ass and get back in here and make this thing work.”

  Just then another young soldier stepped into the tent. Unlike the rest of the team, he was dressed only in a t-shirt, boots, and camouflage pants. “Sorry. I was taking a shit,” he said matter of fact as he tucked in his shirt. Then he saw Tasha and could only stare wide-eyed at her. Tasha thought he looked young, younger than her even, but she did not think the military let in kids.

  “Nice, Cleveland,” Ortiz said.

  Cleveland just continued to stared at Tasha. “Uhhh … you’re a girl,” he said. “I’m Private Cleveland, Jason Cleveland. I wasn’t taking a … I mean ...”

  “Cleveland,” Williams said. “Quit staring like you have never seen a girl before and get your ass over here and start fixing the stupid radio.”

  “Uh, yes, Sergeant,” Cleveland said and shoved past them to sit in a chair in front of the radio. He quickly started flipping switches and turning knobs. “Who screwed this all up?” he asked.

  Williams frowned. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Just get ahold of the Army Command and tell them we have a survivor for them to come pick up.”

  “I’m B-negative,” Tasha offered.

  Everyone but Tanner turned to stare at her. “What?” Williams asked.

  “My blood type,” Tasha said.

  “Yeah,” Tanner said. “That’s right. She said that the last helicopter to pass over dropped leaflets from Command. Something about needing people with B-negative blood.”

  “Wait,” Tasha said and dug into her pocket. She found the leaflet which had fallen on the roof of the cannery and gave it to Williams.

  Williams took it and read it quickly. “About damn time,” he said.

  “What is it, Sergeant?” Cleveland asked.

  “Sounds like they are working on a cure,” Williams said. “Otherwise why would they need this B-negative blood stuff. When you get ahold of those guys at Command, tell them to make the pick up a priority, or whatever. Just make the damn radio work.”

  “You got it, Sergeant,” Cleveland said.

  “Ortiz,” Williams said. “You and Tanner get your asses back out on the perimeter and make sure we don’t have any more vegetables coming up that road, or more survivors wanting to donate blood.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Ortiz said and left the tent, but Tanner hesitated.

  “What is it, Private?” Williams asked.

  Tanner looked at Tasha and swallowed. “I just … uh, I just want to make sure she, uh …”

  “I’ve got it covered,” Williams said. “Get your ass back out there.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Tanner said and met Tasha’s eyes for a moment before he ducked out of the tent.

  Boys, she thought. My first day out of the cannery and I feel like I am back in high school. I wonder which one is going to ask me to the prom?

  “Hey, Sergeant!” Cleveland said. “I got someone.”

  Tasha moved into a corner of the tent to be out of the way and watched as the older man, Sergeant Williams, she reminded herself, picked up a microphone. Cleveland pointed at a button on the side. “Push here,” he instructed.

  Williams slapped Cleveland’s hand away. “I know, Goddammit,” he said and pressed the button.

  “Mercer Island Command,” he said. “This is Broken Top Alpha, over.”

  A voice came back through one of the speakers on the radio. “Broken Top Alpha, this is Command, Corporal Creed speaking. What is your situation? Over.”

  “Hey, Creed,” Williams said. “What’s up, man? This is Sergeant Williams.”

  “Hey! Good morning, Sergeant. How you holding up out there?”

  Cleveland looked at Williams. “Do you know everyone?” he whispered.

  Williams ignored him. “The weather sucks,” he replied into the radio. “Otherwise everything's just peachy. Hey, we have a survivor out here and are requesting priority evac. Just came in this morning. Female, I think she said eighteen.”

  “No shit? Hey, is she hot?”

  Tasha blushed. Cleveland covered his mouth to keep from laughing.

  “What?” Williams asked. “Shit, uh … yeah. I don’t know. No. What? She is standing right here, you want to ask her?”

  “What?” Creed’s voice said through the radio. “Am I on a speaker?”

  “Yes,” Williams said and Cleveland had to use both hands to keep from exploding in laughter. Williams pushed the young soldier on the shoulder and Cleveland fell out of his chair and onto the floor of the tent.

  “Shit,” Creed said. “Command is going to have my ass. Hey, anyhow, that evac is going to have to wait. Got a slight situation.”

  “What kind of situation? Over,” Williams said.

  “We had a couple zombies get over the wall last night and some asshat put holes into one of our Blackhawks, so we only have one in operation. That one is currently on mission and ETA is unknown. Just button up until it can get back to Command, get refueled, and then they’ll come pick her up. How copy? Over.”

  “We got it, Command. Be advised, the survivor is B-negative. Over.”

  “Bee what?” Creed asked.

  “It’s her blood type.”

  Does anyone talk with anyone? Tasha wondered.

  “Affirmative,” Creed said. “I will pass that on to Command.”

  “Whatever,” Williams said. “Just keep us informed on the Blackhawk. Broken Top Alpha, out.”

  Williams put down the handset and turned to Tasha. “Sounds like you may be here awhile,” he said. “With only one bird available, it will take them forever to get out here.” He looked her over. “Do you have any weapons?” Tasha pulled out her empty revolver.

  “Just this, but it is empty,” she said a little embarrassed. Williams nodded.

  “Cute,” he said and turned to Cleveland. “Hey. Get her geared up. If she’s going to be with us for awhile, I want her packing more heat than that little peashooter. Uniform too. She needs to look the part.”

  “You got it, Sergeant,” Cleveland said and turned to Tasha. “Follow me, ma’am.”

  Tasha followed Cleveland out of the tent, over a different trench, and into one of the World War II bunkers. The bunker was huge, a lot bigger than she had expected it to be, and they had filled the room from floor to ceiling with boxes of military gear and equipment. “What do you think?” Cleveland said with a smile.

  “Seems like a lot of stuff for just the four of you,” Tasha said, looking up at the crates of guns and equipment.

  Cleveland stood standing with his hands on his hips admiring the amount of munitions they had stored. “Yep. National Guard drove truckloads of stuff up here when the shit first hit the fan and then never came back for it. Or us,” he said. “Apparently we’re damn lucky to have it. Williams talks about his three years in Afghanistan and how over there, through all that fighting, his division had nothing but problems getting munitions. Couldn’t even get grenades. Not us! We have thousands of rounds of ammunition, claymore mines, and all kinds of explosives. It’s all just sitting here too. It’s at our disposal but we can’t use any o
f it because it would make so much noise we would bring all of the vegetables left in Seattle. The last thing we need is for another invasion to come storming up that road.”

  “Invasion?” Tasha asked.

  “Yeah,” Cleveland said. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it later. Let’s get you hooked up.” Cleveland pulled a large green plastic crate into the center of the room. He flipped pins on one side and opened the lid to display four large black rifles. “M16A4s with an M203 attachment,” he said and picked up one of the rifles. “Pretty sweet, huh? You ever shoot a gun?”

  Tasha was disappointed that the crate was not full of peanut butter. “Just my pistol,” Tasha replied.

  “Right,” Cleveland said and handed her the rifle. “This is a lot like that, kind of. Well, not really.”

  The rifle was heavy and slick with some kind of grease. It looked brand new. “It’s brand new,” Cleveland said as if he could read her mind. “We made some changes to the internals, but it’s never been fired that I know of. But, I wouldn’t worry about that. These things come out of the factory in pretty good shape.” He took a second rifle out of the crate and held it in a firing pose with the butt of the rifle in his shoulder, one hand on the grip, and the other underneath the barrel, holding a large tube attached there. “Hold it like this,” he said.

  “Like this?” Tasha asked, trying to mirror Cleveland. The weapon was heavy, especially the front end, but not so much that she could not handle it.

  “Perfect,” he said. “Best part, it works just like a pistol, you just point and shoot. These bad boys hold thirty rounds though.” Cleveland put his rifle back into the crate and went to a shelf lined with ammunition magazines. They spent the next few minutes discussing how to load and unload the rifle, how to work the bolt to load a round, basic clearing procedures in case something got jammed, and then how to manage the safety selector switch. “It says burst on the selector,” he said. “But since we had so much time to kill up here, we took all these apart and filed down some of the moving parts. Now if you have it set to burst and pull the trigger, it will go full auto. It’s pretty damn fun.”