Outbreak (Book 1): Emerald City

by Jay K. Anthony

  “We’re coming in,” Williams replied. “Don’t shoot us.” A door nearest the armored car, at the far end of the garage, slammed opened and Williams peeked inside before coming in. Cleveland was behind him and he quickly fanned out.

  "Tanner, is there anyone else outside?" Ortiz asked into her radio.

  "Uh," Tanner replied. "Wait ... no. I don’t see anyone. Just a crap load of vegetables at the fence.”

  “Tasha!” Williams yelled from across the garage. “Be careful. That guy was talking to someone in here.” Suddenly the back door of the armored bank truck opened and slammed into Cleveland, knocking him over where he hit his head on a workbench. A man stepped out, pointing an enormous silver handgun. Williams turned to duck out of the way and the man shot him twice in the back. Williams sprawled forward, his rifle clattering on the pavement.

  “Man down!” Ortiz screamed. She aimed and fired at the bank truck but the man had ducked back inside. “Light that truck up!” she yelled at Tasha.

  Tasha pulled the trigger on the machine gun and the SAW roared. It was incredibly loud inside the garage and shooting from the hip, bullets went everywhere, just like Tanner had warned they would. Tasha stumbled backward from the force of the recoil and she lifted the nose of the rifle. Rounds ripped up the back of the armored car and toward the ceiling. Tasha let go of the trigger and listened as the chain links and shells rattled on the floor. In the silence, the man jumped out of the back of the bank truck and ran for the same door Williams and Cleveland had just come through. Tasha pulled the trigger again and in the roar of gunfire, the man took a stripe of bullets in his back and sprawled dead against the door. Tasha released the trigger. Her ears rang in the sudden silence. She looked to Williams. Please don’t let him be dead, she thought and started towards him. Ortiz ran past Tasha and sprinted over to Williams. Williams flipped over onto his side. “I think I’m okay,” he said as he held onto Ortiz to stand up. He pulled the radio off his back and the three of them stared at it. Both of the other man’s gunshots had hit the radio, saving Williams.

  “Thank God,” Ortiz said.

  “Hey,” Cleveland said sitting up and holding his head. “What did I miss?”

  CLARK

  Clark stood on the sidewalk and looked up at the sky. He did not like what he saw. A menacing storm front was forming well off of the coast, but looked to be rolling in quickly on a cold, stiff breeze. The clouds were unbelievably tall and darker than any he could remember ever seeing in person. “Hey, uh, Rocha,” he said. “I’m thinking we should get inside.”

  Rocha looked up from tying his bootlace. The two of them had stopped to take a break and for Rocha to get a bearing on where they were in the city. “Shit,” Rocha said. “That doesn’t look good. Going to be a hell of a storm.”

  “Like something out of one of those disaster movies,” Clark said as he scanned the street. They had ducked under the awning of a warehouse. He peeked in a window and saw the space was nothing more than concrete walls and broken windows. It had been completely looted and there was nowhere inside to hide. “I don’t think we want to stay here.”

  Rocha looked through the window and frowned. “No, we don’t,” Rocha agreed and took out his map. He traced a line on the paper with his finger. “I think I have a better option.”

  Clark adjusted the straps on the defibrillator case he had turned into a backpack. It was heavy and biting into his shoulders. He shifted the weight of it and then leaned over to look at the map in Rocha’s hand. “What is it?”

  “Check this out right … here,” Rocha said with his finger on a square. “A buddy of mine back in the day was big into motorcycles. I’m pretty sure this is a shop he used to go to. I’m thinking if we can find one or two motorcycles in there, we can ride back to Command. If we get a couple with kick-starters then we shouldn’t have to worry about the batteries being dead.”

  “You ride?” Clark asked.

  “Dirt bikes when I was a kid,” Rocha said. “You?”

  “Yeah,” Clark said. “Super sport.”

  Rocha looked impressed. “Not sure we’ll find those here,” he said. “I remember it being more of a Harley shop.”

  “Works for me,” Clark said. “We get some wheels, maybe we can out run this storm. How far away is the shop?”

  “Couple blocks is all.”

  “Beats walking.”

  “Damn straight,” Rocha said and after making sure the road was clear of infected, he lead the two of them down the street. They had been seeing more and more infected on the roads and Clark wondered if the things could feel the storm coming. Rocha said he wanted to avoid contact with them as much as possible, so Clark was not surprised when the soldier had picked up the pace. With a low groan at the load on his back, Clark followed Rocha running along in a hard jog. They came to an intersection and Rocha stopped. He nodded across the street at a building with an old sign that read Johnny Rock Cycle Shop. “That has to be it,” Rocha said.

  Clark sucked wind and tried to catch his breath. He felt like they had been doing nothing but running for the last two days and the backpack seemed to be weighing a whole lot more than he had thought it would. Suddenly he heard the slap of feet running on pavement behind them.

  Rocha spun around. “Watch your back!” he shouted and brought up his machine gun. Clark turned around and just had time to put his hands up as an infected in a blue summer dress and long filthy hair bowled into him. Clark landed hard on his back, the makeshift backpack breaking his fall, and tumbled with the infected woman into the street. The infected rolled on top of him, so Clark put his hands around the infected’s neck and pushed with all of his strength to keep the monster at arm’s length. The infected bucked and snarled and grabbed at Clark. “Try to hold it still, close your eyes and hold your breath,” Rocha yelled. Clark did his best to keep the infected steady and turned his head away.

  Thwip! Thwip!

  With his eyes still closed, Clark felt his right forearm explode in pain and his arm buckle. Keeping his eyes and mouth closed, he heard Rocha run over. A moment later the infected was pulled off of him and Clark rolled in the opposite direction and held his arm against his chest. There was something seriously wrong. The pain was fiercely intense and he could not move his fingers. With his eyes still closed, he felt blood running over his other hand. Jesus, he thought. I’m bit! The thing got me. Oh God.

  “Shit, man,” Rocha said. “I’m really sorry, bud. Open your eyes. It’s okay.” Clark opened his eyes and held his arm. Rocha was kneeling over him, looking at his face.

  “I’m bit,” Clark choked out.

  “What? Where?” Rocha asked. Clark held up his arm. Blood was everywhere. “No,” Rocha said. “It’s not a bite. I hit you when the lurker jerked at the last second. I feel like shit about it. I’m never that bad of a shot.”

  Clark felt strangely relieved. I’d rather be shot than an infected dead man walking, he thought. Clark tried to sit up and Rocha put one hand in the center of his backpack and helped him upright. “I’m really sorry,” Rocha said.

  The pain in Clark’s arm was nearly unbearable. He was upset but wanted Rocha to stop apologizing. He needed the man to refocus on their current mission, which was getting the two of them somewhere safe to wait out the storm. He said the only thing he could think of. “Don’t mention it. I screwed up. It was my job to watch our backs.”

  “I still feel like shit,” Rocha said. “I’ve never shot anyone on the home team before. We have to move though, man. We can’t get caught out here in the rain.”

  “Help me up,” Clark said and Rocha put his arm around Clark’s back and helped him to his feet. Clark’s arm twisted just above the wrist and pain exploded up his arm. He felt dizzy and he bent over to try to get his head between his knees. “I don’t feel good.”

  “You’re going into shock,” Rocha said, taking the defibrillator backpack off Clark’s shoulders and swinging it onto his own. He lead Clark towards the motorcycle shop with his a
rm under Clark’s shoulders.

  “I’m not going into shock,” Clark mumbled as he watched blood drip onto the pavement. As they stumbled along, Clark heaved and threw up in the street.

  “Damn, man. Hang on,” Rocha said and began to drag Clark to a side entrance to the shop. It was a small building with a single garage door and two large front windows. The side door was rusted and the door handle had been knocked off, leaving the door slightly ajar. Rocha leaned Clark up against the wall next to a small dumpster. “I’ll be right back,” he said and stepped inside the shop with his machine gun pointed out in front of him.

  Holding his arm tight against his chest, Clark slowly slid down the wall and sat on the ground next to the dumpster. He was dizzy and his mouth tasted like stomach bile. Suddenly Rocha was back and instead of helping Clark stand back up, Rocha grabbed Clark by the back of his shirt and pulled him backward through the door into the shop. Clark slid on his ass with his feet dragging along. He watched Rocha close the door and slide a heavy tool bench over in front of the door to block it from opening. The shop was empty of any motorcycles. If there had ever been any, they were long gone. Rocha set down his rifle, unloaded all the stuff he was carrying and knelt next to Clark. “So much for riding out of here.” Rocha said. “How you holding up?”

  “I … uh,” was all Clark could say.

  Rocha nodded. “Okay,” he said and reached for Clark’s arm. “This is going to hurt but I’ve got to see what we are dealing with.”

  Rocha began to examine the wound and pain raced up Clark's arm and his head swam. “God damn!” he cried. “What are you doing to me?”

  “Just hold on,” Rocha said.

  Clark squeezed his eyes closed against the agony, and tears rolled down his face. His heart slammed in his chest. “Is it bad?” he asked.

  “Damn straight, it’s bad,” Rocha said. “The bullet passed through, but I nailed you right above the wrist. Your wrist is broken and by broken, I mean shattered.”

  “Oh, God,” Clark groaned.

  Rocha dug into his backpack. “We get this bleeding stopped and you’ll live,” he said. “But your arm’s in trouble.”

  “What does that mean?” Clark whimpered.

  “It means that I’m going to do what I can to save your arm.”

  “Save my arm!”

  “I need to you to calm down, Doc,” Rocha said. He dug through his pack and pulled out a needle and a small brown bottle. He filled a syringe. “This will help with the pain.”

  “What will … hey, wait!” Clark protested.

  Rocha stabbed Clark in the shoulder with the syringe needle, depressed the plunger, and withdrew the needle. It was done in only a couple seconds and the pain in Clark’s arm immediately began to recede. “Oh, hey,” Clark said. “What was that?”

  “Morphine,” Rocha said and pulled more supplies from his pack. “I need you to stay with me while I clean up your arm and set a splint.”

  Clark was feeling much better. “No problem,” he said. “I’ll watch your back.”

  “You do that,” Rocha said and went to the workbench along the back wall of the shop. He rifled around for a moment and came back to Clark with two foot long, thin metal bars. He then took a roll of tape out of his pack and set them all on the floor. Next he used a medical kit to disinfect and bandage the wound and then with the metal bars and tape, he made a quick splint for Clark's arm. When he was done, he started putting everything back into his pack. Clark was impressed with the soldier’s efficiency and skill.

  “Thanks, Rocha,” Clark said. “I thought I was the doctor on this team.”

  “Damn straight,” Rocha replied. “How does it feel?”

  “Can’t feel much of anything.”

  “That’s probably for the best. Hang out here, I'm going to see if I can get hold of Command.”

  “Roger that,” Clark said and watched as Rocha stepped away with his radio. He could hear Rocha talking but the words were fuzzy to Clark’s ears. Whatever Rocha was saying and hearing, it had him taking notes, which Clark saw as only a good sign. Rocha finished up and came back to sit by Clark.

  “Ok,” he said. “Good news and bad news.”

  “I can’t handle any bad news,” Clark said. “Just tell me the good stuff.”

  “Fair enough. I got hold of Command. They can’t get us a chopper, but they said that there is a military squad which checked in this morning and they are only about a mile from our current position. We are to go to a spot on their most likely route and flag them down.”

  “Most likely route? What does that mean?”

  “That's the bad news,” Rocha said. “But you said you didn’t want to hear it.”

  Clark closed his eyes. It had been a long, difficult couple of days. “Who cares anymore,” he said. “Give it to me.”

  “You got it,” Rocha said and took out his map again. “Command can’t raise these guys on the radio right now. Fortunately, Command was able to give me the estimated route the squad leader said he was going to try and take. The highway they are on is only about two blocks from here. I figure if we hurry, we can get to that road and intercept them when they come along.”

  “Assuming they haven’t already gone by,” Clark said.

  “I don’t think they have. Command said that the squad reported running into some trouble with their vehicle and were working on acquiring a new one.”

  “Okay, let’s go,” Clark said, starting to stand up. He got dizzy and Rocha had to catch him.

  “Slow down there, Doc,” Rocha said.

  “Like you said,” Clark groaned. “We need to move.” Clark leaned hard on Rocha to get his legs under him and stand up. He tried to elevate his wrist, but the swelling in his hand and arm made it difficult to do much more than just bend his arm at the elbow.

  “You sure about this?” Rocha asked. “Maybe I can just run up the road and flag them down. Then circle back for you.”

  Clark thought about that for a minute. He looked around the garage and tried to think of how he could barricade himself in. It did not look promising and in his condition, he would not be able to put up much of a fight if infected or anything else came along. His eyes swept past the spot where he was just sitting and saw the sizable pool of blood on the garage floor. Then there is the risk of sitting here bleeding to death, he thought. “No,” he said. “I really don’t want to die here. And we have to get this documentation to Command.”

  “Don’t worry about the paperwork. We’ll get it there,” Rocha said.

  “Promise me something, Rocha,” Clark said. “This research is more important than anything else. You, me, everyone. They cannot get lost out here in the middle of nowhere. They have to get back to Command, no matter what. I want to personally see that happen, but if I can’t, promise me you’ll get it done.”

  “You doubt I can handle it?” Rocha asked.

  “Jesus Christ, man. Don’t take it personal. I know you can handle it. But, if I stay behind and something happens to you out there on the way to intercept the squad passing by, then I could die here. If that happens, we lose the records. If I come with you, it doubles the chances of getting the documents back to Command. Plus, I really don’t want to die. Understand?”

  “Damn straight,” Rocha said. “We’ll make it happen. Let’s get you set and haul some ass. That storm is still coming. If it starts raining, we can’t be stuck out in the open. You’ve seen what happens to lurkers when they get stirred up, right?”

  “Yes,” Clark said and remembered the infected in the examination room back on the aircraft carrier. “They go insane.”

  TASHA

  “I don’t know what the hell Williams wants me to do with this,” Cleveland said to Tasha and Tanner as they all looked at the radio. One of the two bullet holes was centered so perfectly it looked to have been done on purpose. When Williams had given it to him, Cleveland had just shook his head.

  “Yeah, good luck with that,” Tanner said.

  �
�Thanks a bunch, Tanner,” Cleveland complained before beginning to work on the ruined radio.

  “Can I ask you guys something?” Tasha asked.

  “Of course,” Tanner replied as he watched Cleveland remove the back of the radio.

  “What are your first names?”

  “Joseph,” Cleveland said not looking up from his work.

  Tanner turned to Tasha and smiled. “Robert,” he said and stuck his hand out. “Robert Tanner. Nice to meet you.”

  Tasha took his hand. “Nice to meet you too,” she said, smiling back at him. “Why do you all call each other by your last names?”

  “Dunno,” Tanner said with a shrug. “I guess it’s just what soldiers do.”

  “Kind of weird,” Tasha said.

  “Can’t argue with that,” Cleveland said standing up. He sighed at the ruined radio, picked it up, and threw it onto the workbench. “Radio’s screwed. No way I’m fixing that.”

  “Williams won’t like it,” Ortiz said from under the hood of the bank truck parked nearby. Tasha had never seen a truck like it up close. It was an impressive vehicle with armored plating, tubeless wheels, and bullet proof glass. The only problem was it would not start and Ortiz had spent the last couple of hours trying to figure out why. Williams won’t like that news either, she thought. At the moment, Williams was out inspecting the fence line. The weather looked to be turning ugly and no one cared to have to deal with a horde of creepers storming through the fence. Tasha stepped over to look out the bay door and saw Williams standing in front of the fence with his gas mask on, staring at the creepers going ballistic with him so close. She noticed Ortiz looking that way too.

  “Is that a good idea?” Tasha asked nodding in Williams’ direction.

  Ortiz came over and stood next to Tasha. She activated her radio. “Everything okay out there Sergeant?”

  They watched as Williams reached up and touched the radio on his shoulder. “Yep,” he said. “I think I know this guy. I used to work with him back before the apocalypse. He was kind of a jerk then, but now I think he wants to eat me. It’s kind of disturbing. I’m thinking about shooting him.”