by Schafer, Jon
"That it is," he agreed. Pointing his thumb over his shoulder at the glow of funeral pyres visible on the far side of the stadium, he added, "They're torching seventy plus bodies over there. The Guard's worried about the infection spreading. This is like something from a third world country, man. It just gets weirder and weirder. It's like all the old rules have been thrown out and the new ones all deal with just plain survival."
Heather understood what he was saying. It was like something ominous was in the air. She had felt it since coming on duty earlier. The first two calls she had responded to had been suicides; people who didn't want to live in a society that was breaking down. While the lights still came on when you flipped a switch and the television still played the fall lineup, you knew it wasn't going to last. Change was coming, and the unimaginable was now going to be the mundane. What had been paranoia on Wednesday had become reality on Sunday.
Although much of what was happening was gruesome and went against the status quo, Heather couldn’t help but feel an excitement building up in her. The word that suddenly came into her mind wasn't quite right, but it would do for now.
Freedom.
For a brief moment she could understand the mentality of the looters and the lawbreakers. Not agree with it but at least understand it. The rulebook had been thrown out now and everything was fair game. Turning away from the glow behind the stadium, Heather asked, "Do you have any more of those M-16's? I've got a feeling I might need one before this is over."
"Yeah, I think we can hook you up," he said. Looking around at the deserted parking lot, he added, "I was just about to head in anyway. They sent me out here to direct traffic when everything went to shit and it looks like my job is done."
As Heather and her new friend headed along the sidewalk toward the double exit doors set in the end wall of the gymnasium, she spoke into the radio microphone attached to her Kevlar vest to let base know where she was. Approaching the doors, the Clearwater cop veered off the sidewalk onto the grass, "Don't want to go in through there. We’ll use the side door that leads through the locker room."
As if suddenly remembering, he introduced himself, "Name's Tad by the way." Pointing to a spot over his breast pocket he said, "Lost my nametag earlier. It says Gruenwald, but everyone who knows me calls me Tad."
Heather introduced herself and asked, "Why can’t we use the other doors?"
"That's where they keep the high-risks. They keep 'em in there and when they die and comeback..." Tad trailed off but then suddenly brightened and asked, "You want to check it out?"
Heather hadn’t seen one of the living dead yet and was curious as to how they acted and looked, so she said, "Sounds good, gotta know your enemy and all that happy shit."
Tad led Heather through a locker room and up a flight of stairs. They went through a door to end up standing on top of a row of bleacher seats that had been collapsed against the wall to create a four foot wide walkway with a shear twenty foot drop down to the gymnasium floor at its front.
The first thing Heather noticed, was a man standing in the center of the gym floor screaming, "Shoot me. Just shoot me and get it over with."
Around him were about twelve other people sitting or stretched out on the floor. A Clearwater officer stood further down on top of the bleachers cradling an M-16. Looking down at the man, the cop called out, "You know we can't do that, sir. We're not sure you're infected. You've been placed here because you're at high risk." He paused and then continued, "But if you keep on screaming all that stupid shit, I might shoot you just for being a pain in the ass.”
"I can feel it coursing through my veins," the man howled as he dropped to his knees.
Approaching the officer, Tad asked, "You got anymore of those 16's the Guards gave us to hand out to road cops?"
"Got some CAR-15’s left but no 16's. The fucking Largo PD took the last of 16's. Like those fucking Nazis don't have enough fire power already."
"Let me get one of them from you, Ken," Tad said.
Without taking his eyes off the people below him, Ken said, "Take your pick. None of them are full auto but a couple got three round bursts. You can also try the storage area on 49th Street. I hear they’re handing out some of the confiscated stuff. You can probably pick up an AK-47 they took off some gangbanger."
Tad looked back at Heather questioningly.
"I'll take the 15," she said. "It's got the collapsible stock so it'll be easier getting in and out of the car."
Tad nodded and squeezed past Ken to where a dozen assault rifles were propped further along the back wall. As he picked one up and started checking it, Heather turned to the other officer and pointed to the people below asking, "So what do you have here?''
"A dozen possibles, and one Drama Queen" Ken said brusquely.
"I thought if you were infected..." Heather let the sentence go unfinished.
"We do," Ken replied dispassionately. "But if you're a high-risk, then we keep you here for twenty-four hours. The National Guard boys got a little out of hand earlier while they were sorting out the mess on the football field and shot ATM."
"ATM?" Heather asked.
"Anything That Moves," Ken answered and said, "We already had these people in here when that shit went down outside, but no matter what we’re going to obey the law. We're cops, not executioners."
Hesitantly, not wanting to look like a FNG, Heather asked "What do they look like?"
"Hang out for a few minutes and see for yourself. I think one of them is about to turn."
Heather looked at the man who had been screaming earlier and asked, "The Drama Queen?"
Ken gave a hard laugh, "I couldn't get that lucky. He's probably the only one who'll walk out of here tomorrow." Nodding his head at a woman who lay flat on her back to the far right of the group, he said, "Her."
"How can you tell," Heather asked.
Ken shrugged, his Kevlar vest riding up as he replied, "Don't know. It's like a sixth sense." He laughed and then whispered, "I see dead people. They're all around me."
Heather couldn’t help but chuckle.
Suddenly, the woman they were talking about began to shake and then go into full-blown convulsions. Calling out to the officer similarly positioned across the gym floor from them, Ken said, "Thar she blows."
He shouldered his weapon and drew a bead on the infected woman, as the people below scattered, fleeing for the walls to try and put as much distance as they could between them and the future zombie.
Drama Queen started screaming, "Shoot her, kill her, don't let her get me!"
The woman stopped convulsing as fast as she had started. Calling out to the other officer again, Ken said, "I got this one. Let her get up. We got an observer over here who wants to see what one looks like."
With a mixture of fascination and horror, Heather watched as the woman died. In the harsh lighting it was obvious that her chest was no longer moving up and down as she breathed. Other than that, she appeared asleep. Peaceful even.
Heather jumped when the dead thing suddenly moved an arm and started flailing it in the air. Flopping it down next to her body with a loud thump, the dead thing used it to roll over on its side to face where the three cops stood on top of the bleachers. It opened its mouth and made a high-pitched keening noise. As if drunk, it rolled onto all fours with its head hanging down before staggering to its feet. It opened its mouth again and shrieked, and now Heather could see saliva flowing down its chin. Staggering, it made its way in their direction, causing her to take an involuntary step backwards as she drew her pistol.
Ken, who was tracking the woman through the sights of his weapon, said calmly, "Don't worry, I've got her. Tell me when you've seen enough."
Heather quickly studied the hungry, insane look in the dead things deep-set eyes and noted the bluish-gray skin. She put to memory the slow, drunken movements that seemed to speed up as it came closer to her. When Heather was sure she would have no problem recognizing someone infected by the HWNW virus, she sai
d, "Enough."
The word wasn't completely out of her mouth before Ken squeezed the trigger on his weapon, putting a bullet through the zombie's forehead. Black goo and what looked like brain tissue sprayed out from the exit wound at the back of its head.
From across the gymnasium floor, the other cop positioned there called out, "Clean up on aisle two please, clean up on aisle two."
It was then Heather noticed a score of black smears on the gymnasium's floor.
"We used to tase them," Ken said casually, "but we ran out of cartridges."
The body of the zombie toppled over sideways and landed with a thud on the floor. The second it hit, Ken cried out loudly, "Damn."
Heather looked around wildly at the people scattered around the gym, thinking that another had turned. With fear in her voice, she asked, "What? What is it?"
"I blew my chance," Ken said with disappointment. "I should have let her chase the Drama Queen around the gym a couple times before I capped her."
As Heather walked to her car, she gripped the CAR-15 in the ready position with her finger on the trigger and her thumb ready to flip the safety off. On an average day, carrying her weapon that way would get her suspended. But this was no average day. Sliding into the front seat of her patrol car, she checked the time. Two AM. She thought of calling Steve but didn't want to wake him. Or, if he was with Ginny, she didn't want to interfere.
Heather had met Ginny the one time Steve had brought her to the bowling alley and wondered what he saw in her. Ginny was so into herself, it was a wonder she even recognized that other people existed in the world, unless it was to discuss clothes or hairstyles.
Heather had been attracted to Steve from the first time she had seen him. He was funny, intelligent and good-looking in his own way. And though she was in a relationship, she would have dropped her current boyfriend in a heartbeat if Steve had shown any interest in her.
Heather had known the timing wasn't right when she called Steve that first time a few days ago but decided to force the issue anyway. With everything in the world going to hell, she didn't want to miss what might be her one chance to see if there was anything between them. So far, it looked like it was paying off. Steve now seemed interested in her as a woman, not just as a buddy from the bowling alley.
Heather's radio squawked, interrupting her train of thought, the number of voices increased as they frantically called to each other and into base. The volume was so much that the dispatcher broke in and overrode everybody while she cleared the channel and designated different units to other frequencies. Calls then went out to the Sheriff’s deputies on patrol throughout Pinellas County, ordering them to respond to new emergencies while most of them were already engaged in ones where they were.
Heather acknowledged her new orders when they came in. After hanging up the microphone, she grabbed her cell phone and dialed Steve's number. She had to tell him what was happening so he could protect himself.
The cell phone buzzed in her ear a dozen times before it was answered. Steve's fuzzy voice said, "What?"
"Steve, it's me, Heather," she said quickly. "Wake up and listen close. You have to get somewhere safe."
Steve's voice came back, wide awake and alert now as he asked, "What is it?"
"It's the dead," Heather replied, surprised at how calm her voice sounded in her own ears. "They're coming up through the sewers and drains by the thousands."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Clearwater, Florida:
After telling Heather that he was going to get Ginny and head for the radio station, Steve urged her to join him.
"I can't do it," she replied. "I'm a cop, and I can't just cut out on the people I work with."
"Look at all the other cities that have been overrun," Steve argued. "Once the shit hit the fan, they didn't last more than a couple of days. You're pissing into the wind. Let the National Guard do its job."
"I can't do that, Steve," Heather replied sternly. There was a moment of silence before she said, "Listen, I've got to go. All hell's breaking loose out here. I'll call you when I get a chance."
Knowing from the stubborn tone of her voice that he couldn't convince her, he said, "Be careful."
"You too," she replied before ending the call.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, Steve eyed the Glock that lay on the bedside table and picked it up, comforted by its weight. Realizing he couldn't get dressed with the pistol in one hand and cell phone in the other, he set the weapon back down. Right now, the phone was more important.
Dressing quickly while he speed dialed Ginny, his first call rang until her voice mail picked up. Hitting end, he pressed redial and got no answer but this time left a message.
"Ginny, call me the second you get this. I'm on my way to your place now, so lock the door and wait for me. Don't open the door to anyone but me."
While continuing to hit redial for Ginny's number and letting the phone ring out, he started opening drawers and tossing clothes onto the top of the bed. He’d expected a little more warning before everything turned to shit, so he hadn't packed yet. When he had a pile of jeans, shirts and socks stacked up, he grabbed the four corners of the blanket into a bundle.
Looping his backpack over his left shoulder by its strap, he picked up his improvised suitcase and slung it around to rest on top of the bag. He shoved the pistol into his waistband, then picked up the cell and punched in a different number on speed dial. It was picked up before the second ring.
"This is Da' G man, baby, live until five," Jonny G answered.
Steve felt his stomach sink, suddenly remembering that when Tripod didn't show up for the graveyard shift, out of desperation, he’d let Jonny G take the slot. Hoping the kid was up to what was going to turn into a trial by fire, he took a deep breath and said, "Listen up, Jonny, it's me, Steve. This is important, so don't interrupt. I just got a call from a cop friend of mine and she told me the dead are coming out of the drains and sewers all over the city."
"Really?" Jonny said, not disguising the excitement in his voice.
"Really," Steve replied. "And you're my man on the spot, so you need to have your shit together. Write down what I'm going to tell you. You have a pen?"
"Right here," Jonny said.
"First, call everyone who was at the meeting yesterday and tell them to get their asses into the station," he ordered. "Then, get the police scanner up and running and try to find out what's going on in the city. I want you to be broadcasting the locations of safe zones and evacuation centers every ten minutes. And also, find out anything you can from the chatter on the scanner. You got that?"
"Oh, this is too cool," Jonny exclaimed.
Steve could almost imagine him bouncing up and down in his chair like a kid who had just been told he's going to Disneyland. He needed someone calm, cool and collected, so he gave the intern a little focus.
"Listen up, Jonny," he said harshly. "You can't screw this up. You've got to be balls-on with any information you broadcast. No rumors, no supposition, just facts. If you fuck this up, people will die. Understand?"
Steve could tell this had sobered the intern by his reply.
"Die?'' Jonny asked miserably, as if he had already sealed their fate.
"Die," he repeated sternly. Lightening his tone Steve added, "But you're in a position to save lives if you do it right. Understand?"
He let this sink in. When Jonny G spoke again, it was with a steady voice and a little maturity. "You can count on me. I won't let you down."
Satisfied, Steve continued, "When the EBS takes over, it's only going to be for a few minutes at most. Make sure you record what they say and repeat the pertinent facts when you do your ten minute update."
After a second of thought he added, "Can all the commercials. No one's going to give a shit about hair replacement and where they can get a good deal on a new Toyota."
"What about music?" Jonny asked.
Steve decided to throw the youngster a bone, "Shitcan the playlist and play wh
at you want."
A little excitement crept back in Jonny's voice as he exclaimed, "All right." He knew that Steve only let the more experienced jocks program their own music, so this was a real privilege.
Engrossed in the call, Steve looked up to find himself standing in front of his apartment door. "I'm gonna be in my Jeep in about two minutes and I want to hear you broadcasting in five."
"Yes, sir," Jonny answered.
"I'll be at the station after I make a quick stop, so hang in there G man," Steve said before ending the call.
Slipping the phone into his pocket, he felt slightly guilty as he slid the chair Ginny had given him away from the door. After looking out the peephole and seeing it was clear, he unlocked the door and twisted the knob. Opening it with his foot while he held his pistol at the ready, he looked around before stepping outside.
The smell of something burning struck him immediately. It seemed so strong that he looked around wildly, thinking it was his building on fire. Seeing no heavy smoke or flames, he cut across the courtyard that abutted the parking lot while trying to keep an eye on everything at once.
As he opened the door of the Jeep, the wailing sound of a siren starting up reached his ears. Leaning in to sling his bundle of clothes onto the passenger seat, Steve looked out the side window toward Gulf Boulevard, the main thoroughfare two blocks away, and saw a fire truck roar by with its horn honking and lights blazing but no siren.
Where in the hell is that siren coming from if it wasn't that truck. Suddenly, it dawned on him as the mournful howling grew louder. It was the emergency alert system set up to warn about tornados and other disasters.
Deciding that the dead coming back to life to eat the living qualified as a disaster, he straightened up and took one more look around.
A large plume of smoke drifted toward him from down the street and the smell of burning was stronger now, making the deserted residential area seem surreal. Not seeing anyone or anything in the immediate area, he climbed behind the steering wheel and cranked the engine over. The alarm siren reached its peak, sending its droning wail through the night as he backed onto the street.