The Longest Road (Book 1)

by Thompson, A. S.

  Steve was so drained that he didn’t even wince when Alex applied a splash of hydrogen peroxide and pressed a patch of gauze against the wound. Alex used some distilled water and a clean cloth to fully clean the wound as best he could. He doused Steve’s arm with hydrogen peroxide again, lathered the cut with Polysporin and, using electrical tape, secured a fresh patch of gauze to the wound. The bandaging was sloppy, but it served its purpose.

  “What about me?” Mike asked.

  Alex checked the minor lump on Mike’s forehead. “You’ll be fine. Just take some Advil or something, and don’t fall asleep or you might not wake up.”

  ###

  A half-deteriorated man knelt down and licked the droplets of Steve’s blood on the road. His chapped lips and decomposing face scraped the asphalt as he scavenged. He looked up at the RV and let out a vengeful howl, craving more.

  Unbeknownst to the cousins, the infected did not stop at the city limits. Driven by hunger and excitement, they walked, hobbled, and crawled, following the road. Following the RV.

  Mistakes

  April 6, 2009

  0845 hours

  On paper, Fort Kennedy was a medium-sized medical research facility run by the Army. It comprised the same facilities as normal bases, including headquarters, a mess hall, barracks, an armory, tactical training grounds, an airstrip, and a helipad. It also contained medical facilities and research stations. At first glance, it seemed to be a fairly typical base.

  Beneath its innocuous surface, the facility covertly tracked terrorist organizations intending to buy and use rare, highly infectious communicable diseases. The clandestine base acted as a liaison between the decision makers at the Department of Defense and field teams set up around the world. Over the years, Fort Kennedy had been responsible for stopping outbreaks of weaponized strains of cholera, anthrax, SARS, Ebola, smallpox, and various strains of influenza.

  To bypass certain laws and legislative red tape, measures had been taken to make the base appear mundane. Roughly fifty soldiers lived on base and trained daily. To further maintain a viable cover, normal operating procedures were followed and business was conducted as usual, including low-level medical research. No questions of legitimacy ever arose, because Fort Kennedy appeared to be a textbook military base, even to the most dubious of individuals.

  A tattered sign on an eight-foot-high chain link fence read Fort Kennedy: Unauthorized persons or vehicles will be shot.

  “We’re close,” Collin said as he turned right off the main road and followed the directions to the fort.

  Rain from the previous night had made the dirt road thick with mud. The RV’s all-terrain tires slipped and squished but powered through. A quarter mile away, the base came into view. The admissions gate was mangled and barely hanging. It looked as though someone had been in a hurry to get out, not in.

  “Park it over there,” Steve suggested, pointing to a parking lot that was enclosed by thick metal-rod fencing on wheels. The area housed a light-armored tank, a mud-sprayed military police Jeep, a Humvee with its hood propped open and engine compartment exposed, and a large fuel tanker.

  Collin performed a U-turn, then backed Sweetie into the enclosure. “Look alive. We’re here,” he called to the back.

  Collin began with the assumption that the compound would be laid out like most of the bases he had worked at and visited. Right away, he identified the main areas—mess hall, barracks, HQ—but he was stumped by a few others. After waiting a few minutes to make sure the coast was clear, the group exited the RV.

  “What do you think happened here?” Alex asked, kicking away multiple spent ammunition casings.

  Collin surveyed the scene. “Judging by the isolated gun casings and the broken gate, looks like they had a little battle, then bailed out of here most ricky-tick.”

  “Where are all the bodies to go along with these shells?” Mike asked, looking around.

  “Whatever happened couldn’t have been good. I mean, military bases don’t normally look like this, do they?” asked Steve.

  “No, they don’t,” Collin said, equally dumbfounded. “Smashed open gate, plenty of bullets but no bodies… I think we know what that means. All right, guys, we’re going to do this one a little different. Everyone is scouting.”

  He assigned Mike to the large tent where he assumed the mess hall to be. Next, he pointed to the unidentified building adjacent to the mess hall for Billy to search. He asked Steve to join him in checking out the largest building on the compound. Finally, and most importantly, he ordered Alex to search the outside vehicles for any gas.

  “All right, guys, what’s our ammo situation like?”

  “Shitty,” Billy joked dryly.

  “I got 15 rounds,” Steve answered specifically.

  “About half a mag for me,” Alex said.

  “Wait, I’m all out of ammo. What should I do?” Mike asked frantically.

  Before Collin could respond, Billy tossed his gun to Mike. ”Take mine. It’s got about half a mag left, so good luck.” He picked up a metal pipe from the ground next to him and swung it around a few times, testing its weight and movement. “Besides, I prefer up close and personal. Hand to hand. Well, pipe to hand.”

  “All right, and I got about five shots left,” Collin said, wheeling through his Colt. “Keep your eyes peeled. Who knows what really went down here.”

  At once, the group dispersed to their individual assignments. The wet gravel crackled and kicked underneath their boots. Those with guns checked their ammo redundantly. They all held their weapons at the ready.

  0856 hours

  Billy was the first to reach his assignment, the unidentified building. Using the end of the metal rod he had picked up, he pushed the door open. The room was nearly pitch black, so he clicked on his LED flashlight and scanned ahead. A hallway extended about forty feet, then ended at a fork. The only sounds came from his boots, clicking quietly on the floor.

  Billy approached the split, looked left and right, then straight ahead at a sign. To the left, a sign read Barracks; the other read Munitions Depot/Armory. With a wicked grin, he turned right.

  After twenty feet of windy turns, the corridor ended at a fenced-in counter with a dead-bolted steel door to its right. It was obvious that this was a checkpoint, set up to prevent unauthorized entrance into the armory. Billy tried the door, but it was locked shut. A card reader was attached to the wall next to it, but was powered off.

  It’s going to take a lot more than some muscle to pry this puppy open, he thought. He turned and faced the counter. There was a 1x2-foot opening, but it was too small to squeeze through. Unable to find any other way in, Billy clicked the transmit button on his radio. “Collin, you there?”

  ###

  Inside Mike’s building was, in fact, the mess hall.

  Bonus points for Collin, he thought.

  Sections of the concrete ceiling were transparent plastic, illuminating the room with some natural light. The room was still dim, so Mike clicked on his flashlight and walked down the middle. Two massive tables covered with old plates, trays, and silverware lined both sides of the room. More trays, broken cups, and rotting food littered the dining-room floor.

  “These guys are messier than I am,” Mike whispered, humoring himself.

  Scanning the room, Mike found crusted, muddy boot-prints heading in every direction. Besides the food, they represented the only other sign that someone had been here, but the tracks were weeks, if not months, old.

  Mike continued to the end of the pathway, nearing the food line. Spoiled meats and vegetables rotted on the stainless steel trays in front of him. Dozens of dead flies covered the food, while others buzzed about. The smell and sight made Mike nauseous, so he quickly covered his nose with his shirt and walked through a set of double doors to the right.

  The doors swung open to reveal a moderately sized kitchen. Three giant stoves lined the left wall, with sinks on the right and various foods stored on metal shelves in the back. A sma
ll amount of rations and canned food sat on the top. On the bottom lay bags of rice, water bottles, and other dry goods. Mike noted one particular section to the right. Stacked to the top were MREs: Meals, Ready-to-Eat.

  “That’s what I’m fucking talking about,” Mike said. Instinctually, he took out one of his remaining joints from his pocket and lit it up. He called over the radio and reported what he found. “It’s going to take me a few trips to get us stocked up, Collin.”

  “Whatever it takes, make it happen,” Collin responded.

  In the back corner, Mike found a wheeled service cart and began to load it. Within seconds, the munchies hit, and he tore open an MRE, devouring it like a starving animal.

  ###

  Collin held the door open, and Steve entered first, flashlight braced underneath his Sig. A lone desk sat in the left corner, with other chairs spread out.

  “I think we’re in a waiting room or something,” Steve whispered.

  “Yeah, looks like it. Let’s follow the corridor down and see what else we find,” Collin replied.

  “Follow me,” Steve said, taking point.

  They passed a few doors and stopped to check each one. Steve took the left side and Collin the right. They approached each door with extreme caution, peering through the glass portholes and checking the handles. Most of the rooms were locked offices.

  The hallway continued for another twenty feet and ended at a T. Unfortunately, there was no sign to give directions. Steve and Collin knew they would have to split up, and Steve turned to Collin for the order. Before Collin could decide, the radio call from Billy came in.

  “Yeah, what’s up Bill?” Collin asked.

  “I think we got a slight problem,” Billy said. “I’m staring at the armory, and in front of that is a nice two-inch-thick steel door with an unpowered key lock.”

  “Damn. Any other way in?”

  “Well there is a booth check-point-type thing to the left, enclosed by some metal fencing, and I doubt it’s a cheap Home Depot rent-a-fence.”

  “So we’re screwed? Great.”

  “Unless we can find a way to cut through, yeah, pretty much.”

  “All right. Good recon, Bill. Head back to the RV and rendezvous with Alex and Mike. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Will do. Watch your ass,” Billy called back, ending the conversation.

  “So we are shit out of luck, huh?” Steve asked.

  “Not sure, but we need to get into that room.”

  Collin knew that it would take either an operating keycard and power or some special equipment to get into that armory, none of which they possessed. He tabled the thought for the time being.

  “All right, Steve-O, I’ll take the right.”

  “Looks like I got left,” Steve said, bumping knuckles with Collin. “Let’s meet back here in five.”

  Collin rounded the corner, only to be stopped by a giant metal door with a key-code panel, similar to the one Billy had described. Fortunately, the door was slightly ajar. He wrapped his hands around the sides and pulled.

  “Come on, you heavy son of a bitch, move!” he whispered, gritting his teeth.

  The door opened, revealing a gigantic conference room. Rows of desks with high-tech computers and equipment faced a forty-foot screen. Cables and wires ran under the metal grates of the floor. This must be Headquarters, Collin thought. The set up was unlike anything he had ever seen. Very slowly, Collin walked down the side of the room, flashing his light down each aisle, making sure nothing was waiting to jump out. At the end was a huge glass wall, dividing the room from another.

  The door leading into the secondary room was open. Inside, another row of equipment was positioned like the ones in the larger room. There were only three computer stations, each possessing a massive thirty-inch screen. Collin stroked a few keys and tried to activate the computers, but nothing worked. At the last station, Collin discovered a radio and transmission equipment. He turned knobs, trying various frequencies, but it wouldn’t turn on either.

  “O for two,” he whispered.

  Maps and charts were pinned on the surrounding walls. Collin browsed through, picking up maps of Afghanistan and Iran. Handwritten notes were posted next to them, but the information was random and not useful, so he continued.

  The room contained one other door besides the one Collin had entered through. He checked the handle, and found that the room was unlocked. He readied his pistol, and in a swift motion, kicked it in and jumped inside the frame, ready to fire.

  The room was small, bland, and most importantly, vacant. Collin sighed in relief. On one side of the room, a cabinet housed medals and other military paraphernalia. A desk sat in the middle of the room, with two chairs facing it; a placard reading Seaton sat on top. A tattered American flag hung on the wall behind, encased in a glass frame.

  Collin hurried around the desk and attempted to turn on the computer but was unsuccessful.Power’s out, Collin concluded. He wheeled out the chair and slumped into the leather. “Damn, what are we going to do now?” he cursed, knowing no one was around to hear his fear.

  ###

  Steve’s search proved both more eventful and more profitable. After leaving Collin, he proceeded through a set of double doors. The room he entered looked like a standard medical facility. Cupboards and counters were filled with a plethora of medical equipment. At the sight of dried, smeared blood covering the floor, he tensed up. He made a mental note of some worthwhile medical supplies to grab on the way out.

  “Let’s go see what’s behind door number two,” Steve said in a game-show-host voice. He licked his lips and tiptoed around cracked beakers and vials to a lone door in the back. Cautiously, Steve entered and allowed his flashlight to illuminate the walkway in front of him.

  Doors with windows lined both sides of the walkway, three on each side. In a crisscross pattern, he checked each individual door. The first four he checked were locked. Through the windows, he could see that each was empty and contained nothing more than a toilet, sink, and mattress. Four down, two to go, he thought.

  Steve approached the last one on the left and raised his flashlight. He scanned the room, finding the same amenities as those prior. Just as he lowered his light, a man jumped from the shadows, smashing his face against the window porthole. Bloody saliva smeared the glass.

  “What the fuck?” Steve screamed. Frightened, he hopped back into a defensive stance, backing up quickly with his gun drawn, accidentally dropping his light in the process. His heart nearly pounded through his chest. He could feel the tingling sensation of adrenaline pumping through his veins.

  The man struck the door repeatedly, desperately trying to liberate himself, desperate to get a taste of Steve.

  In an attempt to adjust to the darkness, Steve opened his eyes as wide as they would go. He backed up against the last unchecked door. As he did, another individual smashed its face on the window behind him. The glass didn’t break, but it splintered from the impact.

  “Fuck this!” Steve exclaimed, choosing flight over fight.

  As fast as he could, Steve grabbed his flashlight and sprinted toward the exit, expecting both doors to smash open at any second. The pounding and beating continued as Steve fled, but the doors remained shut and glass held strong.

  At the crest of the exit door, Steve dropped to his knee, breathing heavy. He took a moment to regain his nerves. Satisfied neither cell would give, he walked back, curious. He shone his light through the last door on the left again and studied the man.

  The man was obviously infected. His face was covered with decayed skin and various open wounds. His teeth clenched and snapped at Steve. One of the man’s arms was torn off, and the other viciously clawed at the window. Something shocking caught Steve’s eye. Military fatigues?He thought. He turned around to look at the other individual. It was a woman, probably in her late twenties, also in military attire. She was less deteriorated, but had suffered a massive injury to her neck, exposing a severed carotid
artery. What the hell happened here? Steve wondered.

  Crack! The exit door flew open, smashing against the wall. Immediately, Steve pivoted and aimed his gun toward the sound. “Who’s there?” he called, trying to cover his eyes from a blinding light.

  “Steve! You okay? It’s me, Collin.”

  “Yeah, man, but can you lower your light?”

  “Oh, shit, sorry, cuz,” Collin said, pointing the beam to the ground. “I heard a scream and came over as soon as I could. What happened?”

  Steve explained the situation and his findings. He showed Collin the two infected and let him see for himself. Collin called over the radio for everyone to regroup at RV.

  0912 hours

  The cousins gathered around the side door of the RV. Steve explained what he had found, and the others listened with worried faces.

  “So you’re saying that someone was keeping zombies locked up here?” Alex asked.

  “Yes. I don’t know why, but they are in there, and pissed off. I nearly shit my pants,” Steve answered.

  Alex kicked at the wet gravel. “This place is fucked, guys. I vote we bail.”

  Everyone nodded and verbalized their agreement with Alex.

  “I agree. I don’t like it either. But SitRep. Mike, what kind of food did you find?” Collin asked.

  “Let’s see, some bags of rice, canned stuff, as always, a few cases of bottled water, but a shit load of these MREs,” Mike said, sifting through his findings.

  “Good job, Mike. Those MREs taste like ass, but they’re solid. Bill, how about you?”

  “Well, I think you all heard, but if you didn’t, I don’t think we are getting into the armory. The door is locked shut, and unless we can find something to cut through the fence, we’re screwed.”

  “You need something to cut through?” Alex asked, stopping his nervous pacing. “When I was checking around the service garage, I found tools galore. I’m pretty sure there’re some bolt cutters or something we can use.”