“I’ve got it,” Keppler proclaimed, holding his arms above his head. “Firing squad.”
He strolled around the area momentarily, satisfied he’d righted the wrongs of the world.
“It’s a two for one,” he added airily. “We get revenge on the man who killed one of ours, and we draw the infected to us so we can thin their numbers with some target practice.”
Sutton decided he needed to make a move momentarily or feel dozens of bullets piercing his skin and internal organs mere seconds before dying.
“We won’t shoot you in the head,” Keppler said, addressing Sutton directly. “No, we want you to turn and wander the earth like the piece of shit you are. Eventually, someone will put you down after you’ve started deteriorating and you’ve been wandering in search of human victims. That way you’ll just be another nameless dead body in the middle of the street who pissed and shit himself and wandered around that way for days on end.”
Sutton said nothing, because he needed to study his surroundings and plan for one last escape attempt.
“Tie him up,” Keppler said before he found time to make a dash for the nearest opening, and as Sutton tried, they anticipated the move, throwing him to the ground.
Before he knew it, the soldiers used plastic ties to secure his wrists to various vehicle components. Sutton felt his heart begin to race, because the idea of dying suddenly became a reality in his mind. Previously, he envisioned a bite in the arm or the shoulder causing the sickness that would inevitably force him to take his own life. He always wanted to go out on his own terms, and now a lying, murdering lieutenant was about to get exactly what he wanted.
Sutton watched helplessly with secured wrists as Keppler lined up his soldiers in a straight formation to aim their rifles at their intended victim. If ever Sutton would welcome a horde of zombies, this moment was that perfect time, but only a few undead stragglers remained in the distance, slowly ambling toward the noise the military men created.
Most of the soldiers simply carried out their orders, their duty, following instructions given by Keppler, but Sutton noticed a spring in the man’s step, as though power and murder provided him a certain fulfillment unattainable through ordinary means. As the last of the men fell in line, and Sutton fought to keep cool and collected, refusing to give Keppler any satisfaction, the lieutenant walked over and leaned in so only Sutton could hear his words.
“I win, asshole,” he said just above a whisper.
“You’ll get yours,” Sutton said confidently, mirroring the tone and volume the lieutenant used. “There’ll be piss and shit in your pants, too.”
Sutton smirked.
“And that’s before you die.”
His words irritated Keppler, who desperately wanted the upper hand until the very end.
When the lieutenant turned around, Sutton noticed something in the distance, behind the small convoy, heading straight for the group.
“Prepare to fire,” Keppler said as the soldiers raised their rifles.
Sutton didn’t dare say anything, because he might provoke Keppler to have his men fire immediately, instead stretching his neck upward in defiance, noticing four vehicles closing on their position. Some of the soldiers turned and took notice, then a few more, finding their National Guard brethren had come looking for them, and located a most disturbing scenario.
Closing his eyes, Sutton wished with all of his might the lieutenant wouldn’t fib his way out of the justice potentially coming his way. He couldn’t imagine Keppler received permission to go on a witch hunt for anyone when the National Guard’s primary function was to keep Naval Station Norfolk safe from living and undead alike.
Five military vehicles came to a stop just short of the three armored Stryker transports Keppler used for his purposes. A man stepped out with purpose, flanked by four armed soldiers as the rest of the military men and women stepped out of the five vehicles, remaining still, but holding their own firearms. Sutton immediately knew this man ranked higher than Keppler, though he couldn’t see the insignias on the officer’s collar.
“What have we here?” the officer asked Keppler directly.
“This man shot Jones at our base, Colonel,” the lieutenant replied immediately, as though the words justified his actions entirely.
“Is that so?” the colonel asked, raising an eyebrow as he shrewdly glanced in Sutton’s direction.
Closing his eyes momentarily, Sutton could only think he was fucked, regardless of what he said or did.
“So, you abandoned your post to be judge, jury, and executioner of this civilian without so much as a trial?” the colonel pressed.
“Sir, the trail would’ve grown cold.”
“Indeed it would,” the colonel said, motioning with his head for Keppler to follow him over to Sutton, who remained helplessly strapped to a vehicle on either side of him.
“Colonel,” Sutton started to say, but the officer held up a foreboding hand immediately.
“I don’t need to hear from you, son,” the man said, and Sutton finally saw the man’s name on his uniform, which provided a surname of Rawlings.
Likely in his mid-forties like Sutton, his choice of the word ‘son’ threw the captive man slightly. The words drew a thin grin from Keppler, which disappeared immediately when the colonel snapped his head in the direction of the lieutenant.
“I know exactly what happened at your post, Gabe,” he growled, addressing the lieutenant personally. “You tried to steal this man’s property, and when you got called on it, you shot your own man in the skull.”
“I did no such-” Keppler stammered, trying to defend his honor.
“Stop right there,” Rawlings ordered, keeping his voice hushed so even his security detail, some ten paces away, couldn’t hear what he said. “I have a witness who came forward and informed me of everything. We even recovered the gun you tossed aside after the deed.”
“You’re going to believe the word of an enlisted man over me?” Keppler asked, raising his voice enough to draw attention from the others.
“Yes, I am, Gabe.”
Now Rawlings turned to Sutton. Keppler began to shrink away, barely able to stand, knowing his position, possibly his life, were now forfeit.
“Sir, I’m so very sorry you went through all of this. As I’m sure you can understand, I don’t need the headache of a trial, much less sinking the morale of the people I oversee. Still, Lieutenant Keppler must receive ample punishment for his misconduct.”
Pulling a knife from his pocket, Rawlings cut Sutton free from his restraints, immediately returning full blood flow to Sutton’s wrists and fingers. Sutton set to working them, trying to get rid of the pins and needles tingling that accompanied the lack of circulation.
“Where are this man’s weapons?” Rawlings barked, prompting two of the enlisted men to scurry, grab them, and place them at Sutton’s feet.
“Thank you,” Sutton said with as much gratitude as he could muster for the inconvenience of nearly losing his life.
“You’re welcome,” Rawlings replied. “Now I need to ask you a favor.”
Sutton stared at him skeptically.
“I want you to take possession of Lieutenant Keppler and do with him as you see fit. The last thing I need is a scandal and more unrest at our base. He’s not welcome back at our outfit, and for that matter, you probably shouldn’t return after shooting down a drone worth half a million dollars.”
Sutton smirked.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just help me with my problem.”
Sutton reached down, scooping up his weapons, including an M&P .40 he planned to use to keep Keppler at bay.
“Just so I have this straight,” Sutton said, “he’s mine to do with as I please and I shouldn’t get anywhere near your base again?”
“That’s the gist.”
&nbs
p; Sutton offered his hand, and Rawlings shook it. Rawlings handed him several zip ties after snatching them from a nearby soldier, providing Sutton with the means to keep Keppler at least partly subdued. Without another word, the colonel turned, raising his forefinger in the air and spinning it, indicating everyone in his vicinity needed to follow him and not ask one single question.
“Just shoot me now,” Keppler said with a scowl when the two men finally locked eyes.
“I’m not going to make it that easy for you.”
“I’ll make you shoot me.”
Sutton glanced to see all of the soldiers climbing into their respective vehicles, with only a few bothering to turn for a look at Keppler and his new situation.
“We need a vehicle,” Sutton said, aiming the Smith & Wesson at the lieutenant.
“You’re really not going to shoot me?” Keppler asked with surprise.
“Time will tell.”
For reasons he couldn’t explain, Sutton wanted answers from the man, though he’d already termed him a sociopath incapable of caring about others. Anyone who shot his own people certainly couldn’t be trusted, so Sutton needed to remain vigilant. He dared not take Keppler to South Hill, meaning he needed to decide the man’s fate before they traveled too far west.
Without fanfare, the soldiers departed the area, making little noise as they did so. Sutton glanced their way, and as he returned his gaze to Keppler, he knew the man wanted to make a run for it. He trained the pistol on the disgraced military man, providing a stone-cold stare to keep the man from carrying out his inclination.
Providing no warning, Sutton rammed his forehead into Keppler’s, knocking the man back a few steps. Before the lieutenant could recover, Sutton pinned him against a nearby vehicle. The move bought him enough time to wrap a plastic tie around the lieutenant’s wrists, subduing him enough that the man would be hard-pressed to attack him or flee.
“That’s for kicking me when I was down,” Sutton spat. “Try anything and there’ll be a lot more where that came from.”
Shaking his bloodied forehead, the military man appeared deflated, if not defeated, with his hands bound before him. He simply stood there as Sutton trained the pistol on him with his right hand, slinging the sniper rifle’s strap around his shoulder, using his free hand.
“Why did you do all that?” Sutton asked, getting directly to the point as he nudged the officer in the direction of several vehicles that might start.
“You want to hear that I had a bad upbringing, or some sorry shit like that?” Keppler answered with a question. “Truth be told, I was meant to be a leader of men.”
Figuring what Sutton wanted, he walked in the direction of an SUV and a smaller car that might prove gas efficient if the engine turned over.
“In my experience, better leaders are the people who don’t really want the power.”
“Don’t be a sucker,” Keppler said in a straightforward manner. “People who fall into those positions either can’t handle the pressure, or they can’t make a decision when the pressure’s on.”
“They also don’t murder their own people. Would you have killed me if the chance presented itself?”
“Of course I would. Still plan to if the opportunity comes along.”
“I’ll give you points for honesty.”
Sutton couldn’t picture a future where he cut Keppler loose, but he wasn’t willing to simply commit murder. He’d killed people already in the apocalypse, but those situations were self-defense in his eyes. Putting a gun to a defenseless person’s head and pulling the trigger wasn’t the same thing.
Wanting nothing more than to catch up to his group, hug his dog, and retrieve his box truck that ensured his survival for months, Sutton looked at the SUV first, finding it useless. One peek inside revealed wiring from beneath the dashboard that indicated someone did a messy hotwiring job, or a zombie pawed at the panels until the wires came falling out. Seeing no keys in the ignition, Sutton suspected the worst and moved to the red Chevy Cruze parked several yards away.
Feeling certain he was dreaming, Sutton found the doors unlocked, keys in the ignition, and an interior free of blood and stains. He opened the front passenger side door, turning the key just enough to reveal the electronic dashboard, which crushed his perfect scenario. Abandoned because the vehicle ran out of gas, it presented the best chance of running smoothly based on the nearby selections. Sutton kept a watchful eye on Keppler, and the man seemed to know what he found, and what he required.
“There’s a motorcycle on its side over there,” the lieutenant said, pointing to a ditch beside the road. “Easy syphoning if you have a hose.”
“I don’t,” Sutton grumbled.
He didn’t particularly want to take the time to dig around for something to use as a makeshift hose, and the chances of a garden hose or gas can lying around appeared minimal. Finding a different vehicle sounded like a smarter alternative, but most of the nicer cars and trucks were already taken.
Unable to search the area and keep a steady eye on Keppler, he ushered the military man to the school bus. There, he used a zip tie to secure Keppler to the steering wheel beside the dead driver and closed the door partially as he departed the vehicle.
“Oh, come on!” Keppler protested. “You can’t just leave me like this!”
“I’m not going far,” Sutton commented without turning around.
Most of the vehicles had been picked over for supplies, including food and everyday items, but Sutton found a shortened utility hose that someone likely discarded after syphoning fuel from one vehicle to another after nearly fifteen minutes of searching. Every so often he looked around, and when he spotted a single straggler zombie or two, he used his knife to stab them in the skull without making a ruckus. He grew thirsty expending so much energy, and no water, or even a warm soda pop, presented itself during his search.
He periodically glanced over to ensure Keppler remained in the bus, attached to the steering wheel, and often his eyes were met with a penetrating glare.
Knowing full well the lieutenant spent every unobserved moment trying to free himself from the bus, Sutton dared not stray too far, or grow careless. He used gas from the motorcycle to add more than a gallon of gas to the Cruze, and he found a Volkswagen Beetle too damaged to run. Before attempting to move it, he verified it took regular gas, rather than diesel, because many German vehicles were manufactured both ways.
After a lengthy struggle pushing the Beetle, and creating a vacuum within the hose, Sutton managed to add several additional gallons to the Cruze, ensuring his trip to South Hill was minutes from its inception. He walked over to the bus, finding Keppler sitting in the bus driver’s seat after having tossed the body aside. The angle at which he was bound to the steering wheel didn’t allow for him to sit naturally in the seat, so he faced the door instead, his eyes affixed on his captor.
“I’m leaving,” Sutton said flatly through the half-open bus door.
“You’re leaving me like this?” Keppler questioned as though his personal rights were somehow being violated.
“You’ve got the means to escape all around you,” Sutton replied.
“I know.”
Sutton shook his head, confused by the man’s motivations and consequences.
“What the fuck is your problem?”
“It’s the rest of the world that has the problem,” Keppler answered. “You were either built for what’s around us, or you weren’t.”
“You never told me why you killed your own man,” Sutton noted while Keppler appeared a bit more revealing than usual.
“He was the means to an end,” Keppler responded. “Jones was weak and inferior. I asked him to carry out one simple task and the motherfucker failed. Do you keep the meek and mild in your company?”
Sutton looked to the ground, deflecting the question.
“You
may think you’re the shepherd looking after his flock, but the world takes those sheep eventually, my friend.”
“We aren’t friends,” Sutton said assuredly while shaking his head.
“But we aren’t that much different, either.”
Sutton saw the man’s eyes look beyond him, and as he turned, Sutton noticed a handful of undead drawing dangerously close. He turned, finding Keppler looking at him for an answer, not afraid of the undead, or what the future held. The lieutenant seemed almost insanely fixated on Sutton’s next choice, as though the move would tell him everything he ever needed to know about his captor.
He disliked the lieutenant, which forced him to take a long, hard look at himself. Sutton hadn’t been kind to other people since the apocalypse. He blamed self-preservation for part of his shortcomings, but he simply hadn’t allowed himself to get close to others. His sons might be dead, and the possibility of finding them kept him going. He wasn’t corrupt, or on the same level of evil as the sociopathic officer, and he didn’t want to lose that much of his humanity. Taking a deep breath and exhaling, Sutton made a decision that wouldn’t haunt him forever.
Pressing the door shut to the bus, Sutton couldn’t help himself as he glanced back one last time, finding the lieutenant giving him a knowing smirk that indicated Sutton had been measured by the military man in full. Without saying a word, Keppler called him a fraud, either to himself, or the group he wanted to get back to. Sutton portrayed himself as a capable badass, and though he’d prepared all his life for an event that reshaped the world, not every action he took benefitted only him.
He wanted to flip off the lieutenant, or show some other act of defiance, but instead he pounded the bus with his fist a few times to draw the undead closer and ducked around the side of the large vehicle. Most of the undead noticed Keppler inside the bus and began clawing at the door, which the officer could easily brace with his feet if he stretched his body out far enough. More than likely, however, Keppler would find something nearby to free his hands from the steering wheel and exit out the back of the bus at some point.
The Undead Chronicles (Vol. 2): Darker Days Page 7