He noticed six particular men worked in shifts to monitor him at all times, each young and rather indiscriminate from the others. They didn’t seem particularly unfriendly, but rather dutiful soldiers carrying out their orders. Each time Metzger neared a fence, or one of the exit points, he considered making a dash for freedom, questioning what might happen if he dared. Like Isabella, he wanted answers before making any attempt to leave the safety of the base, because a few things didn’t add up.
Looking to the red dot on the inside of his elbow, he was reminded of how many times he’d donated blood samples over the past few days. The speck of dried blood caused him to wonder if they were testing his DNA or seeing how his blood reacted to whatever virus caused the zombie outbreak. His blood wasn’t being used for transfusions, and if the military had simply used that ruse, Metzger would have volunteered as often as possible to donate, alleviating the need for spy games.
By not asking questions, Metzger wondered if he received more scrutiny from the military. He didn’t care at this point. He simply knew he wanted off the base if they were going to watch over him night and day, basically making him a prisoner. He worried if he asked too many questions, or spoke of intentions to leave, they might truly imprison him.
Each day he watched several armed military personnel and civilians leave the base to clear the city of Norfolk of the undead before carrying out cleanup and construction duties. Much like the push west after the United States was founded, these brave souls pioneered a new land all over again. The sounds of drills, jackhammers, and saws filled the air just outside the base, reminding Metzger of normal times, and sinking his heart because he couldn’t participate. At night, lights from several houses, apartment buildings, and businesses were visible from the base. The stars, too, shone brighter than Metzger could ever recall, because smog and pollution didn’t create a hazy filter between the sky and human eyes.
A part of him liked being on the base, near the heavy, sloshing water that could carry a man, living or dead, out to sea. The sound helped him drift off to sleep at night amongst the steel and concrete surroundings in the form of ships and walkways. Having secured borders felt nice for a while, but Metzger grew to miss the personality his group provided as he bonded with them. Having the best of both worlds would mean having them stay at the base with him, but it seemed only so much room remained for new tenants.
Jogging near some of the security entrance points, Metzger saw a vehicle approaching that didn’t look familiar. Not a green, black, or beige military vehicle, the powder blue car caught everyone’s attention, and nearby soldiers snapped to attention, keeping their firearms in a ready position as the car pulled to a stop. Two men dressed in police uniforms stepped out, holding their hands halfway up to indicate they meant no harm, and Metzger immediately recognized them, though he couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Hey, guys,” Metzger said, drawing incredulous stares from everyone around him.
“Dan?” Mullins asked, stepping forward hesitantly as several guns pointed his way. “You made it back.”
“Twice. You could’ve saved yourselves some trouble and caught a flight with us.”
“But it’s been so scenic and fun,” Weir commented sarcastically.
“I can relate,” Metzger said. “So what brings you here? I thought you were heading to South Carolina.”
A few of the soldiers considered stepping in, but Metzger moved forward, indicating he knew the men personally. He knew putting his own body between them and the soldiers would keep the two former cops safe.
“We learned something about that Nadeau guy you were looking for,” Weir said. “It seemed important enough to deviate from our trip and tell some of the brass here, if they want to hear it.”
Metzger looked to a few of the soldiers, who returned slightly confused stares.
“They’re talking about the asshole who blew up those factories and started all of this,” Metzger explained, turning to address each of them. “The same ones who cost some of us our families. You guys might want to find some of your officers.”
One sailor finally broke away to head into the base to locate someone with sufficient rank to make a decision.
“How’ve you been?” Mullins inquired of Metzger.
“Not bad.”
“Where’s your brother?” the former cop asked, as though hoping to meet the lieutenant commander during his visit.
“We lost him during a second trip to Buffalo,” Metzger answered with a tone that indicated Bryce would never be coming back.
“Sorry to hear that.”
“He died saving us,” Metzger added, mostly for the benefit of the military personnel around him. “So what did you find?” he asked the two former cops, trying to change the subject.
Mullins explained their encounter with the strange group to Metzger, stating that they didn’t believe the group’s story, and that he believed they were heading to find Nadeau.
“Sounds like they were creating misdirection,” Metzger surmised. “But why? The guy probably has some kind of underground bunker somewhere, kicking back with martinis beside his heated pool.”
“That’s what we thought,” Weir chimed in. “It appeared they were heading north, possibly meeting up with him or his people somewhere.”
Before their conversation could continue, an Army man dressed in a captain’s uniform walked up with the sailor who’d left, causing the sea of military personnel to part as he approached the two men dressed in police uniforms.
“You two, please come with me,” he ordered more than asked of them.
Metzger watched as the two men were led inside the base, across the open area to the buildings where the brass conducted their business. He feared for their safety, or at least their freedom, after his experience since returning from Buffalo. Everyone around him slowly dispersed, with jobs to carry out, and Metzger eventually resumed his run, though his personal escorts seemed to eye him a little differently. He didn’t know what they’d been told about him, but they appeared to think him a bit more human after his interaction with the two travelers.
Metzger continued to jog around the area until the two men emerged from a building about half an hour after they were escorted across the base. He stopped to speak with them momentarily before they continued their journey south.
“Were they interested?” he asked once he stopped jogging, trying to catch his breath a moment as he hunched over slightly.
“Sounds like they aren’t done hunting for him,” Mullins answered.
“I’m beginning to question some of their motivations around here,” Metzger said quietly enough that no one nearby could hear his words.
“What’s with the two goons following you?” Weir inquired.
“You noticed, huh?”
“Hard not to,” Mullins answered.
“I’m still not sure what I’ve done to provoke the powers that be. Them, or their buddies, watch me whenever I’m out of my barracks.”
“Need us to spring you?”
Metzger chuckled.
“I’ve got things handled. You two need to finish your journey.”
“We intend to,” Mullins said. “This one needs to find his family.”
“I wish you both luck.”
“Back at you.”
Metzger shook hands with both men, who looked like they’d been to hell and back.
“You guys considered getting some clothes off the dead?” he asked. “Might be an improvement.”
He drew smiles from both of the former officers.
“We’re trying to present ourselves as helpers, not harmers,” Mullins said.
“Then maybe do some laundry. You guys smell like shit.”
Both broke out into laughter before giving Metzger a goodbye wave and heading across the border Metzger couldn’t cross, climbing into their most recent vehicle
.
Watching them drive off, Metzger envied them more than a little for having the freedom to drive anywhere. He suspected their journey would have perils, and they might encounter assholes the likes of which he’d seen, but they seemed capable. Having a purpose kept Metzger going during some dark times, and he imagined the two armed men would reach South Carolina in a reasonable timeframe.
About to begin jogging again, Metzger noticed stares from the military personnel around him, as though they hadn’t really noticed him before. One soldier dressed in fatigues walked up and offered to shake his hand.
“I just wanted to say I appreciate your brother’s sacrifice,” the younger man said as they shook hands. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
It dawned on Metzger that he hadn’t heard many supportive words since returning to the base. He didn’t feel as though anyone disliked him, but rather they didn’t know what to say, especially after it became apparent soldiers were being assigned to keep tabs on him at all times. Even they likely didn’t know exactly why they needed to follow him around, but Metzger decided he wanted to know. If he wanted answers, asking directly wasn’t the method to use, but rather stealth, and Isabella was already working on that angle.
“Thanks,” Metzger replied to the soldier, noticing a bit more sympathy from the nearby personnel.
Perhaps many of them didn’t know who he was because hundreds of other civilians occupied the base, but enough of them knew Bryce, or about his actions, after the last Buffalo mission.
Metzger felt his time on the base had nearly reached its end, but he needed some answers before planning an official departure. Eluding the military personnel wouldn’t be difficult, despite them changing his living quarters to keep tabs on him a bit more easily. He’d played along to give them a false sense of docility on his end, but he constantly, with much scrutiny, viewed his surroundings with the endgame of forming an escape plan.
He hoped the answers he needed might fall into his lap through one of his few trusted sources, or Isabella might learn why the military took such an interest in him very soon. Several notions entered his mind, but he dismissed them because he wasn’t being kept under lock and key, and because he shared the same bloodline as his brother. In his mind, the military would have made greater efforts to save Bryce if the lieutenant commander’s blood possessed an equal value to Metzger’s.
Wouldn’t they?
Twenty-Eight
Isabella woke early the next morning, leaving Nathan with a trusted friend before initiating her plan to finally get answers about why Metzger was an unofficial prisoner inside the base. She risked quite a bit, personally, to learn answers from the secretive military. If soldiers caught her, she had already planned to use emotional distress from the death of her husband as her reasoning for seeking the truth.
Even so, she didn’t plan on getting caught, because security on the base wasn’t nearly as effective as it had been before the apocalypse. Despite power restoration to the entire base and a portion of Norfolk, several security cameras broke and couldn’t be replaced, guards were sometimes reallocated to other tasks, and many soldiers weren’t as dutiful. Widespread depression over losing friends and family took a toll on many of them, and though Isabella didn’t address this with the military personnel personally, she heard stories from their spouses, and through office talk when she helped clean and resupply the ships and buildings.
She learned that the USS Carter Hall housed the medical research facilities for the base, keeping their findings safe from everyone living and working on the base. Isabella managed to dress the part and join with a resupply party the previous evening, and though she couldn’t enter any of the labs, she spied a schedule that indicated the scientists met with the military commanders each morning to update them on any new findings or needs arising from their research.
Most of the ships returned from their deployments after the apocalypse struck. A number of vessels docked in Norfolk, and a slightly smaller amount in San Diego where another group of military combined forces made a stand with their families.
Isabella felt bad for the poor souls who lived in Norfolk and the surrounding communities that tried coming to the base for assistance and protection, only to be turned away. As cold and calculated as it might sound, the military used their records and information from their personnel to weed out direct family members from those trying to enter the base using deception. Food and supplies began to run low within a few weeks and having extra mouths to feed only made survival that much tougher.
Soldiers and sailors initially took incredible risks to retrieve family members within Norfolk city limits, and Isabella personally felt thankful for their sacrifice, though she’d handled a few of the undead personally before they arrived. Having her husband at sea, and no other family nearby, kept her worried the first few days, and being ushered into the base provided little comfort. Groups of strangers were suddenly forced to live together in a setting that felt akin to a sadistic summer camp with late summer heat, crowded and uncomfortable sleeping conditions, and no real answers about their loved ones. Bonds were eventually formed, but the first few weeks were tense for the survivors until they received good news about their family members at sea.
Now she stood inside the building where the meeting would take place within the hour, trying to decide where to place the cell phone in her back pocket. While the cell phone provided little use other than a reliable source of date and time most of the time, Isabella wanted to use its video recording capabilities to learn as many details as she could from the meeting. Having studied activities on the base, the past week in particular, she knew the major players in command of the unified military.
Unlike meeting rooms of the past, there weren’t decorative features lining the conference table or the surrounding furniture. She couldn’t exactly place the phone in a floral arrangement or hide it in some tablet case. Even worse, she used a janitorial cart to move around the building, looking the part as she’d occasionally dust something or empty a trash can in case cameras were recording her movements. Fortunately for her, a rear door was propped open while a legitimate custodian or maintenance person stepped out to smoke or fetch some tools.
Trying to avoid looking suspicious, she looked around the room, taking note of several portraits of Navy leaders and the President of the free world, whom she suddenly realized she hadn’t seen, despite him supposedly being housed somewhere on the base, or one of the ships.
Below the portraits were mounted gold name placards used to identify the subjects of the portraits. They were mounted about six inches below the portraits, separately, along dark, stained walls. Isabella had charged the phone fully overnight, glad she kept the device despite its otherwise useless nature. Dates and times didn’t feel so important when one counted waking up each morning a blessing.
Isabella continued to clean and dust the room, knowing exactly where she planned to place the phone, and as the first footsteps echoed in the hallways, she turned on the device’s video recording mode and set it between a placard and portrait where it blended in with the dark walls behind it. She prayed the battery would hold out, and that she would be able to retrieve the device without any issues later that day.
Sounds of more footsteps and doors opening and closing reached her ears, however, and Isabella knew she couldn’t escape the area without being recognized by someone among the incoming group. She used a side door and took a lesser-used hallway to a custodial closet where she wheeled her cart, hiding inside with it and shutting the door behind her. She waited inside, accompanied only by the sounds of her breathing for nearly an hour as people filed inside, carried out discussions in the main conference room, and slowly departed the building after their meeting concluded.
Unable to make out specific words or conversations, Isabella held out hope that her phone picked up most of the meeting with audio and video clarity. She eventually opened the door, lookin
g up and down the hallway before casually walking to the meeting room area. A few officers in uniform lingered at the main double doors, talking about family issues before switching to a different subject. Both men wore hats with what Navy personnel called ‘scrambled eggs’ on their brims, which meant they held distinctive ranks.
“How much longer can they keep the secret?” a man with graying black hair asked the other as they slowly sauntered down the hallway. He spoke with an accent that indicated he came from the south, though Isabella couldn’t place his drawl.
Isabella glanced around her, seeing no one else, so she removed her shoes before following them down the hall. Words and footsteps echoed throughout the facility from her experience, so she didn’t want to give herself away.
“Which one?” the older man with pure gray hair scoffed because the military obviously kept many secrets from its own people during such bleak times.
He held a wrapped binder in one hand, and an unlit pipe in the other. He appeared weathered, possibly from years of service, but also from an apocalypse that denied him retirement into a normal life.
“The President, and what’s left of the government, are holed up in the Midwest, so we’re the voice of the people now?”
“Tom, we’re the only thing left,” the older officer answered, stuffing the binder under one armpit so he could pack his pipe with tobacco. “If we crack, everything falls apart. Our people are hanging on by a thread as it is.”
“San Diego has it far worse than us, Carl. Californians weren’t as well-prepared, and there are a lot more of them.”
“Glad we’re here. Even if we cleared the dead across the nation today, we’d be years before we got things back to normal. I know we saved some good minds, but just a few months off the grid has crippled the country. We’ll be hard-pressed to make fuel and grow food anytime soon. Our fearless leader is calling the shots from his cozy, safe bunker and we’re the ones who have to make the real decisions around here.”
The Undead Chronicles (Vol. 2): Darker Days Page 36