by Brian Parker
Then their luck changed.
A scream, all too familiar to them now, sounded from nearby. Mark whipped his head around toward the parking lot where two or three people ran at them from the gas station in the far corner.
“Shit, let’s go!” he hissed. A surge of adrenaline hit him and he lifted Delanie off her feet and onto his shoulders in a modified fireman’s carry that he’d learned in gym class last year during Coach Reynold’s infamous grass drills.
She protested for a moment, but then settled, likely realizing that her ankle would only hold them back. The girl was lighter than he’d expected, which allowed him to manage a half jog-walk toward the back of the building. He was relying on his earlier observation that the loonies were visual hunters, so if he could just get around the corner of the building out of sight, maybe they would have a chance.
The maniacal shrieks sounded close as they echoed off the large store’s stone exterior. The idea of getting tackled from behind made him go faster and he made it around the corner.
There was a loading dock in the back. He staggered the last twenty feet, depositing Delanie on the chest-high dock before scrambling up beside her. She scooted backward toward the shadowy corner and he followed suit as the screams got closer and more frustrated.
Then he saw them.
Several bloody people staggered into view. He pressed himself into the corner, squishing Delanie in the process. He had to force himself to calm down and even his breathing so as not to hyperventilate and alert the infected to their presence. Delanie grasped his hand, lacing her fingers between his.
They tried not to move, neither one of them daring to so much as breathe. Mark, who was on the outside of Delanie, sat completely still hoping that he was right about them being visual hunters. He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see when his end would come.
Their screams of rage and frustration threatened to drive him insane as they milled about behind the store. Loud thumps nearby made him flinch, expecting to feel the intense pain of teeth as they tore into his exposed flesh. It was completely unnerving to endure the thoughts of what could happen if they were discovered.
It seemed to last for hours, but Mark knew that it was probably only a few minutes before something caught their attention and they stormed off. The sound of their calls faded and he risked a quick peek through his tightly closed eyelids.
They were alone on the back dock.
Mark nudged Delanie, still not wanting to say anything. She looked up and he gestured toward the truck parking area with his chin. Following his direction, she watched the area of pavement that they could see for a moment, then leaned into him, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered, “We need to get behind locked doors.”
He nodded enthusiastically. Being outside was a death sentence, no doubt. They stood carefully, trying to avoid making a sound. It was easier said than done as both of Mark’s knees popped loudly and Delanie gave an inadvertent whimper of pain when she put pressure on her ankle that had begun to swell in the time they’d been sitting there.
Mark didn’t let go of Delanie’s hand, and she seemed content to leave hers in his, as they snuck carefully toward the store’s back door. He considered what would happen if the door were locked, and decided that he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. Worst case scenario, they could probably open the big garage doors, but that’d definitely alert any loony in the area that they were on the loading dock.
When they were a few feet from the door, he shook his hand loose and held it up, telling Delanie to stay where she was. She nodded her understanding and waited as he tried the door.
The moment he depressed the lever, the door exploded outward, slamming into him and pushing him with the force of the blow. He became temporarily trapped in the vacant space between the door and the wall, which jutted out to accommodate the tracks for the garage doors.
Delanie’s screams mingled with those of several others. The door shuddered as infected pushed their way out of the store where they’d been trapped. Dull thuds told the story of bodies falling off the dock and dropping the five or six feet to the ground.
He stayed behind the door, frozen in fear as Delanie’s screams reached a fever pitch of pain, then stopped abruptly. Mark stared, wide-eyed through a crack between the walls of his temporary prison as the loonies out in the dock parking area stood. Fresh gore covered their faces, hands, and bodies.
He knew without a doubt that it belonged to Delanie. Her cries of pain and misery would be stamped onto his brain for the rest of his life.
Terrified screams echoed across the morning air and the infected in the parking lot loped off, drawn toward the new sounds of misery. The door jolted once more as another one of the crazies rushed out and tumbled off the dock.
The fact that more of them were coming from inside gave him pause. He’d considered trying to sneak out, but now, he wanted to wait and be sure. It didn’t hurt for him to stay hidden, he reasoned with himself. People who didn’t stay out of sight got— He stopped that line of thought. Delanie hadn’t done anything wrong; it was just shitty luck that the loonies were piled up on the other side of the door trying to get out.
In the distance, sirens of all kinds blared as police and emergency responders did their best to quell the growing threat. Somewhere close by—maybe out at the airport—a loud explosion signaled the death of someone, maybe even a lot of people. Mingled between the sounds of crashing vehicles and screams of fear, there was the ever-present bellows of rage that seemed to be the hallmark of the crazies as they chased after people.
The time passed slowly for Mark as he leaned against the wall. He checked the time on his phone often, wishing that he had a smart phone for the real world emergency he faced. As it was, the flip phone was worthless. He could have searched online for any information about what was happening and tips on what to do and how to survive. Instead, he had a glorified alarm clock.
Once he was reasonably sure that there weren’t any more of the crazies in the store, he put his dumb phone in his pocket and pushed against the door. The metal grated loudly against the concrete dock where it’d become wedged. He cringed and stopped. There were a thousand sounds marring the usual silence of Liberal, Kansas, but he was sure that this one would bring the infected running back toward him.
“That’s stupid,” he mumbled under his breath. Still, he waited another few minutes, ears straining to hear any type of response to the noise he’d made.
When nothing came, he put his shoulder into the door and shoved hard. It swung away from him quickly. He lunged to grab the handle before it slammed shut. That’s all he needed was for it to close and lock him out.
Mark started to duck inside, but stopped, turning to look over the edge of the dock. He knew that he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. Down below, Delanie lay in a pool of her own blood. Several large wounds on her neck and face exposed the mutilated muscles, torn arteries, and the cheekbone underneath. Her mouth was twisted in a shriek of pain that had been cut off by the devastation to her throat.
It was a terrible sight. Probably the worst part was her eyes. They were fixed skyward, her blue-gray irises staring at the clouds above. Mark couldn’t take it. He had to close her eyes. He owed her that little bit of dignity.
He placed his backpack in the doorframe and eased it closed slowly so it didn’t lock him out. The stairs they’d missed when they came up to the loading dock were the closest way down, so he began to jog toward them.
Then a shriek of anger pierced the dock. His head snapped up. A looney was running at him full speed from the far corner of the building. He cursed and reversed course, heading back toward the door.
By the time he reached it, the infected was grasping ineffectually across the dock, trying to reach him from below. Mark considered kicking it in the head, then discarded the idea. Knowing his luck, the thing would grab his leg and he’d end up like the girl down below.
He pulled open the door and grabbed his b
ackpack, slipping inside and letting the door close behind him.
“Sorry, Delanie,” he whispered. “I’m really sorry.”
He didn’t know what else was in the store, so he began searching for a weapon. If he was gonna hole up in the grocery store, he had to be prepared to defend it. Off in the corner, he saw a broom and decided that it was a good start. He’d need something more dangerous in the long run, but for now it would give him a chance.
THE ROAD TO HELL
1
* * *
NEAR LIBERAL, KANSAS
FEBRUARY 10TH, DAY 320
Sidney wiped the sweat from her forehead with a towel. There wasn’t as much work to do on the farm over the wintertime, so she’d recently began a workout regimen that was best described as a prison workout. She did a variety of strength building exercises in her small, ten-by-ten bedroom and then used Carmen’s kids, Patricia and Miguel, as weights for stair climbing to strengthen her legs.
Her workouts had become so popular in the house that both Carmen and Sally participated in the daily ritual. They all agreed that adding cardio to the workout would be better, but with a solid six inches of snow sitting on the ground outside, the only options were running in place and shadowboxing.
Sidney had asked Jake what the odds were that they could pick up a treadmill or elliptical from Liberal, but he’d said the he didn’t think it was a good idea to go on non-essential incursions into town, especially with the noisy Stryker or Vern’s old farm truck. While Jake was officially no longer in the military, he still acted as if he were.
The former soldier and their host, Vern, were like two peas in a pod. Vern Campbell had been in the Army for seven years, with three of those years in combat in Vietnam. On his third tour, he’d been given an administrative billet in one of the headquarters down in Saigon and the old firecracker said that broke him. His assignment officer had thought he was doing Vern a favor by giving the veteran a posting away from the jungle, but he wasn’t cut out for a desk job. The old man hated every day of his third tour and dropped his request for separation immediately upon his return to Fort Benning, Georgia. Then he returned to the family farm in Kansas, got married, and lived the American Dream, according to him.
“Whew,” Sally said, placing a well-meaning hand on Sidney’s shoulder. “That was a tough workout.”
Sidney grinned. “Just wait until Jake finishes clearing the path to the barn.
Sally frowned. “Pull-ups?”
“Pull-ups,” Sidney confirmed. The barn’s exposed rafters made a perfect base for the metal bar she’d placed across them for pull-ups. The rolling of the bar added a degree of difficulty that she liked because it helped to strengthen her forearms as well as her back.
Lincoln’s crying from her bedroom made Sidney wince. She’d hoped to get a few minutes of stretching in with the girls, something that even Katie joined in for, but now that’d have to wait. The baby was getting better about sleeping for more than an hour or two at a time, but he still needed to eat regularly.
“Here,” Carmen said, handing Sidney the glass of water she’d been about to drink. “Take mine. I’ll make a new one.”
“Thanks,” she replied, taking it and walking up the stairs quickly.
Behind her, she heard the Hispanic woman say, “I don’t know how she does it. When I had my kids, I could barely get out of bed most days.”
It made Sidney grin as she opened the door to her bedroom. Lincoln’s wails of hunger made the smile deepen. She loved that little guy more than she ever thought possible, and couldn’t believe that she’d thought about having an abortion when she first found out that she was pregnant with Lincoln Bannister’s child.
Baby Lincoln was the result of being cooped up in Linc’s house in Georgetown during the first several weeks of the outbreak. They’d decided to stay in DC versus making the trip to the Atlanta Safe Zone to let the worst of the disaster settle down and to allow the government time to figure out a response. Then their food supplies began to get low and they learned through intermittent Internet news that Atlanta was overrun. The CDC reestablished the safe zone in the middle of the western Texas desert near the city of El Paso. During their trip to the new safe zone, Lincoln was bitten and became infected. A man at one of the gas stations along the way killed the newly turned Lincoln and she’d made the rest of the trip alone, including a near-disastrous encounter with a hotel clerk who was intent on getting payment for the room in any way he could.
Once she was in El Paso, she learned that the FEMA camps were at capacity and had been redirected to the Army base of Fort Bliss. There, she was assigned to a camp inside the walls they were building. Within a few months, the infected penetrated the ring of defenses that the military had out in the desert and attacked the FEMA camps. It all happened so fast. The base refugee population exploded from a manageable three hundred thousand to a full four million people, all crammed into the space meant for a population a tenth of their size.
Initially, the revolts began over food and supplies, and then they were engineered as a way to shrink the refugee population. Late last summer, Sidney met Caitlyn, a soldier who offered to help her get a few pairs of clothes that could fit her ever-expanding waistline. That act of kindness had been the spark for a major revolt that ended with tens of thousands of people dead. Caitlyn introduced her to Jake, a lieutenant in the Army, and the three of them planned their escape from Fort Bliss. They stole a Stryker Infantry Fighting Vehicle and bullshitted their way through the gates into the wilds of Texas.
A few weeks of travel northward and they found themselves in the middle of a war between the few survivors in Liberal, Kansas. Vern’s granddaughters, Sally and Katie, had been kidnapped and he’d been left for dead. Jake and Caitlyn didn’t hesitate to offer to rescue them—or at least that’s how she chose to remember Caitlyn. The soldier and her boyfriend, Eric, were killed during the girls’ rescue.
With winter approaching and Sidney about to give birth, Jake asked Vern if they could stay on, at least through the spring planting season. Vern’s farmhands were murdered during his granddaughters’ kidnapping, so he’d graciously accepted the offer. Then Sidney gave birth to baby Lincoln a little over two months ago and now she struggled to get back into fighting shape for the day that Vern asked them to leave.
She knew they weren’t safe. They never would be. The infected were everywhere, and they’d learned the terrible truth about them in an isolated New Mexico town. The creatures would do whatever they needed to do in order to survive—including eating their own.
Sidney stroked the baby’s cheek as he suckled at her breast. He was her only link to the man she’d loved—a fact that she didn’t realize until after he was dead. There were lots of things in her life that she’d wished she’d done differently, but the only thing she truly regretted was how she treated Lincoln in the end. He’d tried to help and keep her safe as best he could; he just didn’t have the skills that their new world required. She’d been so nasty to him when she told him that she was pregnant. That interaction in the car, immediately before he was bitten would be forever stamped on her mind as a moment of shame.
Sidney wiped the tears that had gathered at the corners of her eyes, threatening to escape and trail down her nose. She couldn’t do anything about the past. What was done was done. She could only try to make a difference in the lives of those who were left, and to keep her baby safe.
She glanced at the corner beside her chair. Leaned against the wall within arms’ reach was a wooden closet rod with the blade from her old kitchen knife attached to it. She was comfortable with her new group of friends and survivors, but it was her responsibility to ensure Lincoln’s safety and she wouldn’t hesitate even a fraction of a second to defend him—against human or infected.
2
* * *
FORT BLISS MAIN CANTONEMENT AREA
FEBRUARY 10TH
“Alright, sir. That’s everyone we can muster.”
Jim Albrecht
looked at the ragged bunch of soldiers standing in a loose semi-circle in front of the Strykers on line in the motorpool. “How many?”
“Forty-one.”
He nodded at the NCO, a grizzled veteran named Sergeant First Class Turner. In an odd twist of fate, Sergeant Turner had been Lieutenant Murphy’s platoon sergeant before he went AWOL, and he was more than ready to go after the deserter. “Let’s see, if we go with six Strykers, that’ll give us what? Twenty-three dismounts?”
“My momma always told me not to do math in public, sir. Six trucks need eighteen soldiers to drive, gun, and TC. Whatever is left over go into the back as dismounts.”
Jim chuckled. “Alright, good point, Sergeant. Everything ready to go?”
“Yes, sir. Each truck has five thousand rounds for the fifty and we’ve loaded up ten cans of 5.56 in each. There’s three snipers in that mix, so we’ve also got a couple cans of 7.62, but not as much as I’d like.”
“Yeah, I heard the ammo point was running low on the 7.62 because we’ve kept the snipers busy on the wall.”
“That’s what they say, sir,” Turner agreed without committing to the truthfulness of the statement. “Sounds like a leadership failure to me. In Able Company, we only use our snipers for extreme distances, not the shots that a regular rifleman can take. That’s not the case across the division.”
Jim approved of the sergeant’s assessment, but he tried not to second-guess his commanders who dealt with the infected every day while he sat in an office building going to meetings and drinking coffee. It wasn’t fair of him to do that to them, and he prided himself on being fair—except for the fact that he’d helped to set up Lieutenant Murphy and stage a revolt.
He shook his head. “What’s wrong, sir?”