GWEN
Dunn Loring Metro Station, VA
Shadows danced around Gwen. Her vision obscured as if she were enveloped by a thick fog. Her mind was stuffed cotton unable to recall her impending danger. She frantically struck out attempting to impede her attackers’ progress. It was one of the tenets she had learned from her and Steele’s Krav Maga lessons: use everything in your power to win.
Muffled yelling penetrated her brain, and a python wrapped tightly around her torso squeezing her. The assailant’s hot breath steamed onto the side of her neck. She screamed in frustration, but couldn’t extract her body from its constriction.
A familiar voice hushed her. “Shh. It’s okay. It’s us.”
Gwen’s vision sharpened slightly revealing a long brown haired woman. “Lindsay?” She reached out hesitantly for her new friend. Lindsay gave her a worried smile from the driver’s seat. She shifted gears.
“It’s me. You scared us there. You’ve been in and out all night.”
Lindsay swerved the Jeep around an abandoned vehicle in the center of a residential street. “You went head first into that curb,” she said, not taking her eyes off the road.
The burly arms restraining her seemed hesitant to release her. It was as if they dared not let go, for fear of never holding her again. Gwen checked herself for further injury running her hands over her arms and legs. Her head pounded with pain in rhythm with her heart.
“I think we should take you to a hospital,” Lindsay said.
Gwen bowed her head as she reached up, gingerly touching the lump where her head had run into the pavement and lost. She was still confused as to what had happened.
Lindsay almost rolled the Jeep as she took a suburban street corner too fast, her tires sliding.
“No. I think hospitals are a bad idea,” Gwen said, holding her head in her hands.
“If you say so.”
“I’ll be fine. I just feel like I’m going to be sick.”
“I want you to meet somebody,” Lindsay continued, gesturing toward the back seat. “This is Ahmed. We owe him.”
Gwen twisted in her seat, offering a limp hand to the stranger in the back, still cradling her throbbing head. He took her hand in his. He radiated warmth. “It’s nice to meet you, Ahmed. What happened?”
“Well,” Lindsay responded. “There’s no doubt in my mind that Ahmed was an All-Conference baseball player in college.”
Gwen turned again to get a better peek at Ahmed, who appeared to be in his mid-twenties. He was a handsome man of Middle Eastern descent. About average height, he had an almost entirely shaved head. He had large, muscular arms and wore a tight-fitting T-shirt with a gold chain dangling outside. Twirling a gore-covered baseball bat, he made small circles with it between his legs.
Smiling shyly, he spoke. “The pleasure is all mine. I was hiding in a car when I saw you sprinting away from those ghouls. I tried to wave you over, but you bit it on the curb and those assholes were gaining on you. I couldn’t let them catch you. I only held them off long enough until, thankfully, Lindsay came driving through the middle.”
“How did I get in here?”
“It’s not like you’re heavy. I just picked you up and threw you in, and we took off,” he said as if tossing another person was easy.
Lindsay grabbed Gwen’s hand. “Don’t let him underplay his part. When I drove up, he stood over you, bashing in the head of every crazy within ten feet. He must have killed at least eight or nine before I got there. He’s a hero.”
Gwen sat amazed. These people had gone out of their way and risked their lives to save her when the most prudent course of action would have been to leave her as food for the dead. Her head was still foggy. At least a mild concussion.
“I can’t thank you enough. I owe you both my life,” she said earnestly. Red bricked town homes zipped by. “Where are we going?”
Lindsay downshifted, slowing the car to a steady roll. She gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles.
“I don’t know where to go,” Lindsay said.
Gwen shook her head. “Just give me a minute,” she said trying to think. She gazed out the window. The neighborhood of townhouses around them seemed deserted. Garage doors closed and lights off. In the breaking daylight, an Indian family strapped suitcases to the top of their minivan. They eyed the Jeep suspiciously as the trio drove on.
Further down the street they passed a father and his teenage son feeding on what appeared to be the mother in their driveway. A half-packed BMW crossover stood with its doors open. The pair looked up at the Jeep with milky white eyes, dark red blood running down their lips. Soon they lost interest in the car, and returned to tearing at the woman’s ribcage. The image made Gwen want to puke her brains out. It was that or her head; she couldn’t tell which.
“What in the world is happening out there?” Gwen murmured to herself. Neither of her companions responded to her as if they were unwilling or unable to answer. Lindsay watched straight ahead, as if she didn’t acknowledge the gratuitous violence around her it would just go away.
“I just moved here a month ago from Tampa,” Lindsay said. “I’m not even done unpacking yet. I wish I hadn’t now. Never move for a man,” she said with a nervous laugh.
“Men are an unreasonable necessity,” Gwen said, trying to hold the vomit back in her throat. “Ahmed?”
“I live by myself in a big apartment building down in Arlington. I don’t think it’s a great idea to go back there. Besides, I don’t have anything particularly useful aside from this bat,” Ahmed said, laughing at himself. “Got plenty of booze and supplements,” he followed as an afterthought.
Gwen knew the best option would be her home. At the very least the house held plenty of food, supplies, and guns, Mark made sure of that. “I want you both to come to my townhouse. We can stay holed up in there until the military gets this straightened out. We have plenty of supplies. My boyfriend’s a counterterrorism agent. He should be home any time now.”
Lindsay sighed and Ahmed was quiet, but they both seemed relieved at the idea of sticking together. Any reason to stay together was a good one.
“Have you heard anything from your boyfriend?” Lindsay asked.
“No, but he’ll be back any time now,” Gwen said assuredly.
“Are you sure?” Ahmed asked. Gwen had never contemplated the fact that Mark might be in any sort of serious danger.
“Of course I’m sure,” she said with a little less confidence. He better get his hairy ass back home in one piece.
“No offense, Gwen, but it is pretty bad out here. Have you spoken with him?” Lindsay said.
“Well, no. But he should be traveling back from Africa any time now.”
“I heard on the radio that’s where this thing started. A disease,” Ahmed said. It had been in her face the whole time. All the requests for aid. The crippling disasters abroad. They all couldn’t be related to this madness?
“It’s of no matter. He is a big boy and can take care of himself.” At least I hope so. He promised he would come back. Was that not a promise he could actually keep? Was it just some foolish lover’s promise, whispered as a sweet nothing in the night? Was it truly the lie that they told themselves, so they could go about their daily lives in peace, ignoring reality? The fact remains, agents in his line of work died in ‘training accidents’ all the time. Her heart sank as fear set in. No, he would be back. He has to come back.
“Now, we just need to figure out the least-known route to get there,” she said. She pulled out her phone, clicking the map icon. A map of the area appeared, marked with a blue dot to show their location. At least GPS still worked.
She quickly scrolled back through her emails. There was an email from her sister and her father, but nothing from Mark. Her sister and her niece were safe. Apparently, nothing had gone on there yet. The local school had closed and the hospitals were on high alert, but no one seemed to know if the reports coming from the East Coast were fact or fictio
n.
She hammered out a quick email:
Becky, I’m safe. Waiting for Mark. Get to Grandpa’s farm right away. Don’t let anyone sick near you. Keep the dogs out front.
Love Always Gwen
It was time for Gwen to get home. She clicked her volume down so she didn’t have to listen to her phone’s electronic voice.
She pointed toward the next street. “Turn left up here onto Merryfield Road.”
STEELE
Washington-McCone International Airport, VA
Steele awoke with a start. Where am I? Many a night in the field, he had come to, so tired from his travels that he couldn’t remember where he laid his head. He blinked repeatedly, trying to recognize some part of his surroundings. Steel girders lined the ceiling. Unopened boxes stacked upon one another rose to the ceiling like a real life game of Tetris. People around him slumbered fitfully, breathing, and snoring. Mauser lay nearby sprawled out, Crystal lying on one of his arms in a ball. He relaxed a little as he realized he was in the warehouse underneath McCone.
His eyes slowly adjusted to the light. The Trijicon night sights of his pistol glowed pale green in the dark. He reached for it, finding the course sandpaper grip tape along the handle of the weapon soothing. The fit felt perfect like the weapon and man were made for one another. There are many like you, but you are mine.
A scratching noise came from the corner. What is that? He pointed his SIG Sauer P226 in the direction of the sound, his night sights forming a straight green line in the dark. He quietly shifted into a crouch. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. Step after step he approached, silently stalking the offending noise.
Tiptoeing over bodies, he crept until the azure steel door loomed ahead. Leading to the surface, it was an even gloomier shadow in the darkness. Hesitantly, he turned his ear to the door listening. His ear hovered an inch from its cool surface. Something scratched along the other side. I will probably regret this.
Gradually he slid the large deadbolt free of its confines. Its soft metal faintly rasped along the door. Must be fast. If things go bad, I can use the crowned bezel of the taclight to crack a skull. He took a deep breath. Gun in the high ready, he pulled the door hard. Flicking on his tactical light, he shined it into the stairwell illuminating the darkness with 500-lumens. He checked his corners, casting bright LED light into the left and then the right. Then up the stairs. Nothing moved. A heavy silence hung in the air as if it were waiting for him to breathe. He exhaled slowly, realizing that he too had been waiting to breathe.
Utterly thankful that a horde of dead bodies hadn’t pushed him down to the floor as they flooded into the room, he wiped his brow. Scratch. Scratch. Steele jumped as he saw a rat scampering straight for him.
“Jesus,” he cursed, regaining his composure. Something pink stuck out of either end of its mouth. Steele contemplated shooting the rodent, but decided a kick would suffice. It squealed as it flew through the air, dropping its treasure, and scrambled into the warehouse. Steele turned to watch it run into the darkness.
Steele lit up the object the rodent had left behind and recognized it, as a long pale finger. A gold band decorated the base of the finger. Steele stepped back inside the warehouse, gently latching the door.
He checked his watch and almost ran into Mauser.
“Everything all right?”
“Yeah. Just some rats in the stairwell. One had a finger in its mouth.”
Mauser looked unsurprised. “We live in a dead zone, where eaters of the dead reign supreme.”
“I’ve got to check my phone. Its 0800 and we should start getting ready,” Steele said and Mauser nodded. The break room was the only place in the underground warehouse where Steele received a single bar of service on his work phone. Reception was spotty at best. He wanted to smash his personal phone for failing him in his time of need, but held off, maybe it would come in use later.
Steele plopped down at a table and messed with his phone. His inbox had been flooded with a host of emails from headquarters, revealing the general breakdown of the Division. It started with an email to ‘Please Check Open Source reporting about protests.’ ‘Airport operations have ceased in all major cities.’ Nobody is coming home on commercial airlines.
‘Please stay at your designated rally points until further contact is made from your Operations staff.’ Teams scattered throughout the world would find themselves in various safe houses or US consulates stranded until further notice.
‘Personnel that are inside CONUS are to report for duty at the nearest Field Office.’ Teams that were in the Continental United States were to report to the nearest field office in their area of operations (AO). Nothing from the Washington Field Office. He wondered how many of his colleagues were still alive.
They had undergone a great deal of training, which made them tough agents in the field. At the same time, most of the agents had probably been at the focal point of any transiting outbreaks. Others would be responding with alternate federal agencies in overt tactical teams. The rest that were scattered across the globe with little to no intelligence wouldn’t have known what to look for or how to stop the disease as it spread. The death toll within their ranks must be dramatically high. He tried not to worry about his brothers and sisters in arms. They would have to take care of themselves, just as he had done. Nothing from WFO. His field office must be out of commission. Perhaps they could eventually reach the Baltimore Field Office.
His government phone buzzed indicating another email from headquarters. ‘ATTN: Infected persons are extremely dangerous avoid contact.’ Thanks, a little late to the ball now aren’t we? But if the emails are going out, some aspect of the Counterterrorism Division must be up and running somewhere.
Gwen had better have made it out of D.C. before all this shit went down. He would make sure she was safe and deal with the repercussions from work later. If this was as bad as he thought, he didn’t think they would be calling any time soon.
With Summerdyke’s help, he called together the two intermingled groups of survivors. They numbered twenty-two in total. He explained the situation, and that he meant to set out to find Gwen. Heading into an area most likely infested with diseased, cannibalistic people to find his girlfriend didn’t have the group’s broad range of support. As Steele listened to himself explaining his plan, it also sounded pretty outlandish to him. Did you expect everyone to raise their hands for a chance to die? Shouldn’t have bothered.
It was reminiscent of a horror film when the imprudent yet well-intentioned jock declares he will go out into the dark forest alone in order to ‘get help.’ It was always a death sentence, but Steele had no choice. This was something he had to do. He wondered if that was how the brave yet foolish characters of horror films felt. If I don’t go, I will never be able to live with myself. Dead either way.
“I can’t promise your well-being, but this is something I have to do. We have a large vehicle and we can take anyone who wants to go. We’ll leave here in thirty minutes. Thank you for your hospitality.”
People talked in hushed tones to themselves, and one by one they walked back to their makeshift beds. Crystal ran up and hugged him, wiping away the tears in her eyes.
“Keep him safe. He owes me a date,” she said, sniffling. She ran to Mauser, wrapping her arms around him. Mauser held her hands and leaned in close, whispering in her ear causing her to smile a bit.
The others moved away from Steele and his team as though they were already dead and rising. They would rather stay burrowed underground like hedgehogs than risk their own necks escaping. He expected no more and no less. These people were safe. Outside was a violent whirlwind of chaos.
To Steele's surprise, the copilot lingered after everyone had disappeared. The older man crossed his arms on his chest appearing uncomfortable. Steele rose an eyebrow at the man.
“Copilot Gordon. Is there something I can help you with?” Like a slap to the face. The copilot shifted on his feet.
“I just wanted to say thanks
. Thanks for getting us here. Never thought I’d be so excited to stay overnight at an airport.”
“I know the feeling, but I only did what I was supposed to do. No different than you landing the plane.”
“I know. Just wanted to say thanks.” He extended a hand to Steele. Steele took his hand.
“Good luck out there.” The copilot walked away. People surprise you everyday.
Steele checked his pack. The gear is secure. He press-checked his handgun to ensure he had a round chambered, and felt for his mag carrier touching the top of his easily accessible extra mag. Weapon manipulation is the difference between the living and the dead.
His final preparation before submitting himself back to the world of the dead was saying his goodbye to Wheeler. He officially opted to leave a man behind, and the odds were against them seeing each other again.
Wheeler’s corner make-shift cot was dark. It tore him up to see his senior colleague lying unmoving and incapacitated, torso partially covered with a blanket. He watched his mentor for a moment. It seemed as if his chest didn’t rise at all. His skin was pallid with his eyes closed. A large bandage sealed his chest wound, and a small needle stuck out of the white gauze. Wheeler knocked on death’s door. Do not give up the good fight brother. Steele knelt down, taking his mentor’s hand. It was cool to the touch.
“Hang in there, Boss Man. I’ve got to leave you here, but I’ll see you when this is all over.” God willing.
Wheeler’s eyes flickered open and his lips moved, but his mumblings were too faint to be heard. His heavy lids drooped down and his eyes closed again. Steele gave his hand a squeeze and stood up to leave. He brushed a tear from his eye and made quick time for the door. Too much of a liability in the field, he told himself.
Steele tossed his pack over his shoulder and made a beeline for the reinforced door, nodding to Jarl and Mauser, who fell in line.
“Wait, wait,” someone called from behind. Steele stopped. He was surprised to see Eddie in his greasy coveralls and a baseball cap, with a tool belt around his waist, hurrying after them.
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