Joseph nodded. All the military jargon meant little to him. Helicopters landed and took off every few minutes. Large trucks unloaded supplies and men raced back and forth. A host of buildings decorated the Topside: dormitories, cafeterias, training venues and office buildings. Now most were being utilized by the military.
Organized chaos, Joseph thought. He deliberately quickened his pace away from the military encampment, stopping at a hodgepodge of tents and shelters. No uniformity.
The soldier stepped next to him in a leisurely fashion, as if they were old friends at a cookout.
“Refugees?” Joseph asked, but he already knew the answer.
“Yup.” The soldier pushed his combat helmet upward revealing his forehead. “At first the refugees were told they couldn’t enter the secure zone, but that quickly changed when the people outside caused more problems than they would have if they’d been inside the fences,” the soldier said, tossing his cigarette butt. “There are over five hundred acres up here and only two access points.” He eyed a family heating food in boiling water huddled around a small burner.
Joseph thought about asking the soldier’s name, but decided a name exchange might be a bad idea. He didn’t have a great track record given the demise of his last chaperones.
The young soldier pointed to a large tent guarded by masked soldiers with rifles. “See that over there. That’s the duty nobody wants. We call it the ‘Old Rochambeau.’”
“Why is that? Never mind, I don’t want to know.”
The young soldier smiled. “Cause anybody would much rather get a swift kick in the nuts than man the screening tent. You got to get up close and personal with potential Biters.”
“I see.” Screening the civilians could be a very dangerous duty. Best left to the general practitioners.
“After a thorough screening, the people are allowed to set up camp in any of the abandoned areas or open areas of the facility, provided it hasn’t been designated mission essential.” The fence was covered with razor wire, and, near the entrance, large concrete barricades were in place at intervals to slow approaching vehicles.
Joseph made eye contact with a little girl, who stared at him from outside the facility, awaiting clearance to enter the compound. She clung to her mother with one hand, and held a dirty torn teddy bear in the other. Staring vacantly, much like the infected, her eyes unclouded by the virus.
“Say, you’re a doctor, right?” the soldier said. Damn.
“Yes.” He dreaded the next questions, the ones that always came.
“Have you come up with a cure? You see, my daughter back home is sick.”
Joseph cut him off. “Please, private whatever-your-name-is, I came up here to get away from all that. I don’t have a cure, and I don’t have anything to help you or your daughter.” Joseph turned away.
The man stood silent for a moment. “It’s Private Gordon, sir,” and the soldier’s mouth clamped shut. Why do they always tell me their names?
“I’m going back to the Bottomside,” Joseph said.
The soldier didn’t say anything; he simply followed a few steps behind. Joseph didn’t look back as he quickly processed through the screening area and a soldier escorted him back inside the bunker.
The elevators led him back down four floors. Upon stepping out into the fluorescent light, he could take one of three corridors. One led to the Congressional chamber and news-broadcasting center. The last place he wanted to go back to.
Attached to the Congressional chamber, were the VIP dormitories and cafeteria. He wouldn’t had even known they existed, but he had taken a few meals with an energetic young Representative Baker from Indiana. Incredibly, the Congressman was interested in doing something about it while they still had time.
The second corridor led to the regular dormitory, where everyone, who was not important, rotated sleep in what appeared to be naval shipping bunks. It wasn’t time for his sleep shift so he couldn’t go back there. It also had a larger, blander cafeteria, but no pictures of founding fathers adorned the plain walls. Next to the general cafeteria were standard showering facilities. Joseph had been relieved to see that the stalls had curtains, or he would have had to wear his boxers while bathing. The alternative was most uncivilized.
The third corridor led to some offices, storage rooms, and a medical lab that the scientists had commandeered. This was the only place where he truly felt comfortable.
He flashed his badge at a couple of towering Army soldiers, who held short rifles across their chests. Waving him through to the lab, they hardly glanced down at his badge. They were probably more concerned about him running ravenously down the hall like a rabid dog, hell bent on ripping their throats out than the color of his badge.
Joseph worked on into the night, skipping dinner with his colleagues. Time was running out; he needed to come up with something fast. Dozing off at his computer, he awoke to the pinging sound of a new email. No doubt another horrible news update.
‘Los Angeles closes hospitals.’ The number of cases on the West Coast had skyrocketed, and the hospitals were turning away bite victims. It’s only a matter of time now. He scrolled through his emails to distract himself.
The computer mouse squeaked as he rolled through his inbox. He had to use an ancient machine from 2001 that was slower than his grandmother because only government computers were allowed in the building. Your grandmother is probably dead. He pushed the thoughts from his head. Squeak. Squeak. Nothing important here. Wait.
He paused, double-clicking on an email he had received a few weeks earlier from a former CDC colleague in Chicago. It read ‘Can you believe this? Monkeypox cases reported in city.’
The sent date was two weeks earlier. He checked the date again. Two weeks and a day. Why haven’t I seen this earlier? He supposed it could have slipped past him when he was in the field. He hurried to print the email. This could be the missing piece. He pounded the mouse trying to expedite the print speed, and ran from the room.
STEELE
Chantilly, VA
The mobile lounge’s speedometer hovered at a steady 25mph. Mauser slowing it to weave the unwieldy behemoth in and out of abandoned traffic on Route 50. This road was normally gridlocked with people on their morning commute. Now abandoned vehicles sat gridlocked, not moving at all. The mobile lounge shifted to the left or right as it flattened an infected person or rolled over miscellaneous car wreckage.
Mauser sped up the mobile lounge and a body thudded as he crushed another infected. With an evil grin, he shouted: “Old lady, that’s five points.” Wrestling the steering wheel, the lounge swerved to the left.
“Ooo, hot blonde, that’s ten points.” The mover didn't acknowledge her existence as she bounced off the side of its thick wheel tread.
Steele ignored him, and watched the road grimly. His gut burned with worry and doubt. Steele had been listening to his friend’s morbid game for around fifteen minutes, and wasn’t helping. “Mauser, shut the fuck up and drive.” Did he not understand what was at stake?
“Come on, man. Lighten up.”
“I’m serious. Don’t you see what’s happening out there? Our community is fucked,” Steele said. Mauser stiffened and sat in silence. “Just drive,” Steele said, shaking his head. This is not a game. This is real. People are dying, and I have to find Gwen before it’s too late. I won’t rest until she is in my arms again. I won’t rest.
Mauser piped up in front. “I know exactly what’s going on. If its the last thing I do, I will get you back to her. I care about her too.”
Steele felt a pang of guilt for admonishing his friend. I know we are on the same team.
They lumbered past a strip mall, red-shingled storefronts with white lettering above. “People are on the roof,” Jarl reported gruffly, pointing out the window. Living souls waved their arms above their heads trying to track them down.
Steele made eye contact with Jarl.
“Should we stop?” Mauser chimed in.
“N
o,” Steele said. He pointed ahead. It was as if everyone was trying to prevent him from reaching her.
His tactical badge swung back and forth around his neck, a constant reminder of his duty to the public; a duty that he elected to disregard. He stared down at the gold badge. What does it mean to serve and protect when society consumed itself? What does it mean to defend the Constitution and the United States against all enemies foreign and domestic when the people of the United States itself were the enemy? He tucked the badge under his shirt. For better or worse, his decision was made. It was a decision that he would have to live with.
Mauser slowed down as they approached a pileup at the intersection of VA Route 50 and Bircham Road. “Can you get around it?” Steele asked.
“I don’t think so,” Mauser replied.
The engine idled for a minute, and they scanned the area looking for some way to improve their position. Groups of the infected navigated around the abandoned vehicles. Steele had good 360-degree vision through the mobile lounge’s long, wide windows.
The infected were drawn to the lounge like moths to a flame. They closed in on the vehicle all while the engine sang a lonely diesel tune.
A man in his fifties darted out of a car to the left, swinging his arm to get their attention. He held a young boy in the other. They were haggard and dirty, as though they had been sleeping in their car.
“You want me pick them up?” Jarl called from the rear. He pushed open the folding doors with a big hand.
There was just enough space between the father and the infected that he might make it. He yelled as he ran: “Wait! Wait for us!”
Steele ignored the call for aid. He pointed to a small gap in the pileup with some smaller vehicles. “Get some speed and drive through there,” he said without a backward glance.
Mauser looked up at him and back at Jarl, concern spreading over his face. “What about that guy and the kid?” he asked. The yelling grew louder.
“Help us. Don’t leave,” the man shouted.
“He’s probably infected anyway. Leave him,” Steele said firmly to Mauser.
“That guy has a kid, for Christ’s sake. Tell me you’re not serious?” Mauser glowered.
“Agent Steele, they need help,” FSO Kim said.
Steele fingered the handle of his gun. I promised myself I would do anything to get back to her. I promised her that I would never let anything happen to her. “Mauser, drive this fucking thing before I lose it.”
Mauser gave Steele one last chance to change his mind, glaring at him in disbelief.
“This is on your head.”
“Fine. Just go.”
Mauser gunned it and the lounge lurched ahead, rolling up and over the cars in the intersection. Steele could hear the cries of the man and his son as the infected brought them down like a pack of feral animals. The cries for help were replaced by the crunching of metal beneath the giant vehicle.
The man’s screams pulled at Steele’s heartstrings, but it was the child’s high-pitched bawling for his father as he was ripped apart that burrowed deep into his mind. Shoving his unrelenting thoughts to the back of his head, he tried to justify what he had done.
What if the time it takes to pick them up leads to the death of my loved ones? Haven’t I done enough to help everyone else? I have risked my life, time and time again for the doctor, the flight crew, my teammates and the survivors sitting within this mobile lounge. Isn’t it my right to protect my family and friends from harm? When does my watch over the public end? Does my watch end if there is no one to take my post? How can I do my job knowing that my loved ones are in immediate danger?
Rolling forward, they passed abandoned vehicles in the residential street, and within minutes the mover turned onto his cul-de-sac. Everyone sat in silence. No one commented on what had just taken place, too stunned to utter a word. Steele was also sure they probably hated him for it. Mauser acted pissed, but he didn’t care. He was so close, he could taste it.
“Drive,” he commanded. Mauser put the mobile lounge right onto their front lawn. The thick tire treads tore through the green grass, leaving dark, churned earth in its place. Steele couldn’t care less. His landlord probably wandered the streets hunting for someone to infect.
Their brown front door swung ajar, hanging off one of its hinges. Blood covered the entrance like an ancient Passover. No. Life as he knew it crumbled around him. He stared at the door to his townhouse, not quite believing what he saw was the truth. His heart sank; any remaining hope dying inside him.
“NO, NO, NO,” Steele screamed as his frustration boiled over into blind rage. I had willed her to be alive. This isn’t happening. He shoved his way through the mobile lounge’s folding doors, jumping from the vehicle before Mauser could lower the hydraulics.
A shooting pain bounced up his knee as he landed. Ignoring the injury, he ripped his SIG Sauer P226 from his front waist holster as he ran toward the townhouse. No tactics were used in his approach. He ran through the doorway of his home, stepping over the fallen body of a swarthy man as he hurried to get inside.
Steele failed to check any corners as he rushed. Blood covered the living room that had seemed so cozy in the past. Gratuitous amounts of blood coated the walls and ceiling reminding him of an overdone haunted house.
Jesus fucking Christ, he thought as he slipped in a puddle of blood on the hardwood floor. There’s blood everywhere, his mind raced skipping from thought to thought. His sofa, the TV, even the lamps were varnished with the coppery liquid.
Gripping the handrails on his stairs, he looked upward. Pictures on the walls tilted cockeyed as if some prankster had thought it funny to turn them all sideways with a filthy hand. An infected body lay sprawled on the steps. She vaguely resembled his neighbor, a nurse at the nearby Inova Fairfax Hospital. Most of her head was missing from what appeared to be a shotgun slug to the head. The scrubs were the only thing that gave her away; there just wasn’t much else to go on. A faint sickly fruit odor hung around her making him want to gag.
“Gwen,” he half yelled, half whispered. He spit the bad taste from his mouth.
A creak on the floorboards alerted him to an inhabitance on the top floor, and he took the steps in twos. The door to his bedroom was latched shut. Please be in the bedroom. Please be in the bedroom.
“Gwen baby,” he said at the door. Nothing. Silence. He rested his head on the doorframe as he slowly twisted the doorknob. It was locked and he could hear something move on the other side.
“Gwen?” he whispered. “Gwen open the door, it’s me.” No acknowledgement echoed from the other side. She must be inside.
Leaning back, the door splintered under the assault of a ferocious front kick. A rancid stench lashed at his nose as he charged inside. Precious seconds dripped by as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room. The ominous presence of something lurking inside came over him and his eyes, led by his ears, were drawn to an infected man hunched over in the corner. It was clear by its jerking movements that it was feeding. With a slow turn of his head it briefly acknowledged Steele’s existence, a mouthful of human meat hanging loosely from his lips.
Twisting its body, the infected exposed the form of a woman. She lay proned out, limbs lifeless at her sides. Steele raged. “Stay away from her,” he growled, lining up a shot through the creature’s temporal lobe.
He refused to believe this thing had once been human. No human could possibly be capable of such a depraved act. Letting his momentum take him straight into the fiend, he slammed the handle of his handgun into the thing’s head, again and again. Gore splattered the walls, the carpet and the pictures he had taken with Gwen from their trip to St. Lucia. Unrelenting he pounded his gun into its face until the arms of his fellow agents lifted him up and away from the beast. He kicked out one last time in blind hate, as reality set in.
“It’s okay. It’s not her,” Mauser whispered in his ear. His words fell on deaf ears.
Deep down, he knew it was her
. Much of her body had been consumed, her clothes now a ragged mess of slippery insides. Her silver diamond necklace she received for their anniversary lay wrapped around her hand as if she held it as she was attacked. She was here and now was gone.
Steele stopped resisting his colleagues and they set him down. If he had driven faster, fought harder, done anything differently, she would still be alive. His sequence of actions mocked him. It blew apart his whole belief system like a grenade dropped on his whole shit covered cake of a life. He would have to live knowing he had lost his most important battle. Anything except this. A thousand painful deaths were preferable to this.
Sitting in a heap, he stared forward. His hands stroked her blood-soaked hair, now a reddish-golden hue. The others cleared the house and secured it, but he didn’t care. He had failed to protect the one person he had loved above all others. Tears ran down his cheeks as he held her remains, rocking back and forth. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
After what seemed like an eternity of grief, but was only a few minutes, Mauser squatted down beside him, putting a hand on his knee.
“Mark. We don’t know if that is her. It could have been anybody.” Steele knew she was gone, and he hated that his friend would lie to him about it.
“Leave me here,” he said solemnly, his chin hanging down to his chest and Gwen’s remains draped across his lap.
Mauser gaped at him. “You can’t be serious. You’ll die.” Steele didn’t care if he died, because he was already dead inside. He didn’t respond to his best friend. “Come on we have to go before we get trapped. She could still be out there,” Mauser said, giving Steele’s leg a shake.
Dejected, he knew his fate. He couldn’t go on knowing her light had been extinguished. He broke eye contact with his friend, ashamed of his weakness.
End Time Page 26