by D. J. Molles
“Why the fuck they need attack helicopters for an evacuation?” LaRouche asked from the back.
Lee shook his head. “Someone thought they were needed.”
There were boxes and crates strewn everywhere, but they looked looted and torn apart, either by scavengers or by the infected, searching for food. Between these, bodies lay where they’d fallen. It was difficult to tell due to the level of decay, but some of them were whole, and Lee presumed these were the infected, shot down by defending troops. Others were in pieces—the civilians that hadn’t made it to safety before the infected caught up with them.
In another, lower parking lot, Lee could see a collection of school buses. They would have been used to ferry survivors back and forth to the airport. He saw himself for a moment, sitting in one of those buses, the air hot, the vinyl seats sticking to his skin, sweat and panic thick in the air. Driving down these deserted back roads with an armed escort of Humvees, a pair of Apache attack helicopters making flybys overhead.
Discomfort.
Terror.
Lack of control.
These were someone’s last memories.
Behind the school buses, parked closer to the buildings, Lee saw the hulks of OD green and desert tan. He leaned forward in his seat and pointed. “See ‘em? Coupla LMTVs and a tanker.”
The LMTVs were two-and-a-half ton trucks that had replaced most of the old M35 “Deuce-and-a-Half” trucks. Lee supposed that they could share the same name, but for some reason most people just called them LMTVs. Two of these were parked alongside a HEMTT truck, with the M978 fuel tanker modification.
LaRouche whistled. “That’s a couple thousand gallons for you.”
“If they left anything for us.” Lee waved his hand towards the high school complex. “Bring us in there, Jim.”
The Humvee rolled forward through a gap in the jersey barriers that had been left open for vehicles to pass in and out of the complex. A roll-away section of barbed-wire-topped fencing lay bent and toppled to the ground, what was left of a body clad in ACUs lying on top.
Jim took it slow and tried to avoid the dark mounds of decaying flesh that littered the parking lot, but there were far too many and occasionally Jim would cringe and the tires would thump across some old corpse and the sound of brittle bones snapping was muffled through the rotting meat.
“You’re doin’ good, Jim.”
The ex-priest nodded hastily. “You want to go all the way back to those trucks and the tanker?”
“Yeah.” Lee looked out his window and scanned the rooftops with a suspicious eye. “All the way back.”
The smell was not as bad as Lee thought it would be. The sun and wind and rain had soaked and leached most of the putrid odor from these remains. In tiny updrafts of air, carried on the heat of the engine block, Lee could smell the faintness of their death like disturbing memories that cannot quite be grasped.
“Movement!” LaRouche called.
“Shit,” Lee hunched lower over his rifle.
“You want me to keep rolling?” Jim asked.
“Where’s the movement coming from?” Lee called out.
“Down near the vehicles…I can’t tell what it is…”
Lee slapped the dash. “Stop here.”
The Humvee jerked to a halt.
“I saw it behind the HEMTT,” LaRouche pronounced it heh-mit. “It’s like an animal or something.”
Lee peered at the cluster of vehicles. They all faced outwards, the bulk of the building casting a pallorous shadow over half their bodies, while bright sunlight lit their hoods and reflected off their windshields. Beyond the glare, Lee could see nothing in the shadows.
“Jim, honk the horn and be ready to haul ass,” Lee instructed. “LaRouche, if it’s infected that come popping out of there, light ‘em up.”
“Yeah, I gotcha.”
“Ready?” Jim asked, his hand on the horn.
Lee nodded.
The vehicles were perhaps fifty yards out, maybe a little more.
Jim punched the horn.
The Humvee gave its uncharacteristic squawk.
They waited.
From underneath the wheelbase of one of the LMTVs, Lee thought he saw a shadow move. A pair of dark-colored winter birds flitted across the sky, swooping and jabbering at each other. A steady breeze gusted through his open window, dried his eyes and chilled the sweat on the back of his neck. The Humvee hit a rough patch of idling and rumbled underneath them before smoothing out and returning to normal.
The smell of diesel fumes and decay.
His pulse was steady.
“Alright,” Lee’s door creaked slightly as he pushed it open. “Jim, you’re with me. LaRouche, maintain overwatch and cover our retreat if we start running back to the Humvee.”
CHAPTER 19: TALKS
Jim stepped out with Lee, leaving the vehicle running. The two met at the front of the Humvee. The warmth of the engine washed across Lee’s back as he pulled his rifle in tight and squeezed the foregrip. They maneuvered towards the vehicles, splitting up and flanking, trying to get an angle on what might be hiding behind the bulks of metal and mechanics.
They were within about twenty yards of the vehicles when Lee saw a flash of brown fur from underneath the chassis of the HEMTT. As he brought his rifle up, a long, black snout poked out from behind a tire and evaluated Lee with suspicious eyes, tan ears erect and oriented towards him.
Irrationally, Lee’s first thought was, Tango?
He stepped forward, let the muzzle of his weapon drop.
The dog took two hesitant steps out from behind the tire, still watching Lee, its head level with its haunches and sniffing the air, catching his scent. The resemblance did not go further than the first, immediate impression. It clearly had some German Shepherd, or maybe some Malinois in its bloodline, but it also just as clearly was a mutt, though Lee wasn’t sure what else it was mixed with. The fur was lighter, almost gray across its flanks where it was clumped with dirt and grime, charcoal around its snout and eyes.
As it cleared its hide, it caught sight of Jim, moving in from the other side and it stiffened. It looked back and forth a few times, and backed away one step, its tail slung low but making nervous wagging gestures, as though it hoped they were regular humans, but just couldn’t be sure.
“Lee,” Jim called, addressing his rifle towards the dog.
Lee held a hand out. “Hold your fire.”
Most domesticated dogs had turned feral. When they were encountered, they were shot and chalked up to target practice. As cold as that sounded, it was better than having them rip one of their scavenging crews apart, as they’d been known to do. They might look like old house pets, but their instincts quickly reasserted themselves and they were just as dangerous as wild animals.
But this one was alone.
“You gonna shoot it?” Jim asked.
It was a valid question. In addition to being a danger to people, as long as the dogs didn’t display any signs of infection from FURY or rabies, it was a decent meal. The taste was similar to beef, but a little more gamey. They’d found the smaller the dog, the more gamey the taste, so if you bagged yourself a large-breed dog, like a Labrador or a Rottweiler, you could almost pretend you were eating steak.
This one was smaller, maybe fifty pounds, if that. But Lee wasn’t interested in killing and eating it. This one seemed less inclined to attack, and more inclined to give them a good long inspection, which made Lee believe that perhaps the dog had not gone feral. He stood there and forced his body to relax, to be loose and controlled, like he was the owner of this dog and expected it to heel.
“Lee?”
“Ssh,” Lee held a finger to his lips.
The dog quirked his head at the sound from Lee.
It kept its eyes mainly on him, as he was the closest, but chanced a look at Jim every few seconds to make sure the other man hadn’t got any closer. It kept sniffing the air, as though it wasn’t sure who these people were, but whateve
r scent particles it was pulling from the breeze weren’t alarming it either.
Lee patted his leg, and spoke calmly: “Come ‘ere, boy.”
Jim took an audible breath, something akin to exasperation, and Lee flicked a glance in his direction. His rifle was still addressed towards the dog, but it was held at a low-ready, and Jim’s eyes were on Lee. “What’re you doing?”
Lee didn’t give him an answer. Whatever the reason, Lee felt confident that there was a good reason for this dog. He patted his leg again and called out to the dog, but it just wagged its tail hesitantly, and moved its paws as though it truly wanted to come closer, but couldn’t bring itself to do so.
“What if it’s feral?” Jim called out.
“If it’s feral, it won’t come when I call.”
“It doesn’t look like it’s coming.”
“It will.” Lee reached his hand slowly into his left cargo pocket and brought out his little bag of jerky. Luckily, he hadn’t finished it off earlier and still had a few pieces left. Keeping a steady eye on the dog, he opened it up and pulled a single, small piece out. The dog was skinny, and Lee could see its ribs showing. It would be hungry. He held the piece of jerky into the air and he could see the dog focusing on it, lifting its snout to test the air as the breeze carried the smell of the jerky over to it.
The dog sniffed and licked its chops once, then let out a little whine and worriedly moved its feet a few times, closing the gap between them by only a foot or so.
“It’s okay,” Lee spoke calmly. “Come on.”
The dog wouldn’t come any closer after that, so Lee gently tossed the jerky towards the dog and it landed about halfway between them. The throwing motion spooked the dog and he back up. When the piece of meat hit the ground, the dog watched it with incredible intensity and crept forward a few feet. Then it bolted and snatched up the morsel before drawing back again.
Lee smiled. “Yeah, I got you now.”
The piece of jerky was gone in a flash and the dog was standing there, now attuned to Lee’s every move.
Lee looked over to Jim. “Let’s walk back.”
Jim began sidestepping in the direction of their Humvee, not quite willing to turn his back on the dog. Lee, however, turned completely and strode casually on. As he did, he took a strip of jerky and pulled smaller pieces off, then dropped them on the ground as he walked.
As they neared the Humvee again, LaRouche grinned and shook his head. “I’m guessing we can’t eat your new friend.”
Lee turned and found the dog, still standing about fifteen feet away from Lee, scarfing up the little pieces of meat from the ground. He walked up to his passenger’s side door and dropped another piece there. He opened the back door and stood there expectantly.
The dog regarded the piece of jerky at his feet, and then him.
“Come on.” Lee motioned towards the back seat. “You wanna go for a ride?”
The dog wagged its tail.
“Yeah, you know what a ride is.” Lee set the rest of his jerky on the back seat and then climbed into the front passenger’s seat. “Let’s go for a ride.”
To his left, Jim settled into the driver’s seat. “I’m not giving you any of my jerky to replace what you fed to that mutt.”
Lee ignored him and kept his eyes on the dog outside. A little closer now, it gave the Humvee a wide berth, but was intent on the backseat. Lee could see the wheels in its head turning, trying to figure out whether the vehicle was a good thing. Lee could see its tail still wagging, and he could almost picture the dog’s faint memories of riding in cars with its face out the window and its tongue hanging out, a pure rush of smells with each breath.
Then, abruptly, the tail stopped wagging.
The lean muscles all along its body rippled and tensed. The head snapped out towards the sports fields and raised up, the nose working furiously. Lee followed its gaze, but couldn’t see anything. Its lips curled in a low growl, and then, without warning, it shot into the backseat of the Humvee.
“Whoa!” LaRouche jerked his legs back.
The dog thrust its dark muzzle between Lee and Jim, facing forward, and then began to bark savagely. Lee and Jim both drew back away from it, but then realized that it was barking at something out beyond the front of the vehicle, out in the sports fields.
Frothy spittle speckled the windshield as the dog continued to bark.
“You think it smells something?” Jim asked over the sound of the dog’s panicked barking.
Lee opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by LaRouche.
“Contact! Infected!”
Lee leaned out and slammed the rear door, and then his own. “Let’s go, Jim!”
Jim stomped on the gas, lurching them forward and whipping the vehicle to the right. Lee tumbled into the radio console and the dog, feeling the hot breath and the grungy fur against his face. Jim snapped the vehicle in a complete 180, LaRouche shouting obscenities from the turret as he held on for his life. He straightened out and headed for the gap in the barriers that they had come through.
Righting himself and leaning forward, Lee was able to look back and see out his window to the football fields, where the dark shapes of three infected were visible, sprinting towards them in a wide skirmish line. The one in the center was bulky and brown-skinned, with wild, black hair…
“Jesus! They’re fast!” Lee exclaimed.
The Humvee shuddered and the dog in the backseat yelped in surprise as LaRouche opened up with the fifty. Just before they shot through the barriers and turned back onto Bragg Street, Lee could see the white steaks of the tracers lancing out at the pursuing infected, kicking up chunks of concrete.
Then they were on Bragg Street, and Lee could no longer see them.
***
Harper knocked twice on the plywood wall and then pushed open the blue tarpaulin curtain that served as a front door. Inside, Jacob knelt on the dirt floor and appeared to be stuffing his backpack with the personal items he’d arrived with, and a few things he’d been provided by Julia and Jenny, who most often served as the welcome party. Beside the pack, the plate carrier that had once belonged to Captain Mitchell from Virginia sat on the floor, three aluminum box magazines lying across the chest.
Jacob looked up at Harper and regarded him enigmatically.
The guy was a real puzzle, Harper thought. Obviously, he was sharp as a tack. Not just book smart, but street smart. There was a bit of a fighting dog lurking under all that education.
His eyes, expressionless, returned to his work. “Can I help you, Mr. Harper?”
“Mind if I come in?”
“Come on.”
“Thanks,” Harper slipped through the door and pulled the tarpaulin back into place. “You goin’ somewhere?”
“Yes,” Jacob zipped up the main compartment of his pack. “I think I can do some good at the hospital in Smithfield. I found a pair of scavengers that are making a run out past Smithfield. They’re going to drop me off on their way.”
Harper chewed at his lip. “Yeah, uh…”
Jacob pointed to the three magazines. “Would I be able to get some extra magazines from you? Those three are the last I have left, and one of them is only half loaded. Is there any way I can get three more mags and, say, two hundred rounds of ammunition from you?”
Harper rubbed his nose. “Jacob, we need your help with something.”
The scientist tilted his head back. “Oh?”
“Captain Harden and his team made a very interesting discovery today. He wants me to take you and a team out to Lillington to…check something out.”
Jacob smiled. “Mr. Harper, you’re going to have to be more specific.”
“Captain asked me to keep it quiet, so what I tell you stays here.”
“Of course.”
Harper stepped closer and knelt down so that they were on eye-level and told him what there was to tell. As he spoke, Jacob continued to work at packing his things, but as the truth of the matter came out, his
movements began to slow until he appeared frozen in place.
“Pregnant?” Jacob’s mouth worked silently for a moment. He seemed both terrified and dazzled by this news, and the edges of his mouth ticked up as though he wanted to smile, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. “I don’t believe it.”
Harper looked at the floor. “I didn’t either, but…”
“Do you know what this means?” Jacob suddenly demanded.
“Uh…”
“It’s reproduction. It’s continuity in the line.” That scared smile again. “There will be mutations—there has to be mutations. It would take years and years…unless the gestation period is decreased. It could be. I just don’t know.” He snapped his head up and looked at Harper gravely. “Please tell me…”
Harper shook his head. “They were killed before the captain realized what they were.”
Jacob threw his hands up with a loud groan.
“Listen,” Harper looked around as though someone might be in the shadows of the room, eavesdropping. “The captain doesn’t think this is the only den with females in it. That’s why he wants us to check Lillington.”
Jacob was in the process of smearing his hands down his face, but stopped when he heard this last part. His forehead and cheeks looked flushed from the pressure he’d exerted on his skin. “Because you wiped out the Lillington horde, but you didn’t check for the den.”
“And there might be females there.”
“Are you going to kill them?”
“We’re gonna try to get a test subject.”
Jacob turned, his hands at his sides and the fingers working back and forth with a manic energy. “And if she’s pregnant…that’ll answer so many questions. I’ll be able to watch the gestation period. And see how the baby grows.” He turned to Harper. “What effects does the plague have on the fetus? We don’t know. We can assume a lot, but until we watch it with our eyes, observe and record it, it’s just bunkum.”