by Glyn Gardner
Both women gasped, even though they both knew what he was going to say. “Why?” Jen asked. “Two were caught stealing. One got drunk and attacked another survivor, and three refused to follow The Bishop’s orders.” He could see that his words were sinking in. “As he put it in the indictment: They had refused to put the good of the community ahead of themselves.”
“Oh my God!” Indira blurted. “Who would actually do that? What kind of person would actually send someone out there just for saying no?” Jerry didn’t answer. He merely nodded his head in the direction of the closed door they had recently retreated from.
It was Jen who spoke after a long silence. “What happened to them? Have you seen them since they left?” The man wiped a tear from his eye with the back of his hand.
“I see them every time I give a tour to you new folks.” His voice cracked. “You see, my sister Anne was one of the three. He put her out, over the wall on the bridge. She didn’t get two-hundred yards before the zombies got her. One of the guards put her down before she turned.”
The man couldn’t finish. He turned and walked away. The women didn’t see him for the rest of the day.
Ten minutes later, the door to the office opened. The foragers and their captains looked upon the girls with pity as they passed. SSgt Brown waited for the others to pass. “What are you girls looking so glum about?” Before the women could answer, The Bishop ordered them in. Jen gave SSgt Brown a look of utter fear. He hadn’t seen her look that scared in a few weeks. He whispered to her that he would wait.
Indira shut the door behind her. She felt like she was locking herself in the ring with a raging bull. Her heart was pounding away in her chest. She had been told what this man was capable of.
“Sit,” he said to them. His voice was quiet, almost soothing. He slid a couple of sodas across the desk to them. Jen noticed he didn’t ask them if they wanted something, or even what they would like. It was as if he was ordering them to take the gifts that he was providing. They did.
“Don’t,” he began. Again his voice was even and quiet. His eyes betrayed the anger he felt. “Either of you contradict me ever again; especially, not in front of my men. Please keep in mind that you two are guests on my island. If there is something that is bothering you to the point of rudeness and insubordination, then I suggest you pack your things and leave.”
“Sir,” Jen began. She was putting on the diplomatic face she often had to use with uncooperative patients. “We didn’t mean to be rude. We simply wanted to illustrate the gravity of the situation.”
“And what, pray tell, is the situation?” He made her feel as if she were having a conversation with a cobra. She could almost hear Nagaina’s voice: “If you move I will strike. If you don’t move I will strike.” But, unlike the little mongoose from the movie, she didn’t think she had anything to bargain with.
“Well, there are several people who have chronic conditions that need medications. Many of them haven’t had them in a month.”
“Then they must not really need them do they?”
Jen was astonished. She was used to hearing non-complaint patients talk about not needing their medications because they felt better. But she’s never heard of people in power denying medications simply because nobody has died without them yet.
“Are you telling me that the diabetic doesn’t need his insulin, or that the person with high blood pressure doesn’t need medications to control that?”
“I’m tellin’ you that these people have gone this long without them. They can go a little longer.”
“Sir,” Indira added. “There is no way of knowing that. We have no idea if the person with high blood pressure is going to have a stroke today tomorrow, or next year. But, we do know it will happen sooner or later.”
“Well, let’s just hope it’s later. Shall we?”
Jen knew this was going nowhere. She had never run across someone so dense. Usually as the medical expert, she could at least get patients to agree with her, even if they didn’t follow through. This guy was just bull-headed.
“Sir, you have a diabetic who is dangerously close to going into a life-threatening condition known as DKA. If we don’t get his sugar under control he will eventually die.”
“How do you know that?” He asked accusingly.
“We could smell it on him,” Indira quickly answered. “People who are going into DKA begin to blow ketones off in their breath. You can smell the fruity sweet smell on them.”
He eyed the two girls suspiciously. Jen could tell he didn’t believe them. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but was cut short. Joe burst through the door. He didn’t even acknowledge The Bishop. “Come quick!” He was panting from the short sprint.
The scene in the clinic was utter pandemonium. There on the table was a silver-haired man with his shirt ripped open in the front. Donaldson was franticly performing CPR on the man while the other paramedic tore through drawer after drawer. Miscellaneous supplies went flying as he dug into the mostly empty supply drawers. Finally he found what he was looking for. He turned. In his hand he held a single IV catheter. He held it up in triumph. “I got an IV!” he announced to everyone present.
Joe looked at him in frustration. “What the hell are you going to do with just that?” he chastised the younger man. “Without drugs, all you’re going to do is bleed the guy. This isn’t the damned middle ages.”
Indira stepped forward and placed a hand on the man’s neck. “Hold CPR please,” she calmly asked. Donaldson stopped. There was nothing. The man didn’t have a pulse. She looked to the rest. “Do we have any cardiac drugs or even a full IV set?” Joe and Donaldson shook their heads in unison.
She looked to The Bishop. “That is why we need medical supplies.” She turned away and stormed out; pushing past SSgt Brown as she did. No one said a word. Addressing SSgt Brown, the Bishop pointed to Jen. “You are to take her with you and bring back whatever she needs.” He left without another word.
Off the coast of Gulf Port MS
Jen could feel her heart pounding as the small boat rocked back and forth in the waves. For a month she Mike and the others had lived in fear of the undead. Then salvation day arrived.
She thought for a moment about that day. Mike and Jackson had agreed to run for a pair of trucks in an adjacent parking lot. They had made it about halfway there when they first heard the sound. It was the sound that to her will forever symbolize safety. The River Rats and their helicopter, twin rotors beating the air, dropped from the sky as if on the wings of an angel.
Her heart skipped a beat as she thought about Mike and Jackson scrambling back as the hoard of zombies surrounded them. She had never been as happy as she was when Mike and the other charged up the rear ramp of the helicopter.
She had taken one last look at the land as their boat had passed out of the mouth of the Mississippi River and into Open Ocean. She had honestly believed that she would never have to see another walking corpse again.
Now, here she was; on a boat charging back to the mainland. Her thoughts drifted to those around her. Yet again; Mike, Jackson, Kerry, Theresa, and SSgt Brown were beside her as they charged headlong into unknown dangers. The thought, though disturbing, was also somehow comforting.
She worried for their safety. She had no idea how she would survive if something happened to Mike. And Theresa, she felt as if the teen were her responsibility. An image of the girl lying next to Mike, both pale and dead, flashed into her mind. It was only a fleeting thought, but it was enough to send a shiver down her spine.
The front of the boat dipped as Sgt Procell chopped the throttles. The rest of the people on the boat held tightly to the gunwales. The boat began to rock violently fore and aft as it drifted into the surf zone. After a moment, the boat’s hull scraped gently on the sandy bottom.
“Everybody out,” SSgt Brown ordered quietly. The six figures leapt out of the boat and into the knee-deep water. They still had 40 yards of surf to cross before reaching dry land.
SSgt Brown did not relish the idea of walking around Gulfport with wet feet. But it couldn’t be helped. He turned and gave the boat a shove.
Sgt Procell throttled the engines up and the boat backed slowly away. He wouldn’t gun the throttles until he was far enough away from the survivors that he would not draw any nearby zombies in their direction.
SSgt Brown caught up with the group as they reached the beach. Jackson knelt in the sand; the others following suit. They’d followed the soldier for the better part of a month through areas filled with danger. They’d learned that if he stops, you stop.
They could see the road 100 yards in front of them. SSgt Brown and Jackson knew from the maps on the Island that this was US Highway 90. It was the coast road in this part of the state. And it was also full of stopped cars. Jackson looked to SSgt Brown for guidance. SSgt Brown simply shrugged his shoulders.
The young trooper smiled, rising up to a crouch. He indicated for Theresa to follow him and the others to stand fast. Mike did not like sitting tight on the beach. To him, it felt like every zombie for two miles could see them. He unconsciously hugged the ground closer than he had.
Jackson and Theresa slowed from a run to a crouching walk as they approached the long line of cars. Jackson tried to control his breathing as he slowed. He could hear Theresa was trying to do the same. They were both failing. He couldn’t hear anything but their breathing. The duo stopped behind the closest vehicle. It was a silver Chevy pickup truck. The doors had been left open. The dome light had long ago drained the battery.
Jackson lowed himself to his belly and peered under the truck. There were no feet anywhere close. He breathed a sigh of relief. He nodded to Theresa who in turn began waving the rest of the group on.
SSgt Brown slapped Jackson on the calf as he slid in beside the prone trooper. Jackson rose and began to slip around the truck. SSgt Brown grabbed the trooper’s shirt as he passed by. He pointed to the truck and its open door. “Let’s move the truck,” the NCO whispered.
Jackson climbed into the truck and tried to turn the wheel. Without power it would only turn about one quarter of a turn. He climbed back out, shaking his head. “We need to find one with a working battery,” he whispered to the older man.
SSgt Brown pointed to Mike and Kerry. “See if you can move that Toyota without starting it up.” He indicated the car in front of the Chevy. He instructed Jackson and Theresa to try the vehicle behind the truck.
Jen rose up to help. He grabbed her by her shirt tail. “You stay here with me.” Her look told him she didn’t understand. “To me this is just a list with some names of things on it. I need you safe until we find this stuff.” She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped.
The car behind the truck began to slowly roll to its left. Jackson was forced to hit the brakes just before it made contact with the truck’s rear bumper. SSgt Brown helped push the car backwards as Jackson jerked the wheel to the right. After a few minutes the blue Mustang had been pushed 25 yards into the sand.
Mike and Kerry were able to do the same with the car in front of the truck. The truck followed the Toyota into the sand. They moved to the next lane. This lane was easier. All three cars had working batteries and they were able to push them into the sand.
Fifteen minutes later, they had cleared a path that ran north to south through the traffic jam. They then set about finding a suitable vehicle. One of the vehicles they had moved was a bright orange Jeep Rubicon with oversized tires. SSgt Brown thought it would make a good scout vehicle. It would do well over rough terrain, and it sat high enough to offer some protection and provide visibility. He commandeered it for himself.
Jen commandeered a large Ford F150. It was black, and had four doors. She had SSgt Brown and Jackson try to reach her as she lay in the bed of the truck. Neither soldier’s hands came within two feet of her. She decided that would be a plus if they got surrounded by the undead.
Jackson, Theresa, and SSgt Brown climbed into the Jeep. The others climbed into the truck. Kerry chose to ride in the truck bed. She told them she needed to feel the wind on her face. They didn’t argue.
It did feel good to have the wind in her hair she thought. For the past month it seemed like she’d been locked in a car, or a clinic, or… A lump formed in her throat as she thought about a sporting goods store they had been trapped in during those first horrible days. She shook her head. No! This is nice and I’m not going to ruin it. The wind was cool, but not cold. She knew it should turn cold in the next few weeks, but it was still only late fall.
The sky was clear with wisps of clouds. The sun was getting higher and higher in the sky. It hadn’t reached its apex, but it was high enough to start warming things. The shadow under the truck was smaller than it was when she first noticed the giant black monster.
A sudden bump threatened to throw her to the bed of the truck. She could see the orange Jeep bouncing over several others as it bounced up a curb. She widened her stance and bent her knees in preparation for the bumps. She was still tossed about the bed of the truck, this time falling hard on her backside. A jolt of pain shot from her butt all the way to her shoulder, and her rifle skittered across the bed and slammed into the tailgate.
As soon as she regained her feet, she slapped the roof of the cab. “I’m ready to come back in,” she yelled. Hearing the slamming on the roof and fearing something was wrong, Mike slammed on the brakes. Kerry was only inches from slamming her face into the metal roof of the truck. Shaking it off, she grabbed her rifle and leapt from the bed of the pickup.
Mike didn’t wait for an explanation. The orange Jeep was pulling away from them. They hadn’t noticed the truck had stopped. As soon as the redhead had shut her door, he floored it. The truck lurched forward.
“Where is everyone?” Kerry asked. Jen looked at her with a confused look. “I mean, where are all the zombies? You saw how many cars are on that road. There should be a few zombies at least wandering around here. This place looks like a ghost town.” She was right, thought Mike. This place was empty.
They continued paralleling the highway for a few more miles. Soon there were no houses or businesses to their right. The Jeep cut across a field and then turned east. This road was free of cars. Jackson drove the Jeep down the center of the road.
Suddenly he saw the sign he was looking for. There on the corner was a blue sign with a capital H with an arrow pointing north. Again the street was empty. Jackson didn’t like it either. He looked at SSgt Brown. The older man simply shrugged his shoulder and pointed in the direction of the hospital.
A few blocks in front of them, the left lane and the two southbound lanes were packed with cars. The northbound right lane was totally empty as far as SSgt Brown could see. He told Jackson to stop before entering the bottleneck. He looked to the younger man, shrugging his shoulders.
Jackson held a finger to his mouth and then pointed at his ear. Suddenly SSgt Brown heard it. It sounded like a car horn. It was coming from up ahead.
SSgt Brown stood in his seat in an attempt to see what was going on. He could see a pair of school busses parked across the four lanes of traffic. He told Jackson and Theresa to dismount. Mike, Jen and Kerry followed suit.
“Well, what do you think?” he asked.
“Those busses didn’t grow there,” Mike answered quickly. “Someone put up a road block for some reason.”
“Well, let’s take a look,” the big NCO said.
It was Kerry who noticed the ladders first. She quietly pointed them out to the group. There, on the end of each bus was a single ladder leading from the roof of the bus to the adjacent building on either side of the road. Someone had not only constructed a roadblock, but also a bridge between two sides of the street.
SSgt Browns stomach was in knots. He was about to lead a six man squad, only two of whom had any military training, down a 50 yard bottleneck. At the end of which stood a school bus with a ladder leading to… He didn’t even know what, or who.
“Jackson, yo
u and Kerry hunker down between these two cars and give us some over watch. You see anyone looks like they’re gonna start shooting, light their asses up.” He led the other four down the right side of the street, hugging the building. At least if they ran into trouble, they could only be engaged from across the street.
When he reached the bus, he saw that the bus was not intended to be a roadblock. There were three or four feet between the bumper and the wall. This bus was simply put in place to act as a bridge. Smart.
He slipped around the bus. He was astonished by what he saw. Someone had made a giant circle of cars. There must have been ten of them in a giant circle, bumpers touching. Two of the cars had makeshift ramps leading over their hoods and into the circle. With no ramps on the inside, it was obvious the circle was meant to contain the dead while allowing the living to move relatively freely.
Jen gasped. The circle was tightly packed with undead. Most of them were still moving. They hadn’t seen the group, but it would only be a matter of time. The four stood there, astonished.
“They’re not gonna hurt you!” said a loud male voice from across the street. Startled, the group immediately ducked for cover, weapons at the ready. “Now, you don’t want to do that,” the voice told them, more serious this time. SSgt Brown couldn’t see the man.
“We don’t want any trouble,” SSgt Brown called out.
“We don’t either,” the man responded. “Just come on out and safe those weapons.” SSgt Brown thought about it for a minute. They were already in the trap. If these guys wanted to kill them, they were dead already. He thought about Jackson and Kerry. Maybe they don’t know about them.
“Alright,” he shouted. “Comin’ out!” He stood and walked from behind the bus, rifle pointed at the ground. The other three also complied.
A large bald man, SSgt Brown thought he looked to be mid-forties, stood. He was wearing the blue camouflage of the US Navy. He slung his M-16 over his shoulder as he stood. His smile put the group at ease. “The name’s Roy,” he announced. “Who might you be?”