by RM Brewer
A look of resignation appeared on the man’s face and he let the gun fall to the floor.
“Now, keep your hands up,” Fester said. “I’m going to open the door and if you try anything, I’ll shoot you.”
Jodie smiled, tugging harder on the man's neck. “And, he will, too, just in case you’re wondering,” she said, sweat pouring from her forehead.
Fester opened the door and held his gun against the man’s head as he reached down and picked up the other gun. “Get out,” he said.
The man wheezed as Jodie released the pressure on his neck. He slowly crawled out of the car and fell to the ground, coughing and gulping for air.
“You alright, Jodie?” Fester asked.
“Yeah, kid,” she said with a chuckle. “You?”
“Pretty good, I think,” Fester said. “What should we do with him?”
“Well, I’m thinking we should see what he knows. If he won’t talk, I’ll let you shoot him.”
Just as Jodie finished talking, Debi appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. Her face was red and wet with tears, her hair a rat’s nest.
“Can you reach in my pocket,” Jodie asked Debi. “I’ve got a knife for these,” she nodded toward the zip ties digging into her skin.
Debi retrieved the knife from Jodie’s pocket and cut her free. Knife still in hand, she walked up to the man lying on the ground. “Who is this asshole?”
“Likely from Gypsum,” Jodie said, pulling the embedded pieces of zip tie out of her skin.
Debi circled the man, then wound up and kicked him squarely in the groin. Fester could feel the man’s pain, but thought he deserved it.
The man groaned and curled into a fetal position. “You fucking bitch,” he muttered.
“Well,” Debi said. “I think you’ve said about enough for one day.” With that, she moved toward his head and landed a kick squarely in his teeth.
Jodie slid out of the car and pushed Debi back, taking the knife from her hand. “I know you want to kill him, but he might have information. We’ll need him to talk . . . that is, if he can, anymore.”
Fester looked up at the brightening skies. “Better get under cover soon. It’s getting light.”
Jodie nodded and walked over to the SUV to check on the other Gypsum man. She gasped when she saw him on the ground. Fester realized she was probably shocked by the condition of the man's forehead.
“You had quite a battle, here,” Jodie said.
“He was gonna shoot me,” Fester said.
Jodie reached down and put her fingers on the man's the man’s neck, looking for a pulse. “Well, he’s still alive. We’ll tie him up, take him into the woods and leave him there. We can call the local PD to pick him up later.”
Fester nodded, relieved that he hadn’t killed the man. He didn’t need that on his mind right now, whether it was right or wrong.
Once they had the unconscious man secured to a tree with duct tape and the injured man tied up and loaded into the back of Jodie's SUV, Jodie pulled Debi out of earshot of the subdued man and asked her what had happened.
“They came to look for Chuck. Just came barging in my house,” she said, looking past Jodie with angry eyes. Fester thought Debi wanted another go at the man she’d kicked. He knew how that felt.
“Chuck wasn’t in the house. He’s been helping out in the barn on our property down the road. Claims he can communicate with the cows,” Debi said, smiling. “But, what’s important is Gypsum didn’t find him. They knew you were in town, though. I think they were going to hold me hostage until you brought them Chuck or something.”
Fester felt like he would join Debi in kicking out the rest of the man’s teeth if he got the chance. “Where is Chuck, now?” Fester asked.
“Still in the barn, I hope,” Debi said.
Jodie rubbed her sore wrists. “Well, I didn’t think they knew he was even still in existence, but now we’re all in danger. Gypsum has proved they’ll go to any lengths to get him back.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to realize it might not have been such a great idea for him to come here, not because of me, mind you,” Debi said, her eyes filling with tears. “They just came for him so fast . . . and he was just starting to feel better.”
Jodie hugged Debi. “You probably saved his life. But, we shouldn’t be here anymore. We’re going to go and get him. How do you and Bill feel about a little vacation? You should probably disappear, just until the word gets out that he’s not with you anymore. Maybe a week or so?”
Debi nodded. “That’s a good idea. Let’s get to the barn. Bill’s with Chuck and we can talk to them both at one time. I think you might need to do the explaining.” Debi blushed. “You could leave out the part when I kicked the Gypsum guy in the --”
Fester felt himself blushing, too, as Jodie held up her hand. “Not a word, Debi. I promise.”
CHAPTER 8
The noises and smells from the bridge above were way beyond nauseating. Hundreds of the infected milled around, mere feet above Claire, slowly making their way to join the horde moving toward Reno. As they walked, grunted, coughed and spat, they left a trail of rotting flesh and bodily fluids, the smell of which was too disgusting to describe. Claire wondered how long she could hang on, waiting for the chopper to arrive. She wanted to call Jodie to let her know she’d climbed down the loose cable and was wedged in the bridge truss, but her phone had no signal. It probably wouldn’t have one until she was out from underneath the concrete and metal that she clung to for dear life.
Being under the bridge felt safe, at least. The virals were too disoriented to explore beyond the flat roadway. She watched them as they approached, staggering and falling on the riverbank, only to be trampled by the ensuing horde. Every few minutes, one would fly past her as it careened over the edge of the bridge and landed with a splatter in the shallow river. Her question about whether she would survive a jump from the bridge was answered many times over as she witnessed the virals hitting the rocks, their bodies turned to mush upon impact. To her relief, they floated downstream, out of her view.
While she waited, Claire fashioned a kind of stirrup at the end of the cable. Chances were, when the helicopter arrived, she would need to swing out and jump to the riverbank, somewhere clear of the bridge where she could be rescued. She knew it would be dangerous, but it might be the only option she had.
A few times, she thought she could hear the sound of an approaching helicopter, but none had come her way yet. They were probably too busy to bother with just one FBI agent. Who knew how far the infected had moved into Reno? Claire guessed that everyone available was in the process of setting up a roadblock to wall the horde off. Then, she heard another aircraft approaching. Finally, it came into view and Claire waved at it frantically with her flashlight in the pre-dawn light, hoping the pilot would be able to see her clinging to the bridge. Her worst fears were realized when she saw the helicopter hover over the river and turn sideways, a soldier inside taking aim at the center of the bridge with a ramp-mounted machine gun.
Claire pulled herself deeper into the truss and hid behind one of the concrete piers just as the gunner opened fire. The noise from the gun was deafening and Claire hung on with one hand and covered her ear with the other. She watched as dozens of the infected flew over the side of the bridge and slammed onto the rocks below. Above her, a cacophony of screams and growls filled the air as the horde moved away from the Reno side of the bridge, stumbling and falling, climbing over each other in a rush to get away from the blast of the machine gun.
The river below ran red with blood. Suddenly, the gun went silent and Claire dared poke her head out of the truss, just as the helicopter turned ninety degrees to face the bridge. Claire knew what was coming next. The helicopter was equipped with missiles. Claire waved her flashlight frantically just as the first missile hit the far end of the bridge. She grabbed for the cable as she was dislodged from her perch, and hung on.
Sliding sideways out of the truss, she grappled with
the cable, trying to get her foot through the stirrup she'd fashioned earlier when crawling down on the bridge frame. She lost her grip momentarily as the second missile slammed into the bridge abutment. Concrete chips and reinforcement rods flung across the valley in all directions, impaling the infected. Claire felt the breeze as a piece of rebar whipped past her head. She grabbed the cable and pushed off from the truss. She felt herself falling for about twenty-five feet until the cable became taut and snapped back, twisting her ankle violently. Still, Claire hung on for her life, swinging in a wide arc below the bridge, coming to the apex, then feeling herself falling again.
As she flew through the air, she hoped she wouldn’t swing directly into the path of the next missile. Claire screamed, praying that the pilot would somehow hear her over the helicopter and the collective shrieks of the infected, but she realized that was impossible. She swung back toward the now gaping hole in the bridge deck and closed her eyes. Surely, the next blast would take her life. She waited, but nothing happened. Claire opened her eyes just in time to be blinded by a spotlight, following her as she swung. She let out the breath she'd held and waved at the pilot.
“Hang on, ma’am,” a soldier said over the helicopter intercom. “We’re going to clear the bridge above you. Then we’ll come down for you.”
Claire waved in approval and clung onto the cable, each swing losing some of its arc. As she dangled, she watched the helicopter gunner line up, aim the machine gun, and blast the remaining infected into pulp. A shower of blood and body parts rained into the river below from the other side of the bridge. Claire was relieved that she was spared from being sprayed by this cascade of gore.
When the blast of the machine gun stopped, all movement on both riverbanks had ceased and the voices of those above, on the bridge deck, were silenced. Claire watched as the gunner retracted the smoking weapon back inside the helicopter and swung the rescue hoist into place. A muscular young soldier appeared in the doorway, donned in a yellow contamination suit. Personal protection equipment to keep me from infecting him, Claire thought.
He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Did you make contact with any of the infected?”
Claire nodded. “I . . . hit one with my ATV and it was sprayed by fluids. I don’t think I got any on me, but I can’t be sure.”
“How long ago was that?”
“At least four hours. I’ve been waiting for quite awhile.”
“Do you have any symptoms?”
“None,” Claire yelled above the noise of the helicopter.
“The incubation period seems to be only minutes. You probably haven’t been exposed, but you’ll have to use PPE once we get you aboard.” The soldier slid on a harness and slowly lowered down to her. Unable to swing under the bridge where she was, he tossed her a safety harness connected to a rope. Once she had it secured, he clipped her line to the hoist and told her to let go of the cable. Claire did as he instructed, swinging back and forth underneath the chopper as they were pulled upwards. Moving above the level of the bridge deck, she could finally see what the gunner had accomplished.
Stacks of bodies, whole and in parts, lay scattered everywhere. Thousands had tried to cross the bridge but hadn’t made it. Claire felt an uncomfortable tightness in her chest, seeing the young and old, cut into pieces, rotting in their final resting place. These were once someone’s children, parents, and grandparents. Now, they were nothing but the result of a failed experiment undertaken by a corrupt government.
Claire relaxed ever so slightly once she was inside the helicopter. She grabbed onto an overhead strap as her rescuer approached.
“Sergeant Beau Johnson, Fallon Naval Air Station,” he yelled over the sound of the whooshing blades. He held up a package containing a yellow suit. “We’d best get this on you.”
Claire nodded. “By all means. Agent Claire Hathaway, FBI. I’m very pleased to meet you. Thank you for coming to get me.”
“That’s our job, ma’am,” Sergeant Johnson said, flashing a white-toothed grin. “Been busy all morning. Lots of folks in bad situations. Sorry, we didn’t see you at first.”
“What counts is that you did before it was too late,” Claire said.
The soldier instructed her to take off her shoes and step into a pair of yellow booties.
He slid her shoes into a plastic bag. “Might want to find some new footwear. You never know what you could’ve stepped in,” the soldier said, setting the plastic bag down and splashing a liquid decontaminant on the deck. When he was finished, he told her to lift her arms and he slid the suit over them, then instructed her to sit down. Once she was sitting, he pulled rest of the suit over her body and zipped it up on one side.
Before he could zip up the other side, Claire reached out to stop him. “I need my badge, gun and phone,” she said.
Sergeant Johnson nodded. “Where are they?”
“Inside my jacket,” Claire said.
“Could they have been exposed?”
“Not my badge. I did have my phone and gun out for awhile,” Claire said, realizing how lucky she’d been not to have contracted the virus.
The sergeant handed her two plastic bags. “Okay, I’ll need to see that badge if you’re going to keep the gun.”
Claire flipped open the badge and the Sergeant looked at her photo, then at her face.
“Okay, Agent Hathaway, turn this bag inside out, put your hand in and grab your gun. Once you have it, slide it over the top and seal it.”
“Clever,” Claire said.
“Do the same thing with your phone. We call it the doggy doo move, if you get my drift,” the sergeant said.
“I do,” Claire laughed, thankful for the moment of levity. She did as the sergeant instructed. Once she was done, Sergeant Johnson zipped up the suit completely.
“You’ll have to decontaminate the gun and phone at some point. This suit isn’t one hundred percent, but it’ll keep you from coming into contact with anything on your clothes until you can change.” Sergeant Johnson looked at her, a quizzical expression on his face. "If I might ask, how did you end up under the bridge?"
“Long story," Claire said, shaking her head. "I had nowhere else to go. Anyway, what’s the situation in Reno?”
The sergeant made a sour expression. “Last we heard, NAS Fallon is holding the horde to this end of town. Here,” he said, handing her a bag of decontamination wipes. "For your hands."
The pilot called to Sergeant Johnson from the cockpit. He leaned over to hear him, then stood back up. “You’ll wanna sit down and strap in. We’ve been ordered to blow the bridge,” he said, pointing to a jump seat against the wall.
Claire made her way to the seat on unsteady legs and Sergeant Johnson buckled her up and grabbed an overhead rail just as the helicopter pivoted and faced the bridge. The pilot steered backward, moving them away from the structure a few hundred feet, then hovered. She watched as he flipped a switch cover and pushed a button, arming the missiles. The helicopter barely vibrated as the pilot fired on the bridge, blasting it into pieces. Pulverized concrete and chunks of the infected shot into the air and dropped down to the river, the water washing away the filth Claire had witnessed. She let the incredible sadness she’d held at bay seep into her. Lack of sleep, combined with the terror she’d felt all night overtook her. Teardrops hit the dirt on her hands resting in her lap, streaking over her stained skin. She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up.
“It’s a lot to take in,” Sergeant Johnson said, his eyes showing empathy. “Where can we drop you?”
Claire pulled out a decon wipe and rubbed it on her hands. As she worked on the space between her fingers, her thoughts turned to Jodie. Even though she wanted to talk to her as soon as possible, it might be a mistake to ask them to drop her at the local FBI field office. She made a quick decision to keep her whereabouts hidden for the time being. “Are you going back to base?” she asked.
“No, ma’am. I can’t tell you our mission details, but can say we’re he
aded over to the airport to refuel,” the sergeant said, holding out a biowaste container for her used decon wipes. “The airport area is safe if you want somewhere to stay.”
“If you could drop me there, that would be fine,” Claire said. She’d have access to rental cars and flights out of the area if she needed one.
“Roger that, Agent Hathaway,” the sergeant said, making his way past her up to the cockpit to tell the pilot.
Claire finished cleaning her hands and pulled out her cell phone, wiping it down as well before turning it on. Finally, she finally had a signal. As soon as she could get away from the racket of the helicopter, she’d call Jodie and decide where to meet. But, with the virals on the loose and Gypsum hunting her, Claire wondered if anywhere was really secure. She mulled it over in her mind, finally realizing that using her phone wasn’t such a good idea after all. She unbuckled her seatbelt and walked over to the open gunner’s door, holding onto the handrail. The fresh air whipped at her hair and cleared her head. Claire let her cell phone slip from her hand, hoping she’d made the right decision. For now, she’d need to keep herself alive and that meant staying undercover. Deep undercover.
“Sergeant,” she called to the soldier in the cockpit.
He looked up at her with an alarmed expression and stood. “Ma’am, it’s not safe to stand there,” he said. “Better get back to the jump seat.”
He held out his arm and Claire took it, letting him guide her back to her seat.
“One gust of wind or change in direction and you could lose your balance, standing next to that door.”
“Thank you,” Claire said. “I just needed some air.” She buckled her seatbelt. “Sergeant, were you sent out to the bridge specifically for me?”