“Help! Stop!” he yells. “Dr. Vogel!” But Dr. Vogel can’t hear him. He’s too far ahead, just over the hill. Sheryl and Brandon turn to help them. “She’s still breathing. This is all my fault. This is all my fault, isn’t it?” Michael whimpers.
Marcus doesn’t answer him. “Lay her over the back of the horse.”
“We’re almost there,” Brandon says. “She can make it.”
“Why didn’t you guys shoot back? Why didn’t you help?” Michael asks with tears in his eyes.
“We were in the wrong for stealing,” Marcus says. “Those guys were just defending what was theirs. You might’ve done the same.”
Blood trickles down the horse’s hind legs, oozing from Amy’s side. They make it over the hill. Wolf and Dr. Vogel are stopped up ahead in the distance. When they catch up, Dr. Vogel tends to Amy’s wound. Michael hovers over him nervously.
“Is this it?” Marcus asks.
“I think so,” Brandon says as he looks over his map.
An overgrown path winds its way backward from behind a tall, bush-lined chain-linked fence. They can’t see anything through the padlocked gate before them.
“She’s alive, but I can’t stop the blood loss without some medical gear,” Dr. Vogel says. “You said they have stuff inside?” he asks Brandon. Brandon nods yes.
Wolf rustles a roll of duct tape out of his pack, along with a small tube of instant glue. “This’ll help.”
“Not for long.” Dr. Vogel dresses her wound, squeezing out the entire tube of instant glue into the bullet hole. Then he wraps her waist with duct tape.
“Instant glue?” Michael asks.
“One of its many early uses was on the battlefield,” Wolf says.
“I need real supplies or else she’s gonna die. I need to get the bullet out and close her up properly,” Dr. Vogel says. “I can’t lose her the same way I lost Willy.”
Michael turns wily in the eyes. He starts to roar at the fence. “Hey! Let us in! Let us in, damn it!” He picks up a big rock near the fence and smashes it against the padlock over and over. He kicks it and thrashes about, wrapping his ice cold fingers around the metal fence. Suddenly he feels a jolt go through his body, and a screaming pain runs from his finger tips down to his toes. He flails backward and falls to the ground. “Ahh! What the fuck!”
“The fence is electrified,” Wolf says as he scans the delicate wiring that snakes its way up from the ground through the fencing. “They’ve got power, and you’re lucky you aren’t dead,” he says to Michael.
Another gunshot rings out and everyone scatters along the road except for Dr. Vogel. He stays with Amy. One of the gunmen from the horse pasture makes his way up the road, firing wildly in their direction. He’s old, and has a crazy look in his eye. He grumbles under his labored breaths. “Gimme those dang horses. I stole ‘em first, fair and square.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Michael steps out into the road to meet him. He raises his gun at the old man, filled with righteous anger. “You’re the one who shot my wife?”
“Da... da... damn right I did,” he stammers.
“Don’t you think it’s a little extreme to fire at someone just for taking a horse?” Michael asks.
“Four ho... horses!” He grins an ornery black and yellow, semi-toothless smile back at Michael. He spurts out a wad of chewing tobacco in Michael’s direction and coughs repeatedly. Spittle and drool dangle from an overgrown, unkempt reddish beard.
“Still... The punishment doesn’t fit the crime. You could’ve fired a warning shot or just told us to stop. Instead you tried to kill us. And are these even your horses?” Michael asks.
“They are now. To... to... took ‘em from some border jumpers like you.” The man twitches and ticks between stuttering words and coughs.
“Border jumpers? Man. I guess what they say is right. It’s not the guns that do the killing; it’s the people. The fucking morons and psychos!” Michael catches himself before going on a rant. “Listen. I’m sorry. You can take the horses back. Just leave us alone. My wife needs help.”
“Sorry ain’t gonna help you, bo... bo... boy. It’s only fair. You took one of mi... mine, now I’m gonna take one of yours.”
“It was self defense,” Michael argues.
After several throaty hacks the old codger cocks his rifle and takes aim at Michael. Michael quickly raises his gun and pulls the trigger, but there’s no shot. Just a click. Without thought Marcus leaps up from behind Michael and dives out in front of him as the hick pulls his trigger. The bullet hits Marcus square in the chest as he passes in front of Michael.
“No!” Sheryl yells. She and Brandon open fire and drop the old man with a hail of bullets. But Brandon keeps cranking out round after round, loading single bullets into his bolt action rifle over and over until the anger fades. A tear falls down his cheek as he sees Marcus dying on the ground.
“Marcus!” Sheryl runs to him.
“Put pressure on the wound,” Dr. Vogel instructs her.
“What business you got here?” A raspy voice seems to come from nowhere. Everyone turns, but there’s no one there. “What do you want?”
“I’m friends with Apoc... I’m friends with Jilly,” Brandon says. They traded names at some point, but he’d almost forgotten. He’s attracted to her avatar, and her avatar is called Apocalypta. The name Jilly means nothing to him. He doesn’t even know what she looks like, but he knows every damn pixel of her Japanese anime-inspired icon.
“Please help us. My wife was shot, and this guy just pulled a Jesus and jumped in front of a bullet to save my life for the second time. They need your help. They deserve your help,” Michael pleads. He kneels down and grasps Marcus’ hand, giving it a good squeeze. “Hang in there,” he says under his breath. Marcus squeezes back to acknowledge, but he’s weak.
“Pulled a Jesus?” Marcus asks with a confused whimper.
“Sacrificed yourself for a sinner,” Michael explains with a whisper. “Come on Marcus. You didn’t get that? I expected more from a man of your spiritual intellect.”
“We’re already full up here, and you’re too many,” the voice says.
Wolf emerges from the side of the road where he was hiding with a puzzled look on his face. He cocks his head like a canine as he listens to the voice. His eyes dart all around looking for the source.
“Jilly asked me to come. Said I could bring friends. Ask her yourself, sir,” Brandon pleads, mustering up his best rendition of respectful Sunday school manners.
“Doesn’t matter what my daughter said. I’m the boss here,” the mysterious stranger says.
“I know that voice,” Wolf says. “It’s unmistakable.” Wolf points beyond the gate. “You there; I can see you... Cough Drop? Damn good ghillie suit, mate. Only reason I saw you was because the filter on your gas mask is poking out.”
“Wolf?” the man asks as he steps out from the brush and reveals himself. He’s draped in a netting that’s covered with natural foliage, twigs, and branches from the area. It’s a military style sniper or recon camouflage.
“You guys know each other?” Brandon asks, confused.
“No shit...” Michael is stunned. His mouth drops open in shock.
“This is incredible!” Wolf exclaims. “I knew we had to be in close range with the CB, but this is downright unbelievable.”
“No,” Michael says. “It’s fate.”
“Fate,” Marcus utters. Maybe he’s coming around. It’s no longer a dirty word for him. He’s starting to see it. Every connection we’ve made in these past few days; it’s all fate, part of God’s plan. It’s no mistake, no accident, no freak coincidence. It’s providence. “I’ve done my duty.” Marcus struggles to get the words out. “I’ve been like the shepherds of old, leading a flock to the promised land.” He turns to Cough Drop. “Now it’s up to you, the father. Show grace as the heavenly Father does. Let them into your kingdom despite their flaws. I’m ready to face judgment and pay for mine.” Marcus manage
s a smile before slipping into unconsciousness.
“I’m not letting you pay for shit, Marcus. You stay with us. Stay with us!” Michael turns to Cough Drop with a pleading look in his eyes. Tears well up behind his mask.
Cough Drop signals over his shoulder. There’s a fading buzz noise, and a moment later he unlocks the gate and lets them in. He closes it behind them once everyone is in, and signals again. After another buzz sound the electrified fence is powered back up.
“Come on. Let’s get them inside and see what we can do. And get a mask on him,” he points to Marcus.
“Thank you Cough Drop,” Wolf says.
“Name’s John Reynolds.” They shake hands.
CHAPTER 47
Dr. Vogel is with Michael in another room, tending to Amy and Marcus. Sheryl, Wolf and Brandon sit around a table inside the home with their masks off, breathing freely for the first time in days. Their senses of smell seem to overwhelm them. The oddly familiar scents of a stranger’s home fill their noses; the lingering farm fresh food from this morning’s breakfast, the sweet pine sap oozing from the wood paneling on the walls, the mustiness of old fabric covered furniture draped with grandma’s quilts... And they can smell themselves, badly in need of bathing; almost as pungent as the wretched dead, whose odors were so potent that they even managed to traverse the filters on their gas masks at times.
“Jilly will be around in a few minutes. She’s feeding the chickens and rabbits in the back barn,” John says to Brandon while pouring hot coffee for Sheryl and Wolf.
“I’ll go help her out,” he says, excited to finally meet his internet girlfriend in person. He bolts out the door so fast he almost forgets to put his mask on. Visions of double-D tits dance in his head.
“Is the air bad here?” Sheryl asks.
“I wouldn’t take any chances after hearing that old hick coughing,” John says.
“I mean you were wearing a mask out there,” she points out. “I thought it was safe to breathe out here.”
“I wear one for the same reason you all do I suppose. Better safe than sorry,” he explains. “Only a matter of time before it spreads, or there’s word of more meteor impacts in the US. Already hearing rumors of that, matter of fact. Could be raining down all over the world and we wouldn’t know it, just pelting different parts of the globe as we spin through our days. No telling how big that cluster of meteors was.”
“What else have you heard? Anything more from Spider?” Wolf asks.
Just then Dr. Vogel and Michael walk in. Sheryl immediately stands up. “Is he okay?” she asks about Marcus. “Are they alright?”
“I think Amy’s going to pull through. No vital organ damage. I stopped the bleeding on both of their gunshot wounds and removed the bullets, but Marcus is in bad shape. He’s still unconscious. I don’t know if he’s going to make it. Right now it’s just a wait-and-see thing with him. Good news is he can’t get much worse. And he’s a tough son of a bitch, I’ll give him that,” Dr. Vogel explains.
“Can I see him? Sit with him?” she asks.
“Sure, go right ahead,” Dr. Vogel says. He sits down to a cup of coffee with Michael, Wolf, and John. “Now let’s talk about this trip to the CDC,” he looks over at Wolf.
“Boy you don’t waste any time, do you? Mate, whatever is in me is gone, dead,” Wolf says.
“You don’t know that. We need to get under a microscope to know that,” Dr. Vogel explains. “Besides we don’t necessarily need the parasite. I’m sure the government has samples of it if they were sending scientists into the infected zone. What we need is you, what’s in your body; whatever it is in you that fought back and won. That’s the key.”
“There’s an old hospital close by,” John offers. “I’m sure they have microscopes somewhere, some lab equipment. Could try to see if they’re up and running on generators before you go all the way to the CDC.”
“Maybe. But most hospitals don’t have the sort of things I need, or the safety equipment to properly study something of this virility,” Dr. Vogel says. “Besides Sheryl was right; hospitals are probably the most unsafe places right now. People get infected and rush to the ER, then the ER becomes hell on Earth.”
“You’re dead serious about this, ain’t you mate?” Wolf asks. “We’ve got a safe place to crash and you’re gung-ho to leave already?”
“I left my wife and kids at home in the middle of this to fend for themselves, and I set out for the CDC with your samples. That’s how determined I am. That’s how serious this is, and that’s how strongly I believe in you. We need to get you to the CDC, otherwise this thing might never stop,” Dr. Vogel argues.
“You realize what you’re asking me to do? They might lock me up once we get there! You’re asking me to give up my freedom, possibly my life, everything, for this cure,” Wolf says.
“Willy gave his life for us. Now maybe Marcus too. It’s the least we can do. We’ll all go. All of us. It’s too important,” Michael says.
“No, no, no,” Dr. Vogel says. “You need to stay here with Amy. She’ll need you during her recovery. And I’m sure Sheryl will want to stay with Brandon and Marcus. It’ll just be Wolf and me.”
“The less people we have with us the better,” Wolf says. His survivalist brain already mulls over scenarios and situations, calculating the best way to go about taking the journey. “More bodies to feed will only slow us down. Wait, what the hell am I saying? I didn’t even agree to this yet!”
“Neither did I,” John jumps in. “Tell you what. I’ll make it easy for you, Wolf. I’ll let everyone stay here if you agree to help Dr. Vogel. You just have to do what you do best. Get yourself and Dr. Vogel down to the CDC with your survival skills. Seems like everyone sacrificed something just to get here. I’ll tell you right now; this place ain’t no paradise. It’s hard work. Everything we do, all day, is aimed just at surviving, making it to the next day, preparing for the one after, and so on. I don’t know what the hell that boy told you to get you all to follow him here, but you seem like good enough people. And Wolf, this isn’t just some favor you’d be doing for Dr. Vogel. This is a service to humanity. If you think about it like that, the decision you have to make might start looking pretty clear, regardless of whether they lock you up.”
Wolf runs his hand through his hair in thought. Maybe I should’ve just stayed in the woods. Now look what I’ve gotten myself into. “Bullocks. Alright. But do we have to go right now?”
“No. Of course not. We’ll need to plan a route, gear up, all that. I’m sure you need time to figure out the best course of action,” Dr. Vogel says. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, then.” Wolf nods his head. “There’s always tomorrow.”
EPILOGUE
PFC James Reynolds is on his first tour in Afghanistan. A country boy, his home is in central Ohio; a small town with one street light in front of the general store, and great pride in their local high school football team. Everyone knows each other. He met Jennie Linker when they were both six, and he’s had a crush on her ever since. They write each other every day, the old fashioned way. They vowed to stay together, and give their relationship a shot at long distance. He was deployed three months ago.
A bad dream wakes him early in the morning; Jennie left him for someone else. The day before was another nightmare too; she was sick and dying. He hasn’t heard from her, and worries if everything’s alright. He steps out of his bunk and into the frosty morning air. The sun is already starting to burn away the dead chill that lingers from the night as it rises over the rocky ridge in the east. He shakes the nightmares from his mind, and reaches up for the orange ball just beginning to peek over the mountains in the blue-grey sky. He stretches his entire body as he yawns.
“That ain’t gonna make you any taller, Junior,” Bucky, one of Reynolds’ bunk mates, jokes with a light slap to the shoulder. Reynolds laughs it off. He’s short, and his initials are JR. Naturally he became Junior to the guys. He would’ve been a real junior too if his parent
s named him John, after his father.
Bucky, a ginger with big buck teeth, got his name because all the guys used to say “What’s up, Buck?” to him in basic training, in reference to the old cartoon character Bucky Rabbit, who had huge front teeth. Rabbit is even thrown about sometimes as a nickname too.
“Let’s go, short stack. We got good government work to do today!” Junior’s buddy Vice joins in, having faintly heard Rabbit’s comment. Donny Johnson, or Florida Vice, as he’s called, is a Florida native, always tan, and always wearing frog sunglasses pulled right out of the 1980s. Usually it’s just Florida, or just Vice, for short. Fitting too, because all he talks about are the hot chicks and beaches back home.
Reynolds gives some sarcasm back to Bucky and Vice. “Wow. Two short guy jokes in one minute! You guys deserve a medal of some kind.”
They’re part of a small team with orders for a humanitarian mission. The plan is to bring supplies to villagers who might have been cut off due to recent violence, skirmishes on the roads, and security lockdowns in the area. Traveling by road is dangerous, but it’s the only way now. Choppers aren’t being used. They load two humvees with essentials like sacks of rice, bottled water, and gas masks.
“Aight, let’s move ‘em out!” Captain Davies shouts from the lead vehicle, and a moment later they’re off.
#
They’re on a dusty and rocky dirt road, 50 klicks north of base in southern Zabul province, Afghanistan. Reynolds is in the rear vehicle with four of his brothers. Florida drives. Then there’s Celery sitting shotgun, who got that name because he’s tall, skinny and green – green as in a total clueless newbie. Reynolds gets a reprieve from short jokes when Celery is around. Rabbit sits bitch in the back seat. Behind Celery is Tackleson. He got that name because he’s a hair trigger, blast happy, wild-eyed lunatic hick, just like the character from a 1980s police comedy movie franchise. Reynolds is positioned behind the driver’s seat.
The Lazarus Impact Page 23