“You can’t do that to him. It’s insane.”
“I don’t call the shots. The only insane thing here is not joining up. Colonel Jackson is willing to give you a full pardon and a platoon if you join him. He has already brought me into the fold. There were a few issues with some of the officers when it went down, but the men love me here. Three squares a day. Unlimited firepower. Even a girl here and there.”
“Mauser, who are you? This isn’t right. They can’t just start their own military.”
“Get off your fucking pedestal. What makes you the moral police? I know this. Those goddamn assholes sitting in Cheyenne Mountain aren’t doing shit for us. They don’t care about us and don’t give a rat’s ass if dead run rampant across America.”
“I thought we were friends. I thought you were different than this.” Steele knew that the government had failed every American, but defection wasn’t the answer.
“Yeah, well, so did I. Do the right thing. I know Colonel Jackson was hard on you before, but he needs good men. He’s even impressed that you came back alive.”
Steele shook his head. “He blackmailed me into doing it,” he exclaimed.
“Doesn’t matter. Men like us are the future. We will be all that’s left, and those that we protect.”
Steele put his head down. Digesting his friend’s rantings, he felt empty inside. Worse than anything he had endured yet was the damage that Mauser had done to them.
“You can take me back with the others,” Steele said softly but firmly.
Mauser lifted him up by the shoulder. “Come with us. The old world is gone. Help me build a new one.” Mauser’s gray eyes searched for meaning beneath Steele’s. Steele said nothing. After a moment, Mauser pounded on the door. “Private, open up.”
Steele was silent as Mauser and his soldiers led him back to the holding room. They opened the door and Mauser cut his ties. Steele rubbed the blood back into his wrists.
“Tomorrow, is all you have, or they will hang you.”
“Tomorrow,” echoed Steele.
JOSEPH
Grand Haven, Michigan
A drawbridge connected Grand Haven to the mainland. It lay flat over the Grand River, providing access to the beach town from the north. Joseph’s allies would have had to backtrack miles to go around to the other side.
The citizens of Grand Haven weren’t lucky for leaving the drawbridge down. Joseph seemed to be the only one who noticed the sign that read Grand Haven: Michigan’s West Coast, had two bloody fingered streaks like someone had been hanging onto it until ripped away.
“Follow Harbor Drive,” Gwen said from the front seat. They passed boat slip after boat slip along the Grand River. The river ran along the town, emptying out into Lake Michigan. Almost all of the slips were empty. Is it the time of year? Or did these people get enough warning to take their sailboats, yachts, and fishing craft to sea? He didn’t know.
They followed Harbor Drive for a few miles until they came to a sharp bend in the road. A line of black and white squad cars overlapped with a few blue state trooper cruisers blocking their progress. The police officers and troopers had used the river as part of their barrier to funnel the dead into a small killing zone.
“Like the pass of Thermopylae,” Kevin said from the backseat, leaning forward between Gwen and Joseph. Hundreds of bodies were piled up high in front of the cruisers. Crows and gulls hopped from corpse to corpse. Windows were smashed. Blood stained the black and white squad cars. No officers manned the barricade. Infected roamed aimlessly near the barrier as if they had arrived late to a party and weren’t allowed inside.
“There.” Gwen pointed to a small gap near the river. “If we can get through that gap we can follow the beach up to Shuttlecock Drive. It’s just off of South Harbor Drive,” she said.
Joseph had memorized the map. They were close. So close he could taste it. Everything depended on it.
“That’s a tight fit,” Gwen said. “Do you think we can make it?” She looked at Joseph questioning their gumption.
Joseph’s hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, the resistance building up inside of him. You can’t make it. He won’t be there. Your quest has killed innocent people for nothing.
Be quiet! he shouted at the voices of defeat. He shooed the doubters from his head. “Do we have any other choice?” Joseph said.
“You are sure you can do this?” Gwen said. Her lack of faith in his abilities further battered his will. She is used to brave men, strong men, who take charge in situations like this to save the day. Not men like you. Stand down.
“Do we have any other choice?” he shouted.
“No,” she said timidly.
“Buckle up, you two,” he commanded. Gwen clicked her seatbelt into place, looking at him fearfully, like he may have gone crazy. He briefly snapped his strap, ensuring it was in its proper place and feeling the sting across his chest.
“Kevin. Put your seatbelt on,” he said.
“Alright, Joseph. Take it easy,” Kevin said in his ear. His seatbelt clicked.
“Are you sure, Joseph?” Gwen doubted.
No time.
He jammed his foot down on the gas pedal, forcing their backs into their seats. Sand spun up from beneath his tires, and the pickup roared ahead for the last two police cruisers. They picked up speed, dust clouding the air around them. Joseph steered the oversized pickup for the tiniest gap between the cruisers, his eyes unable to leave the smallness of the space.
The truck’s front end crunched into the cruisers.
“Oof,” Gwen yelled over the crashing of metal and plastic.
The cruisers absorbed the impact, but the pickup persevered, driving the last car closer to the water. The cruiser’s front wheels teetered on the edge of the retaining wall. The truck didn’t shoot the gap though. Joseph threw it in reverse.
“Here we go again,” he said, throwing it into drive. The second time the truck struck the cruisers the airbags went off. The police cruiser teetered off the edge and splashed into the river, disappearing beneath the greenish-brown surface. Joseph slammed on the brakes and wrestled it into park unable to see.
Gwen pulled a knife and stabbed her airbag, unable to see. White dust covered everything inside the car. Kevin coughed.
“This stuff has to be bad for you,” Kevin hacked.
“Is everyone okay?” Gwen shouted as she pushed the air bag down with both hands.
“Yes, I am fine,” Joseph said, rubbing his neck with his hand. She stabbed his airbag and he tried to shove it back into the steering wheel.
“Infected are coming,” Kevin said.
Hands beat the sides of the pickup truck. Joseph put it in drive and gassed the pedal. The truck wobbled down the beach, turning up sand with spinning tires. He struggled to keep the pickup driving straight.
A long concrete pier stuck out into the water topped by a single red lighthouse at the end. The truck limped, a gray smoke plume rising from the engine.
Three-foot white caps crashed on the shore. This place was even beautiful in the recess of summer. They eventually cut up and off the beach at a white lifeguard tower.
A few excruciating minutes later and they were there. Shuttlecock Lane was across from the beach. Joseph stopped the pickup and threw it into park.
He got out, peering up at a large ranch house with a large bay window facing the water. The window had been broken and covered again with wood. His comrades exited the vehicle. Joseph was close to knowing the truth.
“We made it,” he said to Gwen. She flashed him a quick, nervous smile.
“Yes, we did,” she said, a fierce determination settling on her pleasant features.
The three cautiously traversed the steps to the front door. Joseph reached a hand out, stopping mere inches from the door knob. What if he isn’t here? Then what? You keep looking.
Joseph twisted the door knob, finding it stiff and unrelenting.
“Around back?” Gwen offered. Her shoulder touched the side of the
house as she covered behind them.
They all stalked around the house. Joseph thought about knocking. Maybe the man was home.
Kevin peeked through the windows. “I don’t see anything.”
Joseph twisted the handle of the back door to no avail.
“We could force the door?” Gwen said, holding her carbine close to her chest.
“Yes, we must,” Joseph said. He felt like his insides wanted to burst from his chest. He was so close.
Gwen swung the stock of her carbine into the window and reached inside to unlock the door. The house was dark. No lights; not even the microwave was lit up. Empty cans littered the kitchen.
“Power must be out,” Kevin said, taking a nervous pull from his flask.
“Somebody was here,” Gwen said, covering her nose as she held up a can of tuna. The living room had a nice leather couch and flat screen TV. Sailboats, ship wheels, and decorative fisherman’s nets were displayed on the walls. Pictures lined the mantel of a man and a woman with a young girl.
Joseph’s gut wrenched at the eeriness of being inside someone’s home; someone that was now dead. People were here, living a normal life, and now they were dead. They didn’t smile anymore. They didn’t play in the sand. They couldn’t go for a walk. They were decomposing flesh somewhere out there.
A man stared back at Joseph in the photo. Patient Zero. Thinning hair braced his scalp, hardly covering his almost-bald head.
They slowly checked the kitchen and living room. A hardwood floor hallway led to the bedrooms. The doors were all closed. Joseph creaked down the hallway and jumped as he was answered by a pounding from the far door. Hands beat the wooden door panel erratically. Muffled moans sounded from behind the door, and Joseph’s heart began to sink. He crept forward, his small knife in hand. Maybe this was the wrong house. Maybe Dr. Anderson had given him the wrong address.
He almost shit himself when Kevin placed a hand gently on his shoulder.
“How many?” he whispered. Gwen tiptoed behind them.
“I don’t know, two?” he responded.
“I got this, Doc,” Kevin said. Kevin gave him a pat on his arm as if he recognized his own expendability.
“Are you sure?” Gwen asked.
“Can’t leave the West Virginia boys outta the fight.”
Kevin’s footsteps groaned on the wooden floors.
Joseph followed behind, the all too familiar smell of rotting flesh stinging his nostrils. Kevin reached for the handle of the door. He looked at Joseph and Gwen and mouthed one, two, three.
His fingertips jingled the knob and a blur struck him from behind. Kevin’s neck whiplashed. The thing growled as it took Kevin down onto his stomach. Joseph froze in the moment.
The door grumbled open as Kevin fell and, within seconds, two ghostly figures moved for Joseph. A mother and daughter, still in their pajamas. Black blood had run down their nightgowns; long since dried. Pale gray skin hung from their bones, and bleach-white eyes stared right at him. They ignored Kevin and his assailant as they wrestled for position. Arms outstretched, they reached for Joseph as if he were a long-lost uncle. They were mesmerizing, mother and daughter together in one purpose. The discharge of a gun near his ear made him cringe. He crouched down, deafened by the blast that reverberated down the hall. He watched both bodies fall to the floor unmoving. Gwen was yelling at him, but he couldn’t hear her.
He rushed forward and rounded the corner to find Kevin battling in mortal contest with his foe. They rolled back and forth, both attempting to gain advantage. Kevin’s knife swung around wildly searching for the flesh of his opponent. Gaining composure, he swung his arm back to gather speed, force, velocity for a killing knife thrust.
Joseph knew what he did not.
“Kevin, no,” he called at the man. Joseph dove for Kevin and grabbed his arm. Joseph joined them on the floor and the assailant scrambled away. The man crawled into the hallway until he reached the mother and daughter. He clutched their lifeless forms, one in either arm and wept.
Joseph slowly got up. He felt an odd pressure in his arm.
Kevin frowned, jumping upright. “Why did you do that?” he yelled at Joseph.
Joseph looked down.
“Oh man,” Kevin screeched. His face turned red. A knife hilt stuck out of Joseph’s upper arm, driven through in the attack. Red seeped around the blade, beginning to spread out in an uneven crimson circle. Joseph felt his stomach go weak, and he scooted back against a little girl’s bookshelf filled with pink, purple, and green books.
“Gwen, we need the med kit,” Joseph called out.
Sobbing faintly hit Joseph’s ears from the hallway.
Gwen pointed her carbine at the man’s skull.
“Shoot him,” Kevin shouted.
Gwen’s mouth twisted as she tightened her finger on trigger, only stopping after a moment. “What about him?” she yelled.
“Don’t shoot. It’s him,” Joseph instructed.
She pulled the carbine to her chest.
The man sobbed, holding the bodies in his arms. “Why? Why did you shoot them?” Tears streamed down his face.
“They were infected,” Joseph managed. Kevin knelt nearby and put pressure on his wound.
“Why were you keeping them?” Kevin said to the man. “They were infected.”
“They were only sick,” the man retorted.
“Kevin, please. That’s him. Patient Zero,” Joseph said.
“This guy? No way.”
“Keep pressure on it, Kevin, but prop me up.”
Kevin helped him upright. The man matched the photos. His hairline stampeded for the back of his scalp. His belly bulged over his pants, and he’d grown a patchwork beard of mixed grays and browns.
Gwen ran back in. She took out a tourniquet and placed it as far up his arm as possible. She quickly cinched it closed spinning the windlass rod and sliding it underneath the rod-locking clip.
“That hurts, but it should.”
“We need to get you a doctor,” she said, her eyes clouded with worry.
Joseph could care less. “I’ll be fine. What’s your name?” he asked.
The man looked at him with tear-filled eyes which were almost white, but not. His eyes had a whitish hue, but still held some pigments of brown.
“My name is Richard Thompson. Why are you doing this to me?” he screamed. Kevin helped Joseph to his feet. His legs felt weak and wobbly. Lost some blood.
“Because, Mr. Thompson, you are Patient Zero, and I need you if we are going to create a vaccine for the virus from hell.”
STEELE
Youngstown Airfield, Youngstown, OH
The men hugged the wall, heartbeats flying a mile a minute. To the man, they had all voted to make a break for freedom. They all knew they could die, but to forsake vows that they had sworn to their country would have been worse than death. So they planted their backs against the wall and prayed.
Steele’s breathing came fast. His body and mind knew it was the calm before the storm. Any minute now they would be fighting for their freedom and lives. Master Sergeant Hunter had explained things succinctly. Blow the door. Overpower the guards. Race to helicopters. Fly away. He had made it sound like it was something he had done a hundred times before.
Master Sergeant Hunter banged fists up and down with Sergeant Lewis.
“Sins and Skins.”
“Sins and Skins, baby,” Sergeant Lewis said, smiling evilly at Master Sergeant Hunter.
“Hug some wall and cover your balls,” Master Sergeant Hunter grunted at the prisoners.
Sergeant Lewis molded some dough-like explosives around the hinges. His fingers pressed it down like a master pizza maker creating a handmade crust around the hinge.
“Keep your head down,” Steele said from the side of his mouth. Ahmed tried to melt into the wall, his hands grasping for anything to steady himself.
Sergeant Lewis took his place near Master Sergeant Hunter, and the seconds dragged out. Hunching his h
ead, Steele covered his ears, waiting for the explosion.
The wall reverberated as the door blew outward with a bang. Smoke and dust filled the room. His hand on the shoulder of the man in front of him was the only thing guiding him. They rushed into the hallway. Dust clung to the air. The bodies of the guards lay in the prone position on the floor. Neither of them are Mauser.
Hunter and Lewis snatched up M4s and Sergeant Lewis handed Steele one of the soldier’s sidearms.
“Make ’em count,” he said.
Steele press-checked the M9A1 Beretta. He felt the extractor with his finger, trusting his fingertips more than his eyes in the smoky haze. One round in the chamber. He was ready for combat. Not very effective versus soldiers with M16s and M4s. He pushed the thought from his mind, letting it lay in the background, knowing he was at a disadvantage in a gun fight. He didn’t have a choice.
Steele’s eye caught the handle of his tomahawk sticking out from the dead soldier’s belt. He snatched it up on his way by duel wielding both handgun and melee weapon.
“Stay close,” he whispered to Ahmed.
The men followed in a single quiet stack, checking corners as they moved down the hallway. They flanked up a stairwell. Steele scanned up and around the next flight of steps, cross-checking the stairs above them as they moved.
“Clear,” Master Sergeant Hunter shouted as he bounded, Sergeant Lewis close behind. Their guns pointed different directions. Combat boots pounded down the steps from above like a stampeding herd.
“Move faster. Beat them to the chopper,” Colonel Kinnick called from the middle of the line. A large glowing red exit sign hung over a door. Master Sergeant Hunter kicked the door open, and their eyes adjusted easily to the early morning light. Fire burst from Sergeant Lewis’s gun, lighting up the stairwell, and Steele ran outside. He covered the edge of the building with his handgun.
“Follow me,” shouted a voice. The prisoners sprinted for the helos parked on the other side of the air traffic control building. Master Sergeant Hunter reached the edge of the building and cut the corner, using the angle to expose as little of himself as possible while getting a good shooting vantage of anyone who might be on the other side. Gunfire banged from the building.
The End Time Saga Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 71