The Orphans (Book 2): Surviving the Turned

by Evans, Mike

  Naomi reached for the cordless phone on the side table and dialed the cell phone that the two shared. Mike had cursed her five ways to Sunday the day she came home with it, but she told him firmly, “The day your stubbornness gets the better of you and you fall and get hurt and you’re able to get ahold of me, you’ll be the first to admit how wrong you were.” She punched in the cell phone’s number and waited for it to ring, which it did. From the kitchen, she heard the buzzing of the phone on the countertop, right where he always left it.

  *****

  Mike sped along the highway. He was one of the only commuters out on that early morning. On any other day, he would be surrounded by traffic from Rockville to Washington, along with all the people who couldn’t afford the luxury of living in the city where they worked. The only cars on the road came from the opposite direction and they appeared to be packed to the brim.

  He was lost in thought, not thinking or caring about the other commuters. He was much more concerned about what would happen should there be an outbreak in the States. He’d been there that night, watching the footage from Iraq. The early morning newsfeeds were no different from the footage he saw from the plane that had dropped the bomb just moments before they had detonated the plane’s reserve bomb, destroying it and its occupants. They left no loose ends and eliminated the possibility that word might get out about destroying an entire military base. They had done a government cover-up on a grand scale, the kind that made Clinton’s scandal, Watergate, or the Obama Healthcare Plan seem small. They blamed the bombing on the Taliban, a group that couldn’t have designed mass destruction on that scale if they had a lifetime to try and do so.

  The group gladly accepted the blame and had advised from caves of whereabouts unknown that it was Allah who told them the base was there and needed to be dealt with. Mike smiled for a moment, thinking about the message the Taliban had broadcasted and how the US used the broadcast signal to send an air-guided missile into the mouth of the cave. He ran down the file in his head and was sure that everyone who worked on the project was on that base when the bomb went off. But for the life of him, he couldn’t think of any way the formula created by the team could have made it out of that country.

  When Mike pulled into the outskirts of the city, he stopped. As the sun rose, he could see more with every passing second. He stared out, trying to understand what he was seeing; a feeling worse than the guilt he harbored jolted through his body, leaving him with a pain in his chest. He knew instantly as he watched nervous-looking, heavily armed soldiers make their way down the streets that martial law had been invoked.

  He pulled his truck forward, knowing well that he needed to get his ass to the White House. The heads of government had some difficult decisions to make. Mike realized that he may be their biggest asset in their efforts to save the nation. If it wasn’t too late.

  He made a U-turn backtracking so he could look for a road that wasn’t littered with cars. He hung a pass from his windshield that was long expired but still obviously effective. That mixed with his high military rank, which was easy for even a private to recognize, would give him access to places denied to most. He got within two blocks of the White House and was not surprised to see that he was going to have to walk the rest of the way.

  He got out of his pickup and looked around; it wasn’t a place to be pulling any kind of surprises when it came to firearms. The grounds were always on alert and ready to take out any threat, and throwing a potential zombie apocalypse into the mixture was not the best way to put anyone at ease. He reached under his seat, pulled out a forty-five caliber semi-automatic pistol, and slid it, along with a holster, onto his belt. On the other side, he put an extra set of magazines. He’d rather have more than he needed than not have anything at all. He did know that if an outbreak occurred in the area there would be little chance of escape, as the buildings were so close to one another. He would have even less chance of having enough bullets and the time to use them.

  He parked and walked up the street; cold shivers ran up his back as he took in his surroundings. Barriers made out of wood and barbed wire had been put in place, and young men sat at the ready with biohazard suits, complete with heavy-duty gas masks. Mike walked confidently, having very few people in the military who he still had to provide an answer to when asked. Today was going to be a day filled with questions, probably each more painful than the one before it.

  He walked past the barriers, nodding to the young men as they noticed his sleeve, which was apparently the only credential he currently needed. When he got to the front gates, a marine who would normally be wearing his dress uniform, sat alert and ready in the same attire as the others, gripping an automatic rifle. Mike held up a hand of peace to the soldier who would never blink unless it was necessary. When the soldier spoke, it was hard to understand what he was saying, although Mike made every attempt to. The young man walked out of the small gatehouse and approached the retired colonel, holding his gun tightly. A muffled voice came out from the mask. “Good morning, sir. I need to ask you to leave, please.”

  Mike stared around at the insanity in place on the street behind him and looked back at the soldier, snapping off a response in less than a second. “What the fuck is so good about it? And don’t call me ‘sir,’ you little pecker. I work for a living goddam it!”

  The soldier backed up a foot but tried to hold his ground. He looked over at Mike’s arm and did the math, realizing immediately that he was a colonel and spent the additional time looking at his chest and the name on it. “I am sorry, Colonel Webber, I did not mean any disrespect. The White House is on lockdown; there has been an outbreak.”

  Mike nodded his head. “Well, I know all about the outbreak. It’s spreading overseas faster than they can manage it. I have information about it and need to see someone now.”

  The soldier started to reply with a practiced answer, which he hadn’t put the thought into before saying it. “Sir, if you’d like to give me the information, I would be happy to—”

  Mike cut him off, almost barking out his answer. “Give you? Give you? Are you fucking insane? The information I have might save the United States, damn it. If it hits here then we are all royally screwed. I promise you son, that if you don’t get me someone much more important to speak with right fucking now, you will feel my wrath for years to come!”

  The soldier nodded his head, hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Sir, I will go make the call, but you should know the outbreak already happened. From what I heard, it started in Iowa—or somewhere like that in the Midwest. It’s spreading like a wildfire they said.”

  Mike felt like someone had hit him in the gut with a sledgehammer. He nodded his head and took long, deep breaths, trying to come to terms with the reality of the information he’d been provided. He thought about his wife alone at home and hoped she had found a channel on the news relaying the same information… if it had been made public. He was pretty sure if they were blowing up American planes in foreign countries, there would have been one or two stories about what was going on stateside by now.

  The soldier came back and nodded for him to pass through the gates after being stripped of his firearm. Another soldier came from the White House in a black Humvee with dark, tinted windows. He exited the vehicle and went to collect Mike, putting him in the backseat and taking his firearm from the guard.

  Mike mentally ran through what he wanted to say and what details he could possibly leave out. He went into the White House, where the normal protocol had been beefed up further than could be imagined. He had to get past a plethora of doctors who inspected him, none of them knowing what they were looking for but each making damn sure he got the clean bill of health before he stepped any further into the White House. The room had been designated a clean zone, which meant the walls, floor, and ceiling were all covered with some sort of plastic makeshift wall, which obviously had just been constructed.

  The soldier who had escorted him up waited patiently after rem
oving his bio suit that he had put on just to come outside. Mike was feeling perfectly normal, but all the excitement placed on him started to make him wonder if maybe he had something to worry about. He would happily put a bullet through his temple before he would ever let himself turn into one of those things.

  They walked down an elegant hallway lined with pictures and paintings of dead presidents. Everything was spotless and looked like it had just been made the day before—no signs of age or dust. They stood outside a set of elevators and Mike stared at the soldier, who appeared to be waiting for something. Then from above, a security camera made a zoom sound, taking one last look at the man before allowing him entry to the lower level of the compound. This, Mike knew, was not part of the guided tour that the masses were allowed to go on daily. After a few minutes, the doors parted and the two men entered the elevator, which sent them hundreds of feet into the earth in a matter of seconds.

  Chapter 4: Worse Fears

  Day 2

  Ellie ran down the dirt road past the van that they had been given by Andy at the Army Surplus Store. It would be of no use to her since Frank had removed the van’s battery as a safety precaution so if any looters came, the teens would still have a vehicle to take back to civilization.

  She ran sideways, bent over in pain and unable to cope with what she was seeing, with what was happening, and with what she was losing. She tried to scream at Greg to stop, knowing it was useless and that he was no longer Greg. He had become one of the Turned and he would just as happily eat her as look at her. She didn’t think that if she tried she would be able to produce anything coherent. She was crying harder than she had when she found out the news of her own mother. She watched in horror as Shaun writhed on the ground in pain; she took one last painful look at the boy who’d never been anything but there for her and closed her eyes, unable to take anymore of the visual in front of her.

  She ran another hundred yards and heard footsteps and growling from behind her. Just when she thought she couldn’t see anything worse than she already had, she turned around. She never stopped running, but she might as well have been standing still with the speed that Shaun, Greg, and Tina sprinted after her with. She didn’t stand a chance. She screamed, “No! No! No!”

  She could hear Shaun speaking to her, but it sounded a million miles away. She opened her eyes, jumping and screaming. “Get back! Get back, damn it!” she wailed through her tears as Shaun leaned over and shook her gently.

  Shaun stayed where he was and brushed her hair from her face. She looked around and saw Tina sleeping next to her. Greg was lying on the ground on top of a sleeping bag. Ellie blinked again, realizing it had been a horrifically detailed nightmare. She pulled Shaun into her, causing him to be off balance, and hugged him tightly to her. Both of her hands were clenched around his back, and she had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

  Shaun whispered in pain, unable to breath, “Are you okay, Ellie?”

  Ellie finally let go to wipe at the tears that were still falling freely. “Don’t ever eat me, Shaun.”

  Shaun pushed up off of her and sat on the edge of the bunk she and Tina were sharing. “God, you’re weird sometimes, Ellie. I heard you screaming in your sleep, and I didn’t want you to wake everyone. It’s still early in the morning.”

  “What were you doing up then?”

  “I have been up for hours. I couldn’t sleep last night.”

  Ellie sat up on an elbow, looking around to see that everyone was in fact still sleeping. She nodded to herself, confirming that there was no chance of being eaten. She lay back down on her cot, holding on to Shaun’s hand until she fell asleep and then for a few minutes longer. Shaun stared around the room at the rest of the group and noticed that no one was sleeping well. All of them were being haunted by something. He slipped his hand from Ellie’s grip, walked to the wooden kitchen table, took a seat, and drank from one of the many bottles of water they had carried up. He knew they’d need to save the empties so they could refill them from the stream. Andy had packed plenty of water purification tablets to make sure the water was safe to drink.

  Shaun didn’t need to sleep to be haunted; he could not stop thinking about his dad and what had happened. He thought how so much could change in the matter of a day. He rested his hand on his thigh and felt a bulge from his pocket. He pulled out a few pages that he had folded quickly and stuffed into his pocket. He undid them, remembering his dad had given them to him right before he was tasked with keeping his dad from turning into one of those. He unfolded the papers and then folded them back up again, shaking his head. He was not yet ready to deal with anything else. He put the papers in an old box that his dad kept above the fireplace, deciding his heart had enough ache for one day. He was unsure that he could handle very much more. Shaun looked in the corner at the wall of supplies, knowing it would be a good idea at some point to figure out some organization. The only thing he did make sure of was that the rifles Greg and he had used the day before were out and ready to go.

  He wrote for an hour in his journal, recording everything he could remember about the day before. Shaun knew that if he wrote, it might help him to deal with some of the issues that were invading his mind. From past experience, he found it helped him deal with the thoughts of his mother. As he grew older, the thoughts of her became more and more difficult to recall, as well as the memories. He shook it off, wiping at a single tear that left him thinking that, in years to come, maybe he would have the same issues of remembering his dad as well. He fought back the emotions, burying them deep down inside himself.

  He woke when the sun rose and filled the small cabin with daylight. There were so many mornings he could recall waking to leftover stew and bread for breakfast. He got up, regretting that he’d fallen asleep at the table as he felt a kink in his neck and back that would need some stretching to get rid of later. It was difficult for him to think about what he should do. There was no routine, no plan; he had simply figured that once they got to the cabin, his dad would take charge. He looked at the group, thinking that someone would have to step up if they were going to make it.

  He watched Patrick on the ground sleeping. It was still cool in the mornings this time of year, but he had sweat running down his face and his hair was soaked. Shaun walked toward him; his steps on the floor made the wood creak. Greg, who was sleeping only a few feet away, stirred and saw Shaun standing above him and Patrick. Greg looked at Shaun sideways when he saw a pistol gripped tightly in his hand. Greg, never having an issue finding something to be a smartass about, stretched and said, “Looking pretty creepy standing over us while we sleep there, Shaun.”

  Shaun nodded toward Patrick. Greg looked over and took in the mess that he currently was. He felt his own head and looked at Shaun, realizing that neither of them were sweating and came to terms with what he was looking at—or at least what he assumed he was looking at. Greg sat up quickly, pushing himself against the wall and stepping away from the sleeping youth.

  “Shaun, did he get bit?”

  “I have no idea, but damn if he doesn’t look like he did.”

  “Everyone I saw yesterday who did, Turned pretty quick. It’s been like, what? Twelve or fifteen hours?”

  “Yeah, it’s been a while, but look at the guy. He looks all kinds of messed up.”

  Ellie and Mike started to stir where they slept and looked up at the two teens, who were staring intently at Patrick. Mike got up, rubbing his hands through his hair and pulling on a dirty t-shirt from the day before. “What’s up, guys? You seeing which one of you can look creepier?”

  Greg pointed at Patrick and Mike leaned over, taking it in as well, and drawing a similar conclusion. “When did he have a chance to get bit? He was with me the whole time.”

  Shaun thought of Albert, who was one of the boys his dad had picked up as they were leaving the school with Greg and Tina. No one had seen at the time that he had a bite wound on him, and he turned by himself in the squad car. When Tina’s brother
, Lucas, went to check on him, he attacked Lucas viciously and mangled the young man. Shaun said, “So was Albert, and he’s the reason that Lucas isn’t with us today, or did you forget about that already?”

  Mike opened his mouth to snap back but knowing that he was wrong, he said nothing for once. Greg pulled the cover off of him down to his waist. His entire body was gleaming with sweat. Patrick was sleeping with his shirt off, and while he was covered with sweat, he was not showing any wounds. Greg shrugged, looking back at Shaun, Mike, and Ellie. “Do you think that possibly he got it some other way?”

  “Well, we can pray that he didn’t, or else we really are screwed.”

  Tina said, “What do you mean, Shaun?”

  “If it’s airborne, then it doesn’t matter how far we try and go or how long we stay up here; eventually the inevitable is going to happen, and we will become one of them.”

  Greg punched Shaun in the shoulder. “Wow, Mr. Positive. You are filling me with all kinds of hope. Why don’t we drink the poisoned Kool-Aid now and skip the suffering and waiting. Christ man.”

  Shaun shrugged, pointing at Patrick. “Well, then what‘s wrong with him?”

  Tina and Kristy heard them bickering with one another, and they had all circled around Patrick. If he would have woken up, he probably would have been more than just a little freaked out about everything going on above him. Ellie walked in closer than the boys did and bent down. She reached to grab his wrist, and Shaun protectively snatched at her hand, gripping it hard and pulling her almost up to her feet in one motion. “What’re you doin’, Ellie? Don’t touch him!”

  “God, Shaun, leave the arm, man. What’s wrong with you?” She tugged her wrist away from him, rubbing at it and slapped him in the chest for his trouble. “Look at his wrist, you ass. Damn it, that hurt. Don’t grab at me.”