Sometimes We Ran (Book 3): Rescue

by Stephen Drivick

  “Oh, no,” It was all Claire could manage to say. She put her hand to her face to cover her mouth.

  It looked bad. Our helper on the motorcycle lay still against the car, as if he were dead. I went into internal debate mode. In better times, I might have stopped to check on him, but these days you have to weigh that decision. The countryside was full of undead monsters that will eat your guts out. Sometimes, it was best to go home. I made my choice, and put the van in drive. I wanted to go home. We couldn't risk being jumped by Red-Eyes on a rescue mission. It was what we had to do.

  “What are you doing?” Claire said. “We have to check on him.”

  I carefully drove past the prone stranger on the ground, trying not to look. “We can't risk it. There could be a hundred zombies out there waiting for us. We could risk our lives and he could be dead,” I said, trying to convince Claire. In reality, I was trying to convince myself.

  Claire wasn't through. “This isn't you, John. You're not this heartless. This is not the choice you want to make, is it? He tried to help us out.” She took hold of my arm, but didn't try to stop me yet.

  I drove along a little more, and the front wall of Cannon Fields came into view. The brown stucco, now a little faded with time and the elements, stood out against the forest of green trees. It represented safety, warmth, and the waiting arms of our loved ones. I couldn't risk it for a stranger even if he did help us.

  I drove on. “Can't do it, Claire. We don't know who he is, or who his friends are. We have to think of ourselves. You know that.”

  Claire pulled out the big guns. “When we were dealing with Pine Grove, you said we were in this thing together. You said we had to take care of each other. Don't you remember?” Her big blue eyes pleaded with me to stop.

  I hit the brakes. “I did say that, didn't I?”

  “Yes you did,” Claire said. “Can we go back?”

  I put the van into reverse, and backed up to the accident scene. “I swear to God, Claire. If I get turned into a zombie, I'm coming after you first.”

  I parked the van next to the accident scene and the fallen stranger. Claire and I took a quick look around. Nothing was moving, and it was quiet. The Red-Eyes were probably watching, so we had to make this quick. “Listen. If he's hurt too badly or dead we have to get the hell out of here, okay?” I said to Claire. She nodded in agreement, as we turned to open our doors.

  As we got to the back of the car, the news didn't get any better. There was blood spilled on the asphalt, and there was a mark on his head where he had hit the car. I took off my glove, and tried to find a pulse in his neck. A strong beat throbbed beneath my fingers. He was alive, but hurt.

  “He's breathing,” Claire said. “Any clue who he might be?”

  I moved him out from under the car as carefully as possible to prevent further injuries. A quick search of his person revealed no wallet or identification. That wasn't unusual. People didn't carry any ID these days anyway, as it was good to remain a little anonymous. A quick search of his person turned up only a knife and a set of keys.

  A noise came from the side of the road. It was a low growl, followed by the soft thumping of feet on asphalt. A Red-Eye was on the hunt. We had to hurry.

  Claire looked around. “Can we move him?”

  “I hope so. Help me get him into the van,” I said.

  Claire grabbed an arm. I took the other one, and we struggled to put the injured man in the van. He wasn't heavy, but it was awkward trying to maneuver him into the back of the van while trying not to slip. We had got him halfway in when the situation became critical. A young Red-Eye zombie hopped up on the trunk of a nearby car. It watched us for a few seconds, and then with a terrible hiss it struck. It jumped down to the ground, and grabbed Motorcycle Man's boot, and started to pull. Claire and I were now in a deadly game of tug-of-war. I took my hands off the injured man's arm and fumbled for my gun. The Red-Eye drew closer. It drew back its lips to reveal a mouthful of black teeth.

  In a single motion, Claire took her bat off the ground, gave a mighty swing, and hit the Red-Eye in the wrist. The zombie squealed and pulled away. Claire pursued, and struck out again. The Red-Eye ducked this time, and her bat hit the trunk of a nearby car with a metallic thunk. The blow nearly tore Claire's arm off, and she sank to the ground in pain.

  With Claire out of action, it was my turn. I pointed my gun at the attacking zombie and fired. The bullet tore through his shoulder, and he slumped to the ground in a pool of dark blood. I ran to Claire, currently lying under a car. She was holding her left arm at the elbow.

  “You okay?” I asked, rubbing her injured arm.

  “Yeah. Might have torn my arm up,” she said. Hopefully, it was just a temporary injury.

  Two more Red-Eyes, further away down the road, popped up and started running toward the van. We were about to be swarmed. The zombies picked up speed as they anticipated a tasty meal. Without a word, Claire and I finished stuffing the stranger into the van, slammed the rear doors, and ran for our seats. We got inside just in time. The two Red-Eyes surrounded the van and began slamming themselves against the side. Claire flinched as they approached the window, showing their ugly faces. I put the van in gear, and took off, pedal to the floor. The Red-Eyes gave chase for a few feet, then gave up and ran back into hiding in the woods.

  When the side-view mirror was finally clear of undead, I slowed down and breathed a little sigh of relief. Two close calls on the same trade mission was enough. “That's enough fun for today. Let's get the hell home,” I said.

  Claire flexed her left hand. Missing the zombie's head with her bat might have injured her. She went from flexing to shaking the hand. “My arm's tingling. I don't know what happened. I hardly ever miss.”

  “The doctor will fix you,” I said. “That was quite a shot.”

  I pulled Monique up to the fence of Cannon Fields and put my hands at the top of the steering wheel. There was a simple system at Cannon Fields. We had no radios, so vehicles coming home stopped in the driveway at the front gate. The snipers in the trees looked at the driver through their scopes. If the driver's hands were at the top of the steering wheel, everything was cool and the vehicle was let inside. Hands in lap signified the vehicle had been jacked, and it stayed outside. After a quick identity check, a guard opened the gate and I pulled through. We were safe at home. Now I just had to explain the half-dead guy in the back of the van.

  Chapter 7: Stranger in Town

  “So let me get this straight,” Michael said. “He was just some guy on a motorcycle that crashed, and you decided to bring him inside the gate?”

  He stared at the stranger through the glass wall of our quarantine area. It used to be a conference room, but when the infirmary had been set up, it was re-purposed. We put strangers in there for a few days to see if they turned. Sidney had rigged up a bungee cord lock system to keep things inside the room. He pulled on the cords to check their strength as Michael spoke.

  I was with Doctor Connelly, who was checking out Claire's hand and shoulder. After her swing and miss on the Red-Eye, she complained of numbness and pain in her arm. Claire winced in pain as the Doctor manipulated her arm to check for damage. An injury while trying to survive these days could be bad news. She already had a bad hip from a previous scooter crash. She didn't need a arm to match.

  Mike and Denise pulled themselves away from the glass window and made their way to Claire's bedside. I could tell it was going to be a serious discussion by the angry look on Michael's face. I was concerned about Claire, and in no mood to get in a heated discussion at the moment.

  Michael came up to Claire's bedside and confronted me. “You need to explain why you brought him here. What were you thinking?”

  He was a little too close and in my face. I took a half step back, fighting the urge to punch him in the head. “He was hurt. The Red-Eyes were circling, and he was next on the menu.” I looked at Denise. “Was I supposed to leave him on the ground?”

  “Yes!” M
ichael exclaimed, getting a little closer. “We don't know who the hell he is, and you and Claire brought him right inside. Not to mention, you attracted the Red-Eyes right to the gate with this shit.” Denise sensed I was getting a little crowded, so she pulled Michael back a little.

  “He helped us. He got us through the zombies on the road,” Claire said. “We couldn't leave him to die.”

  “Was it your idea to bring him inside, Claire? Maybe we should just let you stay with the kids. That seems to be all you can handle.” Michael was getting all red and bloated in the face.

  Claire jumped off the bed to do battle. Her arm had been magically healed by the anger flowing through her tiny frame. Michael had awakened a monster. I stepped back, as I knew Claire's fury could be legendary.

  She got right in Michael's personal space, and he stepped back in surprise. “I've been on the road, and I can take care of myself - and John too if necessary,” Claire said in a slightly raised voice.

  “Yeah, well, maybe you can't handle it anymore.” Michael's voice was now raised as well.

  Claire fired back. “I don't see you picking up a gun and volunteering to go outside. When was the last time you did anything outside the gates?”

  “I do plenty around here to keep us safe.” Michael gave Claire a light shove to get her out of his way.

  Claire pushed Michael right back. “Enlighten me. What do you do around here to help us?” Claire and Michael looked like they were going to rumble right there in the infirmary. I grabbed Claire by the waist before she started to rain blows on him.

  Denise had also seen enough. She stepped between Claire and Michael and shoved them apart. “That's it! We're going to cut this out right now. It does us no good to yell at each other. Michael go somewhere else. Claire, if your arm feels okay, go home to your family.” Michael gave a last dirty look to Claire and, then stalked off. Claire wrestled out of my grip and without a word, left the infirmary. She grabbed her bat on the way out.

  Denise turned to me. “I want to see you in my office.” She sounded a bit like a vice-principal I used to know. I might be in trouble. Denise walked out of the infirmary to cool off before our meeting.

  Doctor Connelly handed me my weapons. “That Michael is some piece of work,” she said.

  I holstered my gun and placed my knife on my belt. “It's Claire's fault, too. She has a bit of a temper. When she gets home, Ryan's going to get an earful.” I nodded to the isolation ward. “What do you make of our new friend?”

  Doctor Connelly looked at the quarantine room and its only occupant. “He has a few cuts and bruises, mostly superficial. The bump on his head was a little worse, but I think he'll wake up in a few hours. Maybe a day or two and you can talk to him. He's a little undernourished, but who isn't these days? Any idea who he might be?”

  “Not a clue. No identification. Just some keys, a shotgun, and a small dirt bike. Don't know why he helped us. Looks like I might be in trouble for bringing him back,” I said.

  The Doctor escorted me to the door. “I want to go on the record. I think you did the right thing.”

  “Thanks. I hope Denise feels the same way.”

  I crossed the lobby of the Admin building to Denise's office. As I passed Jaci at the desk, she gave me a hopeful smile. She must already know about our unconscious friend in the infirmary and that I brought him here. News traveled fast in Cannon Fields.

  I knocked gently on the door frame. She was sitting quietly at her desk rubbing her eyes with her hands. It had already been a long day. She looked up, then gestured to one of the shabby chairs in front of her desk. “Come in,” she said, no anger in her voice. She put her glasses back on.

  “Door open or closed?” I asked.

  “Open. Warmer that way.” That was good news. Maybe she wouldn't yell so much with the door open. I took a seat in one of the chairs. No one spoke at first.

  I broke the silence by speaking first. “Denise...I know Michael is in charge, but if he talks to any residents like that again, it's going to be a problem.”

  Denise shifted in her chair. “So noted. I will speak to him about the incident in the infirmary. But...” She trailed off.

  “What?” I asked.

  Denise didn't like heavy confrontation, but sometimes it was part of her job. “Michael is not entirely in the wrong. You did bring in a stranger. God knows where he's from. We don't even know who he is yet.”

  “I know. It was my call. I was going to drive away. Leave him there to freeze to death or become zombie food. Just couldn't do it,” I said.

  “What stopped you?” Denise asked.

  “Claire. She's always been that little voice in my head helping me on the road. I stopped because it felt so...so wrong to leave him there. It was a bad feeling, like a punch to the stomach.” I leaned back in my chair, feeling defeated.

  “Okay,” Denise said, taking off her glasses again. “Just remember the River Mills rescue. We can't go through that again. I don't think we could survive that, John.”

  “I remember River Mills. Still trying to put it behind me, I guess. You can't save everybody, but humans are becoming pretty scarce outside the gates. I thought maybe we could save at least one,” I said, standing up to leave, as I wanted to check on Karen.

  Denise stood up, and we walked into the hallway. We paused for a minute in the lobby of the Admin building. “Maybe you're right. You're a good friend, and I trust you. You've always come through for me and the residents of Cannon Fields, so I'm going to trust you now with our friend in the infirmary as well. I'm making him your responsibility.” Denise opened the glass door, and the winter wind swirled into the lobby.

  “A guard will be assigned to him. When he wakes up, I'll find out who he is and where he belongs,” I said.

  The first smile I had seen in a couple of days lit up Denise's face. “Sounds good. Go home and take care of Karen.” She moved aside to let me leave.

  I stepped onto the wooden porch and pulled on my gloves. The temperature was dropping, and it was going to be a cold night. I walked down the steps, and began the walk home to my sick wife.

  “One more thing,” Denise called from the porch.

  I turned. Denise was in the doorway hugging herself against the biting cold. “Despite what Michael says, you and Claire did the right thing.”

  Chapter 8: Lyle and the Interrogation

  The stranger in the infirmary refused to wake up, so I was finally able to give my wife the back rub I promised. When Karen is sick, the muscles in her back go on strike. She stiffens up and goes into a bad mood. It was time for my magic fingers to go to work. Karen sat in the beat-up recliner in our living room. I gently rubbed her shoulders and back with technique learned through trial and error and back rubs in the past. It was working, as Karen was actually smiling and laughing at my lame jokes. Her laugh was music to my ears.

  I finished the massage session and walked into the kitchen to get her tea. It was a blend invented by Doctor Connelly that consisted of medicinal herbs and berries taken from her personal garden. It was supposed to clear the sinuses and stop sore throat and cough. The Doctor was studying ways to cure disease with natural plants and fruits as an alternative to conventional medicine, preparing for the days when the medicine was going to run out.

  As I prepped the tea, Karen shuffled into the kitchen rubbing her neck. “Feeling better?” I asked.

  “Actually, I feel pretty good,” she answered. She moved her head around, stretching her neck. ” The last few days had seen some improvement in her condition. At least, she wasn't coughing as much. I put a steaming cup of the doctor's miracle tea on the table. “I think you missed your calling. You should rub backs for a living.”

  “Then I would miss out on all the action packed adventure around here,” I said, pushing the cup of tea towards her. “Drink up. Doctor Connelly's personal blend.” I sat down, and took a good look at Karen. The sparkle was finally coming back into her beautiful green eyes. A feeling of relief washed ove
r me like a refreshing breeze. The sickness was not going to take her.

  Karen took a sip of the hot liquid and made a face. “Tastes like dirt,” she said. She took another large sip and put the cup down as far away as she could on the table. “Yeah. Definitely dirt like. Got anything to get the soil taste out of my mouth? ”

  Karen was hungry. The Doctor would say that was a very good sign. I gave her a slice of homemade cornbread with strawberry jelly, and pushed the cup of tea back into her hand. Dirt taste or not, Karen would have to drink it all for it to have any effect. Doctor's orders.

  We sat at our little kitchen table near the warmth of the stove, Karen with her tea and me with my coffee, eating cornbread and talking. I sat and listened to her silky voice as she went from one piece of gossip to another. Karen was finally getting back to normal, and for that I was thankful. She was not going to wind up in the infirmary with the other victims fighting for her life.

  I hoped the other sick residents would be as lucky. Burning bodies is no fun.

  The conversation turned to the stranger in the infirmary. “So,” Karen said, finishing off the dirt-like tea. “Who exactly is this guy you and Claire brought in?” Karen asked.

  I grabbed another piece of cornbread. It was Claire's recipe, and it was pretty good with Karen's strawberry preserves on top. “Don't know. It's been three days, and he still won't wake up. Doctor Connelly told me he should be up and around by now. She's worried about how we're going to feed him while he's unconscious.”

  “Do you think he's dangerous, John?”

  “He did help us out on the road. Scared all the zombies away with a noisy motorcycle,” I answered.

  Karen got up to return to her resting spot in the recliner. “Well whoever he is, it's the talk of the town. When you were on fence patrol yesterday, Claire was over here checking on me. She couldn't stop talking about it.”