The End

by P. A. Douglas

  “And Gus, sir?”

  “I want him saddled up and ready to lead the Jacksonville team.”

  “But, sir, he fractured some bones in his right hand, not to mention he came in rather late last night and lost both of his teammates. I don’t know that it’s a wise idea sending—”

  “He is the best man for the job, hand or no hand, Lieutenant. I want him on that chopper leading that team! Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Hell, while you’re at it I want an assessment of Luke Beal, pronto. If he feels fit for duty, then I want him on that team too.”

  “But General—”

  “No butts! That’s an order!”

  Baker turned from the window and glared at the Lieutenant.

  Rob stood, tossing up a half-hearted salute, one that the General did not return.

  Taking his seat at the desk, Baker shooed Rob out of his office with a flick of the wrist while picking up the phone.

  Foster exited.

  *

  After leaving the General’s office, Rob made his way down the hall passing door after door to several other offices. He finally made it to the laboratory building after crossing the courtyard centralized within the military base. The small building set across from the barracks. He made his way into the building after crossing the small courtyard leading into the double doors to the small construct.

  The courtyard was also not quite that big, or that much to look at. It was the only actual designated smoking space on base, a section of the fortified compound the General never seemed to visit. A large oak tree with several benches surrounding it grew in the center. Several soda machines and one empty snack machine set against a barracks’ wall. Rob had been working at this facility for a while now and only once saw that machine filled. It lasted all of three days before being emptied again. The courtyard reminded Rob of high school for some strange reason.

  The small laboratory building was only a one-story box, housing five office spaces all of which were labs except for one. One of the rooms was actually designated as an office space used for group meeting between the different directors. Its door read Dr. Theresa Gibbs, she being the lead scientist and medic on the team. His mind raced back to finding her at his door and sharing a few hours in the dark. Her smell, her taste, the intimate moments had him longing for the next encounter.

  Rob passed the labeled door, taking a left down the hall toward the group of lab rooms knowing good and well that the doctor would not be in her office. She never was. He was actually even surprised it had her name on it. He couldn’t recall a single time that the office space had ever been used by anyone. Most of the scientists kept to the labs or the cafeteria.

  To Rob’s right was a single person restroom with both a male and female logo next to the door. To his left, he passed Professor Taft’s lab space. As he passed by, peering into the room from the door’s small horizontal window, he saw the room was empty. The image of Taft that was shown at the meeting, the enlarged image of the dead man’s mutilated face, skin torn to the bone and eyes missing, instantly popped into his head. He tried to shake the thought as he passed Gibbs’ door by only a few paces. He stood at the door for a few moments, still lingering on the thought of Taft’s rancid decay of a form. He prepared himself, knowing good and well the man he had just thought of was dead and yet still somehow continued to function as if still alive.

  *

  Dr. Gibbs had just finished taping the fractured hand of Gus the bus Stanford. It was obvious how the man earned his nickname. He sat on top of the metal desk in the center of her workspace, taking up more than half of the table.

  “Your bones will heal with time. You shouldn’t be using it.” She turned from him, making her way to the sink. “I’ll take a look at it again Sunday before I get sent to Tennessee.”

  “Oh yeah, I thought you had to leave tomorrow,” Gus said.

  “No, the team and I were supposed to, but I talked the big wigs into giving us another day. We leave sometime Sunday. I’m not exactly sure when.”

  After knocking on the door with two quick taps, Rob stepped into the lab.

  Gus sat up high on the table, his shirt off, holding his busted hand out in the air.

  Gibbs had her back turned to both men with her hands in the sink that was set across the room from the door.

  “What can I do for you, General?” Gibbs said, sarcasm dripped in her voice.

  Rob loudly cleared his throat as he stepped into the room, making eye contact with the man who sat on the metal table, smiling. He slammed the door a little harder than intended as he stepped in. She turned to see who it was, half-expecting Baker to be traipsing into her workspace pitching a fit at her for not being packed and ready for the lab team evacuation even though she had been granted extra time.

  Taft stood against the wall, still tied like before. His wounds looked worse than the previous time. It had only been a short while and his skin seemed to be tightening up, drying out and turning a flaky gray. The restraints dug so deep into his neck and ankles that they looked almost nonexistent, sunken beneath the skin to the bone. The skin on one arm had been peeled off revealing blackish blood and gray muscles, along with bits of bone. The dead man stood chewing on something, and it looked like it might be a bit of his own flesh that had once hung in front of his mouth. The man was beyond a mess, beyond dead. He was hell.

  “Oh, hey Rob,” said Gibbs with a little pep in her step, not at all fazed by the corpse of a man standing tied to the wall across from her. She smiled, drying her hands, stepping toward the two men, happy to see him. “What can I do for you this fine morning?” She gave him a furtive wink.

  Gus watched as the two would-be romantics got lost in each other’s gaze for a moment or two. “Is it just me or can you cut the sexual tension in this room with a knife?” Gus said.

  Rob instantly broke from the glance and stared down at the floor, cheeks a light red.

  “So, Lieutenant, what brings you here?” Gus asked.

  “I came to speak with Dr. Gibbs about you, but since you’re here, that will make my job a little easier. I came to check the status of that hand of yours.” He looked away from the shirtless man, still holding out his hand and focused on the lady. “What’s the damage looking like long term? I’m going to need him back in rotation ASAP.”

  “I’ve sent the report in. His hand is fractured,” she said.

  “Yeah, I’m aware of that. I’ve gone over that with the General. That is why I’m here. Gus, you have been selected for another OP. It leaves in less than an hour. Can you handle it under your condition?” Rob pointed at the man’s damaged extremity.

  Gibbs said, “I don’t think he should be going back out like this. His hand needs to be immobile, and that could take several weeks.”

  Rob kept his gaze on Gus. “The truth is, things are falling apart around here, and we are running low on qualified men. Well, soldier? You’re the best man for the job, and we need you. This is the last OP before we send in the bombers.”

  Gibbs threw down the paper towel she was using to dry her hands, irritated at Foster, irritated at this whole system. “You can’t be serious! They’re just going to blow everything up. Just wipe their hands of it and call it a day. You can’t do that, it’s unethical.”

  Foster continued, “Gus?”

  “Yes, I can do it. What’s the job?”

  “Jacksonville. You will get a short debriefing as soon as you are done here, so put that shirt back on,” Rob said before turning to Gibbs.

  With distress in his eyes, she could tell that he didn’t like the situation or the way it was being handled anymore that she did. “Where’s Beal? He’s possibly getting sent out too.”

  “Yeah, right! That guy is a mess. After what I did to his woman, after what I had to do, there is no way in hell that guy is working with me. He might snap and try to take me out when I’m not looking or something… No way,” Gus said as he put on his shirt. “That guy has lost
it!”

  “Speaking of being one to snap, how are you doing by the way?” Rob asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you lost Bo and Willy last night. I just wanted to make sure that you’re able to handle it,” Rob said.

  “I’m fine. What’s past is past. It’s old news, water under the bridge and all that shit. Let’s just go,” Gus said with a slight hint of hostility.

  Gibbs gave Rob a concerned look as the two men stepped out of the room.

  2

  Kent stood in the hall right outside the barracks. He and the others had gotten in late last night. After they arrived, several armed men escorted them to a secure set of rooms with bunks and blankets. To Kent, the rooms looked like they had once been storage closets or even an old office, but he couldn’t have cared less. He was happy to finally be some place safe, surrounded by tons of armed people, with plenty to eat. They hadn’t had anything in the way of food as of yet, but lunch was definitely on the agenda for him today. He was starving.

  He still wore the same thing he had on the day he met up with Eric and Cynthia. His shirt was torn in places. Blood and soot covered his wardrobe from head to toe. A guard had mentioned throwing clothes in the wash sometime this afternoon. At this point, it didn’t seem like a wash would do his clothing any good. It would be better if they could find him something new to wear.

  Two men dressed in fatigues rounded the corner, both armed with guns at the hip. Kent leaned over a water fountain as they slowly headed in his direction. The stream of water sprung up at the push of the button, meeting his lips.

  “—and that’s just ridiculous. I can’t believe the President, of all people, would bald-faced lie like that on national television,” one of the men said as they walked up.

  “What do you expect? Why else would he have given a speech at seven a.m. in the morning? They make announcements early in the day so that most people are unable to see it. Give them time to make some edits. Show the five o’clock news what they want them to see, leaving out the details,” the other officer replied.

  “What exactly was said, if you don’t mind my asking?” Kent turned away from the fountain and faced the two men.

  “What, you didn’t see it?” replied the taller of the men.

  “No, I was asleep. I came in with a few others just last night,” Kent said.

  “Oh, shit. You came in with Luke and Megan?” The man talking suddenly got jabbed in the side by the other soldier’s elbow.

  Kent said, “Yeah.”

  “Well, the President just had a press conference talking about this little epidemic and totally lied. He said that what we have going on in the Southeast is the result of an oil spill off the Gulf coast or something stupid like that. Said they quarantined things to keep us from exporting poisoned fish and other seafood. Made it out to be another BP-type incident. Sent in teams to clean things up, people already really sick and what not. What a crock!”

  “Quarantine? So you’re telling me that the rest of the world is okay?” Kent stood wide-eyed, his shocked expression partially hidden by the massive shades he still wore.

  “Where the hell you been, man? Under a rock?” one of the men asked.

  Kent shrugged his shoulders and looked to the ground. He chuckled, “Yeah, something like that.”

  The two men looked at each other and shook their heads. One of them said, “Look, we don’t have time to go into it. Find whoever is in charge of you and ask them. Now, excuse us.” With that, the two walked off.

  Kent pondered the situation for a moment. He grabbed the backpack from the floor and then made his way to the storage space that had been converted into sleeping quarters.

  Stepping quietly into the room not expecting the others to be awake yet, Kent closed the door, slightly surprised. Eric, Billy, and George were all up getting dressed and ready for a day filled with who-knows-what. They hadn’t been told much more than this is your room, see you tomorrow.

  First thing on the agenda for today was something about getting a checkup with the medic. Kent wasn’t too sure when, because he was half-asleep when the bus got in last night. He was never one for long drives even if it was under three hours. Something about the motion of the road just put him to sleep every time. Even with the two bodies on the floor, the lady’s throat ripped open and a knife in the other man’s head, he still managed to fall asleep.

  Kent nodded to George and Eric. He took a few more paces past the two men, opening another door that led into another room. The rooms were small but provided what the survivors needed. They connected to one another by adjacent doors, reminding Kent of a hotel room. He imagined that one of the rooms might have once been an office that led into a large storage janitorial space or something. Both rooms looked exactly the same. Each room had three cots that sat low to the ground, one coffee table with nothing on it, and your basic dim overhead lighting. It was obviously thrown together in hurry-up fashion. Pipes ran outside of the walls into each room leading out into the hallway. The pipes weren’t visible in the hall, so that must have meant that the ceiling was higher in these two rooms. They smelled of mold—like an old gym locker.

  With the door closed behind him, he dropped his bag to the ground. Cynthia lay partly covered by her blanket still on her cot asleep. Suddenly startled by the abrupt noise as the heavy bag collided with the floor below, she quickly sat up in the bed holding the covers partially over her chest, revealing her naked shoulders and bare back.

  “Honey, I’m Home,” Kent said as he dashed forward pulling her blanket away, exposing her breasts as he landed on top of her, wrapping the covers around them both as he fell.

  “Yuck, get off of me. You’re filthy!”

  She pushed him away, tossing him over and off of the cot. He landed on the floor, taking the covers with him. Covering her well-rounded chest with one arm, most of her voluptuous bust popped out around it. Sitting up in the cot, she glared down at Kent, giving him an ugly look.

  “What? I just got out of the shower!”

  “You might be clean, but those clothes are disgusting. You’re covered in blood, for Christ’s sake.” Cynthia climbed to her feet, stomping across the room, gathering her clothes from the otherwise empty table.

  Kent remained on the floor as he watched her dress with her back turned to him. Kent was still getting a solid view of her round bottom, cheeks peeking from under her underwear as she pulled each leg into one pant leg at a time.

  “I ran into some men outside, and they said this place was quarantined and the rest of the world is uninfected,” Kent said while enjoying the view.

  “Really, what else did they say?”

  “Something about the President giving some speech or something. Said he lied out his big fat ass about what’s really going on.”

  “Like that’s a surprise.”

  With not much else to see now that she was dressed, Kent made it to his feet, slung the backpack over a shoulder, and pulled a fresh cigarette from his pocket and then lit it.

  Cynthia followed his lead grabbing up her things. “You know, I don’t think you’re allowed to be smoking in here.” She opened the door leading into the other room where Eric and the others had slept.

  “Oh yeah, and what are they going to do, shoot me?” A puff of smoke poured from his mouth as he spoke.

  *

  George raised an eyebrow as the two entered. “Well if it isn’t the two love birds. You two were up late last night,” he said and smiled.

  Kent’s chest puffed up along with a wide smirk crossing his face as he took a seat on Eric’s cot next to him.

  Cynthia just stood there obviously a little embarrassed, her face turning almost as red as her hair. Last night things definitely moved a bit quicker than she would have liked, but it had been quite some time since she had been intimate with anyone besides herself. Other than that, the last thing she wanted to do was send a mixed signal pushing Kent away. She liked him, even though he was already starting to ch
ange in little ways. Ever since they had gotten a little snuggly with one another in the car, things with him were different. He seemed cockier and arrogant. Not at all romantic.

  She wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about him yet. At first, she seemed overwhelmed with a mixture of emotions and hormones. Now, something in the back of her head was telling her to slow down, and that he was going to be more trouble than he was worth. Still, last night was nice, and she knew that everyone else in the room knew as well.

  George just smiled. He and Eric went back to what they had been doing.

  “I heard you telling her something about a quarantine,” George said, his stuff gathered up and at his side.

  “Yeah, man, I ran into a couple of dudes out in the hall talking about it. They said this thing, this plague, was just in the Southeast. The pestilence of man and all that jazz. The President said it was just an oil spill and they are getting it cleaned up, or something like that. I’m not too sure,” Kent said.

  *

  Eric knelt and tied his shoes with his backpack strung over one arm. His shoulder still throbbed a bit but was feeling much better. His wound on his hand from punching that zombie in the jaw was another story. It had gotten rather sore since the shelter and was a little discolored. It looked and felt infected.

  “So, have you guys been formally introduced yet?” Eric reached a hand out palm up toward George while putting his cut hand in his pocket to hide it away. Out of sight, out of mind. “This is George, Mr. George Wellington. The Wellington.” Tossing his arm across the air, he pointed it at each person as he spoke. Everyone made eye contact, waving hands at each call of the name to signal who was who when each name was called. “George, this is Cynthia and Kent. Kent and Cynthia, this is George and Billy.”

  “Cool, so you’re that guy that was on the radio, right? Telling your story about finding the kid and driving to the station. That’s some crazy stuff, man. Crazy,” Kent said as he brought the cigarette up for a puff.

  Seeing that the two had not actually caught on right away, Eric decided to spell it out for them. “We stayed in Mr. Wellington’s back yard for the last 3 days. The shelter. This is George, my friend Tyler’s dad. He is the one that built that shelter.”