Caldera 5_United We Fall

by Heath Stallcup

  He leaned back in the cushions and smiled at the man. “We’re in the clear.” He took another long pull and enjoyed the burn as it went down. “At least for tonight, we’re good.”

  Sinner stepped away from the window and sat across from him. His hand reached out for the bottle and Simon handed it off. He took a pull from it and turned his head away as his eyes watered. “That’s stout shit.”

  “It’s no Everclear, but it tastes good.” Simon took the bottle back and cradled it. “A good night’s sleep and tomorrow is a brand new day.”

  “Speaking of, what are we going to do about Sailor and Squirrel? You know they’re holed up with the locals.”

  Simon nodded. “Yeah, I know all too well. Seen the whole camp driving across town that night.” He looked to Sinner. “Where’d they go?”

  He shook his head. “Honestly man…they made so many turns and shit…I have no idea where we were. All I know is it was some industrial setting.”

  Simon huffed. “The industrial park ain’t exactly small.” He took another pull from the bottle and sighed. “Maybe we could find a tank and just start leveling the whole district?”

  Sinner glanced at him, his brow hiked. “If we found a tank, would you know how to drive it?”

  Simon laughed out loud. “No, but fuck it man, it’s a TANK. How hard can it be? You climb in and start pushing buttons. When the damned thing starts rolling you keep pushing buttons until you figure out how to drive it.” He shrugged. “Easy peasy.”

  Sinner scoffed. “Yeah, good luck finding the tank.”

  Simon lifted his leg and farted loudly. He turned and gave Sinner a confused look. “I think that had a lump in it.”

  “Stop.” Sinner stood and walked back to the window. “I want to find them as much as you do. They had a nice set up.” He turned slowly and eyed Simon. “You could do real good running a joint like that.” Simon sat up and placed the whiskey bottle on the coffee table. “Tell me about this place.”

  “Sure man. What do you want to know?”

  Simon smiled at him. “Everything.”

  15

  Hatcher stood over Vicky Sue’s shoulder as she peeled back the thin layers of skin. “This is unusual. It’s like they’ve lost all of their pigmentation.”

  Hatcher grimaced as the smell wafted throughout the small room. “Tell me they stink like that for a reason.”

  Vicky shook her head. “The human body has specific odors and they’re usually much worse on the inside.” She leaned back and stretched her neck. “Some people think it’s because we make such an effort to de-odorize our outside that the inside smells worse.” She shook her head, the mask covering her smile. “I think it’s just because we’re rotten on the inside.”

  Hatcher motioned back to the body. “So, there’s a definite change? I mean, other than them getting so pale?”

  She nodded as she probed the wound channel in the chest. “Judging by what’s left of the hair on this one, I would say that he was either African American or possibly Hispanic.” She nodded toward the head and the small patches of hair left.

  Roger held the mask to his mouth and nose while he watched her. “Any idea why they’re losing their hair?”

  She shook her head. “It could be any number of things.” She paused her probing and ticked items off on her fingers. “It could be environmental, stress, diet…” She looked up and met his gaze. “Or it could be a mutation of the infection.”

  “Great.” Hatcher muttered. “It’s bad enough that this thing causes people to go nuts and start eating each other, but now it’s mutating and causing this?”

  Vicky paused and moved by the head. She peeled the eyelid up and flashed a pen light into the eyes. “Oh, now this is interesting.”

  “What?” Roger leaned in and looked at what she was seeing. “Are they growing a third eye or something?”

  She shook her head. “Look at this reflection.” She leaned back so that they could see what she was pointing at. “Animals that are nocturnal have a reflective layer in their eyes that act like a natural night vision.”

  Hatcher nodded. “Yeah, it’s called a tapetum lucidum.” He glanced at Roger and grinned. “It’s one of the few things I remember from college about critters.”

  “What’s the significance?” Roger asked.

  Vicky blew her breath out hard and shrugged. “It would seem to me that they’re evolving.”

  “Into what?” Roger asked.

  She shook her head. “A night predator.”

  Hatcher snapped his fingers. “Maybe that explains why we’re seeing them less during the day. I was hoping they were starving out but if they only prowl at night…” he trailed off, his mind mulling the facts.

  “And why they stay primarily to shadows during the day.” Roger poked at the skin with a scalpel. “Is that why they’re getting so pale? They’re staying out of direct sunlight?”

  Vicky shook her head. “This is too sudden. If I were to guess I would think that whatever changes they’re going through is causing their skin to lighten. Perhaps it’s more sensitive to UV rays and that’s forcing them to shift to nocturnal activity.” She turned and noticed Roger’s confused stare. “It’s not them playing at night making them pale. Rather, it’s the lack of pigmentation causing them to avoid the sun.”

  “So maybe sunlight hurts them?” Hatcher asked.

  “Like a vampire?” Roger added.

  Vicky shrugged. “I’m no expert so anything is up for grabs.” She snapped the rubber gloves off and tossed them into the bin. “Whatever is causing this, they’re adapting to be night creatures.”

  Hatcher groaned. “Great. Using the dark to hunt us down.”

  Roger shrugged. “At least they’ll be easier to spot with this pale skin.” He gave Hatcher a side long smirk. “We just need to batten the hatches at night.”

  “If only it were that easy.”

  Colonel Vickers waited until first light then made his grand entrance into the lab. “Vivian. Out here.” He stepped back into the hallway and waited for her to exit.

  “Colonel, I thought we already had this conversation?” She crossed her arms and studied the man.

  Vickers’ smile appeared almost evil. “I took your advice. I went to the president and he agrees with me.” His gaze narrowed on her. “As of today, I am in charge of this operation.”

  Her eyes widened as she stared at him, her head slowly shaking. “No…he told me—”

  “That order has been rescinded. You will now answer to me.” He turned toward the glass wall separating them from the lab. “And that man is to be isolated. Immediately.”

  She glared at him then turned to face the window. “That man, just assisted Doctor Broussard in developing a way to revert the mutated viruses to their primordial form.” She turned back and glared at him again. “That will make our treatment protocols EFFECTIVE against the infected population.” She intentionally left out the second part; ‘once they figure out a way to mass inoculate those infected’.

  Vickers shook his head. “I don’t care. He carries the virus and is infected. Until he’s been treated and effectively recovers, he’s not to be in the lab.” He turned and stared at her. “Period.”

  “What do you expect me to do with him? Put him in the general population of infected and have him stand around in his own waste until—”

  “He is to be SECURED.” Vickers wasn’t yelling, but his voice was strong enough that every researcher in the lab turned and stared at the pair out in the hallway. “He is to be isolated until such time that he is deemed no longer a threat.”

  She huffed and shook her head. “I’ve already deemed him ‘no longer a threat’.”

  Vickers leaned in, his slender fingers pointing to her face. “And if that generator were to break down? If the power failed? What then, Doctor? Would you still deem him ‘no longer a threat’?”

  Vivian felt the wind go out of her sails and she slowly shook her head. “No.”

  “
Then there you have it.” Vickers stood at his full height and looked down at her. “Once he is essentially ‘cured’, he can be released. Until then, he is on lockdown.” He paused for effect. “Do I make myself understood?”

  She nodded. “Yes, Colonel.”

  “Excellent. Make it so.” He turned on his heel and disappeared.

  Vivian felt like her hopes had been crushed. She turned sad eyes to Charles and slowly shook her head. Although he hadn’t heard the conversation, he knew by the look in her eyes that his time was up.

  He gave her a tight-lipped smile and handed the notes to Dr. Broussard. He slowly turned and removed his lab coat. He said nothing as he entered the isolation ward and sat back on the same bed that he had cursed just days before.

  “What is happening?” Dr. Broussard asked as he stared toward the isolation ward. “Why has he quit?”

  Vivian placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “We’ll find somebody else to help you.”

  Broussard shook his head vigorously. “I want him. I realize that he carries the virus, but he is incredibly intelligent.”

  Vivian sighed, her eyes falling on Charles lying in the bed. “I’m afraid it’s out of my hands.”

  Broussard seemed to puff up. “Very well then.” He spun on his heel and waked back to his workstation. He began packing his things in the shipping containers.

  “Where are you going?” Vivian asked. “You can’t simply leave…”

  Broussard turned and pointed to the isolation ward. “If he cannot work out here, then I shall work in there.” He gave her a crooked smile and Vivian felt the first surge of hope that she had felt in a very long time.

  Slowly she nodded. “That sounds like a wonderful idea to me.”

  Simon yawned and stretched. He rolled slowly off of the memory foam mattress and reached for the empty bottle of scotch on the nightstand. He lifted it to his blurry eyes and paused. He shook the bottle, praying that his eyes were lying to him.

  He groaned as he dropped the bottle to the carpeted floor and padded his way to the other side of the room. He bent low and picked up his boots, the first real thumps of his hangover striking as he stood back up.

  He pushed the door open and staggered his way out of the bedroom and into the hallway. A scent he hadn’t smelled in a long time rose to greet him. He felt his brows knit as he made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. “What the hell?”

  Sinner shot him a smile and pointed to the plate. “Care for bacon and coffee?”

  Simon stared at the food and was befuddled with both confusion and wonderment. “Where the hell did you get this?”

  Sinner hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “The previous owner had one of those gas grills with the burner on the side. I used it to heat some bottled water for the instant coffee.” He finished chewing and swallowed. “The bacon was a parting gift from the folks at the compound. They made me a survival pack and I guess I picked the right one. Pre-cooked, vacuum sealed bacon. I just heated it on the grill.”

  Simon practically fell into the chair, his boots dropped to the floor beside him. “Smells like heaven.”

  Sinner pushed the plate closer to him and slapped his hands on the thighs of his jeans. “I’m done. You can have what’s left.”

  Simon’s mouth was watering before the first slice hit his tongue. He chewed slowly, savoring each morsel. “This is the bomb, man.”

  “I thought you might like it.”

  Simon’s eyes popped open. “What I’d like is another bottle of brown liquor and some fuckin’ aspirin.” He motioned toward the garage. “Grab me some from the truck, wouldja?”

  Sinner nodded and worked his way outside. He returned a moment later holding an AR-15. “Where’d you find these?”

  Simon smacked as he chewed. “A couple of houses down. Fucker had a shit ton of ammo. Those green army cans are stacked right behind the bed.” He grinned at Sinner. “Find one you like?”

  Sinner hefted the desert tan carbine and nodded. “I like this one just fine.”

  “Give me my fucking aspirin and the hootch and she’s yours.”

  He slipped back into the garage and returned a moment later, a liter of brown liquor and a plastic bottle of aspirin. “You should go easy on the alcohol, man. If we’re going to go against the locals, you’re gonna need your wits.”

  Simon twisted the cap off and took a long pull from the bottle. He sat back and sighed heavily. “That hit the spot.” He belched then stuffed the last piece of bacon into his mouth, chewing as he talked. “We ain’t facing them today. We need more shooters.”

  Sinner slowly smiled. “We might can track down a couple extra trigger pullers.” He spun the chair around and eyed Simon. “There were three other assholes that the locals dumped with me. If we can figure out where they headed, we might can conscript them into service.”

  “Conscript, huh?” Simon eyed the man warily. “You an educated convict or what?”

  Sinner sat back and gave him a stern stare. “There ain’t much else to do in the joint but read, lift weights and fuck with the guys weaker than you.”

  Simon finished chewing the last of the bacon and washed it down with the now cold coffee. He sighed as he leaned back in his seat and picked at his teeth with the Bowie knife strapped to his hip. He sucked at his teeth, his head slowly nodding. “You have any idea where we might find these fuck-chops?”

  Sinner hooked his head toward the garage. “Not far from where we ran into each other.”

  Simon tilted the liquor bottle back and took a very long pull, nearly chugging the fire water. He slammed the bottle down and belched as he screwed the lid back on. “Breakfast of champions.” He turned and gave Sinner an evil smile. “Let’s go shopping for assholes.”

  16

  Wally drove slowly through the residential areas. Hatcher and Roger scanned the areas on either side of the truck with binoculars while Hank literally rode shotgun in the rear of the truck. He leaned against the back of the cab, the shotgun slung over his shoulder while his hands steadied him.

  Hank banged on lightly on the cab of the truck and pointed to his left. “Port side. Rock wall.”

  Wally slowed the truck and Hatcher leaned out the rear seat window. Slowly he shook his head. “It’s only decorative. Look to the right. It becomes a vinyl fence that anybody could climb through.”

  Hank sighed and leaned toward Hatcher’s window. “Sorry, man. I thought we hit pay dirt.”

  “Good catch, though.” Hatcher tried to inject hope into his men. “We’ll find something sooner or later.”

  “Preferably sooner.” Roger muttered. He glanced toward Wally who nodded in agreement.

  The quartet pushed on, the chill of the morning air slowly giving way to the desert sun. Wally slowed the truck, his head cocking to the side. “Hatch…what do you think of old folks’ homes?”

  Hatcher’s face twisted as he turned in the seat and looked through the windshield. “That place is so open, Wally…it would never work.”

  Wally shook his head, his smile widening. “Not that place, man…” He spun in his seat and turned to face Daniel. “But I saw the sign and it reminded me of an assisted living joint that my aunt moved into.” Wally scratched at his chin, his mind trying to access memories he had stored in the cobwebs of his mind. “I may be way off, but I remember thinking that they took security really serious.” He snapped his fingers. “Yeah, I remember asking this gal that worked there and she said that it was in case one of the old timers slipped their meds or forgot where they was, they couldn’t escape.” He glanced to Roger then back to Hatcher. “If it can keep people in…”

  Hatcher slowly nodded. “Then it can keep people out.” He patted Wally’s arm. “Show me.”

  Wally put the truck into gear then held the brake. “I don’t want to admit this, but I’m not positive I remember. It was years ago man and…” He lowered his eyes. “I only went to see her once.”

  “Just do your best.” Roger coaxed. “Get
us in the general direction and we’ll hit the area with a grid pattern. We’ll find it.”

  Wally nodded and pulled out, accelerating as he drove across town. Hank held on to the back of the cab and only tried once to gain their attention when a housing addition roared by, a tall iron fence surrounding it. He actually liked the little guard shack at the entrance. He could see standing sentry inside that when it was raining.

  He sighed when the group didn’t even slow down. Hopefully they’d go by the place again on their way back and he could convince Hatcher to give it a once over.

  The truck slowed and Hank squinted in the distance. His eyes were still watering from the dart across town and he had to wipe at his eyes to clear them. He leaned toward Hatcher’s window. “I take it we came here on purpose. What are we looking for?”

  “Keep your eyes peeled for an old folk’s home.”

  Hank raised a brow. “Seriously? Man, they all smell like pee.”

  “Just look.”

  Hank groaned as he settled back, his eyes scanning the area.

  Roger patted Wally’s arm. “That’s not it, is it?”

  Wally stared past the man and shook his head. “I dunno. It has been a few years.” He turned the truck and headed down the block. As he approached the walled structure, he slowed and craned his neck to look past the rock wall. “That could be.” He shook his head and glanced in the rear view at Hatcher. “I’m sorry, Hatch. It’s been too long.”

  Hatcher shrugged out of his seat belt and opened the door. “Can’t hurt to check it out.”

  Hank stepped off the open bed of the truck and tugged the shotgun around and into his grip. “Please tell me we aren’t seriously looking at this place. They all smell like pee.”

  Hatcher smiled to himself as they pushed the wrought iron gate open. “This is an assisted living, not an old folks home.”

  “You say potato, I say French fries.” Hank fell into step behind him. “They all stink.”

  Roger held a hand up, his eyes scanning the shadows in the early morning sun. “Stay on your toes guys. We can’t be sure if a nest of Zulus have taken up residence.”