by T. W. Brown
“That, Steven, is why I’m entrusting my daughter to your care.” Randall folded his arms across his chest and fixed his most serious gaze on me. “In the event that this location is overrun and I’m unable to escape, I want to know I’ve given Emily the best chance of survival possible.”
My appraisal of this man changed. The look we shared said it all. He knew he would die here, but he was willing to risk everything. If, by holding out one more day, he improved some think-tank or governmental lab’s chances of finding a way to beat this or whatever…then he would do so. Randall Smith took his job seriously. It would appear that he took his responsibility as a father equally serious. In that moment, we both knew one thing with certainty. Randall Smith was a dead man.
“I’ll do my best,” I promised.
“I have no doubt.” Randall extended his hand, and we shook. That was the physical act of a vow made and accepted. With a final curt nod, he headed to the front door.
“Don’t you want that escort home?” I asked as he opened the door to a gentle gust of night air.
“No,” he turned with a smile that suddenly reminded me of a mischievious school boy, “I like to keep the sentries on their toes. Besides, I think I’ll pay Sergeant Wimmer a visit.”
With that, he left. I had no doubt in my mind that I’d never see Randall Smith again. I returned to the couch and flopped down. Reaching over to the coffee table, I grabbed my book, flipped to the bookmark and began to read.
***
The drone of my alarm clock woke me. Ten minutes later, Doctor Zahn arrived in the company of a sleepy-eyed girl with slightly Asian features. Her straight, black hair was cut shoulder length and poking out from underneath a dark green stocking cap. I ushered them in, and it was quickly decided that Emily could be put with Thalia. Once we had everything ready, the last thing would be to grab the girls.
Barry and Randi arrived with Jamie and Teresa. Aaron was next, followed by Dave who I noticed kept trying his hardest not to look at Doctor Zahn. Ain’t love grand? Last was Melissa, but she wasn’t alone. Sergeant Wimmer walked in behind her, and I felt the tension level in the room ratchet up several notches.
“Paul.” I walked up and shook the man’s hand.
“I’d like to wish all of you good luck.” Sergeant Paul Wimmer paused a moment to give the group time to relax a bit.
“Your vehicles are fueled and waiting. I figured that you might fare better with a pair of Hum-vees. Also, I have this.” He produced a map and handed it to me. “It has fueling locations marked based on our latest intel. The ones circled in blue have the least amount of traffic.”
“Traffic?” Dave Ellis seemed to suddenly snap out of his trance.
“Zombies,” Teresa said, not hiding her exasperation.
“Oh.” Dave glanced sheepishly at Doctor Zahn and quickly began polishing his glasses, though I doubted they had even the slightest smudge.
“Also, I have indicated in black the locations and general directions of the herds we are aware of,” Wimmer announced with emphasis.
“Thanks for everything, Paul.” I tucked the map inside my leather jacket’s inner pocket.
“Randall Smith conveys his best wishes as well,” Paul said.
Once again the tension in the room spiked. “It’s okay, folks.” Now was as good a time as any to reveal the surprise. “We’re bringing his nine-year-old daughter, Emily, with us.”
My gaze went around the room and I hoped it looked resolute. This wasn’t going to be a debate. It could have been some lingering issues playing in my head, but I thought I saw a touch of disapproval on Barry’s face for a moment. Still, nobody said a word.
“Y’all best get movin’.” Paul was suddenly as un-military as I’d ever seen.
“Y’all?” Doctor Zahn smirked.
“Right now I’m just Paul Wimmer, farm boy from Tennessee. If I was Sergeant Paul Wimmer, United States Army, I’d be preventing your departure,” he said with a broad smile.
“Can I ask a question…uh…Paul?” Aaron asked with more timidity than I’d ever seen in the boy.
“Shoot.”
“Do you think there’ll ever be a United States again?”
“If I didn’t,” Paul placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “I’d be leavin with you.”
“Time to get rollin’,” I announced. Gathering up all our things, we’d loaded out in just a couple trips. Patrolling sentries walked past us like we weren’t even there. I guess the word had gone out. On our last trip, we scooped up Thalia and Emily. I wondered how our departure would play among the general population. I was certain that Randall Smith and Paul Wimmer would put a nice spin on the situation. They’d keep the population calm and prevent any sort of mass exodus.
Doctor Zahn, Dave, and Melissa climbed in to the Hum-vee with me. Of course that was the vehicle we’d put Thalia and Emily in. Both girls managed to remain asleep as we got the vehicles started up and rolling through the main entry-gates. I was only a little surprised to discover Randall at the checkpoint shack with the man who opened the inner gate. He glanced in the back before coming to my rolled down window.
“There’s a Forestry Department service road about a half mile down. Take it,” he said. I noticed two things immediately: first, his voice had just a slight tremor, second, a line of perspiration was visible on his upper lip. “No matter what you hear, and that includes on your radios, don’t come back.”
“Take care of yourselves,” I said. Randall stepped back and I pulled forward into the sally-port. The Hum-vee with Jamie, Teresa, Aaron, Randi, and Barry nosed in behind us. The gate closed and, after a moment’s wait, the outer gate opened.
We rolled forward and emerged onto the two-lane road that served as the only way in or out of this pencil-dot-on-a-map of a town. The darkness swallowed our former home in seconds. I glanced up to see thick clouds roll in front of the moon.
The patrols had done an excellent job of dropping any roamers that may have been in the area. We saw absolutely no movement in our headlights as we drove down the gentle slope of the hill this town sat perched upon. We turned onto the service road, and were quickly engulfed by the canopy of a pine forest.
Less than five minutes out, we heard the first distinct sounds of gunfire. I slowed to a stop and dialed in what I knew to be the compound’s emergency frequency on my radio.
“…up from three sides!” That sounded like Anton Maxwell. I realized that I had seen very little of him since our arrival at Serenity Base. He seemed to prefer the company of the soldiers.
“…bring the heavy machinguns to the south wall…”
“…is that an armored Greyhound bus?”
“…RPGs incoming, I repeat RP—”
A few seconds later a series of muffled explosions sounded.
“Perimeter is breached on the south barricade,” the familiar voice of Sergeant Wimmer crackled on my radio.
“We’ve got undead inside the wire!”
So was it a herd, or was it raiders? Could it be both? What the hell was going on? The radio crackled to life, but whoever pushed the button hadn’t likely done so intentionally, because one of those screams sounded, follwed by wet ripping sounds, and the all-too-familiar moans of the undead.
The headlights behind me flicked, snapping my attention away from the radio. Everybody in the Hum-vee was staring at me with uncertainty. I switched the radio off and continued deeper into the forest along the heavily overgrown service road.
***
Morning found us parked on a ridge that allowed us to look into the tiny burgh of Kamela. This was the last known location of our friends Ian, Joseph, and Billy…along with the rest of their group.
The rising sun revealed the burned out vehicles we’d heard about, along with a scattered remnant of zombies walking among the charred husks and decaying corpses scattered on the ground.
To our north, a plume of dark smoke is clearly visible. The radio has been silent for over an hour. Whatever happened wasn�
��t good. The attack was by zombies as well as the living. I have no idea what that means, other than things are really bad.
Once we felt it was okay to stop, we all got out—except for the still sleeping little girls—and had a discussion. We would do our best to reconcile what has happened to our friends.
We’ve found this location, and it is far enough away from that dark smudge of a town that we should be able to observe things for a while. As I sit on the hood of this Hum-vee with a rifle across my lap I wonder…what do we expect to find? And, even if by a miracle we locate our missing friends and discover that they are alive…what do we do next?
17
Vignettes VI
“Pull in that line!” Thad shouted down to JoJo.
Keith was already hauling himself over the rail, having freed the final mooring line. The San Diego Freedom drifted slowly away from the dock. Once an elegant vessel used for dinner cruises, the San Diego Freedom had two levels. The lower was a windowed dining area with enough room to seat eighty. The upper was divided between the bridge, the kitchen area, and an open observation deck.
Thad was alone on the bridge. From there, he could see over the large fence—a fence he, Keith, and JoJo had covered with tarps so that the undead could not see in from the road that ran parallel to the waterfront. It was four lanes on each side with palm trees garnishing the divider island. There were what had to be hundreds of those things milling about. Wandering with no seeming purpose.
He pressed the button that would start the engines. Keith had been invaluable in giving everything a good going-over the past two days. This ship—or whatever it was at around a hundred-feet-long or so—was set up to be controlled with minimal crew. Most functions were automated to the point where very little manpower was needed to perform all the tasks necessary to get underway.
The rumble of the engines caused an immediate reaction outside the fences of the pier. In awkward, gradual, jerky motions, the zombies turned. Their focus began to shift to the direction of that noise. By the tens and hundreds they came up against those high fences, causing them to shudder.
Thad was grateful there were no other vessels in front or behind, because his rudimentary steering abilities would not allow for any fancy maneuvers. Easing the chrome handle—Keith identified it as the throttle—forward, the San Deigo Freedom began to move towards, and slowly beyond, the end of the long pier. Out into the San Diego Bay.
“There goes the fence!” JoJo yelled above the low thrum of the engines.
Thad watched as hordes of zombies poured into the confined space of the pier. All of them with outstretched arms—provided they had one or both arms remaining—stumbled forward in a vain attempt to reach this newly discovered source of possible food. A few of the leading zombies were forced over the edge, and into the water where they sunk from sight.
“So, you think Dinah’s ordered for us to be shot on sight yet?” Keith walked in through the open door that led to the port bridge-wing.
“First night we didn’t show up.” Thad turned the wheel just a fraction to the right as they reached the center of the bay.
“You really think we can make it all the way up to San Francisco?” JoJo asked as he came in through the opposite door on the starboard side.
“I won’t know what sort of gas mileage this thing gets until we’ve used half our fuel,” Thad answered.
“Well,” Keith plopped down in one of the raised chairs, “I think I’ve figured out how and where to take in fuel. The problem will be in coordinating the operation.”
“Maybe we can just find a quiet spot, drop anchor, and call it good,” JoJo said, leaning half in and half out of the doorway, bracing himself against the frame.
“I guess we’ve got plenty of time to figure it out.” Thad picked up his coffee cup, blew lightly across the surface, and took a sip. Even with all the supplies they’d loaded over the past weeks, the need would arise for them to venture ashore again. Still, that could be weeks, or even months from now.
Eventually, they rounded the bend and looked out into the open expanse of the Pacific Ocean. For the first time since this nighmare began, Thad realized he didn’t smell the stench of the dead…the undead. After another sip of coffee, he took a slow, deep inhale through his nostrils. Over the sounds of the engines and surf, he heard Keith and JoJo do the same.
***
Kirsten Malloy stared wide-eyed at the man who was currently busy rumaging through the pack of food she’d scavenged. Her face still stung from the backhanded slap he’d caught her with as she walked unaware through the doorway and into the room she’d been living in. He’d shoved her to the floor, then snatched her pack and commenced rooting through its contents.
“You know,” Kirsten’s anger had built enough steam to give her the nerve to finally speak, “I prob’ly woulda shared. Arturo and I lived together and shared with no problems.”
The stranger’s head popped up and snapped around to her. “Arturo?” he asked. She was surprised at the sound of his voice. She expected something much deeper and mean sounding.
“He worked here till all this…weird stuff happened,” Kirsten remembered her father and Philipé in a mental flash that made her voice crack just a bit.
“Where is this Arturo now?” the man asked as he pulled out a box that made Kirsten blush a bright shade of red. He examined the box of tampons, tossed it aside, and resumed digging through her pack.
“He’s…” Kirsten considered her answer. Could she lie convincingly and maybe scare this man away? “He’s out front.”
The man laughed. “So he’s one of them?”
“Look, take what you want and go. Take everything if you like. I’ll go out tomorrow and find more.” Kirsten watched the man tear open the bag of barbecue chips that she’d been very excited to find. Her mouth watered as she smelled the tangy saltiness. He plunged a grimy hand in the bag and stuffed a bunch of chips in his mouth. What a pig, she thought.
“I will be,” he said around a mouthful of chips.
“Will be what?” Kirsten stared longinly at the bag of barbecue chips. Her bag of barbecue chips.
“Taking everything I want.”
Something in the man’s voice, in his eyes, chilled Kirsten. The way he looked at her, his eyes never really looking into hers even when he stared ar her face, made her feel bad. It was the kind of bad she’d felt when Tricia, the lady who took care of the family’s laundry, had walked into her room a few months ago and found her lying on her bed with her hands down her pants. She’d been watching Oliver Gleason, the cutest boy in the senior class, as he finished cleaning their pool. He’d been wearing knee-length green shorts, and nothing else.
Kirsten became suddenly aware of the silence. She’d been thinking of Oliver and completely spaced. The man had stopped eating and was simply staring at her.
“I can smell you,” the man’s voice was soft and frightening.
“I ain’t been able to take my bath yet today,” Kirsten snapped, blushing fiercely once again.
The man dropped the chips and rose to his feet. He was so big! Kirsten scooted back without realizing it, until her back came in contact with the wall. He took a step forward, licking his lips like he was seeing something really tasty. Kirsten glanced around for what he might be seeing. She looked up, confused, and tried to follow his gaze.
It seemed to lead straight to her lap.
She looked up again. The man was unbuckling his belt.
“No,” Kirsten breathed as the realization hit her like a punch in the stomach.
Much quicker than his size should have allowed, the man lunged, grabbing Kirsten by the hair. She struggled, only to be punched in the side of the head so hard that the world flashed bright, then began to dim. She felt hands tearing at her clothes. She could smell his breath, hot and foul, on her cheek. With a rip and a yank, her pants were gone and Kirsten was on her stomach. Hands were in places they shouldn’t be. Then…
Kirsten screamed.
***
Garrett leaned against the wall, picking up the half-eaten bag of barbecue chips, and settled down to snack and finish going through the bulging backpack of food. Across the room, the girl continued to sob. It was raw and raspy sounding. Mostly due to all the screaming she’d done earlier.
Glancing down, he felt that familiar delight in seeing the bright red smears of blood surrounding his crotch. He’d already taken her twice. He’d never considered the possibility of virginity. Garrett knew from his momma that all girls were whores.
This one had begged for him to stop like all the others. For just a moment, his mind tried to wonder if Ennis—the son of her mom’s boyfriend when Garrett was just ten years old—had gotten so much excitement from his cries all those years ago in that abandoned house they’d been exploring. He fixed his eyes on the curled up girl and let her crying cleanse his mind of such things.
It’d been a few weeks since Garrett left his last “Toy” back at the baseball stadium. So he’d been ready to go again in moments. His decision to have normal sex had been based solely on things he’d learned from past experiences. For example, until he’d properly molded their absolute submission of spirit, the mouth was off limits.
Garrett was used to a certain amount of physical resistance in the initial moments. But this was something different that no amount of spit or blood could lessen. For just a moment he felt sadness. He’d never be able to re-create that instance. His mind replayed that moment when his little Toy had screamed that certain way as he broke though, finalizing his violation.
The freshness of the memory added to its vividness. The sobs were beginning to subside to a quiet whimper. Garrett smiled at the stirring between his legs. He knew from past experiences that this hunger would take considerably longer to satiate. At last, he could truly enjoy the event. He clenched both huge fists. It was time to begin the process of teaching this whore her place in his new world. A world where nobody could call the police just because they didn’t like him. Like when Kimmy Vanderwall said he’d been peeking in her window. The same Kimmy Vanderwall who let Jim Edder put his hand down her pants in the movie theater. The same Kimmy Vanderwall who left her curtains wide open when she changed clothes.