by Anthony Puyo
“Don’t take it the way it sounds, honey. What I mean is, the world is ugly now. We were lucky. What if something happened to Ryan? What if one of us, Ryan included, had turned like the infected? What if we had to put each other, or him, down? It’s horrible to even think about. That’s what I mean.”
“I didn’t think of that. Maybe you’re right. That would have been horrible. I wouldn’t be able to bear it, if you or Ryan were infected. It’s scary now. Having him in this environment. It makes me think . . . Will you promise me something, Craig?”
Craig kisses Melissa’s nose. “Of course, baby.”
“Regardless of what happens, promise me you won’t let anything happen to Ryan? Promise me you will always protect our baby? Give him a future?”
Craig kisses Melissa’s trembling lips. “I won’t let anything happen to him.”
“Promise me?”
“Yes, honey, I promise. I swear it. He will have a future.”
Melissa kisses Craig passionately, as if to seal her faith in his words. She then holds on to him, finally letting the weight of her stress go; knowing in her heart, she could count on Craig to fulfill her wish if he had too.
It’s passed noon, and the beautiful reunion between Craig and his family is all but over. So once again, survival takes center stage.
Everyone gathers in the garage. They are a group now and there’s much to discuss. They talk about many things. Some had many things to say, while others didn’t, but regardless, everyone took part.
The new arrivals share their stories and experiences from the old and new world. They ate, drank, laughed and strategized. Time is ticking closer to evening and a plan had to be made for the next day, because the lack of food and water was going to be a problem soon.
“How much ammo you guys got?” Charlie asks, standing a few feet away from Bodo who sits in a chair next to a small table sharpening his combat knife.
“Were pretty limited. I got sixteen rounds myself.”
Chet, sitting on a laid out tire, inserts. “I got about thirteen in my rifle and five in my hand gun.”
Bodo turns to his people: Rico—the skinny tattooed Hispanic, Eva, and Jason—the monotone chubby twenty-nine-year-old who wears glasses. “How much y’all got?”
One by one they answer. In total they had less than a hundred rounds. The big winner is Doc; he has forty rounds. The big loser is Craig, he has two. Knowing how many rounds they have is critical; they didn’t want their gun to make a click sound in the middle of a fight, and being that it was unlikely they will find a gun shop not already looted, the use of firearms had to be a last resort. The alternative is hand weapons, and Bodo and Charlie make sure everyone has one.
“So what’s our move? Are we going to find another place to stay?” Rico asks, staring in the direction of Bodo and Charlie. Since the two of them have taken the roles of leaders.
Charlie, in response, glances over at Bodo for the answer. “It’s your group, it’s your call.”
“We definitely can’t stay here.” He gazes over the group as a whole. “If there are any ideas, say ’em.”
Jack, the short, dark haired pilot, stands outside of the circle observing with his hand up to his pointy chin. “Where’s the nearest military base? That would be the way to go.”
Bodo seems to disagree almost instantly. He folds his arms, tilts his head back. “The military? I’m not sure they’re even around. If they are, how can we trust them? For all we know, they’re the cause of all this mess.”
Jack reiterates calmly, “I know the movies always put the government at fault, but I can assure you, this isn’t the case. If the military is organized in this area, we should join them. With what’s outside this building, it could be our only chance for survival.”
Charlie turns to Jack, it brought back what they had talked about this morning. “You can’t say that for sure, Jack. The government had you on a secret mission for Christ sake. I’m not saying the administration was involved, but we can’t say they weren’t.”
Bodo and others in the room who were not in on that conversation, grumble.
Bodo, unsatisfied, asks, “Secret mission? What the hell you two talkin’ bout?”
Jack stares at Charlie with daggers in his eyes. “It’s not what it sounds like. My mission was reconnaissance and investigative. That’s all. I was never told anything else.”
Rico, leaned up on the back door of a broken car, replies, “Why didn’t they tell you, man? That sounds a bit fishy, don’t you think?”
Again, there’s grumbling amongst the group.
Jack gets defensive. “They don’t tell us because they don’t want the information being leaked, compromised, or worse—like falling into the wrong hands. Sometimes they don’t tell us for our own protection. Imagine someone kidnapping you for the information, and ransoming it. I know that sounds far-fetched, but there are people that can’t be trusted. There are people that don’t have our best intentions among their own. Especially now.”
Everyone gets quiet. Jack answered with conviction, and in ways they have not thought of. Then. For whatever reason. Jack feels it’s necessary to bring Isabell into it.
“Just ask Isabell over there. She can attest to how people can’t be trusted.”
Isabell, who was looking at Jack talk, puts her head down in shame as everyone looks towards her. With the exception of Charlie, Doc, and Craig, the group didn’t understand what Jack meant.
Jack continues, “I’m sorry everyone, but sometimes information should stay classified until due time.”
Isabell snivels.
Doc and Craig feel it is tasteless of Jack to use Isabell’s experience to strengthen his point. But Charlie—he’s down right offended by it.
“What’s your problem, jerk? You don’t have to be an ass to make a point,” he argues.
Sensing her sorrow, Eva goes over to Isabell as does Melissa. They gather around her, trying to comfort her.
Eva says. “It’s your choice, you don’t have to say anything you if you don’t want to.”
Isabell, arms around herself, noticeably upset. She chooses not to hide behind her fear of shame. She gazes at Jack with grit in her eyes. “Everyone I knew was either dead or missing. I ran from my house. I had no one. I was scared—hungry. I slept behind a dumpster, in bushes; wherever I could. I ate what I could find, food you wouldn’t have given to a beggar. Every moment awake, I thought I was going to die.” Isabell struggles in tone. It’s tough to recount the pain of her not-so-distant memories.
She continues, “I was digging in a trash can behind a restaurant. The food was rotten, but it was all I could find. One of those things, those monsters, must have saw me or heard me. It came for me; throwing me to the ground. I thought It was over. If I knew what was going to happen to me from there . . . I would have let it kill me. But I struggled with it. Then a man came. His name was Grace. He slayed it. At the time, I was grateful. But I found out quickly, he didn’t do it to save me. He did it . . . he did it . . . he did it to rape me.” Isabell begins to cry out, putting her head onto the shoulder of Eva who comforts her by patting and shushing her like a mother does to a baby.
After a moment, Isabell calms herself. The group is in remorse, but no one dared stop her, she made it clear; it was her choice to tell it. Jack, himself, feels terrible, he had no idea her story was going to be so dreadful when told in detail.
“Grace was a horrible person. He took me with a small group of men. It wasn’t just me, they had other girls. Poor Misty, they really hurt her. Those pigs raped us. All of them did. They didn’t care. They treated us like we were nothing . . . Like we weren’t even people! They would say to us they were going to keep us till they grew tired then sell us to others. We we’re pinche cattle!”
The story reverberated in the hearts of the group. Sobering them up to the ugliness of their fellow man.
Jack steps in against his own advice, he wants the group to understand the government has their reasons for
secrecy. So with the group in a vulnerable state of mind, he tells them. “That’s why the government keeps secrets.”
Charlie gazes over at him, bothered by his careless ways. If he was like Jack, not knowing any better, he would go over and belt the slimy bastard across his face. But he keeps his composure, not wanting to take the light away from Isabell’s feelings.
Bodo sighs. “I tell you what we should do. We should leave the city, find land we can cultivate, make a living . . . the old way.”
Jack steps in again. “We need to locate the military!”
Bodo hears Jack but gazes towards Charlie. “And what do you think?”
Charlie puts a hand up to his chin. This is something he thought about. His views had dramatically changed over time. The whole ordeal has resurrected him in a way that had been buried for a while. He wants what they want. Peace.
The beret tightens his lips and his eyes. He knew his decision could be the deciding factor for everyone, and he didn’t want to be wrong. “Leave the city sounds the best. Like Jack says, we can’t trust anyone. But I rather trust in you, than men I don’t know who will be heavily armed with a lot of power.”
Jack’s posture deflates. “You’re making a mistake. We won’t be able to survive on our own.”
“You’re free to go your own way and look for the military,” replies Bodo. Jack scoffs, shaking his head.
Bodo scans over the group. “Who doesn’t want to leave the city, raise your hand?”
Only Jack’s hand goes up.
“It’s unanimous. Looks like we’re leaving, y’all.”
“When?” asks Craig.
“Now is as good as time as any,” he answers, then shouts out in the room, “Let’s get it together everyone. Get what you need, what you can carry, and let’s move before sundown.”
17
A Twist of Fate
The sun is at its peak, and there are few clouds to stumble its rays. It’s hot, but the weather is the least of the groups worries.
They walk in pairs in a straight line. The leaders keep their eyes peeled while some of the younger minds, like Rico and Jason, talk as they walk, not paying attention to their surroundings.
The goal is to find some food and water on the way out of the city. They’re headed southwest towards the minute farming towns. Anything on the outskirts with ample supply of food and water with few, if any, infected is preferable.
Most towns out of Fresno are small. They have populations less than a few thousand, some with only a few hundred. These towns are many and in all directions surrounded by agriculture that stretches for miles. The lands are mostly flat with perfect soil to grow grapes, figs, oranges, and just about every kind of nut. And a large number of these farms have livestock. A good portion of the world's food supply comes from the fertile lands of the San Joaquin Valley.
The plan to leave the city isn’t a bad one. Considering food distribution has come to a halt and what’s remaining could get scarcer. The group’s hope is that the threat of the infected is probably less outside Fresno. It absolutely made sense to Bodo and the rest of the group to head for the only food source that is still going strong. They could learn to farm, and there are always critters around vegetation they could hunt, if they couldn’t raise any livestock. The more they thought about it; the more logical it felt. If they could make it out there, the healing could begin and life could move on.
Bodo has the sleeves of his t-shirt folded up, exposing his large muscled arms. He has his shades on, as does Chet. They both lead the way. Bodo carries his automatic weapon on his back with a bat swinging from his left hand. Chet carries a mid-sized sledge hammer.
Most of the men’s faces are stubble, and everyone’s clothes are dirty. How a simple thing like a shower and toothbrush would be greatly appreciated. But like many other things undervalued, no one notices their importance till they’re gone or inaccessible.
Chet hears something. He sticks his arm out—halting the others behind him. They crouch down. “Everyone be quiet,” he shouts in a whisper. Chet looks towards noise, tilting his cowboy-hat toward the sound of a light rumble. “Hear that, man?” He asks Bodo.
“Sounds heavy . . . A truck?” Bodo replies.
The sound gets louder with every passing moment.
Chet counters, “Heavier!”
A rattle is heard. Chet looks in its direction. A soda bottle dances, falls, and rolls off the curb giving a clink when it hits down.
The Iowa man turns swiftly towards the others. “Get back, down, against the wall.”
They get well hidden by a damaged car that sits crashed up on the sidewalk in front of them. The windows of the places around began to vibrate.
Charlie, stares over at Doc and whispers, “Sounds like a M1A1.”
Doc smirks. “Man, you should have been on America's Got Talent. You the only one who would know that.”
Charlie grins, “Watch!”
Peeking through the damaged car, about two-hundred-fifty feet in front of them, towards a four-way stop sign, the barrel of a tank appears followed by the rest of it. Behind it is a cavalry of other vehicles. Including four army-trucks. They slow and stop behind the four-way. The buildings conceal the rest of the squadron.
Bodo and the group are astonished. They creep towards each other, conversing about the sight. Emotion is high. Some of the group are scared, while others change their views.
“Maybe we should say something,” Rico says, “Look at those weapons!”
“No! They will probably shoot us,” Eva responds.
“I’m with the kid. With that military might, things will get under control in no time,” blurts Jack.
“I like our original plan, Craig,” Melissa utters to him.
“Wow, Dad! That’s a big tank!” Ryan interrupts.
They stay out of the line of sight of the military, but some, mostly Jack, want to yell and head towards the vehicles.
There is a slight argument with what the pilot wants to do. Bodo and Chet, among others, are against it totally. It didn’t matter to Jack. Charlie grabs for his arm, but Jack pulls it away with a defiant look. He wanders out onto the street waving his hands.
“Over here, we’re over here!” he yells, dressed in his pilot jumpsuit.
“Damn you, Jack,” Charlie grumbles.
Craig, crouched against the wall by Melissa and Ryan, says, “Wait here.” He moves over to where Bodo, Chet, and Charlie are. “What the hell is he doing? This isn’t part of the plan.”
Bodo, staring at the determined pilot who is waving on the street, answers Craig angrily. “The idiot just took off . . . We should plant one in him before they do.”
An army jeep drives out from where it couldn’t be seen. It goes out onto the street, in front of the four way, facing Jack. Three people inside: two dressed in military field gear, the third wore a captain’s hat with his solid color brown attire.
“Over here! I’m Air-Force! I’m not infected!” Jack glances over to where the others are. He notices the irritated looks on their faces. “Come on. It’s safe. Trust me, this the best thing for us.”
Jack begins to march towards the convoy, roughly fifty yards away. The man in the captain hat points a sniper rifle in his direction. Jack’s face slowly frowns with fear.
“The passenger is pointing a rifle,” Craig shouts. At the same time the other visible soldiers begin to lift their rifles. “They’re going to shoot him!” Craig says with urgency in his voice. He begins to stand. Charlie quickly pulls him down.
“It was his choice, Craig,” Charlie remorsefully replies.
They all look on in shock. The tension builds. All of a sudden—total silence—the quiet before the storm.
The Captain’s finger goes on the trigger, Jack’s eyes widen. Then . . .
Bam! Reload. Bam! Reload. Bam! Reload
Out of the broken shop window, from the other side of the street, a person is seen moving. She comes forward, slowly, then falls over the jagged glass o
f the frame. As she halfway hangs out, a large knife falls from her hand.
The way everyone gazed at the sight, was as if a great revelation had been witnessed. The woman was an infected, they all know that now.
Just then—a horrible, sharp scream lets out from the same building. Another infected woman, this one hobbled, pushes open the door violently. Her leg displays a huge laceration. She looked to be a secretary in her mid-forties. The twisted woman heads towards Jack—rage on her face, hammer in her hands.
“Die!” she yells. It’s hopeless for her. She couldn’t move very fast, but she’s determined. A shot whistles through the air, striking the woman on one side of her head, splatting blood out the other. The body falls with a thud, convulsing on the pavement.
Craig covers Ryan’s eyes, shielding him from the center-stage grotesque scene.
The rest watched with forms of displeasure, except Rico. He admired the marksmanship, and it expresses through his gleaming face. He taps Jason’s shoulder, “Did you see that shit!”
Jack timidly moves back, keeping his focus on the dead lady. His mind is in a mist and only breaks when he backs up against an abandoned car . . . so it looked like. A hand reaches out, grabbing his waist from the passenger window. He grunts in fear. The pilot tares away from the grip. Turning onto his assailant. He quickly pulls his pistol, letting out a shot that lit up the inside of the car.
Another infected, who must have been in hibernation, opens another damaged car’s door—sluggishly getting out. The infected is a skinny Indian man who appears terribly weak. He stumbles as he walks towards Jack.
“They’re starting to wake,” Bodo shouts.
Chet replies, “What do we do?”
“Nothing yet. It’s under control. Besides, they look sick; maybe starving.”
The weak, skinny infected took two steps before Jack unloaded six shots, killing him. “Fuck! Out of ammo.” He holsters his gun and jets towards the military, looking back several times.
More infected start to creep out from buildings and parked cars down the street.