by Anthony Puyo
“They’re coming out of the woodwork,” Charlie utters.
“Too much noise!” Eva yells, in the direction of Bodo.
“We don’t have a choice, our cover is blown,” Bodo replies.
Rico blurts, “Let’s go with Jack! The military will save us.”
Charlie is the first to stand. “Everyone holster your weapons and keep your hands up.”
They follow Charlie, who jogs with his body hunched. Right after, gunfire erupts—blazing overhead.
Craig carries Ryan in his arms, Melissa runs by their side. Eva is last, behind Rico. She turns a few times to see if any infected were getting too close. Pushing her hand on Rico’s back, trying to hurry him. Every time she turns she is branded another memory. Blood, death, destruction are packed in the bullets that fly overhead. They tear apart everything: from the road, to metal, to glass, and the bodies of the targets.
The tough, Hispanic woman runs hard. Her braided ponytail swings from left to right. She pulls her handgun, taking down an infected that came from the side that was missed by the soldiers. She blasts another who comes from the other side. When she gazes back, she sees another is coming fast. This one, wields a spiked nailed piece of wood. Its nose and one of its eyes are missing. Dried blood is crusted all over his chin.
Eva stops. The infected takes a swing. She ducks under, shouldering it in the abdomen. No one else has a clue she’s in a fight except the soldiers.
“Should I take a shot,” Sergeant Brimm asks the Captain.
“No. Let her fight.”
Eva saddles on top of the infected. A left swing, a right. She has it dazed. She sticks her thumb it’s only good eye, bursting inside it. A wild swing from the crazy catches her on the chin, knocking her to the ground.
She quickly emerges, searching for her gun. The infected gets to its feet. It growls and swipes wildly in all directions. Eva glares at the blind monster as it yells. It slobbers and moves around aimlessly. What has this once normal person become? She feels pity.
That’s the difference between us, she thinks. For they would never feel pity. She finds her gun—points it. “Rest in peace.” The bullet nestles in its chest, sending it to its end.
At last it is over. They all make it to the convoy and go alongside Jack in front of the Jeep overseeing the large German looking man with blond hair and blue eyes. They would soon get to know the Captain. Robert Hawks will definitely see to that.
18
Uncharted Territory
The ride is bumpy, often slowing down to a stop. When this happens, gunfire is usually heard.
Two parallel benches stretched from the tailgate to the nose of the truck’s trailer with space in between. Craig sits close to Melissa and Ryan towards the front, while the others sit where they can. It was a full-boat as the expression goes. There’s the people from the milk plant, plus Bodo and Charlie’s crew. It’s cramped, hot, stuffy, not to mention it reeks of sweat and dirt.
Craig asks Ryan how he feels, but Ryan doesn’t hear; he’s too busy staring at the young Hispanic girl, same age, who sits by her mother.
“Ryan?” Craig says, with a bit louder tone.
Ryan turns this time, squinting his little brown eyes. “Huh?”
Craig reaches for Ryan’s ear muffs, wanting to remove them. Ryan alarmed, jukes his grab. “No, Dad.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
Craig squints his left eye and mouth and reaches for the muffs again. Ryan about to block his hand, doesn’t need to. Melissa grabs Craig wrist to stop his reaching.
“Let him be. He feels better with them on,” she says, in a stern voice. Naturally, it’s still sounds soft and sweet to a degree.
Craig smiles mischievously towards Ryan. “Your mother can’t protect you forever, kiddo.” Ryan puckers his face and mouth and sticks his tongue out at his father.
Melissa tugs lightly on Craig’s ear. “Are you threatening my child?” She gives him a playful disapproving look.
“Oh no, I would never . . . now that I know the boy’s got a hot mama.”
Melissa’s cheeks flush. They both enjoy a small kiss.
Ryan rolls his eyes, “Eww.”
The sun is halfway down as the convoy closes on its destination. Eva sits next to Chet; the cowboy trucker from Iowa, near the end of the trailer. It has an opening view of the next truck following closely behind.
“I’m not sure what to feel about this,” Eva states. The chiseled features of her face coincide with her concerned body language.
Chet etches a line into his mid-size sledgehammer with a small pocketknife. From the look of his face, he’s pretty consumed. He wears a jean vest over his sweaty sunburned flesh, and his beige cowboy hat is getting awfully worn. But Chet wasn’t the kind of man that was bothered easily. And that hat being worn, is just the way he likes it—it shows mileage.
The cowboy casually glances over to Eva. There was a calmness about him. “I didn’t mind having a boss when I drove cross country . . . Hell, I believe people need bosses. Someone to do and know all the things you don’t want to learn. Makes it simple sometimes. They tell you what to do, you do your job. You trust them . . . But I’m with you on this one. I’m not sure if these are the right people to be our boss. Are they the government? Or they just a bunch of yahoos with bigger weapons than us.”
Eva sighs. I sincerely hope not . . . For all our sake. “I liked the idea of heading out of town . . . The first two times. I guess the city has other plans for us.”
Chet tips his hat in agreement. “We’ll see what these boys can offer. If it don’t fit us, we’ll go on our way. For now, we can be cordial.”
The trucks begin to stop. Destination reached. Everyone straightens up, most stretch their limbs and backs.
There is no view to see where they’re at. The truck has a tarp cover with the only view at the tail where the tarp is flapped open. Craig, sees a small hole in the fabric and peeks through.
Melissa asks, “Where are we?”
“Fresno Community Hospital,” Craig answers, “On the Lawn.”
The CMRC is a ten story hospital in downtown Fresno. It’s the fifth largest in California, able to room over seven hundred patients in a single day.
The hospital grounds have an eight-foot brick wall around the south and West sides, parted only by an entrance street. The north side is the back area where staff parking is located. The shipping and receiving is located on that side too; underneath the back of hospital. And the east side of the place had its own entrance. It’s between two buildings that make a horseshoe driveway. This forces anyone coming in there to leave the same way. The place has great value with the foundation to be well protected on its own, and for a kicker; it has its own power.
The soldiers move swiftly to the back of each truck, letting everyone out. Captain Robert Hawks sets some men up to guard the vehicles and supplies. He has another couple of units sweep the outside of the hospital.
It’s dusk and light is dim, shrouding everyone and everything in a shadow.
Hawks gazes over the many civilians. “You over there,” he points, “And you two—come?” he says, gathering Bodo, Charlie, and Jack.
Bodo, not too happy being chosen, says, “I ain’t volunteering.”
Hawks snuffs at the words. A trouble maker?
He steps over to Bodo, a foot away and two inches taller. His face stiffens, “I’m not asking.” Robert looks the man up and down, “You will help unload our cargo.” After a brief moment, the Captain turns and walks, expecting the men he had picked to stay and the rest of everyone else to follow.
Charlie sees Bodo’s hands ball to fists. Not wanting escalation, he quickly tugs on Bodo’s elbow, “Let it go. It’ll be fine.”
The groups ascend to the revolving doors. Apparently, there’s people inside. The front doors, once made of glass, are all smashed out with furniture taking its place. Making a more solid barricade to keep out the unwanted.
&
nbsp; Robert Hawks proceeds closer, peering through crannies but not seeing much. He bends at the waist peeking through a six-inch hole. It looked purposely made. No sooner than he can witness anything, a shotgun barrel protrudes out.
A harsh jagged voice. “Get outta here, this place is taken!”
“I’m with the U.S. Army, you’ve just been saved. Now let us in.” Robert commands.
“Not a chance. We’re doing just fine here without the government. So you can move along, before I make your face to putty.”
Hawks gets away from the gun. “We can’t do that. The government needs us to restore order, and this place will be our base. Now, why don’t you take a look out that crack?”
The gun barrel slowly retracts. The person inside peeks through. He sees the soldiers, people, the vehicles, and the tank that sits on the grass.
Hawks continues. “The big one’s a problem solver. If you don’t open this place up, we will come in with force. Perhaps you feel you can stop us. Maybe you will succeed on killing a few. But we are better trained, have better weapons. For me, there is no doubt, you and whoever else is in there—will die. I would rather not kill you, or sit out here and make threats of doing so. I rather you comply like a good American citizen. Help contribute in this here war effort . . . I’ll give you a minute to decide your fate; hopefully—you will make the right choice.”
There is silence for a few seconds before an answer comes. “Shit—hold on.”
Within a few seconds a group of people begin removing the furniture which brings a grin to the Captain. Another victory. Pathetic civilians.
Once inside, it comes to the surprise of everyone how many people are in the building. After some thought, it makes sense. In the beginning of the incident, the hospital was a deathtrap. Always full, always awake. But after days had passed, destruction left it empty. Survivors, many with wounds, would naturally gravitate towards a place that has medicines and its own power supply. That’s precisely why the Captain desires the place.
Sergeant Gary Brimm is a stocky man who comes across shorter than he is because of his muscle and wide chest. He supports a buzz cut, chiseled features, a protruding oversized chin. He’s a very tough and loyal order taker.
Brimm is now second in command. The rifts between Staff Sergeant Blake Edward and Captain Hawks got him promoted, and Edward—well—he got demoted.
Gary Brimm stands next to the Captain in the middle of the lobby near the elevators. They scan over the rows of people which look to be more than a two-hundred. Most appear sick, malnourished. Many stay seated, not caring for the new arrivals. Plenty more lie hurt with others trying to care for them. There is people, kids too, who appear to be dead, sadly, they’ve seem to have gone unnoticed for some time. The living had even got use to the smell.
“What are we going to do, Cap? We don’t have the resources to care for all of them.” Brimm voices.
The Captain has a calculating way about him, he replies. “After we set up. We’ll make a plan. By then it’ll be after dark. We need to check the top floors of this place. Make sure everyone is accounted for before we do anything.”
Sergeant Brimm doesn’t understand what the dark has to do with anything, but he didn’t care to ask. Gary respects Robert. He put his faith into him. If the Captain had a plan, it would work. Brimm is certain of his leader.
Gary, about to walk away, is stopped by the Captain’s words. “When we’re finished, I need you to bring the guy with the shotgun to me. I want to know why he was hesitant on letting us in when the people here clearly need help . . . He couldn’t have known we had no intentions of assisting them.”
“Yes sir, Captain.”
After an hour of clearing the top floors, Gary finds the man with the shotgun whose name is Allen. He’s a bald Caucasian wearing a red ball-cap, has a bushy beard with freckled cheeks, and has skinny limbs connected to a large, round belly. He stands in the corner of the packed lobby with a small group of people with guns and other weapons.
“You, sir, what's your name?” Brimm asks politely.
Allen, standoffish in demeanor, “Why do you want to know?”
The others in his group, stare at the bulky man with despise. They straighten their backs, caress their guns, making it known they’re not fond of his presence. Brimm grins in return, almost mockingly. He doesn’t scare easily.
“The Captain has some questions for you. Your name is optional.” Brimm glares at the others again. It didn’t occur to him before, but they all wear bandanas around their triceps. “You should come with me?”
“I don’t have anything to say to you or your Captain. I would prefer you leave me be.”
A smirk crosses the Sergeant’s face. “The Captain is not a man you want to ignore, but if you insist on seeing his ways of getting information, so be it.”
Gary begins to leave.
“Wait?”
Brimm turns.
Allen shakes his head and sighs. “The name is Allen. I’ll talk to your captain.”
“Wise choice, civilian.”
The top floors are cleared of people. There is less than a hundred who wanted to be away from the rest. They tried to make it their home. It was perfect for them on top, happy to have beds to sleep on. But they were all thrown out, forced to go to lobby with the others. The Captain wanted to be able to keep a constant watch on them. So he and his men took the second floor. There they set up base. Using the upper floors for sleep quarters and storage. At the moment, there was no reason to go up further than three floors.
Hawks sits next to private Villa behind the second floor staff counters. This is where the war room is being placed. The young private gets the CB-radio up and running.
A high pitch tone and static irritate their ears.
“That’s not normal, Private.”
Villa wiggles his finger in his ear. “Sorry, Captain. There’s some interference.”
“No shit. What is it? That weird sharp sound.”
“Not sure. Hold on.” Villa tinkers with it, moving the cables behind the box. Nothing seems to make the noise much better. “Just try and talk. See if it works.”
Hawks’ eyebrows sharpen down, “Jesus,” he pushes the call button, “Lieutenant Green, this is Captain Hawks of battalion five, do you copy?”
The sharp sound comes in waves. A slight break of static. “Copy that, Captain, this is Officer Lesko. Lieutenant Green and Captain Bay, I regret to inform you, are no longer with us.”
The reception is bad, but Robert made out what they said. Hawks holds the radio down for a few second, digesting the bad news. “Sorry to hear that. What is your location, Officer Lesko, and how’s your unit holding up?”
“We have control of the airport in Visalia. Casualties were high getting here and defending the zone. We were told by General Bragg to hold our position. Choppers will be sent with reinforcements. He didn’t give a specific time frame.”
“You heard from the General himself?” The Captain sounds surprised. He was in the understanding that the government had failed in its attempts to corral its forces. “Did he brief you on progress of the war?” He hoped for failure. Total, unprecedented failure.
“The news wasn’t positive, Captain.”
Great! Hawks thinks.
“The General has opted for missile deployment on all major cities. But there’s been a problem. There is an unidentified source causing magnetic electrical resonance in the air, reaching from seven thousand feet and up. It’s falling lower, and it’s global. Our jets have been hindered, computers, communication, GPS, and radio signals too.”
“Interesting. What is the response to this?”
“Nothing at the moment. We’re limited on resources. The General said they’re going to work on it, but he insisted it’s not what we need to worry about. There’s too much work on the ground that needs to be done. We need to stabilize the enemy presence in the cities. Even if we have to bomb them. Unfortunately, we’re not first on the list for reinforce
ments. I was told major cities were going to get assistance first. The General told us pass it along, to hold tight till aid arrives. But who knows when that will be.”
“Very well then. In the meantime, we will try to contact General Bragg ourselves.”
“You’re lucky to have reached me, Captain. The signals have weakened all over. So there won’t be much luck contacting the General or anyone else who isn’t fifty miles of you. And we may not have that radius for very long. If the past days are any indication, it’s highly possible communication will go dark in the days forward. My advice is to hold your ground the best you can, like we’ve been told. But if you see them choppers, you get gone, they’ll be coming to burn the city down.”
Lapdog. “You be sure to let any personal you get in contact with know where we’re stationed: Fresno Community. I need word before any things dropped on our heads. You copy that, Officer Lesko?” You fucker!
“Yes sir, but be advised—only if I can.”
Hawks hands-over the radio. He’s upset with the murky situation. The more he thinks about it, the more he wanted control. It bothers him that he could possibly obtain it, but only to have it stripped away. He settles. Looking at the positive only.
It will be a win, win as long as I succeed. I’ll be the leader of the city or a war hero. Nothing wrong with either.
“Captain?”
Gary Brimm stands in front of the staff counter—Allen to his side. “The man you wanted to see.”
Hawks stares up at the two. He gets up heavily and walks over, not feeling as spry as he did before the radio conversation. After introductions, they walk into a patient room. One that’s been converted to a living quarter for Hawks. An office desk was put in there for his use, and that’s where they meet.
The tall, strong, intimidating Captain sits with his arms folded behind his head. Sergeant Brimm and Allen sit across from him—formally. Robert doesn’t say anything for a few moments; he just stares casually at Allen. Which made the balding man feel uneasy, he tries to conceal it with empty eyes.