by Anthony Puyo
“That does not look natural,” Charlie replies.
“Weapons, men. Deadlies at twelve and two o'clock,” Gary shouts, looking in the rearview mirror.
Charlie loads the shotgun he chose to take on this mission, “Ready, men?” he says to Jack and Bodo, receiving nods in return.
The Hummer slows down. The road up ahead is almost completely barricaded by vehicles.
Kelly, map in hand, reads the targets circled in red ink. “Let’s take care of them and set up some mines before we head west of here.”
Eli Kelly is twenty-five, hairless face, brown hair, brown eyes, and thin in build. There was no picking him out of a crowd. Average looks maybe, but he’s a smart kid. Never seen the likes of battle before it hit the base in Lemoore. That was a sobering experience for him, but he took it well.
Charlie charges out of his door, aiming and blowing a hole in an infected that is crawling over a hood of a car. A few feet away with a machete, Bodo decapitates an infected that charges with a tin bat.
“I see movement behind that truck!” Jack day points to a Ford crashed up against a FedEx van.
The guys gape over that way. Charlie kneels down to see under the automobile. There’s a foot near the back tire.
Bodo blurts, “Is he actually taking cover?”
“Come on out and take your medicine like a man?” Brimm shouts towards the vehicle, his automatic weapon aimed to kill.
“Five against one, the odds are not in my favor,” the man’s voice behind the crashed truck rings out.
Bodo turns to Brimm, “He’s too smart to be an infected.”
Brimm yells towards the truck. “If you are not an infected, come out? We won't shoot.”
“I am not one of you vile creatures. I destroy the likes of you!”
The guys give blank stares to one another.
Charlie, lying flat on the ground, pulls the handgun from his waistband, aims, and takes a shot at the exposed foot. The shoe top tears bubbling with blood. The foot doesn’t move nor is there any sound of pain.
“Look at that? It knows to hide so it won’t die, but yet he doesn't feel any pain. They’re learning . . . evolving.” Charlie states.
Brimm barks out. “Fuck it! There’s no time to play scientist. We got to hurry, more will be coming, and we still have mines to set. According to this map, there’s a gas line a block away from here.”
Charlie sarcastically replies, “Brilliant plan, burn down the whole city.”
Bodo smirks in agreement.
Brimm ignores Charlie’s tone, “Bodo, go kill that undesirable. Kelly will watch your back.” He looks over to a kneeling Charlie, “Me in you will set the mines. Jack, stay here; grease anything that moves.”
They all go to work, moving fast.
Robert gazes out his room widow from the second floor. Gun fire erupts loudly throughout and is getting closer to downtown. He grins devilishly.
My plan is beginning to take shape.
The violence that seemed to de-escalate in the city the last few days, is reigniting. This time by the army and its new recruits. The people, under the control of Robert and his regime, are finally pushing back. They’re uniting, coming together cohesively.
22
A New Way Out
The hospital is thinning out as more groups of civilians and soldiers exit to fight. The vibe of the whole place roller coasters on a high dose of tension.
Sounds of war outside resonate inside the building, causing more alarm and panic for the platoons who haven’t left for battle yet. As they wait, their faces smear with terrified expressions.
Mothers hang on to sons and daughters, while husbands hang on to them all. Plenty of crying came of the uneasy, nervous people. Some of the uniformed share the same anxiety. For many, it is their first taste of war. The battle at the base was immense, but it fails in comparison to what they’re about to be involved in.
The loud bursting in the background shows no end, and a few of the civilian-recruits reading to deploy, can’t take it, they soil their clothes where they stand.
As the moments pass, the fear keeps rolling in the building, similar to a creeping fog, engulfing the minds of the waiting heavy and thick. Like a haze, it blurs the vision and heightens the senses. Only a few are unfazed. They are the hardened, confused, angry, and borderline insane.
On the nearby streets, images captured by the restless eyes reflect the black and white photos seen in Time Magazine in past wars. All the blood, sweat, pain, horror—is real. The scene; by true definition, is ungodly. And the ones who didn’t know before are getting to know. If they found themselves alive after today, and longer, the heinous memories will never leave them. And like the many men and women in the armed forces past who saw the likes of battle; they would long to forget the casualties of it. For the survivors of ghastly conflicts would later realize; that a part of them died on the plains of such places, and miserably, they would be forever trapped there.
Even with all the technological weapons that have evolved in the country’s defenses, most of it is useless. For this war resembles a combination of World-War-One and the Mexican Revolution. Where straight fire power, generic hand explosives, and grabbing anything around to swing and chop, are the tools of survival.
The remainder of the group consisted of Craig, Melissa, their son Ryan, Doc, Eva, Rico; the tattooed youngster, Jason, Chet, and the nineteen-year-old Isabell.
Most, but not all of them, sit together in a circle, Indian style, hoping not to be taken away.
Doc is leaned up against a wall, in his own world, cleaning his AK-47. Nothing bothers him the way it does the others. Even the sounds from outside. If anything, it appears to relax him. The same way symphony music can sooth a baby.
Rico and Jason on the other hand, are nowhere to be found, but the group isn’t worried. The two had gotten closer since leaving the bricked safe haven. They weren’t that close in age, Rico being twenty-one and Jason twenty-nine, but their personalities were somewhat compatible.
Jason was buried in comics and games most of his life. He was a sheltered person, both physical and in mind; a prime factor of his immaturity. Rico, too, is immature, mainly because of his age. He’s the vocal of the two. He made notice of Jason, and the twenty-nine-year-old took it as a friendship—a rare thing for him.
Rico sees it differently. He likes playing the leader, and with Jason, he now has a follower. One that will feed his ego by laughing at his jokes, hearing his juvenile thoughts, and fetching things. You could say It's a match made in ignorance.
Seven-year-old Ryan, is clearly worried—wincing from the outside bombardment. He sits by his mom, wearing his blue jacket. It came in handy with the sudden cold air drifting in. He also has his earmuffs, that he seems to never take off.
The young boy has his father’s dark-brown, almond-shaped eyes. His mother's small mouth, heart-shaped lips. His hair is straight and dark, kept in strands of four inches. Any longer than that would not be desirable by his dad. Craig felt Ryan’s angel face with longer hair would make him look like a girl.
Eva always wanted a child of her own, but now in beginning her forties crusade, she couldn’t envision it—not in this world. She was already having doubts before the event. So now, it just seems unfathomable.
She gazes at Ryan. He sits there with nervousness and anxiety in his mother’s arms. It touches Eva to see how Melissa watches over him. She could tell Melissa’s a good mother.
“Want to play a game?” Eva asks Ryan, figuring it will help ease his concern.
The child looks at Eva. The first thing he notices is her strong looking arms, but when he gets to her face, she bears a teeth showing smile.
“What kind of game?” he questions.
Eva sits beside him. “Thumb wrestling,” she sticks out her hand, “Have you heard of it?”
Ryan grins. “I know that game! I’m really good too.”
“Are you? Let’s see what you got?”
They bat
tled it out for a few seconds; Eva knowing she could win whenever she chooses, but she instead let’s Ryan beat her in dramatic fashion.
“Wow, you are good!” Eva pats his head.
“Thanks!” the child expels. For the time, Ryan forgets about outside. “Rematch?”
“Sure,” Eva smiles brightly, “but take it easy on me.”
They play a few more times with all the outcomes being the
same. Melissa watches the whole time, relishing in her son’s innocents. He’s the one thing not tainted that’s left from the old world and belongs to her.
“Mom, I’m hungry,” Ryan says.
“It’s late.”
“But my stomach keeps growling.”
“I’ll see if the army-men can give you something,” she replies. Melissa’s eyes support puffy dark circles. She’s really tired. It also shows in her movements. As a mother—a very protective mother—she carries more stress than she has to.
Eva stops her from getting up. “I’ll take him—well, if you don’t mind?”
Melissa surprised in tone, “Oh, okay. Do you want to go with Eva, deer?”
Ryan lights up. “Yeah! Can we play thumb wrestling on the way? I’ll give you a chance this time.”
“Sure thing, but let’s get something in your belly first.” The two walk off holding hands.
Rico and Jason stand, observing out a broken window onto the city, smoking. They’re on the fourth floor. The sly youngster bribed the guard with a few smokes to get the view.
That high up, the chaos is defined. The fires, mayhem, and death put a flare in Rico’s eyes; it excites him.
“There comes a time in a man’s life when he has to prove himself,” Rico flicks his cigarette out the window. He snivels some snot after his words, turning to Jason,” You know what I’m saying, man?” Jason has no idea but nods to appease.
Moments later, Rico begins to dig in his back pocket. “I’m sorry, Jason, but it’s your time, yo,” he says, in a deathly manner.
Jason doesn’t understand. The emptiness in Rico’s eyes makes him uncomfortable. Some fear sets in. Rico’s hand shines as it pops out. Jason flinches! The glimpse of the metal object horrifies him. It appears dangerous.
Rico begins to laugh. It’s nothing more than a flask in hand. “You should've seen your face, yo. That was funny! What did you think I was going to do, shoot you, stab you?” He takes a swig, giggling in between, “Jason, I have to question your toughness. You looked a little queer, I’d have to say,” he stretches out his hand with the flask. “Here, man, have some. It’ll put some hair on your balls. Make you a man.”
“I have hair there already.”
“Dude that’s gross. It was just a figure of speech, dork. Just drink. The less you talk the better.”
The chubby man-child stands wide chested, throws his head back and gulps the drink down. Streams roll out each side of his mouth, landing on his large protruding stomach.
Rico’s impressed with the swig Jason takes. He wouldn’t have believed the “Dude” as he would say, would have such a grizzly appetite for drink.
Rico blurts, “Whoa, kid, take it easy. You got to crawl before you can walk. Know what I’m saying?”
Jason hands the drink back to Rico before rubbing his eyes under his glasses. In monotone fashion, he asks, “What should we do?”
“That’s a good question, my man.” Rico stares out into nothingness—fixating on a plan. And from the look of his empty wide eyes, it must be sinister.
“We need to see the Captain. Get on his good side. There’s no doubt that dude runs the show. He’s a bad mother-fucker too. And I know the others don’t like his vision, but let’s face it, their plan was shit. What did they think we were going to do—find a farm and live all green acres like. That crap was stupid . . . But the Captain, man, now he’s—he’s going somewhere, you know? He’s got it all figured out. We need to roll with him. Because when he gets things all under control, he’ll reward us for being loyal. We could do whatever we want, have whatever we want.”
Rico takes another swig, still glaring out into nothingness. Crooked in stature, caused partially by the drink, his thoughts become lustful images of her. Hispanic just like him, older, athletic, firm body, strong, sexy. Rico’s mind always runs wild when he thinks of her.
He often visualizes Eva naked, wanting him. He imagines cupping her perky breast, rubbing her nipples with the inside of his thumbs, licking her chiseled abs from the bellybutton to the top of her rib cage. She mostly appears in his fantasies wearing only a black pair of sexy laced underwear. Usually sweaty, sometimes on her knees while his stiffness beds in her mouth being lavished by her tongue.
A few times his fiery thoughts got the best of him, forcing him to find a place to hide and masturbate. Lately, this behavior has become more frequent. On the outside, it hadn’t showed much, but how long before it did? Obsession has its way of rising to the surface.
The Rico before and after the incident are not the same. The transition was measured; reminiscent of the sun going down throughout the lighted day, making way for dark. The world is morphing, going further from its remembered form from just days ago, so did most of its in habitants—Rico included.
The Captain’s men gave special treatment to Craig’s group, but no one really noticed. If they did, they probably wouldn’t understand why.
The food supply area is off limits to civilians, so is the outside, unless the person is escorted for battle or has orders to be out there. Same went for going up floors of the hospital. Even the rationing of food and water has to have special approval. Food times are set up by Hawks, and he offers no snacks in between meals. So when Eva asked for food and was allowed in the basement dock with Ryan, she had no clue she was receiving preferred treatment.
The two are given packaged baloney sandwiches and bottled water. They hang their legs off the edge of the dock undisturbed, eating tasteless food with no complaints. The sound of yelling and gunshots in the distance is almost like music in a department store; there’s no avoiding it, and it isn’t going anywhere.
Eva watches the hungry, dark haired boy take a full bite. She grins at his innocence and eagerness.
“What grade are you in?”
Ryan gulps down a mouth full. “Second.”
“You’re just a baby. Do you like second grade?”
Ryan whips his head around. “I’m not a baby, why do big girls say that?”
“Aww, I didn’t mean to offend you. If other have said the same, I’m sure they didn’t mean it either. It’s just means you have plenty of life left, or you're a cute kid, or both.”
“Then why not just say that? Why use the word ‘baby?’ It doesn't feel good.” Ryan’s face reveals his disappointment. He looks away. “Grown-ups are weird.”
Eva puts her hand on his back and rubs his shoulder. “That, I can’t argue with.”
Ryan chuckles.
Eva continues, “Well, you're very young and very cute, Ryan. And you have a long life ahead of you. But now I know; you don’t want to be referred to as a baby, and I respect that. But sometimes, women can’t help it, so don’t get angry. At least it’s a compliment.”
“How so?”
“Babies are cute. Don’t you think so?”
“I don’t know. I guess.” Ryan takes another bite, chewing it down, “Do you have any kids?”
The question hits a chord with Eva, but she hides it well. “No.”
“Why not?”
“. . . It’s a long story. Complicated.”
“No it’s not. You just don’t want to tell me because I’m a kid, and you think I won't understand.”
Eva winces her face in surprise, “Ryan . . . you are—definitely—not a baby.”
Tired, Melissa lays cuddled in Craig’s arm. His head rest comfortably in her soft thick hair. “What are you thinking?” he asks.
She sighs, “Will this come to an end, will we ever go home.”
“Home? . . . That w
ould be nice.”
“I know it’s not going to happen, but I wish it could. It feels like months since we were there comfortably eating dinner like a normal family—talking about our days. Makes me feel like those times were taken for granted.”
“Eating your delicious cooking. I never took that for granted.”
“Oh stop, don’t act as if you loved my cooking.”
He didn’t.
“What?! I do . . . did. Your Italian needs some improvement. Like a speck. But everything else is fine.”
Melissa sits up and elbows Craig playfully in his side, “You better watch it. If things get back to normal, you may find yourself on the couch.”
“That would work for me. I mean your snoring is intolerable anyways.”
Melissa’s mouth gapes, “You did not just say that? You, the man with the ice blocks on his feet?”
Craig, playfully grabs her close with force. He kisses her forehead by her temple. “My feet are cold. That’s exactly why I need your fat feet to warm them up on!”
“Oh, now I have fat feet?”
“There a little chubby, but they complement your chubby ankles so you're fine.”
“Mr. Bainy, are you trying to start a fight?!”
Craig chuckles, “No, no, baby, I’m just kidding. You are absolutely gorgeous and perfect to me.”
“Yeah? Good save there, kiss-butt.”
Their lips lock, smiles on their faces and happiness in their hearts.
It’s the irony of the situation, always dire, but the human element would always find a moment to breath. Love is good.
Private Kelly, Jack; the pilot, and Bodo, stand by the open manhole cover with weapons drawn as they keep watch. Sergeant Brimm and Charlie are in the dark, moist bowels of the city, planting the C-4. The methane buildup down there is perfect for an explosion, not to mention there’s a gas-line cross bore in this location of the sewer. A blast here, will cause major damage, capable of covering a large distance, thus causing large fires in the process. Perfect for Robert’s plan of setting the city ablaze.