by Josh Hilden
“Your name Doctor?” Rudy asked.
A servant, an 11 year old Arabic girl wearing only panties and a tank top three sizes too small for her along with the dog collar that all of the new slaves wore, brought a pitcher of sweet tea to him. He may have ended up in Michigan, but Rudolph Clarke was a son of the South. He’d been born and raised in the hills outside of Asheville North Carolina. There was nothing he enjoyed more than good Southern sweet tea. Especially after doing some hard work. He patted the girl’s rear after she sat the pitcher down and poured him a glass. She didn’t react to his touch. A few turns with the belt had made her more accepting of his affections.
“Jason Hanson,” the man said. There was still a defiant quality to his voice, even if Rudy’s aura had made him a bit more submissive. Unfortunately, that little power seemed to only have a temporary effect. But beggars couldn’t be choosers and the Lord God had already given him so much.
“I offer you a choice Dr. Hanson, you and the rest of your people here will be allowed to live and serve me and my holy army. Some of you will even be allowed the privilege of taking the mark and serving as lieutenants to the Right Hand of God … that would be me by the way.” He laughed at his own joke and then continued, “But you need to answer a question for me.”
“And what would that be?” Dr. Hanson asked, and Rudy could sense the ember of hope that his words had kindled in the doctor and the rest of the prisoners.
“All you have to do is tell me where Lisa Sutton has gone.” He took a long pull on his ice cold sweet tea and sighed, being in charge was thirsty work after all.
Dr. Hanson looked confused and then asked, “Why do you want to know where Dr. Sutton is?”
Rudy didn’t say anything. He knew he would need to make an example out of somebody. They had captured more than one doctor after all. He nodded toward the zombie that was still standing next to Dr. Hanson. This time the actions of the zombie were far from gentle, it turned its head and clamped its jaws down on the doctor’s shoulder. He screamed as the blood spurted from a punctured artery and attempted to batter the corpse off of him. But the struggle was in vain, because no matter how hard he hit the zombie, or how many of its bones that he broke, it refused to let go. The assembled prisoners began screaming and crying as Dr. Hanson’s struggles grew weaker and weaker.
Less than five minutes later it was over, and Jason Hanson lay on the bloody asphalt, dead.
“Now lets us try this again shall we.” Rudy said looking at each and every one of the 71 remaining prisoners. “I want to know where that bitch Lisa Sutton has run off to, and I want to know now!”
Nobody spoke at first. Then a fat man in a battered and ripped Hugo Boss suit stood up and spoke, “North, she ran North Sir with the rest of the people that were here.” The man’s face was firm and he looked confident, but Rudy saw the shaking of his hands.
“What is your name my fine fellow, and what did you do before the corrupt and decadent modern world collapsed like the proverbial house of cards?” Rudy was almost tittering, this was actually really fun.
“Barton, Lewis Barton. I was a Lawyer.” Everyone could hear the hitch in his voice when he said “was”. It was as if he had just now realized that his old life was dead and buried.
Rudy was about to speak when there was low groan and Jason Hanson, no longer a doctor of any kind, got to his feet.
“AHH,” Rudy said delightedly, “Dr. Jason how good to have you among us again, why don’t you head out into the city. See if you can find anyone good to eat.”
Without hesitation the zombie who’d been a third year surgical resident at the University of Michigan shambled out into the streets of the now dead city, looking for food.
“Always so beautiful to witness a birth, don’t you all agree?” Rudy said fondly, “But now onto business. Mr. Barton, I can always use a man that understands the reality of the situation.” He clapped his hands together and grinned. Rudy then reached into his black leather trench coat, and removed the branding iron, its head already glowing.
“Now get your fat ass up here and let’s get this party started!” Rudy cackled madly as the man turned white as a sheet but then began shuffling toward him. “Really,” Rudy thought, “He moved an awful lot like zombie Dr. Jason.”
2
Command Tent of the Army of the Dead
5:00pm EST
It had taken an hour to brand the initiates. Only 64 survivors that had joined forces of the Lord. Seven of them were now also members of the army, but of a much less intelligent and living rank. After that, Rudy felt powerful and horny. So he had Mina, the servant girl, brought to his personal tent for a little bounce and tickle with her. He assured her afterwards that the marks would go away in a few days.
After a quick shower he’d summoned his handful of advisors to the command tent, they had to talk strategy. General Baker had been the first to arrive, and Rudy thanked the Lord above that he had seen fit to put such an able man in his path.
“General, how goes the recruiting?” Rudy asked as he poured himself a drink and sat at the planning table that they had scrounged from a school in Royal Oak.
“My men are scouring the city looking for survivors, and offering them the choice of survival for them and their loved ones if they serve you. Or to be meat for the Dead and then serve you anyway.” The big man looked at a tablet computer that was strapped to his shoulder before continuing. “I’m surprised by how many people are choosing to fight or run instead of joining us. But we found a group of 30 National Guardsmen and their families in an apartment block on the south side of the city. They agreed to join, so that will add some much needed professionalism and experience to the army, sir.” He stopped and looked at his master, waiting for the man’s reply.
“That’s very good General. I leave all of this in your capable hands. I was never one for tactics and strategy, so I defer to the professionals.” He sipped his drink and looked at Baker sagely.
“We are rounding up all the weapons and ammunition that we can find, as well as fuel and food. Sir, we need somebody to take charge of the supplies and equipment.”
“Already taken care of General, as I said strategy is not my thing but spotting talent is. Lewis, please join us.” He called toward the front flap of the tent that had been procured from a sporting goods store.
Lewis Barton walked into the tent, like Adam Baker he had the liquid silver mark of God on his forehead. His dirty and tattered clothing had been replaced with a black suit and tie, the austere blackness of the ensemble was broken only by the silver cuff links and tie clasp.
“General Adam Baker, allow me to introduce you to Lewis Barton, formerly a Junior Partner at the Law Firm of Holmes & Boyd and now my Left hand.” Rudy watched his two Captains size one another up. He could care less if they liked one another as long as they worked together and followed the will of God.
“There may be others that join you as equals in time, but for now the two of you are without equal in the world save for myself.” That statement, Rudy reflected, probably saved him the hassle of reassuring each of them that they were the special one. “And now on to business, General have you learned the whereabouts of that godless whore Lisa Sutton.”
Baker looked relieved to be back onto solid ground, or at least ground as solid as it could be in a world where he served a man that commanded an army of the Risen Dead. “We interrogated all of the people from the Hospital after they received their marks, and the consensus is that Sutton and her people were heading north.”
Barton broke in at that, “Sir, I have already told you that north was where the cowardly bitch and her people were going.” He sounded smug as he said it.
“That is true General, Minister Barton already supplied me with this information.” Annoyance was on the edges of Rudy’s voice.
General Baker seemed nonplussed as he continued, “That is true Sir, but Minister Barton did not know anything beyond ‘North’ as a direction.” Now he sounded smug, “F
urther questioning revealed that several people heard her talking to some of her people about a town in the Upper Peninsula.”
“And what is the name of the town General?” Rudy asked and Barton and Baker took a mental step back at the fire that they saw in their master’s eyes.
“White Harbor,” General Baker said.
Chapter Twelve
1
Wright Patterson AFB
October 20, 2012 AD (Day Three)
7:00pm EST
The fencing surrounding the base swayed back and forth under the continual assault of the Risen Dead. In the time since the Dead began to rise the numbers of walking corpses that were besieging the second largest Air Force base in North America had grown exponentially. The last estimate put their numbers at just over 10 thousand at the various gates. That did not include the thousands that had been put down. In an odd way, this continual disposal of the dead ended up buying the defenders more time than they would otherwise have had. The growing berm of corpses at the gates and choke points made it harder for the remaining Dead to bring their strength of numbers to bear. As time continued to pass, any of the advantages that the living may have had when this all started was slowly evaporating. The Dead were gaining the upper hand.
To the West, where the fires from the burning city of Indianapolis could be seen far in the distance and storm clouds were building.
2
Hadley was gone. That meant Liam was the Senior NSA man, and that was a joke since he was now the only NSA man, on the ground at Wright Patt. It might have been easier if Hadley had died, risen, and then been put down. At least then Liam would be able to accept that he’d been left here on the base for no reason that he could discern.
Seven hours earlier, the President himself contacted the Director of the National Security Agency and ordered him to board the fastest aircraft available and join him in Cheyenne Mountain. That turned out to be an F-22 Raptor that would have to be refueled midway to Colorado. There was no mention of Liam, and Hadley had not asked the President about the newly minted Deputy Director.
Now Liam sat on his rear, when he wasn’t helping to stamp out the increasingly frequent Risings within the perimeter, giving orders to fewer and fewer NSA agents around the globe via the secure satellite uplink. Oh, and he was waiting for the perimeter fencing to finally fail, and for the swarms of the Risen Dead to flood inside and finish them off. Of course he did have a spot reserved for him in the base’s shelters. He was less than enthused about being bottled up underground while those things stomped around above them.
The door to his hut opened. An Airman in dirty fatigues saluted and then spoke. “General Francis needs to see you as soon as possible, Deputy Director Harrison.” The kid looked scared and tired. Liam noticed the gold ring on his left hand, and wondered if the kid’s family was inside the perimeter or outside. Then he wondered if they were better off inside or outside.
Liam saluted back, “Lead on Airman,” he said and got up from his cot, slipping his tablet computer into his shoulder bag. He made a mental note to himself to either spend some time cranking the unit’s hand generator, or set it out in the sun to recharge the battery soon.
He was led to a waiting Humvee. This surprised him because they were rationing gasoline like it was gold. Although now he figured it was a hell of a lot more valuable than gold. Everything that was going on in the Air Force Base cum refugee camp reminded him painfully of the last days in Saigon before they were run out by the NVA. People were acting insane, he’d lost count of the number of people that had been hung, shot, or banished from the base for offenses ranging from assault to rape and murder. Women were offering to fuck and suck anyone that they thought would be able to protect them from what was coming, or if it would allow them to get their children to safety.
Liam already decided that if the perimeter was still intact at first light he was going to take off. He had his communications gear and his training. He figured that he would be able to make a better go of it if he headed out alone. He needed to get the Nancy and Charlie no matter what.
The Humvee stopped in front of the imposing structure of the base’s main series of command and control buildings. He was lead from the vehicle and up several floors to a conference room on a floor that was a whirlwind of activity. Secretaries were shredding documents and shutting down computers systems, airmen and civilians were removing tons of unidentified gear and boxes from offices and storerooms. In one corner, ignored by the rest of the personnel, was a human shaped figure leaning against the wall. A bloody sheet was draped over it.
Again he was reminded of Saigon.
He was told to wait a few minutes and that the General would be with him. While he waited, he walked over to the corpse in the corner and lifted the sheet. The gun was still in the man’s mouth, a full bird Colonel by the uniform. The damage to the head was very extensive but he thought it might be the same Colonel from the chow tent.
Liam slipped the old style Colt .45 from the man’s stiffened grip and slid it into his waistband. He patted the man down and found two more clips of ammunition and pocketed them. He now had two firearms.
Three minutes later General Al Francis walked in. He was talking loudly into the satellite phone in his right hand and reading a crumpled document in his left. His face was lined and tired, with a thick covering of stubble that hadn’t made the acquaintance of a razor blade in days. It was the face of a man who was already dead.
“I understand sir, yes sir, we’ll do what we can sir.” The General finished his end of the conversation and closed the satellite phone, slipping the bulky unit into the pocket of his dirty and unbuttoned jacket. He sat the papers on his over flowing desk. Then he flopped unceremoniously into his seat before speaking to Liam.
“Deputy Director Harrison,” he paused and then continued, “I am afraid that I have wasted your time calling you here.” The resignation was thick.
“Why is that General?” Liam fought the urge to say “Sir”. He was now at the very least this man’s equal in what was left of the government.
“The evacuation is over. That was the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs I just talked to. The son of a bitch is safe and sound on the Abraham Lincoln. He has informed me that no more fuel or supplies will be routed our way. We are in effect on our own.” He laughed, and that laugh was more than tinged with insanity, “But he assured me that we are free to take whatever steps might be necessary to remain safe without fear of repercussions.” Now he barked laughter.
Liquid cold slid down Liam’s nervous system. This was really bad, if they were abandoned and the base’s commanding officer was teetering on the edge. Liam and the civilian refugees were in a lot of trouble.
Outside, rain that had been threatening to pour all day began to fall. Accompanied by the cracks of thunder and the flashes of lightning. The wind was picking up and Liam heard the bases severe weather sirens begin to wail.
“General, shouldn’t you have those sirens silenced?” Liam asked, “They are just going to draw more and more of the Dead here.”
“Who gives a fuck Harrison?” The General asked, “We’re all going to die in the next 24 hours anyway, so who gives a flying fuck if more of them come now or later.”
“General, I don’t know or care if you want to live or die, but I do.” Now Liam was pissed, they all had a chance to make it out of here alive if they played their cards right, and this pathetic bastard was willing to just let them all die.
“Fine,” he said and slid his had under the desk, “You can be in charge if you think that there is something that you can do about it.” He drew his hand back out from under the desk and had placed the barrel of the revolver under his chin before Liam realized what was going to happen.
“I will not end up like one of them!” The General declared and then pulled the trigger. There was a muffled pop as the low caliber weapon went off and the top of his head lifted up as the skull was thrown back. A light red mist filled the air for a few seconds
after.
Liam stared at the man who would never get up again and wanted to scream. Why the hell hadn’t he realized that this was coming? All of the signs had been there when the General had walked into the room, but Liam had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he had never seriously considered it.