by Wick Welker
“I’ve really made a lot of mistakes,” Rambert’s voice echoed down from the hallway. “I only recently realized something about my presidency.”
Mayberry stood silent in the hallway as Rambert’s voice bounced off the walls. For a moment he wanted to run away and leave him behind, to be finally rid of the man. “What’s that?” Mayberry jogged a little down the hallway and caught up with him.
“I’ve tried to return everything to how it was since before the New York outbreak. The recession just… it killed us, and I tried. I tried the same things that worked in the past, but they didn’t make a dent in interest rates and unemployment. You know, I grew up on a farm in Iowa, and there was huge oak tree that was probably fifty years old that started to die.”
“Oh yeah?” Mayberry said, taking his phone out of his pocket and looking down at the screen.
“We tried fertilizing the soil and pruning the branches. We even tried transplanting some roots, but nothing worked. When we finally hacked it down, the entire core of the tree just fell apart and collapsed right in front of my dad and me. The whole thing was rotten, and it didn’t matter what we tried to do, it was going to die. It’s like the country just resists everything we try, not because it wants to, but because it… it’s changed. We’re just so different now. I just wished I had realized it sooner.” He walked slowly, looking in and out of rooms as he passed. “I think we’re in the research wing.” He stopped at a doorway. “What do you think we could’ve done differently, Chuck? What would you have done if you were running things?”
“Um…” Mayberry quickly scrolled through his phone. “Well… I would’ve done most of the same things you did, I guess. You started with trying to fix the basics, and that’s what anyone else would’ve done. Hell it’s what all your advisors told you to do. I would’ve maybe—” His phone rang in his hand. “Oh hang on, this could be important.”
Rambert walked away from Mayberry in the hallway and into a laboratory with rows of workbenches, chemical isolation hoods, and bare counter tops. Above his head, glassware lined the tops of the rows of cabinets that were bolted to the walls. “So this is the origin, ground zero.” He said to himself as he heard Mayberry shouting frantically in the hallway. As he was about to speak to Mayberry, Rambert’s phone also rang with a number that he knew was from Eau Claire. He sighed at the phone, blocked the call, and put it back in his pocket.
“All right, all right, of course I’ll tell him. He’s right here. Yes… no, of course we’re going to leave immediately. Just don’t do anything until you hear from the President.” Mayberry hung up and walked into the lab. Rambert was leaning up against a counter, staring at the floor.
“Larry, Mr. President, I’m afraid a small group from the brotherhood of the Sirr have stormed our depot in Nebraska. They have taken ten hostages and are currently moving throughout the facility.”
Rambert continued staring at the dusty tile and exhaled slowly. “Of course. Of course they did.”
“We need to leave,” Mayberry said collectedly.
“I’ll send Novak.”
“Novak! The guy is totally useless. He’s just sitting in a car right now staring at the dashboard.”
Rambert slowly looked up and pushed a stool toward him. “Sit down, Chuck.”
“What? What’re you doing! We’ve got to get outta here and deal with this situation! Terrorists have our nuclear weapons!” Mayberry’s face reddened as spit flew from his lips. “Why are we even here?”
“Because I couldn’t have gotten you alone in Eau Claire.” Rambert pulled a handgun from under his suit jacket and pointed it at Mayberry’s face.
Mayberry shook his head in disbelief. He was about to speak, but closed his mouth, trying to read Rambert’s face.
“Now, sit down, Chuck.”
Chapter Twenty Six: Ciudad Juárez, Mexico
It was after Douglas stopped getting updates that he knew they were on their own. It had been twelve hours since someone sent him an intended, coherent order. Every time he flicked on the radio it was desperate screams of unit leaders asking for backup or flummoxed senior officers giving advice over stuttering lips. He didn’t know the extent of the battle, but he guessed at this point that it was the most devastating military ground attack in the history of the country. He himself had stopped giving orders to his squad, only telling them to keep a holding pattern, which he left to their own interpretation.
Dave and Michaels often left their catwalks of the warehouse where the squad had holed up and wandered into the rest of the power plant, looking for food. Room by room they searched for anything, but only found blackened control consoles, and blood-splattered walls. They had stumbled into a far away utility warehouse and stopped when they discovered that a constant stream of the infected had burrowed their way through one wall and out another, crisscrossing into the building in a crowd several shoulder widths thick. It was a train of the infected that moved in a continuous line, jogging with their heads down, ignoring any sound or movement around them. Dave accidentally tripped on a large monkey wrench as they backed out of the room, without a single of the infected looking up at them.
“Robots,” Michaels said as they walked out “They’re like weird, human robots now. That crowd would’ve ripped us apart before, now they just go on their busy way like they have some sort of agenda.”
They found a break room stocked with hundreds of cans of soups, beans, and meatballs, which the entire squad eventually brought back to their main wing of the power plant. They periodically looked out the windows as they choked down cold soup. It was an endless whirl of the infected that flowed around the building, never breaking through, but never backing away.
Stark had mostly retired to a corner of the large warehouse, where he had stacked dozens of bodies after performing their autopsies. He wasn’t learning anything new and was only getting discouraged. He knew there was only one person in the world that could help, but that man was chained away somewhere in a federal prison. It had been twelve hours since he had talked to Rambert, who mumbled something about Medora, and how he was going to ‘figure it all out.’ The crazy bastard cares more about figuring out some fabricated mystery than the beast at his doorstep. He’s turned crazy from cabin fever just like I’m about to do, he thought.
It was exactly with this thought that Stark was staring at one of the stacked bodies that he saw an arm twitch. He prodded the single arm that extended out of the heap of bodies and waited. After several seconds, the thumb flinched, and then relaxed. Quickly, he fished around for a lumber saw that he found a few hours prior and removed the forearm from its body. No, no, no, he thought frantically as he peeled the skin off the tendons. Not only was the thin metallic mesh surrounding all the muscle groups in the forearm present, but also thick metallic cords had attached onto silvery muscles in the hand, which had replaced the tendons themselves. He dropped the arm and ran out.
“We need to get out of here,” Stark announced to the squad. “I need to get out of here.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Douglas said. “Do you see any extraction choppers floating around us?”
“No,” Stark said with one exhausted breath.
“Then, we’re not going anywhere.”
“We walk out.”
“What?” Michaels yelled out from the catwalks above them.
“What’re you talking about?” Douglas sat down on a steel grate and bowed his head to his knees.
“I think we can walk out of here. The hordes don’t notice us,” Stark said.
“Oh, they notice us. They keep circling around the building. They know damn well that we’re in here and that we’re the enemy.”
“No, no, not exactly. I think the horde is aware that there was an attack that originated at the power plant—the original pulse that we sent through the power grid. But have you noticed anything? You can walk right up to any one individual of the horde and simply grab them and kill them. They don’t recognize us as individuals. The horde now onl
y behaves as one entity—it can’t recognize just a few foreign individuals. It’ll just think that we’re one of them if we integrate ourselves into the horde, one at a time.”
“That is so insane,” Michaels yelled again from the catwalks. She now was looming directly overhead of them. “We’ll get torn apart in seconds. I am not dying that way. I vote for suicide pact, who’s with me?” She raised her hand and gave a forced laugh.
“Michaels, shut up,” Douglas interjected and pointed at Stark. “You can do whatever the hell you want but none of my men… or one woman is going to join you. We wait for extraction.” He looked out over the thirteen members of their once elite squad.
“I’m walking out those loading bay doors. Anyone who wants to join me, can. I’ve got way too many things I need to do than to wait for some imaginary extraction from a losing Army.” Stark went back to his autopsy corner, and started collecting canned food.
Dave, who had remained quiet around a corner during the whole conversation, emerged behind Stark, who was holding the metallic severed forearm, and probing it with a screwdriver.
“You look like a mad scientist,” Dave said, drawing Stark’s attention away from the arm.
“Are you coming with me, Tripps?” Stark asked monotonously.
Dave paused. “I think I am.”
“Well, get ready.” Stark wrapped the arm around with a few dirty rags, wound several large rubber bands around it, and put it in his bag.
“There’s not really anything here for me anymore,” Dave said.
“I don’t need to hear the story, go get your stuff.” Stark turned from him and checked his ammunition.
“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Dave said, turning from him.
Dave went back up to the catwalks to pack his gear and saw Michaels walking up to him. “What’re you doing?” she asked.
“I’m going with Stark,” he said.
“You really think you’re going to just walk through the horde?”
“No, I no have idea.”
“Then why are you going?”
“Because I’m not like you,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re so certain that everything is over. You just give up.”
“It’s not giving up. I don’t want to die on their terms,” she said. “My own death is the only thing I have control over any more.”
“I get that,” Dave said. “It’s just not what I want for myself. I’m going to try to claw my way out of here. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but I want to find out. I need to be a part of it. Everyone out there is going to move on to the next thing, and I’m going to be with them.”
“I understand.” She put her hand on his arm and squeezed.
Dave looked over at her and smiled. “Good luck,” he said. “I might miss you.”
She smiled, leaned in, and gave him a small kiss on his cheek. Dave turned his face and met her lips with his. She let go. “In another world,” she said. “Remember?”
After packing his gear and borrowing an extra rifle from Michaels, Dave joined Stark at the closed loading bay doors, and removed all the heavy pallets and sand bags that they had placed in front. Surprisingly, Douglas didn’t say a word about Dave leaving, and even helped them clear the doors.
Michaels hadn’t come down from the catwalks and only watched silently as the loading bay doors finally opened.
Outside, the horde circled in small eddies, constantly moving in a slow jog. They streamed around the shock tanks with none of them looking up as Dave and Stark stepped out onto the concrete bay. Although they moved at random, Stark could see distinct patterns of motion that cycled over and over again in the crowd. The patterns reminded him of viscosity fluid laws or constantly moving magnetic field lines. He suspected there was some sort of mathematical formula that could be applied to their movement, as he was convinced that the horde was now only ruled by the laws of nature and statistics.
They stepped forward, only feet away from the horde that moved like an indifferent riverbed. Dave looked back into the warehouse and saw Michaels in the back, looking out at him. She gave a small smile, which he returned with a wave. He tried to feel sad but realized she was just a remnant of life that he could have wanted, but now couldn’t exist. Dave looked back down at the throng of infected at his feet, whose heads bobbed up and down as they moved.
“Well,” Stark said, patting him on the shoulder, “don’t swim against the current.”
Chapter Twenty Seven: Albion, Nebraska
Easily, and without much resistance, the small group of the brotherhood had gained one hostage for each one of them. Malik held onto Elise from behind as they advanced farther into what she now understood was an old hydroelectric power plant. They had duct taped all the soldiers’ mouths shut and made them walk in front of the group as they snaked through narrow hallways and up through catwalks above large, empty vats that once churned with water. They killed very few as they moved along, knowing that the guards were now backing away from the group for fear that the hostages would be killed. The classified, nuclear warhead facility was slowly watching and waiting to see where the group of terrorists would hole themselves up so that they would finally be able to attack once they were cornered.
Calmly, Atash led the pack, commanding his men to fire when needed, and to move when there was a break in enemy bullets.
Malik watched the back of Atash’s head as they moved, wondering what was going through his mind, and if he really were the same person that he had grown to love over a year ago in Tajikistan. The sparkling waters beside the Nurek dam sprouted up in his mind as he remembered the relief he found in seeking out nothingness with Atash. These things are illusions, he heard Atash’s voice next to their small fire as they fasted. Would he say that now? Malik thought.
There was a constant image attached with a catastrophic feeling that was tethered deep down within him. He had held it in the catacombs of his mind for several weeks now, but he could feel it rising. A flood of guilt was about to come bubbling up from within him as he grasped at the edges of his small son, lying in bed with a black, plastic bag over his face.
He thought of the poem that the Sirr had told him:
As the riverhead fractures,
So must we.
It is the pooling waters,
We will preach.
Malik wondered if they were the words of an inspired man or those of a demagogue only seeking to recruit vulnerable men.
“Malik, soon your greatest task will be before you. Do not turn from it now,” Atash’s voice echoed as they moved along. “The Sirr will be here soon, and we will follow his every command.”
“That is correct. He will guide us,” Malik responded.
In front of Malik, Elise breathed through a hoarse airway from Malik strangling her earlier. She coughed with a barking sound as she struggled to shuffle her feet in front of Malik’s constant pushing on her shoulder blade. She now folded her left forearm in front of her as if it were injured, concealing the box cutter in her armpit. She didn’t speak anymore, only waited.
Malik was convinced that Atash knew where he was going because he was constantly looking down at a smartphone that he had taped to his forearm. They stopped at a fork in the hallway and waited while Malik watched the screen on his arm. After a moment, he pointed in a direction, and they followed until he received the next instructions from his phone.
“Is it the Sirr?” Malik asked, pointing to Atash’s phone.
“Please don’t distract me right now, Malik,” Atash said, typing something into the phone.
The soldier guards of the plant had stopped firing at the group altogether, after an hour of trading gunfire back and forth in a rusted room full of bulky computer monitors and switchboards. The guards now stayed back from the brotherhood as they moved, constantly notifying of their movement and direction into radios, and silently watching their every move.
One brother from the group quietly doubted about how t
hey could possibly seize all the warheads, being so few in numbers. Atash had heard the complaint and shouted back at them. “You don’t understand at the moment, but you will soon see the wisdom of the Sirr.” He looked down again at his phone and proceeded up a dark staircase. “Please be patient and undoubting, my brothers, we are in the eleventh hour.”
They had come to a long hallway that led to a darkened dead end. For a brief moment, Malik hoped that this hallway would be the end of their journey, that there would be no way out at the end, and they would get swarmed by the guards and shot to death. He held to this thought for a moment longer until he saw the pale blue paint of a metallic door at the very end of the long hallway.
“Perfect,” Atash said under his breath as he led the brothers away from the squad of soldiers that paced behind them. As Atash walked up to the door, he looked down at the screen on his arm, and waited without attempting to open the door. “It’ll be just about thirty seconds more.” They waited in silence until the door stirred from the other side and the handle turned. Most of the hostages stood quietly, offering no resistance.
It opened inward, revealing a large man in Army fatigues pointing a rifle at them. His shaved scalp beaded with sweat as his chest heaved with a heavy breath. “Atash,” he said quickly.
“Brother Carter! You have done very well. Thank you for the guidance.” Atash gently touched his shoulder. “Please point that rifle away from your brothers.”
“Uh, uh, yes. Right this way.” Carter pointed his rifle down. “Let’s go, quick! We’ve got to run or they’re going to figure out where I’ve got it hidden away.” He turned and bolted down the long hallway with the rest of the group running behind him. “It’s not too much farther!” Carter turned his face toward them as he spoke.
Malik looked behind them and saw that they were no longer being pursued. “They’ve stopped!” He yelled out, “they’re not following us anymore.”
Carter yelled back, “No, no, I just heard it on the radio, everyone is super paranoid that we’re going to try to seize the main cache of warheads, which is actually about twenty stories below us. It’s all being guarded like Fort Knox down there.”