by Jon Schafer
Taking a deep breath to push his feelings of violence away, he still found he could only grunt in reply. As they exited the small administration building, Steve looked around for Rick, surprised that he was nowhere to be seen. They were standing at the end of the open parade ground, and the nearest structure was thirty feet away, so they should be able to spot him. He had only left a few seconds before them.
Thinking that he might have entered one of the offices inside, as he was turning to check he saw Rick come from around the side of the building. With him was a one-armed girl that didn’t look to be more than twelve years old.
As he and his companion stopped a few feet away, Rick said, “We both have a problem that we thought we had found an easy solution to. The problem is, that solution got pissed away a few minutes ago. What we need to do now is come up with a new solution. You can’t take my daughter to safety in Fort Polk, but you can bring her with you to Arkansas. On top of that, you have Cindy, and if she does hold a cure for this disease, then you’re my best bet.”
Steve was relieved that Rick was going to help them. He hadn’t doubted that he would, but the amount of help was in question. He knew that if the commander was seeing him as his best bet right now, he would put all his resources behind getting them to Russellville.
Considering the distance they would have to travel, Steve said, “We’ll need a couple of armored cars and a shitload of supplies. I might even need some of your people.”
“All I can spare you is Stacey,” Rick told him.
Looking at the one-armed woman in confusion, Steve couldn’t see how she could help.
With a short bark of laughter, Rick explained, “She’s a pilot.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Russellville, Arkansas:
Private First Class Jimmy McPherson watched as the three men from his squad searched for him in the low-lying vegetation. His legs ached from straddling a large branch in the tree where he had hidden himself, and his back throbbed from where it was pushed up against a knot on its trunk, but he ignored the pain and stayed perfectly still. Another soldier joined them, causing Jimmy’s heart to beat faster. He wanted to close his eyes to hide even further at the sight of Sergeant Fagan but knew that this childhood trick wouldn’t save him. Willing himself to become part of the tree, he felt the rapid pulse of blood charging through his system go cold when Fagan turned and looked directly at his hiding spot.
Jimmy felt their eyes lock, and he knew his escape was over. He would be dragged from his perch, handcuffed, and brought back to the camp for court martial. He would, of course, be found guilty, and there was only one punishment for the crime of desertion: death by hanging.
His thoughts surged with resentment that he was only trying to get back to his family, but he knew this was no excuse in the eyes of the Army. As he waited for the sergeant to point him out to the other soldiers, images of his body dangling from a rope ran through his mind. He felt a few drops of urine leak from his penis and soak his pants, knowing that if he weren’t so dehydrated, it would be a flood. Wondering if he could get his rifle un-slung and shoot his way out, he knew his chances were slim to none. It would be him alone against ten men. He might get a couple of them, but in the end they would take him down.
Deciding that dying in this way was preferable to the indignity of a broken neck, or slow strangulation if the rope didn’t snap it, Jimmy was slowly reaching for his rifle when he was astonished to see Fagan give him a barely perceptible nod before turning away. Hearing the Sergeant call out to the others that they were returning to camp, he at first thought it was a trick to get him to come down from his perch so they wouldn’t have to climb up and drag him from it.
Two voices came to him, and he strained his ears to hear what they were saying. They were at first muffled, but they came through clearer as the two men approached his hiding spot.
“The Zs must have got him,” the first one said.
“Poor bastard,” the second replied. “That’s a hell of a way to go. He was Sarge’s favorite, too.”
They fell silent and picked up their pace when they heard Fagan’s voice call out that they had ten seconds to get their asses in gear or be left behind.
As he watched them disappear into the undergrowth, Jimmy felt a small surge of hope. His rational mind took over a millisecond later as it told him that this was nothing but a trick to get him on the ground, but his soul still hung on to the slim chance that he was free.
Seconds ran into minutes and minutes into an hour before Jimmy risked moving. He debated risk versus reward during this time and finally came to the conclusion that if they were waiting for him, then there was nothing he could do about it. Thinking that at least he could get down from the tree and die on his feet, he almost laughed at himself when he tried to lift his leg over the limb and found it was completely dead. The blood flow had been restricted for so long that both legs were useless.
So much for running, he told himself. You can’t even stand.
Shifting position, he propped one leg in front of him on the branch and started massaging his thigh. As blood started flowing again into the knotted muscle, he stifled a cry of pain. Sliding his other leg forward, he worked on that until both felt reasonably steady enough to climb down.
His legs spasmed wildly as he shimmied down the trunk, and when he finally made it to the ground, both collapsed under him. Propping himself against the tree, he readied his rifle and then started rapidly massaging his thighs again as he looked around for the first of his fellow soldiers to emerge from the brush to take him into custody. When he saw no one, his soul surged with hope again, but this was pushed aside by his brain telling him that his captors would wait until he could walk.
That’s what I would do, he told himself. I wouldn’t want to have to carry anyone.
When the ache in his legs had been replaced by the feeling that a million pins and needles were being poked into them, he knew he was ready. It was time to shit or get off the pot. Using his rifle to lever himself onto his feet, he leaned against the trunk of the tree for support before quickly bringing his M16 up into a firing position.
Slowly scanning the bushes for any sign of life, he saw nothing. Straining his ears for any sound, he heard nothing. Closing his eyes, he sniffed the air, but smelled nothing.
His rifle barrel slowly dropped, and relief washed through him as he realized he was all alone. For some bizarre reason, Staff Sergeant Fagan had decided to leave him be. Looking around at the silent woods, his relief was suddenly replaced by fear at this same realization that he was all alone. For months now, he had been surrounded by others who would watch his back against the dead, but now he was on his own.
Hearing a rustling sound coming from a nearby clump of bushes, Jimmy pushed himself off from the tree and staggered off to where he had hidden his pack.
***
Sitting in his office, Major Cage listened to Staff Sergeant Fagan tell him how Jimmy had gone missing from the patrol and how he had let him go before saying, “I know the kid was one of your favorites, but if word gets out that you let him walk away, we’re screwed.”
“No one saw him except me, sir,” Fagan answered. “All of my people were looking for a dead body and didn’t think to look up.”
Sighing, Cage said, “We’re going to have a lot more of our people trying to haul ass before this is over, and we have to keep discipline. The order stands that desertion will be punished by death by hanging, and I need you to enforce it.”
Fagan opened his mouth to speak, but Cage lifted a hand to silence him before saying, “And that means everyone. If we don’t do it, there’s going to be no one left here except you and me.”
“And that would be a bad thing, sir?” Fagan asked.
Cage bristled for a second, but then saw the truth in the statement. Looking down at the radio reports on his desk about the battle raging in the Capitol, he felt his heart sink at the thought that even the military was falling apart. If it weren’t bad en
ough that they were fighting the dead, they were now fighting each other.
Clearing his throat, Cage said, “We need to hang on for as long as possible.”
“Or until Professor Hawkins leaves,” Fagan suggested. “You know as well as I do that we’re on the priority list for supplies because of the good Professor’s work here. You also know that even with that, those supplies are few and far between. We’ve discussed this before, sir. What do you think is going to happen when he leaves? We’ve both talked to men and women being rotated in from other camps and forts, and we’ve heard that they don’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of. They’re all low on food, ammunition and fuel.”
Cage started to speak, but Fagan cut him off by saying, “And what happens when Hawkins takes his Malectron with him, sir? From what we’ve been able to figure out, that’s the only thing keeping us from getting overrun.”
“But with Washington turned a battle zone, he’s not going anywhere soon,” Cage countered.
Fagan waved this argument away and said, “They’ll have that shit sorted out in a few days. It sounds like they’re fighting for control, but it sounds like our ace in the hole there is with us no more. Whoever grabs the brass ring now, they are going to want a weapon like the Malectron.”
Looking down at his desk, Cage mentally read through all the radio communiques he had received that morning. From what he had been able to gather, it was some kind of coup, but they still didn’t know all the details. General Eastridge had been mentioned early on, giving him hope that the man would seize control, but it had been hours since they had word about who was winning and who was losing. Or about the General. For all they knew, Eastridge was dead and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs was still in control.
Cage thought about this for a few seconds. He had known all along that once Hawkins left and took the Malectron with him, they would have a rough time with the dead surrounding the camp. At first he had almost seen the coup in Washington as a reprieve, but in the end he knew Fagan was right. If Eastridge was gone, no matter who took power, they would want the weapon in their arsenal.
Looking up at the Staff Sergeant, Cage said, “With everything up in the air, we need to be ready for whatever comes at us. We need to make plans to abandon the camp at a moment’s notice.” Seeing the smile creep across Fagan’s lips, Cage added sternly, “Not preparations, only plans.”
Fagan grew serious and said, “Plans only, sir.”
“And they’re to be kept between me and you,” Cage added. “If the troops find out we’re getting ready to bug out, there will be panic.”
Fagan started to speak but stopped at the sound of a knock at the door. It opened, and Cage’s aide rushed in, saying, “Sorry to interrupt you, sir, but I thought you would want to see this right away.”
Cage took the slip of paper and dismissed his aide. Reading it through, a smile broke across his face, his first all day.
Holding it out, he said, “Belay any plans to abandon the camp. This is from Fort Polk. It says, ‘Group of civilians coming your way by their own means. One immune.’ “
***
Steve watched the landscape pass by through the slit cut in the metal plate that had replaced the windshield of the Jeep Commander he rode in. They had passed nothing but trees on the first leg of their journey to the airfield outside of Jasper, but now signs of civilization were becoming more apparent.
First, he saw a long line of abandoned cars long pulled over to the side of the road. Curious as to why they would be out here in the middle of nowhere, he asked Stacey.
“There’s a gas station up ahead around the curve,” she explained. “We had a lot of people coming here when the dead first rose because the area is so isolated. They thought they could get away from the dead-asses.” Pointing to rotting skeletal remains scattered across the road, she added, “They found out real quick that nowhere was safe. My guess is that they must have been all lined up here like a smorgasbord when the dead came out of the woods.” Pointing, she said, “You can see they were all bumper-to-bumper, edging as close to the person in front of them as they could. Like that was going to get them to the pumps faster. Didn’t do them any good, though, since the station had run out of gas two days earlier.”
“Then why were they sitting here?” Steve asked.
Stacey shrugged and replied, “Maybe they thought a tanker was going to come. These people must have been on empty to stay around here, since anyone with half a brain would have known everything was falling apart and it was time to head for the hills.”
Seeing a gap in the line where the vehicles in front and behind it had been smashed, Steve said, “Looks like someone got away by playing bumper cars when the dead hit.”
After steering around the remains of a body in the middle of the road, Stacey pointed to the gas station as it came into view and said, “My guess is, it was them.”
Steve looked to where she indicated and saw a pickup truck had crashed into the cars sitting next to the pumps. From the amount of damage to the fenders and sides of the vehicles, he guessed the driver of the truck had repeatedly rammed them in his quest to get next to the empty pumps. He had finally gotten stuck when he tried to roll over a small sports car, ending up with his front tires crashing through its roof. Bullet holes riddled the truck and the cars around it, telling a further tale of the gun battle that ensued.
“People were desperate to survive,” Stacey commented, “even to the point of stupidity.”
Looking at the building, Steve took in the shattered windows and empty shelves. He wasn’t sure if it had been raided before or after the demolition derby out front, but his guess was after. He knew that there was a fine line between civilization and anarchy, and the truck trying to smash its way to the pumps had probably made it easy for everyone to step over. Spotting more decaying bodies strewn across the lot, he turned his head.
From where he was sitting in the rear, Rick said, “We didn’t have much looting in the town because of the police and militia, but out here it was everyone for themselves. We’ve been back to Jasper quite a few times to forage what we can, and it’s pretty much intact.”
“Are we going to pass through it?” Heather asked.
Rick shook his head and replied, “The airfield is on the southwest side of town, so we’ll bypass it. Jasper is outside our secure zone, and there is still a lot of dead wandering around.”
Looking to where Stacey effortlessly maneuvered their SUV between two wrecked cars, Steve was tempted to ask how she lost her arm. Curious if she had been bitten and they had cut it off to keep the disease from spreading, he wondered if this were the case. He didn’t know if amputation would work, but he didn’t feel comfortable asking.
As if reading his mind, Stacey said, “I lost it when I was ten, not to one of the dead-asses.”
Feigning surprise, Steve said, “I wasn’t wondering-”
She cut him off by saying, “Everyone wonders. Whenever we get new people at the camp, sooner or later someone asks how I lost it. They’re all wondering the same thing, was I bitten and we cut it off.”
Rick spoke up, saying, “And we found out that doesn’t work. We tried it on a few people, and they still turned.”
Steve took this in as the realization sunk in deeper that once you were bitten, you were through. He had learned so much about the dead by trial and error, but there were still volumes to know. Like how to eradicate them wholesale. Turning, he looked back to the third row of seats, where Cindy sat flanked by Igor and Linda. Hopefully, she held the solution to this.
***
Jimmy McPherson bent at the waist as he vomited up a thin string of bile. Spitting out the taste, he gasped for breath as he straightened. Spinning in a full circle, he looked at the few deserted buildings around him as he sought somewhere to hide. None of them looked secure, with their smashed out doors and windows. Another wave of nausea passed through him, but he forced it back, telling himself that dying because he was puking
from running away from the dead wasn’t how he wanted to go out. Steadying himself, he adjusted his pack as he tried to get his bearings.
Not sure where he was, other than somewhere just outside the town of Russellville, he cursed the dead that had made him detour from his route home.
At least they could have chased me in the right direction, he thought ruefully.
Seeing movement ahead of him that disappeared as soon as he focused on it, he wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him. Deciding that he needed to avoid everyone, whether they were real or a figment of his imagination, he knew it was time to get off the main road. When the dead had gotten on his trail, he’d had no choice but to run through the neighboring town of Dardanelle and across the bridge into Russellville, but now he had options. He was in an undeveloped area just outside of town, and to his right was a side road running between fields and small patches of woods. Looking ahead to the buildings that made up the city, he shuddered at the thought of passing through that gauntlet.
Pulling out his map, he studied it for a few seconds before heading off on the road to his right. Knowing that he had to cross the river again to get back on course, he decided to find another spot to the east. He might have lost the group of dead before he reached the bridge, but he wasn’t about to turn around and head in their direction again. Even if it meant a detour of twenty miles, he would find somewhere else to cross.
Starting at a slow walk, he picked up speed as the urge to put as much distance as possible between himself and the dead city overwhelming him. Coming to a spot where the road he was travelling curved to the north, he turned onto a smaller lane that continued to the east. From his previous foraging trips into the city, he knew that if he kept moving in this general direction, he would eventually come to a road leading south that dead-ended at a strip mine. This was one of their staging areas when they went into Russellville because it was always deserted, and this is what he needed. He had been up since 0600, and since then he had either been wracked with fear that his escape would be discovered by his own people or on the run from the dead, so he was exhausted and knew he needed rest.