by Matt Handle
They spent most of the rest of the afternoon and evening relaxing in the dining hall and sleeping quarters. Lynch was still coughing a lot, but he appeared amiable and coherent enough. Jenny was her normal quiet self and Angel seemed to have found her niche acting as den mother to their little crew. Meanwhile, Sawyer managed to find time to do some last minute scavenging on his own before darkness fell, tucking something away that he found in the former commander’s office. Later, they ate a cold dinner as they discussed the upcoming day’s route to Atlanta and then all four of them got a full night’s sleep, blissfully trouble-free.
The next morning, Sawyer helped the girls cart the new provisions across the lobby and into the rear of the Humvee before Lynch and Jenny climbed into the backseat with Angel riding shotgun. When they were all inside, Angel pointed at the web sling and weaponry overhead. “I hope you don’t expect me to be able to use that stuff.”
Sawyer grinned. “If and when we need it, I expect you to drive this thing. I’ll do the shooting.”
“Why doesn’t that make me feel any better?” Angel asked rhetorically before swiveling around to look at Jenny in the backseat. “You comfortable back there?”
Jenny shrugged and looked out the window at the building they were about to leave behind. “I’m fine,” she said softly, her hand absent-mindedly stroking Luna’s long ears.
Sawyer shoved the giant machine into drive and they started down the road, pointed north. The first couple of miles were almost as ugly as the last few they’d faced on the way to the complex, but then the abandoned vehicles along the highway became fewer and farther between and they had a relatively clear road ahead.
It wasn’t long before they were passing through one of the swampier portions of the drive and all four of them noticed a large alligator sunning itself alongside the highway just beneath a Caution sign that was already half-covered by Kudzu vines.
Angel shook her head. “If that isn’t an understatement…” she grumbled.
Sawyer laughed and momentarily placed one hand on her knee. “Better buckle up,” he told her. “It’s going to be a long trip.”
Chapter 7
665 miles away, an arched blue and gray sign stood in front of a glass and steel mid-rise building surrounded by a field of overgrown grass and weeds. The sign said CDC in large block letters. Several stories beneath the ground floor of Atlanta’s Center for Disease Control laid one of Biomech’s secret government sponsored laboratories. Inside this underground facility, an apprehensive-looking Asian scientist in a white lab coat walked briskly through a stark lobby. He then entered a conference room where several other similarly garbed scientists sat in leather-bound chairs around a long conference table while the visage of a man named Doctor Mechler stared at them from a giant viewscreen on the back wall. Mechler had short dark hair that was graying at the temples, arched eyebrows over eyes so dark they were nearly black, and a wolf-like grin set on a strong clean-shaven jaw.
Without a trace of humor or warmth, Mechler said “Good of you to join us, Doctor Ling.”
Thanks to the ravages of the plague, Albert Ling was now one of the senior-most members of Mechler’s Atlanta staff. What was once a crew of over 600 employees was now down to less than three dozen. Nevertheless, a glance at the men and women sitting around the table told Albert that he was the lowest ranked employee in the room. Mechler’s department heads, including Albert’s own boss, Doctor Klein, sat in silence, awaiting Mechler’s next words. Although his current subterranean existence was hardly what he’d signed up for when he joined Biomech after receiving his doctorate from Cornell, Albert knew he was one of the lucky ones. Not only had he been spared the plague’s horrible effects, so had his wife. Erika worked in the robotics division and he’d met her shortly after he joined the company. They were both so busy trying to keep up with Mechler’s demands that they hadn’t gotten to spend much time together the past year or two, but they shared a dorm-style room in one of the upper floors of the complex and to his knowledge, were the only couple in the facility to live through the plague and still be around to talk about it. Every one of his colleagues was either alone or had coupled with another of the survivors after their own spouse had been exposed or killed.
Those first days at Biomech had been almost a decade ago and that was more than long enough to recognize the warning signs of his boss’s infamous temper. In an attempt to explain his delay, Albert started, “I apologize, sir. While testing our most recent samples of the DNA…”
But Mechler was having none of it. “Apologies seem to be what you’re best at these days, Doctor Ling,” Mechler interrupted. “In fact, mounting evidence suggests the debacle we’re now faced with lies in large part, at the feet of you and your so called expert staff’s failed attempts to properly evaluate the virus’s mutation variables. I trust your delayed arrival brings with it news of a late breakthrough on a vaccine.”
A bead of nervous sweat formed behind Albert’s left ear and trickled down his neck and onto the collar of his lab coat. Why isn’t Klein sticking up for me, he wondered. Realizing he was on his own, Albert replied, “We’re working around the clock, Doctor. While we believe we have some solid leads on potential positive developments, we have not yet seen any cases of test subject rejection of the virus strain. I must reiterate that my staff clearly documented the need for additional testing of the compound prior to deployment in 2011, however…”
“Silence!” Mechler boomed, his eyes glaring from the screen directly at the cowed scientist who now had visible perspiration dripping down both temples from his damp hairline. Albert was still standing just inside the entrance to the room, his back to the wall as every seated member of the team now swiveled in his direction, staring at him with a mixture of sympathy and dread.
“When the United States government demands a chemical compound capable of urban pacification on a massive scale, Biomech does not delay,” Mechler snarled. “It delivers. There’s a reason why we enjoyed right of first refusal and RFP exemption status with the most powerful political body in the world and it wasn’t because of cost overruns and missed deadlines. It was because we developed the best chemical weaponry on the planet!”
As Mechler continued, his eyes turning fiercer with every word, a group of four uniformed soldiers marched silently into the room, their rifles drawn and their gazes all directed at the unfortunate Albert Ling.
“Now look at that client!” Mechler spat. “Communication lines are down, the President and most of his staff are rotting corpses inside the bowels of the White House basement, and for all we know, most of Congress is stumbling around DC trying to eat those few members that avoided contamination! I will not accept excuses!”
With that final verdict, the four soldiers opened fire on Albert, cutting him to pieces, splattering the cream-colored wall in crimson blood. As his body slumped to the floor, the armed men left the room as quickly and quietly as they’d entered, leaving Klein and the remaining scientists agape in fear at the idea of suffering the same grisly fate as their comrade.
Mechler looked down at the seated men and women gravely, the fire in his eyes replaced with ice. “The best corporations turn failure into opportunity,” he continued, Albert’s bloody corpse seemingly forgotten. “While our chemtrail and water additive programs may have turned the vast majority of our citizens into mindless cannibals instead of complacent workers, as Ling’s unfortunate demise demonstrates, violence has its uses. The government’s objective was one of control. How does a small ruling class keep an unruly majority in line when faced with dwindling resources and near instantaneous communications?”
Mechler offered the men a cold smile. “Public access to mobile phones and the Internet are things of the past and few of the survivors have the brain capacity to operate them anyway. We’ve seen that victims of the plague still require water, but otherwise their only wants are flesh and violence. They care nothing for fuel, electricity, money, or anything we’d consider food. Yes, travelin
g in the open remains a virtual death sentence for the uninfected, however we have a solution currently under development that I’d like to share with you.”
Mechler pushed a button on his desktop and the wall behind him dissolved into a huge viewscreen similar to the one he was using to speak to the scientists. On the new viewscreen was a cybernetic zombie like the one that had attacked at SOUTHCOM. It stood in the center of what appeared to be a small warehouse surrounded by a dozen non-enhanced Afflicted that were chained to the walls and mewling like starving animals.
The scientists around the table gasped, looking at one another in disbelief.
Mechler grinned and announced “What that ruling class needs is an army, a force powerful enough to keep the predatory natives at bay. Our little disaster left plenty of war dogs at our disposal. What we lacked was the proper leash. Our cybernetic division has solved that dilemma. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the zyborg! The perfect mix of monster and machine!” Mechler then picked up a small device from his desk and mashed a button on it as he watched the screen.
The zyborg’s eyelids popped open to reveal mechanical eyes that looked like metal dials. The hybrid monster unleashed a torrent of bullets from its built-in machine guns, ripping both the cement walls and the chained Afflicted to shreds. When the Afflicted had been reduced to nothing more than hanging strips of bloody flesh and chunks of bone, the zyborg stopped, its arms settling back at its sides, its face as gray and impassive as stone.
Mechler gazed down intently at the scientists and said “Our government may be gone, but Biomech remains. We’ll cleanse this world through science. One way or another.”
Mechler folded his hands atop his desk and leaned in closer to the camera. “I need each of you to double your efforts. Our time is now. I need not remind you that the only thing I value as much as competence is loyalty. What you witnessed in this room today stays in this room. Anyone that fails or betrays that trust will suffer Doctor Ling’s fate. I’ve shown you the path to our future. Now make it a reality. ”
With that, the viewscreen went dark, leaving the scientists to quietly shuffle out of the conference room, mumbling to one another and trying not to look at the remains of the unfortunate Doctor Ling.
With the camera now off, Mechler punched a series of keys on the keyboard to his desktop computer and waited until the phone icon on his monitor changed color from red to green. When it did, he leaned a little closer to the built-in microphone.
“Send our condolences to Ms. Ling, tell her the good doctor met with an unfortunate accident this afternoon,” he said. “Due to risk of contamination, the body had to be cremated immediately. I’m sure she’ll understand.”
Chapter 8
The days of American highways being traveled at speeds of 70 MPH and higher were long gone thanks to a combination of wreckage, road kill, and unrepaired weather damage, but Sawyer and his companions had managed to put almost a third of the drive from SOUTHCOM to Atlanta behind them by the time the sun was starting to dip toward the horizon. Sawyer had made two stops for bathroom breaks and to stretch his legs and they’d had to move at a crawl at least a dozen times as they skirted accidents that blocked both lanes, but they hadn’t run into any major trouble and for that, he and his three passengers were grateful.
Unable to avoid clipping the rear corner of a trailer that was jackknifed behind a wrecked pickup truck, Sawyer sent the trailer spinning as the huge military vehicle knocked it out of their way and kept on rumbling up the road. The impact barely made a scratch on the Humvee’s dull paint job, but it was loud and the priest groaned from his place in the backseat, stirring from another of his frequent naps.
“Uh, Father Lynch doesn’t look so good,” Jenny said worriedly. She still sat in the back with the old man, but was now leaning against the far side of the vehicle as if to put as much space between herself and Lynch as possible.
Angel turned in her seat to look back in their direction. She saw that Lynch was slumped sideways, his mouth open and snoring, his skin a sickly green color. Spittle flecked his lips and beard and his eyelids were slightly open, showing yellowed whites that were rolled up in their sockets.
Angel turned forward again and whispered quietly enough that she hoped Jenny wouldn’t hear over the noise of the engine. “Do you think he might be turning?” she asked.
Sawyer kept his eyes on the road and replied while barely moving his lips. His voice was so low; Angel could scarcely make out the words.
“It wasn’t too long ago that Lynch thought the same thing about Jenny,” he grumbled. “You forget that already?”
He stole a quick glance at the old man via the rearview mirror and then added, “Just keep an eye on him.”
As they approached the city of Kissimmee, the Disney World billboards began springing up at every exit. Most were torn and faded and several were nearly hidden by the ever-present kudzu, but they were still hard to miss. Jenny looked out at them wistfully through the window.
“Mommy and daddy took me to Disney when I was five,” she said aloud, a slight tremble in her voice. “I was little, but I still remember it.”
Angel looked back at her and smiled. “My parents took me when I was little too. I rode my first roller coaster and got my picture taken with Mickey and Minnie.”
“I wonder if the monsters ate them,” Jenny said in an odd voice, sending a shiver down Angel’s spine. Angel wasn’t sure whether the girl meant her parents or the famous pair of cartoon mice, and decided she didn’t want to know. Better to change the subject.
“I could use another potty break,” Angel told Sawyer. “Can we stop at the next exit?”
“I planned on calling it a night once we get past Orlando,” Sawyer replied. “You can hold it until then, can’t you?”
Angel gave Sawyer a look that was hard to mistake. “I’d really like to stop now,” she said firmly. “I think we could all use a chance to stretch our legs and get a change of scenery.”
Sawyer took the hint. “Next exit it is then,” he replied.
A pair of pollen-coated cars had been abandoned along the ramp, but Sawyer navigated past them easily enough. The Sunoco station was only about 30 yards down the pothole-strewn road of what had once been a bustling little tourist stop on the way to the state’s amusement park hub. Now, like everything else Sawyer had seen since the old man sleeping in the backseat had convinced him to leave his modest but comfortable trailer behind to set off on this journey, the road was deserted, a relic that was slowly rotting back into the Florida sand.
Sawyer pulled into the gas station, parking close to the side of the building where the bathrooms were located. He left the engine running.
“Stay put for a minute,” he told his companions. “I’ll be right back.”
After exiting the Humvee, Sawyer pulled his gun and clicked off the safety before he moved toward the front of the station. The glass front was covered in so much dust and grime that he couldn’t make out much of the interior so he tried the doors. They were locked. He moved back past the vehicle and tried the door to the ladies’ room. Apparently whoever had thought to lock up the station hadn’t been as concerned about the bathrooms. The door swung open without complaint. After a brief check confirmed that both it and the neighboring men’s room were vacant, Sawyer strode back to the Humvee and opened the driver’s side door.
“All clear,” he told them.
As Angel started to get out, Sawyer reached over and plucked up the gun that she’d left sitting on the floor board in front of her seat. “Take this with you just in case,” he added.
Angel grabbed the weapon and slipped it into the back of her shorts before walking toward the facilities. Sawyer looked in the rear of the vehicle to see that the old man was still dozing fitfully, his eyes darting back and forth beneath his closed eyelids. The skin on his face looked sickly and pale. Jenny just sat quietly in her spot, staring back at him.
“I’m gonna stay out here and stretch for a minute,” he
told her. “You might want to use the restroom too before we get going.”
Jenny shook her head. “I’m okay,” she told him. “I don’t need to right now.”
Sawyer glanced at Lynch and then back at the girl. “You sure?” he asked.
After getting an affirmative nod, Sawyer stepped away from the Humvee, leaving his door propped open since he only planned to stretch as long as it took Angel to finish her business. He was scuffing at the sand that had partially covered the parking lot with one of his steel-toed boots, unearthing a bottle cap that had been glinting in the sun when Jenny started shrieking.
He spun around immediately, drawing his gun on instinct, to find Jenny clawing at the door as she desperately tried to get out of the vehicle. She wore a look of pure horror on her face as Father Lynch grabbed at her neck from behind and tried to bite her. The old man’s eyes had gone completely yellow, the irises rolled back in his head. Blood trickled from the outside corner of each, rolling down his cheeks like tears. The priest was babbling incoherently, like some macabre lampoon of his Pentecostal peers’ practice of glossolalia, all traces of his humanity gone.
Before the monster Lynch had become could sink his teeth into Jenny’s neck, Sawyer fired a single shot, the bullet missing the girl by less than an inch before it tore the top of the old man’s head off, splashing the opposite window in gore. Jenny screamed again as the remains of the priest flopped dead onto the seat beside her.