by Tim Moon
The creature’s hands raked the man’s face again and latched onto his throat, pulling him closer to its hungry lips. The man fought against the pull and reached up to free his neck. Craning its neck up, the creature sank its teeth into the man’s forearm, hungrily removing a stringy chunk and devouring the flesh.
A piercing scream erupted from the man, his eyes bulging in pain. He swung wildly at the creature with his good arm but the blows were ineffective. The man couldn’t stop it from ripping another chunk from his damaged arm.
“My God, Davidson! That’s enough,” Aguilar said angrily, taking an involuntary step away from the window.
Screams continued blasting out of the little speaker along with the sound of blood splattering on the concrete floor.
“Quite the contrary, Subject 13 is just getting started.”
Blood loss and pain quickly weakened the man as he slipped into shock. The creature overwhelmed him and began tearing into his abdomen. Contented groans and wet smacking replaced the sounds of pain.
“Once turned, they don’t tire. They don’t sleep. Only fire or a critical blow to the head can kill them. Our new compound will bring our enemies to their knees without them knowing who struck the deathblow,” Davidson said, smirking proudly. His eyes gleamed in the light.
“I’ve seen enough,” said Aguilar. He turned on his heel and left the room.
18
Kona, Hawaii
BEN CHASE STOOD in line in the Quarantine Center’s cafeteria, just like everyone else. He moved along slowly, waiting to collect his package of food. Three times per day, the Hawaii Army National Guard soldiers served them Meals-Ready-to-Eat, or MREs.
They all shuffled along, nice and orderly. A light brown package of food thrust into their hands. Fussy eaters were out of luck because the soldiers didn’t entertain complaints, exchanges, or special diet exceptions. If you didn’t like what you received, it was up to you to trade for something better.
The soldiers didn’t have time to coddle everyone. Kona’s Quarantine Center was far too busy processing survivors and preparing them for evacuation. Half of the camp had been sent out yesterday for evacuation.
Ben collected his MRE and made his way to the back corner where his group always sat. There were no chairs, no tables, just several large folded tarps laid out for survivors to sit on. Although why they even bothered with the tarp made no sense to Ben. It didn’t add to the comfort or cleanliness of the place.
Charlotte was right behind him with Oliver in tow, hugging his MRE to his chest with one hand and clutching her hand with the other. Anuhea followed close behind, plopping down on the tarp without a word. Ty sat next to her and inspected his MRE.
“Damn, I got the chili with macaroni again,” Ty said with obvious disappointment.
“How many times is that now?” Charlotte asked.
“Every meal since we’ve been here,” Ty said. “Wanna trade?”
Charlotte smiled, and shook her head.
“Anyone wanna trade?” he asked.
“It’s all you, man. But, if I have peanut butter, I’ll trade you for the jalapeno cheese,” Ben offered.
Ty scoffed. “That’s the best part of this junk they call food.”
“I have spaghetti. And candy!” Oliver said happily, holding his M&Ms up for everyone to see.
Anuhea opened a pack of crackers. A tiny explosion of crumbs covered her legs. She frowned.
“Have you guys ever been to Molokai?” she asked.
Ty, Charlotte and Ben all shook their heads. Oliver ignored the adults as he ate the spaghetti, somehow managing to get sauce all over his lips and nose.
“To be honest, I’d never heard of it before the briefing,” Ben said. “Have you ever been there?”
She nodded.
“It’s kind of small and doesn’t get as much tourism as the other islands. I know it’s not the direction you were hoping to head, but at least it’ll be safe,” Anuhea said.
Ben nodded silently.
It had been a whirlwind of activity in the two days since soldiers rescued and escorted them to a joint FEMA-National Guard Quarantine Center. The medical check conducted by FEMA staff seemed like a glorified version of the one they received upon landing in Kona at the start of what should have been an enjoyable vacation. Ben got the distinct feeling they had no idea what they were looking for.
Ben had asked the QC officials about how to get to the mainland. His mom had Type-1 diabetes and hypothyroidism that required daily medication. If she ran out of either insulin or thyroid medication, she wouldn’t survive long. If the infection hit his hometown of Vancouver, Washington, as badly as it had hit Kona, it would be far too dangerous for her to leave the house to go scavenging for more medication. Unfortunately, no one could offer him a solution. All they could tell him was that the Federal Aviation Administration had canceled all flights into and out of the United States in an effort to reduce the spread of the infection. All border crossings and public transportation were at a standstill: trains, buses, subways, all of it.
According to the FEMA manager at the briefing, the FAA had given them special clearance for them to fly uninfected people already in Hawaii to the island of Molokai. Fighter jets had orders to intercept any flights attempting to leave the state of Hawaii and, in a worst-case scenario, shot down.
Concern for his mom weighed heavily on Ben’s mind. He knew she would tell him not to worry about her, but that was impossible. His mom had no family living close by to help her. With Ben’s dad gone for much of his childhood, and almost completely absent for the last decade since he lived halfway across the country, there was no one she could rely on.
“Yeah, it’s a step in the wrong direction. On the plus side, we might get an upgrade from living in tents and eating MREs while sitting on a tarp,” Ben said sarcastically.
“Anything’s better than dealing with the infected,” Ty muttered.
They all chuckled a little. Life was upside down for now and they all hoped it would return to normal as soon as possible.
Silence descended over the tent as everyone ate. It was their final meal in the Quarantine Center. Later that evening, a convoy would take them to Kona International Airport for the flight to Molokai.
“Oliver, M&Ms don’t go in spaghetti,” Charlotte said with a laugh.
“Yes, they do. See,” Oliver held up his pouch of spaghetti. “It’s yummy.”
Ben couldn’t help but smile at the kid.
19
“Come on, climb up,” Ty said, holding out his hand to help him up.
Ben hesitated a moment before climbing up into the sand-colored two and a half ton army truck known as a deuce and a half. He had known this moment was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier.
The truck would take Ben and his friends to Kona’s airport, albeit for a far different reason than was normal. Under presidential order, the National Guard, in cooperation with the private sector, was evacuating all survivors in Hawaii to the small island of Molokai, the only uninfected island in the state that had the infrastructure to accommodate large numbers of what the agencies termed “refugees.”
Could American citizens be refugees in their own country? It didn’t make sense to Ben.
He had mixed feelings about their destination. On one hand, he was thrilled to be leaving the horrors they’d endured since their flight from South Korea. On the other hand, going to Molokai took him further away from the mainland and from the hope of reaching his mom.
Ben didn’t have much choice though. If he refused evacuation, he doubted that they would just let him leave the QC, and escape was out of the question. The thought had briefly crossed his mind before he dismissed it as foolish. Not only were armed soldiers stationed the gate and patrolling the tall perimeter fence, which was topped by spiraling razor wire, but the infected were outside the fence. He had nowhere to go and with no other way off the island, he would likely die a horrible death. He resigned himself to going along with the army�
��s plan and hoping for the best.
“Let’s move a little quicker, folks. We’re moving out,” shouted a tall, thin soldier named Brussels. Specialist Frank Brussels. Junior. At least that’s how he’d introduced himself, like he was James Bond or something.
The day they’d arrived in camp, Brussels overheard that Ben and Ty had flown in from Korea. It sparked his interest since he lived there once upon a time, guarding the border with North Korea. After Brussels introduced himself like James Bond, they all spent an afternoon reminiscing about their experiences in Korea. He seemed like a good guy, but right now he was all business.
“Move your asses,” Brussels shouted again. “We’re on the clock here.”
Ben looked around to see if he’d been singled out, but there were other hesitant civilians holding things up.
Ben’s group was in the second truck in a convoy of four trucks. The convoy had two Humvees as a security escort, one in the front and one in the rear. They would help clear the way on their trip to the airport if they encountered any resistance.
With a scowl on his face and a heavy sigh, Ben reached up for Ty’s hand and climbed up next to him leaning back against the sideboard.
“Don’t look so grim. We’re almost out of here,” Ty said, grinning. Excitement radiated off him like a heater.
Ben gave a little nod.
Nearly thirty people were crammed into the bed of the deuce-and-a-half, so it was standing room only. The humid air made the tight space feel stuffy and everyone became sticky with sweat.
Floodlights facing into the quarantine center, cast sharp shadows across their faces while they chatted nervously above the din of the trucks’ idling engines.
The bright lights were unsettling. Ben tried to warn the soldiers about how the infected were attracted to the lights. Ben and his friends noticed it when they were hiding out in their hotel room. To his surprise, the soldiers simply responded with, “This is a secure location, sir.” And really, who was he to argue? They had the guns. They had the training. Ben was just a teacher. Yet, he felt fairly certain that they weren’t isolated enough to be so careless with the lights.
Once all of the civilians had boarded the trucks, a soldier came by, told them to watch their feet, and slammed each tailgate closed and secured it. Then he yelled at the lead driver to roll out. A few more shouts went back and forth along the convoy. The front gate slid open with a loud rattle of chain link fence and creaky wheels. With a lurch, the truck started forward, jostling its human cargo.
Ben watched through the slits between the sideboards as they passed by a guard tower and through the main gate. Guards holding rifles stood by and watched them pass. They looked bored.
He wondered what the soldiers would do now that the last of the civilians were leaving. The bright lights of the quarantine center receded and the dark night swallowed the convoy before he finished the thought. The convoy rumbled into the night.
Ben could see nothing through the sideboards, now. Behind them was the faint outline of the truck that followed them. The truck drivers had not turned on their headlights. Instead, they had opted for night vision goggles. Ben had seen them adjusting the equipment on their helmets when he was standing in line to board the truck.
A stealthy trip to the airport is smart, he thought. Well, as stealthy as these things can be.
He exhaled a big breath and settled with his back against the sideboards, hoping the ride would be quick.
Ben swayed with the truck as the convoy wound their way down the rough gravel road to the highway. From what he remembered, the gravel road was roughly two or three hundred yards long. It snaked back and forth with large berms between each curve, as if built to hide light from the camp, even though he knew they hadn’t. The camp had been impromptu and hastily thrown up using only green canvas tents and the chain link fence.
When they’d arrived at the Quarantine Center a couple of days before, he remembered seeing the dark, gnarly looking lava rock that had stretched out on all sides of the QC. During the day, it was ridiculously hot and at night, it was slow to cool because the dark stone absorbed so much heat.
Charlotte leaned toward Ben and placed her hand on his arm, cupping his bicep. He felt sticky and wanted to push her hand away, but he loved the way she felt.
“You know, your mom might be safely relaxing in a quarantine center,” she said.
Ben reached up and squeezed her hand. He wasn’t confident that a QC would be her best option, but he appreciated the sentiment. Charlotte might be right, but she was pretty much all he had as far as family went, so he couldn’t take that chance.
Ben remembered the text message his father had sent. “Don’t get bit.” In his mind, Ben sneered at his father. The man took off, moving half-way across the country, barely keeping in touch, and then he sends a cryptic message out of nowhere. As if Ben cared what he had to say, what a douche.
Gunfire erupted from the lead truck followed quickly by bursts from their truck. Ben flinched at the sound. Charlotte’s hand dropped away to cover Oliver’s ears. People gasped in shock. They huddled closer together, filling in space they hadn’t known was available.
Can’t anything go smoothly? Ben thought, grimacing at the noise. He twisted around to look out between gaps in the sideboards. They were nearly to the highway.
Muzzle flashes from the guns revealed brief snapshots of a massive crowd that was bearing down on them. He cursed softly and stared out, absorbing as many details as he could.
Although he wasn’t a religious man, he prayed that the trucks could plow through the bodies without a problem.
Flying to Molokai suddenly seemed like a great idea.
Below his feet, the deuce bucked and bounced as they rolled over and crushed both rock and the infected underneath the truck’s massive tires. Charlotte and Anuhea held Oliver between them as the convoy jerked and swayed down the road. He covered his ears and stared at his feet.
“Oh God, save us,” wailed an old woman.
“We’re trapped; we’re all going to die. Get out of my way,” one man yelled, panicking. He began pushing his way toward the rear gate. People stared, but no one seemed to care what he was about to do. Bodies shifted and pushed as the man forced his way through.
“Calm down, we’ll be fine,” Ben said, trying to reassure the man. He reached out to stop the guy. A stinging blow, slapped his hand away.
“Where are you going, idiot?” Anuhea shouted at him.
He ignored everyone, fully succumbing to his fear. The man was muttering to himself as he threw one leg up over the tailgate. Suddenly, a hard bump jostled them, throwing him toward the truck’s cab. He lost his balance as he compensated for the movement and landed straddling the tailgate, crushing whatever balls he had with a pig-like squeal. Curling in defense of his vital parts, the man groaned pitifully as he toppled out into the darkness. If the trucks behind them didn’t crush his body, the infected would soon be on him.
People stared out after him, shocked.
“Everyone stays inside,” Ben yelled. “Stay inside!”
He didn’t want anyone else to panic and throw away their life. Escape was close and it came in the form of an airport, not a mad dash into the night like a fool.
“I see lights,” a woman said.
Ben straightened up, peering awkwardly through the sideboards again. There were a few headlights on the highway to the south of them. Some of them were moving slow, but most were stationary. Traffic jam? Abandoned? Ben couldn’t tell. A few pairs of headlights wove wildly back and forth, speeding down the road wherever they could find space. He heard a car horn and faint cries. Several quick gunshots went off, and then the honking stopped.
Shadows moved slowly through the light. Ben realized that it was the infected hunting their trapped and terrified prey. Survivors rushed to the airport, not knowing that they had to be quarantined first.
Ben felt a profound sense of disappointment. Why hadn’t the soldiers set up roadblocks? Wer
e there no signs or messages about the Quarantine Center? He couldn’t be certain. Maybe it just wasn’t possible. They had seen first-hand how quickly things had gone to shit at the triathlon. It felt like more should have been done, but how could they have prepared for something like this? How many people were really prepared to deal with an apocalypse? Much less a zombie apocalypse.
“We’re close to the airport,” Ben said to no one in particular. He hoped the traffic wouldn’t hold up the convoy. If they did, it wouldn’t take long for the soldiers to be overwhelmed, and if that happened, then all the civilians would be sitting ducks.
“How close?” a man asked.
Everyone in the truck seemed to be looking at Ben. Nervous energy crept up into his chest as the dozens of people, squished and crouched together in fear, gazed up at him. He looked down and saw Ty, his eyes were wide and his lip trembled.
Ben cleared his throat, rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Maybe five to ten minutes if we keep moving at this speed.”
He looked up and watched the shadows move along the highway, a sense of dread filling his gut.
If…
20
With guns blazing, bumpers plowing and tires crushing, the convoy raced to the airport.
After what felt like hours of driving, they emerged onto the highway, weaved their way through the traffic, and approached a manned checkpoint. All things considered, Kona International Airport looked surprisingly normal.
At the highway intersection, soldiers manned a defensive position made up of sandbags and a makeshift gate guarded by a pair of Humvees with mounted machine guns.
The infected don’t stand a chance against the army, Ben thought with a smile. They’re tough, and battle hardened.
He knew because he recognized at least one of the combat patches, the “electric strawberry” of the 25th Infantry Division based right there in Hawaii. One of his friends from university served with them. Seeing them eased Ben’s mind. If there was a part of the government they could rely on to do a kickass job, it was the military. Ben fought the urge to shout with joy as layers of stress slipped away.