by Dirk Patton
The infected continued to stand there, sniffing and rocking back and forth and I was to the point of ready to release the door handle and draw my Kukri when one of the team made a noise down the hall to my left. The infected stopped sniffing and a moment later the three pairs of feet started moving in that direction. A long, silent breath escaped my lungs as they moved away from me.
OK for the moment, I desperately tried to come up with a way to warn the team of what was approaching. The males couldn’t attack with the speed and force of the females, but if they suddenly appeared out of the dark and grabbed you, you could be just as dead. I didn’t dare try the radio again as the infected were still close enough to hear even a whisper.
34
At first, Oklahoma City was shockingly normal. There was civilian traffic, people seemingly going about their lives. Then they came around a curve in the road and encountered the first roadblock. A dozen police officers and more than 20 soldiers stood across the road, Humvees and a Bradley backing them up. The police wore respirators and the soldiers were dressed in military MOPP – Mission Oriented Protective Posture – gear from head to toe, including full hoods with respirators. They looked like something out of a cheesy Science Fiction movie, but there was nothing cheesy about the weapons they kept trained on all approaching vehicles.
Roach hit the brakes, the truck coming to a stop with a metallic squeal. He thought about turning around and running, his mind immediately going into a panic at the sight of the police, but another truck had come to a stop behind him and he was stuck. After a few moments one of the officers waved him forward and he eased off the brake.
Coming to a stop he watched as the policeman walked up and gestured for him to roll the window down. Roach complied and the man looked at him for a long moment, then shifted his gaze to check out the girl in the passenger seat. Her name was Synthia. Roach suspected her parents had christened her Cindy, but she had made sure he knew the correct spelling when she told him.
Roach had taken her up on her offer of sexual favors in exchange for bringing her along. She was actually younger than he had thought at first, but he didn’t care that she was only 16 and he was committing more felonies than he could count every time he touched her. He found that he enjoyed her more than he had expected, taking pleasure from being as rough as he could be. She had the bruises on her legs, ass and breasts to attest to some of his fetishes.
“Where are you coming from, sir?” The officer asked, voice muffled by the respirator he wore.
“Tennessee.” Roach answered, figuring the truth was best, and also hoping the cop knew what had happened in Tennessee and he would get some sympathy. “Is there a problem?”
“No problem, sir. We just need to check you for any signs of infection before you proceed. Please pull over there.” The officer pointed at a dirt lot to the side of the road where a large tent had been set up. More Humvees with mounted machine guns guarded the tent and were in position to prevent any vehicles sent their way from proceeding without permission. Roach nodded and turned off the road, bumping across the rough ground.
A soldier met them in the parking area and told them to stay in their vehicle. He backed a few feet away and kept watch on them, rifle up and across his chest. Ten minutes later a figure dressed all in white protective gear, like a scientist from a biohazard lab, emerged from the tent and shouted to the soldier who waved Roach and Synthia out of the truck, telling them to leave the keys. They were escorted to the tent flap and entered a small area that was completely draped off with clear plastic. Two more soldiers in full MOPP gear and the figure in white were waiting for them.
They were handed a red plastic bag and told to strip naked. Roach started to protest but one of the soldiers stepped forward and roughly gestured at the bag. Synthia didn’t hesitate to strip, and in moments was completely naked. Roach saw the person wearing white notice her bruises, but nothing was said and no questions were asked. With a sigh he stripped his clothes off and added them to the bag which was tied shut and tossed back out the entry. The soldier handed Roach a small plastic tag with a number on it that he had snapped off the rim of the bag.
Next they were moved forward into a second curtained area. Here there was a floor made of slats of metal with a shallow catch basin underneath. Plastic pipes ran straight up eight feet then bent to create an overhead lattice to which several shower heads were mounted.
“You’ll want to keep your eyes closed.” The man in white shouted a moment before turning a valve built into the thickest pipe.
The shower heads sputtered to life, a chemical smelling liquid raining down on them with some force. The liquid was cold and Synthia started to shy away from the stream, but was told to stand still.
“Rub all of your body.” They were told, both of them complying in hopes the cold shower would end faster.
After almost two minutes the shower heads were shut off and a flap in the curtain to their front was opened from the far side.
“This way.” Another figure, also in white, waved them forward. They stepped into yet a third curtained area.
Two more soldiers guarded another flap that appeared to open into the main tent, but this plastic wasn’t clear and Roach couldn’t get a good view of what lay beyond. A small table sat to the side, various instruments resting on it. First their temperature was taken with a probe that went into their ears. Next the man held up a device that looked much like a test meter that a diabetic would use to check their blood sugar levels. He held his hand out and took Roach’s right index finger.
Finger inserted into a slot, he pushed a button and Roach felt a sharp prick. The man released his hand and stared at the device until it beeped twice and flashed. Snapping the slot off the unit he tossed it into a red biohazard bag before clicking a fresh one into place. The process was repeated with Synthia. A minute later each of them were motioned forward again, the soldiers stepping aside when the flap was pulled open.
“This way, please.” A middle aged woman in surgical scrubs stood waiting for them inside the main area. They stepped through the flap which she carefully resealed behind them. From a cart she picked up two thin paper gowns and handed them to Roach and Synthia. Roach gratefully pulled his on, happy to cover his nudity. Despite his predilections he was far from an exhibitionist, and didn’t like being seen naked, even by his victims.
“What was that all about?” Synthia asked as they were escorted to the woman’s desk where she waved them into chairs before sitting down and looking at a computer monitor.
“Decontamination and check for infection. You’re both clean or you wouldn’t be in here.” She waved around the room where several more identical desks were occupied by more workers wearing scrubs and people wearing the paper gowns. Several police officers, without respirators, stood around the perimeter, keeping a close eye on everyone and everything.
“Now, I’ll start with you,” she said, looking at Synthia over a pair of reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. “Name, age and social?”
Roach tensed. Immediately started thinking about how he was going to handle the situation when it came out that Synthia was only 16. He looked around for anything he could use as a weapon, but there was nothing. Synthia surprised him, solving the problem by lying. She gave a different name, claimed she was 20 and said she didn’t know her social security number. The woman looked her up and down, nodded and punched the information into the computer and watched the screen for a moment.
They’re running background checks right here! Roach felt himself flush with anxiety. Had anyone flagged him in the system? Had the Army or the Nashville police put an alert out for him? If he gave false information, what would happen? The woman would call one of the cops over, that’s what would happen. Then he would be fucked.
What about the information Synthia had given? The computer beeped and the woman looked at the screen, then up to Synthia, then back to the screen. After a moment she seemed satisfied and clicked something with the mouse
. Did a picture come up? Had Synthia been lying to him about her name and age? If so, why would she say she was younger?
“Sir? Name, age and social security number.” The woman was staring at him over her glasses, fingers poised above the keyboard. Roach didn’t know what to do. Did he roll the dice and give his correct info? Did he have a choice? She was asking for a social security number, and he didn’t think he’d get away with playing dumb. There were probably very few adults in America that didn’t have those nine digits burned into their memory. Could he give fake information and bluff?
“Sir?” Roach saw the woman glance over at one of the cops, and from the corner of his eye he saw the man start walking toward them.
“Lee Roach. 33 years old. US Air Force Captain.” He said it all in a rush, then rattled off his social. The woman started typing, the cop walking up and standing behind Roach before she had finished inputting the last bit of information.
Roach could feel the stare of the police officer on the back of his neck. He forced himself not to turn and look up at the man, certain his face would betray something. Instead, he maintained a calm façade and watched the woman watch the computer. When it beeped she leaned forward slightly to stare at the monitor, then shifted her gaze to Roach for another inspection before turning back to the photo on the screen. After a bit she nodded and clicked the mouse.
“Thank you, Captain. What are you doing here?” She asked. Roach noted that the cop hadn’t left.
“I was at Arnold Air Force Base in Tennessee when the second wave of infection hit. The base fell and we made it to Nashville and onto the evacuation train and out of Tennessee. There were some problems in Arkansas and we set out on our own. I’m trying to get to Tinker Air Force Base to report.” Some of it was the truth, some of it was bullshit, but it was the best Roach could come up with on the spur of the moment. Enough truth to match events, and there was no way for them to double check or prove he wasn’t really trying to get to Tinker, a few miles outside of Oklahoma City. As long as there weren’t any flags in the system put there by the Army, he felt he was good.
“And who is Tammy to you?” She asked, using the fake name Synthia had given and looking between the two of them.
“She’s my girlfriend.” Roach answered quickly before Synthia could say anything.
The woman nodded and started typing some notes into the computer. The cop finally got bored and wandered off. Roach wanted to heave a sigh of relief, but resisted the urge. Finally she finished typing, clicked twice with her mouse and looked up at them.
“Thank you, Captain. Do you know how to get to Tinker?”
“Yes, I do.” Roach lied.
“Good. You can get out right through there. Have a nice day.” She pointed at a sealed flap guarded by two of the cops.
“Our clothes?” Roach asked.
“You have the tag?” She asked, and Roach held it up for her to see. “There will be a stack of bags outside the door with a soldier guarding them. Give him the tag and he’ll give you your clothing.”
Not wanting to spend another minute being questioned about who he was or what he was doing, Roach quickly got to his feet and led Synthia to the exit. One of the cops pulled the flap open and they walked out into bright sunshine. To the right was a soldier with a pile of red bags on the ground behind him. Roach retrieved their bag and they quickly dressed there in the open, no options for privacy available.
“Where’s my truck?” Roach asked the soldier. The man just pointed across a large lot, Roach looking until he spotted the vehicle. Two minutes later they were in the truck and back on the road.
“Who’s Tammy?” He asked when they were clear of the roadblock.
“My sister. She was killed by an infected. I figured they wouldn’t know that, and if I told them I was only 16 they’d probably have taken me away from you.”
Roach was surprised at the answer. It sounded like Synthia actually wanted to be with him. She could have gotten away easily just by telling the truth. There would have been nothing Roach could have done. She would be free and he’d be looking at the inside of a jail cell. Or worse. For the first time in his life, Roach felt something akin to fondness for another human being.
35
The males continued to scrape and bump their way down the hall towards my team. I was concerned, but not desperately so until I heard more noise from my right. More infected coming. Enough already. I had to move, and had to move now. Taking a quick mental inventory of what I had on my person I came up with an idea. All it needed to work was for me to be able to release the door handle without a flood of infected pouring out of the stairwell.
As quietly as I could I let go and climbed to my feet, pulling my rifle sling over my head. Careful to stay quiet and not bang against the door, I inserted the muzzle of the rifle through the handle. It was pointing to my left and lighting up the three infected that had already passed me. I pushed the rifle past the door jamb and into the handle until it would go no farther. Wrapping the sling through the handle I tied a knot in it so the rifle was held in place. With it wedged against the steel frame around the door and through the loop of the handle, it should be impossible for the infected to pull the door open. Should be.
Not wasting any more time I drew my Kukri and moved into the light to follow the three infected. The first one I came to had been a security guard and was still dressed in light duty body armor. I raised the Kukri and stabbed down into the back of his neck, avoiding the collar of his vest. He died instantly and collapsed to the floor. The other two heard him go down and turned with snarls.
I stepped in, buried the blade in the heart of the one closest to me, stepped over the falling body and stabbed up through the third one’s mouth into his brain. He dropped like a sack of wet laundry and I turned to meet the other infected that were coming up behind me. As I completed the turn I heard the running feet, had time to realize at least one female was attacking and stepped sideways to put her between me and the light.
She was almost on me and coming fast and quiet. Body silhouetted by my flashlight which was still mounted to the rifle holding the door shut, I side stepped again and slashed with the Kukri. The blade opened her throat and almost decapitated the body. She crashed to the floor and I continued the motion to spin and bury the point into the chest of the female that was close on her heels.
I missed the heart and she opened her mouth to scream but only a gurgle of blood from her lacerated lung came out. She tried to wrap me in an embrace, snapping teeth lunging for my face, but I shoved her back with my free hand, Kukri coming free as she staggered away. Not waiting for her to recover, I attacked, charging in and slashing across her exposed throat and severing both arteries and her trachea. She fell to the floor and started twitching and gurgling as she died.
Four more males were right behind her and I slashed and stabbed my way through them until all were dead on the floor. The polished tile was covered with slippery blood and I nearly went down when there was a sound behind me. Catching my balance I spun, Kukri up and dripping blood from its razor sharp edge, but it was my team standing there looking at me, blinking in the bright flashlight beam.
Martinez looked around at the dead infected for a moment, said something under her breath in Spanish and gave me a big smile. Doc looked pale as a ghost and Scott looked from body to body, cataloging the carnage. I bent and wiped the blade clean on one of the corpse’s pants, sheathed it and stepped up to them.
“What’d you find?” I asked in a quiet voice.
“No other access up.” Scott answered, still looking at the bodies. “But we got the elevator doors open and we have a problem. The car didn’t make it all the way up before the power went out. It’s stuck between the first sub-level and this one.”
Shit. Why couldn’t anything ever be easy? Or at least go according to plan? For probably about the thousandth time in my adult life I grudgingly acknowledged the old axiom that says even the best laid plans don’t survive contact with th
e enemy. So fucking true. OK, on to plan C. Whatever the hell it was.
“Alright. We can get into the car from above, we’ve just got to get to the ground level. What about the elevator shaft? Was there a ladder built in for maintenance?” I asked.
They all looked at each other and I could tell without them saying anything that they didn’t know. That was the first thing we needed to check.
“Did you find anything we can use to block that door so I can get my rifle back?” I asked, not wanting to have to leave it behind. Martinez reached to her left wrist and unbuckled a survival bracelet.
“Got 13 feet of 550 paracord here. Anything on the opposite wall we can use as an anchor point?” She asked, holding the bracelet out to me.
Paracord bracelets are a cleverly woven length of nylon line with a breaking point of 550 pounds. They can be unraveled in an emergency and you have a short length of rope that is very tough and strong. I took the bracelet and headed for the stairwell door, motioning for everyone to be as quiet as possible.
For once, I was in luck. Across the hall from the stairwell was a vault with one of the heavy, chrome wheels in the center of the door. I quickly unraveled the bracelet, straightened the rope out and tied an end securely to the vault. Stretching it across the hall I made several loops around the door handle, stretched the cord as tight as I could get it and tied it off. I felt fairly good about this option. I didn’t see any way possible the infected could exert enough pulling force on the door to break the paracord. Retrieving my rifle, I led the way to the elevator doors.
Scott and I pried the doors open, and while he held them in place I leaned in with my rifle and looked around with the flashlight. Just a couple of feet above the top of the opening was the bottom of the car with the bombs in it. Shining the light to the side I wasn’t surprised to find that the shaft was actually wider than the car. Vertical girders were in place to guide and stabilize the car as it moved up and down, but there was another three feet of space beyond the girders. That space was there for maintenance as well as rescue if the car got stuck, and iron rungs were set into the concrete wall, creating a ladder that ran the full height of the shaft.