“Why wouldn’t scabs just eat the Zulus down to the bone?” Dobson asked. “We’ve already observed them using the dead for food.”
“Correction, Major,” Doctor Tripp countered, “we’ve seen them eat recently dead and reanimated Zulus. Perhaps after a certain time of reanimation, scabs may either lose interest or can’t digest the rotting meat. Think about it. In the last five months, have you observed or heard of scabs kidnapping zombies for food? They seem to only hunt the living.”
“The Doc has a point,” Fish grumbled, as if he was unhappy to agree with her.
Doctor Tripp went on. “Over time, this may be what happens when Zulus are confined together. They are not only consuming the flesh around them by excreting arteries containing the M Supercells, but actually merging with the leftover tissue. It is pretty fascinating.”
“You’re sick,” Fish grumbled and spun, facing Dobson. “Sir, permission to burn this thing?”
“Hold on! Let me get a few samples,” Doctor Tripp demanded.
Fish turned to the doctor. “You’ve got issues, Doc. None of us are getting within five feet of that thing.”
“It does kind of look like The Thing,” Dobson observed, only partially listening to the conversation. He appeared transfixed by the monstrosity as it churned in the dumpster.
“What’s ‘The Thing’?” I asked, confused.
Dobson smiled, which was a rare occurrence. “You mean you’ve never seen the movie ‘The Thing’?” he chuckled.
I shrugged, not knowing what he was talking about.
“John Carpenter? Starring Kurt Russell?” Fish said joining in. “Come on kid, don’t make me feel that old.”
“They even made a reboot,” Dobson added, and then got serious again. “Fish is right, Doctor. No sense in us taking the risk of infection just for a sample.”
“Christian can do it,” Doctor Tripp said, volunteering me.
“Wait, what?” I said. “Sorry, I’m not touching that.”
“Christian,” Doctor Tripp said to me, her eyes pleading. “Every piece of data we gather can be helpful. This can show us how the Supercells react when absorbing new DNA.”
I exhaled. “But Julia,” I said, using her first name, “how do I know some arm isn’t going to reach out and pull me in.”
“Oh Jesus,” Fish sighed, “don’t be such a pansy.”
“Wait, I thought you didn’t want any of us going near it.” I reminded him.
“I didn’t until you sounded like a girl. Get the Doc her samples while I get a torch,” Fish said. He started to walk away, but paused. “Doc, here’s a question. Why are there no flies? In all this time, we don’t have any flies. You would think there would be thousands of them.”
“You mean trillions,” Doctor Tripp corrected.
“Whatever,” Fish grumbled.
“It’s a hypothesis, but I think it is because when flies attempt to inject their larvae into the dead, the M Supercells see it as another source of protein.”
“You mean the zombie body eats the larvae?” Dobson asked.
“Basically,” Doctor Tripp nodded. “We already know that the supercells digest the parts of the body it doesn’t feel are necessary, why would it think any different when it comes across a foreign protein?”
“I hate flies. Guess I can be thankful for that one,” Fish grumbled. He turned and jogged around the building toward the road.
Doctor Tripp looked at me. “Christian?”
“Alright, I’ll get your samples,” I said, subdued. “But if that thing reaches for me, I’m out.”
“Agreed,” Doctor Tripp said, pulling out a couple vials.
“You carry those on you?” Dobson asked.
“You never know when you’re going to need them,” she said. “You carry backup weapons, don’t you?”
“Whatever,” Dobson said, now disinterested in the conversation. He radioed DJ for a report on their progress clearing the road.
After putting on my gloves, I pulled out my K-Bar knife and grabbed the vials from Julia.
“Try and get some of the grey strands and the connecting tissue,” she told me.
“I’ll try,” I responded sarcastically. I really didn’t want to do it. It’s not like I was collecting samples off of a zombie or scab. This was something new, different, and potentially deadly even to me.
I slowly walked up to the trash bin. The mass of flesh roiled, pushing toward me as I approached. Nothing shot up at me or tried to grab me as I rested my hand on the edge of the dumpster, though I could tell something was churning deep within the mound of zombie leftovers.
I took one last look at Doctor Tripp and she gave me a reassuring smile. It didn’t comfort me in the least.
The grey strands were tougher than they appeared, requiring me to saw through them like a well-done steak. I put a sample of the grey strands in one of the vials and then dug the blade into the flesh it was connected to. There was no physical reaction as I did it, other than what the mass of flesh was already doing since we discovered it.
A strange movement toward the middle of the zombie blob caught my eye just as I retrieved the last sample.
Fingers were clawing to the surface, inching their way ever so slowly to the top. I was far enough away where it didn’t scare me, but I was still awe struck.
“Do you see this?” I asked.
Dobson turned and looked. It took him a moment before he saw the hand, but Doctor Tripp answered before he could say anything.
“It seems to have some motor function of the connecting limbs,” she concluded. “Look at the foot on the other side. It’s trying to push its way toward you as well.”
I looked over and saw it. The foot was leaning toward me, but not making much headway. The hand was clawing its way across the bones and flesh on the surface. It would have taken it ten minutes to reach me, but still, it was both peculiar and disturbing.
I wasn’t going to stick around ten minutes to find out what would happen when the hand made it to the edge. I backed away with the second sample and handed the two vials to Doctor Tripp. She was now wearing latex gloves, and carefully put the vials in a pouch.
My earpiece cracked with Pittman’s voice.
“Major,” he said, “I think we’ve come across an old scab nest.”
“Old?” Dobson repeated.
“Yes, sir,” Pittman confirmed. “I’d say it’s been abandoned for a month, minimum. Found two more Zulus. Both were pinned to trees with spikes and were missing their legs. They’ve been eliminated.”
“Roger that, Sergeant,” Dobson said. “Make your way back.”
“On our way, sir,” Pittman replied.
Doctor Tripp left and Fish soon returned with one of our customized propane tank flame throwers.
Fish lit the end with a chrome-plated zippo and told Dobson and me to move back.
The old warrior carried a smirk on his face as he pressed the gas release, sending a jet of flame into the dumpster. We all jumped as the trash bin shook and moved a couple inches away from the wall of the gas station. Fish adjusted his aim back and forth, engulfing everything in the container. The zombie blob writhed in agitation for a few minutes before it finally stopped moving. Black smoke billowed and rose into the air as the flesh continued to burn and smolder.
“Did you enjoy that?” I asked Fish as he shut the valve to the propane tank.
“Actually,” he said with a creepy grin, “I did.”
Pittman and Enrique emerged from the woodline and we all made our way back to the road intersection.
Twenty minutes later we had cleared a safe path through the minefield of traps.
I caught Fish and Dobson arguing near Jenna’s truck as I made my way back to Big Red. Dobson was holding the map book open. It gave detailed routes in Florida and was how we mapped our journey through the state.
“Major, I’m telling you, this changes things,” Fish growled.
“We cannot deviate, Fish. The longer we’re out h
ere, the worse our chances are of making it to Hoover Dam,” Dobson countered.
Fish’s face grew dark as he spoke. “Sir, if scabs are setting up traps like this, I can guarantee we will run into more. Next time, there might be a couple dozen of the assholes to ambush us.”
“And those traps could be anywhere,” Dobson said, standing his ground. “Changing our entire route could cost us days or weeks.”
“What are you two arguing about?” DJ asked as he and Campbell approached. I quietly stood there with Boomer, hoping they didn’t notice me.
“I’m trying to convince the Major here that we need to adjust our route,” Fish said irritably.
“Why?” Campbell asked.
“Think about it, sir,” Fish explained. “These scabs set up this ambush on a major route. Look at all the cars. They were heading east.”
“The real question is,” DJ interjected, “where are the scabs now? Do you think they headed toward Camp Holly?” DJ was showing concern. After all, his family was still at Camp Holly.
“Doubtful,” Campbell said. “If the scabs left a month ago and headed east, we would have seen them long before now. Besides, chances are they are heading to where the cars were coming from.”
“Orlando,” Fish stated. “Which is exactly where we’re headed.”
“We’re skirting Orlando to the south,” Dobson corrected.
“Yeah, but we’re still headed through Kissimmee. Kissimmee isn’t exactly a small town,” Fish told him.
“Yeah,” DJ agreed. “And this road is probably packed bumper to bumper there. Remember? I argued that last week. Now we have to worry about these scab traps. I agree with Fish. Scabs will almost definitely have similar ambush points along the major roadways.”
“They have good points, sir,” Campbell reasoned. “Maybe we ought to think about changing up our plans.”
Dobson stood still, stewing. I could tell he didn’t like his authority being questioned. Originally, Dobson said he didn’t need Campbell or Fish on the journey. Now I could see why he didn’t want them around. They held clout in the group, and that undermined his command.
Dobson turned and peered at the map. He traced a few roads with his finger and then looked back up.
“There is only one way through Harmony,” the Major stated. “And turning back now is counterproductive. We will proceed past Harmony and then reevaluate. If the situation arises where we need to change our route, we can do it there.”
“I can deal with that,” Fish said, glaring at the map.
“I’m not looking for your approval, First Sergeant,” Dobson growled, and then allowed his eyes to sweep over DJ and Campbell. “I’m not looking for anyone’s approval. I have the final say. Is that clear?”
“Of course, sir,” Campbell said quickly. Everyone could see Fish’s blood pressure rising and the Captain was trying to prevent further argument.
Dobson nodded to Campbell. “We move out in three mikes.” At that, Dobson spun and marched toward the CDC bus.
“Fish,” Campbell whispered.
“Don’t ‘Fish’ me, sir,” Fish growled. “His pride is going to get us killed.”
“I understand your concern,” Campbell sighed, “but we have to be diplomatic about this.”
“I leave diplomacy to the politicians,” Fish said sarcastically. “Oh wait, all the politicians are dead.”
“Fish,” DJ said, “let the Captain handle Dobson. We don’t need a civil war between us. We’re all on the same side.”
“Whatever,” Fish grumbled. “He better make the right choice when we get to Harmony.”
As it turned out, our choices whittled down to one: Flight.
CHAPTER 2
Fight or Flight…or Both
August 2nd Afternoon
The clouds in the sky grew closer as we drove west and they soon overtook the heavens above. Before long the sun was blocked out except for brief holes in the sky. No sign of rain, though, and that brought possible danger to our vehicle train.
Zombies emerged from their hiding spots. Most were near lonely homes or off in the brush. Only one was on the road. Jenna maneuvered her truck and avoided it. DJ, however, aimed for the walking corpse and the body broke apart in a fantastic shower of flesh and ooze as the shovel on Big Red collided with the zombie.
“I think we’re going to see more as we get closer,” Daniel observed. He had moved to the back of the cab with Karina and me, allowing Pittman’s large frame more comfort in the front passenger seat.
“Were there a lot of people in Harmony?” Karina asked.
“A fair amount. Maybe three or four thousand,” DJ said, a look of pleasure still on his face from his recent kill. “For all we know, humans fortified the town and made it a safe place like Camp Holly.”
DJ didn’t sound convincing with his statement.
“Doubtful,” I interjected. “If I remember correctly, Harmony doesn’t really have a place to fortify. No big walls or compounds. Mostly just homes and a big church. My old roommate and I went there a few times. They have a pretty nice golf course.”
I smiled at the thought of Dave. We use to have some good times. Golf was one instance where his demons from combat never appeared. We were both horrible at the sport, but it was fun.
Pittman turned his head. “You play golf, Christian?” he asked with interest. “What’s your handicap?”
“My entire round was a handicap,” I chuckled. “Mulligans on every hole.”
“Too bad,” Pittman sighed. “I was going to ask the Major if we could stop and play nine.”
“Doubtful he would go for that,” DJ sneered.
“Stop the convoy!” Fish’s voice barked from the speaker.
Up head, Jenna’s truck was quickly slowing.
DJ pressed the brakes. I could tell he was fighting between a swift stop and locking the tires of the monstrous fire truck.
“Sit-Rep?” Dobson asked over the radio.
“Back it up, sir. We have a hoard of Zulus ahead. The whole town seems to be engulfed with the bastards,” Fish responded.
“Great,” Daniel complained as Big Red was put in reverse. Thankfully, DJ had disconnected the reverse warning beep.
“Don’t worry, Daniel, I’ll protect you,” Karina chided while nudging his ribs.
While we were training for the journey, Karina would regularly remind Daniel on how much better of a shot she was than he. Daniel would joke back with her, but I could tell it offended him. His one saving grace with us had always been his medical knowledge. He went from being a paramedic to a combat medic virtually overnight. That didn’t change the fact that he felt his man card was in jeopardy. With the revelation that Pittman and Dobson were super combat medics, I think Daniel was starting to feel inadequate.
“I’m sure Daniel can protect himself, Karina,” I said in a tone that told her to let it go.
As usual, she didn’t get the hint and was about to say something else when Big Red stopped abruptly.
“Pittman and Jenna on overwatch,” Dobson ordered over the comms. “DJ, bring Christian and meet me in our vehicle.”
The CDC bus pulled into view beside Big Red just as Jenna’s truck, which had turned around, did another U turn in front of us to face west again.
Jenna climbed out of the driver seat and hopped into the back of her truck. Her hunting rifle, extended by a suppressor, pointed south as she scanned the area for threats. Pittman clamored into the back, stepping on my foot and dropping a knee into Daniel’s leg as he wedged through the rear hatch.
“Move it, Christian,” DJ said as he hopped out of the fire engine.
“Karina, keep an eye on Boomer,” I told her as I climbed down from Big Red. Boomer didn’t like me leaving him and it usually took Karina for him to stay put.
I jogged to catch up with DJ and we made it to the door of the CDC bus just as Fish stepped in.
The inside of the bus was cramped. It was thirty feet in length, but we had used half of its capacit
y to store supplies. Ammo, food, water and various other pieces of equipment ranging from vehicle parts to toiletry items were crammed toward the back, blocking the rear door. To ensure safety, we had cut a hole in the roof and installed a hatch. No one wanted to be stuck in the bus without a second exit.
Campbell and Dobson repositioned themselves in the front seats so they could see everyone. Doctor Tripp was sitting in a floor mounted swivel chair. It was the only one that remained inside the bus after DJ and Preacher modified the vehicle. In front of her was a laptop, electronic microscope, and other medical equipment that sat on a desk fastened to the interior wall.
“Christian, Doctor Tripp needs to see you,” Dobson said, pointing toward Julia.
I nodded and made my way past DJ and Fish. She motioned to a large container on the floor and I took a seat.
In her hand was a rubber tie and blood collection needle. I knew them well. It felt like Doctor Tripp had taken a couple of gallons of my blood since they found out about my immunity.
“More blood?” I asked dispassionately, unfastening my M4 from my vest and setting it next to the desk.
“Yes,” she said, immediately rolling up my sleeve when I sat down. She tied the tourniquet around my arm and flicked one of my veins.
“Is this what heroin addicts look like?” I joked, glancing down at my arm.
My inner elbow had been bruised a couple of times from bad sticks by Doctor Tripp. The latest was still prominent, not to mention a few of the holes from previous withdrawals that hadn’t healed yet.
“Normally, I wouldn’t recommend someone have blood taken so frequently,” she responded without a smile. “But considering the importance of examining your blood, I’ve made an exception.”
“Happy to hear I’m that important,” I said sarcastically. She continued to talk, though I only partially listened. I was more interested in what Dobson and the others were talking about.
“Report?” Dobson asked Fish.
“Lots of Zulus, sir,” Fish replied. “They were acting funny. Most were massed around a huge church on the south side of the road. Hundreds surrounded other buildings. We moved out before I could get an in depth look-see. I didn’t want any of them getting a whiff of us.”
The Hunt Chronicles (Volume 3): Crusade Page 3