Again, he pointed skyward. Why does he keep pointing to the sky? Were aliens going to descend on us at any moment? Russians? Russian archeologists? Maybe, it was a spasm.
“When the oversight was discovered, it was decided to just leave it behind. It was more cost effective and less dangerous to leave it for a few thousand years until the local population became less savage.”
“So, you left a container with a deadly, zombie-making virus behind, and you figured no one would find it and open it?”
“No one ever believed it would be opened, so no one tried to retrieve it. We were wrong; someone here did open it, and now...this is happening. It had all of the appropriate signage of warning on it. We never believed that someone would disregard the warnings.”
“Was it written in an Earth language or in Alien?” Now, she was buying into his fantasy. Great, now we are both nuts.
“I guess you have a point. We didn’t think to write it in modern day English. We wrote it in Vulgar Latin.”
“It landed in France? You figured that they wouldn’t open it, because you wrote ‘Do Not Open’ in Vulgar Latin on the outside.” Are you kidding me, Jonah? This story just keeps getting crazier and crazier!
He nodded. “The children didn’t bother to get it translated; they just found it and opened it. As a result, we have our current situation.”
“When you say current situation, you mean the zombies,” She raised one eyebrow sort of like Spock did when Captain Kirk proposed a hair-brained scheme.
Jonah smiled slightly. “Yes, I do mean the zombies, since that's what you would like to call them. We consider them compromised lifeforms.”
“I take it Vulgar Latin isn’t like regular French?”
“I don’t know, actually. It is my understanding from listening in on French radio that it was dug up by two French kids who couldn’t read yet.”
“So, lemme get this straight. Aliens left a container by accident in France about 1000 years ago. The aliens wrote cautionary instructions about the container in Vulgar Latin. Two kids, who can’t read, dug it up a few weeks ago, opened it, because they can’t read anything let alone Vulgar Latin, and now we have zombies?”
“Aimee,” Jonah said. “I'm trying to do this without breaking any rules, and your questions aren't helping. Please rest, so we can be on our way in a few hours.”
“And now, after you tell me all of this, you want me to rest?” She almost laughed, but stopped herself before she lost it totally. “Fine, resting it is.” I have lost my mind completely going along with this. I have boarded the crazy-train, and it just left the station with Jonah as the engineer.
***
“Mark, come in Mark,” Frank said into the handheld radio. There was no immediate response, so he checked the review mirror. Sure enough, Mark was still behind him, though he couldn't really make out Mark's shape through the tinted windows. Damn that boy and his tinted windows. Frank pressed the call button on the radio once again. “Mark answer the damn radio.”
There was a bit of static, followed by Mark's voice over the air.
“Mark here, once again, just like I was fifteen minutes ago, Dad,” Mark emphasized the word 'Dad' to show his utter annoyance. He was right, Frank had been calling him over the radio at least once every fifteen minutes, and each time, there was absolutely nothing to report. They had spent nearly eighteen hours on the road, and the only excitement had been a few fuel stops at which they'd been forced to siphon gas from the tanks below the gas stations, which wasn't surprising, considering the electricity was off.
“Maybe, you should give the boy some space,” Virginia suggested. “You can see him in your rear view mirror; do you have to hear from him every few minutes?”
Frank sighed aloud. “You know, I almost lost Amber at the store, I just...don't feel like having any more close calls.”
“But you didn't lose me, Dad,” Amber said from the back seat. “I'm still here, so is Mark and Kelly. Oh, and Carl.”
“Carl,” Frank grunted. He looked in the rear view mirror again. “Mark could have picked someone better to ride along.”
“I'm kind of glad he's not in the car with us,” Virginia smirked. “I can't imagine...”
She was referring to the infinite arguments that Carl and Frank had found themselves in over the years. There was an ongoing joke that Frank must have tried to strangle Carl in his crib at one point. From one point of view, it certainly looked like Frank was in the right, at least most of the time. He'd made all of the right choices, mostly, and managed to raise a good family, while his brother Carl was able to hold down his liquor easier than a studio apartment. Not that any of it mattered now. The world was ending, after all.
Frank looked to the right and saw an exit sign. It advertised a few gas stations, restaurants, and for some reason, a tourist center. At least they could stop and take a piss. He pressed the radio button down again.
“Mark, take the exit and stop at the Shell station; we're going to fill the reserve tanks,” He took his finger off the button and waited, but heard nothing but static. “Or you can just pass the exit and come back when you figure out we're not with you. Over. Dammit, Mark.”
Virginia shot him a disapproving look as they took the exit toward the Shell station. She had never liked swearing, and it was something he'd been forced to tone down when he began to date her. He'd had to cut it out entirely when he married her. He'd had to cut out a lot of things, he remembered. Drinking, smoking...and a host of other activities.
His motorcycle had been among the first things to go, but he couldn't say he regretted it. Even now she was as beautiful as the day he'd met her, and he couldn't regret the best decision of his life. She caught him staring and shot him a smile. He returned it, then looked back to the road. Out of habit, he stopped at the light, though there were obviously no other cars coming. He glanced at the rear view mirror and saw that Mark was still following him. Thank God for small favors.
The world had ended, but he still had his family – his entire family, and that was what mattered. Still, he wondered about his mother and father, long retired and living in Florida. Maybe he would be able to return for them. Maybe, if they located a boat on the coast they could sail it all the way down. Wishful thinking.
He pulled the minivan into the Shell station and parked near the underground tanks and stepped out, walking around back and opening the trunk.
“Dad, can I get out?” Kelly asked from the back seat as Frank removed the roll of garden hose.
“Stay in the car,” Frank responded as he walked toward the tanks. He looked up for a moment to see Carl walking toward him with a crowbar for the heavy metal lid guarding the fuel supply. His son, for whatever reason, had chosen to park next to one of the fuel pumps, perhaps out of habit. He shook his head and took the crowbar from Carl, who immediately helped him to lift the lid and drop the hose into the gasoline. Together they siphoned what the needed, filling the tank on the minivan as well as the reserve tanks he'd placed in the back.
“Dad, please? I need to stretch my legs,” Kelly called out from the back of the vehicle.
“Not now!” Frank snapped, still busy with the hose.
“Moooom!” Kelly shouted.
“Do you know anything about boats?” Frank asked Carl.
“I was in the Navy, dumbass,” Carl said, half-heartedly joking.
“You were in the Navy for a year. You didn't finish out your contract; you never finish anything,” Frank muttered.
“Really not the time, big brother,” Carl said as he began to wrap up the hose.
“I want to get our family on a boat, and get us out of here,” Frank said.
Carl nodded.
“It's a sound notion, just make sure you get a small boat, maybe a 40 footer.”
“Why a 40 footer?” Frank inquired.
“You don't have enough people to operate anything much bigger than that, and anything smaller won't make it out to sea.”
“If it floa
ts it can get out to sea,” Frank argued.
“Yeah, for a few minutes I suppose,” Carl was done arguing.
As they conversed, Mark began to pull the truck away from the pump to rejoin the convoy. He had apparently entered the convenience store and raided the food shelves. Not a bad idea, considering Twinkies last forever. As he pulled forward, both Frank and Carl saw it. A zombie had climbed into the bed of the truck while no one was watching. For the brief moment they saw it, they realized it was wearing the uniform of a Shell worker. It was likely the gas station attendant. Was. Now, it was a monster, and it was crawling through the back window of the truck.
“Mark!” Frank screamed. It was too late. There was a brief scream from Mark, and then the truck collided with the fuel pump.
“Get down!” Carl screamed as the pump burst into flame, and the support beam for the gas station gave way. The truck erupted into flames and the cab was crushed as the station canopy smashed into it, the Shell Logo replacing the space where the truck had once stood. Frank stood and reached out toward the truck, ready to run toward it.
“No!” Carl said, grabbing Frank by the arms. “Get in the van, let's go before the rest catches!”
They piled back into the van, and Frank was forced to push a Frantic Amber back into her seat as she tried to push past him.
“Mark!” Amber cried. “No, Mark!”
“Get us the hell out of here Carl!”
***
Sarah led Ross through the forest, almost as if she knew where she were going. This, of course, wasn't possible. A few hours ago she had never spoken a word in her life, and she hadn't really been aware of the forest. Now she was navigating it like a professional? That surely wasn't possible, but this thought never actually occurred to Ross. He had never met this girl, and he didn't really care. He followed her numbly through the forest, only because it was something to do. With any luck she would get both of them killed.
They walked for what seemed like hours, never leaving the forest even once, but finally, Sarah stopped and sat down on a fallen tree, straightening her dress as she did.
“I need a knife,” she said, smiling cheerfully.
Ross's thoughts went immediately to the pocket knife he carried everywhere, but should he really give it to this little girl? “What do you want with a knife?” Ross asked.
“I like you, you're so protective,” she said grinning from ear to ear. “but, I need a knife, and I think you have one.”
She wasn't wrong; he did have a pocket knife. He shrugged and pulled it out. What could it hurt now? She snatched it out of his hand and immediately went to work whittling a stick, almost as if she were making a spear.
“What are you doing?” Ross inquired.
“Isn't it obvious? I'm making a spear.”
“But...why do you need a spear? You have a knife.”
“No, YOU have a knife. I need a spear.”
“You should really listen to her,” Jill said. “She's your last chance.”
Ross spun around. It was Jill but...nope, a figment of his imagination.
“That's great,” Ross said. “I've snapped and I'm seeing my dead girlfriend.”
“I wasn't your girlfriend,” Jill reminded him. “We'd just met. Now maybe if you'd made better decisions...”
Ross place his hands on his ears and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” he shouted angrily. When he opened his eyes again, Jill was gone, but Sarah was staring at him as if he were a madman. “Sorry,”
Sarah shrugged and returned to whittling her stick.
“That's not going to save us,” he said, indicating the makeshift spear.
“You think so small,” Sarah smiled, speaking with wisdom far beyond her years. “All we need to do is set the proper events in motion, and then, boom, we both live, and maybe everyone else, too!”
“I don't understand a damn thing you're saying,” Ross muttered.
“Like I said, you think too small. You have to think big and see the whole picture; then you can set the right events in motion.”
“Okay,” Ross said. “I'll bite, what kind of 'event' are you trying to set in motion with your little stick?”
“The kind you can't understand, of course!” Sarah said, still grinning.
“I think I hate you.”
“I know, it's wonderful!
“Okay, so what should I do?” Ross asked impatiently.
“Well,” Sarah said, “if you want this to be over with quickly, then you need to sit down and shut up.”
Ross sat down, and they both sat in the forest. They sat there for what seemed like hours. The daylight came and went, and eventually Ross nodded off. There was a time when he would have been impatient, and perhaps would have left the little girl behind, but where did he have to be now? He had no friends; the only girl he'd ever felt anything for was dead at the hands of her undead ex-boyfriend, and his parents? What did he care about that? So there they sat, in the midst of a forest, wait for...things to be set in motion.
He fell asleep, and found himself dreaming of the past. It was almost as if he were there, remembering youth meetings at the local church – the church his parents insisted he attend. Something was always wrong at those Wednesday night meetings – terribly wrong. The principles he'd been raised with seemed to be insignificant to them. There was Michael, one of the more popular boys in the group, who always bragged about going to the movies, or going out of town to see a concert.
These concepts were foreign to Ross who was lucky to see new Christian themed DVD's every once in a while. These...children had absolutely nothing in common with him, and he hated himself for it. He'd asked his parents about it more than once, but they simply told him that he needed to worry about himself, and his relationship with God, rather than anyone else.
“We are to live in the world, but not become part of the world.” his mother had said. This was one of her favorite phrases, though she had a myriad of others that she liked to fall back on. Another of her favorites was the fruits of the spirit, or have a life that pleases God. Religion was important, no doubt, but Ross had become disenfranchised with her constant use of scripture to solve everyday problems – especially when the scripture applied wasn't able to remotely solve the problem.
“Wake up, Ross,” Sarah said. “It's time.”
Ross's eyes opened, but very gradually. He was much more tired than he'd thought; this was evident when he tried to move his body.
“Five more minutes,” he muttered.
“I gave you five more minutes five minutes ago, don't you remember?”
He didn't remember.
He suddenly felt himself being pulled forward. Sarah was trying to physically move him.
“Okay, okay,” Ross said. He opened his eyes fully. It had gone from midday to the wee hours of the morning. Where the hell had the time gone? As he moved, he felt the cold morning air press against his face, and his joints practically creaked as he forced himself upright.
Sarah was already moving through the woods. He was able to follow her bright sundress, thank God, but she was fast. Who was this girl? He followed her at a full run for what seemed like hours, but was in fact about two minutes. Suddenly, and without so much as a warning, Sarah stopped at the base of a small hill, practically diving into the dirt. She rolled onto her back and beckoned Ross to lay down beside her.
That's a little weird, he thought to himself as he dived forward to join her on the forest floor. The moment his back hit the ground, a rush of wind blasted over them. It was a deer, or a doe to be precise, and it had dived over the hill they were now hiding behind. Did she know it would be here? Had she planned this? It was hard to say, at least until she lunged forward with her stick and impaled the defenseless creature. She'd hit it right in the heart; it was dead before it hit the ground, and before it could make a sound. Ross gasped as the deer slammed into the ground before him, and in his mind, he still could not fathom why Sarah wanted to kill a
deer. He didn't know how to prepare it, or how to skin it. Hell, he didn't even know how to build a fire.
“You'll need to carry that,” Sarah said as she threw the stick aside and climbed to her feet. She was already walking in the opposite direction.
“You want me to what?!” Ross demanded.
“Well, if you want to live anyway.”
She was humming again, and skipping. Was she ever in a bad mood? Ross begrudgingly picked up the deer carcass and slung it over his shoulder, slumping under the weight. He really hoped it wouldn't be much further.
***
Major Dunfield bent over the computer terminal in the Fort Sill Records Department. Though most branches had gone the way of the tablet system, Fort Sill still had the records department, and had opted to use flat screen monitors and mechanical keyboards. It might have been to save money, or it might have been a desperate attempt to hold on to a piece of the past. Either way, Dunfield was glad for the throwback.
It had taken a few minutes to find a working generator; it was right at the bottom of the building. It was actually gassed up and ready to go, which made things all the better.
A few years ago, this building had been designated for records, and all paper documents were scanned into the computer system. This included information on new soldiers including Jack Frost. Breaking the password had been easy enough, with the help of his people, and he was able to search for 'Jack Frost's' records by looking at the new trainee roster. Seconds later, he'd found what he was looking for. Jack Frost was from Ohio. Dunfield reached into his BDU pocket, removed a small notepad, and scribbled down the address before leaving the building. His men were waiting out front, some of them undoubtedly confused as to why they were going to such lengths to capture one single deserter.
“I know you have questions,” Dunfield said. “What I can tell you, is that Jack Frost is a deserter!”
Dunfield walked the length of the ten man formation he'd brought with him from the base.
“He might have been here for just a few days, and he might not have been that important, but he is still a traitor to the cause! Do you men want to rebuild this great nation?”
Zombies Ate My Neighbors, Family & Friends - Book 2 (Zombie Apocalypse Z Series) Page 2