by JE Gurley
“No. That would bring more.” He handed Lester his Winchester. “Take this. Let me have your pistol.” He tucked Lester’s pistol into his belt.
Liz, as he assumed, objected. “Why you? We can draw straws or something. I can probably climb better than you can.”
He silenced her objections by kissing her. “I can run faster than you, that’s why. Hughes is a better shot and Bain has the AK-47. I have the pistol and my knife.” He looked at Hughes. “Keep her safe.” Hughes nodded.
He walked to the edge of the roof and yelled at the four zombies in view. “Hey, you bastards! Want some meat?”
The zombies began a low keening, their eyes following his every move. He walked along the roof slowly making sure all three followed him, feeling much like a piece of steak on display at a butcher’s meat counter. He watched Hughes lead the group off the roof. One by one, they disappeared over the roof’s edge. By the time he reached the far side of the building, he had picked up a dozen zombies. He gave them one lingering last look at him, and then backed away from the edge. This produced a series of loud growls and hoots. He hoped the noise drew more zombies away from the others.
He raced across the roof, checked to make sure the coast was clear, and slid down the pipe. He hit the ground harder than he had intended and grimaced as his ankle sent pains shooting through his leg. He ignored the agony and hobbled away as quickly as he could. He saw the others, including Reed who had joined them, disappearing behind one of the damaged buildings. He had almost reached the building when he heard a loud crash behind him. Zombies poured through the smashed side door of the Core Pod. When they saw him, they began howling. He redoubled his effort, hoping his injured ankle didn’t betray him.
He turned the corner and ran into a pair of zombies sniffing the air where the others had passed. He pulled out the revolver and shot both of them in the head at a run. Now, stealth no longer mattered. With zombies in hot pursuit and the probability of more attracted by the sound of the shots, the odds of reaching the plane seemed dismally low. For a brief moment, he considered leading the zombies away from Liz and the others; give them a better chance at surviving, but his sense of self-preservation kicked in. He had no desire to provide a meal for a pack of starving zombies. He had found real love for the first time in his life. He wasn’t going to throw it all away until he had to.
He worked his way around and through a warren of buildings, some little more than standing charred timbers, on a direct path toward the garage with the Otter. Several times, he crouched or hid in the concealing shadows as a zombie lumbered by. The air thick with ash worked to his advantage, masking his scent from the creatures. They walked with heads held high sniffing the air for prey but walked right past him. His heart climbed his throat as he spotted two zombies devouring a corpse. He couldn’t see the body well enough to identify it. His mind in turmoil and heart pounding for fear it might be someone he knew, he risked detection to creep closer for a better look. He sighed in relief when he saw that the creatures were eating one of their own. I hope they eat each other until only one bastard is left.
As he turned to leave, one zombie, a large black man wearing a ragged and bloodstained blue pinstriped suit, stood only a few feet away staring at him. A pair of dark-rimmed eyeglasses with thick lenses dangled from one ear. Brad wondered briefly if the creature could even see him. The zombie growled and lunged at him. Good enough, he thought. He dodged the first attack by stepping underneath the beefy arms that reached out for him. He wasn’t as lucky the second time. The zombie shoved him in the chest with the flat of his palm and sent Brad stumbling backwards. He fell but scooted out of the way just as the creature pounced on him. He got to his feet and pulled his pistol, but before he could fire, the other two zombies that he had forgotten in the scuffle were on him. One of them knocked the pistol from his hand. He quickly drew his knife and fended them off as best he could, but his injured ankle limited his mobility and his slashes went largely ignored. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the big zombie regaining its feet. Now he faced odds of three-to-one. He waited for the bite or the scratch that would doom him.
A shot rang out. The large, well-dressed zombie collapsed with half its skull missing. Brad shoved one of the remaining zombies into the second one, knocking them both off balance, and scrambled for his pistol. He fell to the ground, rolled over and fired twice, hitting one of the creatures in the left cheek and in the jaw, shattering teeth. Firing from the ground, the upward trajectory of the bullets assured that at least one of them continued into the brain. It fell across his legs dead. The second fell as his unseen savior fired again. He shoved the dead zombie from his legs and crawled to his feet. Hughes stood almost eighty yards away smiling. Brad waved and limped to him.
“Doctor Strong insisted I come back to help you,” he said.
“Lucky thing she did.”
Hughes stared at the three dead zombies. “The big black guy in the suit was Leo Macintosh, the senior advisor for Raytheon. I liked him. The others are waiting just ahead.” Before Brad could thank him for saving his life, he turned and began walking away. Brad hurried to catch up.
2 3
Sept. 21, McMurdo Base, Antarctica
Malosi heard the shots in the distance and knew he didn’t have much time. He dialed the radio to the Australian Defense Force military frequency he had learned at Resurrection City and began broadcasting.
“This is Mac Ops to ADF Woomera. Come in please.”
He had waited patiently for three weeks for a call from anyone searching for survivors, but now his attraction to Doctor Strong had forced his hand. He had no choice but contact anyone listening before he made his escape to Resurrection City.
“Mac Ops to ADF Woomera. Come in please.”
“This is Woomera. Who are you?”
He almost wept with joy. Woomera north of Adelaide was the center for much of the military satellite communication in Australia. If anyone had survived, Woomera would be listening. The signal was weak and filled with static, but it sounded like an angel from heaven to him. “I am Doctor Gregory Malosi at McMurdo Base. I worked with Doctors Willis Cromby and John Gilford at Resurrection City. I have the kill code for the nanite plague. Repeat. I have the kill code for the nanite plague. I will be at Resurrection City in four hours. Exact coordinates to follow.”
“Are there other survivors?”
“No. I am the sole survivor. McMurdo is overrun with zombies. I am relocating to the following location. I repeat, do not land at McMurdo. My new location is Longitude 153.5 degrees 22 minutes 26 seconds, 72 degrees 42 minutes 15 seconds Latitude. Runway is five thousand feet. Repeat, five thousand feet. Copy.”
The reply came quickly. “Copy, Mac Ops. You say you have access to the kill code?”
“I have the kill code. If you want to stop this plague, you must come to the coordinates I gave you and rescue me.”
He leaned forward in his seat for the two minutes as some discussion took place on the other end. Finally, “Read you, Doctor Malosi. We will send a rescue party, but please tell us the information so that we can begin deactivating the nanites. We have been using EMP devices but their range is limited.”
Malosi smiled. He expected just such an attempt to obtain the kill code from him. His trust of no one extended that far. “No. Once I am in the air, I will provide the information to my rescuers. Not before then.”
“Read you, Mac Ops. We will have transport at your coordinates within forty-eight hours, repeat, forty-eight hours.”
“I will be waiting.”
He flipped the off switch before Woomera could reply. He had offered them the bait, now they must come to collect.
“I knew I couldn’t trust you.”
Malosi spun to see Deen standing in the doorway with his rifle pointed at him. Judging by the look of hatred on his face, Malosi knew that Deen had overheard the entire conversation. He would not be able to explain his way out of this one. He shrugged his shoulders.
&nb
sp; “I never intended to share my escape with anyone. You would never be able to remain silent. The deaths of the others would weigh too heavily on your conscious. You would eventually let slip today’s events. Once the military has possession of the kill code, they would not condone my actions as readily. I suspect their punishment would be rather harsh and immediate. Your usefulness is at an end.”
“Brave words for a man with a rifle pointed at him,” Deen replied. He nodded at the Android on the table lying atop Malosi’s gloves. “Is that it, where you have the kill code?”
Malosi smiled. “It is. I need only play the recorded message and it deactivates all the nanites in a small area. Unfortunately, it does not prevent new nanites from infecting me. I must expose myself to the code repeatedly. The more power behind the broadcast, the greater the area of coverage.”
Upon his arrival at McMurdo, he had toyed with the possibility of using McMurdo’s Ham radio station KC4USV to broadcast the signal to kill all the zombies, but the fires had damaged it. With the unexpected appearance of the survivors, he had decided to keep the device for himself.
“You bastard!” Deen yelled. “You could have cured us. You could have cured me.” He glanced at the Android. “Hand it to me.”
“No.”
“I’ll kill you and take it from you. I don’t need you.”
“Really, Deen? How will you fly the plane to Resurrection City? Do you even know where it is?”
“You play that thing to cure me, and then fly us there and I won’t kill you.”
Malosi laughed. “Of course you will. You hate me, now more than ever. Once I fly us to Resurrection City, you will have to kill me.”
Deen frowned. “Call them back and tell them to land here.”
In reply, Malosi reached for the radio and spun the frequency dial. “No. You will never learn the proper frequency if I’m dead.”
Deen raised his rifle higher. “You’re pushing me, Malosi.”
“Go ahead. Shoot. You had better hurry. I hear shots outside. The others, at least some of them, have escaped. I don’t think they would be happy to see you.”
Deen licked his lips in indecision. Malosi could see that Deen was wavering. Deen knew that even if he provided the others with the kill code, they would never allow him to live now that he had betrayed him. Brad might, but Hughes was more vindictive. He would surely kill Deen. Deen knew his only chance of survival was with Malosi.
“Hand me that phone and come with me. We’re both leaving.”
Malosi nodded. “I suppose I have no choice. He reached for the Android phone, but instead grabbed the revolver lying beneath his gloves where he had earlier placed it. Before Deen could react, he fired, striking Deen in the abdomen. Deen’s own shot went wild and hit the radio. He stumbled backwards and dodged around the edge of the door before Malosi could fire a second shot. Malosi cursed and went after him. Deen was gone. A bloody trail led out the open door. Knowing that the shots would draw curious zombies, he decided to forget about Deen and go to the plane. The smell of blood would ensure that the zombies would pursue the injured Deen instead of him. He had to reach the plane and leave before the others discovered his plan.
* * * *
When Brad joined the others, Liz saw him limping and rushed up to help.
“Is it bad?” she asked as she placed her shoulder under his arm. He allowed her to take some of his weight.
“Just twisted it a bit. I’ll live.”
“We heard two shots a few moments ago.” She pointed to a group of buildings. “From there.”
The communications building was among those to which she pointed. “Malosi. I hope a zombie got him. At least that means the plane is still there.”
He urged her to keep moving. Even with her help, his ankle throbbed with each step. The group encountered no zombies. He presumed the creatures pursuing them had stopped to dine on their dead companions, and the others had moved toward the shots. They reached the garage behind which the Otter was parked.
“Wait here,” he said, but as he started to pull away, Liz stopped him.
“No you don’t. You can barely walk.” She looked at Hughes. “Can you check?”
Hughes said nothing but walked toward the back of the garage. He had taken only a few steps when Malosi stepped through the rear door. He was as surprised to see them, as they were to see him.
“Well, you survived,” he said.
“No thanks to you, Malosi,” Hughes said, drawing back the bolt to send a bullet into the chamber of his rifle. As he raised the rifle, Malosi raised the Android phone in the air.
“If you wish to survive, make certain that you do not hit this.”
Hughes stared at the cell phone in Malosi’s hand and hesitated. “Why, afraid of losing your tunes?”
“It contains the kill code that deactivates the nanites.”
Hughes turned to glance at Liz, but didn’t take his eyes off Malosi. “Is he lying?”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I suspected he knew of a way to kill them. A coded message broadcast at the proper frequency would do it.”
“It has kept me alive in spite of my injury.” He pointed to Brad. “How long before the nanites begin changing him? I have contacted the Australians. They will arrive at Resurrection City within forty-eight hours. They are coming for me, but there will be room enough for all of us.”
“Is that what you told Deen? You’d do or say anything to live, Malosi,” Hughes said. “You tried to kill us once. I think we’d all be better off if I just shot you now. I know I’d sleep better for it.”
“You doom us all if you do,” Malosi warned.
“We’ll have the kill code,” Hughes said.
A look of anger morphed Malosi’s face to something almost inhuman. He yelled and threw the phone across the room. Brad pushed Liz away and made a mad leap for it, his hands outstretched. He hit the concrete floor hard enough to knock the breath out of him, but he clasped the precious Android in his hands.
“Nice catch,” Hughes said as Liz rushed to help Brad to his feet.
Malosi, seeing the danger he was in, began backing toward the door. He didn’t see Deen enter the garage behind him. Deen’s shirt was soaked with blood and he moved slowly. Hughes lowered his rifle. Malosi misinterpreted Hughes’ actions as surrender. He smiled and turned around. When he did, Deen jabbed him in the stomach with the rifle he was holding.
“Got you now, you bastard,” he whispered and pulled the trigger before Malosi could respond. The bullet tore through Malosi’s stomach and upward through his chest, finally exiting his back near his spine. Malosi fell dead at Deen’s feet. Deen glanced at Hughes and smiled; then, he fell across Malosi’ body, dead from the wound Malosi had inflicted upon him.
As the stunned group stood there staring at the two bodies, a tremor twice as strong as any previous one struck the base. The ground shook like a pair of dice at a crap table. The concrete slab floor cracked with the sound of a dozen shotguns exploding, sending splinters of concrete flying through the air like shrapnel. The building shook and groaned as steel ceiling beams twisted. Dust and insulation cascaded from the ceiling.
The jolt knocked them all to the ground. Brad covered Liz with his body to protect her from falling debris, biting back his moans as the floor sent ribbons of pain shooting through his leg. His cheek bled profusely from a graze by a sharp shard of concrete. He could hear Liz’s cries beneath him above the rumble of the earthquake. In the distance a report like that of a cannon split the air, followed by a shrill scream like escaping steam from a boiler.
“It’s the volcano,” Bain yelled, but Brad could barely hear him.
One of the corrugated steel wall panels fell away from the building, revealing the scene of destruction outside. Several of the nearby buildings had collapsed and others were following suit. To the south at the other end of island, three columns of thick smoke billowed into the air from Mount Erebus and two of its companion volcanoes. They met high
in the atmosphere forming one dense black cloud that shrouded the sun. What appeared to be sparks shot from the volcano, arcing away in all directions, but Brad knew they were not sparks. They were deadly lava bombs, globs of volcanic basalt as big as cars. None reached McMurdo. After a few terrifying minutes, the trembling subsided but the rumbling continued.
“We don’t have much time,” Bain yelled.
Brad knew he was right. He wiped blood from his eye and helped Liz to her feet, ignoring the bolts of pain it brought to his ankle. “Everybody to the plane.”
He hoped that Malosi had already prepped the Otter. They wouldn’t have time to fuel it. As Liz helped him out the door, he saw Hughes and Lester ripping away the tarp. Ash fell around them like a thick, black rain. He wasn’t sure the Otter could even fly under such conditions, but they had no choice.
“Everyone in,” he yelled.
Lester took the pilot’s set with Bain sitting beside him. The rear of the plane was half filled with crates and boxes. There wasn’t room for all of them. Liz pushed him inside.
“Toss out some of this stuff,” he told the others and shoved a crate with his shoulder. “If it’s not food, get rid of it.” Together, they dislodged enough freight to make room for all of them.
He waited impatiently as Lester familiarized himself with the controls. Finally, Lester cranked the engine. The propeller spun a few times and stopped as the engine coughed. He tried again. This time, it caught. There was barely room between the two buildings for the plane to move. The wings almost scraped the walls. After thirty harrowing seconds, the Otter was on the road headed into the wind for take-off.
“We have a problem,” Lester called out.
Brad rose to look out the cockpit window. A wrecked truck blocked the road half a mile away. “How much runway do you need?” he asked.
“Twenty-five-hundred feet minimum, I think.”
“You think?” Hughes shouted.
“I don’t know,” Lester replied. “I’ve never flown a plane this big before.”