by JE Gurley
The silence came as a surprise. Brad was expecting a fiery end to their madcap sleigh ride. He glanced around the dark cabin trying to count heads.
“Is everyone okay?” he asked.
Liz mumbled something into his chest and pushed away. “I’ll live.”
One-by-one, they replied to his query. All seven of them had survived the crash. The Otter would never fly again, but they had made it.
“Good job, Lester,” he said.
Lester didn’t reply, as he slowly unbuckled his seat belt and pushed open the door. In the darkness, Lester’s face was as pale as the moon. A few seconds later, the sound of retching reached Brad’s ears. He smiled. He didn’t blame Lester one bit. After any crash, there was always the possibility of a fire. Vacating the Otter as soon as possible was a priority.
“Everyone, make sure you have your weapons,” Brad warned. “We’ll have company soon.”
The door was jammed. It took both his and Hughes strength to force it open. Brad helped Liz down and crawled out after her, being careful with his leg. He noticed zombies in the distance headed in their direction. Hughes kneeled on the ice and began firing his rifle. Brad remained standing, bracing himself against the side of the plane, and joined him. Lester recovered from his bout of the jitters, and he and Bain soon began firing into the approaching zombies as well. They reduced the creatures’ numbers by half, but the zombies, near starving, continued their relentless advance toward them. They were now only twenty yards away and over twenty of the creatures remained. Brad fired his last bullet from the Winchester and pulled out the revolver. Beside him, Bain’s AK 47 went silent.
Brad looked at Liz. “Take this pistol and make a run for one of the buildings with the others. I’ll never make it.”
Her eyes opened wide when as she realized what he was suggesting. “No,” she said. “I’m not leaving you.” She began to drag him toward the open door of the Otter. “We can shut them out.”
He shot a zombie that had gotten too close and pressed the pistol into her hand. “We’ll starve,” he yelled at her. “Get out of here.”
Hughes’ rifle was now empty. Twelve zombies remained, too many to kill by hand, but Brad pulled out his hunting knife. Bain suddenly turned, grabbed Brad by the shoulders and shook him. “The kill code,” he said.
At first, Brad was mystified, but then he realized they had Malosi’s Android phone. He pulled it from his pocket, praying that the crash hadn’t damaged it. He hit the play button and held it in front of him. The shrill coded message burst out from the tiny speaker, much quieter than it had seemed in the confines of the Otter. Suddenly, the nearest zombie stopped moving and its limbs began to twitch. Black fluid ran from its eyes and mouth. The creature’s eyes rolled up until only the white was showing, and then it collapsed on the ground.
Liz grabbed the Android and walked toward the zombies. Brad lunged to stop her, but she was beyond his reach. He fell onto the runway spitting out a mouthful of dirty water and ice. Around her, the creatures stopped moving and began to repeat the first one’s dance of death. Two literally shook themselves to pieces. Within seconds, all that remained were dead zombies.
Liz turned back and hugged Brad. He enfolded her in his arms and kissed her. “Damn, you’re resourceful,” he said. “I think maybe I’ll keep you around.”
“You just need a full-time nurse,” she said.
“Baby, I need a keeper,” he responded.
They passed several zombie corpses near the edge of the runway. Several of the bodies were crushed or had been chopped into pieces.
“Someone’s been busy,” Hughes commented. “Maybe it was that Gilford that Malosi mentioned.”
Brad didn’t care who had killed them just as long as it reduced the number of creatures they faced. Hughes took the Android from Liz’s hand and began walking toward the nearest building. “Let’s clear this place of zombies and make ourselves at home,” he said.
* * * *
They chose the cafeteria as their base of operations, clearing it of dead bodies and lighting the propane stoves for heat, unaware that two of the bodies they removed were those of Roger Basky and John Gilford. Brad looked at the large row of stoves and ovens and wished that Mattie were there to appreciate them. She could whip them up a great dinner with a few potatoes and a can of soup. Liz refused to allow him to do any work. He lay happily on a bench and nursed his sore ankle. Once again, they were stranded with no transportation, but they now had a safe haven. If Malosi had not been lying, rescue was on the way, and they would in fact arrive in less than forty hours. It seemed too much like a dream after all they had endured, but Brad needed a dream to cling to. After the horrors of the Zombie Apocalypse, could things ever return to normal?
26
Sept. 22, Melbourne, Australia
The news had struck Val like a bolt of lightning from a clear blue sky. Someone had the kill code for the nanite plague. Woomera had received a message from a Doctor Gregory Malosi claiming that he had the code in his possession. His demand that they rescue him before he would relinquish it seemed less than altruistic to Doctor Jeffries, a man of immense conscience, but to Val, it made sense. If he had been stuck in Antarctica with no hope of escape, he too might hold the world hostage.
“If he’s telling the truth, then our problems are over,” he told Jeffries. The news had energized him. He paced the room with his hands clasped behind his back like an expectant father.
Jeffries was more sedate, sitting in a chair reading over some notes. He shook his head. “He may be lying; he’s desperate to escape Antarctica, but we cannot afford to take a chance. He used an ADF emergency frequency. Not everyone has access to it. This lends some credence to his claims. He also mentioned Doctor Cromby and Doctor Gilford. Only someone who knew of Resurrection City would know them.”
Val stopped and glared at Jeffries. He had encountered Gilford and had no desire to meet anyone else like him. “We have no choice, do we?” he said.
“No, we must rescue him. Even if he is lying, perhaps in Resurrection City we can discover more information about the nanites.”
Gilford’s attempt to prevent his and Anson’s leaving by damaging the Hercules C-130 played through Val’s mind. So did Gilford’s attempt to murder them in their sleep. If Malosi was of the same ilk, he wasn’t trustworthy.
“I don’t want to go back,” he said.
Jeffries cocked his head to one side and stared at him quizzically. “No one is asking you to, Val.”
Val stared at Jeffries for a moment, noticing the changes in him. Since the message, the doctor had become a new man, more at ease. He looked years younger and moved with some of the determination Val had witnessed in Woomera. He had even smiled occasionally, though it looked as if the effort cost him.
“I have to,” he explained. “I have experience on the ice and I’ve been there before.”
Jeffries shrugged his shoulders. “If you wish. I will remain here. I’m too old for such a journey.”
“I’ll bring you back a penguin.”
“Just bring back Doctor Malosi and the kill code. It’s a chance to save the world.”
“Will it work?” That was Val’s biggest concern. He would walk through fire to end the plague. Since his arrival in Australia with Anson, he had lived among the destruction and the carnage until it sickened him. Thousands of corpses, tens of thousands of zombies, starvation, sickness, misery – it never ended.
“If such a code exists, we can broadcast a signal by satellite to every corner of the planet. In theory, we can kill all the nanites.”
“What if it’s a wild goose chase? Can we do it with EMPs alone?”
“Unlikely. We can clear individual cities, but not the atmosphere. Your original idea of balloons with the devices traveling the air currents was sound, but unfortunately, we are unable to increase the power of the pulse without increasing the danger to humans. Killing millions to save tens of thousands seems too much like slaughter. As you said,
repeated exposure to the EMPs cannot be healthy. Without the kill code, mankind will slowly die out.”
“Then it’s decided.”
Jeffries nodded. “The military is readying a C-40A jet for the journey. It has a range of three thousand miles, sufficient for the outbound journey. They are counting on refueling there.”
“When we left, the fuel depot was intact, but anything could have happened since then.” He turned to Jeffries. “Have they attempted to contact Malosi?”
“Yes, to no avail. If he has left McMurdo, there may be no radio at Resurrection City.”
“Who’s going?”
“A crew of four, Doctor Ivers, and a military detachment of ten men. And you, of course.”
“Of course. Why should I pass up the opportunity to get stranded in Antarctica again?”
Jeffries sighed heavily. “Look, you don’t have to go.”
Val couldn’t find the right words. He didn’t want to sound mysterious, but he knew he had to return to Antarctica. The nightmares wouldn’t go away, not even when he awoke. “I have to go. It’s like coming full circle. I have to face my fears.”
Jeffries nodded sympathetically. “I think I understand.”
“When are they leaving?”
Jeffries checked his watch. “In about six hours.”
Val clapped his hands together and smiled. “Well, I guess I’d better pack my toothbrush.”
* * * *
Sept. 23, Melbourne, Australia
With usual military efficiency, the tower had delayed their departure three times. After five hours of sitting on the plane, Val was ready to either get moving or get off. He had more than sufficient time to come to regret his decision to return to Antarctica. Thoughts of closure seemed less appealing after hours of waiting.
Finally, the seat belt light came on and the engines revved. They were getting under way. As the C-40A lumbered down the long tarmac runway, its two General Electric CFM56-7 SLST engines struggling to lift it into the air, Val’s mind drifted back to his last frantic takeoff from Resurrection City in the Hercules C-130, the quad props slicing through zombies. The plane banked right over the city, revealing the scars caused by out of control fires. He spotted a few signs of activity along the docks and two ships on the Ybarra River. He had never liked planes. As the plane gained altitude and leveled off and the roar of the engines reduced, he released his white-knuckle death grip on armrests. He looked around. At least the C-40A resembled a passenger liner instead of the massive, cold Hercules transport. He even had a call light, though no flight attendant accompanied them on this trip to bring him a drink.
“Nervous?” asked Captain Stewart Healy from across the aisle. Healy was in command of the small detachment of seven men and three women. Looking more like a surf bum than an officer with longer than regulation blond hair and his sun-bronzed skin, he didn’t inspire confidence in Val.
“Only on takeoff,” Val replied.
“I hear you’ve been to this place before.”
He didn’t know if Healy meant Antarctica or Resurrection City, but he answered, “Yeah, I’ve been there.”
Healy leaned in closer. “What’s it like?”
Val shook his head. The kid thought he was on a pleasure trip, a frigging adventure. “When I was there, it was frozen, stormy, and full of zombies and people trying to kill us. We barely made it out of there alive.”
Healy looked at him for a moment and smiled. “Good. I’m tired of sweeping up dead zombies from the street and mowing them down from the air.”
Christ! Val thought. I’m on a mission with a thrill seeker.
They had brought an EMP device, but Jeffries had advised against using it for fear that it might damage sensitive equipment. Val was all for dropping it from the air and taking their chances. He had enough of zombie killing to last a lifetime. His taste for adventure was sated.
“Maybe you’ll get your chance.”
Healy sat back in his seat smiling. Val looked at the troops, none over twenty-years old, and shook his head in dismay. What have I gotten myself into?
The trip would be long and boring, almost six hours long. Val had glanced out the window as they flew over Hobart. A few navy ships flying the flags of several nations were in the harbor, but once the island’s evacuation was complete, the ships and the survivors would all return to Melbourne. Ivers, the only other person he knew on the jet, was so engrossed in his notes that conversation with him was impossible. When Marino had contacted Alex about the trip, only Nicole’s strong objections and her threat to name their child after her Uncle Bartholomew had prevented him from accompanying Marino. To avoid any further conversation with Healy, Val dozed most of the way.
By leaving later than planned, night had fallen before the C-40 reached Antarctica. Below them, Val could see nothing but a dead, stark white landscape illuminated by the light of a crescent moon. Antarctica held none of the mystery and charm it once had. Now, it only evoked memories that he wanted badly to forget but knew he never could. He would be no more able to erase those dire, dark memories than he could memories of his first lover, his first job, or the sight of his first Arizona sunset. They would remain with him until he died.
“We’re almost there,” Healy announced, breaking into his thoughts. He nodded, but Healy was eager to talk. “We can’t reach anyone by radio. With no landing lights, this will be a bumpy landing.” Healy’s smile evoked a vision in Val’s mind of him riding a surfboard with a fifty-foot curler rolling over him. He was eager to test himself in a new environment.
“Malosi knows we’re coming,” Val replied. “He’ll arrange something.”
Fifteen minutes later as approached the base and no lights were visible, Val wondered if he had spoken out of turn. The base might be deserted. Malosi might not have made it there.
The C-40 lost altitude and speed and flew over the base. Several figures were outlined by light from an open doorway.
“Zombies,” Healy said. He turned to his men. “We got zombies. As soon as we touchdown, break out in a standard pattern.”
“They’re not zombies,” Val said. “They’re people. They’re waving.”
“I’m taking no chances,” Healy insisted. “If anything growls, I’m giving the order to fire.”
“Christ Almighty! Are you that stupid that you can’t tell they’re human?”
Healy glared at him and checked his pistol.
“Lord, save me from a crusader,” Val said under his breath.
27
Sept. 23, Resurrection City, Oates Land, Antarctica
“When are they coming?” Reed asked. His nervousness was beginning to affect the others. He jabbed the dial of his watch angrily. “It’s been over forty-eight hours.”
Brad nodded. He had expected their rescuers long before now. It was three hours after sunset. Had Malosi been lying yet again?
“I can tell time,” he snapped at Reed. “If you’re getting nervous, go outside and cool off.”
Reed stared at him for a moment before storming out the door. Brad wanted to go after Reed to reassure him, but his swollen ankle prevented that. He could walk gingerly, but he felt weak and feverish. He had not broached the subject with Liz, but if Malosi had lied about rescue, he might have also lied about the kill code on the Android, a last minute attempt to save his life. If it was useless, then his fever might be the first signs of nanites inside his body furiously changing him into a zombie. He had a brief flash of himself, eyes dead and chest sprouting black tendrils of death, attacking Liz. His hand reached out to touch the pistol sitting beside him beneath the blanket. Not yet, he thought.
He had allowed the others to do most of the work of preparing their new abode at Liz’s insistence. The first day, they had used a tractor to pull the wreckage of the DeHavilland Otter off the runway to clear it. They had also lugged the zombie corpses and dead bodies away from the base and built a funeral pyre to dispose of them. He had watched most of it through the window wishing he could
help. As much as he loved Liz, her hovering over him nursing him like a sick child had been an affront to his manhood. With the major work finished, for most the second day they had all sat and waited. The waiting was worst of all.
Brad looked across the room at his companions. Liz leaned against the wall pretending to nap but knowing that she would spring up and race to him at his first sign of distress. Bain, Lester, and Hughes stared out the window into the darkness as if willing a plane to come as they played a game of poker using beers as poker chips. Jernigan lay sprawled on one of the benches snoring loudly, and DeSousa was busy wolfing down a bowl of stew. They all looked as tired as he felt. He didn’t want to be the one to suggest that they begin making the base habitable, but if no one came soon, it was their only option.
In the silence, except for the scratching of beer bottles sliding across the table and Jernigan’s snores, his mind wandered back to Malosi. His visits to the radio room, his grooming Deen to help him, his attempt to seduce Liz into coming with him, even letting the zombies into the Crary Building to cover his escape – if they had not been the acts of a madman, then he had a plan. A sound, slight at first, whispered for his attention. He raised himself to look out the window but saw nothing. He dismissed it as his imagination.
Suddenly, Reed burst back into the room. “I hear something!” he yelled, pointing at the sky.
Jernigan snapped awake. Beers clattered to the floor and Hughes banged into the table in his eagerness to reach the door. Everyone rushed to the door at the same time trying to get out. He held back until everyone had exited the room to avoid being trampled. Liz walked over and handed him the crutch she had found in the infirmary and insisted he use. She eyed him sternly. He hated the feeling of helpless it induced, but rather than argue with her, an argument he was sure to lose, he put placed it under his arm and hobbled to the door. The sound was still faint, barely discernible above the wind. Brad wondered if he and Reed were simply wishing a plane overhead. Then, he heard it again louder, the unmistakable drone of jet engines.