Flannigan coughed. “About noon today, so around eight hours ago.”
Lindsey looked at the wound for another brief moment, pulling Michael and Trent to the side. She lowered her voice. “The infection rates that we saw for most people was anywhere from two to twelve hours. I don’t think that he has long. Once he turns, he will try to infect others with the virus. It takes over and tries to replicate itself any way possible.”
Trent drew his Glock, racked the slide, and aimed it at Flannigan. Without any protest, he fired a single round into Flannigan’s skull, mercifully killing him. Flannigan fell to the ground, face first into the foul mess that had been his innards.
Michael jumped back. He quickly looked to Trent with a look of both shock and pity. “What the hell, Trent?”
Thomas Trent holstered his Glock quietly and smoothly. “She said that he didn’t have long. No sense in prolonging his suffering, in my opinion,” he said coldly. The nonchalant way that he spoke was strangely terrifying for some reason.
Michael looked to Flannigan’s body, and then back to Trent. “It’s not that simple, Trent! Jesus, we could have at least tried to help him for fucks sake!”
Trent remained oddly calm. He simply stood with his hands politely crossed in front of him. “There will be many more like this, Caine. Best that you come to terms with that before you have to put a round in a loved one’s head.”
“Goddamn, Trent. Think you could possibly be any creepier than you already are. Fucking-A, dude,” Ryan finally managed out.
All right, red flag number one, Michael thought. “Damn. Let’s just get back to the van and get my daughter now.” Michael wrapped his hand around Lindsey’s waist and guided her away from Trent. Something told him that he was going to need to keep an eye on the young officer for a while. While he may have been brilliant, the apocalypse is no place to have such social awkwardness. Sure, there was a black-and-white way to look at things, but there had to be room for compassion, empathy, and other worthwhile emotions. There was no way that blind, cold logic could prevail in such a stressful environment. It would slowly drive a person insane.
Trent followed as Michael led Lindsey away. “I’m sorry, Caine. I know you think that I’m not wrapped too tight, but there is little difference in killing an infected before they turn or after they turn. At least if you do it beforehand you can say your goodbyes.”
“You didn’t give us time to say goodbyes, Trent. You fucking shot him in the head,” Michael responded. The kid was really starting to get under his skin now.
“Yes, and I apologize. Next time, I will give you a moment with them, if you’d like,” Trent said.
Michael just shook his head and continued walking. His ears perked up when the sounds of the undead began wafting through the air. The absence of light gave an entirely new angle on terror, hiding anything that might jump out at any time. The white light of his flashlight was pale in comparison to the terror around him. Even with Ryan and Trent shining their lights ahead, it was difficult to make out anything in the night.
A few minutes later, they were heading back down to the parking lot of Bluefield WV Rescue Squad. Michael figured that the spat of gunfire earlier would have drawn some of the undead out of the woodwork, but nothing. Their disturbing moans and unnatural sounds randomly passed through the air, but it was next to impossible to figure out where they were coming from. As they exited Mitchell Stadium, the sounds became a little more intense. Instead of just two or three random noises, there seemed to be a dozen or more. They were closing in, it was a good thing that…
“What the fuck…” Ryan said, shining his light on the parking lot of the rescue squad.
Michael waved his light back and forth, looking for the van. Unfortunately, it was no longer there. Michael sighed and let his arm go slack, the light pointing down to the ground, in the general neighborhood of his feelings.
“Motherfucker…”
CHAPTER 20
Captain Winston stared at the radio, a confused look on his face. He started to key the radio mic realized that he had no idea what to say, so he said what he could bring about.
“Who the hell is this?”
“Who the hell is this?” a male voice responded.
“Listen, asshole. You need to return this vehicle to wherever you found it. My people are out there with no vehicle now because of you. Don’t make me come out there and fuck your shit up, buddy!”
A long silence, then: “No way, shithead. I am taking this van and everything in it and getting the hell out of here! This thing looks like a prison van. Is that what it is?”
Winston was already losing patience with this guy. “Yes it is. That vehicle belongs to the Virginia Department of Corrections. I suggest you take it back to wherever you found it. We can help you if you’ll let us.”
“Listen, buddy. I apologize for taking this vehicle but I have a family to think of. I’m already in West Virginia, halfway to Beckley. Tell your team that I’m sorry, but I have to think of my girls first. I’m going to turn this radio off now. Good luck, Virginia Department of Corrections.”
Winston shot up. “Just take the goddamn van back! You can be safe here! There’s no reason that you have to run off! We can offer protection!” he exclaimed.
Silence.
“Goddamnit!” Winston exclaimed, throwing the mic at the radio. Fuming mad, he paced the room. Officer Lane quietly replaced the mic on its hanger beside the radio. Winston plopped down in a chair beside it.
“Sir, I know that this isn’t a good time, but I would like to take a vehicle out and go get Officers Caine and Ryan. If they went to Mitchell Stadium, then I think they would stay there for the night. I don’t think they would try going out until morning,” Lane said. She sat down across from Winston, who was looking absently out into the parking lot.
“Lane, if I let you go by yourself then there is a likely possibility that you will get lost or taken, too. I can’t risk any more people right now. I’m sorry. I know that you want to go out and get your mother,” Winston said, his tone relaxing some. “And we will. Just as soon as Caine and Ryan get back. I know those two don’t have wheels right now, but I know they will get some soon. We just have to have faith that they will get back here in the morning.”
“Yes, sir,” Lane replied, a bit dejected but understanding. Winston was right. If she went out alone, it was likely that she would encounter some kind of problem. There were a thousand different scenarios imaginable of what she could run into, but a million more she couldn’t. Those variables kept her from just running out the door. She wasn’t overly smart and she would never be on a list of people that did gifted things, but she was intelligent enough to know when she needed to stay put and take advice instead of running off into the darkness.
Winston rubbed his face vigorously. “All right. What’s the status on the phones? Still good?”
Lane’s attention was drawn for a moment. “Yes sir. Still get a good dial tone, just can’t get hold of anyone. I don’t know what the issue is but everyone that I’ve called I don’t get an answer. It still rings, but no one picks up.”
Winston huffed. “Okay. I don’t think we can do much more damage tonight. Let’s wait until the morning to try to clear out the rest of Alpha building. Tomorrow we’ll start sending out teams to pick up survivors, starting with your mother first.” Winston got up and gently placed a hand on Lane’s shoulder. “I know how much you take care of her, Lane. She needs to be here, and she will. Just as soon as we can safely get her here.”
“I wish you would have let me go ahead and get her, sir. The house isn’t too far away. I know that I can get there and back without getting hurt!” Lane pleaded.
“We will go first thing in the morning, I promise. Right now, we need to focus on getting Caine and Ryan back here in one piece.”
Lane sighed, dejected once again. “Yes, sir.”
Winston looked out into the parking lot absentmindedly. “Where do you think they holed up for
the night?”
Lane shrugged. “I don’t know. The rescue squad is right near Mitchell Stadium, I figure they’ll probably stay there.”
In the far corner of the parking lot in one of the video surveillance blind spots, a lone infected stumbled across the grass. The single walker was of no consequence, but the hundreds behind it were.
* * *
Ryan Helton forgot how much he hated kicking in doors. Granted, he only had to do it once, but that was one time too many. He certainly wasn’t getting any younger, and the pain in his leg tomorrow morning was going to be perceptible at best. In all actuality, he was probably going to have to raid the storage lockers at Bluefield WV Rescue Squad before retiring for the night. Since the van was a lost cause, they had decided to stay the night at the rescue squad before making the trip back to Black Mountain in the morning. It had taken quite a bit of convincing to get Michael to go along with calling it a night. In the end, Trent’s Spock-like logic won him over. There was no safe way to travel right now, let alone at night. They would find a car in the morning and make their way to Lindsey’s mother and father and – more importantly – Anna.
After doing a thorough search of the living area, they settled in the bunkrooms. Oddly enough, the building didn’t have any kind of generator backup, something that surprised Michael. During his time in the Army, it was paramount to have some kind of backup plan, and even have a backup for the backup. Redundancy was your friend when it came to shit-hit-the-fan scenarios. Nevertheless, they weren’t interested in drawing any unwanted attention.
Michael shone his flashlight in the first bunkroom that he came to. There were three beds – a single on the left and a bunk bed on the right. Michael and Lindsey took the first room, while Trent and Ryan took the other. The beds were somewhat worn out, but beggars can’t be choosers. Michael laid down on the first bed that he saw, and Lindsey laid with him, scooting close, and pulling his arm across her.
“I know you’re worried about Anna babe, and God knows so am I, but my parents can take care of her. I did manage to get a call out to them before I lost my phone. They know that we will be coming to get her, and they have plenty of food. Dad has plenty of guns and ammo and they would rather die than let something happen to her,” Lindsey said.
Michael propped himself up. “I can’t help but worry, babe. It’s just in my nature.”
Lindsey rolled over and kissed him. “I know, honey. Just try not to put too much thought into it. I’m calm because I know my parents are more than capable of taking care of her.”
“I know, babe. You’re the one that keeps me calm, too. As long as you have faith, I suppose that I should try to. You know that I don’t have a lot of it to give,” Michael said.
Lindsey didn’t say anything. She knew that faith was something that Michael had a very hard time with. When Michael was seven years old, he’d lost someone. At that age, it was difficult to lose anyone, let alone his younger brother. Especially when his younger brother’s death could have been prevented. Michael was seven; his brother Stephen was only a year old when he died. Although Michael’s parents swore that there was no way that he should be able to recall the exact details of what happened, Michael knew what he’d done.
Stephen had been crying early one morning, and Michael – being the older son and the big brother – had taken Stephen his pacifier to calm him. Michael’s parents hadn’t woke yet, and he wanted them to be able to sleep in some. It was just the kind of child he was. Michael was always ready to help his parents. When giving Stephen his pacifier didn’t work, Michael decided to get his little brother out of bed and play with him. Michael loved his little brother, even with the six-year difference in their ages. They were inseparable since Michael had learned of his mother’s pregnancy. He talked to her stomach for nearly nine solid months, waiting for his new buddy to be born. After getting Stephen out of bed, Michael had ushered him into his own bedroom to play. Once they had started to play, Michael had become distracted and gone into the kitchen to get something to drink. Once he had his drink, he went to the bathroom, leaving Stephen alone in Michael’s bedroom. Michael had nearly finished using the bathroom when he heard his mother’s bloodcurdling scream. In his absence, Michael had let his brother play with his Legos. The coroner’s report would later state that there was no way to dislodge the Lego in Stephen’s throat, but Michael knew that if he’d only been there to take care of his brother, Stephen wouldn’t have choked to death on a red Lego.
The incident haunted him the rest of his life. After Stephen’s death, his parents divorced a year later. They both blamed him for what happened to Stephen, and Michael couldn’t help but think that it was his fault. While his father was slightly more understanding than his mother was, he still had a very empty childhood. He became distanced from emotions and becoming attached to anyone. He was a very happy child up until Stephen died, but Michael never regained the bubbly, sweet, caring demeanor that he had once had. That was, until Anna was born. That caring, loving, seven-year-old boy had become the loving sweetheart that he started out to be. Michael knew that he had changed, but Lindsey had never known the seven-year-old version. She knew what had happened in his past, and she knew that between the PTSD of Iraq and the trauma of losing Stephen at such an impressionable age would eventually catch up and forever change him. The stress of the current situation notwithstanding combined with his normal stress level, Michael was a prime candidate for a heart attack or stroke. Lindsey did her best to keep him calm, even in the face of the apocalypse. In any situation where a lack of faith came into play, she took over and prayed enough for the both of them.
Ryan’s flashlight peeked out from under the door. He tapped on the closed bunkroom door. “Hey, don’t be doin’ any baby making in there.”
“Ha ha, Helton. What is it now?” Michael replied.
“Ya’ll decent in there?”
“Yes, Ryan we are,” Lindsey said, chuckling.
Ryan opened the door, shining the flashlight on the ceiling like a torch. It wasn’t much to light the room with, but it was better than nothing. “Just want you guys to know that there is one vehicle left in the garage over there. Looks like we won’t have to look too hard for some wheels.”
“Sweet. What is it? I can drive just about any ambulance that they’ve got,” Michael said.
“Well, it’s not an ambulance per se, but it’ll do. I had to find a battery charger for it; luckily they had one of those portable jobs, so it should be ready to go in a couple hours.”
“Well if it’s not an ambulance, then what is it?” Lindsey asked.
Ryan smiled. “It is a 1988 Ford Bronco, complete with stretcher. Looks like an old first response vehicle from back in the day. Four wheel drive, push bar, knobby tires, the works. Looks like it took a little abuse over the years, but looks solid. I don’t know why anyone would leave such a kickass vehicle behind.”
Michael smiled. “Because that was my first vehicle in high school. Bought it for eight hundred bucks. It’s a tank, for sure. I beat the shit out of that thing when I was a teenager. It’ll do, Ryan.”
Ryan got up. “All right, lovebirds. You guys get some sleep. We got a lot to do in the morning.”
Ryan exited the room, and Michael and Lindsey laid back down. Michael covered them both up with a thick, white blanket and tried to ease his nerves. In the morning, they would make the trip out to their house, grab some things, and get back to the relative safety of Black Mountain. As Michael closed his eyes, he tried his best not to fret. Lindsey was there by his side, and Anna would be soon. He drifted off to sleep, unsure how the next day would pan out, but he knew one thing.
The first day of the apocalypse was over.
CHAPTER 21
Demarco Stanley couldn’t see who was hitting him, but the blows kept on coming. He couldn’t see anything out of his left eye, and his eight eye was close to swelling shut. All he could taste was blood. As his mouth filled with blood, he spat it out, tasting the metallic
flavor. Several teeth had already been knocked out, and has he spat he could feel more teeth loose. Another punch landed on his face, followed by one to his diaphragm, knocking the wind out of him. With no one there to hold him up, he doubled over and spat blood. Nate Robinson stood over him, his knuckles bloody and cut all to hell. He grabbed Demarco Stanley by the shirt collar and brought him back up to his feet.
Demarco could barely keep conscious. “Imma get yo ass…Robinson…imma get you good…”
The large, linebacker-sized Aryan reared back, ready to deliver another blow. He grinned devilishly. “I doubt that, nigger. You ain’t gonna do shit ‘cept smell bad and die slow.” Robinson delivered another blow to the chest of Demarco Stanley. The resulting blow broke one of Demarco’s ribs, sending it plunging into his lungs. The punctured lung quickly deflated due to the excess breathing that Demarco was doing. Air filled the third space cavity, cutting off oxygen and further deflating the lung. Robinson watched as the life left Demarco’s eyes slowly. He dropped Stanley’s body on the floor.
Bill Young might have blown their chance at taking over the prison, but it seemed as if the remaining COs were content with leaving Alpha building to the inmates, at least for the time being. They had left the power on in Alpha – for now – and had vacated all the officers assigned to the building. Robinson had emptied the magazine of the only weapon they had into the door, to no avail. The Lexan glass and steel doors were unforgiving, not letting anyone in or out.
Robinson kicked Demarco Stanley’s body one more time for good measure. “Stupid motherfucker. Shoulda got out while the getting’ was good.”
Robinson motioned for a towel, and one flew through the air a moment later. He wiped the blood from his hands. He looked out into the pod, sizing up his next victim. Some of his Aryan brothers had grabbed a couple targets of easy recognition. Two black men, three Muslims, and one Jew were face down in the pod, held down by the Aryan Brotherhood.
Refuge From The Dead (Book 1): Lockdown Page 13