She was nervous, and she hadn’t been this nervous in years, but she answered him anyway, “Andrew Sir.”
He grinned, “No Sirs here, just an Ethan.”
“Sorry, Ethan. Andrew, over there,” she said, as she pointed Andrew out.”
He walked over to Andrew, and shook his hand, “You taught her to fight like that?”
Andrew laughs lightly, “Like that? I don’t think so, maybe the shooting, but not the fighting.”
"Well… Good man," he turned, and walked over to her again, "Hellcat, you're in the infantry, you will be with all of us here on the front lines. Your other friend?"
“Jupiter,” she reminded him.
“Can he shoot too?”
“More of a mechanic, and hunter.”
"Good we can always use someone with his talents at the compound. All right everyone, gather the fallen, let's bring em home," he said, as he walked to a fallen rebel to help with the cleanup.
Compound? What did he mean by compound? He must be mistaken; he must’ve meant Cluster, she thought worriedly. Andrew tapped her on the shoulder, “Let's go, Hellcat, Jupiter’s probably worried,” he said. She followed as he made his way towards the doors. She stopped to take in the scene that just unfolded around her. The severity of the situation finally sets in, deeply and heavily.
Regrouping, and Circling the Wagons
Cunningham tended to his superficial wounds as the chopper flew over the military compound. It was time for landing; he gripped the control stick of the chopper, and helped land gently on the helipad. He and the other pilot flipped switches and shut things down. Outside, the blades were slowly coming to a standstill, but at the same time producing powerful winds. Cunningham looked back to the soldiers and gave the signal for them to get out.
The troops filed out of the black war-torn helicopter. They headed right to the base for medical attention and debriefing. The blades eventually slowed, Cunningham opened the door and stepped out safely. With a limp, he headed to the base, but before he got to the doors, General McHale met him in his path.
Cunningham straightened up his limp, collected himself, and addressed McHale, “Sir. Good to see you.”
“Cunningham, please tell me these rumors of survivors aren’t true.”
"It's complicated, Sir. Can we speak privately inside?"
“Meet me in the conference room in ten minutes, and I mean ten,” he shouted as he stormed away.
Cunningham took out his clipboard from under his arm, opened the book, and looked it over. He then looked up as McHale entered the building. He closed the book, and briskly limped his way to the doors that lead to the conference room.
The wounded soldiers made their way into the base, one at a time. They filed in a straight line and made their way down to the medical unit to be examined. Before they reach the M.U., they must remove their suits, helmets, and whatever else they had on, down to their undergarments. Once that is complete, they checked in with their ID badge and a retinal scan.
With that done, they waited in line, and the doctor called them in, one at a time. The first few go in, and out, without any major injuries to tend to. Then there were a few with more severe injuries, like broken bones, bullet wounds, and collapsed lungs. After they are tended to, the most severe patients are taken to the infirmary unit for healing; these are soldiers that lost limbs, or a lot of blood.
The next soldier up looked to be in pretty rough shape. He leaned against the wall, and in this case, it was the wall that was holding him up. His skin was discolored with a grayish tinge, and his cough echoed throughout the hallway.
The doctor called out, “Next!”
The soldier stumbled his way to the examining table. His left arm clutched his stomach as he was almost folded in half. He tried his best to hoist himself up onto the table, but he couldn’t muster up the strength to do it.
The doctor comes to his aid, “Soldier if you can’t do it, there’s a wheelchair right over there. I can do the exam in that… Here let me bring it to you” She walked over to the chair, gripped the handles, and walked it back to the patient. “Here darling, sit here.”
The soldier lowered himself down into the seat with the help of the doctor. The doctor noticed he was shivering, so she placed a brown hospital blanket over him. Before she began her examination, she let him know what’s coming with a gentle voice, “Okay, I’m just going to check your vitals, then exam your body for any major injuries, wounds, or breaks. Let me first start by taking your temperature.”
She took the electronic thermometer from the wall, slid a protective sleeve over the metal part that goes in the mouth, cleared the data, and placed it under his tongue. Next, she administered a blood pressure test. With each pump, she could hear the air filling the cuff, and under the cuff is her theses cope, listening for his pulse.
The expression on her face portrayed that something wasn’t right. The thermometer beeped, she released the cuff, and looked at the data on the thermometer. It read 89.7 degrees. She put all of her instruments down on her rolling medical table. Next, she took off the brown blanket and used her theses cope to listen to his heart. First, she lifted his torn shirt, and she is shocked at what she saw. What appeared to be bite marks covered his chest in a disgusting fashion, while blackness oozed from all the wounds.
The doctor took a step back and covered her agape mouth with her delicate hand. The soldier let out a few more coughs and then slouched over all the way in his chair. The doctor cautiously leaned into him and used her two fingers to check his neck for a pulse. As she placed her fingers on his neck, his skin was cold to the touch. Just as she was taking her hand away, the slouched soldier, quickly sat up, and before she could pull away, he bit into her flesh.
Blood sprayed everywhere from her wrist, but she continued to pull away as the skin tore away like an elastic stretching to its limits, and ending with a snap. The doctor cupped her bleeding wrist and held it tightly to her body. She began to cry uncontrollably and slid down the wall into a pool of blood.
The infected soldier leaped out of the chair causing it to go crashing to the floor. The other soldiers were around the corner so they could not see what was going on, that was until the zombie soldier came around the corner gnarling his blood soaked teeth, sunk in eyes, and gray skin. Before the other soldiers could process what was happening, the flesh-eater directly began attacking them.
Blood was sprayed along the walls, and floors. No matter how hard the wounded soldiers fought back, it was a slaughter. The doctor managed to get to her feet while the flesh-eater is distracted attacking the injured soldiers. She stumbled as she bares her weight on the wall like a crutch, while a trail of blood smeared on the wall behind her, following her like a painting.
Since they were in a single corridor with only two ways in, and two ways out, the place could be sealed off. The doctor headed for the red button in the plastic cover that would seal off the corridor. With each step, she let out a grunt from the pain. Her non-wounded hand searched the wall for the cover. As she neared it, the flesh eater came around the corner with predetermined intentions. He set his sights on the doctor and made his way towards her.
She turned to see him getting closer, and she knew that if she didn't seal this place off now, then the infected would spread fiercely, and rapidly. She reached down deep inside and moved faster pace. Finally reaching the plastic box, she flipped the cover open, slammed the red button, then falls to the floor. With that, the flashing lights and sirens began to blare. The disinfectant fog came from the air-ducts, engulfing the entire corridor. The doors slammed shut, and an alarm sounded while red light flashes above each door marking that they are sealed.
The flesh-eater searched for the doctor through the fog and finally found his prey. He pounced on top of her, and immediately began to eat her alive. Her screams echoed throughout the corridor but were drawn out by the sirens and alarms. The doctor was dead, the soldiers were dead, and the virus was alive and well.
&nbs
p; The blaring sounds of the sirens and alarms do not reach the H-wing of the base, where General McHale sat in the conference room with a closed door, awaiting Cunningham's arrival. He looked to be irritated by something, as he tapped his pen on the brown oak table. That something was most likely the result of a failure that Cunningham executed. As the tapping of the pen gains momentum, the door opened, and in limped Cunningham.
“Sir,” Cunningham said, as he addressed McHale.
"Cunningham sits your ass down," McHale demanded, as he laid his pen to rest.
Cunningham limped over to a chair directly across from McHale, pulled it out, and sat down grimacing in pain. McHale, clearly noticed there was something wrong with his leg, and questioned him about it, “What the hell’s with the leg sergeant?”
“Oh this, I twisted it in battle, no big deal. I’ll be fine to get back on the ground a.s.a.p.”
McHale gave him a look of disapproval, “Not with your leg like that soldier, you encounter a pack of zombies, and you’re toast. After we’re finished here, I want you to go see the doctor in the M.U., let her check it out. If she clears you, then we’ll talk about getting back into the field.”
"Yes, Sir."
“Now the matter at hand… I was watching through your troop’s helmet cams in the War Room, and I saw that you found four people, stragglers if you will.”
“Yes Sir, that is correct.”
“Were these people, survivors, rebels, or just lost?”
Cunningham looked to his book, but he already knew the answer. He answered under his breath, “Survivors.”
“What was that soldier? I couldn’t hear you.”
“Survivors, Sir.”
"They were survivors? From Cluster Two? You and your platoon were supposed to eradicate any survivors, yet you saved these particular survivors from a zombie attack. Interesting, Why was that soldier?"
Cunningham was ashamed to be having this conversation with McHale, but he continued on, “We brought them into the hospital for safety. Next thing we know we’re being picked off one at a time.”
“And who was it that was picking your platoon off,” McHale asked calmly.
“Rebels… God damn rebel scum,” he said, as he looked down at the table.
"Well, I just wanted to know how these survivors ended up joining in on the rebel’s firefight on the rooftop? Your mission was simple. Kill anything that moved, and that was it. Just kill em’. You left four survivors out there, and more importantly, four more soldiers for the rebellion.”
“I know—“
McHale stands up aggressively, “You know! You know! Well do you know that those god dam rebels are growing in numbers? They’re becoming a real nuisance not only The United Front, but for good of this country. We can’t rebuild with a bunch of rebels running around out there taking down our highly trained soldiers, and rescuing weak people! Now can you handle this job or not?!”
“Of course Sir.”
McHale straightened his jacket of his uniform, and sat back down in his chair. The flushed color from his cheeks was subsiding, as he calmed down. Once he regained his composure, he calmly spoke, “Now go get that damn leg looked at.” He then thumbed through paperwork, ignoring Cunningham, for whom he was finished with.
Cunningham got up, and hobbled out of the room, and closed the door behind him, as he made his way ever so slowly to the medical unit to see the doctor.
The American Dream
The night has fallen upon them, and they were a far distance away from the rooftop. They have been driving in reclaimed land-cruisers; Jupiter helped the rebels fix some issues that they were having. Jessica sat in the back of one of the cruisers with Andrew, it was cold out, but she was warm with his arm around her. It wasn’t in a loving, or intimate way; it was kind of hard to explain with words. The arm was around her, and that was a good thing.
The terrain was bumpy; she almost blasted out of her seat a few times a ways back, but the seatbelt kept her locked in. Andrew’s eyes were closed, but she knew he wasn’t sleeping; he was too much of a soldier for that. Ethan was in the front driving, so Jessica leaned into his ear just a bit, and asked him, “How much further?”
“Not much, just up ahead a ways,” he answered her.
She was okay with that answer, and she leaned back in her seat, while snuggling back into Andrew’s arm. Even though it was nightfall, the moon was high, and bright. It lit up the landscape around them as they made their travels. The terrain was completely flat on both sides, and in front of them. To the left, and right, were tall mini-trees possibly, she didn’t know, she couldn’t make them out clearly.
Off in the distance, she saw lights, and Ethan started to slow. Trying to figure out where the hell they were, Jessica nudged Andrew to wake him up. He opened his eyes, and scanned the area. He noticed that Ethan was slowing down.
Andrew spoke loud enough so Ethan could hear him, “Are we here?”
Ethan turned, “This is it, just ahead there. You see those lights?”
“Yes,” Jessica responded.
“That’s the compound,” he said, then turned his attention to the road.
They drive a bit further, and the lights got brighter, to the point where it lit up the mini-trees. To Jessica’s surprise they weren’t trees at all, it was cornstalk, this was a farm. Ethan pulled up, and into the barn to park the cruisers. He turned the engine off, a welcomed relief to their ears. He would normally open a door to get out, but this cruiser was beat-up, and had no doors.
Ethan just kind of, sort of, hopped out, and made it look very cool mind you. He then turned to Jessica, and very gentleman like, softly grabbed her hand, and helped her down off the back of the cruiser. She thanked him, and watched as Andrew just leapt off the cruiser like he has done it a hundred times before.
“So this is it. This is our compound. Rebel Base,” Ethan boasted.
Jessica being a bit perplexed asked, “Why a farm?”
“A farm, because it’s in the middle of nowhere, we can grow corn here, the soil’s still half-way decent, and there’s enough room for combat training, and weapons training. It’s perfect here, plus we’re off the U.F.’s radar this far out.”
Andrew asked, “Why fight the U.F.? I was apart of their unit, and I didn’t see any wrong doing?”
“I’m sure you were, but were you apart of the real U.F.? The deep inner workings?”
“No, just the field study part,” Andrew answered.
“Let’s go inside, and I’ll catch you up to speed.”
Ethan grabbed his gear, and exited the barn; both Andrew and Jessica followed his lead. Outside, Jessica could see the enormity of this place. The landscape seemed to go on forever, all around them. They walked around the corner of the barn, and she spotted a large, old, white farmhouse, surrounded by a crumbling white picket fence. Somehow, it reminded her of the, American Dream. It also gave her a warm feeling, something familiar, like when she used to live in her house before the zombies came.
They walked a bit further, and made their way through the hinged fence panel. As she pulled it open, it squeaked real loud, and when it swung back, it didn’t do so gently, it slammed off the wooden post, which of course shook the entire surrounding fencing. Up the front stairs they went, and Ethan opened the front door; they headed in.
Inside she could see that there were many rebels, some were on the couches relaxing, some in the recreation room playing pool or darts, the rest were just strewn around the first, and second floor, flowing through the house. Just about all of the rebels that she encountered, as she followed Ethan, acknowledged her presence.
Ethan opened a door, and they headed in. He lit some oil lamps that illuminated the room, like electricity. Ethan dropped his gear in a corner, and made his way to a large desk. He rolled out a plush leather chair, sat down, and leaned over his desk. He invited them both to sit down in the two seats in front of him. They swiveled, as she sat down, then she swiveled the chair back to face Ethan.
He unzipped his jacket, and slipped it off, “That’s better. So you want to know more about the real U.F.,” he asked.
“The real U.F., what do you mean by that,” she questioned.
He went on to explain, “The U.F., simply put, is not looking out for our best interests. You know that little earthquake you just had that destroyed your Cluster?”
“What about it,” she asked.
Ethan opened a drawer in his desk, and took out some rolled up tubes of paper. He put them on his desk, opened them, and laid them flat. To Jessica they looked like topographical maps, but anything upside down could look like topo maps. Ethan then grabbed a red marker next to him from his desk, uncapped it, and drew seven circles, none of which were close together.
“These seven red circles represent the seven Clusters here in this region.” He takes the same red marker, and began numbering them. “You,” he said circling the number two, “are here.” Then he marks the other circles with large X’s, one at a time. “Here, here, and here. These represent all the other Clusters that are now gone, just like yours.”
“All from the earthquake?”
“Not all, depends on which Cluster you were in. Cluster Two, you’re home, was destroyed by an earthquake. Now for example Cluster Six, was wiped out by a tsunami, because it is right along the shore. The rest, gone in their own unique way.”
“What about the survivors? There must be people that survived? I saw people in Cluster Two who were getting to safety, they must have survived,” she pleaded.
“I’m sorry Hellcat, there are never any survivors. After the initial impact of the destruction hits the Clusters, the U.F. sends in their most highly trained soldiers to execute any remaining survivors. You four were the exception.”
She began to tear up, “Why? Why would they do such a thing? They’re here to protect us… All of em, they’re all dead?”
“I’m afraid so. I know you must have a lot of questions, and in time they will be answered. For now, get some food, and rest for the night. You two earned it. You’ll find your friends in the kitchen already eating,” he said solemnly as he rolled up the maps, and capped the marker.
A Regressive World: Book One Page 9