The Zombie Principle II

by David R Vosburgh

  The next day Benton sat on his patio on an Adirondack chair looking out toward the snowcapped mountains in the distance. Fall had definitely arrived in the mountains of Colorado. Winston had lit the fire pit and Benton felt its warmth. He needed a few minutes to figure some things out before they headed out again.

  He had decided that he wasn’t going to go randomly searching for Dr. Sanderson, hoping that luck would play a part in finding him. The events in New Mexico had solidified that decision. He was going to have a plan and a specific destination.

  If the doctor was still alive, which he believed he was, and he was with the Major, which he believed he was, and they had procured a vehicle, which he believed they did, then where would they go? He pondered that question for a minute before the obvious answer hit him like a ton of bricks. He was annoyed with himself for not having considered it on their first excursion. It was probably because, he said to himself, he was pissed off at having missed them at the base and the condition of his plane.

  The only place the major would take Dr. Sanderson would be a research facility, likely at a hospital. Surely Major Bradley knows Sanderson’s importance. Why else would he risk stealing his plane and traveling down to Mexico to get him out of there?

  There are hospitals in just about every town in America but the facilities that Dr. Sanderson would need could likely only be found in a larger complex. Ones found in the larger towns and cities. The theory that they headed south still worked. He would head straight for the major cities in the southeast; Santa Fe, Phoenix, Albuquerque, among others. It provided for the best chance of finding them. If they were indeed still alive.

  A two-week search of the major hospitals in the southeast turned up nothing so Benton had begun formulating a plan B. He hated to admit defeat, it ate at the very core of his being but he had to consider the time being wasted on what might be a fruitless search.

  Except for a run in with a group of survivors riding motorcycles who made the mistake of suggesting to Bronson that they hand over their supplies, the trip was uneventful. The gang made the mistake of pissing off Bronson who, in one swift move, disarmed one of them and shot three others before anyone knew what had happened. Gunner finished off two others as the remaining three took off on their bikes.

  Benton decided that they would head back to the Mexican lab and look for anymore pills the doctor may have hidden. Also, any notes or documentation regarding the trials. He remembered a notebook the Doctor had kept there and hoped it would help whomever he was able to find to continue his work. Benton knew many people in the field. It was simply a matter of finding them.

  His satellite phone had stopped working so any communication had to be done face to face. He had placed many storage areas throughout the country so they were never that far from food, supplies, even shelter if needed. The suppliers he had an agreement with would have to be contacted eventually and inform them of the delay.

  Once they had arrived in Mexico Benton decided to wait out the winter down there. He would need to travel up north to meet his suppliers and with no meteorologists out there giving him constant weather updates he would never know when or where a storm might hit. He would get a start just before spring, he had some things to take care of in Mexico anyway.

  Benton was surprised how easy it was to lose track of time in this new world. He had no calendar to mark off as the days passed, no app on his phone to tell him the time or the date. It was as if time no longer moved forward.

  He guessed, however, that it had to be nearly spring and he had done about as much as he could do here in Mexico. Never one to sit around, apocalypse or no apocalypse, he was itching to get going. He had mapped out a plan that would start out in Southern California and move north eventually ending in Toronto, Canada. The expedition will include stops at the last known location of several research scientists that had been on Benton’s payroll as well as the distributors he had set up last year before their little setback.

  The usual suspects piled into the Land Rover and sped across the border and into the United States. Two things struck Benton as they passed the security checkpoint; first, how unusual it was to so easily leave one country and enter another and second, was their really any countries anymore? After years of international travel, he had been used to the inconveniences one had to endure, even for a man of his stature, but now no one gave a damn where you were headed or where you were going.

  The first stop was an office building in the Los Angeles suburb of Gardena, on West Artesia Boulevard. Bronson turned left and pulled the Land Rover into the parking lot. There were a few scattered cars littering the lot, the same cars as the last time Benton was here. The front of the two-story building housed the offices, the rear had a moderately sized warehouse.

  Bronson turned the car around so the front was facing the exit. Leaving the car running he opened the door and stepped into the bright sunshine. Gunner did the same with Mikael holding back. Gunner moved in between the cars checking for bodies, human or otherwise, while Bronson moved toward the entrance door.

  The group Benton was using to facilitate the antidote’s distribution out west was an unsavory collection of Pakistani businessmen formerly in the import/export business. This office was one of several they used throughout the Los Angeles area and the one they told Benton to meet them at any time he needed them. He obviously couldn’t call ahead so he was hoping they were here or at least would be here sometime today.

  Bronson emerged from the building and gave the all clear sign so Mikael got out of the car and opened Benton’s door, escorting him to the front door. Benton turned the car off remotely as they waited for Bronson to reenter the building before heading inside. The building had been clear the last time they were here but it was better to be sure, this new world held many surprises, most of them unpleasant.

  A loud crash could be heard coming from inside the building followed by the sound of scuffling feet. Gunner immediately raised his semi-automatic rifle and moved Benton away from the door. Mikael took a defensive position shielding Benton from anything that might emerge from the opening. Gunner moved slowly through the doorway.

  It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit interior. Light entered from the door behind him and from several windows in the reception area. The blinds had been shut and the light forced its way through the cracks.

  He called out for Bronson but received no response.

  The sounds of a struggle ceased and were replaced by silent footfalls coming from down the darkened hall just in front of Gunner. He took a couple of deliberate steps forward as the footfalls were definitely coming closer.

  Gunner bumped into a small table sticking out from a concealed closet on his right. It was hard to see and he looked down at the table then quickly back up into the closet. He couldn’t see much but sensed no movement. It was just an empty storage closet.

  He turned just in time to see a figure in the darkness descending upon him. He swiveled the semi-automatic around but jammed it up against the closet’s archway. He had moved further into the closet than he thought and had not given himself enough room to move the weapon into a firing position.

  He smelled the stink of the infected even before he could clearly see it. Gunner cursed himself for being so stupid and unaware of his surroundings. The infected was nearly upon him and there was no room to use the gun so he dropped it and reached for his knife with his right hand as he used his left to fend off the zombie. As he wrapped his hand around the knife’s handle, he heard a noise coming from behind the infected.

  As he placed his hand firmly against the zombie’s chest he pulled the knife out of its sheath and raised it above his head. The zombie suddenly went limp and fell to the floor next to him. Bronson standing in front of him, blood splatter covering his chest and most of his arms, the right one holding a knife dripping with blood.

  “Need to be more careful, almost gotcha that time,” Bronson said. Gunner could feel the sarcasm through the darkness.
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  “All clear down here, let’s check the second floor,” Bronson suggested. Gunner waited a heartbeat before nodding. He needed a second to compose himself. He didn’t like being dressed down, especially by that maniac. Unfortunately, he would have to wait for another time to do something about it. He returned his knife to its sheath and picked his weapon up from the floor.

  They moved to the end of the hall where a set of stairs leading up lay before them. In the corner, crumpled in a ball, was an infected with a sizable head wound. Likely Bronson’s handiwork and the source of the scuffling he heard earlier.

  Bronson took the lead as they headed up the stairs. Gunner kept an eye on their rear. The stairs stopped at a landing halfway up then turned right and headed further up into the darkness. There was very little light and Gunner had to rely more on his other senses than his sight.

  Moving slowly upwards the pair finally reached the top and were greeted by a smell that could be best described as putrid. Gunner immediately recognized it as the smell of death. Something, or somethings, were dead up here.

  There were two office doors on either side of a fairly narrow hallway. A window at the end of the hall without any blinds let in enough light that it was much easier to see up here. Three of the doors were closed and it was discovered after turning the handles, locked. The last door on the left was open and was obviously the source of the odor.

  Bronson stopped just short of the door and positioned Gunner across from him on the other side of the hall. A few seconds passed before Bronson moved quickly into the room, Gunner followed closely behind, both men with weapons at the ready.

  The stench nearly knocked them backward but both men held their ground and surveyed the room. It was a standard office with two metal desks facing each other. A couple of filing cabinets were in the corner, bad art on the walls. One filing cabinet had been knocked over but had come to rest against the other. The rest of the room was in shambles. There was paper everywhere, a coat hanger lay horizontal on the floor, and three decomposing bodies covered the desks. Flies buzzed incessantly around the corpses, the noise filling Gunner’s head. They had been killed by severe blows to the head, that much was obvious. It also appeared that they had served as a light snack for some infected, perhaps the zombie lying on the ground downstairs.

  It was quickly determined they were of no threat. Gunner moved a little closer and looked at two of the men who were face up. It was difficult to make out their faces given the level of decomposition but he was pretty sure they were two of the businessmen he had met last time he was here. He took one last look around and decided there was nothing to be gained from them staying here so he turned and left, brushing past Bronson.

  When he got downstairs he saw Benton and Mikael standing over the infected Bronson had killed earlier. They looked up, Mikael raising his semi-automatic, and then relaxed when Gunner emerged from the shadows. He joined the two men in looking down at the zombie.

  “Pradeep Bhabra,” Benton said to no one in particular.

  Bronson came up from behind them and looked at Benton and Gunner.

  “Are these our guys?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Benton and Gunner answered in unison.

  “I guess it’s on to plan B,” Benton said. The three other men took that as a cue to get moving so the headed for the exit.

  Once outside Gunner took in a deep breath as he welcomed the fresh air. Benton, now in the daylight, looked at Bronson and the blood covering most of his shirt.

  “Clean yourself up and then we’ll be going,” Benton said.

  Bronson went to the rear of the vehicle where they had kept some spare clothing and grabbed a new shirt. Spotting a water faucet protruding out from the side of the building, he went over to it and turned it on. A small amount of water leaked out.

  “What was upstairs?” Benton asked Gunner when they were alone.

  He looked back toward the building, looking up to the second floor, squinting his eyes from the sun.

  “The rest of them,” Gunner answered.

  So here they were crawling along Route 15 in a dust storm on their way to one of Benton’s storehouses just north of Lake Havasu City, Arizona. Once they reach Barstow, just a few miles away, they’ll take Route 40 and head southeast. Visibility had deteriorated to virtually zero and Bronson considered stopping but Benton wanted to make the storehouse by nightfall and they would be lucky to get there then as it was.

  The sound of sand pebbles and small rocks hitting the outside of the Land Rover echoed inside the vehicle. Bronson peered through the swirling debris trying to avoid the occasional abandoned car and whatever else might be out there.

  Suddenly, a figure emerged out of the cloud of dust that surrounded the vehicle. It was human shaped and off to the left front of the car. They had encountered a few infected along the way but they had been easily avoided. But the current conditions made it impossible to tell whether the figure was still human or not. Bronson was forced to apply the break and turn the steering wheel sharply to the right. They had been traveling at less than twenty miles an hour so the car barely fishtailed as it came to a stop.

  Gunner reached for the door handle and was about to dart outside when Benton spoke up.

  “Wait,” he said.

  They all sat silently in the car, looking out the windows attempting to get a glimpse of this mystery man… or woman. Benton wasn’t in the habit of stopping to help strangers in need and had a standing order to ignore anyone looking for help. They had too much to do and were way behind schedule as it was. Besides, he was trying to save mankind; perhaps for a profit but saving mankind none the less. There was no time for any … entanglements.

  Unfortunately, visibility was still terrible and although it seemed to be lightening up, it was still too dangerous to move without knowing exactly where the stranger was. Gunner and Mikael continued to look around, weapons gripped tightly in their hands.

  “There!” Bronson said as he looked in the driver’s side view mirror. Coming up from behind the Land Rover was a man, struggling to maintain his balance against the strong desert wind. Despite his staggered gait it was clear that he wasn’t infected. His head was wrapped in a gray and blue scarf. He wore tan cargo pants and pulled a Carhart jacket tightly around his midsection. A black backpack hung around both of his shoulders as he seemed to struggle with the weight against the wind. His hair whipped about his forehead.

  He approached slowly once it was obvious he had been seen. He didn’t appear to be armed but there was no telling what might be inside that jacket or in the backpack. The wind continued to wane and could now be characterized as a stiff breeze. It allowed the stranger to let go of his jacket and raise his hands in a surrender position letting those in the car know that he was unarmed and no threat to them. Benton wasn’t so easily convinced.

  It, of course, occurred to Benton that this could be a trap of some kind. There were a few cars up ahead that made it impossible to pass through this patch of road at full speed. They would have had to slow down anyway, even if there wasn’t a strong desert wind wreaking havoc with their visibility. Having someone jump out in front of your car and force you to stop suddenly with associates hiding off to the side ready to make a sudden charge made for a perfect plan. Except that the storm made it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead of you, making a leap in front of a moving car, especially one as sturdy as the Land Rover, more suicide that tactical diversion.

  “Be alert,” Benton ordered the already alert group.

  The stranger was less than ten feet from the car, slowly approaching the driver’s side window. His hands still in the air, shielding himself from the wind by hunching over slightly. His steps were cautious but steadier now. Bronson, one finger poised over the window release button, looked over at Benton.

  They should probably just take off but something told Benton to see what this stranger wanted. The storm had moved off to the southeast which was the direction they were heading. Giving the storm a
few minutes head start might prove a good idea anyway. They had a good view of the surrounding area now; any trouble would be easy to spot. He kept his eyes on the cars up ahead but saw nothing. He nodded at Bronson.

  Bronson depressed the button lowering the window to about half-way down. Gunner followed suit, sticking the semi-automatic’s barrel out the rear window. The man, spotting the weapon, stopped and raised his arms even higher. Realizing that he couldn’t run anywhere he decided to continue to move forward. He peered into Bronson’s open window, eyes darting into the backseat and then over to Benton. He slowly lowered his scarf revealing the rest of his face which was covered in a weeks’ worth of facial hair and placed his hands on the door just below the window.

  “Sorry about that. That storm came out of nowhere. Didn’t even realize I was on the road,” the man said, fidgeting absentmindedly with the door handle. He stopped when Bronson lowered his hand toward his weapon.

  No one responded. Mikael stared out the back window while Gunner had his semi-automatic trained on the stranger. Benton finally took his eyes off the cars down the road. Bronson gripped the handle of his sidearm.

  The uncomfortable silence lengthened. Looking past Bronson and out at the man standing outside the car, Benton broke into his most disarming smile.

  “I’m just relieved that no one was hurt. What, pray tell, are you doing out here all by yourself Mr. …” Benton asked.

  “Banks, George Banks,” he answered.

  “You are alone, aren’t you, Mr. Banks?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so. Have been for weeks, I think. Tough to keep track of time these days. Are you guys heading anywhere safe?” He asked suddenly realizing admitting he was alone may have been a mistake.

  Benton decided not to answer that question.

  “Where were you before this?’ He asked instead.

  George seemed annoyed at having his question dismissed but the gun barrel poking out of Gunner’s window adjusted his attitude.