The Zombie Principle II

by David R Vosburgh

  Chester considered a number of responses from Fuck You to Yes Sir but settled on one somewhere in between.

  “Don’t much feel like it at the moment,” he answered, not particularly keen on obeying orders issued to him by some prick he didn’t know.

  The tension hung heavy in the air, the big man considering his reply.

  “Suit yourself,” he said as he raised his handgun and leveled it against the back of Katie’s head. “But I wouldn’t try anything stupid. I only say this because you look like someone who might try something stupid.”

  “Chester,” Stephen said in a low voice. Now was not the time.

  Chester shifted his body slightly against the pew and looked away from the big man. He would behave, for now.

  A quiet fell over the room as the gun aimed at Katie’s head was lowered.

  “They shouldn’t be gone too long, as long as that major of yours plays ball,” he said.

  Nick let out an audible sigh as he was looking around the room. Everyone seemed to be holding up OK, even Holly who had stopped crying. He was taking everything in when he thought he noticed movement outside. The window where the quiet man had been standing in front of had the blinds closed but they were cheap blinds, so you could see through the cracks.

  Nick did his best to act casual as he concentrated on the window until his suspicions were confirmed. There was someone outside. It was not possible that the Major could be back yet unless he had somehow turned the tables on Worthington and Gunner so quickly and that seemed highly unlikely.

  The opening in the shades was small but large enough to see a pair of eyes looking through the slit. They darted left and right until they locked onto Nick’s. Each other held their gaze for a few seconds. One of the traits of most any history major was one of recognition. Nick couldn’t tell you how to conjugate a verb, or the difference between sine and cosine, or list the seven simple machines, but he could recognize a face or part of a face. History was about associating names with places, dates, and events, and faces helped do that. So, it only took that gaze to recognize Captain Morris. He had no idea what he was doing here or what he knew of their situation but the fact that he was squatting down and peeking through the window and not casually strolling through the door would indicate he knew something was up. Perhaps he saw Major Bradley being led away from the chapel.

  He nodded as unperceptively as he could to let Captain Morris know he knew it was him. The question was what to do next. There could be no communication between them. No plans could be drawn up. Maybe he could get Worthington’s men to let him outside or give them a reason to venture out there themselves.

  He stood up slowly and without thinking blurted out, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

  The big man glanced at Nick and cocked his head to one side. A smarmy grin appeared on his face.

  “The not trying anything stupid demand was meant for everyone. I apologize if I wasn’t clear on that,” he said.

  “But, I really do have to go,” Nick said.

  “Hold it,” the big guy said in a tone one might use when speaking to a five-year-old.

  Nick, realizing that his plan to lure them outside wasn’t going to work, turned around and faced Stephen. As he sat back down, he mouthed Captian Morris outside, moving his eyes toward the window. Stephen looked confused at first so he did it again and this time he got it.

  Stephen attempted to appear disinterested as he looked at the window and saw those eyes staring back to him. He brought his hand up to his face as if he had an itch and randomly scratched an area before spreading his fingers apart and making what would look like a peace sign to most people followed by a slight nod to his left. To Captain Morris, however, Stephen was sure it would answer the question foremost in his mind; how many captors are in there with them.

  Lucy saw Stephen fidgeting next to him and reached over to hold his hand. He took the opportunity to move closer to her in what he hoped would look like two lovebirds consoling each other during a crisis situation. He leaned in close to her.

  “Captain Morris is outside,” he whispered. Her eyes widened as Stephen went in for a hug to shield her expression from their captors. While clinched, he looked over her shoulder and caught Chester’s eye, who had turned around to see what the commotion was behind him.

  He repeated the message to Chester in the same manner that Nick had informed him. Chester picked up on it immediately. Lip reading was one of the skills he had learned at the military academy. He turned back around, shaking his head, feigning disgust in the public display of affection going on behind him. He moved forward and lifted his right leg placing it on the pew in front of him, the same leg that had the knife strapped to it.

  Captain Morris locked eyes with Nick and saw the nod. He had recognized him. Shifting slightly again to get a better angle, he could now see Stephen and Lucy sitting up front and Chester in the first pew.

  He stiffened when he heard voices. They were muffled but it was definitely Nick asking to go to the bathroom. He was probably trying to establish some line of communication or perhaps attempting to lure them outside. Captain Morris turned and lowered his hand then pointed to his eyes, fingers spread out like he was going to poke himself, then pointed to the door. Timmons and Stanton got the message and moved away from the wall, got down even lower, and trained their weapons on the door.

  Morris looked back through the window in time to see Stephen staring at him. He noticed the deliberate motion and the two extended fingers. Obviously, there were two captors inside with them. They would have disarmed them but where would the weapons have been placed? Far away from hostages he was sure but were they within reach of their captors.

  His mind was swimming with possibilities and scenarios. He had no idea how much time he had before Major Bradley returned so he likely had to act fast. There was probably a back door but he had no idea where it was and whether or not it would be locked. He had the captors outnumbered and would have the element of surprise on their side if they came in the front door but that would be risky and might get one or more of the hostages killed. He knew Benton would only use well-trained men, highly skilled and dangerous.

  He had to do something and it had to be sooner rather than later. He couldn’t rely on everything turning out fine when the Major returned with Benton. Assuming he returned at all. The front door would probably be open and Benton’s men likely focused on their prisoners, not the door behind them.

  Captain Morris pointed to the front of the door and motioned that they were going inside. He made sure this was communicated to Stephen inside so they would be prepared and then informed the two men with him of his intentions. Neither man looked like they were particularly fond of this idea but they didn’t have much of a choice.

  The three men crept around the motionless body of Sargent Emilio Sanchez and took up positions in front of the door. Stanton just off to the right, Timmons directly in front but back a pace, and Morris close enough to reach out and grab the handle, which he did. He turned the handle slowly and was happy when it turned all the way to the left.

  Chapter 26

  Hoping for the Best

  Major Bradley opened the door to the hospital and entered slowly, looking past the check-in desk and then down the hall straight ahead. No sign of Dr. Sanderson or any infected. He knew that the lab the Doctor used was on the second floor having cleared the hospital of infected prior to letting the Doctor take up residence here. He assumed that’s where he would be but since he had not spent any time with him here, he wasn’t sure of his routine.

  Gunner followed with Zoe, his left hand firmly placed around her right arm and his handgun in the other. Benton strode confidently in as if he was here to deliver a bouquet of flowers to a patient. He moved in alongside the Major.

  “Where to, Major?” Benton asked.

  There was a staircase off to the right that brought you to the second floor just down the hall from the lab. He hesitated for a second, hoping that an idea would
come to him that would extract him from this situation, that would free Zoe and would prevent the Doctor from falling into Benton’s hands. He was hoping for the best but was, unfortunately, confronted with the worst.

  “Major?”

  A squeal from Zoe as Gunner tightened his grip snapped Major Bradley out of his stupor. He turned around to check on her, giving Gunner a look that warned him against any further harm toward Zoe. Gunner smiled back at him.

  He turned around and took a step toward the stairs.

  “This way,” he said.

  Malcolm sat next to the door, the pill bottles that Dr. Sanderson dropped in his lap still there, the gun heavy in his hand. The fight or flight instinct had kicked in. If what was about to happen, happened, he knew what he needed to do, but part of him didn’t want any part of it.

  He knew that a bite from an infected couldn’t turn him into one of them but that still wouldn’t stop them from trying. He considered rolling his wheelchair out of there and down the ramp and try and get help but decided against it. There was no one else around to help, it looked like it was up to him. He prayed that he would have the strength, both physically and emotionally, to do what was necessary.

  The Doctor lies on the metal table, motionless, with a pallor that could be best described as ghost-like. The notebooks he had mentioned were strewn about the counter opposite the table and the floor was littered with broken glass and ceramic.

  Malcolm gripped the gun a little tighter.

  The bright sunny day outside had apparently given way to some clouds as the room alternated between light and dark, the cloud cover hiding the sun. Dr. Sanderson had brought in several battery-operated lanterns to light his working areas, one of which was on the counter next to the notebooks. They weren’t in use at the moment because they had not been needed.

  Malcolm put the gun in his lap where it snuggled between the pill bottles and began rolling the wheels of his chair toward the lamp. It was a tight fit, the table with Dr. Sanderson on his left and the counter on his right. He glanced, almost casually, to his left keeping his eye on the Doctor.

  He banged his wheelchair into the table, rocking the table slightly. He stopped cold and turned to look directly at the body atop the table. Dr. Sanderson’s right hand fell and brushed Malcolm’s left ear. He instinctively moved as far right as the confines of the wheelchair would allow, pressing his back into the handle. He waited to see if the jarring had awoken the doctor or if his hand had just slipped off the table.

  A few seconds passed with no further movement from the table, then a few seconds more. Malcolm was convinced his little accident had done no harm.

  “Always keep your eyes on the road, even in a wheelchair,” He chided himself.

  Moving back to the center of the chair he wiped a small bead of sweat from his forehead and continued forward. He stopped just as the lantern was in reach. He grabbed it off the counter with much effort and placed it in his lap with everything else.

  He moved to an open spot past the table where he had room to turn around, which he did. Now facing the entrance to the lab, he could see anyone or anything that might enter. The Doctor was in front of him and to the right. It was a better view to see him if, or more likely when, he sat up. Dr. Sanderson hadn’t been breathing for at least fifteen minutes. If he wasn’t dead, he might want to contact the New England Journal of Medicine when he wakes up.

  Malcolm turned on the lantern, shedding more light onto the room and giving him a better view of the Doctor. He placed the light back on the counter next to him and picked the gun back up, holding it now with two hands.

  The Doctor had explained to him what the ALS had done, and what it was doing, to his body. He had, for a lack of a better term, come to grips with it. Malcolm was also made aware that the disease has little effect on the mind. His cognitive ability should remain mostly unaffected. He decided this was a blessing and a curse. He would be completely aware of his surroundings and could still think and reason but he would also have a front row seat for the hell that awaited him. It might be better, he reasoned, to have no idea what was happening to him and die blissfully ignorant.

  It was this last piece of information Dr. Sanderson laid on him that made him quite certain the footsteps he now heard in the hallway just outside the door were not his imagination and he was equally certain he saw Dr. Sanderson’s right hand twitch.

  Chapter 27

  Bronson!

  Stephen wasn’t one-hundred percent sure what Captain Morris had just signaled but he nodded anyway. His best guess was he was going to bust down the door and he, and whoever he may be with, are coming in. Lucy could read his eyes and knew something was up. Stephen leaned in toward her.

  “Captain Morris is coming in,” he whispered.

  Lucy stifled a gasp as Stephen looked down letting her know to hit the floor when Captain Morris came barging in. She moved slightly, edging herself to the end of the seat. He attempted a smile.

  He then turned his attention to Chester who had been reading all of his signals and had the plan already figured out. He leaned forward, his right hand dropping down by his right pant leg, eyes fixed on the door.

  Nick was trying to figure out what was going on. He sat in the pew, his back toward his two captors. He thought about getting back up and meandering over to Stephen but after his last scolding, he thought better of it. He noticed Chester tense up a little bit and saw the look in Stephen’s eyes. His best guess was Captain Morris was coming in.

  There was no way, unfortunately, to inform Sinclair of the plan as he had taken up position along the far wall.

  Stephen had no idea the time frame involved here. Captain Morris might come flying through the door any minute or a half an hour from now; there was no way to be sure. He also had no idea how he was going to let everyone in on what was about to happen. He would have to move off the altar and move around the pews and the big guy with the big gun was likely not going to let that happen.

  His biggest concern was Katie Sharpe. She was in very close proximity to the aforementioned big guy and would be in great danger when the bullets start flying. Everyone else, save for Chester, was sitting down and could drop to the ground behind the pews very quickly.

  They were also going to be no help to Captain Morris. They were unarmed and, except for Katie, nowhere near any of their captors or their weapons. The Captain would have a second or two of surprise before Benton’s men regrouped and went on the offensive. He hoped it would be enough.

  Stephen noticed John Bannon move in his seat and sit a little taller, turning to face the guy up front who was currently in charge. He had a look on his face like he just remembered something, something very important.

  “Bronson!” Bannon nearly shouted as he pointed at the guy whose name might be Bronson.

  The man turned and faced Bannon, obviously surprised to hear his name shouted aloud given the circumstances. He took his eye off the door and pointed his gun at Bannon.

  The awkward silence was broken by the front door swinging open with great force, smashing into Mikael’s back and pushing him forward, stumbling into the nearest pew.

  Kim and Danielle screamed as Kim covered her son and daughter and shoving them to the ground. Stephen pushed Lucy down and leaped from his chair to make sure he was between the gunmen and her. Arch Waxman, who had taken a seat in the front pew, sat frozen, gripping the Bible even tighter. Terrence and Ken instinctively stood and moved away from the door. John moved backward, nearly stumbling over the altar.

  Bronson swung his arm back around violently when he heard the door crash open and connected with Katie, sending her sprawling to the ground, her forehead smashing against the corner of a pew. She lay motionless on the floor, a small pool of blood already beginning to form.

  Katie had disrupted Bronson’s timing and he was struggling to get his sights on whoever was foolish enough to crash his little party. He was so focused on the door he never saw Chester reach into his boot and pull out a c
ombat knife and, holding the blade firmly between his thumb and index finger, fling it toward him.

  Mikael, meanwhile, had bounced off the back of one of the pews and righted himself, turning toward the door. Captain Morris remained low to the ground and entered, his eyes taking a second to adjust to the dim light of the chapel. Stanton followed immediately, more upright than Morris. Timmons hung back, trying to find the courage to charge into the fray.

  Bronson was stunned when Chester’s blade entered just above the left collarbone piercing the skin and muscle tissue below it. He flinched, moving backward and discharging his weapon striking Captain Morris, who had begun to rise, in the right shoulder. The bullet passed clean through, missing bone, passing Stanton who had moved slightly to the left, and lodging in Timmons’ left knee, immediately sending him to the ground.

  Captain Morris was knocked backward, landing on his ass, the pain in his shoulder just beginning to rise. Fortunately, his current position gave him a good angle to fire his weapon at the man who shot him without putting anyone else in danger. He fired off four rounds, striking him twice in the chest, once on the kidney and one in the other shoulder. The noise from the semi-automatic was deafening in the small chapel.

  Mikael’s eyes widened as he saw Bronson fall back, blood splatter visible against the white wall behind him. He raised his gun to return fire but Stanton had closed quickly and both men found themselves too close to each other to fire their weapons.

  Mikael swung the butt end of his rifle towards Stanton’s head but he was able to block it with his left forearm. Stanton tried to get into a firing position but was in too close so he shoved Mikael backward to get some space between them. Unfortunately, Mikael had righted himself enough that he had gained solid footing was not going to be moved that easily. The two men struggled to gain an advantage but neither was able.

  Chester saw the struggle near the door and began hopping over the pews one by one advancing on the two men.