Out Of The Fire

by Heath Stallcup

  “Time to make some soldiers pay.”

  “What the hell is he doing out there?” Hatcher said as he continued to steal glances out the window.

  “Hatcher?” Candy whispered from the rear of the center. “What’s he doing?”

  “He’s on some kind of phone.” Hatcher continued staring out the window. “He keeps watching those guys by the truck, then talking to someone.”

  “You think Chappell knows what’s going on?” Candy raised her voice a little.

  Hatcher shook his head. “No idea.”

  He chanced a glance toward the office. It was unusually quiet back there. He contemplated making a run back there and checking on her, but he didn’t want to miss a chance at Vickers as soon as he came through the door. Hatch gritted his teeth as visions of Mitch again shot across his eyes. He could feel the warm blood oozing out over his hand and it made him want to wet himself. He could feel the crunch of bone in the joints of his hand all over again and it made his stomach turn. Hatcher didn’t know why his brain was doing this to him, but it was more than he could stand right now. He didn’t need this. It was too hard to deal with without replaying it over and over.

  His ears picked up the sound of grit being ground between heel and concrete and he cast a glance through the window again. Vickers was walking up to the door, stepping up the concrete steps leading to the center. Hatcher spun around and flattened himself behind the door, ready to spring into action.

  Vickers entered the center with a spring in his step, ready to begin packing out the office and preparing to depart. They had little time to call back the dogs and watch the show, then swoop in and act the part of the heroes. He never saw the figure that stepped from the shadows and brought the butt of the rifle down on the back of his neck, turning out the lights.

  “Did you get him?” Candy asked as she stepped tentatively out from the rear of the center.

  Hatcher stood over the man, debating on finishing him while he was down. Although he wanted to make him pay for what he had to do to Mitch, he knew deep in his gut he couldn’t tie Mitch’s death to Vickers. Not really. He blew out a hard breath and finally met Candy’s gaze. “I got him.”

  Vickers groaned from the floor and tried to roll over. “We better tie him up,” she said as she marched across the center. She turned quickly back toward the children. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

  Hatcher jogged to the office and grabbed the chair across from his desk. It was only then that he saw Maggie taped up in the corner. He could tell from the tears that she already knew Mitch’s fate. He paused only momentarily before he grabbed the other chair and dragged it out to the floor.

  Candy was waiting with the roll of duct tape and the two made quick work of securing the colonel to the solid wooden chair. “If he can worm his way out of that, just shoot his ass,” Candy muttered.

  Hatcher was reminded of an insect trapped in a cocoon when he looked at the colonel taped to the chair. Not much more than his eyes, nose, and salt and pepper hair was exposed. “That’s gonna hurt like a bitch when it’s ripped off.” He smiled.

  “It’s supposed to,” she said, tossing the empty roll aside. “So now what do we do with him?”

  Hatcher poked him with the barrel of his rifle. “We wake him up. Make him call off his soldiers.” He poked a little harder and Vickers barely grunted, his head lolling slightly to the side, propped by the taping that Candy had performed.

  “What if he won’t?” She tried to keep the children from hearing.

  “He will,” Hatcher said, his teeth grinding. “Or I’ll shoot his damned kneecaps out.” He turned the gun around and brought the butt down hard across the man’s knee.

  Vickers eyes shot open and he tried to scream, the tape holding his mouth shut. He breathed hard through his nose as he took in his surroundings.

  “Well, good morning, colonel,” Hatcher said, venom dripping from his voice. “Nice of you to join us.”

  Vickers’ eyes settled on the man, and it was obvious he was having a bit of trouble focusing. He blinked a few times, then mumbled something. “What?” Hatcher asked, mocking him. “Oh, you have something right here…” Hatcher reached across and ripped the tape from his mouth.

  Vickers fought not to yell as the tape removed the outer layer of skin. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “Easy there, old dog,” Hatcher warned. “Or the tape goes back, and I let her rip it off again just for smiles.”

  “Yeah, and I’ll keep ripping it off until your face comes off with it,” Candy threatened.

  “First things first,” Hatcher began. “We need you to call off your dogs.”

  “Yeah, and then you need to give me back my damned MU!” Candy barked.

  “Your what?” Vickers was honestly puzzled.

  “My Mobile Unit!” Candy yelled. “The damned trailer you stole. The one you’re planning to do all your experiments in.” She gave him a knowing look and dared him to deny it.

  Vickers eyes widened. “How long was I out? Where is Major Chappell? Where are my men?”

  “We’re the ones asking questions here, buster!” Candy stepped in front of him. “You’re the one answering them!”

  “How long was I out?” Vickers nearly screamed.

  “Just a few minutes,” Hatcher replied. “Just long enough for us to secure you to the chair.” He got close to Vickers’ face, “Why?” He tapped him with the barrel of his M4. “You got some place you need to be?”

  Vickers began struggling against his bindings, “We have to get out of here,” he nearly shouted. “I need to see Major—”

  “Why?” Hatcher yelled, forcefully pushing the barrel of the rifle under his chin. “What the hell is going on here, Vickers?”

  Vickers continued to struggle, ignoring Hatcher and his threats. He knew that if anybody were within miles of the strike zones, the concussion alone would turn their insides to jelly. Trees, buildings, vehicles, basically anything above ground would be subject to terrible pressures and the resulting vacuum, followed by fire. Lots and lots of fire. The thought of being shot in the head would be much more preferable to being on the outer fringe of the blast zone of any of the bombs headed their way.

  “I’m not asking you again, Vickers,” Hatcher said as he chambered a round in the M4. Vickers stared at the man with stoic anger. Hatcher stood and pushed away from him. He lowered the barrel to the man’s crotch and let it hover in silent threat. He dragged the barrel along his taped thigh and settled it at the man’s kneecap. “Maybe if I just started shooting off pieces of you?” Hatcher’s tone was quiet and evil, visions of Mitch falling to the ground tightening his finger on the trigger.

  Vickers watched the man’s eyes and his breath quickened. He thought he knew the man that stood before him—or at least men like him—but he saw something change in his eyes just as he placed the barrel to his knee. Vickers knew without a doubt that the man standing before him would do it. Not only would he do it, he’d enjoy it. He blamed him somehow for what was happening here, he could sense it. Panic rose up, gripping him by the throat like a vise and he tried to raise his hands in protest, only to be reminded once more of being bound.

  “Wait!” His eyes round with panic. “Wait, wait, wait…” Vickers stammered.

  Hatcher slowly took his eyes from the man’s knee and met his gaze. “You’d better be truthful.”

  Vickers swallowed air as he considered trying to lie, but his mind raced. He knew if Hatcher sensed a lie, he’d shoot him. Vickers couldn’t escape if he were wounded, there’d be no time to call for a medevac. If he told the truth, he might shoot him, anyway. Perhaps a hybrid of the truth…

  “There are bombs on the way,” he nearly whispered.

  “There’s what?” Hatch nearly yelled.

  “The Pentagon…we can’t contain the infected…” Vickers was shaking his head. “They’re too scattered. We can’t stop them. If they reach populated areas…” His eyes probed Hatcher’s, hoping he’d see
reason. “They’re sending conventional bombs. BIG conventionals. Flatten the areas where we can find them. Pray to contain it. I was about to call in my people,” Vickers spoke in short sentences, rapidly, hoping the urgency would get through to them. “We have to pull out before the bombs get here. Then we come back and clean up any stragglers.”

  “You can’t just blow up a national park!”

  Vickers hung his head as much as the tape would allow. “You can when there’s a volcano under it,” he said quietly. “They’re planning to blame it on volcanic activity.” He suddenly lifted his head and stared at Hatcher, “I couldn’t stop it if I tried. It’s already been decided. The bombs are coming. Standing here threatening me isn’t going to stop them.”

  “Call them and tell them to cancel it,” Candy yelled. “We may still have people out there.”

  “Are you not listening to me?” Spittle flew from his thin lips. “Stupid cow, I can’t!”

  Candy’s eyes widened as she stepped forward, backhanding him. “You need to learn some manners.”

  Vickers glared at her, opened his mouth to fire back a retort when Hatcher snapped his fingers, gaining his attention. “How soon?”

  Vickers glared at him, his lip curling in disgust. “Less than an hour. Depends on the time and how long I was out.”

  Hatcher sighed and nodded Candy toward the office. “Go let the major loose. Something tells me we’re going to need her help.”

  She sighed and marched toward the office, her distrust of the Army officers evident in her behavior. Hatcher turned his attention back to Vickers. “How do I know you aren’t just playing us?” His jaw clenched with the desire to cave the man’s head in.

  Vickers did his best to shrug. “Tell ya what, Ranger Rick. Wheel me out by the chopper, key the radio long enough for me to call back my troops. I’ll be more than happy to load everybody up and leave Jellystone Park. You and your happy clan of cave bears can stay here and play hopscotch until the next batch of tourists come cruising in to see the sights,” Vickers offered with more than a mouthful of malice. “I really don’t give two shits what you and yours do. But I’d really like to get off the top of this hill before the fires of hell get dropped on top of my head.”

  Hatcher stared at the man a moment, then slowly pulled his knife from his pocket. He folded open the blade with his thumb and felt a satisfying click when it locked. For the slightest of moments, he could almost see himself pulling the blade against the loose skin of Vickers thin throat, but held himself. Instead, he walked behind the man and began cutting the tape that held him to the chair.

  “No more tricks. No more bullshit.”

  “No more tricks,” Vickers agreed. “Just get off this fucking mountain before it’s too late.” Vickers was already devising a plan on how to turn the tables on Hatcher once his Ghost warriors returned to base. Perhaps add him and the cow deputy to the fold of civilian test subjects.

  “Where’s Mitch?” Maggie asked as she stumbled out of the office, rubbing her wrists where the tape had been bound too tightly.

  Hatcher turned a solemn eye and noted her tear-streaked face. It took him back she might actually care about his friend. He motioned toward the rear of the center and she brushed past him without speaking.

  “What is she carrying on about?” Vickers asked as he peeled the tape off his lower body.

  “One of ours was bitten while we were waiting for you to drag your sorry ass back here. Had to put him down. She knew him.”

  “Really?” Vickers said absently. “Somehow I find that hard to believe. Major Chappell runs in select circles,” he commented as he finished pulling tape off his ankles.

  “Yeah?” Hatcher felt his blood beginning to boil. “Well, Mitch Richardson was a pretty damn ‘select’ person if you ask me.”

  Vickers paused and glanced at Hatcher. “Richardson?” He sat up in the chair, balls of tape still in his hand. “Large black man? Staff sergeant, I believe. I think I remember him.” He tilted his head and nodded slightly. “Yes. I believe he was with Alpha Company. Second Battalion, Fifth Group out of Fort Campbell.”

  “He was my friend,” Hatcher replied softly.

  Vickers stared at him for a moment and nodded slightly, “You’re a better man having known him.”

  Hatcher didn’t know why, but it angered him just having Vickers mention him. If he knew Mitch, why didn’t Mitch say anything about knowing Vickers? Maybe Mitch didn’t remember him? Maybe Vickers was one of those paper pushers who simply sent men off on missions, never expecting them to return? Maybe Mitch was one of those men who returned when he wasn’t supposed to? Whatever the situation, he really didn’t want Vickers talking about him anymore.

  He was just about to warn the man off when Candy rounded the corner, her eyes wide. “Hatch. We have a problem.” Her face was pale and her hands were trembling.

  Hatcher knew that whatever the problem was, it had to be bad. He took off after her and when he came around to the back of the center, he saw Maggie standing over Mitch’s body, shaking her head. The problem, though, was obvious. The back door was standing wide open. “Who…” Hatcher began.

  “Buck is gone,” Candy said.

  The blood in Bill’s veins froze when the words flowed from little Jason’s lips. “Watch out for the Army mans,” he warned. “They bite.”

  He felt his guts twist and his asshole tightened as the words hit his ears. He simply looked into those little eyes and nodded, a lopsided grin crossing his face. “No worries, squirt,” Bill said. “I’ll keep an eye out for them.”

  He slid out of the truck and his eyes darted everywhere. Richard ran to the Hummer parked in front of them and pulled the door open. “No keys.”

  “Hop in and put it in neutral,” Bill said. “We’ll push it out of the way.”

  Richard climbed into the truck and began looking around the spartan interior. He couldn’t even find a place to put a key, much less…a scream echoed off the rock wall next to the highway and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Richard looked up through the dirty windshield and saw Bill scrambling to get back into the truck. He pulled it up to the front bumper of the Humvee and began pushing the massive truck backward.

  Richard held the clutch in and steered the massive truck as best he could. It was nearly impossible at such slow speed and fighting the huge tires. As the Humvee rolled back far enough that the pickup could pass, something solid hit the side of the military vehicle and Richard screamed. Something outside the truck screeched a reply and a bloody face appeared at the window of his door.

  Richard scrambled over the transmission tunnel and was trying to open the other door when another face appeared at that window, bloody hands leaving smears across the glass. He looked up through the windshield and saw Bill quickly backing up, away from the Humvee, a zombie in a soldier’s uniform giving chase.

  At first, Richard was angry and panicked that Bill could leave him there, abandon him to these…these things. Then he saw the little head in the middle of the cab and he realized, he would do the same thing if it meant saving his grandson.

  The zombies outside began beating on the glass, trying their best to break their way into the metal can of lunch. Bill looked around the interior in a panic. Like a fool, he had left his pistol in the pickup. All he had on him was a knife. He slumped back in the seat and looked up to the ceiling to pray, the canvas top of the Humvee flapping lightly in the breeze.

  Richard’s heart doubled in rate as he realized that the zombies could tear right through the canvas. But then he realized, so could he. He pulled his hunting knife out and cut a slit in the middle of the top, then stood on the transmission tunnel and slid through the slice in the canvas. He could see Bill up ahead on the road coming back in his direction.

  Richard pulled himself through the canvas and dragged himself across the top of the Humvee, the zombies outside jumping and reaching for him every inch of the way. Doing his best to balance himself on the soft canvas top, he w
aved at Bill while trying to keep the zombies attention on the blocked side of the Hummer.

  He stood on the edge of the truck and screamed at the creatures, “Old man Manwich, right here! Come and get it, you big, ugly sons of bitches!” Richard kept stealing glances up the road and waving with his arms, motioning Bill to bring the truck up along the side of the Humvee. “Stay over on this side, you bloody bastards!” Richard swore. “Don’t you screw this up for me, or so help me, I’ll cut your nuts off and wear ’em for a necklace!”

  Bill watched from a distance, and it didn’t take him long to figure out what Richard was doing. “Your grandpa’s a gutsy old man, you know it, kiddo?”

  He tried his best to roll the truck up toward the blockade as quietly as he could so as not to distract the screaming creatures from Richard’s yelling tirade. It took all of his driving skill to slide the old truck around the one that chased them back up the hill a moment ago and not smash the front end up in the process; he really didn’t want to risk hitting one now.

  As he approached the Humvees, one of the creatures spotted the oncoming truck and made a mad dash for them. Bill cursed under his breath and accelerated toward the madman. He tried the same trick as before by pulling into the other lane, fooling the creature into changing its trajectory, then pulling the wheel hard at the last minute, but this time, the zombie hit the front fender, smashing the headlight and taking off the driver’s mirror. The bloody soldier careened off the road and lay in the ditch in a crumpled heap as Bill accelerated toward Richard. He slowed as he approached the Humvee and Richard dove from the top and into the back of the truck.

  One of the zombies had come from the back of the blockade and chose that moment to step in front of Bill just as he accelerated, suddenly appearing, then disappearing under the truck. A sickening thud was heard, followed by a series of thumps and bumps as the body was dragged part way down the paved road.