by Kirk Withrow
When General Montes raised his head, the downcast look reflecting in the rearview mirror nearly made Lin’s heart shatter. She opened her mouth to speak but was cut short by the loud bang of a hand smacking against the driver’s side window.
Startled, Montes turned his head toward the sound in time to see the skinless face of a monster behind an equally mutilated hand poised for another blow. Blurred by the filthy handprint left on the glass, he saw the hand just as it slammed into the glass with a sharp crack. As the glass exploded into a thousand tiny pieces, Montes wondered if a ring on the thing’s hand had caused the glass to shatter.
In an instant, the loathsome thing had General Montes by the collar and was trying to haul him out of the truck. Another sharp crack erupted in the distance, and a fine mist of red and black fluid exploded from the thing’s head. Its sullied hand went slack as it sagged to the ground in a lifeless heap.
From the back seat, Corporal Rocha yelled, “SNIPER! GO!” Wasting no time, General Montes shifted the truck into drive and peeled off in a hurry.
Confused by the rapid sequence of events, Lin asked, “Why are we driving away? They saved you. Maybe they can help us.”
Without hesitation, Rocha replied, “We have no idea if that bullet was intended for the General or for the monster. We must assume everyone is hostile until we know otherwise, without a doubt. We cannot afford to take any chances.”
Although Lin did not entirely understand Corporal Rocha’s logic, or the world they were operating in, he and the other soldiers had not let her down thus far. Seeing no reason to doubt his judgment, she decided to place her trust in him.
The truck skidded sideways through the damp grass as they narrowly missed a small tree growing near the edge of the interstate. When the truck’s tires found purchase once again, Montes gunned the engine and the truck lurched forward, heading away from the collapsed overpass. Owing to a level shoulder devoid of any further obstructions, the truck zipped along at a modest clip, putting distance between itself and the shooter—whether savior or assassin.
The truck’s powerful engine roared as its tires clawed up the embankment and back onto the road. As they drove, the ruined overpass slowly faded into the distance behind them. Staring out the rear window of the cab, Lin knew the images of Garza standing alone like a one-man rampart against the throngs of infected would not fade so easily. A lone tear broke free and rolled down her cheek. Somewhere in the trees back by the intersection, Lin saw a brief glint of light flash as though the sun were reflecting off of a passing window.
From his concealed position in the wooded area, the shooter followed the fleeing truck with his scope until he could no longer see it. With a huff of frustration, he lowered his rifle and let out the rest of the breath he had been holding. He worked the rifle’s bolt to chamber a new round before engaging the weapon’s safety. Dumbfounded, he could not fathom how he had missed his mark. He never missed, certainly not at such close range. Who the hell were those people and why were they here? What the hell did they think they were doing springing my trap and ruining all my hard work? The enraged man clinched his balled fists so tightly that his arms shook. With a steadying breath, he packed up his belongings and picked up his radio. As he depressed the talk button, he decided that regardless of who they were, they needed to atone for the transgression.
* * *
The three bone-tired survivors drove in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. While the current road was certainly more navigable than the interstate that ran under the collapsed overpass, countless obstructions still kept their pace to a slow crawl. After driving for a couple of miles, General Montes decided they should pull over and study the map. Although he and Garza had done so previously, Montes had not committed everything the other man had said regarding their route to memory as Garza had been travelling with them at the time. Now that the group consisted of only the three Brazilians, he knew it would be best to take a closer look.
“We are here, maybe five miles from the airbase. The CDC facility is a little over twenty miles from the base by interstate. We will be better off taking some of the smaller roads and highways to try to avoid the bulk of the stalled traffic. It will increase our mileage, but probably decrease our travel time, as we should be able to keep a faster pace,” General Montes said as he scrutinized the map spread out on the truck’s hood.
Sitting on the bumper of a nearby abandoned Volvo, Lin could just make out the General’s words. She watched as Corporal Rocha looked down, nodding his head in agreement. The younger man then pointed at the map and traced a path with his outstretched index finger as General Montes surveyed the map with an appraising look. She marveled at the loyalty and dedication the two men showed to one another, and to their mission. To Lin, they seemed more like father and son than two unrelated military officers.
Having agreed on the best route to take, General Montes folded the map in preparation for their departure. Somewhere beyond the two soldiers, Lin caught a fleeting glimpse of movement in her peripheral vision. She shifted slightly to focus on the location but saw nothing aside from the trees rustling in the wind, leading her to question whether she had actually seen anything at all. Just when she decided it had been nothing more than an optical illusion caused by the shimmering heat rising up from the ground, she saw a distinct, albeit brief, glint of light followed closely by the clear outline of a person in the distance. Jumping to her feet, she rushed to where General Montes and Corporal Rocha stood next to the LSSV.
Rocha sensed her movement and spun to face her. A startled look of concern spread across his face when he saw Lin’s frantic pace.
Skidding to a stop, she spoke breathlessly as she pointed toward the horizon. “Over there, I saw movement by the tree line. I wasn’t certain at first but then I saw it a second time, and it was definitely a person.”
Before her words were completely out of her mouth, both Rocha and Montes were dropping into a crouched position behind the hood of the truck, pulling Lin down with them as they went. Peering cautiously over the truck’s hood, Rocha scanned the horizon but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He certainly saw no people or movement. Without taking his eyes off the spot Lin had indicated, he said, “Could you tell how many there were? Could you tell if they were infected or not?”
Although he could not see it, she shot him an incredulous look before replying. “How am I supposed to know? I saw movement twice, so maybe two people—but that’s just a guess.”
“I wish I had a good pair of binoculars right about now,” Rocha said, still scouring the landscape for any sign of people.
“How sure are you about what you saw?” General Montes asked.
“Like I said, I can’t say for sure about the first thing but there was a definite flicker of light followed by the shape of a person the second time,” Lin confirmed.
Speaking to Montes, Rocha asked, “What do you think? A scope or some other optics?”
“Hard to say, but after the close shot back by the interstate, we can’t be too careful,” General Montes said in a hushed voice.
“How should we play this then? Continue forward or double back? Seems kind of risky either way,” Rocha asked.
“When neither choice seems good, sometimes the best decision is not to make one at all. Don’t you agree? Perhaps we should sit tight for a moment and see how things unfold,” Montes said.
Both Lin and Rocha considered his sagely words before nodding in agreement.
Eyes trained on the distant horizon, Corporal Rocha continued scrutinizing every inch of the landscape. After nearly an hour, his eyes ached from the strain of keeping constant watch. “I haven’t seen a thing. Perhaps whomever Lin saw was just passing through. That location is only five hundred meters or so from here. I can scout up ahead and make sure it’s all clear. If it is, I can signal and you two can bring the truck up. What do you think?”
General Montes considered his plan before speaking. “Sounds like a reasonable option. Otherwise
, I’m not sure how long we should wait before moving forward.”
Corporal Rocha checked his gear, ensuring everything was in its proper place and ready for use at a moment’s notice. He and Montes were so intent on the road ahead that neither of them noticed the lone figure slowly advancing toward the rear of their position.
Creeping stealthily between the shadows, the shooter moved with the wind and made almost as little sound. When he came to within two hundred yards of the three survivors huddled behind the truck, he raised his binoculars and saw the younger man looking over his rifle as well as the rest of the equipment stowed in his tactical vest.
For the first time, the shooter saw the details of the people who had interfered with his plan back at the overpass. The two men were obviously military, though judging from their uniforms and the gear they carried, they were not American. Strange. What would foreign troops be doing on American soil? They look like they are from Central or South America. Mexico perhaps? The third person, a female, was huddled behind them and did not appear to have a military background judging from her dress and demeanor. She also looked more Asian than the two men she was with. Are they escorting her? Protecting her? Why? Who is she? Flummoxed and intrigued, he kept coming up with questions, and he was ready for answers.
Watching the younger soldier slide around to the front of the truck, the shooter realized the man was preparing to move. Cueing his radio, he called to the men lying in wait farther down the road. “I’m nearly in position but we’ve got one on the move. Show yourself for a second. Give them a reflection off your glass or something. That should freeze him in his tracks and give me enough time to get into range. Don’t fire unless you have to, and even then warning shots first. Clear?”
Just as expected the movement and reflection brought the soldier’s advance to an immediate halt. Whoever they are, they have at least some idea of what they are doing. With a malicious smile plastered on his camouflaged face, he ducked down and continued stalking forward. Coming within seventy-five yards of the crouching survivors, the shooter quietly placed his rifle on the ground and switched to his current weapon of choice: the Teledart RD706. The long range, CO2–powered injection rifle was effective at twice that distance, and highly accurate at his current range. Silent and elegant, the gun could be configured to achieve a specific outcome simply by altering the load of the darts. While such tranquilizer guns were generally considered non-lethal, he knew that depended on the particular load of the dart. An anesthetic drug could have a sedating effect at one dosage and a lethal effect at another. On the other hand, some concoctions were lethal at any dose.
While keeping an eye on the survivors, he prepared three darts with which to take them down. Exercising extreme caution, he brought out a small vial of dark, rancid liquid that made him gag involuntarily as he drew a small amount into two of the syringes. He knew even the smallest aliquot of the deadly fluid would get the job done. The rest of the space was filled with an anesthetic agent capable of incapacitating the target long enough for the other component to take effect. He filled the third and smallest dart with the anesthetic drug only. He very much wanted to find out who the woman was, but first he needed to remove the two soldiers from the equation.
Much like the fletching on an arrow, each syringe had a tailpiece comprised of tufts of synthetic fibers affixed to the rear, providing exceptional stability during flight. He attached a wicked, barbed needle to each syringe, admiring the solid-tipped, hollow bore design that allowed excellent penetration as well as consistent delivery of the contents. A small silicone sleeve was placed over the tip of the needle, effectively sealing the lateral injection ports located on the needle’s shaft. Lastly, he pressurized each syringe with a small amount of air that would force the contents out through the lateral ports once the silicone sleeve was displaced upon impact. The needle’s barbs greatly increased dart retention, ensuring it stayed in place long enough to allow complete, precise delivery. Every time he used the weapon, he reveled in the feeling of engineering the demise of his enemies. He felt like a god, as if he alone possessed the power to control fate—to transform it into a well-orchestrated symphony of death of his own design.
Carefully loading one of the two larger darts into the barrel of the rifle, he eased into a prone position and sighted through the rifle’s scope. While he had a clear bead on the older man and the woman, he thought it would be prudent to take out the younger soldier first. The shooter deduced he was likely to be the biggest threat, and as he was off by himself, he could be eliminated without alerting the other two. Unfortunately, he saw no sign of the younger soldier as he panned his scope around the area. As he debated his next move, a venomous smile returned to his face when he saw the soldier’s head pop up out of concealment. In a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “I got you now.” He checked to see that the rifle’s pressure control was set correctly for the target distance, and with a slow, controlled breath, he applied steady pressure to the trigger as he stared at the soldier’s neck through the scope.
Phmmmp!
The gas that propelled the dart out of the gun’s barrel made a nearly inaudible hiss as it escaped. The shooter watched with wide-eyed excitement as the little projectile blazed a hot pink trail through the air as it sailed toward its target. In less than a second, the dart slammed into Corporal Rocha’s neck, and he swore he could almost see the tip of the needle as it punctured the skin. As it plunged farther beneath the surface, its savage barbs cutting deeply, the silicone sleeve was pushed back along the shaft of the needle. With the injection ports exposed, the pressurized contents sluiced out of the syringe and into the injured tissue of Corporal Rocha’s neck. The mixture went to work immediately, worming its way through the damaged cells and into the lacerated capillaries.
Less than one hundred yards away, hidden within the thick veil of the forest, the shooter’s devilish smile was replaced with maniacal glee as he watched the soldier react to the witch’s brew already working its way into his bloodstream. It won’t be long now. Not long at all…
* * *
Corporal Rocha remained vigilant as he advanced slowly toward the place Lin had indicated. As he moved, he caught sight of a brief flicker of light, causing him to freeze in place and drop into a low crouch behind the trunk of a fallen tree. Shit! They must have spotted me. Rocha cautiously raised his head to see if he could gather any additional information about the nature of the person or persons ahead. All of a sudden, he felt a sharp sting on the back of his neck followed by an excruciating, all-consuming pain that radiated outward.
Eyes watering, he let out a feral growl in response to the intense burning sting, which was akin to being shot and then bitten by a bullet ant; he had firsthand experience with both. Reflexively, his hand shot up to his neck where it slammed into the small projectile, forcing the barbed needle deeper into the soft muscle of his neck. Once again, he howled in pain, albeit with less fervor this time. His whole world began to tilt slightly, canting from side to side as though he were on a boat on the stormy sea. No longer concerned about the potential threat ahead of him, he climbed to his feet like a drunk pulling himself out of the gutter at morning’s first light. Stumbling backward in the process, he felt the ground sliding out from under him or the world toppling over him—which one, he was not sure.
Everything shifted in and out of focus as he staggered toward the truck and his companions. He vaguely wondered if this was how a sleepwalker felt, both present and absent at the same time. His mouth opened as he tried to speak but he barely managed low rasping gurgles. Although it took every last ounce of effort left in his waning body, Corporal Rocha grabbed the dart and wrested it from his flesh. A faint blood spray erupted from the puncture wound as renewed pain roared through his synapses.
* * *
Lin looked up in confusion as the sickly Corporal stumbled back around the front of the truck. She let out an involuntary yelp at the sight of the man who had been in perfectly good condition when he le
ft them mere moments ago.
The sound drew General Montes’ attention just in time to see Rocha slumping forward. Leaping to his aid, they caught him just before he hit the ground. Having never heard a shot, neither Montes nor Lin was certain of what happened to Corporal Rocha.
Cradling the man’s head in her lap, Lin felt something warm and sticky on the back of his neck. Her stomach recoiled when she withdrew her hand. With a gasp, she exclaimed, “Oh my God! He’s bleeding!”
Not wasting a second, General Montes threw the truck’s door open while simultaneously scanning their surroundings for the source of the attack. Grabbing Lin by the arm, he roughly shoved her into the truck. He then hoisted Corporal Rocha’s unmoving body into the backseat of the crew cab truck. A sharp, metallic ping resounded as something ricocheted off the jamb of his closing door. Dust sprayed out from behind the truck’s spinning tires as Montes floored the accelerator. “Stay down!” he shouted to Lin. He tried to do the same, all the while driving and keeping an eye on the spot where Lin had seen the potential attacker.
Cursing out loud, the man stood, no longer worried about remaining concealed. Seeing his men moving into position, he picked up his walkie-talkie. “Let them go,” he said calmly. Uninterested in their objections, he switched the radio off, gathered his gear, and began walking.
* * *
“What happened to him?” Lin cried from the back seat, where she sat next to a motionless Corporal Rocha. As soon as Montes had given her the all clear, she crawled back to tend to the wounded man. “What is going on? Who are these people, and why are they trying to kill us?”
From the tone of Lin’s voice, General Montes could tell that she could not handle much more. She was not trained for this; she was not used to conflict and death. The idea of men willingly risking their life for a greater good and those same men being injured and killed by bad people was not something she understood. It was as foreign to her as this horrid plague was to him.