by Kirk Withrow
“There! Between those two buildings up ahead,” Garza said.
Montes steered the Bearcat across the once expertly landscaped commons in the direction he indicated. Where there had once been sod and mulch, there was only blood and gore. The butterflies fluttering lazily around the flowerbeds were replaced by swarms of blowflies hovering over the gardens of the dead. They rolled past a park bench undoubtedly used by countless employees to enjoy a little sunshine while escaping the chaos of the office. A severed leg set next to an otherwise unidentifiable clump of hair and tissue on the gore-stained bench, as if someone had been in a hurry and merely forgotten them. Garza felt the bile rise in his throat as he absorbed the carnage.
Ahead, General Montes caught his first glimpse of the horde as the truck crested a low rise. Nearly filling the space between two buildings, and pressed against the barricade to their left, were well over one hundred infected. A line of raised planters close to the building on the right prevented Montes from steering around the things clawing at one another to get closer to whatever was on the other side of the barricade.
“I see a gate farther down, roughly seventy yards beyond the horde. If we can get through them quickly, I may be able to open it before they have time to catch up to us,” Garza said hopefully from his perch in the turret opening. As soon as the truck was on level ground atop the rise, Montes depressed the accelerator. The big tires spun, momentarily losing traction on the blood-soaked grass, before lurching toward the infected at the rear of the pack. There was a wet thwack as the push bar collided with the closest monster. They were so tightly packed that the impact set off a chain reaction, knocking the first into those next to it as the Bearcat crawled over them one after the other. Like a Cuisinart, the truck ground the infected into the muddy ground, leaving a pureed chum trail of destruction as it passed.
Garza glanced toward the barricade and the buildings beyond, still seeing no sign of human occupation. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe we are too late. Looking behind them, he saw that the infected were already closing ranks, filling in the swath of carnage cut by the Bearcat. “They know we’re here now,” Garza muttered.
General Montes called out from the driver’s seat, “We’re through. Get ready to work on that gate.” A quick glance in the side mirror told Montes they would not have much time. Garza watched as many of the pursuing infected fell to the ground after becoming ensnared in the tangle of limbs left in the Bearcat’s wake. Even so, he knew they would be cutting it close given the distance between the gate and the leading edge of the horde.
As the truck ground to a halt, Garza climbed out the roof hatch and dropped to the ground. His foot slipped in the mud when he landed, causing him to tumble to the side. A raspy snarl from behind him made his heart leap in his chest as he rolled to his back to face whatever horror was about to befall him. He was simultaneously relieved and disturbed by what he saw.
The torso of one of the infected was wedged inside the wheel well, its left arm and mangled shoulder hopelessly tangled in the coil spring suspension. All that remained of the left side of its face were the underlying bones, as the skin and muscle had been stripped away by the friction of the tire treads. Despite the fact that its right arm was clearly broken, it still reached impotently for him, all the while still snarling. Feeling what little nerve he still possessed slipping away, Garza knew he had to silence its dreadful moan. Before he even realized what he was doing, he raised his boot in the air and kicked out hard. The thing’s head smashed against the spring, and he felt it give as though it was being forced through a garlic press. The moaning stopped instantly, though he could hear a similar call carried by the distant wind.
Hopping to his feet, Garza rushed over to the heavy steel gate. Compared to the barricade the Bearcat tore through to get to the CDC campus, this one was far more substantial. Garza saw no apparent way to open it from the outside. The gate itself was crude in its design and appeared to move to the side when it opened. He dropped to his hands and knees and looked through the small space below the heavy panel. His heart sank when he saw that the gate slid into a metal and concrete reinforced channel just inside the barricade. Even if they could build up speed, he had serious doubts about the Bearcat’s ability to push through the obstacle.
The sound of the approaching horde reached his ears a moment before the first shambling figure came into view. Feeling defeated, Garza started toward the truck, praying they could come up with another plan. He spun at the sound of movement behind him, wondering how the infected had managed to get so close.
* * *
“Sir, Judge reports the crowd is moving toward the south gate. Seems they are being drawn by an approaching truck,” Col. Warren said.
“Come again? What the hell do you mean a truck? None of our men are out, are they?” Lieutenant ‘L.T.’ Weaver screamed into the radio.
“No, sir. It’s not one of ours,” Col. Warren replied tentatively.
“Son-of-a-bitch! Get your guys out there and take care of it! Send me a sitrep. I’m on my way with Sodecci,” L.T. said.
A moment later, Col. Doug ‘Mother’ Warren, was out the door of Building 18, leading his three remaining soldiers to meet the two already at the south gate.
“What’s the situation, Mother?” one of the soldiers asked as they raced toward the main entrance to the facility.
“No clue. Judge said there’s a truck at the gate, and it’s got the infected all riled up,” he replied.
“A truck? What the hell? More marauders? I hate those assholes!” the only female soldier in the group said.
When Mother and his soldiers reached the south gate, Judge and Rooster were already set up in elevated shooting positions. Breathlessly, Mother called out, “What are we dealing with, Judge? Hostiles?”
After a short pause that felt like an eternity, Judge responded in his usual southern drawl. “No, sir. Unless you count the crowd as hostiles, in which case we’ve got about seventy or eighty—maybe more. I’ve seen two people with the truck, which is marked Atlanta SWAT. Both are male, and they appear to be military. The fellow that was checking out the gate wore a tattered U.S. uniform but I didn’t recognize the uniform of the guy driving the truck.”
Rooster called from the other side, sounding like the polar opposite of Judge, “I’d say those rotten assholes are pretty damned hostile! Want us to light ’em up, boss?”
Mother ignored the second man’s comment and radioed Lt. Weaver. “Sir, Judge doesn’t think the people in the truck are hostile, but they’re surrounded by at least seventy infected. They are in an Atlanta SWAT APC and may be military with at least one U.S. and another unknown.”
Mother held his hand to his earpiece as he listened to L.T.’s orders. He nodded, and said, “I’m sorry, a scientist from where?...Not sure, sir…Yes, sir. We’ll take care of it.”
Turning to his soldiers, Mother said, “L.T. wants us to get that truck in here. Any suggestions?”
Ice, a soldier who had remained quiet up to this point, said, “Since we can’t turn back the hands of time and get them to use the distraction, we could always toss a few grenades into the crowd.”
“You and your explosions,” Stack said. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
Mother nodded. “Why does L.T. want these guys in here so bad?” Stack asked.
“Apparently someone important is supposed to be heading to this facility, and Dr. Sodecci has reason to believe that person is in that truck,” Mother replied. Seeing the skeptical looks on each of their faces, he added, “If L.T. believes it, then we believe it. Now let’s move! Suppressed shots only. Let’s not call any more infected to this party.”
Mother climbed to an elevated position visible to the people on the ground outside. He planned to signal the occupants of the truck and inform them of their intentions. Staring out at the battered armored truck, he hoped L.T. was making the right call to trust whoever was inside the vehicle. The remaining soldiers ascended into elevated shooting positions
spread out along the wall. When Mother was certain he had the attention of the Bearcat’s driver, he flashed him a reassuring thumbs up before pointing his rifle around the yard to indicate they were about to open fire on the infected. All he could do now was hope they got the message.
“All right, boys…and Cujo—let ’em have it,” Mother barked.
The sound of suppressed gunfire filled the air as the small firing squad doled out headshot after headshot. The infected were amassed all around the Bearcat, and scores of bodies fell under the hail of bullets. No sooner than one hit the ground, another moved forward to fill in the gap. Mother watched as a veritable wall of death formed all around the armored truck, but the number of infected still on their feet did not seem to diminish. Where the hell are they all coming from? The mass of corpses between the truck and the gate soon became so great that he wondered if the truck would be able to push through without getting stuck atop the mound of bodies. When the dead were stacked so high that the infected started using their fallen brethren like scaffolding to climb onto the besieged truck, Mother knew they needed to modify their plan.
“Ice!” Mother called.
Before he could give his order, Ice replied, “I knew you’d come around. Want me to make a hole?”
“The infected, not the truck—got it?” Mother said.
“Oh, yee of little faith. Who do you think you’re talking to, here?” Ice said with an expression that was far too upbeat for the situation at hand.
Mother proceeded to mime tossing a grenade and the subsequent explosion, once again hoping that the occupants of the truck would get the message. A thumbs up from the driver told him they did. He hoped the vehicle’s armor plating had enough integrity to withstand the blast.
The truck drove forward six inches or so before reversing and going a little farther. The driver repeated this process a couple of times to make enough room to reverse out of the alcove of bodies created around them.
General Montes watched as one round shape and then another sailed through the air toward the truck. The fragmentation grenades hurtling through the air toward them was a surreal sight. “Everyone! Head’s down! Brace yourselves!” Montes yelled as he ducked his head below the dash.
The explosion was deafening, and the ensuing concussive wave that rolled through the truck and its occupants like a freight train was indescribable. To Garza, it felt as though every part of his body was rattled loose momentarily, disconnected from one another just long enough to make him wonder if they would actually return to their normal location. Had anyone inside the Bearcat been looking out the windshield, they would have seen a tsunami of blood, gore, and body parts rise up from the ground and surge toward them before slamming with tremendous force into the bulletproof glass. Fortunately for everyone inside, the windshield held.
When the truck quit rocking and General Montes’ wits returned, he looked up and saw nothing but a clumpy red and black film as though sheets of acetate of those same colors had been layered atop the glass. Instinctively, he switched on the windshield wipers and was a little surprised to find that they still worked.
As the wipers cleared the thick gore, General Montes saw the gate slowly opening. Without another thought, he shifted the big truck into drive and pulled forward. He tried not to think about the rise and fall of the tires as they bumped over the scattered remains of the massacred horde.
As soon as the Bearcat cleared the gate, one of the soldiers closed it quickly before locking it securely. All six of the soldiers moved into formation with their weapons trained on the truck.
Inside, General Montes turned to the others, and said, “Well, it looks like the welcoming committee is out in full force.”
Cautiously, Garza poked his head out of the turret, leading with his empty hands raised high above. “My name is Sergeant Hector Garza, U. S. Army. I am transporting a scientist who has important information regarding the plague. I need to speak with the officer or person in charge of this facility,” Garza said.
Keeping their rifles trained on Garza, the soldiers did not move a muscle. After what felt like an eternity, he started to worry that they had made a terrible mistake. He saw a soldier at the rear of the formation give a subtle nod as his hand moved to his earpiece. A second later, the soldier broke formation and approached with his rifle at low ready. Much like the other soldiers’ rifles, his eyes never strayed from Garza.
“Sergeant Garza, is there a Dr. Lin San with you?” the soldier asked.
Garza debated whether he could trust the soldiers holding them at gunpoint. Noticing his hesitation, Lin tapped him on the leg and said, “Tell them.” While Garza was concerned about her as a person, Lin’s attitude was selfless. She was willing to risk everything for a chance at stopping LNV before it hammered the last nail into humanity’s coffin.
Without further hesitation, he said, “Yes, sir, she and two others: General Montes of the Brazilian Special Forces and a boy named Anthony Obol. Oh, and his dog, Charon.”
The soldier keyed his throat mic and relayed the information to whoever was on the other end of the line. Before the soldier finished speaking, a door on the building behind them burst open. With his frayed nerves already on high alert, the unexpected sound of the door nearly made Garza jump out of the turret. As his heart returned to its normal location, he noticed that not a single one of the soldiers had even flinched. Looking past them, Garza saw two figures standing in the open doorway. A disheveled man in a dirty white coat held the door, glancing around nervously in every direction. The other man was clearly a military officer judging by his crisp uniform and the fact that he was not dressed out in full combat gear like the other soldiers they had encountered thus far.
“Sergeant Garza, I’m Colonel Doug Warren. If you and the others would exit the vehicle and follow me, we’d like to get you folks inside ASAP. There’ll be time for introductions later,” the soldier said.
Having made the decision to trust them, Garza nodded and disappeared into the truck. A moment later, the Bearcat’s rear door opened and Garza stepped out with his rifle in hand. He was relieved when the fact that he was armed elicited no reaction from the other soldiers, who had lowered their rifles to the low ready position. Anthony and Charon emerged next followed by Lin and General Montes.
Col. Warren pointed them toward the two men waiting in the open door, while the rest of the soldiers formed a defensive corridor to provide security as Garza led the group to the building.
Charon took a detour; pushing past one of the soldiers with a huff as though annoyed he was standing in his way. When he reached a nearby wall, he hiked his leg and took a long, satisfying piss. Garza swore the dog was smiling as he relieved himself.
Another of the soldiers said, “Holy shit! That dog’s back teeth must have been floating.”
After what seemed like a full minute, Charon lowered his leg and gave the grass a dismissive scrape with his rear paw before walking past the soldier as if he was not even there.
“You’re lucky he didn’t piss on you, Stack. I guess even dogs have standards,” the female soldier said, flashing a wry smile as she spoke.
When Garza reached the door, he stuck out his hand to introduce himself but the disheveled scientist stepped past him, completely ignoring the gesture.
“Dr. Lin San, I presume? Are we glad to see you,” Dr. Sodecci said as he hurriedly motioned them inside.
The military officer let out a quiet chuckle as he stepped forward and reached out to shake Garza’s hand. “Don’t mind the good doctor there. Being locked up in here has taken a toll on some of his social graces. I’m Lieutenant Weaver. I understand we have you to thank for getting Dr. San to us safely.”
24
October 7, 2015
Centers for Disease Control, Roybal Campus
Atlanta, GA
“Dr. San, welcome to Building 18,” the scientist said as soon as they were all inside. Lin could not tell if he thought she should feel privileged to be there, or if he was
just relieved to have some help. Smiling excitedly, the wiry doctor said, “I have so much to go over with you.”
Sensing the scientist’s eagerness, Garza interjected, “I’m sure you do, but we have just been through Hell. I’m sure Dr. San would appreciate a few minutes to collect her thoughts.”
Looking as though he had been slapped, Dr. Louis Sodecci said, “Indeed. Who hasn’t these days? Sergeant Garcia, isn’t it?” He continued before Garza had a chance to answer. “That is precisely what I wish to discuss with Dr. San. You see, there is the matter of this little plague that has been annihilating our country for the last few weeks…”
“Enough!” Lt. Weaver boomed, the room going quiet instantly. “Mother, show the newcomers to the living quarters. Let them get cleaned up and get some food. Bring them back here in an hour. Is that acceptable to everyone?” When no one voiced any objections, he assumed it was.
* * *
Garza sat on the firm bunk in the spartan room, his mind reeling from all that had happened in the last week. He could hardly believe it had only been five days since he linked up with what remained of the Brazilian detachment charged with escorting Dr. San. Considering everything they had been through, he found it dizzying to contemplate. When he thought of what else might lay in store for him and the others whom he had come to regard almost as family, his mind stuttered like a scratched C.D., refusing to move on to the next track. As he stared at the floor between his feet, he decided he was okay with not moving on to the next track. Who’s to say it won’t be worse than the last?