***
The truck rumbles south down the freeway under the cloud of a pregnant silence that not even the infected choose to break.
Chapter 16 – Soul Searching
As the truck charges toward the valley, the infected remain relatively silent and uncharacteristically calm. Max wonders if they’re reserving their energy, since the restraints had proven unbreakable –even for them, or if they’re just biding their time until they once again have the opportunity to run amuck. He finally settles on a combination of the two. Previously he had considered that his confession might have brought about the odd stillness in which they now sit. He had briefly thought that perhaps the idea of human blood on his hands had birthed a sense of comradery towards him. That is until he noticed the freeway-man staring hard at him and biting his lip.
Since his confession, Vinny and –more importantly- Brooke haven’t said a word. He assumes that Vinny’s silence is due to shame. Though he hadn’t revealed Max’s secret outright, what he did still constituted a violation of trust in Max’s book. However, Max has already made up his mind to forgive and forget. If there’s one lesson he’s learned in his life, it’s that hopeless situations can cause people to do things that normally they would never even consider.
Brooke’s silence is a little more troubling. She had just had her first hard look into his soul and apparently didn’t like what she’d seen. She had yet to make eye contact with him, and it seemed as though she’d even scooted further away. Max wasn’t sure if the latter was even possible given the restraints, but that at least was his perception. He wonders what’s going through her mind. She is -after all- a psychology major so perhaps she is psychoanalyzing him right now. Somewhere in the annals of psychological history, there must be a justification for what he had done. Temporary insanity? That might fit, but he had just killed several infected –one of which they knew personally- with extreme prejudice. What does that say about his psyche? Does all of it make him a sociopath? Psychotic? What? Max sure as hell doesn’t know, and isn’t sure if he even wants too. The fact is, some people find killing easier than others do. Soldiers on the front line know better than most that anyone is capable of taking the life of another but only a select few can sleep peacefully at night after doing so. Max just so happens to be one of those people. It doesn’t mean that he takes killing lightly. He just has found a way in his mind to justify it, rationalize it and keep on going.
The truck heads down an off-ramp and strikes a pothole. Brooke’s shoulder bumps against Max’s arm and he feels her recoil slightly, or again at least that’s his perception. He turns his head, hoping to catch her gaze and with it some semblance of what she is feeling. Her eyes are shut tight and she appears to be praying, about what Max has no clue. Right now, there is just too much to choose from. He readies his mouth to speak and chokes on his words before he’s able to utter a sound.
Max feels the truck bank to the left without coming to a stop at the bottom of the off-ramp. Moments later a loud thud can be heard followed by the sensation of rolling over a speed bump while traveling at a high rate of speed.
“Did we just hit something?” Vinny asks with a perplexed and slightly horrified expression on his face.
“Someone is more likely. Let’s hope they were infected. We must be in the valley now. This area is probably crawling with biters.” Max cranes his neck, trying to get a glimpse through a seam in the canvas.
Brooke asks, “If the virus is airborne out here in the valley, then won’t we be exposed to it?”
Max is surprised by how much the sound of her voice affects him, “You’re right, but come to think of it none of the soldiers were wearing protective suits. They must know something we don’t.”
“Not hard to do since you apparently know very little.” Her British accent is diminished but still highlights the rhythms of her speech.
Max, Vinny and Brooke turn simultaneously to look at Alia. Aside from a slight yellow tinge to her eyes and a few drops of blood dotting her lower lip she still looks very much the same.
“The virus was only airborne for a short while. It turns out that it is quite susceptible to ultra violet radiation. Odd that something so virulent inside a human host would be so vulnerable to a little sunlight.” Alia’s gaze is fixed on no one in particular. She seems to just be staring blankly off into the cosmos and talk as though thinking out loud. “But you see that is the beauty of its design. The virus lives long enough in the air to infect just a few through their open wounds…and those few become many. Spreading out like a multitude of streams from a river, each one begets countless others, eventually giving rise to an army of infected. If the virus merely infected everyone directly through the air then there would be no one left for us to feed on, and thus no fun to be had. In fact, this is not a plague at all… It is an evolution.”
Max, Brooke and Vinny exchange agonized glances but say nothing.
***
After a few more twists and turns, the heavy truck eventually comes to a squeaky halt. The back canvas is thrown open and a new set of soldiers stand guard, while two more -wearing gloves and goggles- enter the rear of the truck. For Max they bring to mind Abbott and Costello. One looks to be six-feet-plus and is thin as a rail while the other is about five-five and surprisingly rotund for a soldier. The tall one (Costello) is armed with a stun stick while Abbott carries a Remington 870 shotgun. A familiar soldier (CPL Steward) appears at the rear of the truck and points to the freeway-man. Costello produces a key ring and heads directly for the freeway-man. He stops just to the left of him and Abbott moves to his right effectively bracketing him. He raises the shotgun and points it directly at his head. The freeway-man furrows his brow and produces a crooked grin. The lurid expression gives Brooke a chill down her spine.
Costello begins to reach for the lock but is interrupted by Brooke’s desperate voice, “Please tell me you’re not about to unlock him with all of us still in here?”
Abbott gives the shotgun a waggle and coolly replies, “We’ve got this under control ma’am.”
Max speaks up, “Hold on man she’s right. This guy is not your average biter. Didn’t anyone tell you what he did to the last group of soldiers? You’ve got to let us out of here first!”
“Do it!” the words come from outside of the truck. CPL Steward motions to Max, Vinny and Brooke, “Those three there, let them out first. I’ll take ‘em.”
The two soldiers turn their stun stick and shotgun on Brooke.
“Guess it’s your lucky day sweetheart. You’re going first,” says Abbott with a smile.
Costello steps in with the key-chain, locates the right key and turns the lock. Brooke’s restraints clatter to the floor of the truck and the soldier lifts Brooke to her feet.
He turns her toward the back of the truck and gives her a slap on the rear, “Move it sweetheart!”
Brooke pauses a moment to give him a dirty look before proceeding to the rear of the truck where she is helped down by another soldier that at least has the decency to be wearing an apologetic expression on his face. As her feet hit the ground, the pungent odor of vulcanized flesh fills her nostrils and at once she feels as though she may swoon, retch, or both. She swivels her head, panning across an expanse of burnt-out vehicles and finds the source. One hundred yards away in a distant corner of the mall parking lot, a funeral pyre rises from its flat surroundings like the volcanic Mount Pele, but with one exception; the dripping lava here is made of human flesh. The towering heap of diseased bodies seems to writhe and undulate beneath the dancing plasma flames. Fiery flakes and ashes of jeans, tank tops, button-down business shirts and baby shoes alike, rise and twist into the ethos attempting to break their earthly chains and follow the spirits of those they once adorned. As some hollow thing in the center of the mass burns through, the entire heap drops and shifts to one side, causing a single charbroiled figure to tumble rigidly down and onto the pavement, like a Yuletide log from an overstuffed fireplace. What had once served i
ts owner as an arm, shatters upon meeting the hard blacktop of the parking lot and all of the individual pieces become their own small glowing islands of cinder mimicking the mother fire like a multitude of offspring.
A backhoe swoops in from the shadows to tidy up the mound of slowly melting muscle and boiling bile and is soon met by a department of waste management dump truck that saddles up next to the blaze and slowly begins to tilt its cargo-bed of contents onto the pavement adjacent to it. Brooke watches in revulsion as a broken mass of bones and a viscous, bloodied, gelatinous fluid pours from its gaping yaw. The bodies had not only been thrown into a dump truck like yesterdays garbage but had been compacted to make room for others that no longer possessed the ability to protest. Brooke averts her gaze and does her best to stifle a gag. Thank god her stomach is mostly empty -save a few remaining bits of Twinkie. Water trickles from her eyes and paints salty streaks down her reddened face.
CPL Steward grabs Brooke’s restrained wrists and forces her down to her knees.
He turns back to the truck and says to the two soldiers, “Now the black one.”
They approach Max with a bit more caution. Costello holds the stun stick inches away from Max’s abdomen while he unlocks the shackles with his other hand. Free of restraints Max rises to his feet under his own power and turns toward the open tailgate of the personnel carrier.
As he begins to move, he can hear that gravelly voice -like trickles of ice cold water snaking down your spine on a hot summer’s day- saying, “Catch you later.”
Max turns his face toward the freeway-man so the knave can see the absence of fear in his eyes. Max’s face is calm and emotionless. He’ll be damned if he’s going to give that monstrosity the satisfaction of a cowering response. When he’s sure that the freeway-man has understood the message conveyed by his blank repose, he resumes his march to the rear of the truck. Once there, he hops down to the pavement and does a quick reconnaissance of the area. He immediately recognizes his surroundings as the parking lot of the Topanga Mall. Finally, he is back in familiar territory, and though they are still several miles from Big Mama, the truck has at least brought them within walking distance –albeit a long one.
Max is suddenly aware that CPL Steward is, and has been, pushing down on the zip-tie that binds his wrist together in an attempt to force him to his knees next to Brooke. The soldier apparently lacks the strength to complete the tasks and his face begins to redden with embarrassment when it becomes obvious that Max was merely distracted and not actively resisting. A few chuckles arise from soldier-bystanders and his blush deepens to the crimson stain of a radish. He un-holsters a cattle prod from his side and proceeds to jam it into Max’s ribs before letting the sparks fly. The soldier cackles in the odd high-pitched tone of an over-stimulated hyena, as Max’s knees begin to buckle under the strain of one-million-plus volts of direct current. Max starts to go down and the stun stick breaks contact. In that moment, he is able to regain enough strength to catch himself before his knee hits the ground.
The soldier -unaware that his shock did not have the intended affect- has already turned his back on Max and is waiving the stick in the air victoriously while bragging, “I guess that’s one way to put an angry ape down isn’t it?!”
With the stick still above his head, he completes his victory spin and is dismayed to find Max once again standing erect before him. His grin and cackle dissolve quickly. He brings the heavy stun stick down toward Max’s head with as much force as he can muster. This time he’s determined to finish what he’s started. To his surprise, the stick never connects with its intended target. Faster than the soldier can blink Max has caught the stick above his head with his bound hands and ripped it from the soldier’s grasps. Max spins the stick in his hands so the business end is pointing back at his aggressor. He gives the trigger a quick squeeze and a hot blue arc travels across the tip of the prod with a loud cracking sound that causes CPL Steward to recoil with his eyes shut and arms pulled into a defensive position across his face. After spending several moments in this position the young man realizes that it was not Max’s intention to use the weapon in retaliation, but merely to shame him further. He slowly opens his eyes and relaxes his defenses. Embarrassment is once again apparent on the soldiers face as a few scattered laughs fill the night air.
“All you had to do was ask,” says Max while turning the harmless end of the stick back toward the soldier and relinquishing the weapon.
The soldier reluctantly accepts the stick and Max slowly drops to one knee next to Brooke.
In a last ditch effort to save some face CPL Steward commands Max in as ardent a tone as he is still able to muster, “Stay there until I tell you to get up!” He is disappointed to hear his voice crack as he speaks these words.
Max gives him a crooked smile but says nothing.
The soldier turns back to the truck and points his stick at Vinny, “Now the bean pole,” he says authoritatively in an attempt to regain what little respect his fellow soldiers may have had for him prior to recent events.
Abbott and Costello turn their attention to Vinny whom they unlock and escort to the rear of the vehicle with little fanfare. Once he’s down and out of the truck CPL Steward commands Max and Brooke to rise and proceed toward the open –but heavily guarded- main entrance of the mall. Behind them, Abbott and Costello return to the tasks of removing the remaining prisoners from the back of the truck. Brooke hopes to be well inside by the time they get to the freeway-man, but before they reach the towering glass entrance, she unconsciously takes a look in the direction of the burning corpses. She is horrified to find a flamethrower-equipped soldier setting fire to the piles newest arrivals. Red clouds of flame billow from the flamethrowers spout and seem to ignite the very earth that the bodies lie upon.
Chapter 17 – Rats
Max, Brooke, Vinny and their escort enter the guarded entrance to the mall and find themselves in a decontamination tent. Ahead of them are several stalls where soldiers in containment suits can be seen scrubbing nude prisoners with long handled brushes while others direct streams of water and occasionally douse the subjects with a handful of white powder.
A stall opens up as a well-scrubbed prisoner moves through an opening in the white neoprene curtains just ahead of him. A faceless soldier points to Max, and CPL Steward immediately gives him a poke in the back with the stun stick. This time no shock is involved but Max understands that if he doesn’t cooperate then one is most certainly in the mail. He steps forward to the stall and prepares himself for full exposure. One of the soldiers steps up and produces a pair of utility scissors from a nearby tray.
“Hands!” the soldier commands dryly.
Max offers his bound hands to the soldier who clips the zip-tie without touching him. Max rubs one wrist after another, relieved to be free of the biting restraint.
“Clothes!” the soldier commands after returning the scissors to the tray.
Max looks back over his shoulder to give Vinny and Brooke a glance. Vinny responds with a shrug and Brooke shyly covers her face with her bound hands. Max turns back to the faceless soldier who offers nothing but a blank stare through partially fogged goggles. Max un-tucks his shirt and pulls it over his head. The soldier points toward a red bio-hazardous waste container on Max’s right hand side. Max steps to the container and pushes the shirt through a rubber lid with a cross slit in the top. Still standing in front of the container, he proceeds to unbutton his pants and drops them to his ankles. He kicks off his shoes and removes his pants and socks together. Once free of his garments he deposits all of it into the waste container. A slight tinge of queasiness flutters in his stomach as he watches his Air Jordans drop through the rubber lid. Feeling like the loser of a strip poker game Max reluctantly removes his boxer briefs. He opts for a quick pull down and disposal rather than a drawn-out exhibition. Being a football player Max is no stranger to being in the raw in front of a room full of other men, but this is not the way he had pictured his first disrobe
ment in front of Brooke. The scene was all wrong, no soft music, no wine, only a room full of men -including Vinny- staring at his bare ass.
The soldier motions for Max to step forward into the stall where the one with the brush awaits. Max gives another glance back at Brooke and isn’t surprised to find her face still buried in her hands. She is probably more embarrassed by his nudity than he is. Max steps into the stall and prays for the water to not be too cold. To add shrinkage on top of everything else would just be cruel and unusual.
The soldier of few words grabs hold of the nozzle and gives a motion with one finger in the air. Immediately a scalding hot stream rushes across Max’s back and he flexes every muscle in his body in a momentary shock.
As the water hits Max’s back and his entire body tightens Brooke momentarily forgets to keep up the charade of innocence and allows her hands to slip from in front of her face. Her mouth gapes just a bit and she stares onward, oblivious to her surroundings until the sound of Vinny clearing his throat snaps her back. Embarrassed, she quickly replaces her hands in front of her face and turns her head away.
***
The soldier with the brush is incredibly thorough and Max wonders if he isn’t enjoying his job a bit too much. He decides not to ask as long as the soldier doesn’t tell. The other soldier with the water nozzle and powder continues to throw handfuls of what smells like powdered bleach on Max as they scrub him down like a couple of stable hands. After what seems like an eternity, the water shuts off and the soldier gives a nod toward the slit in the white curtain in front of Max. Max gives one last glance back at his friends and receives a two handed waive from Vinny. Brooke’s face is still covered and he’s thankful for that. He steps through the opening only to find himself in another stall. This one is fitted with dozens of little nozzles. A voice from a speaker that’s fixed in one corner instructs Max to spin slowly once the nozzles come on. Moments later a fine mist that smells of sanitized apples erupts from the many nozzles. Max does as he was instructed and makes a slow spin.
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