by JE Gurley
“See to Walters,” Ginson said as he wiped his knife on his pants leg.
One of the soldiers helped the injured Walters to his feet and escorted him back into the hangar. Kyle and Ginson continued their exploration of the building. The large reception area contained an ornate desk, four leather chairs, a large-screen television, and an overturned water bottle. Spilled water soaked the carpet, making it squishy beneath Kyle’s feet. The two fungus heads hadn’t looked as if they were either customers or worked there, and had probably entered through the shattered glass front door.
“A little housekeeping and this place should do,” he said.
“I’ll find a tractor and move the jet outside,” Ginson said. He turned and yelled down the hallway. “Get these two corpses out of here. There’s another one out the rear door.”
An hour later, with the bodies removed and the hallway mopped of blood, they rested. One of the men had located a wet vac and had vacuumed up the water from the carpet. The carpet was still damp, but it would dry quickly in the heat. The Gulfstream was gone, leaving an enormous space for the medical equipment. It was a suitable building for the lab. They could set up cots that would allow the technicians to remain in the hangar and not venture outside between the terminal and the hangar.
Walters’ injuries had looked worse than they were, but you wouldn’t know by his loud complaints. Finally, with a few bandages and a shot of morphine, he was resting comfortably in one of the leather chairs with his feet propped up on a second one. The broken front door, sealed with a double-stacked barrier of 5/8-inch plywood, would keep out even the most determined crazies. Kyle was amazed at how quickly Ginson and the others had adapted to the bizarre situation. Once the initial shock of what was happening had worn off, their months of training had kicked in. Whether facing a natural disaster, an invading army, or hordes of fungus driven zombies, the basics were the same – situational control, security, and safety. The how and whys didn’t matter. You protected the helpless and eliminated the enemy. He hoped other units had as adaptable a leader as Ginson was.
“I’ll leave two men here while the rest of us return to barracks. Walters needs a few stitches.”
“Damn right I do,” Walters moaned from his chair.
Kyle nodded to Ginson. “I’ll go with you. I need to find a place to sleep.”
“You can bunk with us.” Ginson smiled. “Or had you rather take your chances with Doctor Henry?”
“I’ll bed down alone, thank you,” Kyle replied. “I have no desire for the company of a group of hot sweaty men, and now is definitely not the time for romance.”
Ginson shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
In spite of his flippant retort to Ginson, Marli was much on his mind, too much so. Was he staying with her because he thought she might provide a solution to the fungus plague, or did he just have the hots for her? In spite of the blessings of his boss, he should be with his squad killing fungus heads, saving Miami. Suddenly, a thought struck him, squeezing his heart with an icy fist until his breath refused to come. This was no battle. It was the start of a long and deadly war. He stumbled and grabbed the wall for support as the thought struck him in the stomach like a heavy fist.
“What’s wrong?” Ginson asked. His face showed concern.
Kyle sucked down a ragged breath, shaking his head. “Nothing,” he lied. “Just tired.”
6
July 5, Miami Airport Hotel –
The Fourth of July was over, but Kyle awoke to sound of sporadic explosions inside the hotel somewhere below him. It was still dark outside. He switched on the lamp beside his bed, grabbed his Glock from beneath his pillow, and shoved it down the front of his boxer underwear. As he raced for the door, he snatched up the Beneli shotgun from beside the television. His room was on the fifth floor near the elevator. He slapped the down button and waited for the elevator. Just as he had decided to take the stairs, the door opened. He leaped inside and hit the lobby button. The sound of gunfire grew louder as he descended. On the ground floor, he emerged in the middle of a raging gun battle. A handful of fungus head zombies, all wearing army fatigues, were attacking a group of three armed soldiers. Two soldiers were down, as was the general’s aide.
“Look out!” one of the soldiers yelled.
Kyle turned just as one of the zombies lunged at him from behind a stone column. He fired two rounds with the Glock into its head. Blood splattered Kyle’s facemask and chest, but the zombie dropped. He quickly dispatched another with the Beneli, leaving a bloody smear on the mirrored wall. One soldier, too dazed by what was happening, dropped his weapon and tried to flee as two zombies zeroed in on him. He was too slow. Their combined weight carried him to the floor. He died in agony as the two creatures crushed his chest with pile driver blows. Blood spewed from his mouth as he gurgled out his last breath, but the creatures continued to pummel him in their blind fury. A sergeant placed a single round from his M4 in each one’s head, and then stood staring at the corpses in shock disbelief, oblivious to the battle raging around him.
“There are more of them, Sergeant,” Kyle yelled.
The sergeant shook off his distress and nodded. Kyle, the sergeant, and the remaining soldier stood shoulder-to-shoulder, firing their weapons at the last two zombies. A hail of bullets drove the creatures back, but they took an amazing amount of punishment before eventually succumbing to the murderous firepower. They were strong and fast, but they were composed of flesh and blood, and flesh fails where lead does not. Even after they fell, the three men continued pouring round after round into the creatures. The 12-gauge Beneli made an awful mess of one of the creatures. Its severed arm lay beside the flopping corpse. Kyle watched until it ceased moving. He glanced over at the sergeant and the soldier. The young soldier’s face was ashen, his lips quivering. The sergeant, a grizzled old vet of Desert Storm, stared at the corpses with glazed eyes as he removed his empty clip. His hands shook as he attempted to replace it with a fresh one.
“My God, Sergeant,” Kyle said. “You’ve got ten men lying here dead. What the hell happened?”
The sergeant glared at him, but as Kyle had hoped, his eyes cleared and he shoved the clip in with steady hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know. They just came at us as we left the dining room after drinking coffee.” He repeated Kyle’s question, “What the hell happened? I’ll tell you what happened. I had to shoot my own men.”
“They turned fungus head. Your men have to wear their masks at all times. Where’s yours?”
“We’re inside the building for Christ’s sake. Besides, we were eating.”
“Hell, Sergeant, I slept in mine. The air we’re breathing in here is the same as the air out there.” He jabbed his finger toward the window for emphasis. “Your mask is the only thing keeping you alive. Remember that, or you’ll lose more men.”
The sergeant looked as if had rather use his M4 on Kyle than the zombies, but he nodded. “I’ll do that.”
“Good.” Kyle glanced around. “I heard the explosions. Where are the sentries? Didn’t anybody come to investigate?”
The sergeant reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar. He jammed it in his mouth and bit down on the end, but didn’t light it. “One of the … the things had a grenade. He pulled the pin and blew himself up. I don’t know where the friggin’ sentries are, but I’ll soon find out if I have to kick some pups’ asses to make my point. Come on Ignacio,” he growled.
He stalked off down the corridor. Kyle felt sorry for any sentries he encountered.
The elevator door chimed. Kyle swung the Beneli around to face the door. When it opened, Marli and two others, a man and a woman, were inside. The man blanched when he saw the shotgun pointed at him. Kyle released his breath slowly and lowered the barrel. Marli wore only a t-shirt, shorts, and her mask. Kyle took a moment to admire her long, slender legs and her breasts beneath the thin t-shirt material for a moment before yelling, “What the hell are you doing walking into the middle of a firefight?”
She ignored his question, came over to him, and placed her hand on his chest. She stared directly into his eyes. “Are you hurt?”
He realized that she had mistaken the blood on his face and chest as his. He shook his head. “No.” The woman carried a medical kit. She saw the bodies on the floor and took a step toward them. “Save your breath. They’re all dead.” He refocused his attention on Marli. “Next time you hear gunfire, lock your door and stay inside until someone comes for you.”
“I’m a doctor. I thought I might be needed.”
“The army has a medical unit.” He pointed his finger at her. “Your job is to find a cure. We located a building for you. Tomorrow we can start transferring equipment. For now, all three of you go back to your rooms.” He handed her his Glock. She stared at it but didn’t take it. “Take it. Use it if you have to. It’s ready to fire. Just aim and pull the trigger.”
She shook her head. “I can’t kill anyone.”
He glared at her. “You’ll kill if you have to. Every day you haven’t found a cure, hundreds, maybe thousands will die. Remember that if you get squeamish about pulling the trigger. You’re more important than the rest of us. You have to stay alive, you and your team.”
Her face above the edge of her mask paled as his words sank in. She nodded and took the Glock, but she held it as if it were a living thing ready to bite her.
“Now, all of you go back to your rooms, and for God’s sake, make the general realize how important it is for the soldiers to wear their masks at all times.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. He herded them back into the elevator and pressed the third floor button. As the door closed, Marli’s eyes flashed him a brief smile.
Staring at the carnage marring the tiled floor of the hotel lobby, at the broken mirrors and shattered bodies, the blood and the spent shell casings, Kyle shook his head. If the soldiers started turning zombie, they were all doomed. They would fight the need to wear masks, as they would fight the need for condoms, as an affront to their manhood. They would need a clean area, like the one in which he had been quarantined, a place where the men could remove their masks for a while, a safe environment within the airport itself. Marli could work on that.
He looked down at the blood covering his chest, at his near naked body and felt a little vulnerable. He had only one shell left in the shotgun. Judging by the night so far, he might need more ammunition. Further sleep was out of the question, but he could at least shower and put on some clothes. He took the stairs rather than wait for an elevator. He hesitated on the third floor landing, wanting to check on Marli, but decided that she would need all the sleep she could get if sleep was possible after the night’s events.
After his second shower of the night, he knew he should feel cleaner, but the sensation of the fungus head zombie’s blood on his bare skin still lingered. He fought the impulse to scratch. He removed his mask just long enough to give it a thorough washing with soap and water to remove the blood. He was reluctant to put it back on, but it was his only mask. He would need to grab more to keep them handy. He hoped the fungus head’s blood hadn’t contaminated it. He had only the same brown suit Marli had provided after his quarantine, so he put it back on, minus the jacket and tie. He would need to locate some military fatigues soon. Returning to his apartment was out of the question, if it still existed. He had watched a large fire burning in that section of the city from his bedroom window. Smoke and ash filled the air outside to the point it was almost noxious. Combined with the Cordyceps spores, the air was doubly hazardous. It looked as if the entire city was in flames. The raging fires only increased the already oppressive summer heat. He felt sorry for any survivors trapped in the city’s burning heart.
When he returned to the lobby, two heavily armed sentries stood nervously at their new posts outside the bank of elevators and the stairwell. Both wore masks. The sergeant he had chided, had taken his suggestions to heart. He nodded to them, but they were taking their tasks seriously. They ignored him and kept their eyes focused on the corridor. He felt somewhat unbalanced without the weight of the Glock under his left armpit. He would have to find another, perhaps smaller, weapon for Marli to use and retrieve his. He had reloaded the shotgun and shoved extra shells in his pocket just in case.
This time he explored the North Terminal, now known as Concourse D, American Airline’s central hub. The Skytrain people mover, ran the length of the mile-long concourse and connected it with the car rental areas, but it was not operating. He walked the concourse, noting the numerous closed shops and restaurants. The 72-lane TSA inspection station was devoid of passengers, but Kyle swore he could hear the disembodied complaints of disgruntled spectral passengers wafting through the building on a ghost wind. With only the garish neon lighting operating, Terminal D was a spooky place.
He sat for a while and watched helicopters lift off, keeping no regular schedule as they rose into the night to survey the city and deliver their cargoes of death to rampaging hordes of zombies. He suspected no number of such forays could make a dent in the infected population of Miami. A third C-17 landed, the behemoth taxiing to a position beside the first two. The ramp dropped, dislodging fifty troops. They lined up, standing at attention as their officer delivered his words of wisdom, then hustled through a door on the first floor out of Kyle’s sight. He was dismayed that none wore protective gear of any kind. As the first rays of dawn peeked through the haze of smoke above the city and spread its diffuse glow across the runways, he abandoned his perch.
Back in the Central Terminal, soldiers were lining up for a hearty meal in the hotel’s restaurant. Most wore masks, but a few did not. The aroma of crispy bacon, fresh baked rolls, and coffee, drifted from the restaurant. Though someone had mopped up the blood from the tiled floor, the memory of the night’s killings lingered. He didn’t have much of an appetite and skipped breaking his night’s fast. General Willows, an early riser, stepped from the elevator wearing battle fatigues. Kyle noted with satisfaction that he also wore a mask. The two sentries snapped a crisp salute in his direction. He spotted Kyle and headed in his direction.
“I understand you jumped down one of my sergeants’ throats last night.”
“I, er, cautioned him about the need for tighter security and about wearing protective gear.”
“Good for you. They need their asses chewed out every now and then. It doesn’t sound good coming from me. They get too defensive.”
Relief flooded through Kyle. He had steeled himself for a nasty confrontation for overstepping his authority as a civilian. “Speaking of masks, where can I find replacements?”
The general reached into his pocket and pulled out several, handing them to Kyle. “Take these. I’m sure there will be a box waiting for me on my desk.”
Kyle removed his old one, which was still damp, dropped it in the trash, and replaced it with one of the general’s. “Thanks.”
“I understand you located a site for the lab.”
“Corporal Ginson did. I went along for the exercise. We ran into a little trouble, but Ginson handled it well. The hangar he chose should do nicely.”
The general rubbed the square chin beneath the mask. “Ginson, huh? Maybe it’s time I shoved a little more responsibility at him. I could use a few more sergeants with some initiative.”
Kyle smiled, wishing he could be present when Ginson learned of his promotion. “He’ll be pleased.”
The general nodded toward the restaurant. “Have you had breakfast yet?”
Kyle shook his head. “Too early for me.”
The general shrugged. “Well, suit yourself.” He continued to the restaurant, passing the line of hungry soldiers, some of whom seemed a little awed to see their commander dining with them. Passing one man without mask, he remarked gently without breaking his stride, “Get a mask, soldier, or we might have to shoot you one fine morning.” The soldier gulped and scrambled to pull a mask from his pocket.
Ginson had informed Kyle that Willow
s had come up through the ranks, distinguishing himself as a hands-on colonel during Desert Storm. This gave him a unique camaraderie with his troops. Given the bizarre situation in which they now found themselves, he applauded the general for his innovative style of discipline. Word would spread, and by midmorning, everyone on the base would be wearing masks. Kyle had worked under superiors in the police force more than once who made little effort to establish a bond with their men. That was the primary reason he had applied for transfer to the Special Investigation Squad. He felt a twinge of guilt as he thought of his comrades in SIS. He should be standing with them, fighting fungus heads, but he had committed to helping Marli.
He reached the loading dock in the South Terminal just as Ginson and his men completed loading crates and boxes marked ‘Lab Equipment’ into the back of two five-ton trucks. Walters was there with two of the scratches on his face covered with Band-Aids. Kyle was pleased to see that the soldier was recovering from his wounds.
“You’re late,” Ginson called out. His respirator muffled his words as he heaved a box into the back of a truck. “This is the last load. We’ve been at it since before dawn.”
“I waited until I was sure all the grunt work was finished.”
“Your girlfriend beat you up. She’s there now directing the installation.”
“She’s not my … oh, never mind.” Kyle was annoyed that Marli had left for the hangar without him. How could he protect her if she refused to allow him? He pulled his shirt away from his skin. “Any chance of a fresh uniform and some clean skivvies?”
“I’ll see what I can do. You coming with us or just seeing us off?”