by JE Gurley
It didn’t take long for the other shoe to drop. The quiet serenity of the hangar lab disappeared as the roar of dozens of low-flying helicopters shook the roof. Kyle glanced over at Ginson, sipping a glass of iced tea and raised an eyebrow. Ginson shrugged his ignorance. A few moments later, Ginson’s radio burst into life. He rushed over to answer, spoke briefly into the receiver, and stood there looking dumbfounded.
“What’s up?” Kyle asked, wincing s his jaw throbbed.
“It seems that the fire at Marlins Park has attracted an army of zombies. They’re leaving downtown in droves and headed in this direction. We’re going out to stop them.”
“Doesn’t the general realize you’re still recovering,” Kyle reminded him.
Ginson frowned. “I don’t think he cares. He needs men with night vision experience as sharpshooters.”
Walters sat on the edge of his cot with a slightly amused expression on his gaunt face. “I was getting too comfortable anyway. I could use some exercise. What about you?” he asked Kyle.
Kyle considered his options as his two friends stared at him. He hated to leave them in the lurch, but he suddenly realized that he had enough of dangerous sorties. It wasn’t fear, though his close brush with death had installed a healthier respect for what the fungus heads were capable. It was a growing awareness that he was tired of killing zombies. The expedition to the court house and the one to Marlins Park had sated his appetite for death and destruction. He shook his head negatively.
“I’m sitting this one out.”
His answer surprised Ginson, who cast a disapproving glance in his direction, but Walters smiled at him. “Finally got some smarts, eh, Detective,” he said.
“This is a military operation. I’d just be in the way.”
Ginson nodded. “Maybe so.”
He expected Ginson to cajole him into going, but the sergeant accepted Kyle’s refusal without a fight.
“I’m not good at following orders,” he explained, trying to justify his decision; then realized he didn’t need to validate his reasoning. He wasn’t military. He was a cop on loan to the CDC. “I’m just tired. I’ve had enough.”
Ginson stopped lacing up his boots and said, “Haven’t we all?”
Kyle detected a slight edge of bitterness in Ginson’s voice but ignored it as he realized that Ginson’s remark wasn’t directed at him personally.
“Good luck,” he said.
“Thanks,” Ginson replied.
After Ginson and his men had left, Kyle stared out the window. Fourteen Blackhawks, their rotors still spinning, sat on the runway. Squads of soldiers lined up beside each vehicle as squad leaders performed weapons checks in the growing dusk. Beyond the helicopters, a convoy of APCs and Humvees revved to life. This was to be an all out assault. The rain had stopped but the sky was pregnant with dark gray clouds. Nightfall was still an hour away but the day was rapidly growing dark. Fighting an enemy in complete darkness was always a dicey issue. Fighting one incapable of feeling pain and determined to kill would be next to impossible.
A momentary tremor of guilt swept over Kyle as he watched the unsuspecting soldiers queuing up for departure. It remained with him as Marli walked up beside him and placed her hand on his shoulder.
“I’m glad you’re not going,” she said.
He turned to her scowling. Is she the reason I’m not going? “You don’t think I’m yellow?” he threw at her.
She jumped at his anger looked at him in surprise. “Yellow? Of course not.”
“Then why do I feel like a coward?” His guilty conscience nagged at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He had never walked away from a fight. What was it about this one that turned his stomach?
“You’ve proven your courage numerous times. This is a military operation. Besides, you can barely see out of your left eye.” She reached out her hand to touch his bruise, but he flinched.
He pointed out the window where the last of the soldiers were mounting their vehicles. “Some of those kids out there have no idea what they’re in for. A lot of them won’t be coming back.”
“Do you think one more gun will make a difference?”
He closed his eyes, hating her for her logic. All he had was emotion. He sagged against the wall. Did his pride make him believe that he could make a difference when hundreds of soldiers couldn’t?
“No,” he replied quietly.
“Then be proud of what you’ve accomplished and let the military take over. I still need you here.”
“What more can I do here to help you? I’m all tapped out up here.” He thumped his head with a forefinger, relishing the sharp pain it produced.
“I need you here,” Marli repeated. She clasped his hand and brought it to her chest. Her heart pounded at his touch, and the skin below her neck flushed crimson. “I need you,” she repeated.
His arms enclosed her in an embrace, pressing her so tightly he thought he might bruise her. Her lips sought his, warm and soft against his. The ache in his jaw meant nothing compared to the giddiness she produced in him. When their lips met, it was as if two old lovers, separated by time, had reunited at long last. All thoughts of leaving vanished from his mind, swallowed by her need, by his desire. He pushed her against the wall as his hands caressed her body beneath her lab coat. Her body responded by melting into his, fitting as naturally as if both their bodies had been formed as one piece. He felt complete, whole – satisfied. Nothing could spoil the moment.
Nothing except the sound of the Blackhawk helicopters revving their rotors for takeoff. How could he remain safely ensconced in the hangar lab enjoying life while his friends risked their lives? His bruises and aches couldn’t pain him as much as Ginson’s wound did him. He broke their embrace and pulled away. Marli stared at him, cocking her head to one side questioningly. Then, as realization dawned, her expression changed to one of disappointment, and then resignation.
“I have to go,” he said.
She nodded, shaking a tear from her cheek. He expected her to ask him why, but she surprised him by saying nothing at all. She kissed him quickly and walked away. He watched her leave, unsure if he would ever see her again. Kyle hated himself more at that moment than at any other time in his life. Against overwhelming odds, two people had found each other amid the turmoil of a world gone mad, as Cordyceps’ rising tide threatened to swamp the city, the entire country. Was he crazy to risk that love? Could he make a difference, or was it simply his male pride? He didn’t know. He only knew that not going would make a difference to him, in him. He was a fighter by nature. That was the reason he had become a cop, to make a difference. Doing anything else was contrary to his nature.
He was bitterly angry with himself for his decision, but knew he could do nothing else. He returned to his cot and picked up his shotgun and Glock. He didn’t see Marli, couldn’t face her if he had. He exited the decontamination lock with his heart heavy from his betrayal of Marli, but pounding with excitement at the prospect of a fight. Is this the kind of man I have become, he asked himself, a killer? Is there any love in me?
As he crossed the runway, Ginson pulled up alongside him in a Humvee. A smile broke on Ginson’s face, but then dropped as he noted Kyle’s mood. Kyle hopped into the Humvee beside Walters.
“Let’s go,” he snapped.
He grabbed the roof to keep from falling as the driver hit the gas and the Humvee sped away, leaving Marli and his dreams behind.
* * *
Finding the enemy was not difficult. The area around the still smoldering Marlins Park was an island in a sea of zombies. The streets between the stadium and Downtown swarmed with thousands more. It looked as if every fungus head in the city were there. The military had destroyed the I-95 Bridge and all bridges crossing the Miami River to the south. Helicopters swept down from north of the city, herding the zombies ahead of them like cattle. Kyle and Ginson stared at the growing horde from atop the Dolphin Expressway overpass above 12th Avenue. It was a dark night. There was a
quarter moon, but it was hidden by the clouds. The overcast sky threatened rain. The spotlights of the squadron of Blackhawk and Apache helicopters overhead dotted the moving mass below. The creatures swarmed over the bridges at 1st Street and at Flagler like migrating wildebeest. More still raced down the Expressway westward toward Ginson’s position on the bridge. They wouldn’t have to go to the battle. The battle was coming to them.
“Better still,” Kyle muttered to himself. His anger at himself made him eager to face an enemy, any enemy.
Ginson glanced in his direction but returned his gaze to the zombies.
“Enough for everyone,” Walters quipped as he threaded a belt of ammunition into his M-249 machinegun.
Ginson turned to the three trucks that had accompanied their small convoy and waved his arm. Sixty men leaped out ready for action. They quickly mounted .30 caliber and .50 caliber machineguns across the road. Three mortar teams set up their equipment, piling motor shells behind them within easy reach. The men moved with the expediency of training. If they were as afraid as their young faces revealed, their efficiency didn’t suffer.
An Apache helicopter fired six missiles at the bridge across the Miami River on 12th Street. It disintegrated in a bright flash and tremendous explosion, sending its load of zombies cascading to the river below. Kyle stepped back as a blast of hot air and a cloud of concrete dust spilled over the Expressway. Bodies floated on the surface for only seconds before disappearing into the inky blackness of the water.
“Lights out,” Ginson called out.
The vehicles doused their headlights as soldiers donned night vision gear. Their job was to close the Expressway and to act as snipers for the ground teams below. Kyle realized his shotgun would be of no use in such a fight, so he waited patiently, certain that he would soon be able to put it into action.
The snipers fired into the crowd first. Their targets collapsed onto the road, tripping other zombies racing on their heels. Through his night vision goggles, Kyle thought it almost comical to see the creatures stumbling and tumbling head over heels. The comedy was short lived as the creatures recovered and raced forward. Next, the mortars cut loose, creating small gaps in the mass that quickly refilled. By the time the machineguns engaged, the zombies were close enough for Kyle to pick out individual features. Women, men, children – except for the look of rage on their faces, they looked like any ordinary crowd.
Walters chided the zombies as they attempted to use abandoned autos as shields from his field of fire. “Oh, no you don’t, asshole,” he yelled as he cut a young man wearing swim trunks and sandals in half. “I got something for you. You, too, Mr. suit and tie.”
The heavy fire took its toll on the creatures, but they did not stop coming. Feeling no pain, only rage, they had no compulsion to retreat. The leading edge was almost within shotgun range. Kyle readied his weapon. As he pumped a shell into the chamber, he found that his heart wasn’t in it. He felt an unaccountable twinge of sympathy for the zombies. A week earlier and he might have been walking among them, ignoring them as just another face in the crowd. His idea of bad guys didn’t include women and children, but he had no choice. They were deadly, and if nothing more, he would protect his friends. His heart raced and his pulse pounded in his temple. His finger gently caressed the trigger.
He watched with mild curiosity as two jets swept over their heads flying less than a hundred feet above the deck. The sky between him and Downtown suddenly ignited as their loads of napalm canisters landed, splashing eastward along the Expressway in a rolling ball of fire. The sudden flare burned his retinas through the goggles. He ripped them from his head and dropped them at his feet. The center and the rear of the zombie horde disappeared in a wall of flames, totally consumed by the blast of heat. Several of the creatures lucky enough to be on the edges of the group raced from the roaring conflagration with their clothing and hair on fire, their skin melting from the intense heat. Running through their companions, they ignited them as well, spreading the fire until their seared lungs refused to accept any more air; then collapsed onto the pavement still blazing. Kyle’s gaze followed one flaming creature as it leaped over the side of the road and plunged into the river below. The water did not quench the flames but slowly disappeared as the creature sank. It did not resurface.
Kyle didn’t bother firing his weapon. The mortars and machineguns quickly ended the threat of any remaining zombies. He took a deep breath in an unsuccessful attempt to erase the scene of mass destruction from his mind. He had been too exhausted and too stunned to contemplate the destruction at Marlins Park, but even that had been a building, not a mass of former human beings. He had not watched the creatures inside die, had not witnessed their deaths. He could not ignore this. His right hand began to tremble. He made a fist to hide it from anyone watching.
“Looks like we ain’t got much of a fight left here,” Walters complained. His goggles were attached to his helmet, but were presently swung away from his eyes. The flames reflected in the lens. The barrel of his M-249 SAW smoked from the heat of firing. Only a short piece of ammo belt remained unfired. A look of serenity marked Walters’ dust-covered mien. He was proud of his handiwork. His job was killing, and killing he had accomplished.
Walters’ glee sickened Kyle. He turned away in disgust. He refused to watch as the soldiers picked off zombies in the streets below from a distance of a few hundred yards like shooting clay pigeons. The thunder of jets firing their loads of missiles and the roar of helicopter gunships firing into the remaining masses of zombies interspersed the brilliant flashes of napalm, some so close he could feel the heat on his exposed skin and see the flashes through his closed eyelids. The soldiers cheered as a sea of napalm smothered the zombies gathered around the ruins of Marlins Park. More bright blossoms bloomed at various points in Little Havana. The military was taking no chances this time. Relying on superior firepower for large groups and clean up teams for small pockets of survivors, the battle lasted less than an hour. No, he thought, this is no battle. It’s a slaughter. The odor of napalm and of burning flesh churned his stomach. He lurched to the rail and vomited. His blood lust withered like an autumn leaf. He had had enough. Why had he come? He sat down with his back to the rail, his fists clenched at his sides, and wept.
The fight ended quickly, but the fires lasted much longer. Already the flames raged westward at an alarming rate. Propelled by rising offshore winds, the flames enveloped whole neighborhoods heretofore untouched by the blazes that had already ravaged much of the city. Entire blocks disappeared in minutes, collateral damage. Left unchecked, the conflagration would last for days. Kyle wondered how many innocent lives would be lost.
Better than a nuke, he mused bitterly.
“You look sick,” Ginson commented as he stared down at Kyle.
“I am,” he growled, “I’m sick of this slaughter.”
“I’ve lost enough men to these bastards. I’m for anything that gets the job done quickly.”
Kyle looked up at Ginson. Ginson wore a sour look on his face, as if his words belied his true feelings. “Yeah, I know. It had to be done. It just churns my guts.”
“We didn’t get them all. If we don’t find those Tertiaries and eliminate them, more people are going to become infected.” He looked pointedly at Kyle. “Are you in?”
“No. This … this is it for me. I’ll protect my friends; I’ll protect myself, but no more wholesale slaughter. If I keep on killing, I’m going to forget who I am, a cop. I’m no soldier. I played at it, but that takes a different mindset. I don’t envy you of your job. You’ll do your duty here and then move on to another city and start over. I can’t. Someday this city will need cops again. I want to come through this and still be there when it needs me. If I just keep on killing, I … I won’t be any good to anyone.”
Ginson’s reply was curt, but Kyle thought he heard some sympathy behind it. “I’ll get someone to drop you off at the hangar.”
Kyle nodded. He hoped this didn’t en
d his friendship with Ginson, but he had no choice. He couldn’t risk losing who he was. “Thanks. I’ll see you later.” It was more of a question than a statement. “Good luck.”
Ginson walked away to join his men. Kyle waited while he spoke to them. After a few minutes, one young soldier walked over to him.
“The sergeant told me to drive you to the airport. Are you ready, sir?”
Kyle got to his feet. His city was a blazing inferno. By morning, only ashes would be left. There was nothing for him here. “Let’s go, son.”
18
July 11, MIA, Miami, FL –
Rita liked her room. It was very much different from her small bedroom in her home, but the bed was soft, the sheets clean, and the water in the shower was hot. At least she had some privacy, sadly lacking at the FEMA facility. She had taken a long, languid shower when she had first been assigned Room 707 in the airport hotel. Along with the soot and grime, she had washed away Benoit’s bloodstains. At the sound of a soft giggle, she glanced over at her son as he played with an ink pen she had found in the desk drawer, his only toy. He smiled at her as he sat illuminated by a dagger of bright sunlight spilling in through the window. The entire room was bright in spite of the heavy plastic sheeting sealing the window. She didn’t mind. Her view from the window would only reveal death and destruction. She had witnessed enough of both.