Z Plan (Book 2): Red Tides

by Lerma, Mikhail

  “Stop! Hey! We’re up here!” Marcus began yelling over the edge.

  “What’s going on?” Lauren asked him.

  “Someone just climbed into that moving truck, and they’re driving out,” he answered.

  The yellow moving truck bounced as it rolled over the bodies in the parking lot, both dead and undead. The operator didn’t discriminate, and as one, they all screamed at the driver futilely. The truck’s taillights moved out onto the road, and whoever it was, headed east. The truck’s headlights revealed undead skulking about the perimeter. The facility was surrounded.

  “Bastards!” screamed Marcus.

  Lauren looked at the survivors on the other roof. They were in the process of jumping off the backside of the building, where they couldn’t be seen.

  “Wait! What are you doing?” she shouted to them. “Doc, they jumped down. They’re gone.”

  Doc looked back just as the last man leapt. He could only speculate at their plan. Some of the undead were finishing up their meals and beginning to look for more. The horde besieged the building they were on.

  “Over here,” Jim shouted.

  Only his top half was visible over the edge of the building. No one asked any questions. They just ran toward him, and at the building’s edge, they found that he was standing on Julie’s RV. The other survivors were climbing into it through an emergency exit on the roof. Lauren handed Marie over to Jim, who then handed her to someone inside the vehicle. Next went Callum. One by one the adults jumped over. Lauren looked down into the RV and slowly lowered herself into the opening. She dropped into the kitchen. It had a wood panel floor and oak cabinets. Opposite the kitchen was a dining area, and up front Ben sat in the driver’s seat.

  “Oh, my God! Ben!” exclaimed Lauren.

  “Told you I had an idea,” he said with a charming grin.

  Undead hands reached up to beat at the window and along the bottom of the window was a border of gore. Their moans bombarded the vehicle, and Lauren could now see familiar faces in the crowd. Many of her friends in the community had joined the dark mob. She buried Callum’s face in her chest; if Julie was out there, she didn’t want him to see. Doc worked behind her to close the emergency hatch.

  “Is that everyone?” Ben asked.

  Doc looked out the window. There was no way to tell anymore. How would they even check for more survivors? Screams of the infected echoed loudly.

  “I don’t know,” Doc answered feebly.

  Ben put the vehicle in gear, and pushed down on the accelerator. Some of the infected were pushed out of the way, and others were dragged along under the RV. The passengers began scrambling for seats. Lauren looked around at the other nine people and was reminded of their last night at the fairgrounds.

  “Where do we go?” Ben asked, as he turned toward the west.

  “Not sure,” Doc answered.

  “Just drive,” said Jim.

  34.

  War Crimes

  Cale stared at the undead faces that approached. His vision was tinted red from his own blood seeping into his eyes. He swung his blade wildly in an arc around himself, until he was exhausted.

  “Zach!” he screamed, “Zach, help me!”

  The infected crept closer to him, as steadily, a slow death approached. His vision narrowed as the first one got to him, and Cale was far too weak to fight him off. Even in unconsciousness he could feel them dragging him. He experienced the feeling of being lifted up, of weightlessness. It was all like a dream.

  “Good morning Specialist,” a man said.

  Cale stirred and opened his eyes. With his left hand, he reached up to rub them. The gauze wrapped around it was rough, and stained brown from the blood and puss that wept from his wounds. His right hand was handcuffed to the hospital bed, and he felt a twinge from the IV buried in his arm.

  “Morning, Sergeant,” he replied.

  The sergeant had started coming in every day since Cale had regained consciousness two weeks ago. And every day he’d ask the same questions, leaving without another word.

  “What is your name?” the man asked.

  Cale replied with his last name, then first name.

  “Nationality?”

  “American,” Cale said.

  “What is your social security number?”

  He answered the question with the nine-digit number he received at birth.

  “Where were you stationed?” he asked Cale.

  “Iraq.”

  “What was your mission?”

  “Convoy security,” Cale stated.

  He knew which questions would be asked, and in what order the sergeant would ask them.

  The sergeant first class usually finished his questioning without deviation. Today was different. Instead of thanking Cale for his time and then leaving, he stayed. The two soldiers on his flank stood at attention with 9mm pistols. Their black helmets bore the letters MP. Cale knew this meant they were military police. He also knew why he was questioned every day. They had to ensure that he was, in fact, who he claimed to be.

  The sergeant was a tall man, and his uniform was pristine. All he lacked was a nametape. He’d sculpted his fiery red hair into a Mohawk, which was slightly out of regulation, but who was going to enforce it anyway? Cale wasn’t exactly within regulation himself. He sported scruffy facial hair and a shaggy mop top. The sergeant clearly took pride in his uniform, and in his own physical fitness. On his right ring finger he wore a Mason’s ring. Cale was familiar with the symbol, and had seen it all over buildings in his hometown, and over time, eventually, on many others.

  “Do you know where you are right now?” The tall red headed man asked.

  “No, Sergeant,” replied Cale.

  “Pontoise, France. It’s a suburb of Paris.”

  “How did I get here?” Cale asked.

  “One of my civilian guards disobeyed a direct order from his superior, and managed to save your life.”

  Cale tried to recall, but could only remember fragments, flashes of Zach standing by him, as the infected gathered around.

  “Somehow he managed to pull your ass out of there,” he told Cale.

  Cale looked out the window; his neck and back were stiff; perhaps from another injury he’d suffered in the accident. Tall buildings were visible far off, beyond the trees.

  “Can I ask you another question?” the sergeant asked him.

  Cale nodded.

  “Zach…you were screaming about Zach that day,” he started. “My guy couldn’t find him anywhere in the vehicle or around it.”

  “Yeah,” Cale said still gazing out the window.

  “He was your driver in Iraq, yeah?”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “You had his dog tags and some of his personal effects with you,” he continued.

  “He’s dead. I…I killed him,” Cale confessed.

  The sergeant nodded his head. He’d speculated as much. He had access to their files, and given Cale’s background, he knew he’d only have killed his friend if it were necessary.

  “I’m not sure why I would have yelled his name,” Cale lied. “Maybe I was in shock.”

  The sergeant wasn’t there to judge, only to determine if Cale would be a security threat. He had his own people to look after—those who remained of the US military who had been in the Kaiserslautern area. Along the way, they picked up fellow survivors. He’d even sent scouting parties out to find more. They’d have strength in numbers, regardless of ethnicity or nationality. He firmly believed the only way to conquer the undead was unification. Cale could be a key asset in the effort.

  The sergeant had access to a military satellite system with the highest level of security clearance. He’d inherited his commanding officer’s credentials for the system when the officer had become infected. He had access to any information he wanted or needed. With just a few keystrokes he found everything about Cale he’d ever need to know, from the personal details of his life, to where he’d gone through basic training
and even the scores he received in his advanced individual training. He could look up the exact number of missions he’d gone on, as well as the convoy manifests. He could find counseling statements, reprimands, accolades, awards, and memorandums. Everything about anyone in the US military was at his fingertips. Only seven devices with the capability to link up to the satellite existed. He was able to see the final orders every unit on the planet had been given, and where. The satellite system had an experimental power supply that would last for sixty years.

  Even though he had a clear idea of who Cale was, and the type of soldier he was, the last six months were unaccounted for. Anything could have happened to change him. Technically, he was a deserter and a war criminal, but given the circumstances, who wasn’t? The sergeant himself was a deserter, a crime punishable by death during wartime.

  “How long was I out?” inquired Cale.

  “You were unconscious for six days,” he answered.

  “Fuck,” Cale whispered.

  More wasted time.

  “I’m told you’ll need a few more days before you’re cleared for duty,” The sergeant informed him.

  “Duty?” Cale asked.

  “Yes. As soon as you’re released, I’m sorry, but I’ll be putting you to work. I need good soldiers,” The sergeant explained.

  “But you don’t even know me,” said Cale.

  “I know more than you think,” the red haired man assured him. “I know everything about your military career. You were an outstanding squad leader in basic training. You graduated in the top five percent of your class in AIT. You took time out of your own schedule to help others in need. I also know that your truck commander and squad leader had submitted paperwork to have you promoted ahead of your peers, and that the paperwork had already been approved. You are a good soldier.”

  Cale wasn’t sure how he knew all of this, but the last part had to have been made up. McGregor liked him but had never expressed that he thought he should be promoted.

  The sergeant continued, “Your file says you’re one hell of a soldier, a hamster among guinea pigs.”

  Cale wasn’t sure if that was an insult or a compliment.

  “I need good soldiers, ones that can give orders as well as receive them. You’ve always done what needs to be done,” said the redhead.

  Cale still wasn’t sure what to say. The sergeant motioned one of the MPs to remove Cale’s handcuff.

  “You’ll still be confined to this room with an armed guard outside the door,” he explained. “You understand.”

  “Um…yeah,” Cale said, as he rotated his now free right wrist.

  “What was your plan? Where were you going?” The sergeant couldn’t help but ask.

  “We planned to go as far west as we could, find a boat, and get back to America,” Cale answered.

  “We?” the sergeant asked.

  “There were four of us when we left…” Cale trailed off into a whisper.

  “Well. It’s a good thing we found you then,” said the tall redhead.

  “Why is that sergeant?”

  “The last orders issued before the communication blackout were for all troops in every branch to protect our borders. Anything going by land, sea, or air is to be immediately destroyed.”

  “What do you mean?” Cale was confused.

  “If you go by land or sea the navy will deploy units to terminate you. If you make it past them, the army and Marines are waiting along the coastline for you anyway,” he explained.

  “Is there any way I could tell them who I was?” inquired Cale.

  “They wouldn’t care. Their orders are to keep all vectors out. That way they can deal with the infection internally. The quarantine of North America is essentially their goal.”

  “Is there a way to sneak in?” Cale was determined.

  “Unless you want to swim in, I don’t foresee any other,” answered the sergeant.

  This information didn’t sit well with Cale. He needed to find a way home.

  “Do you know what it’s like back home…Stateside?” asked Cale. “Is it safe there?”

  The sergeant first class looked perplexed, as if unsure what to say, or how to break the news to him.

  “I can’t sugar coat this for you,” he began. “But the last I saw…the government had fallen. Evacuation of all major cities was underway, and it wasn’t going well. Even some of the small towns belonged to the plague. This…this thing was…is everywhere.”

  Cale had hoped that things in the U.S. weren’t as bad. All this news did was make his drive to get home stronger. The next question would be the most important.

  “How long do I have to stay before I can try and go home?” he asked.

  The sergeant had already prepared an answer for that very question. “We’ll discuss that later. For now just take your time and get better. We’ll find a way to get you back to Lauren and Marie.”

  Cale wasn’t surprised that he knew the names of his wife and daughter. The sergeant’s statement, however, did put him slightly more at ease.

  “I’ve got some things I’ve got to check on. We’ll be bringing your personal affects in in a few moments. These men will be outside if you need anything,” he gestured to the MPs. “My wife is the nurse here. We don’t have a doctor, but she’s damn good at what she does.”

  “What about the guy who saved my life?” Cale inquired.

  “Yes, Michael. I’ll be sure to have him sent in. He’s been asking for updates on your status since we got you here. No doubt you’ll want to thank him.”

  “Yes, definitely, Sergeant,” Cale answered.

  The sergeant first class had always been a ‘by the book’ kind of guy. Everything was about proper military bearing. He’d noticed many times in Cale’s file that his peers, and even some of his superiors, referred to him by his first name rather than his last. The sergeant himself had never been a man to indulge in this, but there was something about Cale. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  “Please. Just call me Blair,” the sergeant said.

  35.

  NonComissioned

  Cale looked at the brand new set of ACUs, the pair of combat boots, and patrol cap, that had been brought in for him. All of the patches, with the exception of his nametape and rank, had been transferred from his old ones. A hygiene kit had been left in the bathroom for him, and Cale went about the ritual of showering, shaving, and getting dressed for the duty day. There was a set of portable generators and cold running water. As Cale ran his hands through his hair, he noticed the scars on his left hand and arm in the mirror. Nothing had been broken, thank God. He’d received mostly superficial wounds, some that had needed stitches, bruised ribs, and possibly a minor concussion; however, without the proper facilities they could only speculate. He was just finishing up when there was a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” he answered, as he ensured his patches were straight.

  “Good morning,” said Amanda.

  Amanda was Blair’s wife. She had once been a combat medic in the army, and then after leaving the service, she attended nursing school. The couple had lived in Germany before the plague

  “Morning,” Cale said with a smile.

  “Big day, huh?” asked Amanda.

  It was a rhetorical question. They both knew what today meant. Not only was Cale finally getting to leave this room, but he was about to be promoted as well.

  “Blair said you might want a haircut?” she asked, producing a pair of clippers.

  “Indeed,” Cale said with a laugh.

  He sat down in the chair, and Amanda draped a sheet around him. She was used to cutting Blair’s hair. Of late, he insisted on wearing it in a Mohawk.

  “How would you like it?” she asked.

  “A high fade with no guard on the sides. And finger length on top,” he answered. He’d had his hair cut in the same style since he’d left basic.

  Amanda went to work.

  The two of them had developed a sort of b
rother and sister relationship. He reminded her of her little brother, who was in the army somewhere. Blair had looked him up for her, but the last time his ID card had been scanned was for a route security shift, just before the communications blackout. Blair still had a functioning scanner, and he had checked everyone with a valid military common access card in, under his command, including Cale. His position was now updated in the satellite’s mainframe from Iraq to France.

  “Tell me how you and your wife met,” said Amanda.

  She and Cale had been making small talk for the past week, but it was a question asked out of habit when she cut anyone’s hair.

  “Where do I begin?” Cale laughed. “Really, she was just a cute girl in my law class. Mutual friends pushed us together after she started asking about me.”

  “So she did the chasing?” she asked.

  “At first,” he answered, “but eventually I did my fair share.”

  Amanda laughed. She was about Cale’s height, with sandy brown hair and hazel eyes.

  “How’d you meet Blair?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said, “it’s kind of a long story.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” assured Cale.

  Amanda thought back to that night.

  “Well, I was still going through nursing school. I was working on my clinical hours, because in order to graduate you need so many hours of hands-on time.

  “Yeah?” Cale prompted.

  “So, I was doing clinical, and an MP brought in this guy they’d picked up outside a strip club. He’d apparently gotten into a fight with one of the dancers,” she continued.

  “Oh, no, it wasn’t Blair was it?” Cale was worried the story was going off on a weird tangent.

  Amanda laughed, “No. I’m getting there.”

  “Okay,” Cale chuckled.

  “So anyway, they brought him in because the girl beat his ass. His head was bleeding and everything.”

  They laughed together.

  “It being the luck of the draw, I got to be his nurse. While we were cleaning up the cut on his head in order to stitch it up, he kept hitting on me.”