by Theo Vigo
More ghouls surprise them as they run blindly forward, but Billy continues to knock them down, and Margaret, any that he misses. All is going as smoothly as one can expect, running through a tall field full of zombies. The count of the lost ones that they have to knock over is diminishing, and with a quick check back, Margaret can see that the fire, although more brilliant, is getting farther behind them. Yes, all is as good as it can be, until Abe trips over the legs of one of the zombies that Billy knocked over. He falls to the ground face first and Margaret comes to an abrupt stop when she feels that Abe's wrist has been ripped out of her grasp.
Margaret: Billy, wait!!
She turns back for Abe, pushing the browning vegetation aside, and uses all her strength to get Abe up to his feet as fast as possible. However, she doesn't remember the cause of his fall and doesn't notice that the other zombie has already gotten to its feet. Abe is half way up now, and Margaret's head is down as she pulls him with all her might. The lost walker reaches out for the girl, who strains with her eyes closed to get her odd friend to his feet. She pays no attention to the undead hand that is centimetres away from her face, and she doesn't need to. Billy springs out from the field of dead lush, knocks the hand away and inserts his massive pocketknife into the zombie's head, just in time. Margaret opens her eyes in surprise.
Margaret: Oh shit… Thanks.
Billy: Come on. Come on.
Margaret: Right.
When Abe is almost stable and to his feet, yet another walker comes upon them. It's a slight shock, but Billy is quick to introduce knife to skull. As he brings the stray to the ground, Margaret finally gets Abe back on his feet.
Billy: Hurry up!
Margaret: All right! We're good! Go! Go!
Another zombie comes through the thick at them, as they are about to start up again. With a power unbelievable for a kid of his stature, Billy gives it a body check, sending it flying backwards into the field where it came from, and the three of them start running again. They wind up having to strike down two more walkers before Margaret notices that they have stopped making unplanned appearances. It is at this point that she also notices that Billy is starting to curve to the left again. They keep running until Margaret is naturally dumbstruck by the sight of the dirt road they were previously on. She didn't know if she'd ever see it again, and this is where Billy finally decides to stop.
The sun is virtually set as the three companions stand on the dirt road again. Two out of the three of them are panting, trying to catch their breath. Now that they have stopped to rest, even though she is out of breath, Margaret feels that she had better ask Billy what is going on before he decides to run off again.
Margaret: (huffing) Billy, what the hell was that?
Billy: Dynamite.
Margaret: Dynamite?!
Billy: Yea, I had six sticks of dynamite. Now I have three.
She can't believe the boy has dynamite, but there is nothing she can really put past him anymore. To quell her doubt, which she knows is an idle one, she turns back to witness a roaring fire of red and orange far off in the distance where Billy had seen the majority of the hoard. It's quite far back. In her head, Margaret assumes they must have run at least three quarters the length of a football field. Billy is definitely just as out of breath as she is, but she knows the trouble has to be far from over. Why had he stopped running then?
Margaret: Shouldn't we keep going? Those things are probably still on our asses.
Billy: No. Those zombies we just passed in there are not the ones we should be worried about. We were running way too fast for them to keep track of us in that field. When they get up, they'll be drawn to the sound and the light of the flame. They'll walk into the fire and take care of themselves. It's the walkers that aren't in the field that we need to be worried about. All the zombies in the surrounding area who heard that blast are heading this way right now.
Margaret: Well, that's fabulous. So, obviously, this isn't it, right? You have another step to this plan, don't you?
Billy: Yes.
Margaret: (sighs) Do share.
Billy: Our best bet now is the woods, but we have to move slow. We'll search out a small clearing in there where we can camp out quietly for the night.
He takes a small flashlight out of his knapsack, flicks it on and heads for the woods on the opposite side of the dirt road. Margaret watches the boy walk away with a slightly flustered look on her face.
Margaret: Didn't I say we should go into the woods earlier?
Billy turns around.
Billy: I already explained that. We have a much better chance of surviving this way. But we're not going to if we just stand here, so come on.
Margaret agrees. What other choice does she have? She follows Billy to the edge of the forest.
Billy: Remember to move slowly.
Margaret: That won't be a problem. My ankle will make sure.. of… that.
Before she sets her first foot onto the forest floor, she turns to take one last look at the spine-chilling scene she had just barely survived. It seems Abe has had the same notion. Margaret sees him still standing close to where they had just come out of the cornfield. His back is half turned to her, and Margaret realizes that he is enthralled by the magnificent light radiating from the fire. It's either that, or the black smoke that rises high above the flames, like smeared black paint across the navy blue canvass that is the speckled, new night sky. But if what Billy said is true, Abe is fixated on the light. It seems he is unable to relinquish all of his zombie instincts. Margaret calls out to him in a harsh whisper.
Margaret: Abe!……… Abe!…... Urgh.
Abe either can't hear her or doesn't care. He can't take his eyes off of the inferno that is now raging like a campfire run-wild. The girl ends up having to drag him with her. She takes him by the wrist again and pulls him toward the forest. Her stubborn pet keeps his eyes locked on the flames as he gets tugged by his self-professed guardian into the uncertain blackness of the forest trees.
SECRETS
Hundreds of thousands of feet underground, in a dark room lit only by a large hanging computer monitor, a man sits in front of the screen. He is looking at a map of the world, displayed across the screen's entire surface. Staring intensely at North America, he watches as thousands of small red dots fill up most of the western United States and continue spreading into their neighboring borders.
The man dressed in a General's uniform, has the hard mature face of one that has seen and heard horrible things. He is at least in his early forties, but the stress of his life makes him look to be in his mid-fifties. He wipes his large palm down the whole of his face, takes off his hat and shakes his head disappointingly at the sight on the screen. At that moment, an alert appears on the monitor, an incoming transmission. The serious man pushes a button on the control panel to receive the call.
Feleider: This is Feleider.
A heavy voice responds to him from the other side. It sounds like an older man, but a mild modulation in the vocal tone makes it clear that the voice is being disguised and distorted.
MysteriousVoice: What is the condition of your sector, Unit Feleider?
Feleider: Two thirds of the west have been infected, sir. In essence, that means every person in the country may well be infected by the parasite within a month's time; a month and a half tops. That is, with the exception of those who have made it safely to the military's underground bases and above ground safe areas.
MysteriousVoice: I am well aware of what that means, Unit.
Feleider: Then you must know that this has all gone terribly wrong, sir. We launched The Conditioning far too soon. E-TE12 was not ready.
MysteriousVoice: Nothing is beyond recognition, Unit, and all has not yet been lost. It sounds as though you're losing faith in the cause. Is this true?
Feleider: No! I'm sorry, sir. It's just that…
MysteriousVoice: Your job is not to throw your opinions around, Unit Feleider. Your only duties are to give an
d receive information and follow through with your orders.
Feleider: (flustered) Yes, sir. Please, excuse me.
MysteriousVoice: Report on the current status of the updated version of E-TE12.
Feleider: The parasite is still unrefined, sir. Doctor Alyster is doing his best to perfect the symbiosis, but there is only so much he can do down here with no assistance. He'll need at least a month to complete his work, and by then… it may be too late.
MysteriousVoice: Then that won't do, will it? As you know, after this little slip up, the governments have shut down our operation. It won't be possible to keep our plans concealed from them for much longer. You have seven days, after which point we will release The Conditioning on the rest of the planet.
Feleider: Seven days!?.. Uh, yes sir… And.. what if E-TE12 isn't ready?
MysteriousVoice: It will be ready. We have the utmost faith that you will make sure of it, Unit.
Feleider: Yes sir.
MysteriousVoice: Currently, the U.S. military is sending a special task force, super soldiers in a group named The Mav-Elite, to your location. Among them is one of our agents; Unit Holden. He is informed of the situation and will be there to assist you and the doctor in making sure everything runs smoothly. He is a strong, intelligent man who's loyalty to the confederate is unwavering. Use him well.
Feleider: Understood.
MysteriousVoice: You should also know that there is a man on the team named Denver Sharp, a wildcard that likes to stick his nose where it has no business being. He's built quite the reputation for disobeying orders and taking things into his own hands. He is young, foolhardy, and as his last name implies, sharp. As of right now, he is in the dark about this situation. Put extra caution into keeping him there.
Feleider: I understand.
MysteriousVoice: Good. That's all for now, Unit. Standby for more instructions.
Feleider: Sir.
The mysterious voice disengages, and the General leans forward in his chair. He glances up at the red indicators, continuing to cover most of the west coast. They multiply before his eyes in real time, like drops of blood dripping on to a clean canvas. Oregon, Washington, California, Nevada and Idaho are gone, and the parasite has almost completely wiped out Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, and New Mexico. Even the most southern parts of British Columbia and Alberta have been graced with it's presence; Vancouver, Kamloops and tickling Calgary. Northern Mexico too, feels the premature conditioning. His eyes move along to the other parts of the world, still unmarked. He smiles to himself, thinking about the world and how it has no idea what is on its horizon.
An unexpected noise from behind prompts Feleider to quickly close the world map. He spins around casually in his chair as the automatic lights flicker on, revealing the rest of the large, futuristic looking office space. He watches as a tall, slender woman walks toward him. She wears a long white lab coat with black rectangular framed glasses and her dark brown hair tied back into a tight bun. Her face is attractive, slim and white, pointed out at the chin and just as serious as the General's. Feleider leans back in his chair to welcome her, looking calm and unbothered, the complete opposite of the female professor. She comes to a stand about three feet in front of him.
GwenGavine: Feleider, are you busy?
Feleider: Just gauging the level of infections. It seems that our associates at the other bunkers are keeping it well at bay. We would do well to follow their example, and you would do right to address me as, General.
Gwen: I'm not one of your soldiers, Feleider. I'll address you how I see fit.
Feleider: What can I do for you, professor?
Gwen: You can do for me what I've been asking you to do for the last five days.
Feleider: I told you, Ms. Gavine, I may have lost my wife to this infestation, but I remain committed to her… spiritually.
He turns around on his chair, back towards the computer screen.
Gwen: I'm going to ignore that absurd insinuation that I have ever had even the slightest bit of sexual attraction towards you and ask you for the thousandth time. When will we be supplied with the antibodies from Sector 337-4?
Feleider: (without turning) The antibodies and everything else the lab needs will be arriving soon, as I've told you for the thousandth time, Ms. Gavine. Let us not forget what conditions befall our travelling colleagues. It's hell on earth out there.
Gwen: And it will stay that way unless we get the supplies we need. I don't see why you would bring some of the world's greatest medical scientists to this location and not have an ample amount of supplies, not to mention the ridiculously dated equipment.
Feleider: The equipment is fine, professor. A great mind such as yours shouldn't resort so easily to cheap shots. The real issue here is the arrival of your supplies. (turns to face Gwen) And I'll only say this one more time before asking that you leave. The supplies are on their way.
Gwen: And what are we to do until they arrive?
He dismissively turns back toward the screen.
Feleider: Twiddle your thumbs, professor.
She lets out a great sigh and starts walking out.
Gwen: This is all pointless. If those antibodies don't arrive within the next two days, you might as well just open up the hatch, and let them all in.
The metal door slides shut as she exits the room, and General Feleider pushes another button restoring the world map to the screen. The reddening continues.
Feleider: Pointless, Ms. Gavine? Not as much as you may think.
STALKER, SUIT & SALVATION
Margaret wakes up to a bright orange glow coming from above her. As she comes back into consciousness, she remembers the event from the night before; the walker filled cornfield maze and returning to the woods but in complete darkness, save for Billy's tiny flashlight. She remembers following the tiny light and hearing a blood curdling scream from somewhere off in the distance. Both her and Billy were brought to a stand still at the sound of it, making Margaret feel as if her blood literally did turn. She remembers finding the cramped space in between two trees that Billy said was a "perfect" spot and the surprise she felt when he asked her to hold his light so he could take a small orange square out of his bag and spring to life a compact tent; a one man tent nearly big enough for two of them.
She extends her curled up legs and feels the instant relief from the cramps she had developed over night. It was the most miserable night's rest she had had in a while, and for a moment it really ticks her off, but then she realizes something. She isn't supposed to be able to straighten up her legs like this. Billy isn't inside the tent! She quickly but quietly props herself up on to her shoulder, and worry starts to rise inside of her. He must just be outside, but she would be a fool to simply rush out, so she cautiously eases over to the tent's opening and begins to unzip it as soundlessly as possible.
Billy: It's all right.
The sound of Billy's voice makes Margaret jump ever so slightly, but she is truly relieved to hear the kid's voice. She unzips the entrance the rest of the way up and pokes her head outside. To the right she sees Billy sitting on the ground, Indian style, sharpening a hunting knife. It's the same giant one he used to open the ER Bar, much more impressive than the pocketknife he had been using the night before. He looks over to her.
Billy: You should eat something.
Margaret: Well, good morning to you too.
She looks to the left and sees Abe standing and staring off into the woods. It makes her chuckle.
Margaret: Good morning, Abe. Still standing, huh?
Abe's pupils slowly roll into her direction before his head does the same. Margaret sticks her tongue out at him, and he turns back to staring out into the trees.
Billy: I'm sorry… but it's true. You should really eat something before we move on.
Margaret: I've got a can of Spaghettios left… and some bread. I'll eat that, but… I'm really running low on food. We're gonna have to find something more to eat soon.
Billy: Don't
worry. I've got enough for a few more days, but you're right anyhow. That's why we should hurry.
Margaret: Mmmhmm.
Margaret stays where she is for a moment, squinting and taking in her surroundings with her upper body sticking out of the tent. It's another beautiful morning, with the sun glowing in and between all of the trees. Unlike humanity, the birds haven't fled. She can still hear them singing their sweet songs, and imagines how lucky they are to have wings. She wonders why they haven't flown away yet. It must be so depressing flying around these parts. If she had wings, she would be long gone, fly someplace free of all the carnage. She would fly as far from it as possible.
Billy: I really should get that tent taken down.
Margaret: Oh, right.
Billy brings her back in, and she finally gets out so that he can start packing.
<><><>
Margaret has already eaten through half her can of Spaghettios and three slices of bread, as Billy is putting the finishing folds on his portable home.