Dr. Washington finally raised his eyes, and looked dead at Peterson. “You don’t want to hear what I have to say, Commander. Trust me.”
“Speak!” Peterson did his best to scream, but he was still too weak.
Washington took a moment. “If you insist, Commander.”
A cracking of a branch interrupted.
“I have movement,” Cash said, his voice tight.
Sharon made a statement. “Don’t waste ammo.”
Johann holstered his pistol and reached down and picked up a heavy rock.
“Are you ready?” Derek said to Barbara.
She pulled back the bolt on her 9mm handgun and loaded a round.
“They said save ammo,” Derek said.
“I disagree. We’re going to need all the ammo we got, trust me.” Her tone was unnerving. She knew what was coming.
A tree next to Barbara suddenly came alive. Like an animal bounding on its prey, a zombie materialized out of the darkness and took hold of her face. It was grotesque. Its eyes were distended from its sockets, and its face was rotted.
As it pulled at Barbara, Derek grabbed the zombie in a choke hold from behind. It fought back, twisting and turning, attempting to bite Derek. Johann wasted no time. He raised his rock above his head, took several long, running strides, and brought it down on the zombie’s skull.
Crack.
Blood sprinkled Derek’s face.
The sun set and darkness fell upon them. Moans suddenly came from every direction, as if the forest had come to life.
“Flashlights!” Sharon barked.
The beams of flashlights, one by one, cut through the woods. The streaks of lights danced off the faces of zombies in all directions. They were surrounded.
“Oh my god,” Dr. Washington said. “They’re everywhere.”
“Break through,” Johnny-Boy shouted. “This way.”
Sharon grabbed Peterson around the waist, giving him the needed support. Together, they trotted north. In front of them shadows moved, alive. Peterson drew his pistol. Sharon’s flashlight zeroed in on three infected, blocking their pathway. Peterson shot. All three fell.
“Happy to see you can still shoot,” Sharon said. “I thought we lost you there for a while.”
“I was trapped in a strange place,” Peterson said, sincerity ringing in his voice. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”
From behind Peterson, gunfire cracked in rapid succession. The flashes of the barrels lit up the woods like bolts of lightning. The rest of the team were right behind them.
“Thank God these bastards are slow,” Sharon said, taking a deep breath.
“We’re going to have to keep up a fast pace to outrun them.” Peterson was exerting himself hard. He looked up to see that Sharon had a syringe in her hand.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Adrenaline,” she responded. “You’re getting heavy.”
Sharon jabbed the needle into his armed and pushed down on the plunger.
“In a few moments your pain will be gone,” Sharon said, as if Peterson didn’t already know. “And you will feel like Superman.”
*
They ran a good five hundred yards through the forest, not looking back, and not slowing down for a second. Peterson stopped and breathed. Sharon swept the woods with her rifle. There were no longer any signs of the zombies, except for their moans in the distance.
Peterson looked up to the sky to offer thanks, drunk with the shot of adrenaline and the joy which comes with it, and saw a sliver of moonlight shining through the ragged edges of a tree. His eyes followed the moonlight as it struck the ground, revealing a road.
Peterson called out, “A pathway to the promise land.”
Sharon looked at him, confused by his statement. He was high on the dope he’d just been shot up with, euphoric and on top of the world. She knew the feeling of the adrenaline shot. However, she saw it too. A road, seemingly from nowhere, appeared before them.
“It’s a sign,” Peterson said again, amazement in his voice. “Salvation.”
“Sir, this is a back route.” Derek trotted up next to Peterson.
“Where are the rest of you?” Sharon demanded.
“On my behind, ma’am,” Derek responded and then again referred to the road. “It’s called rabbit’s way. It leads straight to the docks. About one half mile and we’re there.”
The moonlight illuminated the road. As Peterson emerged from the shadow of the forest and stepped on the pavement there was a sense of release, some open space, and a definite direction. The sound of distant moaning was behind him. The zombies were following, but had fallen behind. Momentarily, the rest of the team, and the civilians, emerged from the forest.
Dr. Washington was the last to surface from the woods. Out of breath, he looked back over his shoulder, as though expecting a zombie to follow.
“They’re not far behind us,” Washington said, gulping air.
“And they’re not far in front of us,” Cash said, matter-of-fact.
Dr. Washington turned to look in front of him, and his face grew pale at what he saw. Silhouettes of the infected were on the road, approaching them.
Peterson saw it too and calmly stated, “You know what a great man once said?”
Dr. Washington shook his head. “No.”
“When you’re going through hell, keep going.”
Peterson turned on his heels, drew his combat knife, and walked directly toward the incoming zombies on the road.
“Let me handle them,” Sharon said, keeping her voice low, not wanting the others to hear. “The adrenaline won’t last forever.”
Peterson twisted the knife in his hands. “I don’t need forever. Just enough to get to a damn boat.”
A handful of silhouettes could be seen, maybe five. The outlines of human figures, lumbering, swaying side to side. Then, the familiar sound of groans.
Suddenly, out of the darkness, from the side, a zombie lurched directly in front of Peterson. Once a housewife most probably, an apron stained with blood still hanging around its neck. Face like chalk, stiff and dead eyes which caught the reflection of the moon. The zombie opened its mouth, exposing its corroded and yellow teeth.
Suddenly, everything became clear to Peterson. He turned away from the grotesque sight of her cavernous mouth and lifted his head to the sky, raised his right arm, and cupped his hand. He called in a voice that pierced through the heavens.
“All forces of light, relieve this creature from her terrible suffering.”
Then, in a swift, arcing motion, he brought his knife down on the head of the zombie. The blade penetrated the top of its skull. Peterson twisted the blade, driving it down to the hilt.
Blood squirted out of the top of the zombie’s head, like a fountain. It collapsed.
“Relieve them all from their suffering!” Peterson commanded
A sound arose from the forest, like a pack of wolves crying at the moon. Almost as if the zombies were mourning. Long, disfigured cries. .
Cash leveled his assault rifle. “I can’t see shit!”
Armstrong drew his knife. “This is going to get personal.”
Derek turned, and found that a zombie was directly in front of him. Instinctually, he launched a front kick, knocking the zombie back off it feet. Another zombie appeared, so close to Derek he didn’t have a chance to respond. Barbara, however, did. She placed the barrel of her pistol against the zombie’s temple and squeezed the trigger. Its brains popped out.
“Let’s go,” Barbara shouted to Derek.
Derek didn’t argue. They grabbed hands and ran.
Peterson grabbed a zombie by the throat and thrust his blade into its eye, deactivating it. Sharon swung a backwards blow with her elbow at another zombie. It collapsed to the ground, and Cash brought his boot down on its head.
Johnny-Boy, Armstrong, Sharon, and Cash fought the zombies. The sound of cracking bones, and the disturbing eggshell crunch of skull and brains, reverberated. On
e by one, the zombies fell, until all were silent.
*
“All clear,” Cash said with a grin.
Johnny-Boy wiped blood from his cheek. “Dirty bastards.”
“We better keep moving,” said Sharon. “Bound to be more on the road.”
“They’re getting closer,” Dr. Washington said, looking at the woods. The moaning from the darkness of the forest was indeed growing louder.
Derek stepped forward. “More approaching from behind, sir.”
Johann chimed in, “The road is not safe either.”
“Nowhere is safe,” Barbara said, her tone tough.
Peterson looked down both sides of the road. There were no signs of zombies either way.
“Stay close behind. In one half mile we will be at the coastline.” Peterson pointed his blade.
“Move out.”
*
Cash was the point man, leading the way on the road. The rest were spread out, following his lead, guns at the ready. The silence was interrupted by the sound of a distant zombie moan.
“I can smell the sea air,” Johann said, keeping his voice low. He was speaking to Derek.
“I can as well,” Derek responded. He couldn’t look Johann in the eyes. Derek wanted to say something, but it just wouldn’t come out of his throat. Johann could see that Derek was struggling to day something.
“What’s on your mind, kid?” Johann asked.
“I am sorry for throwing a rock at you when I was a child,” Derek confessed. “It was a really stupid thing to do.”
“Don’t worry about it, son, I’ve had much worse,” Johann replied, and for the first time, there was kindness in his voice toward Derek.
“Where you really in the CIA?” There was a childish curiosity in his voice.
“Twenty years of my life.” Johann was scanning the terrain, staying ever vigilant of what may be moving in the darkness.
Derek took a breath before asking the next question. “How did you end up homeless?”
“Lost my three-year-old son in a car accident.” Johann cleared his throat. “It was my fault.”
“I am sorry.” Derek said.
“When this infection started at first I thought I was losing my mind. But when I realized it was actually real, something took over me. Like all the training and field experience or something just clicked. My mind was righted again. I was back in action.”
“So you have a lot of experience in the CIA,” Derek stated. “What do you think has caused this…this outbreak?”
“I was exposed to a lot of crazy shit in the CIA. Biological weapons research, classified U.S. development of chemical weapons, and much more I would rather not remember. However, son, I never came across anything that holds a clue to this.”
A fog rose fast and cut visibility down. The smell of salt water was thicker in the air, and the temperature was getting cooler. Derek was not relieved. His knees were weak. It seemed that the closer they got toward their destination the more anxious he became. Thoughts of the hospital basement filled his mind. It was warm down there, and they had food and water. As terrible as it was, somehow, it was better than this.
Derek had been feeling something deep in his gut. He couldn’t explain it until now—this mission was a suicide mission, it had always been. The hopefulness and determination Peterson carried with him had infected others back in that basement. Hungry, thirsty, and cold, Derek now saw the truth. The chances of him surviving were little. The smell of pine trees and the nearby ocean water touched his mind. Exhaustion came over him. It was nobody’s fault; the end of the world simply arrived. His days were numbered.
Derek recalled the argument Peterson had with Dr. Washington earlier. Peterson believed Dr. Washington knew something important, which he was not sharing, about this mission. Derek didn’t know much about science. Peterson never really got into details, except to say that some government doctor may hold answers to a cure for this outbreak. That had been good enough for Derek. It wasn’t, apparently, good enough for Peterson. He was arguing with Dr. Washington, pressing him for answers. Dr. Washington was not forthright. That must mean that Peterson didn’t know everything about this mission after all. Curious. Derek slowed down his pace and let Dr. Washington catch up to him.
“Dr. Washington,” Derek said softly, so no one else could here. “You’re an intelligent man.”
“I’m not so sure anymore.” Washington shook his head. He seemed afraid of the road ahead. The fog. The darkness.
Derek looked around to make sure nobody was listening. “I am going to die on this mission, aren’t I?”
Dr. Washington stopped in his tracks, surprised. He took a moment to think. “Most likely, Derek,” Dr. Washington said frankly. He began walking again. “But don’t feel bad. We’re all probably going to die.”
“Then tell me what I’m dying for,” Derek said. “I heard you arguing with Peterson about the laboratory. What is really going on?”
Washington walked a few more steps before replying. “I used to be a proud man. The only person in my family to finish college. When I became a doctor it was the happiest day in my father’s life.” Washington looked over his shoulder, searching for signs of danger. “No amount of education could prepare a man for this.”
“Peterson thinks you know something more,” Derek said.
“I do know something more.” Dr. Washington took a deep breath.
“Would you please tell me?” Derek was fatigued, listless, yet still curious.
“There is no cure,” Dr. Washington said blankly.
Derek stopped walking, in disbelief.
“You want the truth?” Washington was tired, and he just couldn’t hold it all in anymore.
“You owe it to us,” A voice came out of the dark. It was Johann.
“Owe us what?” Barbara appeared.
“You owe it to us all.” It was Peterson. He, along with Cash, Armstrong, Johnny-Boy, and Sharon, appeared out of the fog.
It was the moment of truth for Dr. Washington, and for them all.
Dr. Washington looked hard at Peterson, angry. “You’re a noble man, Commander. I have been around you long enough, however, to understand a few things about you: you are single-minded. Without a fight you’re only half alive, and you can’t choose your fights on your own, you need the military to do that for you. People like you waste your lives doing other people’s bidding, and you’ve been doing it for so long you’ve forgotten how to think for yourself.”
Peterson was surprised, but not angry. “And people like you, Dr. Washington, need people like to me to stay alive.”
Dr. Washington paced back and forth in front of the group. “How can you all be so deluded to think there is an actual cure? It’s not rocket science. Just take a look around you. How much of the world’s population has been infected? Seventy percent? Eighty percent? That amounts to billions of people. How do you define a cure? Tell me, how?”
Johann spoke up. “A vaccine, for one thing.”
“What are we going to do with a vaccine?” Dr. Washington’s voice rose to a pitch. “How would we manufacture it, distribute it, and who the hell would even be left to take it? And even if you were inoculated, what would be the purpose? To stop you, after you have been bitten, from turning into the walking dead?”
“Yeah, something like that,” Johann said.
“Is a vaccine going to protect you from being bitten fifty times? From being eaten alive, limb from limb?”
Johann wouldn’t accept what Dr. Washington was saying. “But there must be some way to solve what’s going on.”
Dr. Washington composed himself. “In a traditional sense there may be an inoculation. Obviously, there is not a remedy for those who are already infected. No way to reverse the decomposition of flesh. Can’t bring people back to life.”
“I see your point, Dr. Washington,” Johann finally said. “But still, there must be something.”
“By my calculations, we are outnumbered five hu
ndred thousand to one, at the very least.” Dr. Washington responded.
Derek spoke up. “So in reality, being inoculated won’t make much of a difference. It won’t stop us from being eaten alive.”
“Exactly,” Dr. Washington responded.
Derek took a deep breath. He wiped sweat off his brow. “So that’s it, we’re beaten.”
“No, Derek, we’re not,” Dr. Washington said, authority and conviction resonating in his voice. “Sometimes what is simple is hardest to see, hardest to believe. What is most simple, is most genius. But, at the same time, most difficult to accept as true, as powerful.” Dr. Washington began to pace as he spoke. “It is what is most simple which can lead us to victory.”
Peterson stepped forward. “And what is most simple, Dr. Washington?”
“That answer lies at the island,” Dr. Washington said, unwilling to answer the question himself.
Peterson wouldn’t settle for that. He grabbed Washington’s collar. “TELL ME THE ANSWER!”
Dr. Washington didn’t want to give in. He struggled to hold in this last piece of information. Just then, a foghorn sounded. It was in the near distance, by the shoreline.
Armstrong stepped forward. “What was that?”
“A foghorn—someone must be blowing a foghorn!” Derek was excited.
“Someone, or something,” Peterson said. “It could also be automated. Don’t get too excited. I am going to try and get a closer look, the rest of you stay behind. Armstrong? Come with me.”
The fog had become like a monster, swirling around them, smothering them. Peterson walked a short distance toward the sound of the horn. Armstrong followed. They were by themselves now, away from the rest of them. For a moment, they both looked off into the distance. There was nothing but fog.
“Dr. Washington isn’t going to give any more information until the last possible minute,” Armstrong said.
“I know,” responded Peterson. “We have a surprise for us on that island.”
“You can say that again,” Armstrong said, bothered.
Dead and Back (The Zombie Crisis--Book 2) Page 8