by B. T. Wright
Colt glanced to Wesley, who was bent at the knee covering his head, shaking and crying uncontrollably. In the momentary lapse when Colt’s vision was cut off by the door, the infected child made its move. The boy lurched at Colt and grabbed him around the waist, wrestling him into the steel door. Surprised by the attack, the back of Colt’s head knocked on the door. He couldn’t believe how strong the infected child was. Far stronger than any human boy of his age—the infected child couldn’t have been older than ten.
As Colt shook the cobwebs from his mind, he watched the infected boy attack with a punch to his midsection. Colt shifted his elbow downward to force a block, but it didn’t seem to faze the young infected. Instead he came in with another blow. This time with his left arm. Colt lowered his right elbow in time to deflect the punch.
Colt had to move on the offensive if he wanted to win the fight, rescue his son, and enter the building. His only option was to catch one of the child’s blows with his arm, lock him tight, and follow with a knee to his groin or stomach.
On the next punch, Colt caught his fist and held his arm tight to his body, then lifted his knee and caught the infected child in the gut. The move only moved the child off him by about two feet, not nearly enough space for him to pick up Wesley and run for it.
The infected child lowered his head and screeched, but not the normal singular high-pitched squeal Colt was accustomed to hearing. Instead it was a series of high pitches, followed by low grumbles. He was calling reinforcements.
Colt looked over the infected child’s head and witnessed two infected men walk out from the tree line, almost exactly where Wesley and Colt had run from.
Bastards.
Colt knew he had to get more physical with the infected boy. Lucky for Colt, the infected boy didn’t wait for the others join. He ducked his head and rushed him again. When he did, Colt dodged to the side and allowed the momentum of the infected boy to carry him full speed into the steel door. The crown of his head rammed the door, sending his spine directly into his brain.
Colt stepped over the limp body and grabbed Wesley by the arm. Once inside, there was a long hallway. Colt ran as Wesley shoved his head into his father’s side. They needed to get away from the side entrance as quickly as they could. There was little doubt the reinforcements would soon find their way inside and seek vengeance.
At the end of the hallway, the corridor turned right and led to a set of double doors. Colt stopped at the double doors and peered through the porthole-style windows. There was a wide-open room, chock full of circular tables decorated in white. Beyond the first set of tables was a parquet dance floor where a group of long rectangular tables were draped with fine linens and showcasing an accompaniment of buffet style food. Colt’s stomach growled at the thought of it.
He pushed through the double doors, holding tight to Wesley. But while they were escaping the threat from outside, Colt also had to consider if infected lurked inside.
Colt couldn’t help but glance to the head table—at the place marked bride and groom. He was transported back to his own wedding. It was in a hall not to dissimilar from the one he and his son currently occupied. He remembered how beautiful his wife Anna looked on that day. Dressed in a pure white sleeveless gown. Her hair tied pulled back to accentuate her high cheek bones and piercing sea green eyes against her tanned skin.
But inside that sweet memory, he heard a shriek from behind and the sound of the side door slamming shut. His pace quickened, and his eyes danced around the room, searching for a way out. On the opposite side there was another set of doors, and to his right a staircase that led upstairs. He decided in favor of the staircase, the last thing he needed was the other doorway to led to a dead end.
On the first step of the staircase, Wesley finally lifted his face from his father’s side and looked at the floor, making sure he wouldn’t lose his footing. Just as they reached the top of the side by side staircase, Colt swore he heard the double doors from below swing open. He wouldn’t dare turn back or stop and look. Instead, he got his bearings on the upper level.
Directly in front of him was another room, not unlike the lower level, but this looked more like a chapel room—a place where the couple would say their vows before heading downstairs for the reception. The wide room had a peaked ceiling, outfitted with wood that ran the entire length of the room.
The problem was, there was nowhere inside the room to hide. Nothing but a pulpit remained in the center. Colt glanced left where the doors led outside. He didn’t want to take his chances outside again, not yet.
His heart bounced in his chest. He didn’t know what was next, but was forced to pick when he heard the infected touch the bottom step of the staircase beneath them. He shuffled Wesley along toward the only other door he saw.
The men’s room.
Once inside the bathroom, Colt moved Wesley to the stall, locking it behind him, then pushed himself against the tiled wall. He slung his rifle away from his body and aimed it at the stall, knowing that was a last resort.
Sweat poured from Colt’s brow and began to drip into his eyes. He wiped it away, then regripped the rifle just when the door to bathroom opened. The squeak ate at Colt as he sat, adding to the fear he’d already been set into. He readjusted his position on the wall and aimed.
Bare feet dragged across the tile, like they were calloused, worn down from running outside for the past three days. Then Colt heard something he hadn’t before, not from an infected. The noise was a deep groan—a rumble. Colt didn’t know what it meant, but in that moment, he couldn’t control his breathing as his heartrate climbed.
Part of him wished the infected would just break down the door so he could put him down for good, but that would mean firing a round, and who knew how many more infected that would call to his position. They were completely vulnerable. Trapped. With nowhere to hide.
The infected stopped. Colt could see the tops of his feet. The infected shook the stall, pushing inward. Wesley let out an uncontrolled yelp, and Colt turned to reprimand him, but as he did, the infected broke the lock and appeared.
As Colt whipped his head around, he sighted down his rifle, but before he could pull the trigger, he saw there was another figure. Two people now. Colt hadn’t heard or seen the other man enter, but quickly realized the second person wasn’t an infected—it was Colonel Jenkins, clinging to the very same rock he’d held in his hand as he left Colt and Wesley in the parking lot. Colt watched him bring the rock high above his head before bringing it down into the back of the infected’s skull.
The force of the blow dropped the infected to the ground. Colonel Jenkins looked to Colt and smiled. “Surprised to see me?” he said.
“Shocked, more like it,” Colt said.
“It’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than two infected in a parking lot to bring me down. Are there anymore in here?”
“At least one.”
“Good.” He smiled. “Stay here with Wesley. I’m going hunting.” He turned and walked out.
Colt wasn’t used to having anyone fight his battles for him, but he wasn’t going to argue with Colonel Jenkins, at that moment, he had to tend to his sons’ feelings.
“Dad.” Wesley peered up through misty eyes.
Colt expected his son to speak of the dead infected sitting directly in front of them, but his thoughts went somewhere else. “Do you think Dylan’s alright?”
The question was like a punch to the gut. “I don’t know, bud.” Colt couldn’t lie.
“Do you think he’s one of those . . . those . . . things?” Wesley finally looked at the dead man on the floor.
“Oh, no, no, not at all. Bald and the vice president will take care of him.”
“How do you know?” Wesley was blunt.
Colt didn’t. And there was nothing he could say to reassure him. He didn’t know himself. The only thing he could think to say was: “We’ll get back to him soon enough.”
“Are you sure?”
Tears forme
d in Colt’s eyes. He didn’t want to think about what he would do if he lost his son. Colt nodded up and down to reassure Wesley, but deep down, hope was fading.
14
The barrage of gunfire Dylan and Bald rained down on their enemy was enough to make Schwarzenegger jealous. Dylan sucked in wind behind the end of his smoking gun as he, Bald, and the vice president stared at the fairway of green grass decorated with over twenty dead infected. Bald’s intent was to stay and fight. He might have calculated the odds on the fly, or maybe he just didn’t want to be the prey as they worked their way amongst the thickets of shrubbery and scattered trees. This was an easier way to clean up the mess, but with all the noise, the mess might have just begun.
“Let’s go!” Bald turned from the scene and walked onward, in the direction of the green.
Dylan ran to catch up. “Wait!” He reached for Bald’s arm. “My dad. My brother. They’re back that way. Didn’t you see where they went?”
Bald scowled as Dylan gripped his arm. “Didn’t you hear the explosions?” Bald said.
Dylan was forced back at his words. “Yeah, but . . .”
“But what? We saw the grenade take out the group of infected who followed them into the bushes. Then there was the second blast. Guarantee that was a trap set by Colonel Jenkins.”
“A trap? How can you know that?” the vice president interjected.
“Because I know the colonel better than his own wife. Your dad and brother are perfectly safe, believe me.”
“Tell yourself whatever you want, but I’m going after them, that’s my family.” Dylan was brash, even for a teenager. He stepped ahead, but Bald caught his arm.
“What the hell? Let go of me.” Dylan pulled, but Bald’s grip was too strong.
“Trust me. The colonel will get them back to you. Our mission has changed. Now we need to find some way out of here. A golf cart, an abandoned Humvee, a Jeep. Anything.”
Dylan gritted his teeth and scanned the trees, hoping to see proof of life.
Bald continued his insistence. “We don’t have a choice now. We need to haul ass before the next wave of infected hits us. Trust me, we don’t want that to be here, not again. Truth is—” Bald reached for another magazine and mounted it into his rifle—“we got lucky.”
“Which direction do we need to go?” the vice president asked.
“The airfield is southeast of us. And the Academy northwest.”
“Does that mean we head southeast, then? Follow Colonel Jenkins’ path?” the vice president said. “Get Dylan back to his father?”
“For now, we’re moving north. Then east. We’ll travel on the northside of the golf course. I know for a fact there was an old golf cart barn on the northside, near the clubhouse. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a gas cart with leftover fuel inside, or an abandoned truck from the greenskeeper. After that, we’ll head south, regroup, then decide.”
The vice president sighed. “Sounds promising.”
“It’s our only option at this point. If we encounter another wave like that again, we won’t be able to fend them off. I’m running low on ammo. Down to two mags.” Bald turned to Dylan. “How many magazines do you have left?”
“Only what’s left in here.” He held up the Glock.
Bald calculated in his own head. “Less than fifteen.”
Dylan nodded in agreement.
“Let me rephrase then. There is no way on God’s green earth we will withstand another attack. We need to be smart. Move as quietly as we can.”
“And you expect we can do that after that melee?” the vice president asked.
Bald gulped, then said, “I don’t. But this plan’s the best I got, so . . .”
He started to a walk. With the vice president waiting, Dylan continued his stare at the brush his father and brother had entered. He didn’t see the vice president stall until he returned and touched Dylan on the shoulder, leaned into his ear, and said, “You’ll see them again, I know you will. Now, c’mon, let’s go.”
On the fringe—at the edge of the green—there was a small building: a restroom designed for patrons of the golf course to relieve themselves during the round. In front of the restroom was a path which wrapped around the hole. Beyond the reach of the concrete there was another path—this one was dirt—a roadway made for the staff, not one you’d travel on if you were enjoying a round of golf.
“It’s just up here.” Bald pointed to the utility trail. When their feet met the gravel, Bald continued, “Technically if we follow this trail, it will lead us through the entire course. The path weaves in and out of the course. We will be in the trees mostly, but sometimes we’ll be out in the open, so make sure you’ve got your ears turned on and your butts puckered. This is going to be one hell of a hike.”
Dylan held his breath for a moment, then let it go just as Bald took his leading step.
Lagging only a little, the vice president leaned in and asked, “How far does this go?”
“If I had to guess, three miles or so.”
Holy shit. Dylan thought, then gulped the lump of spit that rose from his gut and sat in his windpipe.
With his eyes watching all around as they walked, Dylan couldn’t control his racing mind. He tried to calm his breathing, he even closed his eyes once or twice, but every time he did, he saw nothing but approaching infected. It was like a bad dream that played over on repeat. And now that he’d killed more, the daymare he’d experienced was relentlessly attacking his psyche.
The only way Dylan could calm his thoughts was to think about Wesley. He didn’t know why his younger brother brought a smile to his face or a calming over his soul, but he did. Dylan looked to the trees on the golf course and thought of the memory—one from their house back in South Park. They’d built a fort—really it was sticks from a downed tree thrown four feet off the ground into a rotting pine, but nonetheless, it was their escape from reality. A spot either would go when they were mad at one another, or their parents.
One time, Dylan had spent the better part of four hours out there. It wasn’t until Wesley led his parents to their secret tree that Colt and Anna found him. Dylan had been mad at his father then—he couldn’t remember why—even now as he walked. That was the way it was—the meaningless time he’d spent mad at his father for no particular reason. Perhaps he was seeking to find himself, or the solitude to think. Dylan had reached a time in his life where no longer felt he needed his parent’s permission to do things, or their input on how to run his life.
Soon, the cheery memories Wesley had inspired, switched to fear at the sight of an infected. Dylan stopped, and the vice president noticed.
“Bald, stop!” the vice president said. “Dylan sees something.”
Bald rushed to join Dylan by his side. He searched in the direction Dylan was watching.
“What do you see?” Bald said, trying to capture Dylan’s attention.
But Dylan was transfixed.
“Dylan!” Bald moved closer so Dylan could sense his proximity.
Dylan shook himself free. “An infected.”
Bald whipped his head around, again searching the fairway and raising his rifle. “Where?
But as Dylan blinked, the infected was no longer there. “He’s . . . he’s gone.”
Bald sighed. “Are you sure?”
“But I thought . . . I could’ve sworn it was there. It’s like he just vanished.”
Bald cleared his throat, then, moved ahead, “C’mon, we’ve gotta keep moving.”
Dylan continued searching the opposite fairway for another sign. The infected had to be there, lurking, now out of sight. But in fact, it wasn’t.
Where did he go? He was just there? How could he disappear?
Then Dylan glanced ahead and caught the vice president’s eyes. His face was worried and drawn. Dylan didn’t know what was on his mind, but maybe he was wondering if what Dylan saw was really an infected man, or just an apparition of his mind.
15
The s
ound of the screeching door made Colt fall against the tiled bathroom wall. He gripped tighter on his rifle until a voice bragged, “Two more infected dead.”
Colt breathed a sigh. When Colonel Jenkins appeared inside the doorway of the bathroom stall, Colt stood with Wesley.
“What do you say we try that car again?” Colonel Jenkins said.
Colt was thrown. “You want to go back outside? After what we just went through?”
“Yeah, don’t you?”
Colt dropped his head to look at his son. He didn’t want to answer, not after their narrow escape, with Wesley almost falling prey. “Are these buildings connected?” Colt couldn’t be certain.
Out of instinct, Colonel Jenkins looked to the bathroom wall. “To what, the airfield? Hell no.” He laughed halfheartedly. “Oh, you’re serious.” He could tell by the look on Colt’s face. Then he looked to Wesley. “I suppose you don’t want to risk it out there with him?”
“That’s my thought, yeah. At least not yet.”
“Tell you what, why don’t we search inside for some food first? Wait an hour or so. Maybe give the infected time to cool off. Who knows? They might lose interest.” His attempt at humor.
“Or find a more desirable prey,” Colt said.
“That’s probably the likelier case.” Colonel Jenkins grabbed Colt’s shoulder and said, “C’mon, I know where they keep the stash of food in this place. At least, I used to. I haven’t been in this hall for about twelve years, but by the looks of things out there, not much has changed.”
They moved from the bathroom, Colonel Jenkins going first. Wesley walked between both men. Colonel Jenkins looked over his shoulder and said, “Stay on my butt, kid. I don’t want to have any surprises out here.”