by B. T. Wright
Their line was tight, and Wesley did as he was told, keeping within inches of the colonel’s backside. The colonel paused once more and looked down at him. “Oh, and kid, if I break one off while you’re back there, I’m truly sorry. They’ve been known to creep up on me. Especially at my age.” He grinned.
“Gross.” Wesley stared up at Colt, bewildered. Colt smiled back at him, then shook his head.
“Alright, the kitchen’s downstairs.” Colonel Jenkins took the first step down.
As they walked, Colt’s mind turned to Dylan again. For some reason, he began to relive the highlights of his life, starting with his birth. A twenty-seven-hour labor that left Anna exhausted and Dylan clinging to his life. He’d stopped breathing in the birth canal and the doctors had to perform an emergency C-section to remove him to revive. A close call which earned him the nickname Lucky since birth. Colt clung to that luck. And with each step, the desolation of despair he felt in the bathroom only moments prior loosened. He’s not dead. We heard the shots. Gunfire that outlasted the approach of the infected. They’ll find a way out.
“It’s just through here.” Colonel Jenkins said as they walked toward the door that Colt had elected not to take as he ran for the staircase.
The stark white of the walls inside the kitchen was precisely what Colt had imagined a kitchen would look like in that venue. Pots and pans were strewn about on the metal shelving and a collection of fine china was stacked neatly in high rows.
Colonel Jenkins walked over toward the oven, where a three-tiered wedding cake sat atop a rolling cart. The design was flawless—the cake light pink with white ornamental flowers sketched throughout each level.
“Is it real?” Wesley peered up at his father.
With his stomach aching for food, Colt needed to know. He stuck his index finger into the lower tier. His finger stalled at first, but then pushed inside. “It appears so.” Colt took his finger out. He thought about licking it, but then thought better. He quickly chased down a napkin to wipe the frosting away. The napkins happened to be by a set of forks. Colt grabbed three, then lifted three pieces of china from the shelf.
He handed Colonel Jenkins and Wesley their own. “I’d look for a serving knife, but what’s the point? Dig in, boys.”
From the moment the buttercream frost hit Colt’s tongue, his taste buds flew into ecstasy. He hadn’t enjoyed sweetness in what seemed like forever. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he leaned against the countertop and chewed as slow as he could, savoring every bite. After half his cake was gone, he looked to Wesley, who was patiently awaiting his father’s approval for seconds.
“For sure, bud, go ahead.”
Elation moved over Wesley’s face as he dug in for more.
Colonel Jenkins joined Colt on the countertop, both smiling at the normalcy this cake had brought to their situation. “Look at him. Pure enjoyment,” Colt said as both watched Wesley stuff his face. When Wesley looked up from his bite—frosting all over his face—Colt and the colonel shared a laugh.
Then Colonel Jenkins leaned in and spoke truth. “You know we have to make for that car, right?”
“I thought you said an hour.”
Colonel Jenkins glanced at his watch. “It’s been twenty minutes. I say we make a break for it.”
Colt set the plate down on the counter and wiped his hands off. “Okay, but what do we do if the car doesn’t start? Or they’re the wrong keys?”
“Who in Sam hell would have a different set of keys in their car?”
“I don’t know, I’m just playing devil’s advocate here,” Colt said. “Okay, say we make it to the car. Then what? Are we going to search for Dylan? For the vice president and Bald?”
“That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
“Oh . . .”
“What did you think we’d do?”
“I guess I figured you wanted to get to the academy, to the airfield.”
“I do. But not until we search everywhere for them. It’s gonna be nightfall soon, so we better hurry, because once that sun goes down, all hell’s gonna break loose. If you ask me, I think that’s what the infected have been waiting for all along.”
The look on Colt’s face was fearful. “You think?”
“That’s what I’d do. Since they failed to kill us in the fire, why not wait until nightfall? Take us down when we can’t see them. Like Seal Team Six.”
Jake’s face flashed to the forefront of Colt’s mind. Jake wasn’t navy, but Colt figured his missions were made with the same regard, the same calculation.
Colonel Jenkins was right. They needed to try, if Dylan stood any chance. They couldn’t leave them alone, not in the dark.
16
The golf clubhouse was steps away. Dylan stood close on the vice president’s back as they waited for Bald to enter the building and give the all clear. Bald insisted he enter the clubhouse first. With so little ammo between them, it was necessary. He was well-versed in killing people with his bare hands or a knife in close-quarter combat.
Dylan strained to see through the soft tint of the windows. He swore he witnessed Bald walking inside, but he couldn’t be certain. But then, as he looked through the shadowing tint, his heart fell. There was more than one body.
“Inside.” Dylan pointed. “Look! There’s another person.”
“I saw that as well.”
Dylan moved away from the vice president and toward the building. “We need to tell him someone’s there.”
The vice president held up his hand. “Trust me, he knows what he’s got himself into, kid. Just have faith. He’ll come out okay.”
“You’re certain? Maybe we should’ve all gone inside. To help each other out.”
“No. He was adamant. And I trust his professional opinion. This is what he’s trained for. You know our military is quite capable of these kinds of things.”
“I know, my Uncle Jake is a Delta. A real badass.”
“That’s right, your father’s brother, correct?”
“Yeah.” Dylan nodded.
“Then you know exactly what I mean. Stand down. Our boys are the finest. No way some . . . thing is going to get the best of him.”
Dylan still wasn’t certain. He fell away from the vice president and looked back to the golf course. The clubhouse was out in the open. Multiple holes led away and finished near their position. As Dylan continued his search, he found the driving range. A wide-open area at least 350 yards long and maybe 120 yards wide. Dylan looked down the driving range where a grouping of three greens came together just beyond the ranges end.
Something was there. Like a dark cloud. Or a mass moving fast. A low rumble of sound began to grow louder as the shape rushed closer.
“Uh, Mr. Vice President, sir!” Dylan’s voice went higher, then pulled on his arm to get his attention. “Are you seeing, what I’m seeing?” Dylan needed to make sure.
The vice president turned and witnessed the horde. There were over fifty, easily. This was a group assembled for one purpose: takeover.
“Go!” The vice president grabbed Dylan by the shirt and pulled him in front of himself.
Dylan didn’t even bother to raise his Glock. He followed the guidance of the vice president and sprinted toward the clubhouse.
The vice president was by his side, and when Dylan reached the double glass doors, he threw them open and yelled, “Bald!”
Dylan didn’t care who heard. There was a bigger threat approaching. He knew he could handle coming across one or two infected with the Glock. The approaching storm was what needed Bald’s attention.
Dylan’s eyes danced around the interior in search of Bald, but he wasn’t there. He yelled again, “Bald! Where are you? Come out, now! We’ve got company!”
Bald came running from around the corner with an infected on his tail. Bald didn’t slow to take care of the threat. “Run!” he instructed, waving his arms in the air, suggesting the vice president and Dylan to continue in the opposite direction.<
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Dylan spun around and caught sight of another hallway. It wasn’t long, and it led to another door—the exit. No. We can’t. Dylan thought, but Bald wasn’t stopping. Dylan turned to go—the vice president too—and as Bald crept closer, he spun around and dropped the chasing infected with one shot to the head.
When they reached the door, the vice president grabbed for Bald and pulled on his shirt to look him square in the eye. “We can’t go out there. That’s why we came inside. There is a group of infected chasing us down at this very instant, and they’re right outside.”
“I know. I saw them coming through the windows in the pro shop. But we don’t have a choice.”
“What do you mean? Why can’t we lock the door? Stay inside?” Dylan said.
“Did you see the windows? They’ll break through. That’s a guarantee,” Bald said.
“I’d rather stay inside and take the chance, than risk it out there,” the vice president said.
“Me too,” Dylan chimed in.
“Look! There’s no time. And I’ve got a plan. You’ve just gotta stay on my ass. Every move I make, you need to be there.” Bald reached for the handle of the door.
The vice president grabbed for his hand.
“Please, sir. Let go!” Bald insisted.
Dylan’s heart was racing, and there was no way to calm it. He could see the fire in Bald’s eye. It was then that the first infected from the approaching threat hit the back door.
“I’d say we’ve got about two seconds before we’re dead.”
Immediately, the vice president let go, and Bald forced the side door open. Once outside, Bald sprinted toward the parking lot, which sat just to the left of the exit and away from the approaching crowd. Lucky for them, most of the infected followed Dylan and the vice president into the same door they entered, but it didn’t take long for them to recognize their escape.
Bald didn’t head for the parking lot, instead he turned into the grass and sprinted east toward an outbuilding. There was another oversized garage door—similar to the aircraft hangar.
The smell of smoke swam into Dylan’s nostrils at the memory of the hangar and what had almost been, but that quickly faded when Bald reached the door. Dylan saw Bald fiddle with the handle, like he was holding the key.
“Hurry! They’re coming.” Dylan’s voice shook with fear.
He raised his Glock and fired, dropping the lead infected. Bald caught Dylan’s eye and pushed him inside the open door. “Save your bullets,” he said.
Inside, Bald grabbed the handle and pulled the door toward him, shutting it just as an infected flew into the door without caring about the consequence to its body. Once closed, Bald spun the deadbolt.
The vice president and Dylan stared at the interior. There must’ve been over 100 golf carts lined up side by side. Dylan sighed and thought, Finally. A way out.
But his thought was young and impetuous.
“What’s the plan? Now that we’re here, how the hell do you plan on getting out with all those things coming after us?” the vice president said.
Bald searched the interior of the building. His eye moved from the front to the back. It was then that he answered. “By using their rage against them.”
“What do you mean?” the vice president stared at Bald intently.
“I mean, we create a diversion.”
“What do you mean?” Dylan said.
Bald finally returned to their side and began to explain. “There are two doors. This massive garage door—which I don’t plan on opening—and that double door in the back. The double door is where we will make our exit in one of these golf carts, but the infected bastards will think we’ll be making our way out the garage door.”
“Okay, but how do you plan on getting them to take the bait?” the vice president said.
Bald grinned.
“What’s with the smile? Something funny I don’t know about?” Dylan didn’t want to be left out of the humor strictly because of his age.
“We ram the door,” Bald said.
“What? How? With what?” Dylan said.
“Every cart in that row.” Bald suggested they look.
The vice president stood on his tip toes. There were six facing the front. “You really think that weight will knock that door down?” The vice president said.
“It doesn’t have to. It only has to draw their attention away from the rear entrance.”
Noise erupted from the back side of the building. Pounding fists from every direction. It seemed the infected were looking for a weak point in the structure.
“You really think that will work?” Dylan said.
“I do. There’s no way these bastards have evolved that much. Hell, we wanted to use a diversion at the hangar. This just happens to be a better plan. I mean, a diversion still works on me sometimes.”
“Me too,” the vice president said, but he seemed reluctant.
“Can we call them gullible?” Bald chuckled.
“Look, Bald, if we do this, we need to be ready to move at the drop of a hat. These infected may be naïve, but they’re not stupid. We might have five seconds to pull this off. You sure these carts can handle it?” the vice president said.
“Hell yeah, sir. I’ll check, but I assume most are full of gas. And gas carts can go pretty fast once you loosen the governor a bit, at least fast enough to outrun these bastards.”
“How are we gonna set the diversion?” Dylan said.
“Good question, kid. We need to find something to prop against the gas pedal. See if you and the vice president can find me some pipes. Six of them, at least fourteen inches long.”
As Dylan and the vice president set out on their quest, Bald searched for a screwdriver to loosen the tension on the governor’s springs.
But their search was forced to move faster when an infected broke through a window on the northeast side of the building.
“Hurry up, boys.”
The window was small, not big enough for the infected to squeeze through. At least not a full-grown adult. But at the appearance of a small child being lifted inside, Dylan felt the need to encourage their quickness.
“Uh, Bald. There’s a kid coming through the window.”
He lifted his head out from under the cart and looked. “Can you take him out?”
Bald’s question was flippant, and before Dylan could respond, the vice president handed Dylan his stack of three pipes and took the Glock from Dylan’s hand. Then he said, “Let me.”
Thankful, Dylan watched the vice president move toward the window. But he couldn’t watch him finish the job, not on a child. Deep down, Dylan was thankful for the vice president and his actions.
Bald didn’t acknowledge the single shot. Instead, he looked up from under his cart and said, “Got it. Did you find the pipes?”
“Only four.” Dylan held them up for Bald to see.
“That’s gonna have to be enough.” Bald lifted them from Dylan’s hand and pushed them into position. “You two, load onto the cart in the back.”
Dylan watched over his shoulder as Bald unleashed the first cart. From the moment it crashed into the garage door, the attention of the infected who stood outside the window shifted to the front garage door. The one’s who were stacked against the side window, removed themselves and moved toward the noise.
Bald unleashed the second cart. Then the third. Dylan could hear the punches and yelps outside the garage door. The infected were searching for a way to break inside. Just after Bald unleashed the fourth, he sprinted for the cart Dylan and the vice president were waiting in.
From the driver’s seat, Bald reached for the choke, pulled it out, and jammed his foot on gas pedal. Before Dylan could ask if they needed to open the doors, the front end of the cart rammed against the double doors and they burst open into the day with the swarming infected just outside.
17
The doors flew open but rebounded. The left side hit an infected woman, and her strength forced the do
or backward, striking the driver’s side of the cart. But it didn’t slow Bald down.
Fifteen feet from the building, when the tires met gravel, Bald yanked the wheel to the left, knowing he had to reach pavement as fast as possible. The uneven terrain would allow the infected an advantage, but on a road—a straightaway—the cart could pull away from danger faster.
Just as Bald turned the wheel, an infected man cut off their advance. The infected man spread his arms wide and made his stance even wider, as if to say ‘come and get me.’ They couldn’t run him down, not in the openness of the golf cart. He could easily latch on and climb inside, or worse break through the plastic windshield with his head and start biting.
Without taking his foot off the gas, Bald turned to Dylan and said, “Drop him.”
Dylan lifted his Glock and took aim. He didn’t have the confidence to put him down with one shot, at least not while they were moving, but Bald didn’t slow. Apparently, he had confidence for them both.
Dylan gripped the polymer body—it felt like an old friend by now. Especially since he’d had to use it every day since this pandemic happened. He fired the first shot and as he looked up from his sight, he was surprised. He caught the infected in the middle of the head and dropped him.
“Nice shot, kid,” Bald said.
Bald kept his pace, and swerved around the dead man, and held his path.
“Uh, boys, we’ve got more company.” The vice president had seen the threat trailing from behind.
It appeared the shot had drawn the company of all the infected from the front of the outbuilding.
“Let them come. They’ll just be chasing their tails once we hit pavement in this beast. I can already tell she’s hell on wheels.”
“You think?” Dylan leaned forward with a grin, still elated about his shot.
“Damn right,” Bald said. “We’ll find your father in no time flat.”
Dylan sat back into his seat, finding comfort in Bald’s words, but just as he let his guard down, an infected leapt out the bushes.
“Holy shit!” Dylan leaned into the vice president and lifted his leg—basically sitting in the vice president’s lap.