by Ellis, Tara
There was a tense moment as Eddy simply stared at him, and shifted the backpack to his other shoulder. Then, he gave one small nod and walked past them and back down the driveway without responding.
“I have to say that I’m not brimming with confidence right now,” Peta said with a heavy sigh. “It’s hard enough when you can rely on the people with you to have your back, but if—”
“He’ll be okay,” Jason interrupted. When her face started to screw up in annoyance, he held a hand up to placate her. “I have faith that what’s left of his heart is in the right place. Or, maybe I should say his brain. Believe me, the guy’s got a massive brain. Look,” he added with a grimace, hoping he was coming across as sincere. “I know it isn’t fair after all you’ve been through, to ask you to have faith in me when we hardly know each other. But I know Eddy. And I think I understand how he’s processing things right now, which if you look at it objectively does make sense. His goal is to get us to the Libi Nati, where you’re both hoping to find some sort of missing link that’ll unlock a way to fight The Kuru. Logically, we’re talking about the potential of saving countless lives, so the term “any means necessary” takes on a rather heavy connotation.”
Peta mulled it over, watching Eddy as he reached the end of the gravel drive. She was hard to read most of the time, but Jason thought he saw what amounted to acceptance. “Okay,” she said simply. “Maybe you’re right, and I suppose it can’t hurt to have someone who’s always going to be unbiassed. Just…make sure he doesn’t come to the conclusion that any of us are holding him back.”
Jason flinched, frowning. He had to admit, it wasn’t something that had crossed his mind. It was deeply troubling that he couldn’t come up with a good argument against the possibility, based on what he’d just said. Shrugging it off, he gestured for Peta to follow him. “Just wait on the porch. I’ll be clearing the house, so I’ll need to know no one is entering behind me. You know how to use a gun?”
Rolling her eyes, Peta removed her Glock and after checking the chamber, held it at the ready to her side in a practiced and easy stance. “Why is it that everyone feels a need to ask me that?” When Jason chose the safer route of not answering the question, she smiled and shook her head. “Yeah, I know what I’m doing. Happy key hunting.”
The front door was unlocked, and as Jason pushed it open, his mind instantly emptied of any thought other than clearing the room. Holding his weapon in a high and ready position in the middle of his chest, he moved into a crouch and quickly surveyed the open, shadowy room.
It was an older structure that had been updated with modern features and comfortable furnishings. While Jason had expected something more rustic, he barely registered the thought as his eyes flitted over the furniture—and then the smell hit him. He immediately recognized the stink of death, and it caused his stance to widen as he shifted and turned to look at the rest of the space, in search of the source.
The foyer and front room were empty, but beyond an arched entry to what must have been a family room, Jason saw a pair of legs extended out on the footrest of a recliner. Gritting his teeth to steel himself, he opened his mouth to avoid breathing through his nose as he moved forward.
The power was out, but a large window in the room was open, allowing enough of the evening light in to reveal the depressing scene. A woman was sprawled out on a leather couch, and had been dead for at least a couple of days. The recliner was across from her, and the man slouched over to his right on it wasn’t dead, though Jason figured he wished he was.
He managed to turn his head toward Jason and licked his parched lips before speaking in a hoarse voice. “Estas aqui para sacarme de la miseria?”
Jason lowered the gun and moved to open the window. He imagined it wasn’t too bad in the house before the power and air conditioning went out. With the blessed fresh air wafting in, he was able to take a breath and answer. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Spanish.”
“Americano?”
“Yes,” Jason answered. “Do you speak English?”
Licking his lips again, the man coughed. “You…you are here to end my misery?”
Jason glanced at the gun he was still holding. Shaking his head, he put it away. “No. I’m not here to hurt you, sir. However, I do need your truck. You can see that I’m not sick. I’m a doctor, from America. I’ve brought some other doctors here with me to help find a way to stop this infection. The one that’s made you sick. I need your truck to help make that happen.”
“Enterrarla,” he moaned. “Bury her.”
Confused for a moment, Jason looked from the man to the dead woman. “You want me to bury her?”
Nodding, the man let out one garbled sob. “Si. Bury my wife near our home, and you can have whatever you want. The keys are in my coat pocket near the door. Please, don’t leave me to die watching her rot. She deserves better.”
Going to the kitchen, Jason filled a glass with water and went back to hold it to the man’s mouth. As he struggled to swallow it without choking, Jason looked again at the woman and thought about what it was he was trying to accomplish by being there. What it was he was trying to help save, in addition to reaching where he thought his daughter was. While he believed what he’d told Peta about Eddy, he still didn’t agree with the mentality, and the plea from the dying man only solidified it. There were limits. There had to be limits and ethical boundaries no matter what the stakes were, or else the reasons for living became blurred. He wouldn’t allow that to happen. Not to himself, anyway. He’d spent too many years trying to put the pieces of his soul back together to sacrifice it again.
Standing, he made up his mind. “I’ll be back to get her. She’ll be laid to rest with dignity.”
Once outside, Jason spent a few moments gulping the hot, humid air in a reflexive act to clear his lungs, though he knew it would be days before the smell dissipated. Peta was watching him anxiously, but hadn’t said anything. He held the keys up.
“Excellent,” she said, her face relaxing as she smiled.
Jumping off the porch, Jason headed for a small utility shed beyond the truck. The first few drops of rain pattered against his head before he reached it, and he found himself looking forward to the cleansing it would offer. As he pulled on the creaky wooden door, he realized Peta had followed him. Turning, he saw she was standing there watching him, looking confused. “We just have one small thing to do, first,” he said, before stepping inside.
When he came back out of the building with three shovels, Eddy had rejoined them and was standing with Peta by the truck. The rain hadn’t turned into a deluge yet, but the gathering clouds overhead promised a proper soaking. Eyeing the tools, Eddy raised an eyebrow. “Doing some gardening before we go to save the world?”
Not appreciating the odd timing of his attempt at a humorless joke, Jason stuck one of the shovels into the ground and leaned on it. “There’s a couple inside the house. The woman is dead, and the guy’s dying plea to me is to bury her. If we do that, he’s happy to let us take the truck. Plus, there’s a good supply of food and water in there that no one’s going to be using. We don’t know when we’ll have another opportunity to restock like this, and he probably won’t last more than another day, anyway.”
Eddy glanced up at the sky with a critical eye before looking skeptically at Jason. “We don’t have time for that. I see we already have the keys, so let’s take what we need and get back to Devon and the others. Before it gets dark, and it starts pouring.”
When Peta hesitated and it appeared to Jason that she might actually agree with Eddy, he could feel the rage and frustration over the past two weeks welling dangerously close to the surface. “Oh, I see!” Jason growled, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “You have a problem taking the truck without some sort of blessing, but you’re okay with leaving them like this?”
“I didn’t say that!” Peta retorted, taking a step back. “It’s just that Eddy’s right about the time, and I’m worried about leaving Tyler an
d Hernandez alone for so long. I didn’t say I wouldn’t help bury her, Jason.”
Jason was using every coping skill he had to get control of his anger. The brief flash of fear he’d seen on Peta’s face as she moved away from him was what broke through the red haze. Clearing his throat, he took one more breath, still tinged with the scent of rot, and then met her intense gaze. “Okay,” he said, nodding. Gently, he reached out and placed one of the shovels in her hand. “Thank you.”
“I still have to object.” Eddy was leaning against the truck, passively watching the exchange. “We don’t have time to waste on sentimental gestures.”
Turning to Eddy, Jason answered by tossing the last shovel onto the ground at his feet. “Then we better get started. It’ll go a lot faster if we all dig.”
Chapter 11
SCOTT
Southern Florida Everglades
Scott went through the practiced motions of tugging on his body armor as he walked down the tree-lined sidewalk outside his parents’ home. It was a nervous habit, and one he often did when speaking to reporting parties while on a call, or anytime he didn’t know what to do with his hands.
At forty, you’d think as a small-town cop of twenty years he’d have more confidence, but that was something that had eluded Scott all his life. From sports in high school, to job performance, and even women. It was likely the main reason he’d never married. When he finally found a woman he thought was the one, they’d been dating for all of four months before he buried her in his backyard, earlier that week.
Scott stopped, his fingers hooked around the vest straps, and looked up at the moss-lined branches of the massive Live Oak Trees. The street might have been pulled right off of a postcard for the famous Everglades of Southern Florida. The sort you see in the background of iconic films. He’d taken it all for granted, growing up, but now he was noticing a lot of things that he’d been blind to in the past.
It was early in the morning, and although the ash had cast a fairly thick blanket across the atmosphere, the sun was still strong enough to break through and create an eerie orange light. If it weren’t for the stink permeating the quaint neighborhood, it might have been a fascinating spectacle to experience. Especially when viewed while looking up through the Spanish Moss hanging over his head.
When his dad succumbed to The Kuru two days before, Scott had considered taking the time to move on to their closest neighbors and bury them, too. It would have made everything seem less…macabre. But after he’d scooped the last pile of dirt onto the fresh grave next to his mom’s tomato plants, he realized what a foolish idea it was. There were too many bodies. It would involve more than a week just to take care of the dead on their side of the street.
Plus, his mom fell ill later that same day. Scott attempted to take her to the local hospital. Unlike his father, she had been willing to go after watching how horribly he died. Unfortunately, the clinic had already turned into a morgue, so after having one of the few remaining nurses start an IV on his mom, he took her back home and did his best to tend to her himself.
It wouldn’t be enough. He knew that. He’d just hung the last bag of fluids after she fell into a coma sometime during the night. Based on the last report the police department got from both the state and federal level, she’d be in the ground next to her husband in another day at best. In fact, most of the population of the town of Modena, and all of the world, would soon follow.
It was The End Times.
Scott was okay with his parents going first. He was relieved to have spared them the pain of burying him. What he wasn’t okay with was being one of the Immune. When he failed to get sick, day-after-day, and he realized he’d be one of the few left to pick up the pieces, he didn’t rejoice.
Reaching down, his hand brushed over his sidearm—testing himself, and his decision to live and fulfill whatever role had been laid out for him. Whether he wanted it or not.
At some point, he’d started walking again without realizing it, and he’d come to the end the street. Blinking slowly, he moved his hand back to the vest strap and started to whistle as he crossed the empty street and continued on his way.
He’d left his cruiser back at his parents’ house. It was sitting on empty and had been since he left to take his mom to the hospital. Once the gas stations had stopped working, he’d been playing Russian-roulette with the fumes for the last few miles back to the house. Instead of further chancing it, he thought it best to walk the few blocks to the station, where he’d siphon what he needed from the other patrol cars.
He’d stop at Harold’s Market on the way and see if there were any gas cans left after first the panic buying, and then the looting from the week before. He hadn’t done much to try and stop it. There was no point in it, seeing as how most of them would end up dead, anyway.
As far as Scott could tell, there was one other officer left in the area, besides himself. They were part of a county system which employed over forty patrol officers. According to the statistics, he supposed he should count himself lucky that there was anyone else answering the radio. There might be others, further out, but the repeater he needed to transmit anything beyond the local area was probably down, along with all of the other power and electronics.
Scott knew he was a lost soul. A lost soul left to wander the streets alone and afraid. But there was still a part of him that had faith he could make something more from it. That with time, once The Kuru had run its course, those remaining could begin to unite. He saw that as the only option. So, he would go to the station and get the gas, and then he would patrol the city. His city, because that was the oath he’d taken, and what he’d always felt compelled to do, even as a child. He’d protect people, and maybe eventually bring some of them together and try to start over again.
Thwack!
Startled by the unexpected sound of a bullet striking the ground near his feet, Scott leapt backward. His thumbs got caught up in his vest and stumbling, he would have landed flat on his face if it weren’t for the car that broke his fall.
Slamming his hands against the hood of the old chevy, Scott spun around and dropped to a crouch, looking for the source of the gunfire. He was on the edge of the large parking lot that surrounded Harold’s Market. It was the only grocery store to service the mostly residential area of Modena, and he’d been going there to buy candy since he was old enough to walk.
Chastising himself for being too comfortable in his surroundings, Scott’s eyes dashed from one car to the next, failing to see any movement. Though there’d been unrest as things spiraled out of control, aside from brief skirmishes in the downtown area, there hadn’t been an abundance of violence. People were too busy dying.
“Hello!” he shouted, trying to sound commanding rather than afraid. “This is Scott Pollack, Modena County Sheriff’s Office! Stop shooting!”
Tink!
Another bullet ricocheted off the car door near his head, forcing Scott to his stomach. Crawling, he made it around to the other side of the vehicle as a third bullet exploded the windshield. The shooter either didn’t intend to hit him, or had very poor aim.
“Stop!” Scott yelled, while drawing his own weapon. He’d been able to determine that the shots were coming from above, so he cautiously poked his head up far enough to see through the driver’s side window.
Movement. On the roof right above the H in Harold.
It was much too far to be a clear shot for his .45 Glock, but Scott took aim anyway, and managed to hit the bottom of the large, plastic H. It had the desired effect, and the other man dropped down out of sight.
“Hold your fire!” Scott yelled. “Why the hell are you shooting at me?”
There was a pregnant pause before the shooter shouted back. “Stay away!” He sounded hysterical, or out of his mind. Probably both.
“I’m not sick!” Scott tried again. Moving to the end of the car, he risked peeking out from around the bumper. That was when he saw the other bodies. He had probably noticed one or two
of them before, and had assumed they were like some of the others he’d seen around town, people left where they fell. Once they’d reached the tipping point in the spread of the infection, it all came down to a simple matter of logistics. There were more bodies than healthy people, and not enough of them left to do anything about it.
Except the bodies Scott was looking at hadn’t died from The Kuru. They’d been shot. Three of them, sprawled in various positions around the parking lot. The parking lot he’d learned how to ride a bike in, broke his first bone being pulled behind a truck on skates, and where he’d issued his first driving citation. It felt like a personal attack on the sum of his simple life, and Scott struggled to make sense of it.
“We’re not zombies, you freaking idiot!” he screamed back, closing in on hysteria himself. “I want a gas can, not your empty brain!”
“I said to stay back!” the guy shouted again. “This store is mine, now. I won’t get The Kuru. Stay away!”
“I told you, I’m not sick!” Scott yelled with less enthusiasm as he frowned, thinking about the voice. He thought he recognized it. Peeking out again, he saw the guy had stood back up and as he turned, Scott confirmed his suspicion when he saw the very prominent beer belly. “Mr. Sutherland? Tony Sutherland, is that you?”
Tony Sutherland was a local real estate guru who sat on the Modena city council. He was known for being loud, demanding, and also a drunk every weekend down at The Glades Bar and Grill. Scott struggled to remember something more personal about the guy, but with more than ten years between them and some obvious personality conflicts, they’d never spoken outside of city hall.
“It’s Deputy Pollack! You remember me, don’t you Mr. Sutherland? My father was on the council a few years before you got elected.”
Silence. Scott considered that progress. He thought about crawling away and simply keeping a wide berth around the store for a while. Then he looked at the other bodies, and an uncharacteristic anger burned hot in his gut. It would be reasonable to expect any survivors from that part of town to eventually make their way to the store in search of non-perishable food and other supplies. The county had a population of close to thirty thousand. If he broke the demographics down, he might expect to find several dozen people in this area.