Apocalypsis Immortuos | Book 1 | Syndrome

by de Hoogh, Marco

  Garcia was slurring his words badly. He sounded very drunk, but Emily doubted that it had anything to do with alcohol. Garcia continued after a short pause.

  “Ah where was I. It’s getting harder to concentrate. Oh yeah, what’s left of us. Man, we don’t even have enough healthy guys to shoot the sick guys anymore. ... Oh yeah, the mission. We lost a bunch of guys in today’s battle. There were probably only about a hundred of us left. Some of those went off on their own, and the rest of us had ourselves a last meal.”

  “I’m so sorry, Garcia. Is there anything we can do? Over.”

  Garcia seemed to recover a bit. The slur dropped from his voice as he continued.

  “Naw, we’re good. You guys stay where you’re at. I got no idea how none of you guys are infected, but just about everybody else is! We’ve accounted for ourselves though! I heard that we destroyed millions of them in Operation Liberation!” He said with pride. Although Emily thought that she detected sarcasm as well. Garcia continued after a moment. “But we’re still outnumbered, badly! ... Anyway. No. You guys stay locked up in that school for as long as you can! Stay safe.”

  “Ok Garcia. You stay safe, too.” Emily had foregone proper protocol as well. It didn’t matter.

  “And Emily...”

  “Yes Garcia?”

  “Heh. Call me Esteban.” Emily smiled a soft, sad smile.

  “Ok, Esteban.”

  “You did good, girl. It was an honor serving with you. Oh! And let Moyers know. It wasn’t his fault. I was right beside him when it happened. It wasn’t his fault!”

  Several sets of eyes turned to Bill, who had turned very pale. He nodded at Emily. “Ok Esteban. He knows.”

  “Ok, good. ... Hey, I think it’s time for me to go, Emily.”

  Emily’s eyes welled up. “Are you sure, Esteban?”

  “Yeah. ... Sorry Emily. Sorry we couldn’t do more ... Goodbye amiga. Farewell. Adios!”

  “Farewell Esteban.” But there was no reply.

  The room was silent as Emily placed the mic back in its holder and turned around.

  “I guess we can’t depend on the army no more.” Rachel stated. Something in her casual way of saying this rubbed Emily the wrong way.

  Emily shot out of her chair with a growl and in three short bounds was at Rachel’s throat. If it weren’t for John and Ethan’s quick reactions, she would have landed a blow on the taller woman.

  “Those are my mates you’re talking about, you tosser!”

  Rachel was shocked by the vehemence of the English woman’s reaction and had taken a step back. She gathered herself quickly enough though.

  “You bitch!” With a wild lunge, she swung at Emily’s head. She missed. “Who do you think you are! Ain’t nobody talk to me like that!” Rachel pushed John, trying to get to the smaller woman.

  “Oh, piss off, you Toff!” Emily’s eyes flashed with anger, and she lunged at Rachel again.

  “Ladies! LADIES!” John yelled. He was getting hit from both sides in his attempt to break up the fight. Several others stepped in and pulled the two women away from each other.

  Joe had stepped into the altercation and, together with the help of Ethan, he had managed to pull Rachel away. Rachel shook them off viciously and marched to the door. “Y’all keep that crazy bitch away from me!” She said over her shoulder as she stomped off, her family in tow.

  Rachel’s departure took the fight out of Emily. She was being held back by Bill and John. “It’s ok. I’m ok.” She said, pushing their hands away. She turned around and sat back down at the radio. “I’m sorry...” She muttered under her breath.

  “Hey folks, I don’t know about you, but that’s about enough excitement for me. Let’s turn in and try to get some sleep.” John suggested. “See you all at breakfast.”

  People disbanded and went their way, casting uncertain glances at each other. Emily stayed where she was, her eyes on the radio. She subconsciously wrung her hands.

  Bill had stayed behind. He walked over and put his good hand on her shoulder. Emily cast a quick glance towards her shoulder and the hand upon it. She reached around and tapped the hand. Then dropped her hand and stared straight forward again. The two stayed like that for a full minute, remembering their comrades.

  Chapter Forty-two

  Garcia

  October 31, 9:50 P.M.

  “Adios!”

  A spasm of pain racked his body, and he dropped the handset to the floor. His gut and chest still hurt but the pain had now also crept to his neck and head, where it seemed to intensify. Garcia could picture the nanobots making their way up his neck and towards his brain.

  Ah what the fuck!

  He sat for several long moments, holding his head in his hands. Slowly, gradually, the pain faded. Maybe I’m just getting used to the pain. Or maybe those fucking things inside of me are severing nerves and shit!

  With one last deep breath in and sigh out, Garcia got up. He walked to the doorway of the communications tent. It was just another DRASH tent but slightly roomier.

  No need for all that room. I’m the only guy here.

  Garcia heard a bunch of noises outside of the tent. The noises of soldiers moving around, the sound of moans... Somebody was crying for his mother. The sound of the occasional gunshot. And the occasional scream.

  The camp was falling apart fast.

  Good thing I got those guys squared away. Those guys... Who the fuck? Ah never mind. They got away in a couple of Humvees. Or was it just the one? But they got plenty of extra gear.

  Garcia blinked, and had a moment of clarity.

  Oh yeah, Willemtown!

  He rushed back to the radio and found the right channel.

  Ah, shit. I forgot the callsign!

  Garcia felt another slow wave of nausea and pain building up.

  Oh no! ohnoohnoohno not now!

  He squeezed his eyes shut and spoke.

  “Mike come in – this is Esteban, uh Garcia. Over.”

  “Garcia, I read you clear. Over”

  “Uh–” He quickly grabbed the piece of paper with the Willemtown location.

  “Yeah, Mike. I got a call from a friend. Emily. ... Emily Hill. Uh never mind that – she had radio contact with some civilians that need help.”

  A spasm of pain.

  “Uh.” Garcia dropped the paper. He grimaced in pain. “FUCK YOU!” Garcia screamed in frustration.

  Just gimme a minute more. Please!

  He regained control and snagged the paper from the floor. He pushed the transmit button again. “Stand by for the location.” Garcia read out the note. He repeated the location once more.

  “Ok Garcia, we got it and will head over there.”

  But Garcia had dropped the handset. The SINCGARS unit already forgotten as Garcia stumbled towards a table near the tent entrance.

  He didn’t remember why that table was important. He just knew he had to get there. He stumbled up to it and bumped into it. Something slid on the table, almost to the back edge.

  I need that. Grab it.

  He clumsily reached for the object. Inadvertently pushing it further away from him. He pawed at the object but could not get a good grip.

  Behind him, the tent door opened up.

  “It’s ok soldier. I got you.”

  Garcia turned around in a daze. It took him a second to focus on the person in front of him. His expression turned to confusion when he recognized the man.

  The person raised his pistol and pulled the trigger.

  Garcia fell lifeless to the floor. Folding into himself as he sunk down to the ground. It almost looked graceful.

  “Rest in peace, soldier.” The man grabbed Garcia’s sidearm from the table.

  The man then turned on his heel and stepped back out of the tent. Another soldier walked up to him and saluted sharply.

  “Sir, we are in the final stages of mopping up. We are proceeding as humanely as possible as per your explicit orders.” The man nodded. His expression didn’t cha
nge, but deep down inside he struggled with it.

  Shooting our own men. What have we come to...?

  It was almost as if the soldier read his mind. “This was bad, sir.”

  This was bad, alright... “We used to have a word for that; TARFU.” The man responded; his voice more gravelly than usual.

  “Huh that’s a new one. What does it mean, sir?”

  “Not a new one, son. An old one. It stands for ‘Totally and Royally Fucked Up’. I’d say it applies here.”

  “Tarfu... The soldier let the word roll around his mouth. “I like it.” He decided.

  The officer was so stuck in his own thoughts that he didn’t hear the next thing. The soldier stopped speaking, until his leader faced him.

  “Lieutenant Colonel?”

  “I’m fine, son. ... But please address me properly.”

  “Sorry sir. Captain. I was saying that we should be able to roll out of here within thirty minutes.”

  “Good.” Captain Shaw, fifth level of the Rosae Crucis Order was all business again.

  “It’s almost time for contact. I will be in here. Come get me when we are ready to leave.”

  Shaw turned and entered the communications tent once more. He ignored Garcia’s corpse and headed straight for the SINCGARS unit.

  Chapter Forty-three

  Claire

  November 1, 1:30 AM

  She felt as if she were floating just off the ground. She felt ... detached from her own body.

  She could see her hands in front of her, holding on to that baseball bat. Beyond the bat she could see figures squirming on the ground. Slowly, her focus shifted to the figures. It was hard to make out individuals, with all the flailing limbs. There were maybe three of them. They were attacking something underneath them, but she couldn’t see what or who it was. She heard somebody scream. It sounded muffled, like it was underwater – or maybe she was the one under water.

  Her vision suddenly sharpened, just as the flailing arms and struggling bodies. The gap between the body parts showed her a face underneath. It was her son.

  Oh no... Dale! My baby boy...

  Their eyes met. Claire could see his face clearly but everything else looked distorted, like her view was pinched. The smashing fists, the scratching nails, the faces darting in, to bite. It all looked smudged. Dale’s face, however, appeared clear and in focus.

  He smiled. He opened his mouth and said “It’s ok. I love you.” Then he opened his mouth to say something else, but only blood poured out. His eyes grew wide, then dim, as she witnessed the death of her son.

  Her focus shifted back to the bat in her hands. She screamed her outrage and swung the bat.

  Claire awoke in darkness. Somebody was holding her by her upper arms and shaking her.

  “Claire! Claire! Wake up!” Claire opened her mouth and gasped. “Claire! It’s me – Shelley!”

  With a shudder, Claire released her breath. Shelley held Claire’s arms, as the older woman became aware of her surroundings. It was still dark out, but Claire could make out the details of their shared classroom. Shelley released Claire’s arms and sat down on the edge of Claire’s cot.

  “I think you were having a nightmare. Are you ok?”

  Claire tried to nod, but anguish was written on her face. She started to cry. Shelley held Claire’s hand as the older woman cried.

  “I watched my ... my son! ... d–die!” she said between heartbroken sobs. Shelley just held her hand, as the older woman wept. After a few minutes, Claire got control of herself.

  “S–sorry.”

  Shelley squeezed Claire’s hand. “Hey. You don’t have to apologise.” She met the older woman’s eyes and smiled sadly. “Are you better, now?”

  Claire responded with a hesitant smile. “Yes. Thank you.”

  Shelley nodded. “All right. ... Let’s get back to sleep, ok?”

  “Ok.”

  Shelley returned to her bed, casting one last concerned glance at the older woman.

  Surprisingly, both women fell asleep within minutes.

  Chapter Forty-four

  Romy

  November 1, 7:20 AM

  She crept up the rickety stairs, careful not to make noise. It had been quiet. They were very grateful for that. She reached the closed trap door, mostly by feel. She could barely see what she was doing in the dark.

  She placed her hands on the trap door and prepared to push up on the hatch. She listened carefully one last time. Nothing.

  The hatch moved up. One inch. Two. Light streamed into the gap. She could peak out now. The hallway floor was dusty, and there were some items lying around. A stack of boxes. A broken plate. A couple of water bottles.

  But no feet. Thankfully, no feet.

  She continued to push. She felt a touch on her leg and almost yelped. She looked down and saw the anxious face of another woman staring up at her. She used her free hand to give a small thumbs up signal. The other woman nodded, relief palpable on her face.

  She continued to push until the latch caught. The small ‘click’ it made sounded deafening in the silence. The woman froze for a long moment.

  There.

  She heard movement outside. She had to stay super quiet now. Or it would start all over again.

  Last night they made too much noise, and the dead beat on the sides of the house. They had huddled in fear as they heard glass smashing. Their eyes grew wider as they heard the distinctive dull hammering sounds of fists beating on the door up there. They hoped that it would hold.

  Thank god for that poor soul, who chose that moment to drive past the house. It distracted the zombies. The assault on the house ended. But now she knew that they had not gone far.

  They contemplated getting back on the radio to put out a distress signal. But they didn’t. They waited down in that basement. Through the long night.

  Nobody slept. People were in a daze by the time the first rays of the sun cast a pale light though that tiny, dirty covered window. Just enough light to drive away some fear.

  ‘Maybe they’re gone.’ They whispered to each other.

  ‘We need to check. We need water. Who’s going to go?’ And then the excuses came.

  So here she was.

  Several minutes later and halfway out of the trap door. Knowing already, that the zombies were still there.

  Fuck.

  She could feel Michelle’s hand on her ankle. A gesture and a question at the same time.

  Yes, the noises have stopped. I know! Then why can’t I move? Come on girl, you’re better than this. She told herself.

  Romy started moving again. She crept out onto her hands and knees, and slowly crept forward. The door to her right was closed. The door to her left was open, but only partially. Slowly, ever so slowly, Romy crept forward to peek past the door. A bedroom. Messy. Clothes everywhere, and an unmade bed. The hunting trophy hanging from the wall, and the old-fashioned crossbow hanging beside it were a clear indication of the resident.

  Single dude. Red neck.

  Romy could see nothing through the window except for treetops and a mostly clear sky. She crawled further down the hall. There was another door on her left. This one was only open a couple of inches. A peek reminded Romy that this was the bathroom. Only one small high-set window, still intact. Up ahead, a narrow door on the right, which would be the linen closet.

  No need to check in there.

  Unless zombies started playing hide and seek. As ludicrous as it sounded in Romy’s own mind, she felt a cold thrill wash over her body at the image of opening the door to find a zombie there.

  Keep moving, girl.

  The end of the hallway loomed.

  Romy knew what was out there. She knew that a space opened up to her left into the living room. The wall on her right continued further, ending in the doorway to the kitchen. Beyond that and along the opposite wall was the front door.

  She knew these things. What she did not know, was if there were zombies pressed up against the windows, zom
bies at the door – or if that door even still stood.

  She crept forward, agonizingly slow. Then she was at the corner of the wall. She breathed a small sigh when she saw that the front door was still intact and shut.

  She hesitated at the corner though. She knew that there was a large bay window at the back of the living room. She felt the cool wind on her skin, and heard it gust outside.

  So, the window is busted. Great.

  Romy hesitated. Would she stick her head around the corner to see zombies standing inside the living room? She could feel a cramp slowly developing in her calf.

  Dehydration, her analytical mind told her. A full water bottle lay on its side, agonizingly close but out of immediate reach. She looked up from the bottle and saw a clock hanging on the opposite wall. It was about 7:25 AM. She felt her sidearm – a sharp pressure digging into her right butt cheek.

  Enough lollygagging, Romy Stewart. Go. Now.

  She stuck her head around the corner. For a second her eyes grew wide, as there was movement towards her. Then she realized that it was the curtains, catching the wind. She took a halting breath and tried to calm herself.

  Romy looked around the living room and it all looked the same as when they first arrived, except for the busted-out window.

  She sat back, but not before snatching the water bottle. She opened the bottle and tried not to gulp the contents, as her mind drifted back.

  Chapter forty-five

  Willemtown was a typical small town. It was surrounded by farms on all sides, with a highway running through its northern edge. The tallest buildings were the grain silos adjacent to the railway that neatly dissected the town.

  Approximately two thousand souls called Willemtown home. Over half of these folks worked out in the farms or had something to do with agriculture. The town boasted a typical yet charming main street. This broad road offered angle parking and a few quaint shops along with the hardware store, grocery store, family restaurant slash bar, and bank.