“I was doing C-SPAN,” she answered, hating the word. “I almost died of boredom.”
“If anything can kill you from boredom,” the general observed. “It’s reporting on senators and congressmen. How did you get to Sixty Minutes?”
“They called me.” Molly still had a hard time believing what had happened. “When all this happened, people suddenly wanted real, hard news. I was good at that.”
“Yes, news reporters have had a hard time putting their opinions away and sticking to the facts.” The general seemed to recalling an era of history long since passed. “I must say it has been quite a change.”
“When the wolves are at the door,” Molly laid it out, “You don’t have a lot of time to keep up with the Kardashians.”
“Indeed.” He nodded. The news was the news now. Embellishment was a luxury none could afford.
They pulled into a gravel road that was already the hub of a great deal of activity. Bradleys, heavy trucks and Humvees were parked close to another. The general returned a dozen salutes as his command vehicle found its way to a clearing. Molly poked her head out of the window and saw two helicopter gunships roar overhead.
They’re making a show out of this one, she surmised.
In front of them, a large corn field stretched out for hundreds of yards with tall yellow stalks glistening from water droplets in the fog. To their right and left in a wide horseshoe around their position lay the thick Virginia forest.
“Hold your fire,” An officer wearing a radio headset shouted. “Friendly’s are coming through!!”
Cornstalks began to sway as they marked the passing of bodies at great speed. Out of the cornfield men, woman and children ran with militia leading them on. They were of various ages and colors dressed in normal jeans and work clothes. An armband with the West Virginia flag was the militia’s only uniform. They helped carry children and crops to safety. The last few dashed out of the cornfield and made their way to the firing line. Others led the workers to safety farther to the rear.
“Any more?” An officer asked.
“No, sir,” a potbellied militia man reported professionally. “We was the last. They should be along in a minute or two. They’re about a hundred, maybe two hundred yards behind.”
“Very well,” The officer saluted. “Good job.”
The man nodded and walked to the rear while soldiers brought up heavy machine guns and belts of ammunition. The officer was now scanning the cornfield while his men fanned out along the acreage. The fog, trees and corn stalks seemed to pause and wait for each other to make the next move. An interval in time, a quiet moment before…
“There, sir.” A sergeant pointed into the field. Just over a rise, cornstalks were suddenly dancing to a rhythm all their own. It seemed to be contagious for the next stalks in front would take up the dance as well, swaying backward and forward in the windless fog.
Molly found a rise of earth that would give her a better view of the upcoming battle, a field of corn that had suddenly taken on a life of its own. At the end of the corn field was a field fifty yards long of road, gravel and scrub brush. Potential farmland not yet cleared. It was a perfect set up for a kill zone.
There were no individual lines in the cornstalks to mark the passing of a few. The field was alive as it pressed on in their direction. She saw more than one hand tighten on their rifle. How many? How many are coming? Jesus, it looks like a lot of them.
“We’re going to do this by the book everyone,” the officer shouted. “You will not, repeat will not open fire until I give the word!”
He looked up to where Molly was and nodded. Then she realized that the general was standing right behind her and was nodding back.
“Assume firing positions!” the officer shouted and the dancing cornstalks got closer. “You know where to aim, you know what to do.” The officer stepped behind the firing line and turned toward the cornstalks.
“Attention!” He shouted out. “Identify yourself! I repeat! Identify yourself immediately!”
They could hear the noises now. The growling and hissing they knew all too well. Glimpses through the living veil of the cornstalks betrayed a figure here and there, laboriously plowing through the endless foliage. The question hung in the air. How many?
Molly tapped record as the last of the cornstalks came down to reveal the first of them, a cross-section of any neighborhood in the country. A man with a balding head and a wife beater barely covering his expanding belly and receding chest, his left arm ended in bloody tatters at the elbow.
A woman of sixty wearing short yellow pants and a multicolored top that barely covered her sagging breasts; most of her face had been eaten away below the eyes. An attractive teenage girl with two black bullet holes on her pink blouse and a blood-caked mouth indicating she had fed on someone.
“Fire!”
It was like a sudden typhoon of steel. The teenage girl’s head jerked twice from impact and she fell like a broken piñata. The man in the wife beater was hit so many times it was hard to guess which shot was the fatal one. The woman in the yellow shorts was hit first in the legs. She crumpled forward on to the rocky ground. As she rose, she howled in rage a split second before a high caliber bullet smacked into her brain; the explosion out the back of her head caused the rest of her skull to collapse like a house of cards with fragments and fluid darkening the earth,
Others stumbled out of the field and into the slaughter. An Asian man in a kitchen outfit was pockmarked with bullet holes on his white uniform before the left part of his skull disappeared on impact. The brain and other fluid poured from the massive wound as his body dropped to the ground.
The general moved forward to check on the flow of ammunition and Molly slipped slowly away from the carnage. She followed a dirt road and some instinct. Always walk like you know where you’re going, she thought. You can get away with anything.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” a voice called out to her left.
“Yes,” she replied confidently as if in a hurry.
“Are you lost?” It was a patrol man taking a break from directing traffic. He pointed where she had been. “The battle is that way.”
“I wanted to take a minute and interview the militia,” she said with a smile. “I think their story needs to be told.”
“Yes ma’am, it does.” He agreed with a half-smile. “They’re just over there with the farm workers.”
“Perfect, thanks,” she replied and headed off to the workers.
They were on the edge of the forest, sipping soft drinks, water and coffee. A few militia kept watch through the trees but seemed more bored than anything. The fog had picked up in the tidy little man-made bowl of trees, bushes and sandy earth.
A very thin man with hair pasted to his face walked by sipping a cola. He wore a white t-shirt that was so old the lettering had faded into obscurity. He had dirty jeans and faded work boots. He had clearly taken sunburn the previous day.
“Hey,” she said as he passed by.
He stopped and regarded her for a moment and then replied, “Hey.”
“I’m from the TV,” she explained.
“I ain’t got no TV,” he said in an accent that was hard to nail down and started to walk away.
“No,” Molly persisted. “I just want to ask you a question or two.”
“Sure,” he shrugged and took another sip of his drink.
“Did you sign a contract to be here?” she asked.
“Yeah, I signed something,” He nodded, his eyes suddenly aware and concentrating on the conversation.
“Was it a contract?” She was recording now.
“I think so.” He looked at the earth sheepishly.
“For how long?”
“Awhile, I guess.” He shrugged his shoulders, a clear sign of disinterest.
“Okay, thanks.” Molly didn’t want to waste any more time here. She turned to a
Vietnamese man who was walking by. “Excuse me?”
“Yes.” She was
surprised how good his English was.
“Did you sign a contract to be here?” She asked the question again.
“Yes,” the answer was tight-lipped.
“For how long,” She thumbed the record button as unobtrusively as she could. “Two years?”
He just stared at her. Not sure how to answer or whether to reply. Caught between the chasm of the truth and what would happen to him if he spoke it. His eyes were wide, frozen.
“Three years?”
“Excuse me, missy,” a gruff voice from behind her asked loudly. “Are you supposed to be here?”
“Five years?” Molly persisted.
He was turning away from her with his face frozen. But before he did, he looked very carefully into her eyes and slowly shook his head.
“How much longer?” Molly ignored the gruff man’s urgings
The Vietnamese man lowered his eyes and turned to move away, but his face answered the question, longer, much longer.
The voice from the gruff man faded from her focus as Molly watched the first worker she had spoken to finish his soft drink and start to walk away. He bumped into a man who was walking in his direction. The first thing Molly noticed was how much taller the man he ran into was. The second thing she noticed was the grey skin color.
The taller man’s hands snaked about his victim’s body and the teeth were there in an instant. A cry of pain turned into a long, loud wail as the taller man retracted his mouth and started to chew violently. There were pieces of skin and droplets of blood splashing away from his teeth.
“Jesus Christ!” The gruff voice cried out behind her and a cannon shot close to Molly’s ear sounded as the man’s shotgun discharged. It missed completely, striking a young woman with long dark hair in a ponytail who was staring at the scene. Her body suddenly pitched backward on impact, writhing and screaming on the ground from a wound to her stomach. She didn’t notice the shadows of the dead close in on her. Three cold, dead figures descended on her screaming form. Her cries suddenly went falsetto before abruptly ending.
Gunfire and screams suddenly sounded muffled and were barely audible over a high-pitched ringing in Molly’s ears. She could feel something moving behind her and whirled around to block two dead hands from a man of incredible age. He had a housecoat draped around his sagging shoulders. The few teeth that were left protruded from his mouth like a snake preparing to bite. She instinctively threw a hard punch at his face that caused the old man to lose his balance and fall into tall grass. Molly turned to run and bounced off the chest of the gruff man with the shotgun. His face was pale, tears running down his eyes as he whimpered, staring at the bite mark on his forearm. The body of a blue-jeaned man in construction boots lay on the grass beside him.
He looked at Molly and his eyes grew wide with rage. He screamed in her face and snapped two more shells into his Remington shotgun. A burly hand lashed out and pushed her aside, knocking Molly to the ground. She rolled and stood up and watched him stride quickly over to two hostiles.
“Come and get it!” He screamed and fired point-blank into one of the faces. It disappeared in a roar as bloody rain and hail fell on those behind.
“C’mon, you want some!!?” The heavy wooden stock made contact with another thing’s jaw. It spun completely around and landed on the ground. The big man used the rifle-butt to pound the head to pieces. The wooden stock began changing color with every blow.
Other dead figures moved toward the man with the booming voice. He cocked the shotgun and fired two quick blasts that decapitated two more at close range. The big man used the stock of the barrel as a club and brought the butt down on the head of a teenage boy with saggy pants. The head split perfectly in two like cord wood being hit by an axe.
Other gunshots could be heard as Molly turned to survey the scene around her. The dead old man grabbed at her again and she grabbed his arm hard, looking to spin his body around and throw his frail form into the grass. The arm snapped and hung at a crazy angle before coming off completely in her hands. She dropped the cold appendage and screamed. Just as the old man’s teeth snapped at her face, she instinctively turned away and the teeth buried themselves in
her thick, black hair. Her hand shot up defensively and caught the dead man by the throat pushing him away hard. He tumbled again into the grass. The housecoat tangled itself around his feet as he tried to stand up. The old man propped himself up on his good arm before his head snapped back as a silver dollar-sized hole appeared just above his left eye. The frail, almost naked figure fell back into the black fluid that had leaked out of the exit wound in the back of his skull.
“Are you alright, ma’am?” It was a big state trooper with his pistol drawn as he touched her on the arm. She froze and nodded shakily. Her left hand instinctively checked her scalp for bite marks, a clump of black hair that was missing from the crown of her head. She picked up her camera and knelt down before her legs went to jello. She grabbed hold of the trooper’s leg and refused to let go, he tried to talk to her and get her to release him but she kept shaking her head and crying. Finally, the officer knelt down beside her and put his arm around her shoulder.
“You’re okay, ma’am,” he whispered. “It’s all over.”
“It’s…it’s never going to be over,” she sobbed.
Gunfire was quickly being replaced by loud sobs, cries of anguish and horror. There were so many that they all seemed rise and fall as one for a moment before moving off on their own rhythm. The ringing in Molly’s ears was the last thing she was noticing but it was dying down. She was offered water and sipped it before splashing some on her face. The cold jolt seemed to push away the frigid realms of shock. The world began to slowly come back into focus.
“Are you okay now?” She finally saw the face of the state trooper. He was a large Native American man with concern in his eyes and a square jaw.
Molly nodded jerkily. The officer seemed to pause for a minute before moving on. She noticed he didn’t stray too far away. No matter what he was doing the trooper always took a moment to glance back to where she was sitting. Molly watched a man who had been bitten sob uncontrollably and hold his children close. The mother watched with her hand to her mouth and tears streaming down her weathered face. She then nodded to a soldier. The children left the father’s side and he lay down on the grass. He crossed himself with his fingers before the militia man fired a single shot to his head.
“….thought you said this was safe!” The voice was Beauregard. He was walking about twenty feet to her left with the subject of his wrath, the commander, following. The general’s voice became louder. “Dammit man, you said it was safe.”
“Sir, they must have doubled back on us in the forest and come out here…” The officer was trying to explain.
“Sir, this is not a conventional war with conventional armies.” Beauregard had turned to face the man and cut him off. “They come at you from all sides, sir. How many times do I have to explain that?” The general’s eyes were wide and angry as he stared unblinking at the officer.
“Do you have your sidearm, sir?” The man seemed stunned and couldn’t reply. “Dammit man, you will answer your commanding officer!!”
“Yes sir…”
“There are people here who have been infected.” The general leaned closer, his voice hissed. “You will take your sidearm and look each one of them in the eyes and apologize.” The general’s face was ten inches away from the man. “Then, you will perform their coup de grace.”
“Yes sir.” The man swallowed hard.
“Every single one of them, you understand?” The general hissed, the man’s ashen face nodded slowly, “Dismissed.”
The officer saluted and moved off to perform his grim duty. He started with the big gruff man with the shotgun. The large man stood in front of a tree and saluted the officer who returned it along with others who were gathered around.
“It has been a pleasure to serve with you, sir,” the gruff man said through tears.
“The pleasure has been all mine, Tom.” The officer’s voice cracked and then he pulled the trigger.
“OH! GOD!!!!” Someone cried out as Tom’s large body fell. “What the hell are you doin’ here?” The voice was harsh. It was Beauregard. He was standing six feet away on Molly’s left, addressing her.
“I was interviewing people, doing my job,” Molly replied after a minute. It struck her how much her voice was shaking “I was talking to some workers. That’s quite a contract you have, General.” She couldn’t understand why she was so angry. Maybe it was shock. Maybe it was something else. “I thought slavery was dead.”
She watched his eyes widen, his mouth open in combined shock and rage. He took two steps forward and bent down on one knee in front of her. His face had grown purple with rage.
“You will not say that word to me. You will never, ever, ever, ever say that word to me, Goddammit!!” He screamed into her face with all the volume his lungs could muster and more. Bits of spittle flecked her skin.
He then stood up abruptly and stormed away. The general’s boots could be heard walking through the grass in the shocked silence that followed. Molly felt the eyes of many on her. When she looked up, many around her glanced away. Some did not, their eyes wide with disbelief.
The general drove away in a rage, leaving Molly without a ride back. She was tracked down by an aid to the general who had set up a ride back to Huntington in a patrol car. It was not the same trooper, Molly thought sadly. She wanted to thank him for his bravery and kindness. As the police car drove on through the gathering darkness, the trooper, a large man with a brush-cut stayed silent. Clearly, he was working through the events of the day just like she was. Molly clutched her camera and felt around inside her soul for a shred of the confidence she used to feel. Just that morning, she had been in control, doing what she had always done. Seize the initiative and never relent. Now, she felt like a child, just wanting to crawl under the covers and cry herself to sleep.
Her safety seemed at risk. When she got back to the hotel room, she checked every room twice for anything that might seem out of the ordinary. Molly drew the shades on the window, not even looking into the night for fear of what she might see. She thought about it, and then took a love seat and pushed it against the door. Even after that, she felt no safer, just vulnerable. She poured a stiff bourbon shot and listened to her hyperventilating breath. This is what happens when nightmares are real. She took a sip and inhaled slowly, control was just out of reach.
5 Years After Page 22