Stranded Series (Book 5): Into The Gulf

by Gray, W. S.

  “He says we need to get about a quarter-mile down. It was as close as the bird could get,” Harry said. “I guess it took so long because lots of the survivors are trying to break down the perimeter at the base,” he added.

  “A quarter-mile…” Trey said, turning to look toward the two younger girls in their party. He worried about their ability to sustain another forced march. Especially when confronted by the present circumstances. “That’s a,”

  “We don’t have a choice,” Harry said abruptly, interrupting his son. “So, just shut it, okay?” he said. “I’m sorry… but it’s true. We have to do what we have to do,” he said.

  Trey gulped. He looked down at the ground. He felt tired. Exhausted was the better word, really. Nonetheless, he realized the veracity of the man’s statement. They did need to carry on. Regardless of how hard it might seem.

  He watched as Harry and Maxime huddled together, their heads mere inches apart, talking animatedly in French. Trey experienced a sense of vague unease at his inability to understand what was going on. Having his ability to communicate neutered made him feel out of control. And if he’d learned anything since their descent into Hell, it was that the lack of control was a very bad thing, indeed.

  Seeing his dad straighten up, Trey tensed. He waited for direction. Part of him enjoyed no longer having to shoulder the immense burdens of leading their small cadre through the unknown terrains they’d found themselves so violently catapulted into. But, on the other hand, it rankled him. It caused him both to feel both concern and a certain level of paranoia. For Trey understood that he needed to be in command. The alternative involved trusting the life of his daughter in the hands of someone else.

  Nonetheless, Trey listened when his father spoke.

  He didn’t have much choice.

  “Okay, so, what we’re going to do is… Yeah, so, Maxime there is going to stay in the back. He wants me in the front, with you behind, then Melody, Marshall, and the Bishop,” Harry said. “Any objections?” he asked.

  Trey couldn’t think of anything. He shook his head.

  “Alright, then. Let’s saddle up,” Harry said. He whistled for everyone’s attention. “Melody, follow behind your husband. Bishop, behind Marshall. Girls, GIRLS, stay between the Bishop and Maxime,” he said, his voice loud enough so that everyone could hear them. He clapped his hands and then turned. “Form up!” he said.

  And after waiting a few seconds, Harry began proceeding cautiously down the alley, his rifle raised. He didn’t pause to make sure everyone had followed orders, much less obeyed them correctly.

  Watching his father as he moved along, Trey experienced a pang of confusion. He’d grown considerably closer to his dad since the whole zombie apocalypse thing had started. Much more so than he had even after the tragic events that had conspired to humble and humanize the man behind the myth. Nonetheless, seeing him at the vanguard of their line, rigid and alert, moving with the utmost precision and efficiency, everything he did seemingly calculated down to the T to maximize lethality, Trey couldn’t help but wonder if Harry would revert back to the hardened, apathetic martinet that he’d been for so long during Trey’s childhood.

  He feared that his dad would become the monster he’d feared and hated.

  And, as he walked toward the malignant mass of marauding munchers of brains, Trey realized that he’d almost miss being close to his dad more than his old life.

  And, if truth be told, Trey didn’t really miss his old life as an intellectual property lawyer. He longed for aspects of it. The comfort. The security. The fact that he didn’t have to kick doors in and murder random people. Nonetheless, he’d been a slave to the almighty billable hour and the endless quest to move up the proverbial ladder. He’d worked and worked and worked so that…

  He could go on a cruise with his wife he never saw.

  And look how that had turned out.

  “Zombies ahead,” Harry said, holding up one fist. He paused. “Pass it down the line, son,” he said.

  “Zombies,” Trey said. “Pass it on,” he added as he watched his father.

  “I’m going here,” Harry said, pointing to a nearby trash can. “You go there,” he said, indicating a burned-out vehicle. “We’ll cover them as they move to the back of that building up there, across the street,” he said. “Avance!” Harry yelled. “Everyone follow Maxime,” Harry said. He shook his head even as he moved to his position. “Fuckin’ A,” he muttered.

  Harry opened fire. He downed several of zombies.

  Rushing to his designated spot, the adrenaline flowing once again, his heart racing, Trey crouched down and began shooting. He watched as at least three of the creatures fell. He squeezed off several more rounds. “Shit,” he said. “I only had 15 shots,” he said.

  Harry slid a MP-5 across the pavement to him and then resumed his attack.

  As a gap opened in the horde, Maxime rushed ahead, firing as he went. Chloe and Sofia tagged along behind. The Bishop was off to the French soldier’s left. He fired somewhat recklessly but nonetheless pressed on. Marshall, ever the proficient operator when it came time to do soldier shit, moved along the right side and just behind the Frenchman, downing zombies with absolute efficiency.

  Once they had reached their position, Maxime crouched down and began firing. Marshall stood above him and shot as well.

  Harry suddenly jumped up. “Go, go, go!” he yelled. Then he began running across the street.

  Trey raced ahead, following his father’s lead. He watched as his dad passed the others, going toward the rear of their position. Breathing heavily when they stopped, he smiled. “Hell, yeah,” he said.

  Suddenly, Maxime and the others were moving forward at a quick clip. The French soldier took a position at the edge of the building.

  “Ready to do it again?” Harry asked, smiling. He slapped Trey on the back. “A little rough, but… it works,” he said.

  Then he raised his rifle and shot several zombies stumbling along behind them.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  Racing ahead, Harry found a spot by a park bench. He pointed aggressively toward a tree just ahead of and across from him.

  Trey sprinted toward it. Looking out, he felt relieved to see no zombies in his field of fire.

  The others once again raced ahead.

  “Turn the fuck around!” Harry yelled.

  As Trey did so, he saw several zombies rushing toward them. He raised his submachine gun and fired several 9mm rounds into the creatures.

  Then, just as quickly, Harry was moving forward again, his body crouched as he proceeded.

  Blithely, Trey followed along, not really sure what else to do.

  Finding cover behind a tree, Trey engaged the small mob of zombies milling about in the park. He fought to see their vague silhouettes in the low light. Straining his eyes, he forced himself to focus. Suddenly, he realized his magazine was empty. “Magazine,” he yelled.

  Once again, Harry slid the requisite equipment to his son.

  “How did I get so good at using these things?” Trey asked, chuckling. He reloaded the MP-5 and then raised it to start clearing the way for the others once again.

  “You hated guns,” Harry said, once Maxime and the others had passed again.

  “Yeah,” Trey said. He chuckled.

  Then he saw a zombie close in on his father from behind.

  “Dad!” he yelled. Trey raised his gun, but he didn’t want to shoot out of fear of accidentally hitting his father.

  Chapter 3

  Harry turned around just in time.

  He shot the creature behind him. It fell forward onto him. Harry, his expression pained, stepped back, letting the limp corpse fall to the moist earth beneath his feet. He stared down at it for several seconds, his breathing heavy. “Jesus,” he said.

  “Thanks, son, for saving my life,” Trey said in a sarcastic tone. He smirked as he watched his dad pivot and face him.

  “You’re a creeper,” Harry said. Then
he laughed. “That was a pretty close call, though,” he said. Then he waved his son ahead. “Let’s go,” he said.

  Moving forward, they approached a small clearing. The helicopter sat there, the rotors whizzing around, the others already on-board. Maxime motioned frantically for Trey and Harry to hurry up.

  Trey trotted ahead, raising one hand to cover his face. Dust and debris flew in a thick cloud all over the place, attacking every exposed orifice with a ruthless intensity. Rushing to the open door, he hopped in. He heaved a sigh of relief when his father followed suit moments later.

  Then they were plunged into darkness as the door slammed and the craft rose into the air.

  Sitting there, his legs up against his chest, Trey stared at the rows of white lights lining the interior. He felt mesmerized by them. Slowly, his eyes growing heavy, he closed them. As the steady throbbing of the rotors overhead lulled him into a state of semi-sleep, he followed his drifting thoughts with an amused sense of detachment.

  Suddenly, the craft jolted him awake. Maxime rushed toward the door. Opening it, a flood of brilliant white light blinded Trey. He held up one hand instinctively to protect his face. Squinting, he peered out into what appeared to be a small military base. Soldiers moved forward to usher the human cargo off of the helicopter. A woman with calloused hands reached out and took Trey by the elbow, guiding him toward a nearby building. At first, he didn’t realize it was a female. But after a second look, he saw the curly black hair under her hat.

  “Hey, where are you taking me?” he asked.

  When the soldier didn’t respond, Trey grunted. He resisted the impulse to pull away. Glancing around, his heart racing, he began to feel anxious. Seeing that he was being led in the opposite direction of his wife and daughter, he finally gave in to the urge to resist. He pulled away from the female soldier escorting him to an unknown location.

  Reacting rapidly, she slammed a fist into his gut. Trey bent forward. He gasped. Following this, she reached out and grabbed one wrist, twisting it up to ensure pain compliance.

  Happening to glance up at that moment, tears in his eyes, Trey caught a glimpse of his father.

  “Behave, Trey. They’re just hosing us off,” Harry said, escorted roughly along by a tall man with a rigid bearing.

  “Do you speak English?” Trey asked as he straightened up as best he could and was led forward toward the nearby building.

  “Non,” the woman said. She possessed a rough, coarse voice. It held a vaguely feminine quality, despite the hoarse raspiness, nonetheless.

  If you don’t speak English, then how the Hell did you understand my question, Trey thought as he was led inside.

  Once he’d been shoved into the dim, dusty interior of a large building that bore the resemblance of an abandoned warehouse, the female escort poked him. She motioned for him to begin undressing. Shivering, Trey glanced toward his dad and reluctantly complied. There was something profoundly unnerving about being asked- coerced was probably more like it- to get nude in front of an armed stranger. One who spoke a different language, no less. It rendered him vulnerable and defenseless.

  Instinctively raising his arms and crossing them across his chest, his teeth chattered as he waited for whatever was to come. Looking around, Trey saw several stacks of thick cardboard boxes as well as empty wooden pallets lining the long wall opposite of him. Small rectangular windows lined the space just under the dome-shaped roof, allowing in shafts of dusty silver moonlight. Somewhere above, a bird screeched its annoyance at the rudeness and intrusiveness of the interlopers.

  Trey heard a sound. Reacting, he turned. And then got shoved forward by a powerful blast of frigid water. The force of the spray not only knocked him down, but it stung every square inch of exposed skin. He’d taken a direct hit to the face, and it hurt.

  “What the shit?” he asked, raising a hand to his mouth. Taking it away, he noticed a soft pink trickle of blood on his fingers. “I’m fucking bleeding,” he said.

  Turning, he watched as his dad writhed and screamed. He’d been hit by the same powerful blast of cold water. But the effect had not been the same. Struggling to stand, Trey moved toward his dad. He didn’t even think. The only thing he knew was that his dad was in pain and that he needed to try and alleviate it.

  However, his efforts were hindered by another icy blast. Stumbling forward, Trey reached out with both hands, only barely catching his fall. He felt them scrape against the rough cement beneath him. Slowly, he raised first one palm and then the other, examining his abraded appendages. Frowning, he pivoted and faced his attacker. “You… need… to stop,” he said. He didn’t know how to say it in French. But he figured he could demonstrate what he wanted to communicate fairly effectively. Summoning the courage, Trey forced himself to stand. He glared at the female soldier holding the thick hose.

  He advanced toward her. Trey almost dared the woman to spray him again with his defiant stare. He smiled as he took each deliberate step forward. There was a sinister quality to the gesture. Clenching one fist, Trey readied himself for the worst.

  Knowing that the soldier was watching him intently, Trey assumed that he’d need to do something to catch her off guard. All he needed to do was get her to miss by just a fraction of an inch. That was all.

  Suddenly, he dropped to the ground, then sprang back up instantly. Then he began screaming. He rushed ahead, his head down.

  However, after about a second, he once again fell to the concrete. Crawling toward the woman as she turned on the nozzle and unleashed a furious torrent of frigid water, Trey closed the distance between them. He grabbed one leg and pulled her down. As she fell, he got on top of her.

  Sustaining a vicious knee to the groin and several sharp blows to the face, Trey turned his head to avoid being hit in the eyes. He managed to grab a hold of the hose, gaining control of it. Then he quickly jumped up, fueled by pure adrenaline. Ignoring the corsair of pain racing through the turbulent waters of his veins, he fought to aim the powerful spray at the soldier.

  Hitting her in the chest, he heard the woman scream.

  Turning quickly, Trey sped forward, racing to his father’s rescue. He shot the tall soldier who’d been hurting his dad in the back, propelling the man forward. He kept the spray on the soldier, afraid of what he might do if he regained the capacity to act in any fashion.

  “Arretz!” someone yelled, their stern, stentorian tone echoing throughout the large space.

  Trey reluctantly ceased hostilities. Turning slightly, he saw Maxime marching toward his naked form, an angry frown slashing across his face.

  Then someone punched him. Hard.

  Falling forward, Trey struggled to breathe. He blinked. Fuzzy incandescent dots moved around in his field of vision for several seconds. Everything seemed blurry. His ears rung.

  When he regained some semblance of composure, the French female soldier and Maxime were both standing over him, each of them gesticulating wildly as they argued vociferously in their native tongue. Trey watched the exchange, smiling with wry amusement despite the circumstances. He began to form mental calculations, trying to determine the odds of who might win in a fight.

  Suddenly, Maxime snapped his fingers, apparently summoning the other soldier. The large man materialized, shooting an angry glare at Trey as he responded to Maxime’s call. Once in Maxime’s presence, he, too, began gesturing frantically and speaking in an excited tone, obviously relaying what had occurred.

  Trey figured that both of them were afraid they’d get in trouble for letting a chubby naked dude get the best of them. Nonetheless, as the adrenaline started to wear off, he began to shiver. Pain hijacked his consciousness. He curled up into a fetal ball on the floor and began rocking back and forth, muttering incoherently to himself as he tried to distract himself from the vicious anguish he experienced in that moment.

  After passively observing the group argue for some time, Harry finally stumbled over. His presence caused a disruption in their flow. All three French mil
itary members turned to face the older man, their hostile, menacing gazes confronting him. “quoi de neuf les gars?” he said.

  Watching with tepid interest, Trey tried to gauge what everyone was saying by their body language and reactions. Hearing several words repeated throughout the tense set of exchanges, he felt proud of himself, in a vague way. Because he thought that he might be picking up at least small parts of the language as he was forced to immerse himself in it.

  However, as the conversation began to drag on, Trey found himself glancing toward the large, open door not far away. He could see soldiers milling about. And the noise from the perimeter filtered into the warehouse-sized space, causing Trey to panic anew. Licking his lips, he wondered what was occurring with his family.

  And that just spurred him into a frenzy.

  “Hey, Harry, you think you ASK THEM ABOUT MY FUCKING DAUGHTER?” Trey asked, spitting on the floor. He put his weight on one arm and struggled up to a standing position. However, he winced as he noticed the trio of soldiers tense and turn their attention toward him. “Bonjour, you fucks. Now, take me to my wife and kid before shit gets ugly,” he said.

  Holding up one hand, Harry urged caution. “Just a second, there, Rambo,” he said. “They’re explaining what just happened,” he said.

  “They just separated me from Sofia and Melody and shot me with fucking ice water, is what happened,” Trey said, frowning. He couldn’t help but ride the rising tide of irritation that threatened the coast of his consciousness. If that meant he endured more pain, at that point, Trey was beyond too exhausted to care. In the back of his mind, he figured that if he kept trying his luck, he might actually eventually succeed in getting someone else to put him out of his misery.

  “Trey, son, they shot us with water to make sure we weren’t infected,” Harry said. “And… Maxime was explaining that they separated us- not just to control us better- but also because it’d be too painful for you to see your wife or daughter killed, if they turned out to be infected,” he said.