Stranded Series (Book 5): Into The Gulf

by Gray, W. S.

  “Zombie!” he screamed one last time.

  It took Trey a second to realize that the kicks had stopped. Finally daring to raise his arms and look out at the soldiers, he quickly pointed and repeated the near-epithet. “Zombie!” Trey frantically said, scooting away even as he motioned toward Enzo’s battered corpse. “Zombie!”

  Apparently, the French soldiers seemed to get the gist of the word. However, their confusion and suspicion were writ large over their young faces as they glanced at each other, trying to determine the veracity of Trey’s incredible claims.

  Trey squealed when one of them, a tall man with greasy brown hair and a long, thin scar that ran down the length of his clean-shaven face, reached out and roughly grabbed him under one arm. However, he didn’t have time to do anything, as a second soldier seized his other arm. Trey kicked his legs as he was carried out of the Buffalo by the two strong military members. But it was all in vain.

  Being led past the tearful eyes of his wife and daughter, Trey turned to look at them. He smiled sadly. Words eluded him, however, and all he could manage was a weak pursing of his lips before they vanished from his sight. The soldiers paraded him past a group of their stern-looking cohorts, taking him one of the hangar-sized buildings. They marched briskly through the cool-ish structure, depositing him unceremoniously in a closet, which they promptly locked from the outside after slamming the door shut and plunging him into darkness.

  Trey looked around. He tried to get acclimated. He began to tremble. An unconscious groan emerged from the depths of his gut as he toppled over and started sobbing.

  The tiny room stank of mildew and cleaning chemicals. It had the damp stench of a janitor’s closet. As Trey rocked back and forth, he felt something move on the floor by his head. He jumped up, only to sense a large bug scurrying across the tile. When he thrashed out, his arm slammed against the sharp protruding edge of a shelf. Trey felt a pile of thick rags fall onto his head even as pain lanced his senses.

  “Damn it,” he screamed.

  He tried to stand up. But he slipped in a puddle of something wet that had formed underneath him. “Fuck,” he said, his butt hurting from the fall. He sat in the stale-smelling broom closet, surrounded by a conspiratorial and accusing darkness, and cried.

  Sobbing softly, Trey experienced an anguish unlike any he’d ever experienced before. The only thing even remotely close was the horror he’d felt shortly after massacring everyone on Sapphira Island. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to avoid thinking about that incident. But he couldn’t. Not then. Not when he was alone, trapped in a silent, fetid room with his own vile, toxic thoughts. Trey could only be confronted by what he’d sought so hard to escape as he began to rot in his prison.

  Yet, he couldn’t help but remember, in painfully minute detail, just what it was that had precipitated his own imprisonment in that janitor’s closet. Trey knew that he was innocent. Or, at least, he hadn’t murdered Enzo in cold blood.

  He clung to that as he sought to drive away the tenacious thoughts threatening to taint the feeble grip he kept on his sanity. Trey needed to stay calm. To focus. Because it seemed likely that, at some point, he’d be given an opportunity to explain what’d happened back in that Buffalo. Trey would get out of the closet. And, released, he’d be expected to resume his position as primary defender of his family.

  “Fuck me,” he said quietly, rocking himself into a more peaceful frame of mind. Of course, Trey understood, right then, more peaceful just meant less hectic. Even so, he could at least trace the contours of his thoughts. He began to sense his body relaxing.

  But the idea that he’d soon bear the extreme burdens of being responsible for so many lives…

  Trey didn’t want to think about that.

  “At least in here, I don’t have to worry about them,” he muttered, just as he fell into an uneasy slumber.

  Chapter 9

  The door opened.

  Blinking, Trey raised a hand to cover his face from the harsh light that invaded his small cell. “What the…”

  “You better have a good explanation,” Harry said.

  At first, Trey didn’t even realize it was his father that had spoken. He only barely managed to grasp the fact that whomever it was that had addressed him had used English. Wiping at his face, Trey sat up. He squinted, peering out at the figures blocking the doorway. “Hey, dad,” he finally said, frowning. “How long have I been in here?” he asked.

  He tried to stand, but his numb legs refused to cooperate. Reaching out with one arm, Trey tried to grab ahold of the wall to steady himself, but only managed to fall. Even though he once again wanted to cry, Trey refused to do so in the presence of his father. Not that time. He bit his lower lip and simply waited for the inevitable rough escort.

  It was then that he vaguely recalled having hurt his leg somehow during… whatever had occurred. The adrenaline and fear had masked the pain. But now that it was gone, replaced with little more than a gnawing sense of emptiness and hopelessness…

  “Jeez, son,” Harry said, as Trey was led out of the janitorial closet and into the building.

  It had been totally emptied, Trey observed. The surfaces gleamed, having been cleaned and re-cleaned by the military personnel who’d obviously managed to effectively neutralize and mitigate the many external threats that existed outside the wire. He smiled, shaking his head. “Did they come in there while I was asleep?” he asked.

  “What?” Harry asked, frowning.

  “Place is so fucking clean… how did they do it without getting in the cleaning closet?” Trey asked.

  “We have bigger things to worry about, son,” Harry said. “Please tell me you didn’t actually murder that soldier,” he said, lowering his tone. “Because it will be really hard for me to save you. I don’t even know if the Bishop will be able to… and you know how much I dislike asking a Mormon for favors,” Harry said, his tone still reduced to a near-whisper.

  “Enzo got bitten,” Trey said. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to start thrashing and cackling. A sudden fit of near-hysterical madness battered his mind. The entire thing, from the vagrant stumbling around dropping pills into people’s drinks all the way to Sofia demanding that he venture out into the zombie apocalypse on one last humanitarian mission, it had all deteriorated into some bizarre farce. If all Trey would get out of fighting to remain alive was a new wave of indignities and humiliating blunders, he figured it might be better just to expedite his own demise.

  But he resisted the powerful urge. He chewed on the inside of his lip as he was led into a small office, where Maxime sat behind a tiny metal desk.

  The man watched Trey as he was forced down into an uncomfortable folding metal chair. He folded his hands atop the desk, silently and astutely observing Trey’s reactions. Maxime didn’t say anything for several minutes, preferring to leverage the effects of silence. Even after the other soldiers had vacated the room, leaving behind only Trey, his father, and the senior French soldier, Maxime still remained quiet.

  Finally, however, he licked his lips and spoke. “I hear you all went outside the perimeter,” he said, with Harry translating.

  Trey wanted to laugh. But he didn’t. Instead, he nodded. He smiled weakly. “Yes, we did,” he said. He didn’t want to volunteer information. Trey understood the adversarial nature of the proceedings. He glanced toward his dad, seeking reassurance and inspiration.

  A surge of hope flooded his veins when Trey saw his dad smile and give him a thumbs-up.

  “So, what was the purpose of this… mission?” Maxime asked, again through his designated intermediary. “And why were you part of it?” he asked.

  It was hard for Trey to focus. Because he wanted to look at the Maxime every time the man spoke. To try and gauge his body language. To divine any possible clues as to his fate from the Frenchman’s reactions. When life could depend on interpreting subtle behavioral cues, it was frustrating to have to switch his attention from one man to the next. Dividing his limited
mental capacities only strained his sanity further.

  Thinking through the sequence of events that had led up to this point, Trey remembered his daughter effectively demanding that he go out and help. But it got murky after that. He couldn’t quite recall how it was that the French troops had actually gone along with the plan…

  “I… I think they came up to me,” Trey said finally, stammering. He knew it wasn’t the best answer. But it was what he could provide. He’d been sleep-deprived and beaten. His mind still wasn’t at full-strength. Trey just couldn’t quite recall how it was that he’d been invited out beyond the wire.

  “They just came up to you?” Harry asked for Maxime, pausing as he looked at his son, obvious concern expressed through his knitted brow and tight frown.

  “I think so… look, tell him I don’t really remember. Okay? Enzo got bitten. He begged me to kill him. But I didn’t… at first. He’d gotten infected by a zombie. I watched him turn. Okay? I watched him turn,” Trey repeated.

  Harry looked first at this son, then at Maxime. He hesitated. But then he finally relayed what’d been said.

  A heavy, tense silence hovered in the air between them. Then, finally, Maxime spoke.

  “How did he get bitten?” Harry asked, translating. His tone and body language were taut as he fought the urge to take sides. Discomfort was written all over his entire demeanor. He clearly wanted to do anything but act as a good-between when the two adversarial parties were his son and the French military official who effectively controlled whether they lived or died.

  “I… Look, I don’t know,” Trey said.

  “You have to tell him something,” Harry said.

  Maxime interrupted with a frantic burst of angry French. The man stood. He only barely suppressed his anger when Harry held up one restraining hand.

  “He’s mad, son. That’s one of his men. I mean, how would you feel if one of these guys killed me? Sofia?” Harry asked.

  Trey took a deep breath. There was something jolting about hearing Sofia’s name. Especially in the context of his present difficulties. Anger raced through his veins as he imagined someone, anyone even trying to harm his daughter. Sofia was the only thing that kept him going. She was what guided him. She provided the inspiration to push past all of the obstacles that continually impeded their progress. The fact that it was his father who’d invoke such a dire threat…

  Finally, sensing that the point of no return had arrived, Trey decided he needed to cross the proverbial Rubicon. But, instead of doing so as an offensive measure, Trey had to do so as a defensive gesture. One which would hopefully placate the French official and ensure their spot on one of the outbound frigates.

  “We’d stopped to provide the last of our supplies to some of the civilians. Or… at least, what appeared to be civilians,” Trey said, bouncing one foot up and down. He wiped a hand over the front of his filthy pants and then ran it over his face. He sighed. He wracked his brain for more details. But everything was fuzzy.

  Except for Enzo’s death. THAT wasn’t fuzzy.

  “And someone in the crowd bit Enzo?” Harry asked.

  “YES!” Trey answered, beginning to get frustrated. “Why can’t he just believe me?” he asked, his tone pleading. He got up, but then instantly sat back down under the austere stare leveled by Maxime.

  Harry and the Frenchman held a long, heated exchange in French, each of them raising their voice in an effort to dominate the other. They gesticulated wildly with their hands as they argued vociferously, each of them interrupting the other.

  Trey watched, leaning forward, his hands folded together. The fact that he could only make general assumptions based on their body language exacerbated his tension. He wanted to just get up and leave. To go make sure his child and wife were okay. He also harbored vague worries about Marshall and Chloe, both of whom were extremely vulnerable, especially under their current circumstances. He needed to do something. To go back on the offensive. Being neutered by these debates only served to feed the parasitic anger that was feasting on his insides, slowly killing him better than any poison or even bullet could.

  “Look!” Trey finally said. He smiled slightly when the room grew silent in response to his prompt. He enjoyed having some measure of control back. “Look,” he repeated, his tone lower. He tried to keep himself calm as he spoke. “I don’t remember everything. I haven’t had a lot of good sleep. I got beaten up. I’ve been under constant stress,” he said, pausing so his dad could translate.

  “Nonetheless, here is what I remember. We went out. I’m pretty sure Enzo came to me. I know my daughter had been adamant about trying to go out and help the civilians outside the perimeter, after they’d launched a pretty daring raid,” Trey said, taking a deep breath. His body shook as he searched his memory. Sights and smells returned, strafing his already distressed consciousness. “We went out. In a Buffalo. I’d never even heard of such a thing before. Enzo told me it was some sort of thing to check for roadside bombs or whatever,” he said, pausing. He tried to remember the particular acronym the soldier had used. Fuck it, he thought. I’ll remember it when I don’t need it, he thought.

  “Our first contact was with some civilians. Things went well. We delivered some supplies and then moved on. Uh,” Trey shifted positions and sighed. “At some point after that, we got attacked by zombies. But we cleared the threat and then moved on,” he said.

  “How did you clear the threat?” Maxime asked through Harry.

  “Well, mostly with the car or whatever that was behind us. They had a gunner,” Trey said. He waited for his dad to translate that, watching Maxime as the man absorbed the content. Observing the man visibly starting to relax, Trey for the first time since entering the office began to harbor hope. He cleared his throat. Trey cast a sideways glance toward the French authority figure, making sure it was okay to proceed. When he felt confident that the man was okay with it, he went forward with his retelling of events.

  “Anyway, so, after that, we had a little bit of stuff left over, from what I can remember. Bottled water, stuff like that. So, yeah… we found another group of civilians and…” Trey paused. Vivid, bellicose images, of Enzo as he demanded to be killed, broke into his mindspace, holding him up.

  Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to plunge back into his reporting. There was no other way out of this. Trey understood that his job at that moment was to convince Maxime that he hadn’t murdered Enzo. He needed the senior French soldier to feel fully confident in the fact that he’d been justified in his actions.

  Because Maxime had a decision to make.

  And the easy choice was to throw Trey under the proverbial bus.

  Gulping, a lump in his throat as hard as an ax handle, Trey forced himself to focus. He gathered strength from some hidden inner reservoir. He smiled inadvertently. Then he went back into his soliloquy. “So, I kind of blanked out… I’m sorry,” Trey said. He looked down at the floor for a second, then resumed his speech. “Anyway, yeah, uh… while Enzo was down on the ground, distributing the supplies, he’d apparently been bitten by one of the people,” he said.

  “Why was he down there? Why weren’t you tossing the supplies?” Harry asked after Maxime had provided the questions.

  Trey scratched his head. He tapped one foot nervously on the ground. He looked around. Why did he go out there? he wondered. Then, snapping his fingers, he smiled and turned toward Maxime. “So, there was a kid. A boy. He was wearing a red hat,” he said. The fact that he could remember such a small, seemingly trivial detail sent a triumphant surge of exultation through his overwhelmed brain. “Yes,” he said, reaffirming the face. “So, yeah… uh, Enzo went down to help the kid,” Trey said.

  “You think?” Harry asked.

  Seeing Maxime with one eyebrow raised, an incredulous expression on his otherwise stern, apathetic face, Trey wanted to just end the conversation. He wanted to smack the man’s face. He wanted to rush over and fight the French soldier.

  Taking yet anot
her deep breath, Trey forced himself to focus. He called to mind an image of his daughter. Beautiful Sofia. That helped ground him. Looking down at the floor, Trey went forward with the interrogation. “Yes, I think,” he said. He took a second to tame his tone. He’d been a little testy. Trey realized he needed to be something other than that if he wanted to survive.

  “Look, dad, uh, Maxime,” Trey said, clearing his throat. He wanted to ask for some water, but decided against it. “Um, so… we stopped. There were people all around. Things just kind of… well, they just happened. Okay? It wasn’t like we were just sitting there, planning every exact move we’d make. Hell, it was loud,” he said. “All sorts of shit was going down. I mean, it was insane,” Trey said. He smiled and shook his head as the full weight of what they’d done started to really sink in. They’d elected, of their own free will, to venture out beyond the perimeter. Where they’d known things were bad, and growing worse with each passing minute.

  What did we expect to happen? he thought.

  “So, yeah… I do remember seeing Enzo approaching the young man in the hat. And when he came back up…” Trey paused.

  “What, son?” Harry asked.

  “Well, I shouldn’t say ‘when he came back up,’” Trey said. He gulped. “Um, yeah. So, right after Enzo hopped down, the second vehicle approached and blasted us with light. They didn’t intend to blind me, but they did, anyway. So, for at least a few seconds, I couldn’t see what was happening,” he said. “Which was why I ended up climbing down. I wanted to make sure Enzo was safe.”

  “So…”

  “So, what happened was, I found Enzo on the ground. I picked him up. I carried him back up onto the transport- the Buffalo, or whatever. That’s when he told me that the boy had bitten him,” Trey said. “And he then proceeded to ask me… repeatedly to kill him,” he said.