Ranger Martin and the Zombie Apocalypse

by Jack Flacco

  Wildside filled his lungs and expelled the air, lifting the weight from his mind. He looked at Randy and walked toward him. When he faced him, straightaway he wrapped his arms around Randy and hugged him.

  When it was over, Randy had one thing he wanted to say, “I would have preferred that we beat each other senseless.”

  They laughed.

  Chapter 25

  It didn’t take long for the truck to squeak to a stop, its headlights spilling its beams over the next reinforced cast iron gate ahead. Looking through the windshield, Ranger and the kids winced knowing their journey was over and their hitch would never get to Worship Square. In unison, they stepped from the vehicle, walked ten paces forward, and they each lined up between the headlights and the front of the barrier, as if they already had the coordinates implanted in their brains. Casting shadows beyond the bars, they all stared at the same thing, a massive concrete wall. Now they understood what the red lines on the map meant. Matty had questioned them at the site of the alien dog attack, yet at the time, Ranger hadn’t a clue as to their meaning. Someone had recently built the wall to prevent access to the catacombs via the Annex tunnel. Randy noticed the bucket of dry cement left behind between the gate and the wall.

  Not one to lose hope, Ranger spotted a stairwell abutting an old service elevator lit only by defused auxiliary lighting hanging from the center of the access tunnel. He gave everyone a signal to remain in the area, then dashed to the edge of the stairs and began his ascent. He crept upward with his back to the wall, peaking around corners as he went. One foot at a time, caution covered his tracks. In the darkness, his hand scoped the way from wall to wall, never losing sense of his bearings. As he scaled the steps further, a light grew stronger.

  With Ranger gone, the others separated. Wildside made himself comfortable in the front seat of the truck reading an old gun magazine he’d found in the glove compartment. Jon needed something to eat, so he hopped into the backseat of the vehicle, hoisted his knapsack on to his lap, and dug for a can of tuna. Meanwhile, Matty and Randy had moved to the corner of the dead end to chat in soft voices.

  Once Ranger reached the top of the stairs, the blinding sun hit his face. Using a technique he picked up from Wildside, he pressed his fingers on his lids to help his eyes readjust to the daylight. Soon, his focus returned, and he saw he had reached the mouth of the South Gate to Worship Square. Over the wall, he could see the temple from under a building across the street.

  A helicopter passed from one side of the complex to the other, but Ranger felt safe in his hidden cove where he could observe the goings-on without disturbing anything around him. Even though it lacked a door, the protruding stairwell remained concealed by a row of trees. The service elevator abutting the stairs teased his imagination into formulating another plan. As part of the process, his eyes zipped back and forth between the elevator and the South Gate, measuring the distance, taking into account all obstructions along the way. If the hitch could fit into the elevator, he could ask Wildside to hotwire another truck, then they could crash the payload through the gates to its intended target. The question remained as to how to avoid the helicopter, and get out of there alive. For now, Ranger couldn’t think that far ahead. He patted the perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve, then rubbed the scratchy feeling from the corners of his eyes with the back of his right hand.

  A squadron of five helicopters in a V-shape pattern performed a flyby, forcing Ranger to duck in the doorway. It also gave him a chance to think. He and the kids made it this far, he thought, who’s to say the plan wouldn’t work? Nothing is impossible until someone proves the possible wrong. He wasn’t about to let that happen, they’d come too far.

  When the sky had cleared, Ranger sprinted to the next building under cover of the trees lining the sidewalk adjacent to a parking lot. A smile fluttered on his face from the view. He had a choice of cars and trucks parked in neat rows from one side of the lot to the other. Any one of them would do, really. He now knew his Plan B would work, even if he did come up with it right then and there. He would need two vehicles. One truck to ram the gates to Worship Square, the other, a getaway car Randy or Wildside could drive from the scene. The whole thing will work without a problem. So he thought.

  Avoiding the helicopters and building’s cameras, Ranger made his way back to the stairwell. When he reached the stairs, he negotiated each step, making sure he wouldn’t stumble in the dark. His hand once again became his eyes, feeling his way down and around the corners. He couldn’t wait to tell the others of his new plan. The trick will be getting the bomb in the elevator and from there, hitched to another truck. His smirk returned.

  Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he pressed his eyes to make them readjust quicker to the flickering lights in the darkness. When he opened them, expecting to tell of his news to the others, he didn’t see anyone. The truck, the hitch and the kids were gone.

  Ranger spun around thinking he had made a mistake. That he had come in through the wrong entrance. That he had missed the part where Matty, Randy, Wildside and Jon had said they would leave him behind. It wasn’t the case. They disappeared.

  He jogged a few feet back into the tunnel from where they came and stopped, his confidence melting from his face. There was no sign of them anywhere. All sorts of thoughts ran through his head. They couldn’t have left without telling him. They knew better. They would have left a clue if anything happened. He returned to the dead end, and scoped the area for anything to indicate what might have happened. He examined the ceiling, walls and ground. The place looked clean.

  He rubbed the side of his face, then placed his hands on his hips and dropped his head, closing his eyes. Where could they have gone? Why did they leave? His eyes opened slowly. Then, his heart almost stopped. It lay there just under his foot. Why didn’t he see it before? He bent to one knee and picked it up. The purple band Matty used to tie her hair now lay in Ranger’s hand. She had dropped it. He thought hair bands don’t simply drop off a girl’s head. No. She had dropped it on purpose.

  Taken.

  * * *

  Inside the rattling military Humvee, Matty and Jon sat on one side of a set of benches, and Randy and Wildside on the other. Back and forth Matty’s hands shook from the bumps on the road while wrapping her hair with a red band in a ponytail. The light from the frosted, wire-covered rear door shined bright, almost as a pale white on the faces of the kids. Gone were the weapons. Instead, concerned looks blanketed their faces. Earlier, when Ranger had left them alone in the access tunnel, so he could find another way to deliver the hitch to its intended target, the military had rushed the kids from the rear in a surprise assault, a result of tripping the sensor at the first sentry. They couldn’t run since they had parked in a dead end, without an alternative, they raised their hands in surrender. But not before Matty had unlaced her ponytail and dropped the purple hair band on the ground. Her calling card for Ranger to come and get them.

  The desert brown vehicle passed the makeshift checkpoints to Worship Square’s North Gate. The prisoners’ truck and hitch followed. The convoy rode straight, then swung a right. It stopped in front of the North Administration Building, a glass facade building once utilized to welcome the faithful, but is now the military core of operations for the change.

  Two soldiers leapt from the cab and trotted the length of the wagon to open the rear door. They pointed their guns at the kids and waved them out of the vehicle. One step at a time, the sun blazing in their eyes, Randy and Wildside hopped from the back, then Matty and Jon soon followed. The impatient soldiers shoved the prisoners by their backs, marching them up the stairs, and through the doors of the pearl white building.

  Inside the once famous tourist destination, now bustling with army and medical personnel, the soldiers handed the kids off to four Military Police officers or MPs as they are known, checked in the kids’ weapons with attendants behind a makeshift administration desk, and left. The MPs, who apparently had been notified earl
ier of the kids’ arrival, each wrapped a wristband around their assigned charges and scanned the barcode on the band. The MPs then escorted Matty, Randy, Jon and Wildside down a long corridor into separate rooms. Each MP stood guard outside the door of their assigned posts.

  * * *

  The windowless rooms all looked the same, nine by ten feet wide, all white. A table stood in the center with two chairs resting on opposite sides. A picture depicting Utah’s scenic La Sal Mountains hung on the wall opposite the door, supposedly placed there to warm things up.

  Wildside assumed he could sit in any of the chairs of his room. He chose the one on the right from the door.

  Jon didn’t bother taking a chair. Instead, he chose to sit on the table, legs crossed and his elbows resting on his knees, hands holding his head. Staring at the wall made his room seem smaller.

  Matty scanned her surroundings for anything she could use as a weapon. She grabbed the picture frame of the mountains and smashed the glass in a corner of her room. She gently slipped a sliver of glass she could use as a knife into her pocket, and placed the picture back on the wall. With her foot, she spread the extra glass in the corner on the floor, making it almost invisible to spot unless someone walked close enough to inspect it.

  Randy didn’t try to hide his contempt. He’d tossed the table and chairs and the lovely picture depicting the La Sal Mountains in a messy pile in one of the corners of his room. He leaned against the wall waiting with crossed arms and a scowl on his face.

  The door to Randy’s room opened first. An MP carrying a shiny black baton emerged from the entry, locking the door behind him. He studied the clutter Randy had created, the baton’s dark color contrasting the white walls. He walked toward the teen. Randy had unlaced his arms and took a step forward. The brown-clad thug glared at him and paused.

  The next thing Randy knew, he lay on the floor coughing and spitting mucus. Tapping on the floor with his baton, the MP pointed at the mess. Randy’s eyes flooded with water, he dared not call them tears. The MP made round gestures at the pile. He wanted it cleaned.

  Not a word passed between them.

  A woman walked into Jon’s room with a clipboard hiding the lower half of her face. Her gold-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of her nose and her blond hair was tied in a bun.

  Princess sure was pretty, Jon thought. The white lab coat didn’t suit her though. She should have a beautiful dress on or a nice pullover. Not a lab coat. It made her look old.

  “You’ll feel more comfortable if you sit on the chair.” Princess said.

  “I’m comfortable sitting on the table.”

  She remained standing, writing something while peering over her clipboard. “You must feel relieved we found you the way we did.”

  “No.”

  “All that dirt on your face, you must have been out there for days. Are you hungry?”

  “No.”

  She paused and allowed the clipboard to fall by her side, revealing her face. “You don’t have to be afraid. You’re safe now.”

  He leaned in, glaring at Princess. “You should be afraid. You’re not safe.”

  As Wildside sat tracing circles with his finger on the table, another lab coat made an appearance. Miss Sunshine had red hair and she too carried a clipboard. Although attractive, she hid her true self behind the position she held. She had a job to do and she needed to get it done.

  “Hello.” Miss Sunshine said, then smiled.

  Wildside nodded wondering why she was alone with him.

  “I hope you weren’t waiting long. Administration seems to take their time when processing newcomers.”

  “Oh, is that what you call it—processing.” He crossed his arms.

  The smile disappeared. Miss Sunshine walked toward the table and took a seat opposite Wildside. “I have a few questions for you and I’m hoping you can answer them. Standard questions, really.”

  “Standard questions. What does that mean?”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” She cleared her throat. “Now, it says here they found you in the access tunnels to the supply elevator. Is this true?”

  “Where are my friends?”

  “They’re safe. Your turn. Is it true? The access tunnels?”

  “It’s true.”

  “What were you looking for?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It does. You and your friends were in a restricted area. You should never have been there.”

  “We got lost.” He lied.

  “Lost.” She wrote it down on her clipboard. “I see. How many of you are there, lost?”

  “You’re asking the wrong questions, lady.”

  “Oh?”

  “You should be asking me why I’m not afraid.”

  “And why should I ask you that?”

  He edged closer, forgetting about the circles. “’Cause I’ve seen death. And nothing you can do can ever scare me into telling you anything you want to know.”

  She gave him a slight nod then eased into her chair and stared at him.

  The stare lingered enough to make him readjust himself into his seat.

  A few moments later Miss Sunshine pulled out Wildside’s detonator and placed it on the table.

  Once Randy had set the table and chairs back to their original spots, including the picture on the wall, the MP left his room. Right after him appeared a gray-haired man, clipboard, lab coat and all, taking a seat at the table. Randy remained standing, arms crossed, scowl on his face.

  “What’s your name?” Mr. Gray asked.

  Not a word.

  “How long have you been out there?”

  Still nothing.

  “Look, son, I’m here to help. I can’t help you if all you do is stay silent. The quicker we can get this done the quicker we can get you some food, clothes and lodging.”

  Randy’s arms remained crossed but he replaced his scowl with a slight smile. He stayed quiet.

  Back in Jon’s room, Princess asked. “What do you mean I should be afraid?”

  “Just what I said.”

  “Explain.”

  Jon uncrossed his legs, hopped off the table, and walked to her. He noticed Princess took a step back, so he stopped his approach. “Why did you step back?” he asked.

  “I—I, uh—”

  “Is it because you don’t know me?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Or because you don’t know what I can do.”

  She raised her clipboard, “Go over there.” She pointed at the far chair with her pen.

  He did what he was told.

  Once the threat had passed, Princess grabbed the other chair across the table from him, and sat in it. “What’s your name?”

  Like a good boy, he sat and clasped his hands into a knot on the table.

  “Where are you from?”

  He smiled.

  “Is your father dead like the others?”

  Jon’s smile disappeared. He unclasped his hands and leaned back into his chair. Anger settled in his eyes. The memory of Area 12 hit him in the gut. Flashes crossed his mind of those people lifted into the air, tortured for their minerals, and left to rot as zombies. The vivid images he saw of the soldiers burning the zombies with blowtorches returned to him. Had his parents gone through the same thing? Raped of their minerals, left for dead only to rise as eaters?

  “What about your mother?”

  Wrong question. Jon climbed the table and lunged at the blonde, clasping her throat, throwing her and the chair to the floor.

  “Security! Security!”

  As Matty paced the room, an MP marched in. Behind him came another one of those lab coat guys who then closed the door. She stopped her pacing and looked at them.

  “Have a seat.” Straightlaced said.

  Like the others, Matty didn’t say anything.

  The MP pulled out an automatic and with it tapped steadily the right side of his leg.

  Matty sat down.

  “Now,” Straightl
aced said, “the glass in your pocket.”

  Matty shook her head reluctant to admit they caught her. Then carefully pulled the shard from her pocket, and set it on the table to a clinking sound.

  With the gun still hanging by his right side, the military cop strolled to the table and snatched the shard with his left hand. He holstered his automatic and smacked Matty on the cheek with the back of his right hand.

  She winced, but didn’t fuss. She’s seen and fought worse.

  Before the cop left, he let a custodian into the room to clean the rest of the glass Matty had broken in the corner. Once clean, both the custodian and the MP left Straightlaced with her.

  He raised his clipboard. “What’s your name?”

  “My last name is You. My first name is too vulgar to pronounce.”

  “What. Is. Your. Name?”

  “Let me ask you something. Do you have to take a special class to ask these questions or does it come naturally?”

  “You know, this will go a lot easier if you cooperate. I’m the good guy here.”

  “Really? Is that why you have a camera on me?”

  “We don’t have a camera on you.”

  “Liar.”

  He paused, looking beyond the clipboard at the floor. His stare then wandered from the photo on the wall to both sides of the table until it rested on Matty. He gave her a slight shake of his head, then pinched his lower lip with his fingers. Straightlaced asked. “What are the lives of your friends worth to you?”

  By this time, Randy began fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, turning it inside out, running his finger along the edge, and tucking it into his pants then out.

  Sitting at the table, Mr. Gray picked up on his disinterest. “What’s it going to take to get you talking?”

  Randy raised his head. “How about letting me and my friends go.”

  “Sorry son, I can’t do that.”

  “Can’t do it ‘cause you don’t want to or you can’t do it ‘cause of orders?”