The body of an elderly black woman had been neatly laid in the cargo area.
Clothed in a neatly pressed flowered dress, stockings, and shiny beige colored flats, the woman looked like she’d been dressed for church. Her hair was neatly done, with one side pinned back with a pin, and a long chain with a cross set outside her dress, displayed prominently for all to see. A thin layer of dust rested on the glasses she wore, telling Reilley she’d been there for a while.
Backing away, he turned and looked towards the front of the store. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dark shape resting on the ground near the right side of the small building. Walking that way, still sidestepping so he could keep the gun pointed in front of him, he found a middle aged black man lying face down on the pavement. Dried blood covered the pavement around his head like a massive halo. Flies buzzed around the dead body in a frenzy.
Looking past the man, he saw the door to the gas station’s restrooms on the side of the building. Walking to it, he tried to open it but found it locked as expected.
‘That’s actually a good thing,’ he thought, surmising that a locked bathroom would be unlikely to hold any of the infected.
Returning to the front of the gas station, he paused and evaluated things again to make sure nothing had changed. Looking towards the Prius, he saw the girl looking at him. Her eyes pleaded with him as her mouth moved.
Unable to hear the words, he held up one finger, indicating that she should wait. Turning, he moved to the doors. He realized the glass of the right front door had been broken, its pieces were strewn about the tiled floor of the mini-mart, indicating it’d been broken inward. Leaning forward, he stuck his head through the frame of the door so he could listen for sounds of movement, only to be greeted with the smell of death. Recoiling slightly, he steeled himself and remained there, listening intently.
Hearing nothing, he stepped through the frame and into the small convenience store. Glancing towards the counter, he saw what he assumed was the key to the restrooms sitting on the counter. It was on a short chain, the other end attached to a large, rounded cup-like piece of plastic. Disregarding it momentarily, he stepped to the counter and peered over it. There was nothing behind it.
Moving away from the counter, he checked each of the three short aisles of merchandise for threats and found none. He found the body of the store clerk in the back of the store, propped up against the glass door of what had been the refrigerated section. With the interior of the store dark and warm, he had no need to check the drinks within to know they weren’t cold.
Satisfied that the store was empty and it was safe to bring the girl out, he returned to the front of the store and grabbed the key before heading back outside. Walking to the car, he grabbed the passenger side rear door and threw it open.
The smell of the girl’s gas escaped, making him blink away its putridness.
“Jesus…”
Reaching in, he grabbed the girl by the elbow and pulled her out of the car. With her feet still bound, she stumbled and almost fell before he caught her. Leaning down, he grabbed the end of the rope that was tied around her legs and quickly undid the knot. Tossing the rope back into the car, he said, “Don’t fucking try to run,” before slamming the door and pulling her forward.
When they reached the side of the building, she gasped at the sight of the dead black man but didn’t stop. Using the key, he unlocked the door to the restroom. Pressing his head against the door, he listened for a moment before pulling it open.
The room was dark, the only light in the space provided by a small window that sat high on the wall to the right, above the sink.
A single toilet sat to the left, close to the corner of the small space. To its right, a urinal was mounted on the wall.
Pushing the girl forward, he said, “Hurry up.”
Stumbling, she turned and looked back at him. “Can you untie my hands?”
Reilley looked at her skeptically. The thought of her having both her hands and feet free wasn’t appealing.
“I need to wipe,” she said before looking away, embarrassed.
Sighing, he stepped forward and used one hand to untie the rope that held her wrists.
“I’ll be right outside. Don’t try anything stupid.”
“Okay, I just need to go. Can you close the door?”
“Fuck that. Just go. I won’t look.”
The girl’s stomach rumbled again before a loud, wet-sounding fart was released. The smell was horrible.
“Jesus,” he said, shaking his head. “Fine, close the door. I’ll be right outside. Don’t take too fuckin’ long.”
Closing the door, he turned and placed his back to the door as he watched the surrounding area. From this distance, he was able to see into the seating area of the McDonald’s. The place was a bloodbath. Bloody handprints and long streaks covered the windows. Where the glass was still transparent, the limbs of the dead were visible, suspended in death, the bodies of their owners tossed about the tables and seats like old rags.
Turning away, he changed his focus to the diner. For the most part, it was in the same condition as the McDonald’s, except that one of the large windows had been broken outward by the customers in a desperate attempt to escape. The body of a heavyset white man in a t-shirt and jeans was draped across the windowsill, his head and arms dangling downward towards the sidewalk in front of the diner, which had been stained to a rust-color by his blood. Atop the man was the body of one of the waitresses, a thick-bodied woman with brown hair. Like the man, she was slung across the opening, her limbs hanging downward, lifeless.
He started to look away from the diner and towards the hotel when the alarm for the Prius went off.
“What the…” he muttered under his breath, looking towards the front of the gas station. From this angle, he couldn’t see the car.
Looking at the door, he realized the key allowed it to be locked from the outside. He jammed the key in and turned it to the right, feeling the locking mechanism engage.
“I’ll be right back!” He whispered to the girl, not wanting to alert whoever had set off the car’s alarm to his presence.
He heard the girl mumble something in response from inside the room.
Ignoring her, he crept towards the edge of the building. Reaching its edge, he leaned outward until he could see the car. There was nothing and no one there, but the car was still emitting its loud, wailing alarm and both the headlights and tail lights were flashing.
Pausing, he considered his options.
Go to the car and try to see who or what set off the alarm, or wait and see if someone - or something - would show itself.
The alarm continued to blare, drowning out his thoughts.
It would certainly get the attention of anyone in the area.
‘Dammit.’
Taking a deep breath, he stepped around the corner and began moving to his left, his eyes darting between the car and the store as he looked for signs of movement. Still he saw nothing.
Creeping forward, he moved around the Suburban and towards the Prius. He moved slowly and methodically, carefully planting each step as he made his way to the car. When he was finally behind the Prius, he was able to see down both sides of the vehicle.
Nothing.
Still the alarm wailed.
‘Shit.’ Using one hand, he felt the front of his pants, checking each pocket for the keys. They weren’t there.
‘Must have left them in the car,’ he thought. Moving towards the driver door, he looked into the vehicle, making sure it was empty. He opened the door and reached inside for the keys in the ignition.
They weren’t there.
“The fuck?” Leaning into the car, he looked into the cup holder. Nothing. He checked the center console compartment. Nothing.
‘Did she?’ He wondered.
‘But why?’
‘To distract you, you idiot.’
“Fuck!” Turning, he raced back towards the side of the building and to th
e door to the restroom. Turning the key in the lock, he threw the door open.
The keys to the Prius laid on the floor beneath the sink.
The window above it had been pushed open.
The room was empty.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center, Virginia
“What the hell is taking so long? We need to go! We need to get out there!” Doctor Reed’s combat boots squeaked on the tile as he paced back and forth in the lab, frustrated with the lack of movement since the morning briefing with the President. It had been over seven hours since the briefing, and he’d been itching and ready to go for the last five and a half.
Why nothing was happening was a frustrating mystery to him, and when asked (numerous times), Sergeant Mason had nothing to offer in regards to the lack of action.
“Take it easy, Jon. I’m sure there’s a reason for the delays,” Lisa Bowman replied, offering the best smile she could manage, though she knew - as did he - that her positivity was forced. Though she wasn’t going on the mission, she was nearly as anxious as he was.
Stopping, Jonathan looked over at the tall blonde woman, took a deep breath, and said, “I know. I just feel helpless.” Pointing in the general direction of outside, he went on.
“There are literally people dying out there, and the opportunity to save lives is three thousand miles away. We’ve just got to go there and get it.”
Andrew didn’t bother looking up from the notes he was reviewing as he spoke.
“‘It’ is a child, Jon.”
Reed put his hands up. “Sorry, you’re right. Making sure she’s safe and cared for is priority number one.”
Andrew looked up and met his gaze. “I know, Jon. Sometimes we just need to be reminded of the impact we have on the people who may be required to give a part of themselves to help the greater good.”
“We’re only asking for blood samples,” Reed replied.
“At first.” Andrew countered, removing his glasses and setting them on the desk in front of him. “But what if the answer isn’t there?”
Jonathan looked at Lisa for support, but she simply shrugged. As usual, Andrew was right in his analysis. The prevailing assumption was that the cure would be found in the blood of someone immune, but in truth, the human body was a complex system, with numerous different body fluids that support biochemical reactions of cellular metabolism.
Nothing was certain.
“Then we’ll have to convince her to allow us to run more tests.”
“What if she refuses?”
Reed’s eyes met Andrew’s. “We’ll cross that bridge when and if we reach it.”
The door to the lab opened. It was Mason.
“Colonel Reed, it’s time.”
Entering the mission briefing room he’d been in the week before, prior to the mission to Los Angeles, he saw Staff Sergeant McGhee, Sergeant First Class Jacobs, and
three men in flight suits, two of which he’d met previously.
“Captain Quinn, Tech Sergeant Andrews,” he said, nodding.
“Good afternoon, Sir.” The young Captain replied, nodding in return.
“After noon, Sir,” Andrews replied, nodding as well. The man’s previously perfect buzz cut was gone. Completely gone.
Pointing at it, Reed raised his eyebrows.
Andrews reached up and ran his hand over his scalp. “Couldn’t maintain it, and didn’t want it to get out of control, so I shaved it for now.”
“It’s a bold choice,” Reed replied, smiling. He looked at the third person, a young, mid-twenties blonde-haired, blue eyed man. He looked like he was barely out of high school.
Extending his hand, Reed introduced himself.
“I’m Jon, and you are?”
The young man visibly gulped before responding nervously. “First Lieutenant Knight, Sir.”
Captain Quinn stepped in. “First Lieutenant Knight will be my co-pilot for this mission, Colonel.”
Reed was surprised at the information. “What happened to Major Richards?”
The Captain’s eyes met Reed’s as he gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. “Can I talk to you over here, sir?”
Saying nothing, Reed followed the man over to the corner of the room.
Quinn’s eyes showed sorrow and compassion as he spoke.
“Major Richards committed suicide last night, Sir.”
“What? Oh my God….” Reed was stunned. Major Richards had been a strong, competent, positive woman when he’d interacted with her the week prior.
“Yes, Sir. We’ve all taken it hard,” Quinn said, shaking his head.
“Any idea why?”
“Her husband and two children were placed in quarantine after they arrived at the protective zone in Indianapolis…” the man paused, looking away as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. After a bit, he continued. “Apparently, he was infected. They’re all dead.”
Quinn looked at the ceiling, taking a deep breath. “I just met her family a month ago at her daughter Emily’s fifth birthday party. She was a beautiful little girl ….” his voice trailed off. After a few seconds, he added, “so was her little sister.” He turned away, muttering, “I’m sorry.”
Jonathan nodded. “I understand.”
After a few minutes, the two men returned to the others, where they resumed discussions regarding the mission.
Nodding at the young Lieutenant, Jonathan asked, “So Lieutenant, how many missions have you flown in a C-17?”
The young man paused before answering. “Um, none, Sir.”
Reed stopped in his tracks, pausing to look first towards Knight before turning towards Quinn.
Quinn shrugged. “Best we can do, Sir. With Major Richards...not available, I’m moving up to Mission Commander. I need a co-pilot, and Lieutenant Knight is our best option.”
“Best option?”
“He’s trained on prop aircraft. The C-130, to be exact.”
Reed nodded. “Okay, that should work. I’m assuming he’s flown missions in the C-130, then.”
The young man looked towards the table, then back at Reed. “Um, just training missions, Colonel,” Knight replied. “I finished my training a month ago.”
Reed paused before responding, making use of his best poker face. Though his first impulse was to ask if the man was kidding, he knew that as the Senior Officer, it was his job to provide leadership. An overabundance of concern on his part wouldn’t be helpful, and if there was someone else available with more experience, that person would be there.
‘Desperate times call for desperate measures,’ Reed thought, nodding again. He looked at Captain Quinn. “You’ve got experience with the aircraft, though, correct, Captain?”
Quinn nodded. “Yes, Sir. Nearly five hundred hours. I was due to become a Mission Commander in the next month or so prior to the virus outbreak.”
Feeling much better about the situation, Reed smiled reassuringly as he clapped the Captain on the shoulder. “Alright, well, you’re Mission Commander now, right?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good, so, over to you, then for the briefing.”
“Thanks, Colonel.” Pointing at the map that had been hung on the wall, he indicated a spot in Oklahoma. The first leg of our mission is going to take us here: Tinker Air Force Base. Based on a departure of twenty-two hundred hours Eastern Daylight Time, we’ll be landing just after zero one hundred hours Central Daylight Time.”
Staff Sergeant McGhee interjected. “I heard we’re fueling this thing ourselves when we get to our stop.”
“You heard right,” Mason replied, nodding. “I spent three hours learning how to connect the hoses and start the pumps on the fuel trucks. When we get there, I’ll need a hand getting things in position, but I know how to do it now.”
“No inflight refueling available?” Sergeant First Class Jacobs asked.
“Nope,” Reed answered, shaking his head. “McConnell Air Force Base went off comms two days a
go.”
“Shit,” McGhee said, looking down at his boots.
They all understood the implications of the base going offline.
Jacobs looked at the map for a moment, then asked, “So….why Tinker?”
“They went offline a week ago,” Captain Quinn responded, looking at Reed. “Colonel, it was the day after we refueled during our return flight from L.A.”
Jacobs hesitated, cocking his head slightly. “I’m sorry, so is that good?”
Quinn took a deep breath and grimaced.
“We’re hoping the infected have moved on.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
Vietnam, 1971
An impact in his ribs.
Something pulling his clothes.
Bright light.
Far away voices.
Being lifted out of the water.
Nothing.
Stifling heat greeted him when he finally came around. He was thirsty. More thirsty than he’d ever been. Struggling, he managed to open his eyes.
The thatched roof of a hut was above him. Turning his head, his eyes registered a small room, with thin cloth hanging from lines above him, offering some element of privacy for those within.
“You have to leave,” a voice said.
Looking towards the sound of the voice, his eyes settled on a young Vietnamese woman. Her face was emotionless as she stared at him.
“Water…” he pleaded.
WIthout saying anything, she rose to her feet and walked across the wooden floor of the room. Her sandals slapped against the surface as her short legs moved her to a small table near him, where she grabbed a jug of water. She poured some in a cup, then walked to his side. Grabbing a small straw made of bamboo, she mechanically stuck it in the cup and held it to his lips.
Sucking on the straw, he almost cried in relief when the water flooded his mouth. He gulped, then sucked some more.
The woman pulled the cup away and set it on the table as she spoke. “You have to go. You stay here, Viet Cong kill us.”
The shooter nodded weakly. “I understand.” Turning his head, he looked up at the sur[risingly large ceiling of the hut, noting how the roof was made of multiple layers of palm tree fronds. As he laid there, his memory began to replay what had happened before he lost consciousness.
Surviving Rage | Book 2 Page 46