KILL BOX: A Post-Apocalyptic Pandemic Thriller (The Zulu Virus Chronicles Book 2)

by Steven Konkoly

  The backyard contained a spacious stone patio featuring a long wooden table and rough-hewn tree stumps for seating. Strings of lights crisscrossed the patio, supported by thick wooden poles sunk into the ground at each corner. A large vegetable garden occupied most of the remaining square footage, leaving just enough room for a potter’s shed in the far corner of the yard. He didn’t see a gate or any way into the lot behind the property, which was a little concerning. The thought of climbing over and exposing himself to easy observation didn’t sit well. Never did.

  “David, keep a close eye on the house. Could be someone holed up inside. The door looked reinforced,” said Larsen.

  Larsen led them through the extensive garden, which he guessed had been picked clean very recently. Lettuce and kale bunches, which he recognized from his garden back home, had been completely cut to the new growth. Most of the carrots were gone, too, along with all of the season’s other produce. He stopped to check the end of a long row of carrot plants, pulling a pinkie-sized carrot from the dirt. The row must have been planted late. Everything else was in the growing phase. Pole beans. Bush beans. Tomatoes. Cucumbers. Peppers. Cabbage. Everything. He looked back at the house, certain someone was inside—watching them very carefully.

  He gathered them against the cinder-block wall next to the locked shed, taking a momentary break to reevaluate their situation.

  “Dan, give me a quick lift,” said Larsen. “I want to see what’s on the other side of this wall.”

  “Should be a gravel lot,” said Howard. “Wide open to the parking garage. Probably not our best approach.”

  “Let’s see,” said Larsen.

  Howard kneeled next to the wall and interlocked his fingers, nodding at Larsen, who gently placed a foot in his gloved hands.

  “Ready?” said Larsen, and Howard nodded.

  Larsen pushed up on his foot, grasping the top edge of the wall with both hands. Howard moved into a standing position, giving Larsen just enough height to see over the barrier. He cocked his head and inched upward until he could see the top of the apartment building and the parking garage attached to it. Shit. Wide open on the other side of the wall. He took a few moments to analyze other possible approaches before telling Howard to lower him.

  “What’s your read?” said David, not taking his eyes or rifle off the house.

  “Wide open like Dan said,” said Larsen. “We need to push north across Warsaw Street and approach obliquely.”

  “We can’t go back out the way we came,” said David. “The smoke screen will be gone, and all of those crazies will be headed back home.”

  “Whatever we do, it needs to happen right now,” said Howard. “We’ll be exposed to the northern side of the parking lot when we cross Warsaw Street.”

  “Then let’s get moving,” said Larsen.

  “How are we doing this?” said David.

  “Over that wall,” said Larsen, pointing to the other side of the shed. “Stay low going over. Howard goes last. You have to stay up there and give him a hand over.”

  Larsen stepped onto Howard’s locked hands and counted down from three, pushing off the foot on zero and pulling his body up. He kept his chest pressed flat against the top of the wall as he swung his feet over to the other side. As soon as his legs cleared the wall, the rest of him followed, giving him less than a second to assess the situation on the other side. Nothing jumped out at him before he landed on his feet or after he scanned the house and yard for a few seconds. He did see one major problem.

  The corner lot was a quarter of the size of the one he’d just left, and the house occupied nearly the entire northern edge of the property, extending to the front gate. They’d have to go through the house to get onto the street adjacent to it. It was the best of their shitty options.

  “All clear,” said Larsen.

  Several moments later, David and Howard dropped to the dead grass next to him, fanning out to cover the approaches.

  “This is a dead end,” said David. “We can’t go out the front here either. Same problem.”

  Larsen had already started for the back door of the house. “Watch the front. I might have to make a little noise.”

  Miraculously, he didn’t. The door was unlocked, opening into a scene right out of a slasher flick. The smell hit him before he could start to process what might have happened inside this quaint white house. Howard started to gag a few feet behind him.

  “What the hell?” said Howard, barely getting the words out.

  “Decomposing bodies,” said David. “A few days old.”

  “I think some of these have been here longer,” said Larsen. “I’m walking straight through to the front door. Cover the left.”

  Larsen shifted the rifle to his left shoulder, pointing it toward a dark hallway leading deeper into the house. He couldn’t imagine a threat emerging from the family room on his left. In fact, he couldn’t imagine what had happened here at all. It looked like a family had been slaughtered in place on the family room furniture. The corpses had been hacked so badly, he could barely tell them apart, aside from the size differences and remnants of long hair. Mom. Dad. Boy. Girl. An innocent family murdered in their own house by a pack of raving lunatics. Or was it their house? And had they been uninfected? He didn’t plan on sticking around long enough to find out.

  “Oh, God,” said Howard. “I don’t think we should. I don’t—”

  A fire hose stream of tan vomit gushed past Larsen’s right leg, splashing off one of the kitchen island stools. He kept his focus on the dark hallway, continuing to move toward the front door.

  “Take shallow breaths through your mouth and keep your eyes on my back. Nowhere else,” said Larsen. “We’ll be out of here in a few seconds.”

  A second round of vomiting erupted, the remaining contents of Howard’s stomach hitting the floor somewhere behind him with a forceful splatter. David had become noticeably quiet, causing Larsen to take a quick peek over his shoulder. The cop was transfixed by the ghastly scene, still standing near the back door.

  “Keep it moving,” hissed Larsen. “We need to get across the street five minutes ago.”

  “Sorry,” said David. “This is fucking unbelievable. These people were butchered.”

  “Same thing will happen to us if we don’t get the fuck out of here right now,” said Larsen, putting his hand on the front door. “We ready?”

  “Good to go,” croaked Howard.

  “Ready,” said David.

  Larsen opened the door inward and took a quick look through the screen door. The street was empty, but he could already see movement in the thinning cloud of smoke to the west. A lot of movement. A concrete alleyway directly across from them seemed to be their best option. They’d be momentarily exposed to observation from the parking garage, but there was no other choice. He pushed the screen door open and bolted into the nearby street.

  Halfway across, one of the figures emerged from the parking lot haze and stopped, clearly looking in their direction. Larsen took a knee in the middle of the street.

  “Keep going,” he said, centering the rifle reticle on the man’s upper torso.

  Howard and David passed behind him as he fired twice, dropping the crazy to the parking lot before he reacted. Larsen swiftly crossed the street, closely watching the shapes visible inside the dissipating cloud. He reached the alleyway, where David crouched behind the corner of the nearest house, monitoring the same situation. Howard stood next to him, with his hands on his knees, breathing deeply.

  “I think we’re good,” said David as he passed by.

  “We need to get off the streets,” said Larsen, pausing in front of Howard. “You good?”

  “Yeah. Just catching my breath,” said Howard, standing up. “I wasn’t expecting that. I knew things were bad, but this is something completely different. I have to get back to my family.”

  Larsen put a hand on the trembling officer’s shoulder. “Dan, I need you to stay focused—so we can all get home
to our families. I have a wife and baby daughter in Colorado that I’m worried sick about. David left his son back at NevoTech, and his wife is out there somewhere.”

  “Ex-wife,” said David, still peeking around the corner of the house.

  “But still your son’s mother,” said Larsen. “I’m sure you’d like to find her, for Joshua’s sake.”

  “I would.”

  “Then let’s focus on the mission. A successful mission gets us closer to seeing our families again, and it gets a qualified emergency room doctor back to NevoTech,” said Larsen. “We all good?”

  Howard took a deep breath and nodded. “All right. I’m ready.”

  “Good,” said David. “I count about twenty hostiles walking in this direction.”

  “Shit,” said Howard. “That’s too many.”

  “We’re fine as long as we get off the streets,” said Larsen.

  “We haven’t had much luck finding shelter,” said David.

  “There’s another apartment building attached to the parking garage. On the other side,” said Larsen. “I bet it connects with the garage. Could be an easy way into Chang’s building.”

  “How do we get in quickly, without making too much noise?” said David.

  “We’ll figure it out,” said Larsen.

  “We don’t have to,” said Howard. “Damn. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier.”

  “Walk and talk,” said Larsen, starting down the alleyway.

  “One of NevoTech’s key executives owns the top floor of that place. Actually, he owns the entire building. He’s paranoid about being kidnapped, so there’s a special arrangement with my tactical unit. It’s part of the reason we have an armored SUV.”

  “You have the codes to get in?” said Larsen.

  Howard grinned. “Regular and police override codes.”

  “Well, there you go,” said Larsen. “We’re gonna be just fine.”

  Chapter 11

  Paul Ochoa peered through the binoculars at the smoke rising behind the apartment building, noting that it had already begun to dissipate. The gunfire had died down a few minutes ago, too. He didn’t know what to make of it. Intense shooting sprees were nothing new on the streets, but the smoke was different, especially since it seemed to be fading. If a car caught fire, he’d have expected it to burn a lot longer, and darker. That was the other thing. The smoke was uniformly grayish-white. Maybe a National Guard patrol got ambushed and put down a smoke screen. But why didn’t they return fire with heavy machine guns? The 240s had been zapping people north of here all night. Probably nothing. Skip Rocham’s voice cast some doubt on that assessment.

  “Ochoa, did you guys just smoke someone street side?”

  “Negative, Rock. Nothing going down over here. Haven’t heard any gunfire in a few minutes,” he said, getting up from the couch.

  “I could have sworn I just heard two suppressed shots. Couldn’t determine a direction because of the parking garage.”

  Rock guarded the parking garage entrance to their target’s apartment building. Nobody had come or gone from the apartment since Rock had taken up a position inside the garage. No cars had entered or exited either. The only vehicle-access point was located on Virginia Avenue, observable from Ochoa’s perch.

  “Wasn’t us. Anything behind the apartment building?” said Ochoa.

  “I’m on my way to take a look,” said Rock. “Motion sensors haven’t picked up anything near the rear entrances.”

  The first thing Ochoa’s team had done upon arrival at the target building was scout the access points. He immediately determined that they would need to deploy several sensors to cover all of them. A small parking lot behind the building presented the biggest challenge. Two doors spread out over three hundred feet. With Rock focused on the most likely exit, the sensors were essential to complete their coverage. If one of the sensors activated, Rock could sprint to the back of the garage and make a quick assessment—all within easy rifle range.

  “Be careful,” said Ochoa. “Could be another team out there.”

  “That wouldn’t exactly be bad news,” said Rock. “We’re spread a little thin here.”

  “Just watch yourself.”

  Forty seconds passed according to Ochoa’s watch, a fucking eternity for Rock to visually check the area.

  “Rock is killing me,” said Ochoa, offline.

  Ripley shrugged, keeping his binoculars trained on the target’s apartment.

  “I don’t see anything out of place back here,” said Rock.

  “What took you so long?”

  “I was being thorough—and careful,” said Rock. “I’ve got a bunch of creepers coming from the west. They don’t seem to be in any hurry.”

  “Copy that. Get out of sight,” said Ochoa. “The last thing we need is one of those mobs harassing us.”

  “Already on my way back,” said Rock.

  “Stay alert out there,” said Ochoa. “If another team got orders to take down Chang, you might have company at that door.”

  “Then what?” said Rock.

  “Depends on who shows up,” said Ochoa. “Out.”

  Ripley put the binoculars on the table in front of him. “Why don’t we hit the apartment right now and get out of here while we can?” said the sniper. “If the National Guard is pushing up this way, things could get complicated.”

  “Because the intel update said he wasn’t in the apartment, but it might still be a fallback position,” said Ochoa. “It also said he more than likely had access to remote security features. If we bust inside, he’ll never show.”

  “The woman might have some intel,” said Ripley.

  “If he doesn’t materialize by noon, we’ll have a talk with her,” said Ochoa.

  Ripley shook his head and smirked. “Who the fuck is this guy?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Control wants him—dead or alive. The sooner we make that happen, the sooner we get out of here.”

  Chapter 12

  David edged along the back of the tiny house, a pristine, nine-story brick and concrete apartment complex towering over them. Larsen quickly pulled his head back from the corner, scrambling to open one of the pockets on his vest. He removed a small black electronic device the size of his thumb and stuck the top of it past the edge of the house, pulling it back a few moments later.

  “What the hell is that?” said David, nervously glancing between Larsen and the alley behind them.

  “Hold on,” said Larsen, lowering some kind of visor on his combat helmet.

  “What is that?” said David.

  “Interactive visor,” said Larsen. “Mostly useful during a free-fall jump, but it does have a few other uses. The little device in my hand is a high-resolution camera. I saw someone on the second floor of the parking garage.”

  “Shit,” said Howard.

  “Give me a second…there,” said Larsen. “I can’t really show you without putting my helmet on your head, but there’s a guy with a rifle and a throat mike on the second level of the parking garage. I’m trying to enhance the image enough to identify him.”

  “I’d say we should turn back, but I don’t think that’s an option right now,” said David.

  “It isn’t,” said Howard. “Not until they get the SUV patched up enough for another diversion.”

  “What if they can’t?” said David.

  “We can hide out in the apartment building until another opportunity arises,” said Howard. “Or we come up with a different diversion plan.”

  “I bet half of that apartment building is infected,” said David.

  “Damn. I didn’t think of that,” said Howard.

  Larsen raised the built-in visor and muttered a curse.

  “What?” said David.

  “We have to get the doctor out of there immediately,” said Larsen. “I know the guy staking out the second-level entrance. Guy likes everyone to call him Rock.”

  “Like The Rock guy?” said David. “From the movies?”
<
br />   “No. Just Rock. Real name is Skip Rocham,” said Larsen. “He’s part of the team I’m the most concerned about. Real knuckle-dragging assholes. I can guarantee you they won’t have any problem executing orders to capture or kill Chang—and anyone that gets in their way.”

  “Wonderful,” said Howard.

  “We’ll be fine,” said Larsen.

  “You keep saying that,” said David.

  “And we keep being fine,” said Larsen before taking a quick peek around the corner of the house. “All clear. Let’s go.”

  They sprinted diagonally across the alley to a darkly tinted glass and steel door, taking up defensive positions facing the way they came. Howard punched a long code into the sheltered screen next to the door and waited a few moments before pulling on the thick door handle. The door remained in place.

  “Probably missed a number,” mumbled Howard, trying the code again.

  Howard yanked on the door handle again, with the same result.

  “What’s the problem, Dan?” said Larsen.

  “The door override isn’t working,” he said. “The code shows up as valid when I hit the enter key, but the door won’t open.”

  “Is this a problem you can solve in the next thirty seconds?” said Larsen. “That’s about all the time we can spare right here if this door isn’t an option.”

  “Yes,” he said before transmitting on the tactical net. “Gary, you there?”

  “Unfortunately,” said Hoenig.

  “I need the kill code for Mr. Abbot’s apartment building. Right now,” said Howard, turning to David and whispering, “Someone has to write this down.”

  “Just a second,” said Hoenig.

  “Can’t you just remember it?” said David.

  “It’s twenty-four fucking numbers,” said Howard.

  “It’s not like I carry a notepad with me!”

  “Why don’t you just enter it at the same time?” said Larsen.

  “Just trust me,” said Howard.

  “David, use your phone. Just enter the numbers like you’re making a call!” said Larsen.