by Brown, TW
“Private?” Jamie keyed the mic after a few seconds of silence. “Private Cronin, answer me,” she implored.
Silence.
Outside and in the direction that the chief and Mr. Deese had vanished there came a few pops as well as the deep booming reports of a shotgun. It was over in just a few seconds and then silence fell once again.
Another single pop.
“Mayor Burns,” the deep voice of Mr. Deese came over the radio. “He didn’t make it.”
She dropped the mic and sat back. The only consolation she could find at the moment was in knowing that the young private’s last request had been granted.
“What in the hell is happening?” she whispered as she stared out the window. She perked up at the sight of a set of headlights coming her way from town.
***
Sophie Martin rounded the corner and slowed. She saw a squad car sitting in front of the Hardee’s. She also saw a white pickup just parked in the middle of the road in front of the Spinx. Neither one of these vehicles belonged to her husband.
She edged around the pickup and came to a stop beside the police car. It was a little surprising to see the mayor sitting in the passenger seat staring out at her. It looked like the woman had been crying.
She parked her own vehicle beside the chief’s and opened her door. Right away she could smell something foul on the night breeze. Her eyes paused on several shapes scattered about just past the intersection. They looked like…bodies?
She heard the door open and the mayor calling her name as she approached the closest unmoving figure. It was a woman. She was on her back, her dead eyes were staring straight up, but there was something peculiar about them beyond just the fact that the woman was dead. A nasty wound just to the left from the middle of her forehead was visible; but it was the horrendous rip on her forearm that looked much more sinister.
As a nurse, Sophie had seen a few nasty dog attack injuries. This almost resembled a dog attack, but there was something different. She looked closer and saw an imprint of a bite mark on the right bicep that definitely did not belong to a dog. It was human!
“Sophie, is that you?” a voice called from behind her.
“Yes.” Tearing her eyes away from the terrible scene, she turned to discover the mayor just a few feet away.
“Jamie, what in the world is going on here?” Sophie Martin asked and then hurriedly added. “I mean, Mayor Burns.”
“We’ve been friends way too long for that.” Jamie came to stand beside her and look down at the corpse.
“Then can I count on you to give me a straight answer to my questions?”
“If I know anything, you bet. I came with Chief Gilstrap to see what was going on. There was a newscast about some sort of terrible accident. We came to see if there was anything that we could do to help…the citizens of Liberty I mean. We got here and then it got crazy in a hurry. These people came at the chief and Mr. Deese. Some of them were torn up so bad that there is no way they should have been walking, and I saw some take a few bullets without even slowing down.” The mayor paused and seemed to weigh her next words carefully. “You are going to think I’m crazy, but it was like those zombie movies…swear to God. The only thing that stopped these people from tearing apart the chief and Mr. Deese was a bullet to the head.”
“Clifton got a call about twenty minutes ago and hurried out here, I guess all the units from up in Pickens and over in Easley were dispatched,” Sophie explained. “He wasn’t gone five minutes before the hospital called me. Only, the nurse who called was Sharon Meyers and she told me that I might be helping more if I went to the scene instead of coming in like they were having everybody else do right now. Also, I guess the first ambulance that arrived had some sort of problem with the person they were transporting. At first the lady flat-lined, but the machines must have been on the fritz because she came to and attacked one of the paramedics.”
“I haven’t seen your husband, but then I haven’t been up to the highway. The chief and Mr. Deese went up there a few minutes ago. One of the soldiers was on the radio.”
Jamie seemed to pause for a moment as if she was debating on what she should say or how much to reveal. Apparently she decided to spill everything. She went on to give as much of a detailed account about the ordeal including what the poor private had said on the radio.
“My God,” Sophie breathed as the account concluded. She was about to suggest going up to the highway. Part of her wanted to see what all had gone on up there, but another part of her simply wanted to find her husband. However, just as she was about to open her mouth, a voice cut her off.
“Mom?” her son’s voice called from behind where she and Jamie stood.
Sophie Martin turned to see her son pedaling up. Her initial reaction was to give him a good scolding, but then she realized that she’d rushed out of the house without even saying anything to him or leaving a note. Still, how he knew to come here was a bit of a mystery.
“Lawrence, you should be asleep,” Sophie said with just a hint of motherly disapproval in her tone.
“I woke up when Dad got called. The television says that there is something terrible happening out here.” Lawrence brought his bicycle to a stop in front of her and gave a polite nod to Jamie. “Mayor Burns.”
At least she now knew how her son had figured out where to go, but that still did not totally get him off the hook for riding all the way out here at such a late hour. She glanced at her watch. Early hour? It was coming up on four in the morning.
“You still shouldn’t have come out here. It’s a school day. And don’t you have baseball tryouts this afternoon?”
The boy was about to open his mouth when a yell from up on the highway cut him off.
“Get in the car…we need to go right now!” It was the chief and Mr. Deese. They had both hopped the guardrail and were running down the hill for all they were worth.
***
Stephen moved along down the emergency lane. About a hundred yards away or so was the scene of a terrible accident involving a semi and what was left of a newer model SUV. But that was actually not the worst thing up here on this small stretch of highway in the middle of the South Carolina countryside.
Scattered around on the ground were at least fifty bodies. Some of those bodies had small clusters of what Stephen was now ready to call zombies. People were being ripped open and fed upon. Most of those being eaten were in uniform and were obviously part of the military support that had been sent to the scene.
He spied five South Carolina Highway Patrol vehicles parked in the eastbound lane. All of them had their lights on and doors open, but not one trooper was in sight.
There were two news vans parked just past the military roadblock, but, like the police, there was no sign of anybody in or around the vans. Just beyond the news vans was a military truck that was still ablaze. Something had caused the truck to catch fire, but it would be impossible at this point to even begin to guess as to what exactly had happened. He guessed that to be the source of the loud explosion that he’d heard and actually felt a touch of relief. His fear that some sort of heavy military ordinance had been brought into play could now be discarded.
“Deese, over here,” Chief Gilstrap called.
That caused a few heads to turn their direction, but the mobile bodies in the area were pretty well spread out and not of much concern yet. They seemed slow and uncoordinated. It should be no problem to take care of any that might come after him or the chief. He also noted that the ones feeding merely glanced up and then went back to their grisly tasks.
Stephen walked over to the military truck where the chief was standing. He’d already dispatched a handful of the walking dead that had been clustered around the cab of the truck. Inside, a single face stared out at them. The figure inside had skin that was a bluish-gray, and once again he was drawn to the eyes. They were glossed over with a milky, pus-colored film and shot full of black tracers.
The figure inside the cab
reached up and slapped at the window and seemed to be trying to gnaw on the glass that separated it from him and the chief standing outside. The name on the shirt came into view. It read: Cronin.
“Damn,” Stephen sighed. “We can’t leave him like that.”
“Why not?” the chief asked as he stepped back and peered up the highway towards where the state troopers had all parked.
“It just doesn’t feel right.”
“He’s dead, Stephen.”
“He was a soldier. He deserves better. Wouldn’t you want me to put you down if you became one of these things?” He threw his hands up to indicate the dozen or so dark figures moving in their direction. He could not help but glance down at the chief’s hand. If this was in fact like the old zombie movies, then the chief was a goner. The bite was a guaranteed death sentence.
“I guess,” Chief Gilstrap agreed. He stepped back and shaded his eyes from the glare of the assorted headlights, spotlights, and the flaming truck. “But I think we need to hurry up and then get the hell out of here.”
“Why?” Stephen asked as he turned to see what the chief might be so interested in. “Holy crap.”
To the south of them, coming up the east and westbound lanes were perhaps a hundred or so dark shapes. Since they were walking along the highway, it was a pretty good guess that they weren’t just a bunch of folks out for an early morning stroll.
“How do you want to do this?” Chief Gilstrap asked, snapping Stephen back to the situation at hand.
“How about I open the door and you pop him.”
“Sounds like as good of an idea as any.”
“On three.” Stephen grabbed the door handle and looked up at the slack face of Private Cronin who stared out at him with those creepy eyes. The black tracers added an especially eerie factor to the man’s face, beyond the way that the skin seemed to sag and was now a gruesome shade of pale gray with just a hint of blue. Also, the man’s tongue was an even darker shade of gray to the point where it almost looked black.
“One…two…three!” He jerked the door open and was hit by another wave of stench as well as the body of Private Cronin tumbling out awkwardly to the pavement.
He could have sworn that he heard the sound of a bone snapping. When the thing that was no longer Private Cronin rolled over, the odd angle that his right arm hung confirmed Stephen’s suspicion.
The mic was dangling down to the floorboard and he stepped around the struggling body of the private. He could hear the voice of Mayor Burns saying something and reached in to pick it up.
Chief Gilstrap stepped forward and put his pistol just a few inches from the man’s left temple. He mumbled something and then pulled the trigger. A splash of black blood sprayed the side of the truck and the body collapsed in a heap.
“Mayor Burns,” Stephen said as he looked back to watch the chief end it for the young soldier, “he didn’t make it.”
Looking back up the highway, the mob was approaching and now he could hear an assortment of moans and possibly even a few of those pitiful cries. The two men took off at a run back for where they’d left the mayor. He only had a moment to register the fact that another car had arrived along with what looked like a kid on a bicycle. He and the chief cleared the guard rail and hurried down the slope towards the bright lights of the roadside oasis.
“Get in the car…we need to go right now!” Chief Gilstrap bellowed.
***
Jonathan Patterson sat up and slapped the top of his alarm clock. Four in the morning was not his normal wake-up time. Last night had been a freaking disaster at work. One of the pipes had burst and flooded out the Domino’s Pizza store.
He’d been the shift manager that night and was tasked with the less-than-pleasant job of calling the actual manager with the bad news. He’d had to shut down for the evening and clean up a bunch of water. It wasn’t just any normal water line. Nope, it had been the damn sewer line. They would be throwing out a whole bunch of product today.
That was why he had to get up at this ungodly hour. He and the manager would be going over the store with a fine tooth comb before the sanitation inspectors arrived. The only good thing about this whole clusterfuck was that he’d been approved for overtime. He had been saving since his eighteenth birthday for that trip to Las Vegas he’d always dreamed of taking. If everything went right, he would be waiting for Santa in a suite at the Bellagio.
Throwing off the blankets, he sat up and stretched. The room was cold and he scurried to the bathroom and turned on the shower so that it would get nice and warm while he emptied his bladder.
“Nothing quite beats that first piss of the day,” Jonathan mumbled. He flushed and then leaned over and turned on his tiny portable radio.
He was just getting lathered up and howling along with Van Halen when the tones of the Emergency Broadcasting System blared. He hated those stupid screeching bleats. Why did they need to ruin a good song to interrupt with another stupid test? He was about to lean out of the shower and punch the button to change stations when the announcement began.
“A state of emergency is being declared on a national level. The CDC has called for curfews to be executed. State and local officials are to stand by for instructions and all members of the military reserves are to report to the nearest depot for assignment.
“The president will be addressing the nation later on, but has asked that all citizens remain home for the time being as emergency protocols are prepared. In addition, a representative from the CDC has asked that if you or somebody you know has come into contact with a person who is acting irrationally and either appears bitten or scratched, you or somebody that you know needs to please bring them to the nearest medical facility.
“All hospitals are instructed to set up a quarantine area for anybody brought in suffering from a bite wound inflicted by another person. Military units will be arriving at major metropolitan medical centers as soon as possible to assist—”
Jonathan turned the radio off and ran to the bedroom to get his phone, punching his mother’s number in haste. As it rang, he turned on the television and muted the sound. The scene being played on the local news was that of a reporter standing in front of a large military looking truck. The words “Recorded Earlier” were in the upper left hand corner of the screen.
“Hello?” a frail voice answered.
“Mom?” Jonathan struggled not to sound agitated.
“Johnny Cakes,” the woman said, suddenly sounding cheerful. That nickname had been his since he’d been a baby. He hated it, and she’d stopped using it in public when he reached high school, but in private, that was her normal greeting.
“Good, you haven’t gone on your walk yet,” he sighed.
His mother went for a walk first thing in the morning no matter the weather. Her advanced age had not curtailed that activity one bit.
“I was just getting my coat on.”
“Yeah, well do me a favor. Can you hold off until I get there? I want to go with you,” he lied.
“But that will throw off the rest of my day,” Mildred Patterson groaned.
“I will be there in five minutes, just wait for me.”
“Fine,” the elderly woman huffed. “But I don’t understand. You never come with me on my morning walk. What’s going on, Johnny Cakes?”
“It’s just been a while since I’ve seen you and I have a busy next few weeks. I figured I could suck it up. Besides,” he glanced over at the mirror and turned sideways, “I can use a little exercise.”
That part was absolutely true. Ever since he’d gotten that job at Domino’s Pizza, he’d been putting on a bit of weight. He’d never been skinny. In high school he had been the anchor of the defensive line on the football team. He’d had dreams of being scouted and getting a scholarship to Clemson, but he hadn’t even merited a glance from a small college.
At just a shade over six feet tall and more than a shade over two hundred and seventy pounds, Jonathan had somehow let himself slip into the
worst shape of his life. His eyes flicked to the three empty beer bottles on the nightstand next to his bed and the pizza box on the dresser.
He kept meaning to do something about the weight, but at the end of the day after a shift dealing with delivery drivers who could not find their own asses with both hands and a map as well as customers who thought the “30 minutes or its free” campaign still existed, all he wanted to do at the end of the evening was come home, turn on Sports Center, log onto his computer to get in some gaming, toss down a few cold ones, eat a few slices, and then fall asleep.
Something told him that he was going to regret not being in better shape in a very short time. He bumped his mouse to wake up his computer.
“Just promise me that you will wait for me,” Jonathan insisted.
“I won’t go any farther than the corner,” his mother said, sounding extremely inconvenienced and put out by the request.
“NO!” he barked. “I want you to wait inside the house.”
“But—” she started to protest.
“I mean it, Mom.”
“Fine.” The sigh at the other end of the line was overly dramatic.
“Promise.”
“I said—” she began but he cut her off.
“I said promise.”
“I promise, Johnny Cakes.”
He didn’t wait for her to say anything else. He hung up and stared at his screen. Sure enough, he had two emails waiting for him. Both were from the same person.
“Okay, Fumio, whadda ya got for me.”
One of Jonathan’s gaming buddies turned out to be a fourteen-year-old from Tokyo. He’d been blown away when he’d learned that the guy he’d been going into the arena with for over six months was almost half his age.
One day after his ass had been pulled out of the fire no less than a dozen times by this one person, he’d sent him a message of thanks and added his personal email. The next day he’d received a reply and learned the identity of his battlefield savior.
