Uncivil War: Infected

by Jonathan Dudycha

  Finally, he was able to flip the snap on his holster. He lifted the Glock free, brought the handgun to the infected’s head, and pulled the trigger.

  The muzzle flare lit up the cockpit, and the other infected shifted his attention from the pilot onto Colonel Jenkins who still lay beneath the heavy frame of the undead. The second infected lifted his dead friend from atop Colonel Jenkins and tossed him out the opening onto the concrete landing pad. Without hesitation, Colonel Jenkins put three slugs into his chest. The infected looked down to his own chest, but had little reaction, nor did he try to leap onto Colonel Jenkins as he lay on the floor vulnerable. Instead, the infected man jumped out of the cockpit and reached for Colonel Jenkins’ foot.

  Colonel Jenkins was being dragged from the floor of the helicopter. He lifted his Glock to get a bearing on the sight and when he did, he pulled the trigger, but there was a jam. Shit. Shit. Then Colonel Jenkins was pulled from the interior of the helicopter, and down to the concrete. His back struck the hard surface and the blow jarred the Glock from his hand. Every vertebra in his back cracked up his spine, and the air was sucked from his lungs.

  Dazed, Colonel Jenkins shook the cobwebs away and realized he was still being dragged away from the helipad and toward a large group of screeching infected beyond the fence. In fact, he was being led toward the front gate, where hundreds of infected had leered at him the day before.

  Kicking his free leg wildly, Colonel Jenkins struck the infected’s butt and back numerous times, but nothing made a difference, he couldn’t shake free.

  They were closing in on the entrance of the gate, maybe thirty feet off. All seemed lost, and Colonel Jenkins knew he was being led to his death.

  Until . . . a gun shot, one shot, boomed and dropped the infected man just short of his goal of making Colonel Jenkins a meal for hundreds of starving infected.

  Fingers, hands, even some skinny arms of infected children reached through the fencing, each stretching for Colonel Jenkins as he lay beyond the body of the fallen dead.

  From the ground, Colonel Jenkins backpedaled away from the fray, only gaining ground and standing to his feet once he made sure he was out of harms way. As he ran toward the helicopter, he glanced over at where he thought the shot had originated from.

  He couldn’t see through the darkness, not completely. Who had come to his rescue? His savior was unknown until he saw two men’s shadows move in the darkness. They made their way toward Colonel Jenkins position to cut him off before he reentered the helicopter.

  “Drake? Bald? Is that you?”

  “Who else would it be?” Drake said on approach. “We knew you couldn’t hack it without us.”

  “What? How?” Colonel Jenkins said.

  “We heard you talking outside Masterson’s room. We wouldn’t let you leave without us.”

  “But how did you see me? See the infected?”

  “Night vision, sir.”

  They all shared a brief chuckle.

  “Always prepared, aren’t you Drake?” Colonel Jenkins said.

  “Damn right. You got room for two more on the chopper?” Drake asked.

  “After that? I’ll let you fly the damn thing,” Colonel Jenkins said.

  “Why didn’t you tell us you were moving out this morning? Why the secret with Masterson?” Drake asked.

  “I didn’t know myself until the middle of the night. I was just going to grab Masterson. See if he’d be willing to take me out until dawn. I was hoping, we’d see something. I can’t shake the feeling the family is still out there.”

  “But the vice president gave us an order,” Bald said.

  “And you’re the first to follow every order you’re given, are you, Bald?” The colonel gave him a knowing look.

  “Well, no, sir, but this came from the top. From the vice president, by way of the president himself,” Bald said.

  “That’s why I’m doing this. Because the president thinks this family is important. In my opinion, the first order supersedes the second.”

  “Hooah, sir. We’re with you.”

  “Good. Then let’s fly.”

  The three ran for the chopper, but as they ran, Colonel Jenkins wondered why the rotors hadn’t begun churning yet. It wasn’t until they hopped inside that they received their answer.

  “Masterson. Let’s get this thing airborne,” Colonel Jenkins spoke into the cockpit.

  There was nothing but static dead air. Leaning forward, Colonel Jenkins crouched and stepped forward. Masterson slumped into the captain’s chair, unresponsive.

  “Masterson?” Colonel Jenkins shook him, but nothing.

  The infected man had torn at his throat, torn the life right out of him.

  This left two questions hanging in the air. First, would Masterson change into one of those monsters? And second, who was going to fly the helicopter?

  22

  In the foothills of the Rocky Mountains

  There was fresh morning dew on the ground, making the climb up the undulating earth slippery. Colt wished to remain in the cover of the trees, at least for now, at least until the glow of morning light.

  It was sensible to hike back to the road, maybe find an abandoned vehicle that still had the keys inside and enough gas to make it to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex. Also, there was that small possibility someone would be searching for them, and they’d never be found walking beneath the canopy of trees in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. But bringing the boys close to the roadway would be risky, especially out in the open with the threat of the infected lurking around every corner.

  Colt had always been great with directions and continued on their bearing for the outskirts of Colorado Springs. He didn’t know how far they’d travelled, at least not the exact distance from Woodland Park, but it didn’t matter, his mind was still consumed with the name Amy.

  Anna, Who’s Amy? We don’t know anyone named Amy. Is this some kind of trick? Colt couldn’t know for certain, but his mind spun into tangled mess. Is it a warning? Should we stay away from someone named Amy? Is she who started this? Colt couldn’t rationalize, but maybe he didn’t need to. Maybe he needed to think harder. Only then would he come up with the answer.

  But then Dylan chimed in as they hiked and shook his father from his thoughts. “Dad, I . . . I . . .” he stalled, as if he didn’t want to say more. This wasn’t the first time his son had been reluctant to speak. Usually it was followed by a confession, something Dylan knew was wrong. Some torment he’d inflicted on his little brother, or maybe trouble at school. But this was not that.

  “What is it, son?”

  “I saw Mom.”

  One word stopped Colt dead. “What do you mean, you saw Mom?” Colt asked.

  “I mean, I saw her. In my dream.”

  Colt swallowed hard. “And what happened in your dream exactly?”

  Dylan ate his words at first. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “It was weird.”

  “How so?” Colt lead the conversation to a deeper meaning.

  “We were on a beach.”

  Colt opened his mouth wide. He couldn’t believe it, could he and his son share the same dream? How could they? The beach Colt had seen Anna on was one from their past, before they’d had kids. On their honeymoon.

  “One with white sand?”

  “No.”

  Colt leaned back. Wondering if maybe the dream was different than his own. “No?”

  “The beach was at grandma and grandpa’s lake house in Minnesota.”

  Colt was confused. Why had both of their dreams been of Anna on a beach? Was there a connection to water?

  “And what were you doing at the lake house?”

  “Chasing after mom. She kept running. I couldn’t catch her, and the beach went on forever.”

  Are you kidding me? Dylan was describing everything he’d experienced. Something shot through Colt, and he grabbed his son. “What did she say?” He shook Dylan. “She said something to you, didn’t she?”

&nb
sp; “Ow, Dad, you’re hurting my arm.”

  Colt realized his grip was tight and ferocious. He let go immediately. “Oh, sorry.” When he let go, Colt turned back to face the journey ahead.

  But then Dylan spoke and halted his steps before he could move.

  “She said only one thing. A name.”

  Colt dropped his head, and while he looked at the ground and faced away from his son, he filled in the blank.

  “Amy.”

  “Yeah. How’d you know?” Dylan said.

  “Because I had the exact same dream.” Then Colt continued walking.

  “Seriously?” Dylan jogged to catch his father.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you or Mom know anyone named Amy?” Dylan said.

  “No. No one. Do you?” Colt looked to Dylan with hope. Maybe he knew.

  “No. What do you think the dream means?”

  “I don’t know, but I think it has something to do with these monsters that have been hunting us.”

  “You do? How?”

  “Can’t tell. Maybe the vice president has some theories.”

  “You really think they’ll wait for us?”

  “I sure as hell hope so, otherwise . . .” Colt stopped walking and turned around to wait for Wesley to catch up as he felt their pace quicken. But as he turned Wesley was nowhere in sight. Frantic, Colt spun, searching feverishly. “Didn’t I tell you to keep an eye out for your brother?” Colt looked to Dylan.

  “Yeah, but I . . .” Dylan chased the words that evaded him.

  Colt’s chest heaved. He couldn’t catch his breath. His eyes danced from tree to tree, he couldn’t yell—that would draw in the infected.

  But there was no denying it: Wesley was gone.

  Cheyenne Mountain Complex

  Colonel Jenkins wasted no time as he moved around Masterson and began to unlatch his safety harnesses.

  “What are you doing, sir?” Bald asked.

  He didn’t answer. Not until he slid both arms out from underneath the harness. “Help me with him.” Colonel Jenkins pushed Masterson from the seat.

  Masterson’s limp body fell into Drake’s waiting arms. Drake eyeballed Colonel Jenkins. “Drag him outside and away from the helipad. And put a bullet in his skull, just in case,” Colonel Jenkins instructed.

  “Yes, sir,” Drake tightened his grip and struggled to drag Masterson’s limp corpse from inside the chopper.

  Bald waited and watched as Colonel Jenkins took the open pilot’s chair. “What are you doing, sir?”

  “What’s it look like?” Colonel Jenkins tried to remember the last time he flew a chopper. It had been almost ten years, but like most things in life, the memory can only come back to you when forced into the real situation.

  “You know how to fly this thing?” Bald said.

  “We’re about to find out, aren’t we?” He caught Bald’s eye and grinned, then faced the controls and flipped the power on, bringing the rotors to life. He lifted the headset over his head and looked out the window in time to witness Drake light up the darkness with a single shot.

  When Drake jumped into the chopper, he lifted the headset and said. “It’s an honor to be flying with you, sir.”

  Then Bald looked over at him and said, “You knew he could fly?”

  “Damn right. He’s a legend. Haven’t you heard stories about him? Every MTI in the Air Force was all over his balls.”

  Bald turned to see the colonel’s face beaming with pride.

  Once airborne, Colonel Jenkins steered north on the same heading from the previous day. “What do you say we head back up toward Woodland Park? Back up 24?”

  “Don’t you think we oughta try south?” Bald suggested.

  “I agree with Bald on this one, sir. We exhausted our efforts north yesterday, only to find nothing.”

  “What about the restaurant we shot up? Infected were swarming that place like bees on honey.”

  “You don’t actually think that was the family inside the restaurant, do you, sir?” Bald asked.

  The air was static for a moment before Colonel Jenkins spoke again. “Actually, I do.”

  Again, static until Drake spoke up. “Then by all means, sir, go with your gut. Besides, if this thing goes sideways, this will be your court martial after all.”

  They couldn’t control their laughter until they hovered over Manitou Springs.

  23

  In the foothills of the Rocky Mountains

  Cold air entered Colt’s lungs and burned as he huffed and desperately searched for Wesley. He had to be close. He was just there. Standing beside Dylan before he broke away and caught up to Colt to discuss their plan and the dream.

  “Climb down the hill. See if you can find him,” Colt forced out a whisper.

  Following Dylan and heading downward, Colt slipped on the muddy ground. He fell to his butt and let out a harrumph. Pain seared through his tailbone as he fell onto a jagged rock that stuck out from the dirt.

  “Damn!” He stood and rubbed out the pain, then looked up again. The hardest part was keeping his emotions intact. All he wanted to do was yell into the trees and alert Wesley his father hadn’t left him. He was there for protection.

  Colt jogged down the remainder of the hill, and as he did, he heard the trees sway in the wind. Leaves rustled in the early morning breeze just as orange and red hues grew over the tree line. The sunrise would give them the light they needed to find Wesley. However, it would be an advantage for the infected too.

  Colt watched as Dylan sprinted from tree to tree, peering around every trunk for any sign. Suddenly a crack rang out from Colt’s left. His body froze in place, and he immediately looked to Dylan, making sure he did the same. Dylan hadn’t heard the rustling in the bush. Colt gritted his teeth and pushed out a sound only Dylan would understand. A sharp high-pitched whistle.

  Dylan heard and spun. Colt opened his hand, alerting his son to hold fast. Then he swung his Browning from around his shoulder and took aim, waiting for something to reveal itself.

  An oversized bush blocked Colt’s view from the approaching enemy, but soon the thing, the monster would show himself. But when he sighted down the length of the rifle, there was no monster on the other end of the barrel, but rather his son Wesley.

  Colt dropped the barrel and ran to him and wrapped him in a tight embrace. “Wesley! What are you doing? Where did you go?” Colt’s words were short and panicked.

  “I had to pee. I was going to tell you, but you told us we had to be quiet.”

  Colt breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Idiot.” Dylan shook his head with a disapproving eye roll.

  “You can’t just wander off. I told you to stick to your brother’s side, and I meant it.”

  “Sorry.” Wesley bowed his head in shame.

  Perhaps Colt was being harsh. He had just forced Wesley awake. Maybe he hadn’t fully awoken yet.

  “It’s okay, bud—” Colt began, but then his mouth was forced shut at the sound in the distance.

  A roaring thud bounced off every tree in the forest. A clapping ensemble. The sound of churning rotors. A stitch twisted in Colt’s gut. It was hope. “Helicopter,” Colt said. “Run!”

  Without thinking, Colt sprinted up the hill. There was a clearing over the top that led all the way to the US 24. If he hurried, maybe he could reach the clearing before the helicopter passed. But that would mean leaving his sons behind; neither could keep pace.

  When Colt reached the precipice, he spun back around to see Dylan helping Wesley climb. They were too far off. He was about to speak, to tell them to hurry, but they were already doing their best. He spun toward the road that lay less than 1,000 feet away. He gritted his teeth, and his body wanted to move, but he couldn’t leave them behind. He turned and ran back down the hill.

  When he reached them, Colt bent down and lifted Wesley, then nodded to Dylan. “Go on,” he said.

  Climbing at a ferocious pace, Colt stayed on Dylan’s heels. When they reached the
top again, the helicopter flew north in a blur. Colt set Wesley down and each of them waved and screamed. “Here! Down here!”

  But of course, their scream fell deaf. At least to those inside the helicopter. But not on those of the infected.

  The fast-food restaurant was just off the nose of the helicopter when Drake spoke over the headset, “Sir, you think this is a good idea? Aren’t these monsters attracted to sound?”

  Colonel Jenkins peered over his shoulder to catch Drake’s eye. “That’s why you’re going to have to bust your ass into that restaurant and search the interior as quickly as possible.” Colonel Jenkins smiled, then looked over the nose as he lowered down to the road below.

  “Bald. You offer him cover. Stay frosty and keep your head on a swivel. There’s no telling how many we might encounter,” Colonel Jenkins said. Once the skids touched the pavement, he shut down the rotors and killed the noise.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, sir,” Drake said, scooting toward the edge of the seat. He jumped down, and looked right, then left. There was no sign of movement anywhere. Bodies were strewn about in the roadway as he approached the restaurant, the same bodies he’d cut down the night before. He gave a fleeting glance back toward the chopper to see Bald drop out of the chopper and move in front of the nose.

  The door of the restaurant was around the side, but it was blocked by a stack of at least three dead infected. A truck was parked there too. Parked with open doors. Poor schmucks left in a hurry, he thought as he walked around the bed.

  When he reached the double doors of the entrance, he peered through the glass, making sure a surprise didn’t await him. He reached for the handle and swung the door open. But before he could enter, something in his periphery caught his eye. There was movement. He shot his gaze to the right and aimed his rifle toward the edge of the parking lot and at the tree line.