Caution: Infected Inside
Lazzaro had done the best he could. But like many important and momentous events, it was something small that had been overlooked which doomed the large vessel. Infected blood within a piece of metal shrapnel had made its way into a man, without anyone recognizing this risk. For the want of a horseshoe nail, the kingdom was lost. Small mistakes can lead to big consequences, and the Boxer had been doomed because of one tiny error.
— 23 —
High Mountain Dessert
Ranchita, California
John Eric Carver
“You always have two choices: your commitment versus your fear.”
-SAMMY DAVIS, JR.
Carver reflected on the turn his life had taken over the last twenty-four hours. The change had complicated his future life. The transformation was both frightening and wonderful at the same time. He wasn’t alone anymore. He had Hope.
Suddenly, risks took on a whole new meaning because there were other people to consider. When he and Hope had physically committed themselves to each other, it was unlike any other intimate encounter he’d had before. It wasn’t just a merging of their bodies. It had been a fusion of their souls. He wasn’t ready for that change, but it happened. He was in new territory and had no map or guide to help him understand. For the first time in a long while, Carver was confused. That frightened him.
He wasn’t frightened by the thought of suffering. He’d become familiar with plenty of physical pain over his military career. It wasn’t even the idea of his own death and the unknown afterwards.
It was about living up to his new responsibilities. Hope had committed herself to him, and Carver now had two people relying on him in a whole new way. He feared falling short of his duty to protect them.
He’d learned quickly, during his BUDs training, that failure was inevitable when you were pushing the boundaries and living on the edge. Being a SEAL wasn’t about falling short of your goal. It was pushing yourself to the limit, giving every last ounce of effort, and learning from the experience. Regardless of the outcome.
BUDs training was treading water with your hands and feet tied together and willingness to keep going until you were literally drowning. It was showing your commitment to risk your life then so you wouldn’t fail your brothers later.
Now, there were no more SEALs to live and die for. It was about Hope being hurt. It was about Kyle losing another father. Before yesterday, protecting those two was an abstract idea. It was like fighting for the flag or guarding the walls. Now, it was about failing two innocent and vulnerable people who had become his family.
Carver’s mind began to wander as memories of his two intimate encounters with Hope washed over him. The first time they had sex in Beckham Hall’s back office, it had been animalistic, neither of them having had a partner in over a year. But this morning, after Harold had announced that he was going to work on the pickup truck in preparation for their trip, Hope had unexpectedly shown up.
She was beautiful. Her combed, silky hair hung loosely on her shoulders. She had put on a bit of makeup, and she smelled of scented soap and a hint of perfume. She’d worn a black lace bra and thongs that highlighted every part of what made her a woman. It had been an encounter by choice, rather than need. They made love accordingly, with thought and patience, rather than need and lust. They used a bed instead of a desk. It was the opposite of their first time, and it was just as wonderful. Just as fulfilling. Just as right.
“Hey, Cowboy. Think you can stay between the lines?” Harold Kinney said.
Carver had been drifting on the road, his mind wandering. “Sorry, brother.”
“You need to get right,” Kinney replied.
Harold stared out the passenger window, watching the desert roll by. Several minutes passed and he sat silently, his mind fighting to control his irritation. He’d been against this mission from the start. His job was to protect the camp and the people in it. His responsibilities ended at the borders of the 3000-acre facility and not a foot beyond. Risking them all for someone who was likely dead made no sense, other than to placate Hope. But Harold was a good Marine. Once the plan had been formulated, he would do it to the best of his ability.
Harold glanced at Carver, who continued to stare blankly onto the road. He suspected that his buddy had recently gotten lucky with the boy’s mother. He’d known about her since he’d met Carver over two years ago. He’d never met Hope until recently. She was the proverbial girlfriend back home, just like the ones he’d heard about from so many of his fellow Marines. Amorphous people who were part of a life that was in the rearview mirror.
But that changed yesterday. Harold suspected something had happened between the two of them. His suspicions had been raised during dinner last night. They were a little too coy and a bit too cautious around each other. Furtive glances and conscious efforts to avoid drawing attention to themselves, all while finding a way to brush up against each other when they were close, was the main clue.
If his buddy finally got some, then good for him. Kinney had no problem with that. But when Hope had asked him to give the two of them a bit of alone time this morning, it got serious. Carver’s mind had been taken over, and Kinney wasn’t going into battle with a buddy who wasn’t one hundred percent into it.
“You all right?” Kinney asked as they sat in silence.
Shrek was lying across the center console, his butt snuggled against Carver’s side and his head in Kinney’s lap. The Malinois turned and stared back at his master so that when Carver took his eyes off the road to look at the two passengers, they were already staring back at him.
The sight was comical. Shrek and Kinney both had the same, questioning look. Carver began to laugh.
“Okay,” Kinney replied, as Carver chuckled on. “I didn’t know that was so funny.”
“I wish I had a camera. You two had the same stupid look on your faces.”
Shrek gave Carver a snide squint and turned back to lay his head on Kinney’s lap.
“Dude, you need to get your mind into the game.”
“I’m fine,” Carver said.
Kinney didn’t know how far to take it, but both of their lives were on the line. There were now no boundaries, especially on a mission he had no heart to take part of.
“Was it that good?” Kinney said absently as he stared out the window.
“Excuse me?” Carver feigned, with a little indignation thrown in.
“Come on. You don’t think I wanted to crawl out of bed that early this morning just to work on your damn truck?”
Carver hadn’t thought of that. Kinney loved his sleep, almost as much as he loved his Modelo beer.
“Shit. Did she…”
“Duh. Of course, she asked me to leave. And I thought Marines were dense,” Kinney shot back.
Carver blushed, bringing a smile to Kinney’s face.
“No. Not big John Carver. Don’t tell me the famous SEAL has been whipped. I never thought I’d see the day.”
Carver smiled, the color fading. Kinney was right. He was whipped and it felt right.
“What can I say. I’m now a taken man.”
Kinney stared at his friend and tried to decide if he was joking. Carver raised his eyebrows and smiled. Kinney laughed so hard that Shrek had to sit up.
“I won’t ask for details,” Kinney finally said.
“You sure?” Carver joked. “I can give you the highlights.”
Kinney looked at his friend sideways, but the smirk on Carver’s face told him that he was joking.
“All right. I get it. You’re in love. But that makes it even more important that you focus. You’re not in the zone, and I need you there, with me.”
“Copy that. You’re right. I’m not focusing.”
“Thank you. Now, let’s go over this one more time. I want to know we’re on the same page.”
The pickup truck continued forward, barreling past the small crossroad that marked the town of Ranchita. Inside one of th
e homes nearby, a mutated creature and several of his minions feasted on a recent kill. The sound of the truck’s engine made its head snap up. It ran to the door just as the vehicle sped past.
— 24 —
Ranchita California
Former Home of Manual and Teresa de Chiara. Deceased
Cyclops
That sound. I know that sound. I rush out of the house. I look down to where I can hear the growl of the metal beasts that the humans ride within. It passes by.
I see them. The human and his partner, a coyote traitor named Shrek. I’ve heard his master calling him from afar.
Shrek. He smells me. He is dangerous. I remember, from the memory of before the burn. Before the change, when I became what I am now. I vaguely remember killing the animals they were keeping. The humans used other animals for their own food. Now, I am using the humans as my food.
I turn back to my clan. We must return to the cave. The cave where our master now lives. The master that burns within, just like we now do. The master that brought other burning humans to join us. We are a team. We are strong. We are one.
He will be happy when I tell him about this. The weakening of the human clan in the mountains because Shrek has left along with his warrior master.
I yelp at my clan. They are not happy that we have to leave such a wonderful meal of two fresh kills. Human meat is becoming more difficult to find. But if I know my master, he will be happy that Shrek has left. We will pay them a visit tonight. There is a lot more flesh at the human camp for us to eat.
It’s bright out, and it hurts our eyes. But we can do it. The burning humans don’t like the light either, and their eyes are even more sensitive than ours. But this is important, so we travel back to the cave. Our master demands that of us.
We slink through the desert, finding cover from the bright light above. It is traveling across the sky, like it always does. It is moving down to the ground and will be gone by the time we get back home. Then, our master and the rest of his clan will come out. We will attack and kill the humans, feasting on their flesh. It will be a good night.
We move quickly and quietly. The light in the sky has started to change colors. The bright, white light is now turning red. We turn a corner and stare at the giant hole in the side of the mountain. Inside, the rest of the clan is waiting. Burning humans and coyotes live together, each relying on the other. My loyalty to the master is instinctive. I don’t know why we came together. It just seemed right.
He is a big male. Fierce and strong. He was leading a large pack when we met. I saw him and he saw me. We immediately knew our place and I told my clan to join his. We moved together until we found our new home.
I yip, letting my clan know that we have returned. I trot inside and wander about until I smell the master. As always, he is sitting in the middle of the clan. Females groom his head, seeking his attention. The males stay nearby, frozen in a sleep that would disappear if food was brought in or the master called out. My clan’s job is to stand guard, protecting all of us.
I run up to him and wait for him to give me attention. It doesn’t take long, his hand finding my head, rubbing it. He recognizes my leadership and I recognize his.
I tell him about Shrek and his master. He is pleased. We both walk out of the mouth of the cave. The darkness will soon be complete. My master stands next to a human sign and looks up at the points of light that show up after the bright light goes below the ground. He screams loudly in excitement.
I look up at him. Like humans, his body is covered by a coat of smooth, removable skin. His legs are thick, ripping through a blue fabric through their sheer size. His upper body has a sky-blue cover that is tearing away as well. He moves as quickly as I do, his joints popping and clicking with each stride.
The wood he leans against has human markings on it, as does a shiny plate that is attached to the frayed covering on his chest.
“CHARLIE” gleams back at me from the polished shield.
Then, the master rips the wooden piece from the ground and hurls it straight up into the night air. It lands nearby, and the symbols stare back at me.
ANZA-BORREGO STATE PARK
SATAN’S GATE ARCHAEOLOGICAL SITE
DO NOT ENTER
The master screams. We all reply and begin running toward the mountains and the human flesh that awaits us.
— 25 —
Jennifer Blevins
Coronado Beach Resort, Coronado Island
Dusk
“It must be, I thought, one of the race’s most persistent and comforting hallucinations to trust that ‘it can’t happen here’ – that one’s own time and place is beyond cataclysm.”
JOHN WYNDHAM
The Day of the Triffids
Jennifer squealed with delight. She had hit the motherlode.
She’d been searching the south side of the island for hours. It was nearly dark, and she’d already missed her flight out, but there were plenty of people willing to take her place. She’d grown tired of looking through the private homes. The ones that were open yielded very little on her list. A partially filled box of tampons that were not the size she used. A couple of Ziploc bags with Band-Aids and one small jar of instant coffee.
There were plenty of homes she hadn’t tried, primarily because they were locked, and she had no idea how to open them. Smashing glass was not an option because that could draw attention to her. Patrols still roamed the streets, and it would be her luck that Garrett’s HUMVEE would not be the one to respond to the sound. Looting was a serious crime, one punishable by death under martial law.
Jen wandered down toward the harbor in the hopes of finding a trawler or sailboat that had supplies for an extended voyage. Some folks lived on them as well. They were floating apartments.
A few blocks from the water, she spotted the Coronado Beach Resort. A place she had always fantasized about. Its art deco façade reeked of old-world opulence, even with a month’s neglect. It had to have something for her.
She stood in the lobby’s gift shop. It was an overpriced convenience store whose shelves had been cleared. But in the back, behind the cash register, a supply room was filled with all the product that had once filled the shelves. Every item she needed was all contained in that one, beautiful room.
Jen thanked God and flung her navy-blue duffel open and began to load it up. She used a penlight to work by, holding it in between her teeth. Feminine products, basic first aid, soaps and shampoos, and oral care products. She shoveled it all into one of the two bags and dragged it out the door.
She went back in and gazed at the remaining products. Batteries! How had she forgotten those? They went in along with boxes of energy bars, candies, and crackers. She spotted a box of small bottles of wine. They weren’t supposed to bring alcohol on board, which she regretted. They’d have made excellent trading stock.
She spotted a box of Coronado Beach Resort shirts and socks. She took one of each in her size. Just for the memories. She dug into her pocket and left a twenty-dollar bill in the emptied register. She smiled at the thought that some employee thought to take the daily till. Money was worthless now.
Most everything else was garbage. Knick-knacks and fake jewelry. Little of substance and certainly nothing worth hauling back. Jen had enough to fill out her list, and then some. She abandoned the second duffel and slung the filled on over her shoulders. It was heavy, but nothing she couldn’t handle.
She glanced at her watch. It was a little after seven. She’d left a note on Garrett’s backpack that she was still here. Her pack sat next to his, so he should have figured that out without the reminder. But he was a man, and they could stare you in the eyes and say they heard what you just said, then swear that you never said a word about the topic an hour later. How the world survived with men in charge was beyond her.
Garrett’s flight out wasn’t scheduled until after midnight. Her note told him that she’d be back to the room by eleven. She had about a thirty-minute walk back to their place
. There was plenty of time to enjoy the night and this wonderful hotel.
Jen became fascinated by the resort. She had dreamt of places like this. She used to fantasize about staying there, lounging at the rooftop restaurant that overlooked the Pacific Ocean. She used to go on the Internet and gazed longingly at the pictures of the old building. She’d dropped several not-too-subtle hints on Garrett that this was a good place to take her if he wanted a weekend he wouldn’t forget. But that had fallen on deaf ears.
Jen lugged her bag to the nearby stairwell. She opened the door and dropped the duffel on the ground within. The door hinges squealed in protest. They hadn’t been used in weeks or longer. She turned to go up the steps and was struck with a near panic attack. The bottom of the stairs reminded her of the Hyatt Manchester, where she’d escaped just a few weeks back. She’d killed one of the Variants and eluded many more, escaping that day. But, at one point, she’d been trapped in a stairwell similar to this. Caught between the creatures that were running down the steps from above and the infected creatures that were in the hotel lobby, she’d been close to becoming a meal for those horrid things.
Jen stopped and forced herself to slow down. Her breathing began to return to normal, and she was able to assess her surroundings. There were no sounds in the dark vertical shaft. She was alone.
She propped the bag against the outside door and slowly climbed to the first landing. One more flight up and she came to the second-floor exit. She gently opened the metal panel and shone her penlight down the hall.
She went to the first room and found it locked. They used magnetic card readers, and with no power, she couldn’t open it. In fact, she wouldn’t be able to open any of them.
Disappointed, she made her way directly to the top floor. A doorway led her through to the rooftop deck. She remembered this from her many cyber visits as she web-stalked the hotel. She moved about carefully, the furniture having been shuffled around by winds and storms long past. The dipping pool was cluttered with debris and the bar area was shuttered. Jen didn’t care. It was a piece of romantic history, and she’d finally made it.
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