by Mark Tufo
I took a deep breath before I stepped out the door and carefully shut it behind me. I hoped no one else would go in or we might become immediate suspects in the death of those five soldiers. I use the term 'soldier' loosely. Maybe I should call them combatants, or traitorous scum, that seems to fit better, but uses more of my pencil lead. Pieces of shit it is then.
I was happy and dismayed at the same time to realize we were not the only hunting party that had acquired prisoners, although ours seemed to be in the best condition. More than one had been bloodied and beaten by their captors. Some had that glazed-over look of the defeated, and then there were those that were suffering from shock who had just witnessed or been party to some form of atrocity that only the cruelest animal on the planet can bring to its own kind. Man was a plague upon itself.
I have first-hand experience knowing that war brings out the absolute worst in the two opposing sides. Even that can't hold a candle to what happens to the human mentality of the victor over the conquered. It is something about having absolute power over another being that drives men to incomprehensible acts of cruelty. People who would normally avoid stepping on an ant hill for fear of killing some of the creatures will rape a screaming woman merely for the fact that they can. It has absolutely nothing to do with lust and everything to do with control. I don't know what evolutionary purpose this depravity serves but it has existed in the human genome from the beginning. Maybe it would have been better if the Neanderthals had won out. They seemed a much more 'civilized' people, except for that one asshole in Clan of the Cave Bear. What was his name? Glar? Blug? Dammit. Broud! Yeah that's it!
Most of the combatants seemed content to stay where they were in relation to the zombies. There might be a truce between the two but that didn't make them friends. We, however, had an agenda laced with time constraints. We looked a little out of place outdistancing the others but nobody questioned us. Rachael did vomit as we got closer to the zombies and their odiferous ways. This brought on some cheering from those behind us. Rachael did her best to flip them off with her hands tied behind her back. Luckily, this act of defiance was shielded by my body.
"You trying to get us killed?" I asked her.
"No, I figured that's what you were doing." She shot back.
"You're good." I said with newfound amazement for the kid's wit.
I was not comfortable walking among the dead, even with the Zombie Off. Hell, anything less than being surrounded by the four-inch thick steel metal of a tank wasn't going to make me feel secure. One overly hungry zombie could ruin our day. I know it made absolutely no difference but I made sure that we stayed away from the fatter zombies. I figured if any of them might be a little hungrier than the rest it would be them. I guess I was being a sort of zombieist. I had always prided myself on not being any sort of racist bigot. I figured I should be able to gain absolution for this transgression though.
The zombies paid us no attention. We might as well have been white trash entering a Neiman Marcus and the zombies were salespeople. If anything, they unconsciously avoided us which made sliding through them a near effortless proposition. If not for the smell, this would nearly be pleasant. Well not really, but you know what I mean, at least we weren't cutting, slashing, shooting and just generally blowing stuff up in our way to get out, this was vaguely acceptable.
"The hospital's coming up, Mr. Talbot!" Porkchop nearly shouted.
Now I'm not so vain as to think that every zombie and bad guy in the region has reason to look out for me, but at the same time I don’t see any reason to take any more undue chances than I already do. "Hey, Porkchop, for now just call me Mike, and are you sure that's where they went?"
"That's what they said. Dad wanted to get some antibiotics for mom. She said she wasn't sick, that she only had allergies, but my dad said she always got bronchitis this time of the year and he wanted to be prepared especially since supplies were so low."
"Alright, let's get there."
"Dad, do you want me to go and check on Mom?" Justin asked.
With all my heart I wanted to go, and if not me I wanted to send Justin, but splitting up was never a good idea and it was something I was already guilty of. I thought with dread of everything that was important to me still a half mile away and in enemy occupied territory.
"No, we finish this and then we all go."
Justin looked dismayed but he did not question my decision.
Within minutes we were at the front entrance to the hospital. By the strewn wheelchairs and gurneys, it was easy to see that we were not the first to get here. A blood trail led behind the nurse's station where a zombie merrily chewed on the lower calf of a nurse that I had come to think of as Nurse Ratchet. It wasn't that she was mean. On the contrary, it was just that she had her hair up in the style that reminded me of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. I did not blow the zombie's head off like I wanted to, some things in life have to wait.
"Alright Blake, Rachael take your ropes off. Let's find your mom and dad and get the hell out of here." I said.
"Are they alright?" Rachael asked. I didn't answer.
Blood was everywhere but not in vast quantities. It was almost as if someone had a small paintbrush dipped in blood and kept continuously shaking it over their head. It glistened dully in the fluorescent lighting. Blood was dripping down from the ceiling like a soft violent rain. The kids looked to me as I looked to the tiles above us coated in potential disaster. Was the blood that of the infected? Probably not, but when the ante to play is your life it takes a lot more thought before you go 'all in.' A blood-curdling scream ended my inner hesitation.
"That's my mother!" Blake said as he charged down the hallway.
We all followed. I cringed when I felt a warm patter strike the top of my ear and splash down the side of my face. I was doing the calculations of when I had last shaved and if I had any open wounds on that side. By my reckoning it had been three days since I last dragged the medieval torture device across my face, so all should be well.
I caught up to Blake and grabbed his shoulder just before he busted through the operating doors and into the unknown. From the sounds of it there was a struggle going on and someone definitely needed our help, but the enemy location and strength were still unknown and except for Justin, I only had three kids with me. The advantage of our surprise could be turned on us really quick. A loud slap was punctuated by the throaty laughing of at least three men, possibly four.
"Hold on buddy." I whispered to Blake. I could feel the rage quaking throughout his body.
"But!" he yelled.
I clamped my hand over his mouth. "Quietly Blake." I whispered.
"That's my mom." He said as tears of rage, pain and heartache ran down his face. "She needs my help."
"Yes she does, and we're going to give it to her. But if you go in there without knowing what you're getting into you're not going to help. You'll only make it worse and your mom will be heartbroken if anything happens to you."
"Listen to him Blake." Jesse said. "He's got us this far."
"You cool?" I asked letting his shoulder go.
"I'm fine." He sniffed. "But we need to hurry."
"Oh she's a feisty one!" Someone yelled from the other side of the doors, this also was followed with what sounded like a heavy-handed backhand. Someone hit the floor. It wasn't difficult to figure out whom. Rachael was nearly beside herself with fear. She looked like she was hugging the stuffing out of an imaginary teddy bear.
There were two sets of swinging doors, the set we were up against now, then a five foot air lock followed by the second set and then our ultimate goal. I grabbed Jesse. "Alright Jess, you've got to listen to me, this is a military mission so I need you to understand my orders and obey them. Do you got that?" I asked, as he looked over my shoulder and to the doors. He nodded. "Alright, Justin and I are going through this first set of doors and we are going to try and acquire our targets. You with me?"
"What about me?" he asked, realizing what I wa
s asking.
"You, Porkchop and Blake are first and foremost going to protect your sister. Secondly you are going to protect our escape if it’s needed. If you hear me or Justin yell 'Bug Out,' that means we're going to be coming out that door in a hurry and you need to shoot anybody that comes out after us. If you don’t hear any yelling, you shoot whoever comes out that door. Got it?"
"Shoot the bad guys," he replied.
"That's about it in a nutshell. Protect your sister. We'll get your mom and dad." I hope.
The telltale sound of ripping material made further explanation an unworthy waste of time. Justin and I eased through the first set of doors hopeful that whoever was on the other side was too busy with what they were doing to notice. I stood up, quickly peeking through the observation window in the door.
"There are two to our left, neither is holding their rifles. One is almost immediately in front of us. The only thing he has in his hand is his dick. The fourth is the ringleader and he's just off to the right. Mrs. Baker is right behind him, Doc is tied up almost against the far wall. Now remember like I taught you. There are combatants and friendlies in this room, acquire your target before you shoot. You take the two on the left, I've got the other two."
I blew out three quick breaths. On one, we each pushed through our respective door. In three shots Justin had dispatched of his targets. I was not nearly as lucky, Dickhand had moved to get a better view of the ensuing rape. My door had slammed into his back, slowing my progress. When Justin had begun to open fire, the ringleader had pulled out a knife and true to any piece of shit had used Mrs. Baker as a human shield. Dickhand had fallen completely over when I finally shoved him out of the way.
I had my AR up and pointed at the leader's head but he made sure to make as little of a target of himself as possible as he hunkered behind the much smaller woman. Dickhand thought this was an opportune time to try and stand. A solid kick from my combat boots to his rapidly diminishing hard-on gave him pause to reconsider his efforts.
"Oh, oh fuck. Sam he kicked my junk," Dickhand moaned.
"Listen," Sam said. "We can share, I mean she's a fine piece."
I pulled my gun tighter to my shoulder.
"Fuck, fine!" he yelled. "You can have her, there's plenty more meat here. You…you just put that gun down and tell your friend to do the same and I'll just get out of here."
Dickhand was still on the ground writhing and moaning.
"You let her go and I promise you I won't shoot you."
"Oh I know that trick, you won't shoot me but he will." He said gesturing over to Justin.
"I swear to you as a man of honor neither of us will shoot you or harm you in any way."
"What about Drew there?"
"You mean Dickhand, sure, take his ass with you."
"Can I grab my guns?"
"What do you think?" I said sarcastically.
Sam didn't like the odds. He didn't know that we had a vested interest in Mrs. Baker. To him she was just a war prize. We'd kill her as fast as we had killed his other two buddies. To him there was very little stopping us from wasting everyone in the room.
"You won't kill us, you swear?"
"I already told you, take this piece of shit," which I prodded with my foot sending him into a fresh set of wailings "and get the fuck out. You're trying my patience."
"Fine, you fucking assholes, but she would have been so sweet!" he said. As he pushed Mrs. Baker to the side, he held up both his arms.
"Drop the knife." I told him. "Fuck you" was his not so pleasant response.
I shot him in the elbow. His shattered joint flopped down uselessly and the knife clattered to the floor.
"You fucking promised!" He screamed, clutching his shattered arm. "You fucker!"
During the ensuing exchange Dickhand had managed to crabwalk past me and was halfway through the first set of doors.
"Dad." Justin said motioning to the nearly prone man making a not so hasty retreat.
I was tempted to let him go and let Jesse and the boys exact their own fair share of revenge, but I did not want to burden them with that. Besides Dickhand was naked from the waist down and nobody, especially a ten year old girl, should be exposed to that. I pulled out my .357 and put one straight through his spine. He collapsed heavily to the floor under the crushing weight of the magnum round, dead.
"You fucking promised."
"Yeah about that, I'd like to say I'm sorry but I'm really not." Two rounds to Sam's chest sent him skidding across the floor and nearly into Doc Baker's lap. It would be weeks before I could shake the nightmares from this encounter, even if a greater good had been obtained. The end did justify the means. But is using a bad method to get to a good end, good in and of itself? How was this one going to end up on the ledger of my life, in the win or loss column?
"Mike!" Jesse yelled during the lull. "Can we come in?"
"No!" Justin and I yelled in unison.
“And why are you yelling in here? How do you know we’re even alive?” I yelled.
“Well, because you’re answering me.” Jesse said without any hesitation.
“Pragmatist, we’ll be out soon, you guard our withdrawal.”
Doc's wife, Elizabeth sobbed in the corner as she did her best to repair her torn garments. Justin had untied Doc’s restraints and the doc was busy administering much needed care and attention to his wife.
“You guys alright, Doc?” I asked softly.
The Doc looked over at me, his wife’s face buried into his shoulder. “You came just in time Mike, I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you, and you brought my kids, all of them?” He nearly sobbed.
“All of them.” The relief in his face was palpable. “Doc, you saved my life and gave me my son back. I’d say we are fairly close to even. Justin can you check the cabinets and see if you can get Mrs. Baker a robe or something. We’ve got to get out of here.”
“Is your family here too, Mike?”
“Not yet Doc.”
Doc understood the implications of my actions. I had forsaken my family’s safety for his.
“Justin.” The Doc said. “In my office, I have some scrubs and a long jacket. Buddha's in there too, grab a cookie out of my desk and he'll follow you to the ends of the earth for it. There's also half a case of your shots. You’ll want to grab those. I’m sorry Mike.” The Doc said turning to me. “I didn’t have enough time to make more.”
“How many are there?”
“About sixty-four.” He said.
Shit, Justin's dose was one a day, two months was better than no months, although six months would have been better.
Justin was back in minutes. He had grabbed extra scrubs and was making a makeshift backpack to carry his much-needed viral disease management syringes.
“Mr. … Mr. Talbot. I mean Mike.” Porkchop yelled. “We’ve got some squishies.” That was Porkchop's name for the deaders.
I had grabbed the pendants off of the dead and gave one to Doc and Elizabeth and kept the extras. Elizabeth seemed hesitant to accept anything from her would-be attackers.
“Zombie repellant.” I told them. “I strongly encourage everyone who values their flesh intact to hold onto it.”
Doc seemed suspicious at best, but as for obtaining visual proof of its effectiveness, his kids rushed in to see their parents. The reunion was powerful, tearful, joyful and for necessity was exceedingly short.
I went through the doors first. A wall of zombies was coming down the hallway. It looked like the last day of school and everyone was trying to be the first one out for the summer. They were shoulder-to-shoulder width wise across the hallway and asses to elbows deep for the entire length.
I ducked my head back in. "Any other way out?"
"That bad?" Doc asked.
"Bad seems like such a lackadaisical verbiage to use right now. I might go with something more along the lines..."
"Dad." Justin said pointing to the kids.
"Everyone have their vial on
them?" I asked.
Head nods dominated the room. I took that as an affirmative.
"What about my patients?" Doc asked.
I looked at him and threw as much compassion into the gesture as I possibly could. They were dead. A battalion of zombies were sweeping down the hallways. Even with our immunity we could not use that as a shield for others. I felt sorry for them, I truly did. I hoped each and every one of them was hooked up to a personal pain dispenser so they could load up before the attack. We could stand and fight and take down a fair number of those approaching but it wouldn't be enough, and in the end the only thing I would have gained would be the death of my family. I had already risked enough. A loving God would see that, a vengeful one would not.
Elizabeth had Rachael smothered in her arms. Porkchop and Blake looked envious. Hell I think we all were, who doesn't want to be wrapped tight in their mother's arms when danger is near. Walking amongst the dead in such tight quarters was soul-rendingly difficult. The ripped open flesh of the dead exposed torn muscle and sinew. Broken arteries and veins stood out at odd angles on some of the more damaged. Occasionally intestines and bowels were dragged and trampled behind the unlucky soul. I wondered if Elizabeth would notice if I scootched Rachael over and sought my own piece of solace in her bosom. Anything resembling breathable air had been completely pushed out of the hallway. Chunks of smell assaulted our nasal cavities. Breathing through one's mouth was equally as bad. It's one thing to smell the dead, it's another to taste them. Blake or Porkchop, it may have been both, sprayed vomit freely, the acidic bile smell was comparatively welcome. Like an island of normalcy, we wove through the sea of zombies, unscathed physically. Mentally, well this was the stuff that a life time worth of nightmares are made of.
