With a loud, metallic creak likely heard along the street, the garage door came up. It hung limply to one side.
“I think one of the struts is broken, I’ll have to hold it till you get out,” Steve said.
“All right go, go!” Mike shouted to the driver from the back seat.
Richard drove the Dodge under the garage door, now supported on one side by Steve Donalds.
“All right, Steve!” Richard gave him a thumbs-up as he passed before coming to a stop at the end of the driveway. “Okay, come on.”
Steve let go of the door and started for the Dodge when he heard a thudding sound behind him, coming across the neighboring lawn—fast!
Richard and Grace saw them first. A dozen or more of the infected, with blood-red eyes and bluish lips, ran underneath the large elm tree toward Steve. It could have been the noise of the garage door or the movement of the pickup truck, or they could have smelled blood—Steve Donalds’ blood.
“Steve, get out of there. Get out!” Grace screamed. Memories of her first encounter with the blood-lusting ghouls flooded back to her.
Mike pushed open the rear passenger door with a shove and was poised to get out when a hand latched onto his shoulder.
“No, Mike. You won’t make it!” It was Dr. Tilford who offered the advice. Mike may have been a TV chopper pilot and Iraq War veteran, but the doctor had firsthand experience with the fury of the infected ones.
“I’ll back up to him and—” Richard began.
“No, you can’t, they’ll be on us all!” Grace said. “We have to go—just fucking go!”
Grace looked back through the rear window and screamed one more time for Steve to get a move-on, but the speed with which the bloodthirsty ghouls had him dazed with shock. When he finally decided to start running, it was too late.
Three or four of the ghoulish fiends ran through the hip-high hedge separating properties and dove through the air to bring Steve Donalds down in a perfect gang tackle.
“Oh Jesus.” Grace dropped her head. She didn’t want to see—not again. “Wait, wait!”
Richard stopped the car where the driveway joined the road.
“Grace, what—what are you doing?” Tilford asked, his voice high and anxious.
The CDC officer opened her door and slipped out in a single move. She raised the 9mm pistol Mike had handed to her.
“Sorry, Steve. I’m so sorry,” she said as a tear ran down her cheek.
Her aim was perfect, even under these stressful conditions. A single round from the pistol found its mark—Steve Donalds’ forehead.
He’d managed to turn and look back at Grace just as she took aim. Almost as if he was presenting a clear shot, Grace said to herself, jumping back into the front seat
“Let’s go!”
No one turned to look back. The TV reporter was dead, but saved from a fate far worse. The infected ignored the speeding pickup as they gorged on Steve’s body, his blood still warm.
Tilford reached over the seat and placed a hand on Grace’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything, but she put her hand on top of his—grateful for the gesture.
“Oh shit, more soldiers!” Richard said when they were halfway up the street.
Three soldiers in camouflage uniforms, helmets, and standard magazine-and-canteen harnesses ran along the road in the opposite direction from the recent confrontation. When one heard the unmistakable Dodge engine, he turned and waved both arms in the air.
“Something tells me these guys aren’t your shoot first, gung-ho types, y’know?” Mike passed on his observation.
“Yeah, look at the desperation in that guy waving his arms. They’re looking for a way out, just like us.” Grace was sure of it. “Drive up to them.”
Richard drove closer to the soldiers, who came over to meet the pickup truck. Grace had her window down, but also had the pistol in her unseen left hand—just in case.
“You’ve got to help us. Our unit was attacked back there,” the soldier pointed down the road, “they’re—they’re everywhere. They-they—”
Grace understood and had no intention of asking for in-depth details. “Jump in the tray. Hurry, those things are right behind us.”
They drove on further with their extra company, until Richard came to a crossroad. “That way leads into the center of the city.” He pointed to his right, then straight ahead. “That way will take us to west Des Moines, and that way takes us toward Indianola.” He jerked his thumb to the left.
“Indianola,” Mike said in an instant. “We need to get as far from populated areas as we can.”
“All right, Indianola it is,” Richard said and started to turn the wheel when Grace’s left hand shot out and grabbed his forearm.
“The phone,” she said.
“What?”
“I left the fucking phone back at the house!”
“We’ll just have to leave it, we can’t—” Mike began.
“No.” Grace turned around and faced Mike. “Calgleef is going to put a call through to us on that phone. If we don’t have it, we’ll never know what the outcome is.”
“You still have his sat phone number?” Mike asked.
“Yeah, I do—”
“Simple. Then we’ll grab another phone and you can call him and—”
“Bullshit!”
“What?
“You heard me, Mike Weaver. I doubt Calgleef will be walking around the White House with a satellite phone. I doubt the Secret Service would be okay with it. There’s no question, we have to go back.”
21
Twenty-One
Richard made a U-turn at the crossroads and started to head back when a pounding came on top of the roof of the Dodge pickup.
“Damn, I’d forgotten about them for a moment.” Mike turned and looked to back of the pickup. “We better stop and tell them what’s going on.”
Mike stopped in the middle of the street and jumped out. “We’re headed back to the house we came from—we left something behind and it’s important.”
“What? Go back? Are you crazy?” one soldier questioned Mike.
“No, not at all. There’s a good reason why we have to go back, but I don’t have time to explain but it has to do with getting out of this mess.” Mike didn’t go into further details about bringing down the conspiracy and left it at that. “Now, we can all squeeze into the cabin of the pickup or we can let you out somewhere if you prefer not to get involved. Up to you,” Mike said. He was glad Grace allowed him to speak to the soldiers—these guys weren’t in the mood to listen to a woman at this stage—no matter how smart, or attractive.
Mike looked around the houses at the crossroad. Like the street they’d just come from, all were dark and quiet. No one was venturing out. “Come on, make up your minds.”
“All right, we’ll come along with you guys.”
“Then hop in.” Mike wasn’t overly confidant in these three. They had already demonstrated they were willing to cat and run when the heat was on. Still, he was pleased with the extra firepower their M4s would provide. Tilford jumped out and moved to the front seat while Mike pushed over to one side, allowing the three soldiers in.
“Did you people pass a couple of hummers on your way?”
“Pass them? Boy, we saw the whole incident,” Mike said to the young soldier next to him. He emphasized the difference in age—letting the soldiers know he wasn’t your average civilian from the ‘burbs.
“Y-you saw what happened? Do you know what those things are?”
Grace half turned in her seat and answered. “They’re suffers of the flu, soldier.”
“How much ammo do you have left, err…” Mike looked at the name tag just above the soldier’s breast pocket, “Private Owens?”
“We had four magazines each, we all used one as they attacked, and then we—we…”
“You had no choice. If you stayed, you’d be dead like the rest of your unit.” Mike wanted to say, ‘you deserted your buddies,’ but it wouldn’t ha
ve helped the situation.
“Slow down, Richard,” Mike called. He needed time to develop a plan. Not that any plan short of an Arnold Schwarzenegger-type Terminator seemed viable against the rabid swarm they were up against. He was of two minds—he wanted to get to the bottom of this conspiracy, he did. He believed Grace Delaney’s claims and never doubted her or Dr. Tilford’s claims of what had taken place inside the hospital. But he was also a realist and he saw the monumental task presented before them. The infected were growing at an abnormally fast rate. When faced with such overwhelming numbers, it was a natural reaction to consider running—just like the soldiers. Turn and run.
And when the virus reaches the place you’ve run to, what then?
No, he was going to see it through—and that meant getting the phone.
“The streets are just so quiet,” Richard observed. “Like the end of the world.”
“Yeah, or the end of Des Moines. They did tell everyone to stay indoors, that high winds would arrive and that would blow much of the virus away from the city and—”
“They what?” Grace interrupted the soldier.
“You don’t know who these two in the front are, soldier, but let me give you a little background.” Mike sounded like a father about to give his son the facts of life speech.
The soldiers listened intently, their eyes darted from Mike to the two doctors and back. Especially when Mike related the stories of what had happened at Riverside Hospital.
“This is no ordinary flu,” Mike said, then looked over at Grace, giving her a nod of thanks for allowing him to explain the situation to the soldiers. “As you just said, the population was told to stay indoors to avoid catching it. When you think about it, what better way to manage the population of a city than to have them remain in their homes?”
The three soldiers looked at each other, but no one proffered an answer.
“So, let me ask you this,” Grace jumped in, “if the population was told the virus was in the air and had to stay inside to avoid it—what were you and the rest of the army told?”
“And, just out of curiosity, why is the regular army involved in this?”
The senior soldier among the three, Private First Class Roger Owens, answered Grace’s question right away.
“We were given the same instructions, ma’am. The Army received the order directly from the White House. The situation here in Des Moines is considered to be an emergency situation and as we—the Army—aren’t enforcing any law, we’re not violating the Posse Comitatus Act.”
“You seem well informed Owens.”
“I try to be, sir, I study quite a lot. I want to get into officer training.”
“So, the Army sent you out here with full knowledge the virus is airborne, but didn’t issue gas masks or breathing apparatuses?”
“They did, ma’am, but we left them in the back of the Hummers when we responded to the call of an armed man in the street. Everything went bad after that.”
Well, don’t worry, Private, you won’t get the flu from breathing the air. Bodily fluids, that’s where you’ll get it.”
“All right, let’s get this show on the road.” Mike realized time was slipping.
“One more thing. As we were preparing to roll out, I overheard an officer say on the phone, ‘you don’t need to worry about my men—when the order comes, they’ll fire.’ But I couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation.” Mike looked slowly over at Grace. “You know what that means, don’t you?”
“They don’t intend for anyone to leave Des Moines. Not alive, anyway.”
Mike knew what it meant straight away, and though he shouldn’t have been, he was surprised. Grace knew too. She was an extraordinary woman. Had been through hell and was still holding up—on the surface anyway. That she ended Steve Donalds’ life to prevent him from being torn to shreds or eaten alive had to have been the hardest thing she’d ever done. Mike had learned in the short time he’d known her that Grace Delaney loved and valued life. People weren’t just numbers in a file to her, nor were they potential customers for the privileged. That’s part of the reason why she had to end this conspiracy—she’d told him that much—but the other part he figured for himself. She’d been lied to by the people she trusted and didn’t like it.
If she was as determined to see this through as she appeared, so was he.
As long as this damn Calgleef didn’t let them down, they’d have a chance—hell, America would have a chance.
22
Twenty-Two
The car sent to pick up Calgleef at the Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, took less than fifteen minutes to deliver him to the White House. Apart from asking his name and his position, the two Secret Service personnel that greeted him never spoke a word.
The Secret Service were never ones to engage in meaningless conversation, Calgleef was more than aware of that. He was ushered into the Palm Room on the first floor of the White House, then to the lobby where he was told to wait until the president was ready to see him. A cup of coffee was brought in, and Calgleef sat down and tried to relax. That was just a thought, not a reality.
Calgleef thought there was a good chance the president wouldn’t buy the data, especially if the NSA other agencies were involved. They would have surely presented some documents by now affirming the need to continue with the vaccines manufactured and sold by Thorn Bio-Tech. Nonetheless, he kept his briefcase on his lap at all times. The folder containing the lab results was to be for the president’s eyes only. As he sipped his coffee, he also took a moment to reflect on what the Delaney woman was going through right now. Probably hiding out in a dingy motel, eating shitty hamburgers and fries.
No, not for me! Calgleef shuddered at the thought of the fries.
He had become an avid reader of ebooks of late—in particular the apocalyptic category held his interest. But ever since reading Toward the Brink, a novel series that explores the link between engineered food and the rise of the undead, he hadn’t been able to go near a fast food store again. He knew it was just fiction, and now—if he made it through this catastrophe—he intended to stop off at the nearest fast food joint and buy a whole heap of fries.
Damn the torpedoes!
While waiting, he began to think of that book and the zombie creatures therein. What was it they were called again? Yeah, that’s right foamers, that’s what the walking dead were called. This occupied his mind for the duration of his wait—which wasn’t much longer w. He wore a dark suit, white shirt, a red tie, and started to sweat as the pressure built.
“Well, this is worse than foamers… because this is fucking real!” he whispered under his breath. He wasn’t sure if the Secret Service shot people for swearing inside the White House or not, but he wasn’t going to take the chance.
“Sir,” a man in his late twenties called. “President Galtieri will see you now.”
Calgleef fumbled, putting the coffee cup down with a rattle of cup and saucer. His hands were visibly shaking. He’d met with Galtieri on three separate occasions, spoke with him over the phone and in video conferences many more times. But this time, there was much more riding on the outcome. Lives were at stake—his, Delaney’s and her companions, and ultimately the American public.
“Don’t fuck up now,” he mumbled as he followed the young man to the Oval Office.
“Then all you need to grab is this phone, right?” PFC Owens said after he’d been told what it was they had to go back for. He hadn’t been told the details of it, just that it was important.
“Okay, how about this then.” Owens spelled out his plan. “We reverse right up to the front door—us three will stand in the bed and keep cover. Someone else should go with us so they can jump right through the door. I gather you know where the phone is?”
“Yeah, I do,” Grace answered.
Mike wasn’t in love with the plan, but it was better than anything else they had. He knew—and assumed the others did—that if the street around the house was
surrounded with infected, they wouldn’t stand a chance.
The one hope Mike had was that the infected beings knew little of combat tactics and were more interested in finding sustenance.
“That might work, but I’m not sure about you going in the back with them, Grace.”
“Gonna be all macho now, are we? Fine, then. You can do it. We’ll all just sit in the truck and twiddle our thumbs while you search for the phone.”
“All right, all right, there’s no need to be like that. But you better move fast, Delaney!” Mike called her by her surname to emphasize the importance of being quick.
“I will. Don’t you worry, I know how fast these things move!”
The finer details sorted, the three soldiers climbed back into the tray of the Dodge and Tilford stepped out of the passenger seat to allow Grace to get out.
Mike watched from the back seat as the two doctors locked eyed for a moment. Not a word was said, but suddenly Grace placed her hands on either side of her younger colleague’s head, then pulled him forward and kissed him long and hard.
She turned and was helped into the back by PFC Owens. Tilford eased back into the front seat and Mike saw the unmistakable look of surprise on his face—and a degree of pleasure.
Good luck to them, Mike genuinely thought. Let’s hope we can get out of this in one piece so they can get to know one each other.
Richard drove the truck as fast as he could without risking the balance of the four in back. As he approached the house, he slowed in a steady manner. Just as Mike—who was in position by an open window with the shotgun—had suggested.
Quiet. The street was quiet.
The two army Humvees sat in the middle of the road where they were left. Up ahead of them were M4 carbines and parts of torn uniforms and—bodies. A forearm here, an ankle there, and a tibia bone over yonder.
Pestilence Boxed Set [Books 1 & 2] Page 28
