Marcus and George had been how to shoot by their Grandfather. Neither was what one would call a crack shot, but they knew the basics. The afflicted in the front of the pack were falling now with every shot, but others were taking their place, drawn by the noise. They had slowed the advance of their attackers a bit, but the afflicted were showing no fear, no reaction to the dozens who were already lying dead around them. Marcus saw the steady erosion of the distance between them and the crowd and knew this wasn’t going to end well. They were going through more ammunition than they could afford to expend. Neither of the brothers had laser or optic devices on their weapons and the lighting in the strip mall was dim, making it difficult to see their sights and that was playing to the advantage of the diseased pack.
Marcus was jamming in his last thirty-round magazine when he heard the sound of a car engine. He stole a look around to locate the vehicle and spotted a white four-door Jeep Wrangler screeching around the corner at Ashlan and Fowler Avenues.
Marcus put his eye back on his sights and shot a teenaged girl who was running at the head of the horde. In normal circumstances, she would have been pretty, beautiful even. Her long blonde hair was now matted with blood, and there were streaks of the stuff dried on her face. She went down as the bullet exploded her head and Marcus almost retched at the sight.
This type of situation was not what the two young men anticipated when they ventured out into the darkness the last two nights. They expected a scene out of a zombie movie with shambling, undead animated corpses barely able to walk. Those types of monsters would be easy to dispatch. Heck, one man with a baseball bat could overcome a dozen of them with no trouble.
These were live people. They didn’t shuffle and stagger, they ran! And they ran fast. The packs were composed of people of all ages and Marcus had been forced to shoot children and young women his age. Their minds were corroded by an awful illness, but their bodies were still functional. They ran at him and his brother with murder in their eyes, snarling like rabid dogs.
The pack was a mere twenty yards away from the brothers when the jeep came to a skidding stop in the parking area of the strip mall. A young man stood up in the back and leveled a large weapon at the remnants of the afflicted.
Then all hell broke loose.
✽✽✽
I was holding on for dear life as Pops braked the Jeep to a stop. We had been driving down Shaw Avenue looking for survivors when we heard the gunshots and followed the sound. When I got my bearings, I saw two young men hunkered down behind a trash can and a mailbox. They were shooting at the crowd of afflicted which was surging forward, trying to reach them. We had already glimpsed the bodies of other victims of the infected on our way out here. It was disgusting to see.
“Virgil, open up on them!”
Pops’ shout spurred me to focus. I pulled back the bolt on the M-240 and acquired a quick sight picture. The trigger was cold under my finger. I fought the urge to jerk it back and took a breath then slowly let it out. The trigger drew back smoothly and consistently until the weapon exploded into noise and fire.
The machinegun rattled and spat a stream of death at the surging crowd. I had shot the weapon before but only to get me acquainted with it. I had never killed anything, much less a human being. Despite their sickness and the madness it produced in them, these were people. I tried to ignore that fact as I swept the barrel across the bulk of the pack.
The powerful bullets from the light machine gun decimated most of the pack. Body parts flew into the air along with fluids and pieces of clothing. There were several more infected approaching on the fringes of the main body, and they continued their assault on the position of the two men. I was about to turn my weapon on them, but Buck had stepped out of the Jeep. He had an M4 rifle with a green laser sight affixed to it. The surprisingly bright beam sought out the stragglers. Each time the green dot appeared on the diseased people there would be a shot, and the person would fall. Buck calmly shot down six of them.
We stayed silent for thirty seconds, waiting and watching for more of the afflicted to appear. None did. I could hear only the ticking of my cooling weapon.
One of the men by the restaurant rose to his feet. He walked over to the other one and grabbed him in a bear hug. They said a few words to each other then started walking over to us.
“Wow. Saying ‘thanks’ doesn’t seem adequate but… thanks.”
The man who spoke was about 5 feet, eight inches tall and built like a fireplug. He had dark brown hair, almost black in this light. He was a nice looking guy with a strong chin, intelligent eyes and was wearing cargo pants and a dark shirt. The man with him was decked out in hunter camouflage, and the strong similarities in the two men’s faces marked them as brothers.
Pops held out his hand and shook with both of them. “No thanks needed.” He looked back at the sickening sight of a parking lot littered with dead bodies. Some of them quivered, and a few still moved their limbs, evidence that they had not yet succumbed. He shook his head and pointed at the sight.
“Horrible. How did we get to this point so quickly?”
The question was rhetorical and thought-provoking. No one spoke for a few seconds; then the first man pointed to the other.
“This is my brother, George. I’m Marcus.”
George nodded to us. “Hey, like he said, thanks, guys.”
Buck stepped forward and examined the rifles the men were carrying. He pointed to the one named Marcus. “At least you’ve got some sense,” the Marine said while pointing to the Mini-14. He snatched the .22 from George and drew back the bolt. Smoke still wafted up from the weapon’s overheated breech. Buck handed it back and fixed the man with a disapproving stare. “You have to be crazy coming out here with that pea shooter.”
There was a moment of awkwardness as everyone digested Buck’s unfiltered criticism. Then Marcus smiled and nodded.
“Yeah, we kind of knew that. But, hey…that’s what we have. We tried to find something better, but most the stores around here have been looted. We thought someone needed to do something because the packs of the Ragers have gotten bigger every night. They’ve started breaking into houses and killing the people hiding inside.”
Pops jumped in. “Well, you are to be commended for your efforts. But Buck is right.” He pointed to the .22 rifle. “These people seem to have no shock response in them. The disease has turned them into unthinking automatons who seem to have lost most of their human traits. Pain doesn’t stop them. Neither does the realization that they have suffered a wound that will eventually kill them. They just keep moving, spurred on by some mindless hate for anyone who is not infected.”
“The only way to stop them quickly is to put a bullet in their head,” Buck interjected. “Or you can hit them in the torso with a major caliber weapon, something that causes a big wound channel and hits a vital organ like the heart.”
“Tell me about it,” the man named George said. “I was hitting some of them four or five times, and they were still coming.”
Buck folded his arms over his chest. “That .22 will only work at close quarters, son, and then only if you hit them squarely in the head. Aim at the spot between the eyes. It sounds like a cliché, but it will work.”
“Do you two have a home around here?” Pops was already climbing back into our Jeep, ready to leave. The noise we’d made was bound to draw more of them.
George pointed south. “We got a house over by Shields and Fowler.”
“Is it safe?”
Marcus nodded. “It has been so far. We haven’t seen many of the infected around. There are several families on our street, and we’ve all put plywood over the windows and doors.” He smiled. “The neighborhood wasn’t the safest place in the world before all this started. A lot of us already had bars on our windows and security doors in place. Those precautions have come in handy.”
“Well, come on and hop in. We’ll get you back home.”
The two men climbed into the back with me. I sta
yed up on my knees so I could be ready to shoot if someone attacked us. Pops put the Jeep in gear, and we headed east on Shaw and then south on Fowler Avenue toward Shields. Marcus was next to me. I noticed him admiring my weapon. He finally pointed at it.
“Is that a MAG?”
I nodded. Our new acquaintance had used the military moniker for the formal Belgium name of the weapon; Mitrailleuse A Gaz. The words translated to ‘gas-operated machine gun.’
“How did you guys get hold of one? Did you raid the Guard Armory?”
He was referring to the National Guard Armory which was located right in the center of town near the airport. I shook my head.
“Nope. We had a few things put away just in case of an emergency like this.” I held it out for him to examine. “How did you know what it was?”
Our new acquaintance ran his hand along the barrel. “I put in three years in the National Guard. It was mostly one weekend per month, but I got called up and did a nine-month tour in Afghanistan.”
We made small talk the rest of the way to his house. His brother was on the far side, and he couldn’t hear us in the wind. The Jeep usually had a hard top, but we had taken that off before starting down the hill. George was leaning forward and shouting directions to Pops. We finally turned off of Fowler onto Shields and George directed Pops to a white house that had seen better days. Like the other homes on the block, this one was dark. I figured the people in the other houses had blacked out their windows so the afflicted wouldn’t be attracted to them. We parked in the dirt driveway, and Pops turned the engine off. Everything was pitch black without the headlights.
I’d been training with Buck and the Major in the previous weeks, so I knew to take the M-240 and cover our southern flank while we were there. No one wanted to be surprised by a pack of raving killers. Pops grabbed his M4 and watched the north. The houses on the street protected us from the east and west. From my position, I could hear Buck.
He climbed out of his seat and opened the tailgate of the Jeep. “Come over here, Mr. Peashooter.” George slung his Ruger 10/22 over his shoulder and went to the back of the Jeep. The look on his face showed that he had no idea what to expect from the gruff ex-Marine.
“Here, take this.” Buck pulled an M4 out of the bed of the Jeep and handed it to him.
George’s face now registered a mixture of surprise and delight. He took the rifle with hands that were shaking a bit. He opened the action and made sure it was unloaded before slinging it over his other shoulder.
“Wow! Guys, I really don’t know how to thank you. I mean saving our lives was enough but this…just…Wow!”
Buck waved away his thanks and ducked back into the Jeep. He came out with a nylon bag. It rattled and clanked as he tossed it to the younger man. “There are ten mags for your M4 in there; each one holds thirty rounds. We loaded those up and they’re ready to go.” He then turned and curled a finger in the other brother’s direction. “Yeah, I’ve got something for you too, cupcake.
Marcus took a few steps until he was standing by the vehicle. His face showed me he did not believe their good fortune. Buck pointed to the sling on his Mini-14. “Sling your weapon.”
The younger man complied.
“Hold out your hands.”
He did so.
Buck pulled a long cardboard box out of the jeep and plopped it into Marcus’ arms. The stencil printing on the box said “.556 NATO, quantity 2,000”. Before the young man could react, Buck dropped a smaller box on top of that one. This one displayed the words “9 millimeter, NATO, quantity 1,000”.
“That should be enough to keep you hotshots out of trouble for a while. You have a cleaning kit?”
Marcus nodded. “Uh, yeah, we do. Hey, thanks for…”
Buck cut him off and pointed to Pops. “Don’t thank me; he’s the one playing Santa Claus tonight.”
Marcus shifted the heavy boxes in his arms and went over to Pops. “I really don’t know what to say.”
Pops smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. “Not a problem, son. Just be careful. I suggest you concentrate on just keeping yourself and your neighbors safe from here on out. The Rage has gotten too much of a foothold on us, and too many people have turned. I honestly don’t think just the two of you can last long out there hunting the packs.”
Marcus nodded and shifted his load again until he was able to put out his hand. He and Pops shook. We watched as the two men unlocked their door and went inside the darkened house. I took note of the address with the idea that we might be able to check on them sometime. Maybe.
When we climbed back into the Jeep, Pops asked Buck to drive, and he hopped in back with me. I figured I knew what he wanted to talk about and I was right.
“Well, son. You did great out their tonight.” He fixed me with that deep stare that I recognized as his preparation for a serious discussion. “You just saved the lives of two courageous young men. Unfortunately, that required you to take the lives of people who were infected and trying to kill them.” He gave me a concerned expression. “How are you holding up after that?”
I looked out at the passing darkness, giving myself a few moments to gather my thoughts and feelings, then looked back at my father. “I think I’m okay, Pops. I mean, I do feel bad about those people. I wish there were a cure for their condition but…I know there isn’t. This situation with the Rage sickness all happened too quickly. We haven’t heard anything from our government in over a month now, so I have to assume it doesn’t exist anymore. It’s just us, and we have to whatever it takes to survive.”
Chapter 5
Buck drove us through the intersection of Shields and Clovis Avenues, and a lone infected woman started chasing us. The street lights were out here, and we quickly left her behind us in the dark. I pointed in her direction. “No government means no possible chance that those poor people who caught the disease can be cured. I hate what we had to do tonight, but I don’t see any alternative. We’re grossly outnumbered by them now, and it seems like there are more every day. We need to protect the few of us who are left.”
Pops gave me a little smile. I thought he looked sad as he gave me a pat on my thigh. “Well, son, if you have any questions and need to talk, I’m always here.”
We got back up the hill and drove into our compound. Major and Mrs. Morrison were on night watch, and Emma waved as we passed. Both of them had M4s slung. Buck pulled into our six-car garage and left the door rolled up as we started taking out our gear. We had taken ten crates of ammo and two M4s with us in case we encountered any of the uninfected who needed them.
“Lock the M4s up in the armory,” Pops told me. “We can take care of the ammunition tomorrow.”
I nodded. We were all tired.
“I’ll take care of the rifles, kid.” Buck grasped my shoulder. “You did good out there.”
Coming from Buck, the compliment was appreciated. The retired career marine did not issue praise casually.
I followed Pops into the mansion and past the common area. The Johnsons were on one of the couches watching a movie. We had stocked up with a few thousand videos to help pass the time. I stole a glance at Pepper. She met my eyes and smiled, making my heart stutter. Dr. Johnson voiced a comment about us getting back okay, but I didn’t hear it with all of my attention on his daughter.
We got to the kitchen and Pops got us both a soda from the big fridge. It was delicious and cooled me off. I dreaded the day we would run out and we certainly would at some point if the Rage sickness continued its assault on humanity and civilization. We both had on body armor and load-bearing vests which carried our extra magazines and other needed equipment. The protective gear was comforting but hot, and we peeled ourselves out of the equipment, relishing the flow of air to our torsos.
Pops had insisted on us all wearing vests even though the afflicted did not appear to have the ability to use firearms. Some were still able to employ sticks, pipes and other bludgeons as weapons but their eroded mental abilities did not stretc
h beyond that, a situation which we prayed would not change. Buck and the Major both warned us that the afflicted were not the only dangers out there now.
“Whenever there is any type of social upheaval,” the Major had cautioned, “there will be people who take advantage of the lack of order. With no police or military presence to deal with, the baser elements of some people’s nature will emerge. Civilization is a thin film that is easily stretched to the point of bursting. People whose character is more insidious than others will seize upon the opportunities offered by conditions such as we are now experiencing.” He pointed to Pops. “Your desire to help the people down the hill will not be met with universal praise and gratitude. You will inevitably encounter people, or worse, groups of people who will only see that you have what they want. They won’t view your efforts as generous or helpful. They will regard you as someone who has more than you need and they will feel justified in taking it from you.”
The warnings had been sobering for me. I had envisioned people reacting to our helping them by heaping praise and appreciation on us and that had been the case with the brothers we encountered. The Major’s concerns were the reason Buck had taken an indirect route back to our compound, even to the point of turning out the lights on the Jeep and driving with night vision goggles. We had all donned NVGs in case we encountered random groups of afflicted in the darkness.
Dr. Tashnizi came in while we were discussing what we had just experienced. It was our first time venturing out of our hilltop stronghold, and the experience had supplied us information which we hoped would prove helpful to us in the long run. The doctor frowned when he saw us and made of point of shaking his head as he slid past me to access the liquor cabinet.
“Is there a problem, doctor?”
Tashnizi didn’t even look at Pops when he responded. “Yes, I would say so.” He splashed gin into a tumbler followed by an equal amount of tonic. “I think you are putting all of us in danger with these little forays of yours,” he said as he stirred his drink with his index finger. It was clear that this had not been his first adult beverage this evening.
Virgil's War- The Diseased World Page 3
