“Kala, the zombies, they’re coming!”
Kala ran to the car with her booty. Sure enough, there were almost a dozen of the dead ones coming toward them from both directions down the street. Crap. Time to go. She tossed the guns in the back seat with their bags. Dylan sat, holding Sophie on his lap in the front with him, and Kala jammed on the ignition and stepped on the gas. Thankfully, the car started with no problems this time.
“We’ll run right through them, but it's going to be rough,” she said, aiming in the direction of the highway and pressing the accelerator. The six-cylinder engine shot them forward, blasting through two nearly dead humans, sending one doing aerial cartwheels over the car. It would have been funny, she thought, if anything was funny anymore. Kala continued to gain speed and tore through the residential district, aiming for I-75. She flew up the on ramp and was immediately shocked to see that the highway was…empty. She had expected a wasteland of cars to dodge, but there was nothing in sight. She smiled. Finally, something in our favor, she thought, and pressed the accelerator harder. When they hit eighty, she turned on the cruise control.
“We’re going to be okay guys, we’re going to be okay.”
She looked over. Sophie was sleeping on Dylan's lap already, and Dylan was looking at her with a mixture of sadness and admiration. He started to speak and his voice cracked, then Kala saw the tears in his eyes.
“Thank you Kala, thank you so much for saving my Sophie.” Kala grinned at him, not sure how to respond without bursting into tears herself. Instead, she patted his leg, which was still trembling. “Go to sleep, I’ll take care of us.”
Chapter 8
“What’s your name, son?” Rosa asked.
“Kevin, sir,” was the clipped response.
Rosa rode in the front seat of the Humvee next to an iron-faced soldier. The man couldn't have been more than twenty, with his smooth skin and lack of wrinkles, but his jaw was hard with determination and pride. A half-shell helmet decorated with urban camo was pulled down over his forehead, and his hands gripped the wheel at precise marks. Mindful that he was staring, Rosa turned away from him, watching the city fly by. The radio jumped to life, with a man's voice spitting out what to Rosa was completely incomprehensible. His driver’s eyes widened just slightly.
“Is there a problem, Kevin?”
“Hold on tight, sir.”
“Oh great.”
A moment later the lead vehicle radioed back again. “We’ve broken through on the road, but they're coming at us from all sides, they're everywhere!”
“What kind of response authorization do we have, sergeant? Mike? Mike!”
Mike did not respond, but ahead of them gunfire erupted. Even over the roar of the Humvee’s turbocharged diesel engine, the sound was unmistakable.
“Sparks, get on the fifty cal, now!” Kevin yelled. Sparks, a.k.a. Mr. Sparkles, or so he was called on account of his one shiny gold tooth up front, scrambled to get up to the top gun. He fell twice because of the way Kevin was driving the big vehicle, dodging parked cars and vehicles trying to flee, as well as bloody, mindless swarms of zombies flooding into the street.
“Holy shit!” Rosa yelled. “Did half the city just up and change?”
His driver was out of breath and frightened. That was understandable, Rosa thought, as he watched the Hummer plow through a teenage girl with blood and gore hanging from her mouth. Her body made an audible crunch beneath them.
“I feel a little sick,” Rosa mumbled, to no one in particular.
Apparently Kevin heard him because he shouted, “Puke on the floor, and keep your head down!”
A moment later, the loud rhythmic chop of the fifty caliber roof-mounted machine gun roared, and bodies started to fly all around them. Sparks mowed down the zombies with impudence. At least Kevin hoped they were all zombies, a court martial and prison time were not in the plans for him and his fiancé.
“Oh shit!” the driver suddenly screamed and slammed on the brakes. The other Humvee was stopped diagonally in the road in front of them, smoking and overrun with the dead. They hadn’t hit the brakes fast enough though, and their front end smacked into the vehicle. Kevin heard a cry from above and saw Mr. Sparkles body fly over their hood and crash into the disabled Humvee in front of them. He slumped down to the ground, fumbling to unsnap his sidearm.
His heart pounding, Kevin screamed into the radio. “Humvee one is down, the road is blocked, find another route.” Then, as the zombies advanced on Mr. Sparkles, who was not doing well at all, Kevin shouted behind him to the remaining two soldiers. “Out, secure the damaged Humvee, secure the wounded, check for survivors!”
“Yes sir!” the two shouted. Rosa was wide-eyed, his mouth open and dripping the last of his curdled lunch onto his lap.
“Director, STAY HERE! Don’t move, and keep your head down!”
Then Kevin dove out the door. The soldier that had been thrown was firing into four zombies that ran right at him. Then one jumped down onto him from the top of the Humvee. Before it could strike, a three-round burst from Kevin’s mp5 took his head off. Kevin swiveled and fired more rounds into the zombies that were charging Sparks. The two soldiers from the back split up and went to either side of the Humvee. They swiveled as they walked, as if there were bearings in their hips, firing tight bursts into the oncoming dead.
Holy crap, they really sent the A team for me, Rosa thought. Kevin reached Sparks and dragged him by one arm back toward their Humvee. Sparks continued to fire with his free arm, providing them with cover. It looked like the young soldier’s leg or hip was broken. Rosa was supposed to keep his head down, but was enthralled by the action unfolding in front of him. It was like Black Hawk Down meets The Walking Dead. His heart was beating so fast that he was afraid he was going to have a coronary, but he found himself cheering for his military escorts.
Kevin reached their Humvee again and rolled Sparks into the back. Rosa noticed his legs were not moving at all. Fricken spinal, he thought. He’ll never walk again. The driver was sprinting back to the other vehicle. The two other soldiers had already pulled out the driver and front-seat passenger, both dead. Crap. Kevin swung open the rear hatch and a zombie launched itself out at him.
“No!” Rosa cried as the creature landed on Kevin's chest, knocking him to the ground before gripping his throat tightly. There was no time for Kevin to react. With almost superhuman strength, the zombie tore Kevin’s throat out, sending a geyser of blood into the air. The zombie howled as blood splashed over his body. Rosa wretched at the sight, and at the carnage inside the back of the Humvee. They’re all dead.
He frantically waved at the two soldiers to hurry back, but they couldn’t see him. They saw their comrade soon enough though. One of them covered his mouth, but the other shot the zombie off of Kevin and dragged him at a run back to their Humvee. They flung the driver's side doors open, and both crammed in, one of them falling into the back with Sparks and the very dead Kevin. There was a wave of the undead now swimming over the first Humvee, and more heading their way.
“Get us out of here!” Rosa cried.
“We’re going!” was the shouted response, and his new driver slammed down on the accelerator while spinning the wheel to the right. Rosa looked out his side window just as a zombie flew at it, striking the glass with its head hard enough to make him jump. Then the zombie sloughed off, not even making a scratch in the glass.
“Yeah, that’s blast proof glass, his head is mush now,” Sparks said from the back seat with a chuckle.
“How can you laugh at a time like this?” the new driver, whose name Rosa had not yet heard, shouted as he mowed over more bodies, careening around the disabled army transport.
“It’s either laugh or cry, brother. Our friends are dead, zombies are taking over, and I’m probably paralyzed. Tell me, what the hell else am I supposed to do?”
“Just shut up, how’s that? Sir, are you all right?”
Rosa looked at him with blank eyes, then slumped
over against the window. “What the hell is wrong with him?” he faintly heard, through a cottony pillow of sound. Two fingers pressed against his neck.
“Did he faint?”
“No,” the driver said faintly, “he’s having a heart attack.”
“Christ.”
“Yeah, poor fool. Nothing we can do for him now, we are heading straight for evac.”
As their driver blasted through the carnage that was consuming Atlanta, he made the sign of the cross over his chest and then kissed the tiny silver crucifix he wore around his neck. Then he did something he had not done in years.
“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…”
*****
The helicopter made it to Dalton, but only just. Jason gripped the edges of his seat as the bird limped its way to the airport, the engine jumping and choking.
“We aren't even running on fumes now,” his pilot said nervously as he guided them closer to their landing.
As soon as the skids touched the ground he cut the power and let out a big breath.
“Wow,” he called back to Jason. “That was pretty close.”
All Jason could manage was a nod; his body was still frozen in place. It took a good two minutes for him to come unglued. As the rotors slowed overhead, Jason picked up his leather bag and held it to his chest. That was terrifying.
The pilot exited and came around to open his door. “You have got to go, sir. This area isn't stable, there have been sporadic outbreaks. Your plane is waiting. In fact,” he paused, scanning the horizon, “it’s right there,” he said while pointing to a small tubular Learjet 35.
“You better go now, sir,” he repeated, shaking Jason’s shoulder. “Make haste, sir!”
Jason nodded and started jogging across the tarmac toward the waiting plane with its engines winding up. There was a man in khaki slacks and a button-up plaid shirt hanging out the door of the plane. When he saw Jason running, he raised a menacing looking black rifle and Jason’s heart skipped, then the man quickly lowered the weapon, presumably because he recognized that Jason was not a zombie. The man gave him a short wave. Jason looked over his shoulder and saw his pilot sprinting toward a fuel truck. He, too, wanted to get the hell out of here. He was twenty yards away when Jason saw a dark figure come running toward him from the terminal building.
Shit, it's one of them. He knew right away because part of the man's dark-skinned face was hanging off, and splatters of blood splashed out of it and onto the ground. The terminal was still a hundred yards away, so while he was freaking out, Jason had no fear of being caught by the running madman. He hit the plane's steps at a run, and the man at the door ducked inside, calling to the pilot.
“Take off immediately, there's one heading this way!”
The engines whined. “Pull the door closed, Jason,” the plaid shirted man called to him. Jason found the stair actuation lever and pulled. The stairs ascended painfully slowly. “Come on, let's go! The plane won't move until the stairs are secured.”
“Ugh, really?”
“Yeah, really,” the plaid shirt man said, and chuckled.
Jason watched impotently as the zombie got closer and closer. Then, with only two feet to go until the door was shut, the running man leapt and gripped the stairs, pulling himself toward them.
“Cover your ears,” Jason thought he heard from behind him.
“What?”
An assault rifle roared next to him, blowing away the zombie’s head, and Jason's eardrums. He clapped his hands to his head and fell to the floor, crying out in pain. A moment later he felt the plane begin to roll forward. “Why?” he shouted. “Why did you do that?”
“I told you to cover your ears,” plaid shirt said, only all Jason could hear was a muffled roar.
Plaid shirt took hold of his arm and led him to his seat. “Buckle up!” he yelled. Jason shook his head in frustration but complied. Then he watched out the window as more zombies sprinted toward the plane. He hoped the helicopter pilot had escaped. Then the plane was speeding down the runway, leaving behind their pursuers as it attained lift and soared out above the city.
There were only three passengers on this flight: Jason, plaid shirt, and an aged man wearing a crisp blue dress shirt, sitting quietly and staring out the window. The sight of him was so strange, from his slicked back hair, to his deeply lined face, to the vacant expression in his eyes, that Jason wondered if he had been drugged. Or if he was drunk. Then a voice spoke over his shoulder. Jason was surprised to be able to hear, thankful that the roar was receding. It was still there, but at least he could hear now. He glared at the man.
“I’m sorry about your ears, doctor. I didn't have much of a choice though; do you agree?”
Jason sighed and nodded. “Yes, of course, I was just frustrated. I am Jason Carpenter,” he said as he stuck out his hand, watching the appendage waver in the air as the plane rose through some air currents.
“Of course you are, doctor, I know your work well. I am Nolan Peterman.”
Jason paused while shaking the man’s hand, then a grin came over his face. Nolan Peterman, really?
“Wow, what are you doing in America Dr. Peterman?”
“Well truthfully, it was bad timing. I was lecturing as a special guest at Johns Hopkins University when the shit hit the fan, so when Europe slammed its borders shut, I was stuck here. What I’m telling people is that it is kismet, that I was meant to be here, to help the western world through this crisis.”
“Sounds like a good book pitch,” Jason teased.
Nolan pointed at him and smiled big. “You’ve got it, my friend, that's supposing there are people left to read it.”
“Well, that’s what we are supposed to be doing here isn’t it?”
Nolan didn’t miss a beat and Jason had to admit that his charisma was infectious. “What do you think of our mysterious friend here?” he asked, referring to their still silent travel companion.
“What’s his deal?” Jason asked, though they were clearly within earshot of the man, who continued to stare blankly out into the darkened sky.
“He was on board when I arrived. I’m thinking, based on his pupils, that's he’s been hitting the Xanax or Prozac pretty hard.”
“Any idea who he is? His face seems…oddly familiar, though I'm sure I would remember meeting someone who looks like him.”
“Well, I was given this,” Nolan said, and picked up a manila folder off the small table in front of him. “Or rather, this is for all of us. There’s not much here though. Here’s you, with a brief bio and your creds.” He handed Jason three sheets of stapled paper. “Here’s me,” he pulled out half a dozen sheets, thick with ink. “And here is our friend,” he continued, and pulled out a single sheet of white paper, which he passed over to Jason, who took it curiously.
Jason glanced at the older man, who continued to ignore them in favor of the night sky. He took the paper and was surprised to see not even half of a printed page. In the upper right corner was a black and white thumbnail of the man from the chest up, wearing a lab coat and spectacles. His name was Dr. Hubert Schwarz, Ph.D.
“Well, that's a little enigmatic, isn’t it?” Jason wondered out loud.
Nolan nodded. “I have a feeling…that this guy could fill more pages than the both of us put together.”
“So we have an entomologist, the ecologist and media extraordinaire,” Jason said with a grin and a flourish toward Nolan, “and a scientist of undisclosed nature.”
“It’s like revenge of the nerds; the world is in their hands!”
Jason laughed. He remembered being teased, sometimes tormented, as a young person for his studious nature. Funny how perceptions changed as an adult. Really, someday, everyone ends up working for the nerds. And maybe that's why they were such tough business people, they had to drag themselves through life amid the bullying of the strong. “And so the weak shall rise,” he murmured.
Nolan, whose hearing was phenomenal, leaned over and responded
sharply. “We were never weak, Jason. The strong of mind are always the strong.” It was like he could read his mind. Jason nodded.
Nolan cleared his throat. “So, my estimates are for a worldwide societal collapse within the next six months. Within a year, I predict the last Great War will begin. What are your thoughts?”
“My calendar is more like ten months. Some of it varies based on political response, but yes, within the year, the collapse of our civilization will be well under way.”
“All because of some damn mosquitoes,” Nolan said with a cruel chuckle.
Jason snorted, “That's an interesting way to look at it. If we want to be that simple, we could say it was the spiders those idiots brought back to Florida.”
“Or the ship that carried them,” Nolan continued. “It doesn’t really matter. The ecological collapse has already started.”
“Indeed it has. When the Florida crop dusters association took up the flag for the FBI to try to stop the spread of the infection, they sent hundreds of planes into the air. They were loaded with DDT, imidacloprid, and various out-of-date organophosphates. While the monsters were still just tearing apart the streets and homes of lower Florida, these dusters blanketed everything with pesticides, and I don't believe for a minute that they even tried to reach the proper dilution rate. From the Everglades all the way up into the orange groves, they fogged everything, all to try to eliminate the mosquito population.”
Jason took a breather and sighed. “Spraying for airborne pests is just so -”
“Retarded?” Nolan suggested.
“Don’t say that, that's not cool. It’s stupid. The chances of a liquid particle dispersed into the air hitting a flying insect is one in a billion. The chances of that same droplet hitting the ground, a plant, a tree, guaranteed. It's going to land somewhere, and where it lands it will make an impact. Don’t get me wrong, they knocked down the Florida mosquito population by eighty-seven percent, an incredible feat. But that came at a steep price. Before anyone could react and before any of us could object, the southern states all began this same aerial bombardment of their waterways and swamps, and anywhere with a little bit of humidity.”
A Dark Evolution (Book 2): Deranged Page 7
