by T. W. Brown
The rumble of an engine snapped him out of his daydream. It was close, just not visible. With the whole world apparently dead, sound had the tendency to play tricks on the ears. He sat quietly and listened trying his best to determine exactly where it was coming from.
Scanning the east parking lot of The Basket, he spotted something that would suit his purpose. It was a simple Ford pick-up, and it would do just fine for his purposes.
All his thoughts of vengeance had dissipated. Much of it replaced by shame. Perhaps that unseen vehicle would be his salvation. Charlton Shaw was a capable person, a trained military man, an extra set of eyes to keep vigilant watch. And, if those he encountered were…like he’d allowed himself to become, then perhaps he could atone for his sins and heroically save those too weak to defend themselves.
Yes, Shaw thought as he duckwalked between two charred husks that had once been large cargo trucks, he had a second chance at redemption. He’d left the hospital the day his father died and wandered onto the wrong path. This time it would be different. He could see it now. God had offered him a chance to start over. He’d been stripped of all his power.
Only His divine power could’ve so masterfully called him away from the source of all his misdeeds. And now, like Sodom and Gomorrah, The Basket had been laid to waste because there were none righteous inside, no, not one. He, Charlton Shaw, would now offer his service to those in need…starting with the individuals as careless as to be driving along this stretch of road.
Looking around, he observed that many of the abominations had noticed the sound. They didn’t seem to suffer from the same confusion he had initially, and were turning in the general direction and shuffling or dragging themselves towards whoever it was. Those poor fools would be attracting attention from all over. If they weren’t careful, one of those mobs like the one that had overwhelmed the barricades here at The Basket and killed all within, would be on them.
Scurrying across the one stretch of open ground that remained between him and the truck, Shaw was forced to take down a few of the creatures on the way. One of them had been one of his men. He worked economically, driving his saber into the face of one, decapitating another. Then he saw her…only the upper portion of her body remained. She’d literally been ripped in half.
Senator Angela Bergman.
This is another sign, Shaw thought as he stood over the pitiful creature. He kicked its hands away as it tried in vain to grasp his boots.
“Please accept my apology,” he whispered as he plunged the blade deep into the top of its skull. “Go with God.”
Seconds later, Shaw was inside the truck, striking the wires together that turned the engine over. Shifting into drive, he plowed through a few scattered walking dead as he roared out onto the open road
Reginald woke to discover Morris curled up on his lap. He scratched the feline between its ears, earning a deep vibrating purr. He had no idea how long he’d been asleep, and even worse, he realized that he didn’t care. The rumble from his belly said otherwise.
“Off you go.” He scooped the cat into his hands, setting it on the chair. Morris nestled down into the still warm seat, uninterested.
Stopping to check inside each of the observation chambers, he was not surprised that the conditions hadn’t changed at all. He paused at the last one. This one at least had promise. Unfortunately, it was not likely that people would flock to the Antarctic. At ten below zero, the subject was immobile. Punching a few things into the keypads, he brought the warmers online. In about an hour, the temperature inside would rise to thirty-five degrees.
Passing through the lab, he paused to check his log. He’d really fallen off in his work. The past several weeks had been more about trying to please Lucy. Well, he hitched his pants up and pushed into the examination section, that was going to end. He was a doctor…a scientist…and he had a job to do. As a reminder, he turned on the monitor.
“Well, well, well,” Reginald mused. “It seems that we have some new faces today.”
He scanned the crowd; none of this bunch looked familiar. Still, the numbers were staggering. As far back as the camera allowed him to see, a field of heads swayed. They were packed in tighter than ever and showing no sign of leaving.
He gazed at his empty examination tables, coming to rest on the one that once held Lucy in a blissful state of quiet sedation. A tiny bit of regret niggled at the back of his mind. He knew that there was no way he could do what it took to put her back on the table. When she’d been nothing more than an anonymous test subject, he would have had no qualms in doing whatever science required. However, she was no longer a test subject. For the same reason you don’t name lab or farm animals that will eventually grace the examination or dinner table, his shoulders slumped. No, he couldn’t kill Lucy.
“No use dwelling,” Reginald said aloud. “I’ll just have to make do.”
He went over his list of animal notes. Within minutes, he was happily comparing notes and various test results, oblivious to time. The hours ticked away as he immersed himself in his work. At some point, he glanced up at the monitor and realized that darkness had fallen on the world outside.
Reginald checked the observation chamber, not in the least bit surprised that the once frozen occupant had not only thawed, but now stood in a corner, obviously undamaged. He brought up his notebook and scribbled furiously, pausing only once to realize that he was happy.
He dished out plenty of beat-downs in his life. And since this whole deader situation started, he’d wasted plenty of those things. But Juan wasn’t a killer. Taking a life from a living, breathing person sat on his chest like a sixteen-ton weight, slowly crushing him under its unbearable pressure.
When that couple—Sandra and LaVon—had reached the house, there had been a lot of yelling and screaming. Juan heard none of it. All he heard were Mackenzie’s sobs and it cut into him like nothing he’d ever experienced in his life. Then…that newcomer, Keith, had walked in. The conversations taking place around him had been nothing more than an irritating buzz up to that point. Then, he heard Mackenzie’s voice.
“Keith and I were engaged.”
That had been all he could take. Juan had stepped over the body at his feet and made his way through the kitchen. Out the back door, across the gentle slope of the field he walked, his head swimming with images of Mackenzie, occasionally shattered by the vision of the two men dying from gunshots fired by him. The look of pain and surprise that had been plastered on the face of the one he’d shot in the throat being the worst. That one had looked up at him, his mouth moving but only able to emit a drowning gurgle; he’d been unable to actually beg for help. Still, Juan had seen his mouth form the word “Please” and he stood there. Stood over him and watched him die; drowning in his own blood. And with Margaret lying dead just a few feet away, he simply watched the person die. Only, at some point, the wall of regret came crashing down.
He thought back to when he’d first encountered Margaret…staring into the barrel of her gun. And that had been right after he’d saved her life. The woman had flipped out, claiming that he’d come to loot…or worse. Mackenzie had talked her down. Then there had been the arrival of the newcomers: JoJo, Thad, and Keith. She’d shot Keith, nearly killing him. There was no telling what had happened when these most recent strangers arrived.
“Hey, Juan,” a voice said from behind him.
Juan looked around. He’d wandered to the edge of the property, but like those stupid deaders, he’d stopped at the fence. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Thad making his way down the gentle slope between the long rows of withering cantaloupe vines. Crossing his arms over his chest, he waited on the other man.
”Dude,” Thad huffed as he jogged up, “we need your ass back in there.”
“What for?”
“Let’s see,” Thad counted off on his fingers, “five dead people…one of them being Margaret. A hysterical woman, two very nervous folks who are wonderin
g if we plan on dusting them like we did their friends, any of this striking you as a reason why we could use your ass back there?”
Juan opened his mouth to speak, then simply stared over Thad’s shoulder, causing the other man to turn around. Keith was making his way towards them, his arms around a sobbing Mackenzie. The two stood silently as they waited. Thad missed nothing, watching a parade of emotions march through Juan’s eyes.
“Hey,” Keith managed. He looked up at Juan, “I think your girl needs you, bro.” He eased Mackenzie from under his arm and to the surprised Juan who initially seemed reluctant to open his arms and accept her.
Mackenzie sunk into Juan’s chest her tear-streaked face instantly soaking through Juan’s shirt. He held her close, but his eyes looked curiously at Keith.
Thad assessed the scene and was confident nothing bad would happen. Patting both men on the shoulder, he headed back up to the house leaving them to sort out what ever weird dynamic seemed to have risen out of nowhere.
“I think it’d be best if you two stay gone for a bit,” Keith finally broke the silence. “Thad, JoJo, and I will take care of…” His mouth hung open for a moment. Then he flicked his gaze to Mackenzie, then back to Juan. Then, he just nodded and turned to head back up to the house.
Juan watched him leave. Confusion warred with curiosity. But as Mackenzie continued to weep, his attention returned to the woman in his arms. He couldn’t think of one single word to say, so he simply stood there holding her as she cried.
“She’s gone,” Mackenzie said, startling Juan with its sadness.
He looked down to find her face turned up to his. Even with red, puffy eyes, blotchy cheeks and a runny nose, Mackenzie was beautiful. He wanted very much to say something or do something that would make her feel better, but he’d never been really good with words.
“I. Should’ve. Never. Left. Her. Alone,” Mackenzie managed a word between each hitching sob.
“Hey,” Juan said in what he hoped was a gentle sounding voice, “you can’t even start blamin’ yourself for this.”
“But I knew she was getting worse without her medication.”
“What?” Juan was confused. What medication?
“For her…” Mackenzie struggled, searching for the words. “Her problem.”
Juan wanted to ask what the heck she was talking about, but felt it would probably be best to let her come out with things on her own. So, he tightened his hold on Mackenzie just a bit and kept his mouth shut.
“Mom suffered from a bi-polar disorder and some pretty severe paranoia,” Mackenzie finally continued. “She was okay as long as she had her meds. Only, well, with what’s happened…there wasn’t any way to get refills.”
If Juan didn’t know what to say before, this new revelation only make it worse. Why hadn’t she said anything? Was it embarrassment? Fear?
He wished that he had one of those minds that could figure people out. He’d known people like that, and never once envied them until now. So, he continued to stand there quietly, holding Mackenzie and wishing that he had something to offer.
After a while, she sniffed and pushed away slightly. Juan went to drop his arms, but she quickly grabbed them and guided them back to her. He gazed down into her eyes, then, decided to risk leaning down and kissing her softly on the forehead.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?” Juan asked, confusion flooding his expression so suddenly that it made Mackenzie chuckle.
“For knowing exactly what I needed.”
Juan went from confused to dumbfounded in an instant. He’d done nothing but stand there like the big oaf that he was. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, JoJo’s shout cut him off.
“We got company!”
The heavily armored Greyhound bus rumbled to a stop about a block away. There was a moment of uncertainty as Chad and the others waited to see who or what would emerge. He’d waded through the small cluster of people to stand between Brett and Scott.
After a moment, there was a hiss and a man stepped out onto the street. He was dressed in what looked like a baseball catcher’s gear and holding an M16. “Anybody in your group bit?” the man called, apparently unconcerned that he would be drawing the attention of the numerous zombies now appearing from every direction.
“No,” Chad took a step forward and responded.
“Then I’d get your asses over here,” the man called. “We got room. Y’all will need to say in the back until we’ve had a look at each of ya to make certain.”
Chad turned to face his group. While he didn’t necessarily like the idea of surrendering to a group of strangers, he liked the idea of standing out here on the street even less. At least a couple hundred of those things were closing from every direction, and he seriously doubted that they had the resources to deal with that many. It looked like everybody else was on the same page as nods greeted his questioning look.
“Everybody pair up and don’t let your partner out of your sight,” Chad warned as they walked to the bus.
“Name’s Chet Long,” the catcher’s gear clad man said as Chad and his group approached. “You folks look like you could use a lift.”
“Where you folks headed?” Chad asked as the rest of the group filed onto the bus.
“Someplace up in the hills.”
“Actually, we were considering Yosemite,” Scott offered. Chad cast a glance of disbelief. How could he give up information to these total strangers?
“Not a bad plan,” Keith nodded as Brett, the last of the group filed on leaving just him, Scott and Chad on the street. “We can all talk about this later though. Stiffs is headin’ our way. Best to clear out.”
The three boarded and the door closed with a burst of pneumatic air behind them. The dim yellow glow of lights in place on the floor at each row of seats slowly became enough to see by as Chad felt the bus shudder and swerve. He took a seat in the open front row, joined by Chet.
“Where you folks from?” Chet broke the silence.
“Modesto mostly,” Chad replied. He didn’t want to give up too much information to this stranger, but he’d noticed a few other women and children while he’d boarded the bus and they all looked okay. Which, for the most part, meant nobody was visibly restrained or appeared to be flashing coded distress signals.
“Well, most of us are from the Merced area,” Chet offered. “We were holding out at the FEMA shelter for a while, then, somebody inside turned one night. It was crazy. Folks shootin’ in the dark. Couple of the soldiers said they knew where we could evac to. Turned out to be a car-scrapping facility. It had great fencing and seemed okay, but the stiffs started building up around the perimeter. We knew that food would be an issue soon, so we got to planning. This here bus was across the highway, abandoned. Group of us fought our way to it, got it runnin’ and brought it back. Spent the next couple of months turning this baby into the battle-wagon you see now.”
“We were in the Modesto High School FEMA center,” Chad offered up. He still didn’t want to put too much information out there to relative strangers, but Chet had seemed awfully forthcoming. Also, Chad had honed his people-reading instincts to what he considered to be a rather high level during his stay in prison. This guy seemed fairly solid. “Our soldiers bailed out on us.”
“No shit?” Chet seemed genuinely shocked.
“Their captain said his men all wanted to go see to their families, so they left us some stuff and bugged out.”
“Colonel Morris ain’t gonna like it when he hears that.”
“Yeah, well I doubt there’s much can be done now.”
“So,” Chet said after a long silence, “you folks were really gonna hike all the way to Yosemite?”
Chad considered the man beside him. Something told him that this guy was trustworthy…at least to a point. “That’s the plan,” he finally said with a nod.
“Well it seems pretty solid,” Chet agreed, and got up. “I’m gonna go get Colonol Mor
ris. We was actually just wanting to get someplace remote. I think you might have the right idea.” With that, Chet patted Chad on the arm and headed down the aisle.
Chad craned his neck around to take a look. His eyes were adjusted to the floor lights now and he could see that the bus was actually close to full. Also, he noticed two soldiers standing in the aisle. As he watched, the bathroom door in the rear opened and a soft light spilled out. One of his people, Penny Doucet, was stepping out. A woman ws standing in the small space. She said something to one of the soldiers who nodded and went up the aisle. He leaned in and a second later Ronni’s friend, Krystal got up and followed the soldier to the restroom. She stepped inside with the woman and the door shut. Obviously they were checking his people out.
He saw Chet crouched beside one of the rows. He was talking to somebody and kept nodding. Finally, he stood and took a step back. A very large man pulled himself up and into the aisle. With a very pronounced limp, he began moving towards the front; towards where Chad set.
Chad had a moment to really get a look at the man heading his way—presumably Colonel Morris. He was big. Wide enough to block out his ability to see up the aisle. His head looked like a bowling ball with a crew-cut smashed down onto his shoulders at the expense of any sort of neck. He was dressed in a black jumpsuit with the legs tucked into a pair of boots that clumped heavily under what had to be at least a three hundred pound frame.
Chad moved over as the man reached his seat. The human mountain fell like an avalanche into not only the adjacent seat, but a little bit of his, pressing him closer to the window.
