Infected World Trilogy (Books 1-3): They Only Come Out At Night

by Guenther, David

  “Son of a bitch! Tell me you got that recorded.” OSI Special Agent James Glock asked the agent who was monitoring from his hide on the golf course.”

  “I got it, Chief. Am I cleared to fire?”

  “Oh God! How I wish I could give the order. Did you hear that about the doctor having a cure for The Infection? I have to get to Captain Conrad immediately and let him know what’s going on. Call in a team to follow them to see where they bury the bodies. If they try to burn the bodies, stop them and arrest on my authority. Record everything, we’re taking down the president.”

  CID Agent Allison Ali was feeling outstanding. She would most likely get a promotion and get out from under the glorified Air Force NCO wearing captain’s bars. How could everyone miss that President Richard Etchberger had no claim to the presidency? The bastard had been born in Canada and raised in the US. He was a Canadian citizen! She typed up her report and emailed it to Captain Conrad and to Major General Peters. She included the digital copy announcing his birth in Quebec City in the province of Quebec. She had delayed sending the information until she could be positive his parents didn’t have dual citizenship. For good measure, she included information on the numerous times he had been secretly admitted to private clinics to combat his drug and alcohol addictions. The list stopped after he had become the Secretary of the Veterans Administration. She gave a contented sigh as she pushed ‘Send.’

  Glock picked up his cell phone once he was clear of the golf course and called Captain Conrad. He was surprised to have the phone answered on the first ring at 0230 hrs.

  “Sir, this is Agent Glock, I need to speak to you ASAP. I can’t be sure the phone is secure. I’m on my way to your office now.” The agent’s excitement rubbed off a little on the Captain who quickly acknowledged the information but didn’t tell him he was already in his office. He was unable to sleep because of pain from his old gunshot wound.

  While he waited, he checked his email and had mixed feelings when he saw there was one from CID Agent Allison Ali. She was a pain in his ass but had yet to make any type of mistake or waste his time with frivolous emails. He opened the email and found himself getting happier the further he read, even ignoring the fact that she had cc’d General Peters didn’t bother him. All the special requests for weapons and training for the president’s private army were as good as gone. Now he could bust half of them for being the criminals that they were.

  Glock was surprised when he entered the office to see Conrad smiling. He could not remember that happening before. “I think I know why you’re here but go ahead and tell me anyway.” Conrad pointed to a chair and lit up one of his rare cigarettes.

  “Sir, I don’t think this is what you’re expecting. I was taking my turn out at the hide at the golf course and witnessed the president’s advisor Falstaff sit there as one of his goons murdered Captain Abrams and a woman in cold blood.”

  Conrad picked up his phone, making sure it was a secure line, before dialing General Peters directly. It rang five times before the general picked it up. “General Peters,” he answered, his voice slightly slurred.

  “Captain Conrad here. Sir, there was just a murder at the presidential mansion.” He paused for the questions he knew would come.

  “Okay, you have my undivided attention. Let’s have the details.”

  “Sir, the president’s advisor Falstaff sat on the back patio and ordered his goon to murder Captain Abrams, and a woman with him. I have a solid witness and the execution was taped from our hide on the golf course.”

  “Son of a bitch! Not the doc! He’s one of the good ones.” Peters lamented.

  “Sir, there’s more. I just received an email that has information that shows that Mr. Etchberger could not be president. He was born in Canada. Sir.”

  Corporal Albert Connors sat on the padded floor looking at a picture of his wife and two daughters, ecstatic he’d soon be able to see them and get on with his life. He ignored the disgusting smell of the room and himself. That would be fixed with a shower. Come on, Doc. Hurry back to me, I want to live! The sound of the door being opened had him on his feet, excitedly dancing from one foot to the other. The giant sized man laughed at his enthusiasm and then pulled out a small automatic with a huge silencer. He fired one shot, hitting the corporal in his left eye and then again into the center of his forehead, never saying a word. Conner’s hand spasmed one last time in death, his fist crumpling the photograph in his hand. The man gave one last look down at the Corporal before closing and relocking the door.

  Peters acted fast, knowing any secret that more than one person knew would get out. He ordered Conrad to take the president’s advisor into custody while he sent a messenger to the president’s mansion, informing him he was under house arrest until the court could invalidate his presidency based on the fact he was not born in the USA or born of American citizens outside the USA. The same justice he’d used to swear in the president would make the determination to the validity of his presidency.

  Special Agent Glock followed Falstaff and two of his men southeast of the town until they turned onto Chalk Buttes Road. Why does this sound familiar to me? Glock wondered, glad he wasn’t trying to stay on the road with no lights on, especially when having to brake to turn. The two Air Force Security Forces Airmen were both upset to hear they were following a murderer and that the town’s doc was in the trunk of the limo, dead.

  The limo stopped at the entrance to the housing development and popped the trunk. Falstaff and his goons pulled Bunny from the trunk. From a quarter mile away he had to use his binoculars to see what was happening. One of the men had torn off her top and was slashing the exposed skin. Glock began to feel ill. “They’re mutilating the poor girl’s body. Enough of this crap! Hit the lights and let’s take the fuckers down! The driver turned on the headlights and the blue and red lights began to flash from the front grill. Falstaff and his two men stood like deer in the headlights, robbed of their night vision and hearing only the wail of the police siren. They didn’t see the infected pouring out of the housing development for their evening meal.

  Both of Falstaff’s men pulled out automatics after the initial shock wore off and quickly opened fire. The flash of gunfire in the low light made the driver slam on the brakes before getting too close. Glock and both airmen piled out of the car, opening fire with M4s. Falstaff and his men were either hit or dropped to the ground to be smaller targets. That’s when the horde of infected caught up with them.

  “Cease fire! We don’t want to waste ammo on dead men.” Glock didn’t hide his joy at the sight in front of them. “We better head for home, lot of paperwork to get done before we go off shift, and I don’t particularly want to be swarmed by the last horde of infected in town. That’s what I was remembering. This was the last section of town that was to get cleared. Since it was a safe distance from the rest of the town, it was considered low threat. Falstaff planned to feed the bodies to them and save himself the trouble of digging holes! I wonder how deeply the president is involved with this?

  The alert force deployed a company of light infantry. The infantry were quickly spread out around the president’s mansion and the houses closest to it that were known to house his personal security force. The manicured golf course behind the mansion and houses were ruined as Strykers and Bradley fighting vehicles took up positions, encircling the houses from all directions. Mobile spotlights were turned on, illuminating faces peering out the various windows until the shades were pulled.

  Army Lieutenant Bradley was finally given the honor of delivering the message to the president, after General Peters was talked out of it. A live camera feed was recording the Lieutenant walk up the drive and knock on the door. Jesus Christ! How the hell do you sleep through all those tracks circling your damn house? Bradley wondered, continuing to bang on the door.

  The door opened just a crack, a skinny older man appearing unflappable, “I’m sorry sir, the mansion is not receiving at this time. You may return at noon to request a
n audience.” The voice sounded like a caricature of an English butler.

  “Sorry Jeeves, I’m under orders to relay a message to the president ASAP. If you deter me or get in my way, well…” Bradley backed up so the butler could see the force deployed around the mansion.

  “Very well, sir. Whom shall I say is calling?” The butler’s voice sounded even more haughty to the lieutenant.

  “Jeeves, you can say a representative of General Peters. I must deliver the message to him in view of the witnesses behind me. Make sure he puts on a pair of pants.”

  Bradley was getting impatient, then started when the door slammed open. The man before him, instead of being the same person he’d seen on TV, was instead wild appearing, his hair totally unkempt and the short bath robe was not even tied, displaying all of the president.

  “Okay shithead. You’ve scared my servant, and it looks like my attorney’s hiding under a bed somewhere so spit out what you have for me, so I can have you fired in the morning.” Bradley handed him the envelope and waited for an acknowledgement of some kind. Etchberger read through the letter and appeared confused, and then belligerent. “That two star son of a bitch thinks he can fire me? Is that what he thinks!” Etchberger reached into his robe’s pocket, spreading it open further, and pulled out what appeared to Bradley as the biggest automatic in the world. Then he fired three times into Bradley’s chest, sending him flying backwards. Before the echoes from the shot faded, three heavy machine guns and two dozen infantrymen who were zeroed in on the exchange let loose. Etchberger’s head and shoulders, along with his chest, disintegrated into mist from the combined return fire. In less than two seconds it was over. Numerous screams of ‘medic’ were shouted as a dozen infantrymen advanced on the location where there had been a front door.

  Two medics reached him at the same time. The anger from the infantrymen was palpable, it was obvious they wanted blood as they surrounded the president’s private army. “Just lay still for me, sir. I need to examine you.” The sergeant carefully removed the lieutenant’s body armor and sighed with a sense of relief. There was only a three slight red areas that were beginning to swell. He looked behind him to the captivated audience and gave a thumbs up gesture, not realizing he had just kept the rest of the houses from being demolished.

  “Wow, that really hurt. What happens now?’ The Lieutenant asked nervously while being helped to his feet.”

  “I can give you some ibuprofen, sir. Nothing here for us to do, really. If you do experience any real pain and you can’t wait for sick call, just report to the emergency room. I’d hold on to your body armor if I was you, Sir. I think we made history today. Imagine what folks would pay for that in the future.” They both took another look down at the partial remains of Etchberger.

  “It should be an interesting footnote in the history books.” The pain in his chest was still very real and then, when he glanced over at the partial body, it didn’t seem so bad. Don’t care who the hell he was, he got what he deserved for shooting me. Damn politicians.

  Chapter 22

  C-130 ‘Iron Horse’ en route to Douglas, Wyoming. April 14, 2029

  Motion? What the hell is going on? Caleb didn’t need to guess where he was as his ears were assaulted by the noise of the four Rolls-Royce turboprop engines. How do I always end up on C-130s like this? His mouth felt like it was full of cotton as an invisible drummer used his head as a drum. “Water?” he softly eked out. He was looking at the ceiling of the aircraft, afraid to move his head, realizing he had a head injury. “Water” he said more firmly. He was feeling desperate now for something to drink. “Someone! Give me some goddamn water!” Caleb shouted as loud as he could, which was slightly higher than the noise of the engines in the cabin.

  “I see you don’t make a very good patient, do you?” Gloria said, relieved he was awake. She poured a little water on his lips, just enough to wet them. It infuriated him, thinking she was trying to tease him or torture him.

  “Stop teasing me, and give me some damn water!” Gloria went from worried and caring to equally annoyed.

  “Fine, you self-centered son of a bitch, I hope you drown.” She placed the two liter bottle against his lips and brought up his hands so he could hold the bottle. She turned away her anger, turning to tears. Behind her, she could hear him sputtering as water poured over his lips and down his cheeks and chin. She turned around to help him, only to find him passed out. Damn, damn, damn, I’m a horrible person! She thought as she started crying again, though with relief that he appeared better, if only for a moment.

  The loadmaster, a part time warrior in the Air Guard, came back and checked on Caleb. In his left hand he carried the tools of his fulltime profession, EMT. The soldiers looked on protectively, especially with their own advanced training in first aid, backing away only when he identified his ‘normal’ job as an EMT and bringing out a huge, well-stocked trauma kit that was definitely not standard issue onboard an aircraft. He stood over Caleb and took his vitals, satisfied his patient was recovering slightly.

  “Bo, I think we’re hosed for having a pet Z on the mission. That split tail doesn’t have what it takes. She’s just another chair forcer. I don’t need any REMFs outside the wire.” Hope bitched to his old comrade Sgt First Class Bo Hopkins.

  “Jorge, I can’t believe you’re still talking that crap, but then you’ve been out a few years. It’s not like we need an operator or trigger puller, we use her like a dog to find the Zs. We could put a collar and a leash on her, so just chill. When we get back to base we’ll go over the plans with the entire team. I say we take Lt Alban out and see how good she works out. If she’s no good, we drop her from the mission, no harm, no foul.” Bo looked up to see the lieutenant walking towards them with a pissed off look on her face.

  “I’ve been raised a lady and, by act of Congress an officer as well, so grandpa, if you disrespect me again, I’ll snap you in two.” Looking at Bo she continued, “You might want to consider part of the test that I easily heard the shit the pair of you were talking at the other end of this noisemaker. If you want to go out in the dark with me to see how I interact with the Z, you’re a brave man. And I don’t want to hear any more talk about collars. The last man to try something like that didn’t fare very well. Now, I’m going back over to Caleb and keep an eye on him. You two play nice now.”

  Bo looked at Hope and laughed, then laughed even harder when Hope joined in. “She may not be an operator, but the bit, err…lady has spirit. I’ll find some place I can take her where there are some Zs and see what she can do,” Bo whispered.

  A huge bump followed by laughing woke Caleb up, his head felt tender, but he was no longer nauseous, just thirsty. One of the soldiers was hollering over at the loadmaster, “Did we crash or was that what they mean for controlled flight into the ground?” Despite himself, he was laughing at the joke and felt new pain in his lower chest. Guess that’s what happens when you go from thirty miles an hour to zero without the benefit of a working airbag. He gingerly touched his lower chest and abdomen, feeling very tender.

  “He lives!” Gloria said excitedly as she bent over and kissed him on the forehead. When she sat down next to him she saw his face pale and his grimace of pain. “Oh sweetie, I’m sorry.” She jumped up and then nearly fell back on him when the taxiing plane turned off the active runway.

  The loadmaster dropped the rear ramp as they were still moving and he saw Gloria motioning for him. “He’s hurting more than from the head, I sat down next to him and he about cried out in pain.”

  “Ma’am, there’s a meat wagon waiting on us to block in. He’s going to back up to the ramp first thing before anything or body gets off the aircraft. There’s a fully functioning hospital in Douglas. You’d never know the world was messed up, real pre-infection.

  The cold breeze from the open ramp felt even colder after spending a day in Arizona. Neither Caleb or Gloria noticed the cold air as a medical gurney was brought aboard and the soldiers and EMTs, as gently a
s possible, transferred Caleb to it. The ramp was still too high to roll him off so it was a team effort to lower him to the ground. Gloria jumped down and climbed in the ambulance before they could close the door. She looked down on Caleb and saw that, despite the gentle transfer, his face was wet with perspiration.

  “Can’t you drive this thing any faster? Look at him, he’s in pain.” Gloria caught herself from saying anything else as she looked out the front window and noticed that the streets around the airport had working street lights, even though it was now daylight. She sat in numbed silence as they approached the town, and the number of autos, both civilian and military, increased exponentially, until they had actual traffic. The driver put on his lights and sirens and the traffic melted to the sides as the ambulance sped down the street towards the hospital.

  The emergency room entrance appeared to have too many police and military vehicles to Gloria as she numbly followed the gurney until she as stopped and directed to a waiting room.

  The couch was uncomfortable and Gloria tried to ignore it as the news on the TV came on. Are you shitting me? They have TV! I have to get back to Georgia to find my family and bring them here, if I can get away, she thought.

  “Ma’am, you’re here with Lieutenant Caleb White? I’m Dr Lee.”

  “Yes, I’m his, uh, friend. I came with all the way from Arizona to see that he’s okay.”

  “We took some x-rays; we found he has broken ribs and a concussion. We have him in a room on the third floor where he is resting comfortably. You can go up and visit, if you wish.” Gloria was already rushing past the doctor, anxious to see for herself how he was doing.

  The nurse at the nursing station was looking particularly harried and looked at Gloria as yet another problem to be fixed. “Hello, can I help you, ma’am?” She asked, trying to be as professional as possible instead of how she felt.