by Mark Tufo
“What is it?” I call out.
“I saw something moving over by the clothes racks,” Robert replies. “I think there were a couple of them.”
“I’m coming out,” I say and walk to the entrance, panning my light once around my area and then focusing it over to where theirs are flashing.
My light catches something lying on the ground under and next to a section of clothes racks. I can’t really make out what it is, but it does resemble a shoulder or something similar.
“Anyone there?” I call out, circling around to the right to get a better look.
No answer. I continue circling. “Did you hit anything?” I ask, panning my light to check the area to my side and behind me.
Robert and Michelle are holding the front doors open with their bodies, their lights and guns pointed into the area.
“I think so, but I’m not sure,” Robert answers.
“Michelle, cover the area behind me to your right,” I say and see her switch her position. Her light flashes over me as it transitions behind me.
I approach whatever is lying on the ground. It is definitely a shoulder with pale skin but not the pale gray skin of the things I saw yesterday. The body is wearing some kind of light halter top. I also see what appears to be another body on the ground next to the first one. The head must be at an awkward angle, as I can’t see it or any hair.
And, if they were hit, where’s the blood?
A sudden flash of understanding goes off in my head; the light bulb shining brightly. I chuckle and then, my flashlight wavers as this turns into a full-blown laugh.
“What?” Robert asks, his confusion obvious. “What?”
“And the score after a round one is Robert, two; Mannequins, zero,” I call back, noticing they were actually pretty nice shots from that distance with a .45.
It looks like he hit the mannequin closest to me in the neck, turning it into dust and launching the head somewhere off into the darkness. I don’t venture closer to the other one to find out where he hit it.
“”You’re kidding!” he calls. “But I saw it move.”
“Trick of the darkness,” I say.
As I start back toward them, I catch a trickle of movement out of the corner of my eye. I drop to my knee, concentrating my light where I caught the flash of movement. My light focuses on the end of a row of shelves where underwear and socks hang on display.
“What the hell!?” I whisper, trying to bring the area into sharper focus.
Yes, I talk to myself quite a bit. I swear I am looking at part of a hand poking out slightly from the end of the shelf about twenty-five feet away. I am at an almost right angle to the shelf unit so I can’t see down the aisle much. Really, not at all. It looks like the pale fingers of a hand poking out in an almost sprinters start position. Fingertips on the ground, fingers rigid and palm raised. A thought crosses that perhaps Robert’s second round hit the arm and the hand flew over there. Possible perhaps.
But what moved then?
I rise to a crouching position when I see the hand move back slightly into the aisle. Not much, just an inch or two.
Okay, I’m outta here, I think, rising the rest of the way and back toward the front doors.
“There’s something back there,” I mention, arriving at the doors. “I think you maybe did see something. Nice job.”
“What is it?” Michelle asks as we step out into the shadow of the building and let the front doors swing shut.
“I don’t know and I’m not all that keen on finding out,” I answer.
“Time check?” I ask as we step toward Nicole and Bri. “Oh, wait. I don’t need to ask that anymore,” I say, reaching into my pocket and pull out my new watch.
The hands move as it automatically synchs up. As long as the satellites stay in place, we will have auto time. I don’t how long we’ll have the use of satellites, but I don’t think it will be for much longer. Satellite orbits decay fairly quickly if they don’t get their boosts to help them stay there. Even if those boosts are set automatically, they will eventually run out of fuel, fall back toward Earth, and burn up in the atmosphere. I set the watch for Greenwich Time on the digital display and the analog time for Pacific. The watch hands wind to 07:27. Time to head north.
We head out of the parking lot and catch the interstate northbound. We have about a thirty-minute drive to McChord, providing the roads stay clear and all goes well. The sun continues its climb across the cloudless summer sky; a sky devoid of any human activity, as empty as the roads below. I have only witnessed a sky devoid of any contrails once before and that was on a fateful September day years ago. It is amazing just how much sensory input we notice, yet on a more subconscious level, a certain piece here and another there, forming a picture of our reality at any given moment. We know what should be there and our mind automatically forms it. We know birds should be flying around, but we don’t really see them. However, take a piece out, and we notice. Our subconscious notifies our conscious that it needs to be aware of something. And then, there is the part that filters out things so bizarre that it just automatically drops them. We have to train our minds to bring those filtered aspects back in.
A couple of miles into our journey, I notice cars lining up in the right hand lane. At first, there were no cars, and then suddenly, a traffic jam of cars all in the right lane. I slow and pull over into the right middle lane with the interstate being four lanes wide at this point. I look into the rearview and see Robert mimicking my lane change. We proceed a little farther and soon the middle right lane begins filling with abandoned cars. There are some with their doors open, but not one of them has anyone in them. I move over to the far left lane. We are separated from the southbound lanes by a concrete divider and there is only the random car off the road or on the shoulder in those lanes. This is puzzling but we continue north, hoping the road does not become completely blocked.
The abandoned cars now begin to fill the lane next to us as we drive farther north. It appears as if they were trying to edge into the far right lanes, like you find at rush hour when a lane becomes blocked and vehicles have to merge. I slow way down. Again, I don’t see anyone, alive or otherwise. I imagine if the Christian rapture were to ever happen, then this is what it would look like. No, I take that back. There are far too many people gone.
We proceed along this strange procession until, up ahead, I see the traffic jam has continued up the ramp of the next exit. Cars are completely blocking all of the lanes of the ramp and I see the jam continuing across the overpass. Again, the light bulb brings clarity to the fog of the unknown. This is the exit to the hospital. Okay, note to self, the hospital areas and roads leading to it will most likely be blocked. I imagine all of the roads leading to the hospitals are blocked like this. The on ramp to the southbound lanes remains clear.
Funny how we tend to be such cattle at times. Why didn’t they think to just use the other lanes? Well, this is a Monday morning quarterback-type of question. I might have done the same thing.
Passing by the off ramp, I notice a couple of bodies on the sides of road leading upward. I guess people just got tired of waiting and tried to walk to the hospital. That’s why I don’t see anyone in the cars.
Also, vehicles are now backed up in the southbound lanes leading to the hospital off ramp. The road clears on our side. I accelerate and hope the off ramps to McChord and Fort Lewis aren’t like this, or worse as I’m not so keen on having to walk to the flight line with all of our gear. And yes, I am aware that these two installations had recently merged. It is just that I still think of them by their former names. Just past the exits, five dogs stand on a grassy slope next to the road. In unison, their heads turn slowly when we pass slowly by and our heads turn just like theirs as we observe them. Once past, I look into the rearview and see them trot toward the long line of cars.
About ten miles farther north, the main Fort Lewis exit appears. There is no traffic in or out of this gate. Traffic barricades are in the road out
front, and the gate is shut. There is no movement whatsoever at the entrance. The first buildings of Fort Lewis appear on the right behind a barbed wire-topped chain-link fence as we drive farther north, a few office-type buildings, and then family housing units, become visible. I have passed by many times and have yet to see anyone moving about the area; so seeing no one is not all that strange.
There are a few more cars pulled off the road as we progress. We pass by an overturned semi in the southbound lanes that appears to have slid off the road. It seems so strange that we haven’t seen a soul. I mean, there should have been someone about, even with the supposed CDC odds of immunity, but nothing greets our journey save the grass, trees, blue sky, and empty, gray lanes. The off ramp to another Fort Lewis exit is as clear as the first. I can’t see the gate from the road but imagine it would look the same, closed. I am not sure, but this also may be the entrance for Madigan Hospital as well. Apparently, the Army was a little better, or more persuasive, at turning people away. Perhaps, it has something to do with the quarantine I read about.
A blue sign stating ‘McChord AFB Next Exit’ stands by the side of the road. I slow and move over to the right lane. Behind me, Robert does the same. I really want to take the exit farther up by the mall, but I know there is a hospital at that exit and I don’t want to be blocked. Pulling over to the side of the interstate, I turn off the Jeep and exit. Nicole and Bri, taking this as a clue, get out as well and walk to the back of the Jeep. Robert and Michelle, seeing me get out and apparently deciding I want them to do the same, get out and meet me.
“The gate is off the next exit to the right,” I tell them. “I don’t know what to expect, so I’m going to go up there alone in the Jeep. If I’m not back within thirty minutes, assume something happened. You four get in the car as best as you can and get back to Grandma’s house. Understood?”
“Dad? Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” Nicole pipes up.
“It’ll be okay,” I say.
“Can’t we just go with you?” Bri asks.
“No, Bri. I really don’t know what to expect, so I want to scout this one alone. Okay, any questions?” I ask.
“What about if we just go to the top of the ramp and watch from there?” Robert chimes in.
“Okay, fine! You can drive to the top, but stop before you get there. Then, you can walk to the intersection. But for God’s sake, don’t go all of the way into the intersection and make yourself visible,” I say in exasperation, feeling my hair go a shade grayer.
Stepping back into the Jeep, I crank it up, turn right at the top of the ramp and I am immediately met with a closed gate.
Well, I didn’t make it very far.
I get out and step up to the gate. It is a chain link gate topped with barbed wire and operated by a motor driving a chain, which propels the gate open and closed. The motor is located at the base of the fence by where the gate recedes.
With the sun staring me in the eyes, I look up the road through the gate. The road bends slightly to the right with trees alongside, hiding the security point. There are no sounds except for the occasional chattering of small animals as they scurry amongst the bushes and the sound of a light breeze blowing across the treetops. I make out what appears to be a body in the middle of the road where it bends.
Are they under a ‘shoot on sight’ order? Is there still anyone at the checkpoint?
I grab a section of the gate fencing and pull as I ponder my approach. I am not too keen to take a round just for showing up at the party.
Let’s see, how best to not get shot? I think, pulling harder on the gate.
The gate doesn’t move in its tracks more than a couple inches, so I head to the end where the gate meets the post while keeping an eye up the road. Grabbing hold of the aluminum post on the gate’s end, I pull to the side attempting to open it. Other than moving a few inches, it holds firm. I put my foot to the end fence post and strain once again. The fence holds firm initially but then, with a jarring clank, it opens about four inches. The gearing teeth on the motor or chain gave slightly. Another try, but apparently the gate, anticipating this move, holds firm once again. Heading back to the Jeep, I glance back down the road toward the ramp to see the four of them looking at me with their hands to their foreheads shielding their eyes.
Grabbing my wire cutters and a couple of screwdrivers out of my toolbox, I walk back to the mule-headed gate. I snip the wires holding the chain-link to the post along the side as high as I can reach and a few along the bottom, enough so that I can peel back the fencing and slip through. Looking around, I walk over to the gate motor. I unfasten the housing around the chain driving the gate and take the chain off the gear wheel with the screwdrivers similar to the way you take a tire off a bike. The gate moves freely back as I pull it toward me.
Okay, we don’t have to walk. Well…from here at least.
I debate walking up to the bend in the road but decide to drive for a couple of reasons. Driving will give me a certain amount of protection in case I am fired upon; plus, it will give anyone at the checkpoint notice that someone is coming, giving them time to think rather than react as they might if I just materialized on the road. There is another factor. If humans are at the gate, they know anyone driving is human as well. I am quite sure these ‘things’ aren’t just driving around in the middle of the day and so, hopefully, it will give notice to anyone there that I am quite human. I can’t label whatever these ‘things’ are. To me, there is human, these things, and the dead.
I pull the gate the rest of the way open, walk back to the Jeep, and put away the tools. Climbing back in, I start slowly up the road keeping to the middle. As I drive forward, more of the road that was hidden by the bend appears and I see bodies lying both on the road and alongside it. Warily, I drive to the bend and stop before reaching the first body. The road continues to a set of checkpoints similar to double-sized tollbooths that are connected together by a single, overhead roof, the inbound lanes split into several ones, each to a booth. The traffic barricades are down in the lanes. One lane curves off to the right to a visitor’s center with a small parking lot in front. There is an exit lane passing by the security point, but a Humvee blocks it. I see the silhouettes of more Humvees parked behind the booths.
A few bodies lie on the ground from my position all of the way up to the checkpoint and scattered throughout the area. I look for any sign of movement and see nothing but the tips of the trees bending in the breeze. With the engine running, I step out slowly and take a couple of steps away from the Jeep with my arms raised, fully expecting a call from a bullhorn, a warning shot, something. Nothing. Keeping my arms up, I step next to the first body noticing several bullet wounds in the chest, abdomen, and legs. The skin has turned that reddish color. Putting my arms down, I survey the area for a few moments before heading back to the Jeep.
Climbing in, I drive slowly toward the checkpoint while weaving to avoid the bodies, each one with a sunburned look. All of them have bullet wounds of some sort; some are whole, others with a limb or face or most of a head missing. I can feel my stomach clinch as I approach. Parking about twenty feet from the booths, I notice a black boot sticking out of one of the booth doors with the toes pointed skyward. Past the checkpoint, my vision is blocked by the Humvees parked lengthwise across the road. I step out into the shadow of the booths cast by a sun still low in the sky and notice a hint of an odor in the air, like the beginning of milk souring.
Still not knowing what to expect, or if there are any security personnel about, I leave my gun holstered. An armed person with a weapon ready will bring about a supersonic, steel-core bee quicker than one without a weapon in hand. I haven’t been stung to this point and am looking to keep it that way. Edging slowly in a circular fashion up to the booth with the boot sticking out, I notice shell casings on the ground around the booth and behind it. Reaching the open door and stepping up to the opening, my heart jumps a notch at the same time as a twist of nausea grips my stomach.
Lying before me, stretched across the booth, is what must have been one of the base security personnel. It is unidentifiable as to what gender it once was. The pants and left shirtsleeve are completely shredded revealing the devastation beneath. The skin and most of the tissue have been removed from the arms, legs, and face, leaving behind only bits of flesh, tendons, and dried blood still clinging to the bone. Dried blood is everywhere with shell casings littering the floor. The right arm, from the elbow down, lies close to the body with a still intact portion of the sleeve surrounding it; the hand still grips a Beretta 9mm pistol with the slide back and locked open signaling an empty chamber and magazine. The right leg is completely missing from the knee down. The only intact portion of uniform is a combat vest still attached to the torso and the boot pointing skyward at my feet. Small bits of intestines and organs poke out between the pelvic bones.
What a mess, I think, and notice the stock and lower half of an M-4 poking out from under a small desk. Hmmm, that will come in handy as will the combat vest, but removing the vest won’t be pretty.
I step away from the door, duck under the barricade, and edge to the rear of the booth toward the Humvees. The ground behind the booths is covered with shell casings to the point where there isn’t much pavement to be seen underneath them. Four Humvees have been parked front to back across the lanes with the driver sides toward me and open with machine guns on top angled skyward. I walk to the front of one and look farther into the base. The scene before me transfixes in my mind.
The ground is littered with bodies. They are piled upon each other forming walls and mounds in places right up to the Humvees themselves. Some lie singly between mounds; the bodies decreasing in number the farther away I look.
Holy shit! There are easily over a hundred of them, maybe hundreds. I guess I know where that smell is coming from, I think looking around for any sign of movement or any form of humanity. There’s nothing but a multitude of crows hopping on the ground amongst the bodies.
