by Mark Tufo
She thought, I’ve lost the advantage now if there is an intruder in the house.
Just then a mournful, haunting moan came from the kitchen. The sound made her hair stand on end. She had an urge to flee but stood her ground between the kitchen and the dining room. Craning her head to the right, she could see the blood-splashed travertine tiles beyond the black granite island. It looked like a slaughterhouse floor. Making her way into the kitchen, she noticed that breakfast ingredients were on top of the island. Eggs were broken on the floor and a plastic gallon of milk rested on its side, most of the milk pooled on the floor.
A strong coppery odor hung in the air, overpowering her mom’s potpourri. The sight, smell and volume of blood caused Brook to gag. She could see a foot twitching on the other side of the island. She willed herself to put one foot in front of the other and cautiously rounded the corner enough to see the backside of her dad, still in his pajamas, tending to her mom.
Letting the barrel drop, she approached the scene frantically, calling out, “Dad, what happened to Mom? Did you call 911 yet?”
He rose slowly, turning towards her. She expected to see pain and anguish. Instead she saw his pale, slack face, bloody teeth and expressionless glassy eyes staring her down.
Leveling the gun without conscious thought at what used to be her father, Brook backpedaled. He came for her with a clumsy but determined, steady pace.
She had a feeling someone was watching her. Brook glanced back towards the bottom of the stairway where Raven, eyes wide as saucers, watched the horrifying events unfold.
Raven screamed “Grandpa!” as he neared the business end of his own shotgun.
Returning her attention to the advancing ghoul, Brook made the split second decision that saved their lives. She aimed for center mass, just as Cade had taught her. Brook pulled the trigger. The boom was deafening in the small hallway and the buck of the big gun caused her to fall back; the barrel rose and the buckshot blasted the creature in the neck and underneath the chin. Jaw bone and teeth disintegrated and its head whipped backward, impacting between the shoulder blades before tearing free, falling and rolling out of sight under the table. For a brief moment her dad’s body trembled, and then with a slow motion tilting movement like a felled tree, the headless body smacked onto the tile floor like an unconscious boxer hitting the canvas.
Brook rushed around the island. What she saw sickened her. There was barely enough of her mom’s neck left to feel for a pulse. Brook’s training as a nurse dictated she check anyway. Putting the shotgun aside, she checked a wrist and found no pulse.
She fell to her knees next to her mom, crying uncontrollably. After allowing herself a moment of mourning Brook pulled herself together, grabbed the phone and called 911. She got a recording saying all circuits were busy. She tried repeatedly, never getting anything but the same recording.
Brook bolted from the house with her daughter in tow and together they went next door.
Chapter 132
Day 2 - Southeast Portland
The boys were silent as they followed the man. All three were beginning to sweat. It was July, so in the midmorning sun it was already 75 degrees and probably would reach 85 by noon.
Cade took a different route back to his house in case the dead had followed him. When the three were a block east of the house, they heard walkers well before they saw them. There were two: a female with a blood saturated cotton sundress pasted to her body, and a male minus most of his face. He wore a Pabst Blue Ribbon beer shirt, cargo shorts and only one flip flop which slapped the pavement as he walked.
Cade thought, Probably a couple of Reed college students on summer break. Looks like school’s out forever.
The three of them hunkered down and remained quiet.
Just as the undead pair passed by, Cade’s neighbor Rawley came speeding down the street in his older model white Ford Bronco. Cade liked to kid him about the “O.J. Simpson” truck he drove. The Bronco skidded to a stop abruptly in front of the green house two lots down and across the street from Cade’s. It looked like he had been on a supply run, as he was hurriedly taking bags and boxes up his stairs and into the house.
Their attention aroused, the two infected college kids about faced and set course for Rawley. Bone chilling moans and the slapping of the frat boy’s lone flip flop on the street signaled their approach.
Finished with his task, Rawley jumped into the still running SUV, cut a wide U-turn in the street and careened past the two, barely missing them. This again influenced their direction of travel and they clumsily about faced and followed the white Bronco.
Rawley’s house backed up to an alley and it was where he usually parked his truck. Cade guessed that was his destination.
The three-minute distraction allowed the trio to stealthily slip back into the alley from the east and proceed to the rear of Cade’s home. They avoided detection and knelt in the thigh high grass near the back fence. After making sure all was clear, Cade helped the boys, one at a time, scale up and over the barrier. Next, he vaulted it with ease and double checked to make sure they were alone in the enclosed backyard. The yard was clear and the back door was still locked. Nothing seemed disturbed and the house was silent as they entered the kitchen.
They lived in a brown, two-story Craftsman style home with a two car garage; the driveway sloped down about thirty feet to the street. Next to the garage a padlocked wooden gate the same height as the rest of the fence opened into the backyard. The front door was sturdily constructed from solid oak. The back door led into a sun porch followed by another dead bolted door leading into the kitchen.
When everyone was in, Cade closed and locked the outer door. He had installed an extra dead bolt for added security. It wouldn’t stop a determined intruder but it would slow them down.
Once inside, the boys relaxed a little. They jumped at the offer of something to eat.
While he prepared some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, he introduced himself to the older boy. “My name is Cade.”
With a furtive glance the bigger boy curtly replied, “Leo.”
“And your brother’s name?”
“His name is Isaac; he goes by Ike.”
Ike had taken a walk around the family room while Cade and Leo talked. When he returned to the kitchen he asked, “Who is the little girl and lady in the pictures above the fireplace?”
Not wanting to go over it in detail, Cade simply said, “My wife and daughter.”
Leo continued the interrogation. “Where are they now?”
“They’re in South Carolina visiting my wife’s parents.”
“Why didn’t you go with them?” Ike asked.
“I have a lot of projects that need finishing around here.”
Abruptly ending the conversation Cade picked up the remote control and turned on the television. When the LCD flat screen came to life, the silent images of carnage and looting said more than words. They watched the muted television until the scene changed to the Oval Office of the White House and the President strode in and sat down in his plush chair. This was orchestrated to put the American people at ease. Seeing the man in his comfortable office as opposed to him standing and reading from his ever-present teleprompter was supposed to have a psychologically calming effect. To Cade it did the opposite. He couldn’t put a finger on it but something didn’t feel right about the scenario.
Cade turned up the volume in time to hear the anchor introduce President Bernard Odero. The President started off by telling the television audience he had been forced to declare martial law in Washington D.C. It was the first city to see signs of the infectious disease. Other areas of the country were also affected by the contagion. Los Angeles, San Francisco/Oakland and San Diego were the hardest hit on the West Coast. He recited a litany of Midwest cities including his hometown of Chicago. The entire Eastern Seaboard of the United States, Florida on up to Maine, was battling the epidemic as well. Air, maritime and rail travel had been canceled until further notice
. High-speed transportation had initially led to the disease’s prolific spread, while the localized pattern of outbreak seemed to start in the hospitals and radiate outward into the communities. President Odero emphasized that all resources were being utilized to determine the cause of the outbreak and find a cure.
While the President spoke, the crawl on the bottom of the television screen displayed a list of the countries already affected. The list was not short.
President Bernard Odero finished his speech by imploring the American people to remain home and stay strong; he promised the United States Government would not fail them.
Cade noted the absence of any mention of God at the end of Odero’s speech. Being politically correct to the nth degree, it was par for the course for the President. Cade knew this would be the “perfect crisis” that Odero’s advisors would not let “go to waste” as some in the President’s administration were fond of saying. Since the 9/11 attacks the sitting politicians on both sides of the aisle made every attempt to give themselves more power and the people less freedom. An event like this was sure to permit them free reign to make any constitutional changes they deemed necessary. As far as martial law in Portland was concerned, he was sure it loomed on the horizon.
Cade was baffled by the fact that the President was still in the District of Columbia at all. It also astonished him at how the most protected city in the world could fall so fast to the walking dead. One word quickly came to mind: “Rome.”
After the President finished his somber speech, a White House pool reporter’s head filled the screen and indicated that the President and his family would be moved to a secure and undisclosed location until the “unknown threats facing our nation were dealt with.” The reporter’s next piece addressed immigration and borders. Apparently, it took a pandemic of biblical proportions for the U.S. President to finally grow some balls and seal the southern border with Mexico. Between San Diego and Tijuana at the border checkpoint, hundreds of people on both sides had been attacked by the cannibalistic infected, resulting in upwards of three hundred deaths and counting. The capital, Mexico City, was a blood bath. The violence inflicted on the population by the infected made the Mexican drug war pale in comparison.
All day long the talking heads on every news channel were reporting about a deadly virulent new strain of flu that had not been encountered before. The Fox news anchor said a full-blown pandemic was rolling across the nation. Anyone that was bitten by a carrier also became infected. Death followed, sometimes quickly. Sometimes it took hours, but the main thing they stressed was that after succumbing to the infection, the newly dead would re-animate and attack any living thing they saw. The infection made the afflicted patient feverish, hallucinate and violence prone. Unconfirmed reports suggested a few cases had even ended in homicidal violence and then escalated to cannibalism. The anchorman finished by adding, as Cade had already discovered first hand, that the only way to kill them was to destroy their brain.
Cannibalism. The word alone made the hairs on the back of Cade’s neck stand on end, especially after what had happened at Ted’s house. Cade turned the TV off and went upstairs to the office to retrieve his phone; he passed the wall covered with photos of his family in good times: skiing, camping, holidays and school milestones. Cade felt a lump forming in his throat. His eyes lingered on the photo of the three of them all bundled up on Mount Hood, enjoying a family ski outing. Raven and Brook’s smiling faces seared into his memory. He made up his mind at that moment; it was time to leave Portland and go locate his family.
Chapter 133
Day 2 - Southeast Portland
Since the outbreak started, cellular service had been nearly non-existent, and the DSL and land line phone was down and worthless. With a determined set of the jaw, Cade grabbed his phone and punched in the numbers to Brook’s cell. A busy signal droned on in his ear. Taking a look at the phone’s display, he was not surprised to see that there were no new voice mails or text messages. On a whim he tried again to call Brook on her cell. He was relieved to finally at least get her voice mail; he left her a brief disjointed message.
“This is Cade. I am worried about your safety. How is your Dad? He may be infected. Be careful. There is a serious contagion on the loose. It is transferred by saliva contact. The infected seem to go comatose or die and reawaken prone to violence. If anything happens there, if you see any of the infected… leave immediately and get to Fort Bragg and contact Mike Desantos. Call or text me when you get service. I love you two. Give Raven a hug for me, Daddy loves you. Bye.”
Cade had no way of knowing if Brook would be able to access her voice mail or if his message would reach her at all. The instructors at Fort Benning always expected their pupils to have a backup plan. For redundancy’s sake he also composed a lengthy text message.
I haven’t heard from you and I couldn’t get through to your mom and dad’s phone… busy signal only? Be careful! There’s definitely a pandemic! Get to Fort Bragg ASAP and contact Captain Mike Desantos 910-555-5555. He knows me from the Sandbox. Just refer to me as “Wyatt.” Desantos is a good man and in the loop. At all costs stress the need to contact him or send him a message if they fail to allow you a face-to-face meeting. He will let you inside the wire. Love Cade.
Wyatt was Cade’s nickname in the teams, the name derived from his prowess with a pistol. During training he held top score on many of the shooting drills. He also more than lived up to the name in combat.
All operators were given their nickname by their peers. Mike had been a member since the early days; his name came from the amount of time he had spent behind enemy lines in “Indian” country, so they started calling him “Cowboy.”
Mike was Cade’s commander and team leader in the 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta, or Delta Force for short. During the last deployment in Afghanistan they had seen a lot of combat together, and trusted each other with their lives.
During one particularly intense engagement they were about to be overrun by a much larger force of insurgents and Taliban. They had been forced to call in “danger close” artillery fire, and the rounds impacted all around and nearly on top of their position. A-10 Thunderbolts, heavily armored, slow moving, ground attack jets, the ground soldier’s best friend, rolled in time after time making gun runs. The nose-mounted Vulcan cannons spit lead, decimating scores of enemy in the process. In the middle of the fighting, each man had vowed that should either one of them die the survivor would look after the other’s family.
Mike Desantos’s phone went to voice mail after the first ring. Cade left a concise message detailing his wife’s and daughter’s situation and asked him to be on the lookout for them.
Chapter 134
Day 2 - Myrtle Beach, South Carolina
Harrison and Peggy Mortenson had lived next to Brook’s childhood home in the subdivision since 1960. They were nonstop news junkies and had been up most of the night, witnessing the contagion spread worldwide.
It was now apparent to Brook why her dad had committed the unspeakable act upon her mother. She also feared for her brother and the other workers still at the hospital.
“My phone has been acting up and I haven’t heard from my husband since yesterday. This is the first I’ve heard about the contagion that’s going around,” Brook said to Peggy worriedly.
Harrison interjected and told Brook about how the infection occurred and what happened as a result. He added as an afterthought, “The President has issued a declaration of martial law. We are in a world of hurt.”
Armed with this new information, Brook came to the realization that nobody would be coming to investigate what had just happened at her parents’ house, and she surmised the coroner wouldn’t be coming for the bodies either.
She turned to Raven. “I have to go back and get my phone so I can try to get ahold of your dad. I want you to come with me.”
Shaking her head vigorously from side to side, Raven said, “No way Mom.” She bit her bottom lip nervo
usly. “Please don’t make me.” She wouldn’t budge, and wanted no part of going back to Grandma’s house.
Considering the horrors she had witnessed there minutes ago, Brook didn’t force the issue. She reluctantly left her daughter with the Mortensons and went back to her childhood home one last time.
The door was ajar and the house smelled like gunpowder and death. Moving slowly into the kitchen, she could see her mom’s feet clad in the pink slippers she had given her last Christmas. Out of the corner of her eye Brook detected movement. She looked closer; her mom’s foot jerked.
Brook crept around the island and retrieved the shotgun from the bench in the breakfast nook. The ghoul sensed her arrival. The bloody remains that was once her loving mom flopped over onto its stomach and proceeded to crawl towards her, bodily fluids leaving a slick trail along the floor. Her undead mom slowly pursued her into the living room, leaving her no choice.
Remembering what Harrison had told her earlier, she aimed directly for the head. Brook closed her eyes for a second, said a little prayer and thought, It’s not you anymore, Mom. I love you and I’m sorry I have to do this.
She pulled the trigger and the shotgun roared. The second random shell she had inserted happened to be a slug; the round ruptured her mom’s head, peppering the hallway with brain matter, hair and bone fragments. She started sobbing as the realization that both of her parents were now dead suddenly hit her like a ton of bricks. She still had her daughter, that much she knew. She sent silent prayers out to her husband Cade, whom she missed terribly.
Brook ran up the stairs two at a time and went into her old room. Her phone was in her carry-on, where it had been since she last talked to Cade. Bag in hand, she went downstairs heading for the door.
