Drops of rain fell from the sky, pelting the soldiers and the weary travelers who wanted to get beyond the new border.
“This is Corporal Martinez,” Keppler said, introducing a young soldier to Metzger. “I’m loaning him a vehicle and I expect you to ride with him while the rest of your group follows.”
Metzger fought back the urge to question the decision, but didn’t want to jeopardize his opportunity for a guided tour into the undead warzone. He simply turned to the others, who hadn’t stepped very far from the black Hummer.
“Just stay close,” he said to Sutton with a nod, knowing the man was going to do the driving for the others.
“I have a feeling this will be the last time I’ll see you,” Keppler said, offering his hand, “so good luck to you.”
Metzger shook his hand, forcing a smile.
“Do you mean to say the last time you’ll see me with a pulse?”
“No,” Keppler said firmly, as though incapable of showing any glimpse of humor.
Metzger didn’t like the negative vibe from the lieutenant, and couldn’t imagine what horrors awaited him closer to the base. He looked to Jillian, who wore a look of concern about the change in situation. Metzger tried providing a reassuring look in return, but all positivity had long since been drained from him.
Keppler turned away without so much as a goodbye, returning to his duties, leaving Metzger to the young corporal who looked rather Caucasian for having a Hispanic name, though he possessed black hair and slightly olive skin.
“This way,” Martinez said, leading Metzger to a gray Nissan car that looked as though it had seen better days.
Perhaps it was expendable compared to the other utility vehicles the military had seized during their occupation of the area. Metzger jumped into the driver’s seat when the soldier headed for the other side, taking a last look back at the soldiers who seemed to have a slump to their gaits. Either they thought seven civilians were about to become zombie chow, or they didn’t like something their officers had commanded of them.
Almost immediately the blockade moved out of their way and Metzger was able to drive through. He wasn’t exactly certain why Martinez wanted him to drive the car when the corporal obviously knew the way better.
“If it’s so important to protect the shipyard, why are all of you stationed to keep people out, rather than exterminate the remainder of the undead?” Metzger questioned.
“You’ve got to understand that the military works like any other business, so to speak,” Martinez answered, his eyes never leaving the road ahead as though scanning for impending danger. “When the explosions occurred and the plague began spreading, the government foresaw all of this and tried to stockpile what supplies and ammunition they could, but it still wasn’t enough.”
Metzger thought the corporal was being a bit more forthcoming than expected, almost as though he knew such secrets would never leave the car. He began questioning the integrity of the soldiers altogether, wondering if Sutton might have good reason for his abrasive side.
“But the infrastructure of the government is still intact, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Well, yes, all of the branches are intact to some extent, and many government officials were whisked to safety, but a lot of our resources were isolated from us, and the channels used to bring us supplies previously were cut off when the undead began outnumbering the living.”
“You seem to have some inside knowledge about what really happened out there.”
“Yes.”
Based on the succinct answer, Metzger realized he wasn’t going to get full disclosure from the young soldier after all.
He weaved around some unsteady zombies, since any remaining vehicles already appeared to be driven to the side of the road. At this point the undead didn’t appear to be very dense in population, but it was a highway not easily accessed by them compared to the streets of the surrounding communities.
“You can tell me what happened,” Metzger said as the car clipped one of the zombies in the outer thigh, knocking him to the ground. “Either I’m about to die at the hands of hundreds of undead, or my brother is going to tell me when I meet up with him.”
“I doubt you’ll be meeting him,” Martinez said steadily, almost emphatically, as though being skeptical instead of issuing a threat.
“Why would you say that? My entire last month has been spent trying to locate the last of my family despite the slimmest hope any of them are alive.”
“I hope you find your brother,” Martinez said, showing emotion for the first time since they’d met. “But I know the government has their own agenda, and I know they aren’t going to let him go anywhere with you.”
“But they saved his wife and son.”
“Of course they did. I’m guessing they lived on the base, or damn close to it, so of course they’re going to keep their people happy by securing their families. They leave the undead around their gates as a security measure in addition to conserving ammunition. The people in charge aren’t interested in saving people a few at a time so much as they are the whole.”
Metzger understood the grim words. It likely took every last strand of humanity for the soldiers not to shoot anything that came their way. People could lie about being infected, or manufacture stories to get supplies or protection. There were even people who wanted items the military possessed, who wouldn’t hesitate to create a distraction and take out the soldiers for their goods. He also understood that not everyone could be saved, but it seemed dangerous to leave the undead lingering outside any gate while activities occurred within eyeshot of the bloodthirsty creatures.
“You don’t sound entirely sold on the mission,” he noted aloud.
“They didn’t save my family,” Martinez answered, trying to curb the bitterness in his voice. “And they certainly didn’t want to cut me loose to check on them. I’m just waiting for the day I make it back to Houston so I can find out what happened to them. Maybe they’re huddled together with my aunts and uncles somewhere, or maybe I’ll see them roaming the streets like some of these unlucky souls.”
“Did you get to talk to them after everything happened?”
“Once,” Martinez answered, fighting to hold back the emotions that accompanied not knowing the fate of one’s closest loved ones.
Metzger fully understood. No words, however, could convey his sympathies to the young soldier for his possible, and likely permanent, losses.
“I know you have questions,” Martinez said. “They don’t let us know everything, but the news trickles down to us in time. There are only so many people left in the world, and it’s hard for even our leaders to keep secrets to themselves for very long.”
Sensing they were growing close to Norfolk and the base, Metzger glanced into the rearview mirror, seeing Sutton driving the black Hummer behind him. The next bridge was actually the Downtown Tunnel that took Interstate 264 across into the city of Norfolk. Once a toll road, the tunnel immediately grew dark, forcing Metzger to switch on the vehicle’s headlights after a brief search for the switch. The entrance was completely clear of undead and vehicles, and any vehicles left inside were parked along the right side of the bridge, near a narrow walkway.
Strangely, the undead population hadn’t increased much at all. Perhaps some of them fell into the surrounding water, forever polluting it, or they migrated toward sights and sounds that could only come from so many factories, businesses, and a military presence.
“What caused it?” Metzger asked, assuming the corporal wanted him to ask his questions.
“We know it was an act of terrorism,” Martinez replied. “Of sorts.”
“Of sorts?”
“We know the explosions were intentional all over the country. All over the world, from what I’ve heard. What we don’t know is if this was the intention, or if the perpetrator had something else in mind.”
“How could explosions cause all of this?”
“The explosions were just the catalyst. T
hey projected dust particles into the air that infected everyone with whatever the canisters in those trucks were carrying.”
“I remember the news talking about it.”
“What the news didn’t tell you was that everyone who breathed in even one speck of the stuff was infected. It somehow bonds with your system, and a dose that small won’t get you sick right away and kill you, but when you die, you’ll turn.”
“That explains a few things,” Metzger commented, knowing not everyone who died necessarily reanimated.
People who were bitten were guaranteed to turn, from every bit of evidence he’d seen.
“They had us wearing masks for a week or so after the event,” Martinez revealed. “When they first summoned us they gave us the impression the illness could be contained and things get back to normal. That was just propaganda to get us onboard before they laid the heavy stuff on us. Who were we to question orders? We were saving the world. They said we were the start of putting things back together.”
“But?”
“But there isn’t going to be a normal, ever again. There is no cure for being dead. And that’s what they are.”
“Do scientists know exactly how that works?”
“No, not that they’ve told us, but they assure us they’re working on it in case there’s a chance to get our loved ones back.”
“Of course,” Metzger said sourly, understanding the government’s need for control even amidst the chaos.
He worried that his brother might be far too loyal to a government that didn’t truly give two shits about him as an individual. The same government obviously dropped the ball when it came to preventing the largest single terrorist act in the history of mankind, so Metzger didn’t feel exceptionally patriotic at the moment.
In less than a minute, the two vehicles crossed over to the opposite side of the tunnel and into a new area. At last they were officially in Norfolk, drawing very close to the military base, but the scenery began to change. Not only were the fall colors prominently in bloom within what few trees dotted the business district, but the numbers of undead also seemed to pick up. They walked in small groups, almost like hunting packs, afraid to go after prey alone. Metzger knew their logic only extended so far, but perhaps some human element remained within them that drove them to seek minimal companionship.
“We’re almost to the point where I have to leave you,” Martinez said as a matter of fact. “If you have any final questions, you should ask them now.”
“We saw a large military plane, like a transport, fly overhead a few days back,” Metzger stated. “Where would the military be sending people, and why?”
“That’s a question for your brother,” Martinez replied. “They’re dispatching specialized groups to some of the major cities. That’s all I know.”
“Are there any other checkpoints between here and the base?”
“No. We set up shop along all of the major highways to keep civilians from entering and becoming more casualties, and to keep the undead population from growing inside the city.”
“What is your lieutenant up to?” Metzger decided to ask pointblank since they were on a roll with questions and answers.
Martinez hesitated momentarily, possibly to frame the answer correctly, or perhaps think of the most thorough answer. He didn’t seem the least bit reluctant about answering the question as he’d been straightforward thus far.
“He doesn’t think you or the others will make it back,” the corporal answered bluntly. “He may not even give it the day before he goes down the road, finds your box truck, and raids it for everything he can get.”
“Are you that hard up for supplies?”
“Times are tough, and they’re getting tougher,” Martinez replied. “No one is bringing supplies to these bases, and we’ve had to scavenge just to keep ample supplies. We’ve been no better off than you folks on the road. The only difference is we’re tethered to a city that holds a base with a lot of mouths to feed. Their shoestring lies are about to come back and bite them in the asses.”
Metzger wasn’t quite certain how to respond, because Martinez obviously felt embittered towards the people who once covered his paycheck. Perhaps promises, particularly empty ones, only carried loyal soldiers so far before they began to think independently. At this point he wondered how the corporal intended to part with the group, and what he might demand before giving the group any final directions or advice.
“Let me ask you a question,” Martinez said, breaking the awkward silence. “If you don’t mind.”
“Shoot.”
“What’s driving you to find your brother from God knows what part of the country?”
Metzger diverted his attention from the road for just a few seconds, already knowing the answer in his heart.
“He’s the only person I definitely have left.”
“The rest of your family?” the corporal inquired.
“I just assumed my grandparents wouldn’t have survived, and my cousins, aunts, and uncles are scattered. Bryce has been a familiar voice on the phone promising to meet me if I could make it this far.”
“Did you expect him to break away from his ship once you found him?”
“In my mind I expected him to grab his family and for all of us to make a run for it wherever we thought the safest place might be,” Metzger confessed. “But after our last conversation I feel like he’s putting duty above his family.”
“There’s certainly an allure to their promises,” Martinez said. “There’s food and shelter, and strength in numbers, but there isn’t a paycheck, and there’s a certain emptiness that comes with knowing the only family you have left might be the guy in uniform right beside you.”
Metzger managed to navigate around several undead that heard the vehicles coming and turned to see if the noise might provide them with fresh meals.
“Take a left up here,” Martinez instructed, and Metzger assumed they might be taking some lesser-used streets to the base’s entrance.
He followed a few more instructions, finding the undead population grew less and less with each turn. Thus far the promise of zombies as thick as trees in a grove hadn’t exactly come true, but he assumed the corporal wouldn’t take them into the most populated area. After all, his life depended on not getting swarmed and devoured by the undead as well.
Slowing down around a curve, Metzger laid eyes upon a mammoth ship as it materialized around the turn. For a moment he felt certain the ship was coming at him, possibly running aground due to some tragic maritime disaster. He quickly realized the vessel was sitting perfectly still in the water, and he remembered that the USS Wisconsin was decommissioned for use as a permanently loaned museum in Norfolk. He noticed Martinez measuring his reactions, possibly having experienced the same emotions his first few times traveling through the city after arriving with his unit.
“Rumor is they thought about recommissioning her in case we needed her at sea,” the corporal stated. “But I think they realized she could serve the same purpose docked right here.”
“What purpose is that?”
“Sanctuary for government officials and soldiers onboard. Countries aren’t at war with one another these days, so there isn’t much need for another weaponized ship. Cannons and air defense missiles aren’t much help against millions of reanimated corpses. Not that she has the latter anyway.”
Metzger pulled the vehicle to a complete stop, enamored by the magnificent size of the ship right beside a residential street. It felt as though he could throw a ladder against the side of the old vessel and climb aboard if ladders or gang planks were readily available. He glanced to his right at long last, seeing Martinez holding a gun, though it wasn’t aimed his way and it wasn’t a traditional firearm.
“This is where I have to leave you,” the corporal said, offering Metzger the orange flare gun. “I need the car, but I have this and something else for you.”
Metzger nodded, understanding from the start that this was a limit
ed partnership.
“You’re not going back to them, are you?” he asked.
“You’ve found some answers, and you’re about to find a few more. I envy you for that, but it’s time I found some answers of my own. They’ll label me a deserter, but the chances of them ever finding me are slim.”
Metzger grinned.
“Why would they do that? If anyone asks me, you were overtaken by the undead while trying to lead us to the base.”
Martinez returned a smile at the sentiment.
“I appreciate it, but they’re going to hold a grudge either way. And it definitely wouldn’t be best for you or your people to interact with Keppler and the other soldiers again. He certainly doesn’t want to see any of you return, because then he won’t get to loot your stash. I’m not sure he’d shoot you on sight or anything like that, but best not to take any chances.”
“Understood,” Metzger said. “The car is all yours,” he added, reaching for the handle to open the door, noticing there weren’t any undead stragglers nearby.
“You’ll want this,” Martinez said, stuffing a crumpled map into Metzger’s right hand. “I’ve been through these streets a dozen times or more and mapped out the best ways to get around. You won’t have much trouble getting to the base, but when you get there expect resistance from the infected and the living. The flare gun may save you, or get you killed. You really need to find a way to let your brother know you’re here if you can.”
“Thank you,” Metzger said earnestly. “I hope you make it to Houston and find some good news.”
“That may be pushing it,” Martinez surmised, “but miracles can happen.”
The two quickly shook hands before Metzger exited the car, seeing lingering signs of chaos all around him as Martinez drove away. While parts of the highways and interstates were cleared of the undead, with vehicles moved to the side, the town of Norfolk appeared to have been neglected of such treatment. Abandoned vehicles were parked every which way, and the undead began rounding the block ahead of the group, having heard the two incoming vehicles. Metzger glanced at the map, seeing he still had a few miles to cover along a mix of residential streets and business districts before reaching the edge of the base.
The Undead Chronicles (Book 1): Home and Back Again Page 40
