by Welker, Wick
Ortega looked in his rearview mirror at the rest of the men. “We will be approaching Baltimore in forty five minutes. I’m getting reports that the edge of the D.C. outbreak is starting to encroach into Baltimore itself but the city hasn’t been totally compromised yet.”
Anderson interjected, “Are we ever going to get rid of this civilian? I mean, what the hell are we doing here?”
Dave looked over at Ortega.
Ortega was silent, as he looked out over the dashboard. “No, they need him in Virginia for research. There aren’t a lot of uninfected survivors from ground zero at the moment. I’ve been given direct orders to bring him with us.”
The Humvee continued forward as the men drove in silence. Signs of a large city began approaching along the road; rest areas, gas stations and small shopping centers. There began to grow a constant stream of traffic in the opposite lanes of the freeway until a still standing traffic jam had formed of the city’s population making what Dave assumed was a mass exodus from Baltimore. It came as no surprise to him that the freeway leading into the city was completely empty. The Humvee drove along at over a hundred miles per hour.
Over another long hill, Dave could finally see the outline of the downtown buildings, but it looked peculiar to him for a moment before he realized it was because most of the city lights were out. He had never seen an entire downtown of a city with all its lights out. The buildings appeared as large, looming mountains with a silence that he didn’t think was ever possible in a city. There were occasional spurts of shooting lights and the swift movement of large spotlights throughout the skyline.
Dave knew he should feel uneasy about going back into the heart of an infected city but a subtle calmness had overtaken him ever since he saw the power of what a small air strike can do. In the flash of a moment, he saw a small town engulfed in destruction all from the commanding fingertips of Ortega. He had discovered an unexpected comfort from riding with Medora One; his new gun also helped. He had no idea how the infrastructure of the military worked, but he was getting the idea that Ortega was probably fairly high up the career rungs.
Approaching the downtown area, Dave could finally see signs of the infected. A random grocery store with hundreds of the infected huddled around the front doors or a hotel tower with a few dozen people trapped on the roof, waving their arms at their military-appearing vehicle. He had already lived it less than a day ago. He had done the same thing and he knew the hot liquid terrors that all of those same trapped people were feeling now.
A large football stadium was quickly approaching on the side of the freeway. Up ahead, Ortega could see a long line of red taillights indicating an approaching traffic jam of people leaving the opposite side of the city. Dave could hear Ortega begin to yell at his radio as soon as he saw the traffic.
After a quick burst of communications, Ortega spoke to the unit. “Okay, I’m getting that all freeways are jammed into and out of the city at this point unless we turn around to try to circumvent Baltimore altogether. We’re not going to do that. I’ve been given coordinates for extraction just about two dozen blocks off the freeway from our current location.” Ortega turned to Anderson who was driving, “Get off on this next exit.”
Anderson nodded and turned down the exit ramp, into the neighborhood surrounding the football stadium. The streets ahead were darkened by the power outage making it hard to tell if the streets were clear or if they were amassed with a horde of the infected. Anderson slowed the Humvee as it sped through traffic lights, relying on only the headlights to guide them forward. From the back window, the sidewalks looked empty to Dave. There were no people walking around, either sick or healthy.
“Do you know if there’s a blockade on this street or not?” Layton asked Ortega.
“I’ve no idea,” he grumbled.
The question was answered when moments later they could see large vehicles and barricades up ahead of them on the street. Closer overhead was the gigantic circular structure of the stadium, watching them from darkness.
They continued toward the barricade, when all at once, everyone saw a flash of colors in the headlights that at first confused and then simultaneously angered every person in the Humvee. Anderson stepped on the brakes, bringing them to a full stop. The colors of the British flag were plastered all over military vehicles that had created the barricade. A small jeep was already approaching them with a bright light shinning from a roof lamp.
“What the hell?” Clarence uttered.
“When and how did these sons of bitches get here?” Anderson asked Ortega.
“I know absolutely nothing about this.” Ortega quickly took off his seat belt and popped his door open, stepping out with his gun drawn at his side. A man had also gotten out of the jeep and briskly walked up to Ortega.
“What in the hell are you people doing on American soil?” Ortega barked at him.
“Sir, you need to back away from this area immediately. We are about to perform a naval strike on the sports stadium,” the disheveled man replied in a British accent.
“Sports stadium?” Ortega scoffed at him.
“Yes, in five minutes, the British navy is going to fire directly into the stadium.”
“And why in the hell is it going to do that?”
“Because we’ve managed to barricade an enormous population of the infected in the stadium. It appears a game was happening during the immediate outbreak, sir.”
“And where did you summon the authority to come into our country and do this?”
“There is absolutely no time to debate this. The boat is going to fire in about fifteen minutes. I’m getting back in my jeep. I suggest you return to your vehicle and drive in the opposite direction.” The man turned around and walked back to the jeep, leaving Ortega standing motionless. There were few moments in his life that he would describe as baffling and he had just experienced one of those moments. The jeep drove off while Ortega squeezed his side gun, wondering and waiting. His mind searched for his next possible action and he was delighted and afraid of where it was taking him.
Returning to the Humvee, Ortega leaned into the cabin from the open window and stared at his unit with a blank expression. Anderson spoke up to him. “When did those bastards get here? Why didn’t they tell us?”
Ortega grabbed his radio headset through the window and put it on, walking away from the Humvee without responding to Anderson. The men could hear him shouting into the mouthpiece from the short distance where Ortega leaned on a large mailbox. After a few more moments of shouting and then silence, he returned to them and got in the Humvee.
“Alright, boys, those assholes right over there just waltzed into our country. They made no communication with Washington. They just brought their shitty little boats over here and decided that they were going to blow up M&T Stadium.”
“What?” Clarence interjected.
“Yeah, well the whole thing is full of infected people. Command just told me that an enormous outbreak happened during a game late last evening and the National Guard managed to keep them in there and I think our British friends even managed to corral a significant number of sick people into there from the city.”
“Holy shit,” Dave blurted out.
“Yeah, well anyway, we’re not going to let them do it,” Ortega said with a casual defiant tone. “We’re going to sit for ten minutes, wait for backup and then we’re going to go have another little chat with those tarts.” He cleared his throat, produced a pack of cigarettes from his front pocket and put a cigarette in his mouth.
Dave could see the stark profile of Ortega’s face as he stared forward. His lips were pursed tightly with a wisp of black facial hair sticking out from all angles around his mouth. His eyes were open and motionless while he meticulously brought the cigarette to his lips for a short puff. It was impossible for Dave to tell if the man was intently pondering his next actions or if his eyes had simply glazed over from stalling for time.
After several minutes of complete s
ilence, Ortega spoke up, “Clarence, get the anti-tank from the back.”
“Yes, sir.” Clarence opened the side door, went to the back of the Humvee, and pulled out what Dave, as a civilian, could only recognize as a bazooka.
“Everybody out, let’s go!”
Dave stumbled out from the back of the Humvee and followed the unit to the nearest street corner where they huddled behind a group of parked cars lining the street curb.
“Boomtown, I want you down this alley down that way.” Ortega waved his hand behind the group to a small alley that led behind what appeared to be a bar. “Get back down that alley as far as possible and get into the building if you can. Otherwise, go hide in a dumpster or something. Have your gun out and don’t be afraid to fire it.”
“Sir…” Anderson interjected, “where is our backup?”
“I don’t know. They said it could be delayed. We have to act now. They’re going to fire at the stadium any minute.”
“Well, what the hell is attacking some ground crew going to do from stopping a naval ship from raining down over here?” Anderson stood up and approached Ortega.
Ortega leaned back from Anderson, brought back his elbow and punched him squarely on the side of his face, making Anderson stumble backwards, tripping over Layton.
“You shut your mouth. I am in command and I will shoot your ass right now if you don’t shut the fuck up and do what I say. We would be dead right now, if it weren’t for me. I got us out of Medora and Manhattan and I’m going to get us out of Baltimore too.”
“What are you talking about?” Anderson got back to his feet, rubbing his face. “We should’ve left New York long before you gave the command. Instead, you had us searching some random hotel. What were you looking for or who are you looking for, Ortega? Who is so important that you’ve been putting all our lives at risk? Was it that guy on the plane? Let’s see that wallet that you have stashed away.”
Dave could now feel the strange tension growing in the unit as he watched the breakdown of the hierarchy. Ortega’s face had changed. It was no longer the stone cut countenance of confidence, but had turned to the blank face of a man trying to orchestrate his next words very carefully. The meaning of Ortega hitting Anderson became clear to Dave. The unit wasn’t going to stay together much longer. Without further hesitation, Dave turned and ran down the alleyway and quickly realized that he did not have a flashlight. He began to walk slowly with his gun drawn, unsure if he could hear any sounds or not coming from the far end of the street. From behind him, he could hear the distant voices deliberating which sounded like most of the unit was now arguing.
Running past a few dumpsters, he could see the outline of an open door and quickly ducked into it. The entire room was completely dark except for a few small lights that where flickering in the back of the hallway, leading further into the building. He slinked forward, slowly listening for any movements, while approaching what he saw were four little flames heating a stovetop. He was in the kitchen of a bar or restaurant.
Moving very quietly, he felt around the kitchen for something he could light with the flames and found a paper towel roll near a sink. He brought the whole roll down to the flames, which immediately caught and started lighting the kitchen up around him. He instantaneously realized his mistake when he saw movement from the corner of his eye and turned to see four figures walking towards him from the entrance of the alleyway.
“Shit!” He yelled, backing the other way, deeper into the dark kitchen. The four shuffled in slowly but deliberately. Dave knew by the waddling movements of their silhouettes that they were infected. Considering his options, he lifted his gun in one hand and the flaming paper towel roll in the other and slowly walked up to them.
The disfigured face of an older woman in a large fur coat was the first of the group into the kitchen. Dave walked up to her with his gun and was about to fire, but then quickly opened the inside of her coat and shoved in the flaming paper towel roll, knocking her backward into the others behind her. The woman fell as Dave gave the entire group half dozen shots from his gun and backed away. The woman’s coat quickly caught, engulfing her in flames within seconds. The other infected had fallen on top of her and were slowly trying to crawl over her but were quickly set ablaze. They became a slow moving mass of fire, inching towards Dave.
The small entryway of the kitchen was now full of flames and black smoke was beginning to fill the air. Dave turned and ran through the now well-lit kitchen and found a small metal stairway that led upwards. Without looking back, he climbed the stairs, hoping that whatever door was at the top wouldn’t be locked, which turned out to be the case. Pushing the heavy door outward, he once again found himself on the roof of a building with the infected on their way up. This time, however, he knew he would find a way out. There weren’t any bolts of cowardice that shot through him or panicked fear of dying. He thought back on the thousands of the sick that fell hundreds of feet in front of him on top of a skyscraper. He had learned that there was always a way out of any situation. He just had to be clever enough to find it or dumb enough to stumble into it.
Looking over the side of the shallow building where he had entered, he saw large flames licking out of the doorway, which was attracting more of the infected towards the building. Large cracking sounds of gunfire drew his attention to the front of the building and he could see short spurts of gunfire from within the British barricade. The fire was directed towards where he last ran from the arguing Medora One. The gunfire then quickly died down.
An eerie silence fell over the street before being interrupted by the sounds of approaching helicopters in the distance. Dave spun around, looking to see if any of them were approaching the building, but his eye was soon caught by five trails of bright light flying in the sky. His heart sank when he realized that they were heading for the darkened football stadium. Slowly, he got on his knees and then lay on his belly, wondering if his exposure to movie explosions would prepare him in any way for the real-life destruction of an entire football stadium.
There was brief silence followed by a thunderous cracking sound that shook the entire building. Dave peered over the ridge of his building and saw orange billows of clouds coming out of the stadium. The whole scene seemed less dramatic to him than he would’ve imagined. It was simply some small explosions and fires happening several blocks away in a city that he really had nothing to do with. He also thought that those paltry missiles probably wouldn’t even come close to eliminating the threat of an entire stadium full of the infected.
After the initial strike, Dave looked down again onto the street and saw several bodies in fatigues sprawled across the pavement. He recognized the dark rimmed glasses of Clarence who lay on his back, motionless. Whatever had happened, Dave was certain it was for ridiculous reasons. The attack had seemed hasty. How could Ortega be arguing with everyone at once and then suddenly the Brits fired? None of it was making sense.
The door to the roof slowly squeaked open and Dave knew it was time for him to go. Time to get clever or die. He was confident he could simply let himself down onto a dumpster on the street and steal away in the Humvee. It was too dark to see who was coming out the door and Dave didn’t want to know. He was just moving along the side of the building looking for a dumpster.
“Boomtown,” someone said.
Dave stopped and walked over to the door and saw the bulky shoulders of Ortega hunched over on the tar surface of the roof.
“I’m shot,” he said, rolling over onto his back.
“Where? How the hell did you get past the fire?” Dave bent over, examining him with his hands. His clothes were charred with burnt edges.
“Abdomen, here, on my lower right side.” He led Dave’s hands to the bloody entrance wound.
“Okay, do you have a first aid kit?”
“First aid kit won’t…” his breathing was labored, “won’t do shit. Just put pressure on it.”
“Okay.” Dave kneeled over Ortega, pressing both his p
alms deeply into the wound.
“Extraction should be coming.”
“Oh, that’s great, looks like we can get the hell out of here.” Dave cleared his throat. “How’s the rest of the unit?”
“Dead.”
“All of them? From the Brits?”
“Yes.”
They let silence enter the conversation for several moments. Dave looked down at Ortega’s closed eyes. He seemed relaxed, no teeth clenched or moaning from pain. Seeing Ortega in a weak moment prompted Dave to speak more candidly with him. He also had no idea how close to death the man was and felt that he needed to pump him for information.
“Why did you command the unit to attack the Brits?”
“What did you see?”
“Nothing, I’ve been up here the whole time.”
“The British fired on us first.”
Dave just looked down at him, trying to read his face.
“My name is Raul,” Ortega blurted out.
“Raul,” Dave repeated, nodding his head.
“My name is Raul.”
“Raul, why did you do it?”
“Do you know what’s been running through my head all day?”
“What?”
“Did you ever have to read Macbeth in high school?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Macbeth,” he said, shuddering, “he was a good man at the beginning.”
“Oh.”
“Things just got out of hand for him, you know? Little by little and he couldn’t keep up.” Ortega’s spoke loosely now, drunk off the blood he was losing. His voice sounded innocent and mild like a father talking to his child. “It’s much better for me to die now. It’s better for everyone.”
“I think you’re going to be fine, Raul. Just stay awake.” Dave could hear another helicopter moving closer to them. “Do you hear that? That is the chopper you called in.”
“I see then,” Ortega melodramatically said to the sky. “I accept this but I will try everything I can to escape. I’ve gone this far, so I will not turn back now.”
