Slinging his shotgun, Flanders listened carefully. No other sounds, not even of birds singing. Good. Taking a small ax from his belt, he began the gruesome task of dismembering the two Lazarites and taking their parts away. Then he covered the blood with dirt. Finally, he looked down at the man they were going to torture or kill. He hadn’t washed in so long; it was hard to tell what color his skin was. His uniform was patched many times. Flanders examined the old wounds. It looked like strips of the man’s flesh had been peeled off to feed to the zombies. Flanders cursed (something he rarely did) and then hoisted the stranger onto his shoulders. The man needed help and he needed to get back to safety.
Howard awoke, aware that he was indoors and amazingly, pain free. But where was he? He tried to get up only to discover that he was tied down to a sturdy cot. Tears forming at his eyes, he realized he hadn’t escaped. They were going to feed him to the zombies. Those fucking maniacs! Now he’d never reach an Enclave to tell them what he knew. All that time surviving for nothing!
“You’re awake?”
Howard’s head snapped around. Standing near, but not too near the bed was an older, bald man with dark eyes. Howard tensed. “You can feed me to those zombies, but I won’t go easy.”
Flanders gently touched the man’s bandaged arm, eliciting a gasp of pain. “On the contrary, you’re already a dead man. You’ve been infected. Looks like you were scratched.”
Howard lay back totally defeated by this information. “Infected… No. I can’t be. I have information for the Enclaves; information about the zombies.”
Flanders took a chair and sat by the man. “My name is Professor Xavier Flanders; you’re in my home and safe for now. I’m sorry for the restraints, but I don’t know how long it will be before you die and begin the change.”
Howard eyes filed with tears. “Before I become an Angel, you mean? Before I stalk around looking for warm flesh to chew on? You should have just killed me.”
“Then how would your information get to the Enclave? We’re not too far from one, 13, I believe. I have listened to some of their open transmissions. Just bits and pieces. They and others are surviving.”
Howard sighed and laid his head back. “The Lazarites told us the Enclavers were being wiped out, day by day.”
Flanders smiled and laughed gently. “Hardly.”
Howard lay back then stared at Flanders with an intensity that the older man could almost feel. “Professor Flanders? Didn’t you write a book on wilderness survival? Taught the army a course over at Dix?”
Flanders smiled and nodded. “That was a few years ago, but yes, I am the same.”
Howard swallowed deeply. “Listen to me. I have information you have to get to an Enclave. Please tell me you’ll listen.” With a shudder of pain, Howard lay back, mucous running from his tear ducts and nose. His death was near.
Flanders leaned close, but not too close. “Go ahead, son, I’m listening.” He was doing more than that, activating a digital recorder while he listened.
Howard took a deep breath. “My name is Thomas Howard. I used to be security head of a secret research facility. It’s the place where this horror started. It was run by Benton Pharmacy Corporation. It was called the Keystone Research…“
Flanders patted down the dirt. Howard had told him an amazing story of a virus created by a scientist employed by Benton PharmCorp, and how it was released during an act of industrial espionage. An act Howard, out of greed, made possible. But he’d said more, so much more that Flanders knew he had to try to get to this base. Flanders rubbed his chin. This explained why his friend, Benjamin Stine disappeared years back. Rising, he pulled an atlas out of a bookcase and looked up the coordinates of the facility. The location amazed him; it was in the same range of mountains where his home was located! He knew an old logging trail that would lead him right there. If he went directly, he could be there in a day. Flanders looked down at the grave, the only one he’d ever dug.
After Howard told his tale, Flanders injected him with a lethal dose of morphine and once he was dead, driven a chisel through his head. Rattling the length of steel around inside the skull, he made sure he destroyed the brain. The ex-Professor knew that he had to leave his home. He didn’t know it, but his plans were about to be rushed a bit.
Flanders got his 4X4 ready and was stocking it with supplies, when an explosion rocked his home. Spinning he knew his time was nearly up. The rest of the Lazarites cell was closer than he thought. Very well, Flanders thought. I’ll leave a surprise for them.
The leader of the Lazarites stared at the hidden doorway. The grenade barely touched it. “Go get the explosives. We’re going to get this rat out of his nest.” Sneering at Flanders home, the Lazarite boss cursed under his breath. “Kill some of ours, eh?” The Lazarite made a face as his men brought up their launcher.
“You should have covered your tracks better fucker.”
As the Lazarites readied their assault, Flanders took out a small radio. It was the kind used by pilots when they ejected. Enclaves monitored this particular frequency, so once he activated it, an aerial rescue team should come running. From a distance, he’d seen a pilot saved. The usual method was a helicopter accompanied by either two jets or attack choppers to suppress any enemy activity.
Opening the rear entrance, Flanders climbed into his 4X4 and put it in neutral, allowing it to roll out of his former home. As soon as he cleared the doors, he activated the radio and tossed it behind him. Life was about to get exciting for the Lazarites.
“Look at this, Sid!” One of the other Lazarites discovered Howard’s resting place. With laughs, they pulled the poor man’s body up from the dirt. It was dressed in fresh clothing, the wound that destroyed the brain clean. Sid shook his head. Whoever was in that hole or whatever it was, deserved to die, to be fed to the Blessed. Once they took him or her, Sid was going to make sure they lasted a long, long time.
“Take it over to the truck, no sense wasting the meat, right?”
Flanders kept his jeep in neutral until he couldn’t coast anymore. Then, shotgun out, he waited.
“This is 13 flight ops to Hardcore flight.”
Hardcore flight consisted of two Harriers’ loaded with air to ground ordnance. They were an Enclave air defense flight, sent out to look for any signs of trouble. Large concentrations of Zombies, signs of Lazarites, anything out of the ordinary would be bombed and strafed to hell. For as long as it lasted, airpower gave the Enclaves a huge advantage over the Lazarites.
“Hardcore 1 reads, go.”
The voice of the Enclave ground officer was throaty and sexy. Hardcore 1 knew her. She was married to the flight ops boss, so was off limits. But it was fun to dream.
“We’ve picked up a signal on emergency channel, not far from your location. Please check out the situation. We don’t have any pilots in that area, but we’re expecting a flight from the Nimitz. They might have strayed off course, or have technical difficulties.”
“Hardcore 1 copies; we’re on it.”
The Lazarites had just broken in when the planes buzzed over. Hardcore 1 in front used his camera to see something that instantly pissed him off: Three Lazarites carrying a body. A small group of zombies was near them, all trying to reach it. Neither pilot saw any smoke, but who cared? There were Lazarites down there and they were going to pay for betraying yet another human.
“Core 2, this is 1. Follow my lead. Napalm first.”
“Core 1; Core 2 copies.”
Sid stared up at the planes for seconds that felt like an eternity. They had no stingers, so they had to run. NOW. “Run! Run you bastards!”
The Lazarites didn’t stand a chance. Hardcore 1 swooped in over them as they reached the trail. Two silver canisters of napalm dropped off the racks. Sid had time to scream as the first split open and showered him with the deadly gel. Hardcore 2’s napalm caught the rest of the Lazarites and their truck out in the open. Coming about, Hardcore 1 signaled for bombs now. Carefully placing their or
dnance, the two fighters plastered the top of the mountain with five hundred-pound bombs; obliterating any sign, that Flanders ever lived there.
On the other side of the mountain, Flanders started his jeep and, driving as fast as safety allowed, sped off down the logging trail. Next stop – Keystone Base.
Never’s yawned. “It’s late, Doc. We’ll continue this tomorrow. I want Taylor and Chung in on the rest of this, all right?”
Flanders, whose eyes were growing heavy, nodded. “Yes, I think that would be a good idea. Thank you for listening, I’ve never had the opportunity to tell this to anyone.”
Never’s pressed a button on his desk. An armed Corporal, an attractive woman, face neutral, entered. “Accompany the doc to his quarters.” Flanders rose and was ushered out. Nevers poured another drink and, draining the glass, wondered what the rest of Flanders story would reveal.
Chapter 20 - Flanders Concludes
Never’s Office
17 May 2037
Nevers had Taylor and Chung in a larger room when the corporal brought Flanders to them. Chung grinned at the man, dressed in borrowed fatigues and cleaned up. Now he looked more like a professor.
“O.K. Doc, grab some coffee and some breakfast, let’s talk. I want to hear the rest of this story. According to what information we have, Benton didn’t have any facility called Keystone. The only thing in that area of Pennsylvania is an abandoned mine.”
Flanders took a mug of coffee, laced it with eight sugars, and sat down. He thought about having a few rolls, but decided to wait until lunch. He wasn’t used to such rich food and didn’t want to get ill.
“Amazing what money could do, eh, Major? Benton owned the entire area; put millions into creating what the military would have called a black ops laboratory. He continued experiments that one of his legal research labs, in Delaware, discovered by accident.”
Never’s sat back, his face thoughtful. “Delaware?”
“Yes, the initial virus that caused this was created as a drug to battle a specific brain disease in Norton, Delaware back in 2024.”
Never’s leaned forward, while Taylor and Chung muttered to themselves. “I think you better finish your story, Doctor.” Any friendliness faded from Never’s voice as his face turned to stone.
Flanders nodded and composed himself. Taking a long sip of coffee, he began speaking as if he were in front of a classroom. “As the Lazarites were getting their just rewards, I drove off, my engine covered by the noise of the explosions…”
Flanders drove as quickly as he could on the narrow trail. Howard’s story was spinning in his head. At first, he could scarcely believe that this holocaust was brought upon humanity by itself! A tailor designed bug, a never released counter-virus for it. Could any evidence of this still exist in the facility? What if there were even worse things lurking there, waiting to be unleashed on humanity? Had Benton and Mahan truly gone mad?
Flanders reached the turn off and slowed. This part of the road was in better shape and might have had other visitors. Pulling his vehicle into a copse of trees, he covered it with a camouflaged tarp and equipped himself for a quick trip. Leaving his short shotgun, he carried his .45 pistol and, on a sling around his neck, a silenced Ingram sub machine gun. He received the weapon from the leader of a survivalist group in the west. The man praised Flander’s book as being a ‘new bible’ for the generation that would survive. He wondered sometimes if the man and his followers had indeed, survived. Or were they wandering the apocalyptic landscape, searching for flesh, or part of the Lazarite order, leading the zombies? Across his back went his briefcase, empty now of University nonsense, and a rope. Tucking a small pair of Tasco binoculars into his belt pouch, making sure his machete was secure, Flanders moved off through the trees.
It took him an hour to make the trip. There, as Howard said were the clues leading to the emergency door. Barely visible from the undergrowth on it, Flanders knew it was there by the now dull, white painted rock across from it. According to Howard, the paint would glow in the dark. But most people would never notice it, unless they knew where to look.
Cautiously, Flanders approached and removed the magnetic key Howard had kept hidden on his body for so long. Waiting to be sure there were no zombies lurking about, he dashed across the open space to the door. Pressing the key against it, Flanders wondered if the power supply was still working. His worries were set aside when he heard the dull click of locks being released. Pushing against the dun painted steel, he was amazed how easily it opened. How was it powered? Solar? Nuclear? Batteries? He would have loved to know. Pushing aside his idle curiosity, Flanders moved inside and groped for a small shelf. There, as Howard said, were a series of helmets equipped with lights. Putting one on, Flanders put a hand on the switch and then closed the outer door. The bright light from the helmet nearly blinded him. He paused before the inner door, sweat erupting from his body as he saw the biohazard symbol emblazoned there. Gripping his weapon tightly, he moved off into the bowels of the facility.
Flanders spent three days exploring. The main tunnel, which would lead to the outside, was partially collapsed with rubble. As he crept down the tunnel as far as he could, Flanders discovered old bones, clearly chewed and evidence of explosions. A few weapons, military issue, rusted, lay scattered about.
Within the rest of the facility, he discovered hard written information about the virus and the locked storage area for the samples of the cure. He also found a set of CD-rom’s containing the same information. While they were useless to anyone who didn’t have access to a computer, he took them anyway. Finding a locked room in the Officers quarters, he used a crowbar and a chain fall to wrench open the door. There he discovered the withered corpse of the lunatic who started this whole horror show. Doctor Adam Mahan. Mahan had gotten his wish. Locked in his bunker-like room, safe from the virus, he had killed himself and stayed dead. Now mummified, a smile on that withered face, he didn’t know the terror he had caused, the millions, perhaps billions, who died because of him. Raising his machete, Flanders brought the weapon down between the corpses eyes, destroying the dried out brain. Flanders then took a moment to spit on the dead man’s face. “How could you do this?”
Flanders looked up a moment, aware that he’d stopped speaking. Never’s, Taylor and Chung were staring at him. Lifting the glass of water, he smiled, wondering if he’d said too much. Right now, there were certain things he didn’t want to be honest about and letting them know of his prior relationship with Adam Mahan and Benton might make them less friendly. The Enclave authorities might even think him a criminal. Putting the glass down, Flanders licked his lips and said, “Now where was I?”
It was a small testament to his anger, but a righteous one. As the spittle ran off the dead scientists head on to the bed, Flanders heard a noise. Quickly he left the now unsealed room and headed for the secret exit.
Even as Flanders was leaving with the precious documents, he could hear sounds. He paused a moment. Perhaps the Enclave learned of Keystones existence and sent in a team. The problem would be how to greet them without being shot for his efforts. Listening, Flanders heard the shuffling step, then the growls and mutters of zombies. Sweat began to soak his body as he wondered if there were Lazarites with the zombies. While the two weren’t always together, the presence of one usually meant the other was near. Creeping by the main tunnel, he peered down. At the far end, where the ceiling had partially collapsed, he could hear sounds of rubble being moved.
Carefully sliding away, he moved back down the corridor. Stopping by the storage area he was unable to open, Flanders quickly pried off metal sign and, stuffing it in his pouch, ran for the emergency exit. Ducking, he resealed the door, listening to the satisfying thump as the rollers slipped into place. Not waiting around, Flanders tore off into the woods, his briefcase stuffed with information that had to get to an Enclave.
But fate wasn’t done with the professor yet. As he approached his vehicle, he heard growls. Creeping through the
woods, he saw shapes near his uncovered jeep. Zombies. The creatures stood there, pawing at his jeep, heads cocked, listening, and growling. Crouching low to the ground, Flanders moved closer. He wasn’t sure how many but it seemed at least ten. Gritting his teeth, Flanders felt frightened for the first time in a long while. Flipping the switch on his Ingram, he moved closer to the right to get a better angle. Without warning, Flanders erupted out of the woods and sprayed the nearest creatures. They fell down, legs shattered, growling as their faces hit the pine needled covered floor of the woods. Without pausing, Flanders sprayed them again, the bullets smashing their skulls open. Moving around the jeep, he got in and started it. Pulling out he drove over two zombies who got in the way and zoomed off. North. That was the only safe way, but it was the wrong direction. Flanders cursed his luck as he disappeared into the gloom of coming night.
“It was two years before I could head back this way, Major. And now here I am.”
Taylor, sucking back a Coke said, “So how did Howard know so much?”
Flanders pulled a file out of the briefcase. “Howard was one of Benton’s employees. He was second in command of security at Keystone. A rival company, TriPharm offered him a substantial amount to allow a team of theirs into Keystone and loot the place.”
Never’s sat back, rubbing his eyes. “So I guess the team got in, but not out. And Mahan released the virus? What was he, nuts?”
Flanders refilled his coffee mug, an uncomfortable look on his face. “From what I can infer from his papers, yes, Mahan was, if not insane, willing to sacrifice millions to his ego. But I don’t think he released the virus. Howard thought it was released accidentally during the assault.”
Enclave: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse Page 49
