Enclave: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse

by Robert Morganbesser

  Reaching into my jacket pocket, I removed a can of mixed vegetables. Using my knife, I opened it and then slid the mail hatch, which was large enough to see a face through, open. There on the small step a few feet from the door sat Fido. I was amazed. I could see two other zombies across the street wandering in their aimless way. "Hssst!" Fido turned his head and then clambered to his feet. The two zombies across the street stopped and looked at him, then looked away. I put the can on the small ledge the open mail hatch made.

  Fido looked at the door and staggered toward it. He walked a little better than the other zombies, even looked a little better. When he saw the can, his pace increased. Stopping before the door, he took the can and went back to the front step. I watched from a little back, one hand clutching my rifle as he ate. Fido dug the vegetables out of the can slowly, chewing each bite carefully. It looked like he was thinking about what he was doing! I moved a little closer fascinated by his actions. I was more than surprised when he turned his head slightly and looked at me. We sat there, a human and a non-zombie, looking at each other. Finally, Fido finished the can and crushed it in one hand. Dropping it out of sight, he rose and came toward the door. His bulk blocked out the hatch. I could hear the knob clacking as he tried it. Then he dropped something through the hatch. I reached out carefully and took it. Lifting it, I could feel something flaking off. Lifting it toward the light, I could feel my breath catch. It was Savini's watch. The flakes had been dried blood.

  "How did you know to do that?" I asked, loud enough to be heard. Fido sunk down to his knees and looked in at me. He had been a handsome man in life. Even in death or non-death, he still showed that. One side of his head had a deep wound that was crusted with dried blood. It looked like he'd been hit with a crowbar or something. He looked at me and his mouth moved. Only a dull growl came out. He held his hand out and put it through the hatch. Gingerly I took it. He pumped my hand once, then released it and turned away. I heard King coming and closed the hatch. "Goodbye, Fido." I didn't want to freak her out anymore than she was already.

  King looked strange, a kind of odd glow to her skin like she was feverish. "King," I said gently. Her head snapped up and she looked at me for a moment as if not seeing me. "Yes, LT?" I stared at her. Sweat or tears were dripping off her chin. "Are you all right?" She nodded. "I saw some weights over in the garage. I was just pumping a little iron."

  I nodded. "Well if you need or want to be relieved early, just ask. We won't be here much longer."

  She nodded. If I'd been more aware, I would have noticed that under the smell of her sweat and the dirt on her, a smell we all had since we hadn't bathed in days, was the scent of rot. I didn't know this then, but King had been scratched in the fight by the car lot. She was infected but was too far-gone to tell anyone.

  Moving into the living room area, I lifted the handset. It was time to make that call, get the bird in, and get us out of here.

  "Enclave four, Bravo King over."

  Nothing. I could feel the eyes of the people who weren't on guard on me. I could feel my pores open up and sweat begin to soak my uniform.

  "Enclave four, Bravo King over."

  Again, nothing.

  Sisko checked the connections to the batteries. Eyes wide he gave a thumbs-up. I was about to speak again when the speaker blared out, "Bravo King, wait one."

  I felt my heart leap from that simple sentence. A brusque voice came on the air. "Bravo King, this is Major Ken Tetuso. We have triangulated on your location, but before we send anyone in we'll need to authenticate who you are. Over."

  I'd met Tetsuo once or twice. He was a hard man on his troops, but they were well trained. His command had been one of the few to get out of Little Rock, Arkansas when the city fell. They'd actually marched to city limits using flame-throwers to make a corridor. Tetsuo wanted information that I was more than willing to give.

  "Roger that, Major. Ready when you are."

  "What's your middle name, Lieutenant?"

  I laughed at this obvious one. "I don't have one, Major. My dad thought they were silly things."

  A pause, then, "What did your mother die of? And where?"

  This made me a little angry. "Pancreatic cancer. At home." I was a bit pissed that they'd chosen this. Mom's cancer had been a year before the zombies rose. She'd decided to die at home when the Doctor's told her there was nothing they could do for her. Fortunately, for my state of mind, she'd been cremated. There weren't many cases of zombies getting up out of cemeteries, but I felt better knowing she wasn't back.

  Tetsuo asked a bunch more questions, mostly dealing with the last mission I'd been on. After about fifteen minutes, he was satisfied. "We're sending in a helo today. It should be there in a few hours. Got any smoke grenades?"

  Peters grinned and held one up. I could see from the band that it was purple. "Yes sir, one left; purple."

  "All right. The choppers will buzz the town, when you hear 'em, get on the roof, and pop that grenade. Anybody who doesn't make the bus ain't coming. Understood?"

  "Yes sir."

  "Bravo King, Enclave four. See you when you get here. Out."

  Excitement flooded the room. We were going to be rescued!

  It was a few hours later when the shit hit the fan. Scott was cooking. It was something he'd claimed was a hobby, but he cooked like a pro. Using the canned goods and spices that he found and carried, he made some mouth-watering meals. He was planning to transfer out of the combat units, he'd seen enough in the time we were fighting. He wanted to be in support, working in the Enclaves kitchens. I didn't blame him. I'd already planned to endorse his request.

  As we were sitting down to eat, Scott took a mess kit full of stew and said, "I'm gonna bring this to King." Preoccupied with thoughts about Fido and whether or not I'd be able to get him back to the Enclave, I nodded. The long days trapped here were taking their toll. I hadn't even realized that King hadn't asked for a bathroom break or anything.

  We were all eating when we heard the explosion. I jumped to my feet and grabbed my weapon. Running to the front of the small house, I stopped. The end of the corridor was filled with smoke and fire. Could it have been the Lazarites? Scavengers? What was it? Raising my weapon, I stalked forward. Peters was behind me, saying, "What the fuck happened?"

  I tripped over something and stopped. Turning on my flashlight, I looked down. It was the bottom half of someone. The groin of the pants was torn out, red flesh showing vividly against camo pants. I moved the light up a bit. There, sitting against the wall, face covered in blood, chest mostly torn to shreds, was King. Her face was dull white, one side of it filled with splinters of wood and bone. Her legs were shattered, but she was still alive. Then the legs had to belong to Scott, which meant she had tried to eat him!

  I stopped, wishing that the world would just stop. I started to shake, unable to take this horror any more. How many more of us would die? Perhaps I should just put a bullet in my own brain? I'd failed again. First, I'd gotten us trapped here, now I let another of my soldiers die. I was fucking worthless as an officer.

  I was still bemoaning the fates when Peters shoved me aside and brought his entrenching tool down into Kings head. She'd been trying to crawl toward me while I zoned out. With a meaty noise, the blade came down through her skull as far as her eyes, which rolled back and up. Grunting, Peters tore the weapon out and stared at me. "What the fuck do we do now, sir?"

  I stared at the gaping hole in the front of the house. The smoke was clearing and I could see a figure. It was Fido, standing with his back to us. Other zombies were gathering now, some of them growling. One of them came too close and paid the price. Fido grabbed it and threw it to the ground with enough force to shatter its skull, destroying it.

  But there was only one Fido and there were a lot of zombies. In a rush, probably maddened by the smell of fresh cooked Scott, they moved around Fido. He grabbed another and held it, but ten more made it around him. That was enough for me to see.

  "Go! B
ack to the living room! We've got to get everyone upstairs!"

  Peter's didn't need any encouragement. Running ahead of me, he was shouting the warning. I turned and fired down the corridor, destroying two zombies, who collapsed, blocking the door for a moment. I took a second and stared over the corpses. Fido was still out there, trying to stop the zombies. I turned and ran.

  We didn't have time to grab the radio with its cumbersome batteries, but Peters did grab a fire ax from the garage. As we retreated up the stairs, we tore them up. As soon as we had ten of the stairs ripped up, we broke the banister as well. Not even a minute after we did that, two zombies, disgusting specimens, both torn and ravaged beyond recognition of their sex, stumbled into the room.

  With hisses and growls, they proceeded toward the stairs and stopped. They knew we were upstairs, but they couldn't reach us, at least not yet.

  I set a watch on the head of the stairs and went to the roof. Sisko and Fields sat under an awning they'd made from a blanket. As I came to them, a bright flash of lightning lit up the sky. Great, I thought. Now it's going to rain.

  Hurriedly I explained the situation to them. We weren't in the shit yet, but the way things were happening, I felt that the tide was coming in.

  Cushing and Peters sat at the head of the destroyed stairs looking down at the zombies who were cramming into the room. Peters was fingering his M8, thinking about shooting a few, but keeping control. Next to him, Cushing snorted back then spit a wad of phlegm onto the face of a zombie in a crossing-guards uniform. The creature started, then wiped it off and sucked the phlegm off its fingers. I nearly gagged at this.

  Whispering to them I said, "Pull back a bit out of sight. Maybe some of them will get bored and leave."

  Making as little noise as possible, they pulled back, the eyes of some of the zombies on them. I could feel my nuts shrivel at the thought of those things getting up here. I was so tired I could barely think. Was there any other way they could cause us any problems?

  My answer came soon enough.

  Delacroix stood in the rain, staring northwest; the direction he felt the choppers would come from. "LT, you smell that?" He asked. I sniffed the air. "Smells like… smoke!" We ran to the far edge of the roof and stared over. On the garage side of the building smoke was pouring out.

  "Shit!" Delacroix exclaimed. "We never had a chance to put out Scott's cooking fire! One of those dumb fucks must have knocked it over!"

  Peters came up onto the roof. "We are truly fucked now, sir. This fucking place is on fire!"

  "Christ! Did we bring the ropes with us?"

  I looked across to the other building. There on the roof, ignoring the rain and staring at us, was Fido! I stared around the roof. There were no other zombies there. Cushing came up with the rope and made a lasso on one end. I turned to the group. "We're going to go over to the other roof. We'll barricade that door and wait for the choppers, all right?"

  Fields swallowed loudly. "I hate heights."

  Peters turned to him and said, "Then fucking stay here and burn."

  I pushed Peter's aside. "You're going first."

  Fields didn't argue.

  Cushing put his rifle down and started swinging the lasso. There was a small chimney or something on the other side. Timing his throw, Cushing sent it around the chimney then, by jerking the rope, slid it down. Pulling back, he secured our end, turned, and said, "It's now or never."

  He was right, the roof was getting hot.

  Delacroix said, "I'll go across first, toss another rope across. Make a sling for Fields and I'll pull him across."

  I nodded at the idea. "Let's rock."

  Delacroix went across the chasm like a monkey. As he clambered up onto the roof, Fido grabbed him and pulled him over the ledge. Delacroix grinned at the 'almost-zombie' and tossed the other rope back. We hung Fields over the side and watched as Delacroix began hauling him across. Within a second, Fido was helping him.

  One by one, we crossed. I decided I would go last. One part of the roof was smoking now, the tar on it bubbling. I grabbed the rope and lurched out across it. I was half way across to the urging of my men, even Fido was grunting, when flames erupted through the roof of our former sanctuary. I was reaching for the ledge when two hands grabbed me. One was human, the others was Fido's. I could tell by its coldness.

  On the roof, I turned and stared back at the burning building. The rain was coming down now; flashes of lightning illuminated our drenched faces. Fido ignored it, letting it pound down on him.

  All we could do now was wait for the chopper.

  Sisko came over to me, staring over his shoulder at Fido who was standing by the barricaded door. Kneeling he said, "I know that the creature hasn't hurt anyone yet, but can't we get rid of it? It's creeping me out."

  I glanced over at Cushing and Peters who had taught Fido how to 'high-five'. The rain was a mere drizzle now and the two of them were sitting near the roof entrance, as if waiting for something to go wrong.

  "No," I replied. "I want to bring him back to the Enclave." Dr. Fields, sitting next to me, looking depressed, perked up at this. "Yes, most certainly. We need to run some tests on the creature to see why it isn't hostile to living humans."

  I didn't like the sound of that. I knew Fido was dead, or undead, but he'd earned his keep. He wasn't one of those putrid, shit-bag things out to eat human flesh. "Doc, could he have been a vegetarian when he was alive?"

  Fields got to his feet and walked over to Fido. The creature turned to stare at him. Fields pointed to his own head, bent it a little forward, touched it, and then straightened. Fido just stared at him, head cocked like a puppy waiting for a command. Fields repeated the act. Then repeated it again. Finally, Fido bent his head. Fields touched the wound. I thought it odd that there were no maggots on him. Most of the dead who'd started to rot were drive-ins for bugs of any kind. Mostly beetles, roaches and maggots.

  I came over and stood next to the Doc. He probed the wound gently, but suddenly Fido growled and stood up. He put one of his hands to the wound. "I don't believe it," said Fields. "He still feels some pain!" Fido stared at Fields and backed away. I decided to do something about that wound. Opening my first aid kit, I removed some wrapping gauze and a few compresses.

  Fido watched my hands as I approached. "I'm not going to hurt you, Fido." Not taking his eyes off of Fields, he bent his head a bit and allowed me to bandage the wound. I knew it wouldn't do any good, but I felt I owed him that much. He tried to save Savini and he hadn't done anything to the rest of us. Tying the bandage off, I stepped back. Fido touched the bandage then put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. He did it gently but I could feel the strength in his hand. Then I noticed something under his shirt. A chain hung there, just like the ones we had dog tags on. Pulling out my own, I jingled them at him. Fido reached into his own shirt and took out a chain with a plastic ID on it. He held it out and I read it:

  ALTAIR CHEMICALS INC.

  MONTGOMERY, AL

  Supervisor Paul Barron

  Security Pass Blue Omega

  "Doc!" Fields came over and Fido grabbed his ID back and stepped backwards. I told the Doc what I'd learned about our friend, 'Paul'.

  "That's amazing. Perhaps he was killed during an industrial accident at the plant. The chemicals he was working on might have had something to do with why he is the way he is."

  "Paul." Fido looked at me and his lips twitched. I thought about the wound. "I don’t think it was an accident. I think someone murdered him. Didn't Altair make pharmaceuticals too, Doc?"

  Fields nodded. "I believe so. Perhaps looters?"

  As we spoke, our conversation was interrupted by the sound of choppers. There were two of them at least. Cushing and Lee jumped to their feet, Delacroix, who was sitting by the door, which, as Sisko had noted, was barely secured, came to his feet.

  I felt relieved as the choppers flew by. One was a gunship, slender and dangerous looking, like a dragonfly. The pilot blasted past our building, guided
by the smoke that rose from the smoldering ruins. In the streets, zombies looked up, aware that the noise meant a possible meal.

  Paul looked up at the choppers and pointed. Even though his expression was slightly dull, there was still some recognition there. I patted his arm. "You're going to take a ride with us, Paul."

  Delacroix shook his head at me. As a smile came to his lips, the door to the roof burst open, several zombies grabbing Huey before he could move and trying to drag him down. He dropped his rifle as I shouted, "Pop the smoke!" Peters ripped the ring from the grenade as Huey fought back, kicking, and punching. His struggles weren’t enough, the zombies had him, and they were too close for us to shoot. Delacroix tried to get a grenade off his harness, but in the struggle to keep from being bit, dropped it.

  The zombies might have been too close for us, but not too close for Paul. He moved in, face in a snarl and yanked one zombie away from the frightened sergeant. Throwing the staggering creature, its mouth open in a snarl, backwards, it hit the lip of the roof and fell over. The other zombies; each intent on trying to get a piece of Delacroix, didn't react. They just cluttered up the entrance, keeping other zombies from getting at us.

  Finally, squirming on his ass, Delacroix got free of the creatures. Paul was mixed in among the zombies, trying to stop them. One fell across Delacroix, its nose smashed into its brain, killed by the ferocious non-zombie. Paul shoved one creature away, grabbed Delacroix and yanked him to his feet. He didn’t any further urging, without a second look he ran for the chopper.