by R. M. Smith
“Evidently they have this disease, or whatever it is, semi-quarantined.”
Scott asked, “Semi quarantined? What does that mean?”
“I have no idea.”
“What’s the burn?” Kim asked again.
“I think they’re planning on burning all of this.”
Kim said, “But, people might still be alive out here. They can’t just burn this without some kind of rescue effort.”
“I guess they tried,” Mike said with no emotion. “I heard they were trying since the reports first started coming in about this. Every attempt failed. Many search and rescue parties were lost. One report said that the Mall at Millennia was overrun in less than six minutes.”
“Jesus,” Scott whispered.
“But what about us?” Kim asked. “We’re right in the middle of this!”
“Go faster,” Scott said.
“I’m at 40 now. I don’t want to come up on something unexpected around these bends,” he said as they came around a bend leading out of the airport.
In front of them, under a highway overpass, Army trucks had been parked nose to nose blocking the exit. Burned out cars sat on the street. Blackened sticks stuck out of the ash-covered ground where palm trees once stood. A fire-fight had taken place here. Burned bodies lined the road. Charred corpses sat behind the steering wheels of the trucks.
Mike swerved around the burned out cars coming to a screeching halt in the break down lane. He slammed his hand down on the steering wheel. “Fuck!”
Kim asked, “Now what are we going to do? We’re screwed.”
“No we’re not,” Carmen interrupted. “Go in the other lanes! There aren’t any cars over there.”
Mike reversed out of the break down lane and crossed the burned grassy median to the other side of the highway.
“Hold it, wait,” Scott said sitting forward. “Stop for a second.”
“Why?” Mike asked.
“I see a flame thrower on the ground by the front of that truck. We need it.”
Mike pulled over to the side. “Hurry.”
Scott jumped out of the truck. He ran through the blackened grass. As he picked up the flame thrower he saw several other weapons leaning against the cement pillars of the overpass.
“There’s more weapons over here,” he yelled. “Machine guns and shit.”
Kim was nervous in her seat. She bit her fingernails.
Carmen rolled down her window. “Just grab the flame thrower. None of that other stuff works.”
Leaving the other stuff behind, he opened the back hatch of the truck. He laid the flame thrower gently down in the back, shut the hatch and jumped back into the truck.
They drove away.
Carmen had her elbow propped up on her armrest, her hand holding up her chin. Looking out the window as Mike dodged through traffic, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
Cars were burning all along the road. Homes and trees were burning. The night sky was orange from fire.
To her it looked like the army had driven down the highway shooting fire bombs into any car with people in them or not.
The road was scarred with burn marks. She didn’t know if they came from explosions or when the army had burned the vomit off of the streets.
Dead bodies lay here and there. Some were children. All of them had been burned beyond recognition.
Tears stung at her eyes and ran down her arm. In the back seat, Scott was holding Kim close. Their eyes darted here and there. Their mouths hung open. Mike was silent, concentrating on the road.
Heading east, the coast on his mind, Mike held the wheel with both hands.
He hoped Dean hadn’t left yet.
The beachfront was burned as well. Every home, building or office was now on fire. Dead burned bodies lined the road.
“This is a massacre,” Scott finally said. His voice was raw.
“All of these people,” Kim cried. “Dead. Burned.”
“Burned for the greater good,” Carmen whispered. “Sacrificed so others could live.”
She was relieved her mother didn’t chime in. Actually, she hadn’t heard a word from her since realizing she had missed taking her medication.
Mike said, “A buddy of mine and me have a boat. We kept it tied to a dock. Hopefully the dock hasn’t burned down, too.”
Scott asked, “What are we going to do with a boat?”
“Go around the infection,” Mike said. “Go out to sea. Sail along the coast until we see signs of life or hear something different on the radio.”
As they approached the dock, Scott said, “You guys seeing this? The fires are dying out. A lot of this stuff isn’t burned here yet.”
“Maybe the infection was killed off,” Kim said hopefully.
“It wasn’t,” Carmen said in a quiet voice.
Mike looked over at her. He asked, “How do you know?”
“Watch out!” Scott yelled.
A group of the dead were moving across the street.
“Go around them,” Scott yelled.
Mike turned the wheel sharply. The truck teetered on two wheels. Mike almost got it back under control but the truck tipped over onto the passenger side.
Mike was thrown over on top of Carmen. He knocked the wind out of her. She gasped for air.
Scott caught Kim.
The back hatch popped open.
Hundreds of thousands of dead people lined the boardwalk. Their arms were meshing together. They were all becoming one large entity. Vomit gushed out from the edges.
Mike pushed himself off Carmen. He stood up in the truck. He helped her move to get some air.
In the back seat, Scott climbed out the back of the truck. He helped Kim get to her feet. They got out through the back hatch. Scott found the flame thrower on the ground.
“Hurry up you two, we don’t have much time here,” Scott yelled.
Kim stood behind him.
The dead thing was approaching the truck. It was lobbing large globs of spit toward them. The outer edge rolled under itself, reproducing, congealing. A section broke loose and disintegrated into the ground. It soaked into the soil. Blood began to erupt in fountains, popping at different heights.
Carmen caught her breath. “I’m not going to be able to climb out of here, Mike.”
“Yes you will,” he said. “Climb over the seat like they did.”
“I won’t be able to run.”
“Quit giving up,” Mike yelled.
He stepped into the back seat. Glass crunched under his feet.
Carmen said, “I only have socks on remember?”
“Stop being such a sissy!”
Grudgingly she got to her feet. Using the side of the seats for balance she followed him out the back of the truck.
Scott yelled, “How far to the boat?”
“It’s right down the boardwalk. Not 200 yards.”
Scott grabbed Carmen. He hoisted her over his shoulder. “Alright,” he said handing the flame thrower to Mike. “Let’s run.”
Scott took the lead. Carmen bounced as they ran. Scott yelled, “The dock’s safe. Come on, run!”
The evolution moved after them.
“Third boat on the right,” Mike yelled. “Down a ladder.”
At the ladder, Scott told Kim to go down first.
“I’m scared. What if one of those things is down there?”
“Jesus. Just go.”
Mike started spraying fire at the evolution. He started burning the dock in front of it.
Kim climbed down the ladder. She got on the boat.
“You’re next, Mike. Help Carmen down. Give me the flame thrower.”
He leaned the flame thrower against a dock piling. Scott let Carmen down onto her feet. She hopped over to the ladder.
“I can’t climb down,” she cried.
“You have to!” Scott yelled.
She shook her head. “No way! I can’t!”
“Come on!” Kim yelled from below.
&nbs
p; Mike was looking at Scott for advice. What should we do?
The dock was beginning to creak. The wood was burning through.
Two large appendages swirling with trillions of worms lifted dripping out of the evolved. It reached for them.
“We don’t have any time!” Scott yelled.
“I’m going,” Mike yelled. He slid down the ladder.
It was just Scott and Carmen left.
“Go,” she yelled at him.
“I told you I wouldn’t leave you,” he said, tears in his eyes.
She grabbed the flame thrower. “You’re such a fucking liar,” she said, her voice hitching. “You’ll leave me if I’m dead!”
She handed him the weapon. “Shoot me.”
Mike started the boat.
Instead of aiming it at her, he aimed the flame thrower toward the evolved. He laid down more waves of fire on the dock.
“Scott, please,” Carmen begged.
Kim was yelling for them to hurry.
“No,” he yelled. "I'm not going to leave you here!"
He dropped the weapon. Grabbing her, he hoisted her over his shoulder. He slid down the ladder.
“Mike, go!”
Mike throttled the boat away from the dock.
The throttle was sticky.
Pulling his hand away from it, a drawing sneer of horror on his face, Mike felt his bowels began to boil.
“No,” he whispered.
Next to him, in the short doorway leading down into the boat’s galley, his friend Dean stood.
He was infested.
He spit up at Mike. Worms wrapped around Mike’s legs.
Mike screamed.
“No!”
Afterword
Two days later, a yacht was seen floating off the coast of Virginia.
While the lands and beaches to the south were contained and burned, a Coast Guard rescue helicopter was dispatched from Norfolk to investigate.
No survivors were found on the yacht.
The deceased were from Orlando. They were the owners of the ship, Dean Lawson and Mike Owens.
They had died from the infestation.
As the last rescue team member coiled up to the helicopter hovering overhead, a glob of worm infested wetness flew up out of Mike’s mouth.
Unseen, it splatted against the back of the rescue team member’s helmet.
At sea, Coast Guard ships were ordered to proceed to the single boat to burn it.
Upon arrival, three other survivors were found huddled in a storage compartment at the front of the yacht. One woman held a burned out penlight close to her chest.
The survivors were not infected. Other than suffering from severe dehydration – and one woman having a fractured foot, they were all unharmed.
The helicopter returned to its uninfested home base in Norfolk, Virginia. The crew was tired from days of search and rescue. They looked forward to a few days of needed rest before their next assignment.
They were just happy that the infection had been contained and hadn’t reached as far as Norfolk.
Yet.
About the Author
R. M. Smith lives in Kansas with his wife Karen and their dog Tater-Tot.
Mr. Smith has written two other novels
Alive! Not Dead
The Wicked Game
Look for Bleeding the Fifth, a collection of short stories coming soon.
Follow @rmsmithbooks on Twitter
