“Because you are the foremost American expert on the infected, and before the prison compound was destroyed it was attacked by a vast horde of them.”
“Just like those charging towards Groom lake,” he announced.
“Exactly, and if six of the seven pods are destroyed, and the seventh is still operational, then it is very likely controlling the creatures.
“Groom Lake was destroyed just as the infected arrived, so we don’t know how they would have acted given time.”
Without realizing it, he had stepped through the door, and they started heading through the building.
“Your insight into their behavior patterns as they coordinated the attack will be very useful.”
The building was built like a bunker, with thick concrete, unadorned walls. He was led downwards to a large circular room.
“This is Wonderland’s main communication center,” she said while waiting for him to take in the whole room. Dozens of people filled workstations behind triple monitors. There were hundreds of screens against one main wall, creating a montage of electronic information.
“Wonderland?”
“The nickname for our facility to perpetuate the American people.”
27
Reverend Frank Clark, and the others.
Inside a shipping container, on a truck
Interstate 80 Express
New York City, Metropolitan Area
Frank leaned his back against the metal wall, as the truck bounced along the highway. Every now and then, he could hear the crunch of the gear change, and the jolt of the vehicle adjusting to the strain. He could also hear the three on the roof moving around – keeping watch.
He sat with his eyes closed. He was tired; he was up the best part of the night with the young female. However, at some point he drifted off. When he jolted awake, he noticed she had given up the fight – she was no longer breathing. He had spent the rest of the night in prayer, for her soul – so it could find its way to the Lord, and for his soul, for causing her suffering. It had been a long time since he caused another harm. He didn’t like dwelling on the memories.
I didn’t even know her name.
He couldn’t get the image of the cleaver slicing through her arm out of his head as he felt it shatter her bone. There was so much blood. He had flashes to another time, with other weapons in his hands.
Even now, her blood was still under his fingernails. No matter how much he scrubbed them in the toilet, he just couldn’t get them clean.
Why are you testing me so, my Lord? I have changed. You showed me the way – the Light. I am a different man now. A good man.
He was so hungry. His stomach gurgled all the time. He had never felt anything like it. The meager one meal a day they ate wasn’t sufficient to provide his body with what it needs. His trousers were slack, and he had to make a new hole for his belt each week.
Frank cracked open his eyes and stared at his hands.
So much good I have done. So much in the name of the Lord. All in recompense for a past-life – past sins.
He checked Phyllis was okay. The old woman slept most of the time. He wasn’t even sure she understood what was even happening. He thinks she has Alzheimer’s, but can’t be sure. When she was awake, she has a disconnected look about her, as if her mind was playing something different behind her eyeballs, and she was as far a from reality as possible while still being awake.
Then, every now and then Phyllis would seem to snap out of it and be coherent. But even then she didn’t seem to understand the severity of the situation. She would happily help with any chore she was able, like helping with the cooking last night, but it seemed more like moving on automatic rather than being in the present. If you give her something to sow, she sows. Something to cook, she cooks. It was more instinct than living in the now. It was as if she was a prisoner in her own mind.
Maybe it is for the best.
Frank pulled the blanket a little further over the old woman’s shoulders. While she lay curled up, she looked so fragile and innocent.
So much suffering. So much sadness, he thought.
Dante had been crying for over an hour. Finally, exhausted, and with a raw throat, the child fell asleep.
Frank realized he had muttered, thank God, when Dante stopped crying. He was shocked at himself. He quickly looked around to see if anyone had heard. No one was paying any attention to him; they were all in their own world of pain and suffering, and self-pity.
Frank ran a hand through his tangled ginger beard. He sighed. He hadn’t been clean shaved for over thirty years. He had a scar the thick facial hair hid when he pulled it to one side. If no one could see it, he didn’t have to make an excuse as to where he got it.
He wanted to grip his bible, his most prized possession, grip it tight, while reading the gospel word. However, he started to feel judging eyes on him whenever he read from the Book. Those around him couldn’t comprehend why he still had faith. Besides, he didn’t want to taint the Word of the Lord with blood-stained hands. The Lord knows he has had enough blood on his hands – enough to drown in.
He was used to being judged. People couldn’t understand why anyone would choose to be a priest in this day and age. It was such an old-fashioned profession in such a modern time. People were too busy for religion anymore, and it felt easier for them to mock his decision rather than taking the time to understand it. Now people viewed priests as perverts and pedophiles. Of course, the media didn’t help. They always concentrated on the bad apples in the church rather than the good most of them do.
His throat was raw, longing for a drink that no water could quench. His pocket felt empty where the bottle used to rest.
Frank hasn’t always been a priest. He has secrets just like everyone else. He was once a different man, a violent man. Death was his living. He used to be in the army. Not the run-of-the-mill military, he used to run in different circles. Black Ops they call it nowadays. When he was involved it had no name. It all changed in Africa in 1984. He had done things that he was sure God would never forgive.
He gulped down some warm water while pretending it was something stronger.
28
Cody and Abigail Tanner, and the others.
Inside a shipping container, on a truck
Interstate 80 Express
New York City, Metropolitan Area
Cody was worried about his wife. Abigail hadn’t said a single word since she was grabbed around the leg. She didn’t eat a bite of her meal last night, and even though she lay with her eyes open, she was looking at nothing.
It hurt to see her suffering, but there was nothing he could do for her. He was a soil conservationist; he worked with farmers and city councils, preventing soil erosion, and acidification, and salinization, checking for contamination. He helped with crop rotation, cover crops, and helping the surface soil retain its integrity. He gave advice on how to achieve the best results without use of chemicals and the best ways to gain natural nutrients. If you stood him in a field, he could tell you what was wrong and what was needed just by looking at the ground and rubbing the soil between his fingers. However, he couldn’t tell what was wrong with his wife.
The scripture, For dust you are and dust you shall return, jumped into his mind. He’s sure it’s because he can see the priest out of the corner of his eye. Then again, he reasons, if the scriptures true, then why can’t I read my wife if we are but dust?
He had a bowl of tepid water, and a cloth that he kept dipping and wringing out. He placed it on her forehead, even though she had no temperature. There was nothing else he could do. He decided the cloth was more for his own benefit than hers.
The truck swerved, as if missing something that had appeared suddenly. He heard no gunfire.
It was hot inside the metal container, even though the temperature outside was struggling to hit double figures. Filled with the bodies and rancid breaths and Naomi’s stale smoke, and a hint of piss. He was sure Phyllis had wet herself again
.
Cody muttered to his wife, telling her everything was going to be okay. Things could only get better. They reached the bottom; they could only go up from here.
Abigail only blinked in reply and dribbled a little. Her blinking was also strange – she was blinking one eye at a time. He had no idea what it meant, and he was sure one pupil was slightly larger than the other.
Cody was angry, and he couldn’t explain why. He was upset that his wife was unresponsive; having suffered a major shock, but that didn’t explain his anger. Then over the hours, watching his wife lie motionless – like a sack of potatoes – it suddenly dawned on him.
He spent his whole life trying to save the planet. From a young age, he was conscious of the precious balance of life, and what humanity was doing to the environment. Even before recycling became popular, he was separating the objects from his parent’s trash. He had never owned a car, always used a bicycle or public transport. Everything he used and ate was sustainable. Every waking hour he weighed his actions in relation to the environment around him. He went through university, specializing in subjects that would further his environmental ambitions.
How has any of that helped me? What good has all the sacrifices I have made done?
He knew the outbreak was Mother Nature defending herself against the most destructive threat to the balance of life on the planet – humans. He knew it was irrational to be mad at a natural force, but he couldn’t help himself. Deep down, he felt like he shouldn’t be classed as a threat along with all the other uncaring humans that moved through life like out of control bulldozers, destroying everything in their wake, unconcerned by their carbon footprints.
Mothers who drove petrol guzzling 4X4s a few hundred meters to pick their kids up from school. People who didn’t car share, who were going in the same direction – such as employees who lived in the same area, but all drove separate vehicles to work. Those who didn’t take the time to recycle, just dumping all their trash in the same cans, rather than taking just a few minutes out of their busy day, yet they would happily sit in front of a TV for eight straight hours unmoving.
However, these were just pittance compared to the large industrial companies that dumped raw toxic waste directly into the rivers and oceans, or pumped unfiltered toxins into the atmosphere, or poured chemicals into leaky metal drums and dumped it into the ocean.
But these large companies were nothing compared to the world’s governments, who were choking the environment with the radiation and chemical fallout.
Cody and his wife belonged to organizations trying to draw attention to the amount of unwarranted weapon’s testing.
World governments felt the need to have nuclear weapons, and show everyone else they have them. There are four types of nuclear tests, where a detonation is set off, to supposedly test the effectiveness of the device – and to shout to other countries, look at us, look at how big our weapons are!
Atmospheric testing, where the weapon is exploded in the atmosphere. Via towers, balloons, barges, islands, or dropped from airplanes. These tests cause large amounts of nuclear fallout and irradiation of the debris. This form was banned by the Limited Test Ban Treaty. Not all countries signed it, and some still carry out these tests.
Underground testing, where devices are exploded underground at varying depths. Most were carried out by the United States and the Soviet Union during the Cold War. It’s the only form not banned by the 1963 treaty. The tests sometimes vent to the surface, or cause destructive seismic activity.
Exoatmospheric testing is explosions conducted above the atmosphere via high-altitude rockets. They can generate a nuclear electromagnetic pulse in the ionosphere that charges particles that can run from one pole to the other. These cause massive unnatural, radioactive auroral displays.
Lastly, underwater testing, which are usually detonated by a moored ship or barge that is incinerated in the test. It is used to evaluate sea-based nuclear capabilities in depth-charges or torpedoes. Tests close to the surface can result in radioactive particles in the water and steam, contaminating vast areas.
Cody and Abigail were on the East Coast board of a small organization trying to draw peoples attention to these unneeded, environmentally damaging tests. Altogether, two thousand and forty-four nuclear devices have been set off worldwide since the atom was split.
As Cody sits wiping his motionless wife’s forehead, he is unaware that six more were detonated yesterday, and that Madagascar was still being bombarded at that very moment.
29
Jessica Scott, and the others.
Inside a shipping container, on a truck
Interstate 80 Express
New York City, Metropolitan Area
Jessica’s butt was killing her, even though she rested on a pile of pillows she had brought with her. It was unnatural to sit in the same position for so long. She just wished there was room to get up and walk around. If she did, she was sure to step on someone. There was enough tension in the air without causing an unneeded argument.
She was a fidgeter by nature, never in the same place for long – always moving around, always occupying herself with some small task. Sitting still was slowly driving her insane.
Today she made sure she sat as far away from Naomi as possible. The woman was the most inconsiderate person she had ever met. The large woman stunk of stale smoke and rancid body odor. Jessica saw her go into the toilet last night. Naomi was in there for half an hour, if she wasn’t washing what was she doing?
Even though Jessica was closer to Tierra and Dante, she would rather put up with Dante’s crying being that little bit louder rather than breathe in Naomi’s second-hand smoke.
She was also worried about her parents who lived in Florida. There were no mobile signals and phone lines were inoperative, and she couldn’t get hold of them via Skype because the Internet wasn’t working either. She would like to be heading down to find them, but at present, staying alive was her main priority. Her father was retired army. They had her late in life. She knew if anyone could survive the pandemic that was sweeping the world, it would be her father.
She decided she would accompany the others until the situation was evaluated properly. Once things calmed down, she would make her way to find her parents.
Jessica left home only fourteen months ago when her father wouldn’t stop pushing her to join the army, to follow in his, and her older brother’s footsteps. She wondered where she would be now if she had joined? Safe with weapons in a barrack somewhere?
She had moved in with an old friend from high school who moved to New York a year previous. She also got Jessica the job at the restaurant. Her friend, Cathy, didn’t return one night just after the outbreak started. She has no idea if she was even alive or not.
Jessica shifted position, readjusting her butt cheeks. Both were numb. She pushed a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes. She had a headache as well. She was slim and didn’t eat much anyway, but it was much less, even by her standards. She sipped lukewarm water from a plastic bottle.
She watched Cody wipe his mute wife’s forehead.
She wished she had someone looking after her. She only had one boyfriend since moving from the sunny south up to the cooler north. He seemed nice to start with, but it soon became obvious he was a little unbalanced. She should have read the signs, who called themselves Rock anyway? She never did find out where his nickname came from, maybe, she reasoned at the time, it was because he was as thick as one? He was a chef at the restaurant, and for a few weeks it was a little awkward, but he soon forgot about her when he started dating the new server with a small butt and large double Ds.
She heard a crunching sound. She looked over and saw Naomi eating a cereal bar. She wondered where she got it. Had she stolen it out of their supplies? No one said anything, everyone was too exhausted to argue with her and take her abuse.
Jessica had a paperback with her, but it was hard to read when she was so uncomfortable. She tried anyway. She opened the book
at the last turned down page, and continued reading the first book of The Game of Thrones. She had brought it years ago but never had the time to start it. The end of the world was as good a time as any, she reasoned.
30
Juan and Bonnie Sanchez, and the others.
Inside a shipping container, on a truck
Interstate 80 Express
New York City, Metropolitan Area
Juan sat turning the gun over and over in his hands. He loved the feel of the metal. It was a device that elevated him above everyone else inside the container. He had the power to take a life. As of yet he hadn’t fired it. He was itching to shoot off a round, preferably at someone.
The gun was his fathers. Now there was a worthless piece of shit in Juan’s opinion. A vindictive man who took out his inadequacies on his children. A man who thought he had the right to do whatever he wanted to them, because he had made them. They were his – his property.
Juan would have moved out if it wasn’t for Bonnie. He stayed to protect her. To watch over his father because he didn’t trust him around Bonnie on his own. There was something about the way he used to look at her. The raking of his tongue over his dry lips when she was around. The way he watched her move. It wasn’t the look of a parent; it was the stare of a predator – watching, timing, scheduling a foreseeable time when he would be alone with her.
Luckily, their father worked most of the time, so he didn’t have to worry about his sister. But once their father had a few drinks inside him, and became a little rowdy; it was time to get her away. He would send her over to a friend’s house, or take her with him to his gang’s meeting area, which was his best mate Richey’s dad’s house.
The Sixth Extinction America Omnibus [Books 1-12] Page 10
