Dead 09: Spring

by T. W. Brown

  Catie listened to the spiel as they walked. She was trying to see how it all tied together with Kevin and Heather. They walked past a series of large capsule-shaped tanks that were lined up along the back of the building that housed the auditorium.

  It was at that moment that she realized there was just not anything she could hope to accomplish here. Aleah would probably hate her for it, but the reality was that Kevin was lost. It would take a miracle for her to do anything to save him. Her best hope was that she could wreak a sort of vengeance that might provide at least some sort of closure.

  Not for the first time, she cursed Kevin and his repeated mantra of how the real zombie apocalypse had nothing in common with its film version. The movie version of Catie would be the hero, rescuing her comrades from certain death or whatever these freaks had in mind. The real Catie was simply going to have to cut her losses. She was staring at a golden opportunity that she could not pass up.

  Latricia never saw it coming. Catie struck the woman a solid blow to the temple that stunned her. The second punch to the jaw put the woman out. Standing over the sprawled figure, she looked around and was glad nobody was in eyesight. She quickly stripped the weapons from the woman and scanned for her best way out.

  About fifty yards and barely visible over the roof of the auditorium was a watch tower. She quickly dragged the limp body of Latricia over and behind one of the large metal capsules. Ensuring that she was not being observed, Catie made certain that her jacket covered the Uzi she had just liberated and then hurried for the watch tower.

  When she reached it, she scrambled up the ladder. A woman peeked down just as Catie reached the rail and was about to pull herself over.

  “What the hell!” the woman said with a start, but that was all she managed as Catie vaulted over the rail and punched her in the throat as hard as she could. She felt something crunch under the blow and the woman went to her knees making a whistling and wet sound as she tried to suck air in past her ruined wind pipe. Grasping the woman by the head, Catie gave a violent twist and laid the body to the side.

  Giving the body a quick pat down, Catie discovered a flare gun. She also noticed that a large hand cranked siren was mounted in one corner of the watch tower. This was no doubt the extent of their “intricate” security. She was about to climb over and exit the facility when a thought struck her.

  These people would no doubt send somebody after her. And with all the open ground, she would be an easy target. What she needed was a good diversion. She looked back into the compound and watched as a roving two-person patrol rounded a corner of the auditorium. She gave herself a mental pat on the back for stashing Latricia’s body. The fact that the two were walking along and engrossed in their conversation meant that they had obviously not discovered her handiwork.

  Scurrying back down the ladder, Catie jogged to the corner of the building and peeked around. She knew propane tanks would cause a nice distraction. She recalled an episode of Mythbusters that had debunked the whole thing about how they would blow up just by having a bullet or two fired at them. She pulled out the flare gun and smiled.

  “Hey!” a voice from behind her called. Catie felt her smile grow bigger.

  Maybe Kevin was right about things not being like the movies, but sometimes life threw you a bone or two. She recognized Jordan’s voice and turned. She already had her pistol in her hand, so he never really stood a chance. Catie saw no need to talk things over, so she fired two rounds into the man’s chest. He was dead before he hit the ground; a look of confusion etched permanently on his face.

  Of course that also brought with it a few shouts of alarm. Firing a gun tended to do that, Catie mused as she sighted on the closest tank and pulled the trigger a few more times. The hiss of propane was instantaneous. Waiting a couple of seconds for some of the gas to hopefully pool up in the air around the tanks, Catie drew the flare gun and stuck her arm around the corner, firing blindly.

  She turned to run as the first explosion erupted with a violent ‘WHUMP’ and a wave of heat that sent her sprawling on her stomach. Scrambling to her feet, Catie hurried up the ladder of the watch tower. She kept detecting something in the periphery of her hearing and it took her a moment to realize that it was the sounds of bullets plinking off the guard tower.

  She threw herself over the rail and flopped down beside the corpse of the woman that she had killed. Catie screamed when the woman opened her mouth and let loose with a mewling growl. Kicking away, Catie fumbled for the handgun and shot the female sentry-turned-zombie in the forehead.

  Another explosion, this one larger than the first, shook the ground and caused Catie’s ears to ring from the violence. Struggling to her feet, Catie staggered to the rail of the tower and threw her legs over; pushing off, hit the ground and rolled, coming to her feet just as a third explosion sent another jet of flame skyward.

  Taking off for the barricade of vehicles about a hundred yards away, Catie made it a point to zig and zag at random in case somebody was trying to get a shot at her. When she reached all of the crammed in vehicles, she hauled herself up on to the hood of what turned out to be a school bus. Taking one last look over her shoulder, Catie could not help but feel a bit of sadness as well as the sense of failure. She would really miss Kevin.

  ***

  Heather stared out through the bars of her window. She was now certain that something was not right. It had been almost a week and she had not been able to see one of her friends. The excuses she was being given were making no sense. From what she was being told, Aleah was suffering from complications involving her miscarriage, Kevin was in a coma, and Rose had run away.

  Of all of them, only the bit about Rose might be true. Kevin had fainted, there was no reason that he should have gone into some sort of coma. Also, she had been with Aleah initially and the woman had been heartbroken, but other than that, she was about as healthy as they came. And if there were complications as she had been told, then why couldn’t she go and at least sit bedside?

  The second night, there had been what sounded like gunshots and some screaming, but she could not tell where from. Latricia had claimed that a small attack had been launched against the compound, but that it had been handled.

  Then that storm had come. Heather knew a tornado when she saw one. She had actually been disappointed when it passed well to the east. Latricia came that evening and said that she would have to remain confined for just a while longer because of security issues and the fact that recent events had kept her from being processed and allowed out in the general population. The thing was, ever since the night of the so-called attack, she had not seen any of the general population going about their daily business from her window. It was like the entire compound had vanished except for the roving guards.

  She was tired of hearing all the excuses. She was going to demand to be let out, and if that Latricia woman tried to stop her, well then she was going to discover that Heather Godwin was no pushover.

  Only…nobody had come yesterday. When she woke this morning to discover a tray set inside the door, she had banged on the door, yelled, screamed and even trashed the room. None of it brought a single person to tell her to quiet down or anything.

  Now, she stared out the window. Every so often, a team of roving guards would pass by. They didn’t even glance her direction when she pounded on the glass.

  With nothing to do but wait, Heather had pulled a chair up to the window. When she saw Latricia stroll into view, she was about to pound again.

  Then she spied Catie!

  At first she had not believed her eyes. She was now confused more than anything else. How had Catie found them? And more importantly, why was Catie allowed to be out and about while she was locked up?

  She pounded on the window, but neither of them so much as glanced in her direction. They were engaged in some sort of conversation…and then Catie hauled off and punched Latricia in the head! Heather renewed her pounding, but apparently they were not able to hear because C
atie connected with another punch that knocked Latricia out cold.

  Heather could only watch as Catie performed a pat down, removing a few things before dragging the unconscious form over to the large white tanks that were in a row along the rear of the auditorium building. Then…Catie vanished around a corner.

  Heather felt tears welling up in her eyes. She slid down the wall and hung her head in despair. If Catie was here and taking people out, then this place was as bad as she had come to believe. What did that mean for her? For Aleah? Kevin? Now she hoped that the rumors about Rose running away were true; at least that way, one of them would escape whatever hell these people had in store.

  A sound that reminded her of muted bubble wrap being popped came. One blister…a second blister…

  A muffled ‘WHUMP’ came a few seconds later…and then the ground shook violently. Somehow, Heather had been slid across the floor of her room. She looked up at the window and realized that it seemed to resemble what she imagined a portal to hell would look like. What added to the peculiar vision was that the glass had turned white. It took her a few seconds to realize that it must be some sort of safety glass, and that it had come close to shattering.

  She climbed to her feet when a thought struck her. That was a single explosion…but there were at least a half dozen of those tanks in a row! Heather dove. Sliding under her bed just as the second blast came. This one was too much for the weakened window and the glass shattered inward, spraying the room in little square-ish cubes of glittering shrapnel. Her room became unbearably hot for a few seconds and then it felt as if all the air was sucked out that gaping hole where her window had once been.

  There was a third blast much smaller than the first or second. By now, smoke was pouring into Heather’s room. Heather peered out from under the bed. The bars that had covered the window on the outside were now a twisted mess, but there was no way she could hope to escape in that direction without being roasted.

  Turning, she had to do a double take. The door to her room was gone; not merely open, but missing entirely. Moving to the opening, Heather peered out into the hallway and was not surprised to discover that it was empty. Moving cautiously, she rounded a corner and saw a door that led to the outside at the far end.

  Reaching the door, she could look outside. What she saw had her literally scratching her head in confusion.

  The compound—at least what she could see of it—was empty of any human activity. She had expected to see some sort of security force scurrying about in response to the explosions. Giving the door a push, she was mildly surprised to discover that it opened.

  The air was thick with the smell of burning. The acridness of burnt wood mingled with the chemical stink of melting plastic stung the back of her throat.

  Looking around, Heather suddenly realized that she had no idea where to go. She could not go the way she had seen Catie disappear; there was a raging inferno that direction. Her only choice was to head across the compound and hope that she did not get shot as an intruder or blamed for what Catie had done.

  She needed to find Aleah and Kevin. She wanted to run. Picking one of the buildings at random, Heather headed across the open compound. She had just reached the doors when a group of armor clad individuals sprinted past; a variety of rifles in hand.

  “That can’t be good,” she sighed as she opened the door to a long corridor that was thick with the stench of human sweat, urine, and excrement.

  8

  Muddy Waters

  “We got big trouble!” BP yelled up at us as my group poured out onto the landing. He fired another burst and then dove behind one of the checkout aisles just as a torrent of return fire shattered what little remaining glass jutted from the entry doors as well as chewing up and pulverizing the Linoleum floor.

  I spun to the young man who we had as our prisoner. He cowered as I advanced, and I felt a sick feeling grow in my stomach. I hated what I was probably going to have to do in the next few moments.

  Reaching out with one hand—I only briefly noted that it was still stained with blood—I grabbed the guy by his throat and slammed him into the nearest wall. Leaning in close, I could actually smell the stench of his fear; he had just messed his pants.

  “Who are you people, how many are there, and why are you attacking us?” I snarled.

  His mouth moved, opening and closing like a fish pulled from the river. His eyes were wide and I saw tears spring to them.

  “My dad…” he gasped, “…I just wanted to be with my dad.”

  “You and just about anybody else still alive. Now I am only going to ask you one more time. Then…” I yanked my huge knife from its sheath, the blade still sticky with darkness, “…I am going to start peeling you until you tell me what I want to know.”

  “Billy!” I heard Katrina cry. I also heard what sounded like a struggle taking place behind me. She had probably tried to step up and interfere. Obviously somebody else in my group understood that the old rules were simply not applicable any longer. To survive in this world, you had to be able to throw a switch and shut a part of yourself off when it was necessary.

  I stared at this guy’s face. He was probably close to my age; maybe a year or two older. He and I might have been friends under any other circumstance. I leaned in a bit closer and said just loud enough that only he could hear me. Despite the fact that I had accepted what I must become at the moment, that did not mean I wanted everybody to hear the terrible things I was saying.

  “I will start by cutting off your balls.” I brought my knife down and covertly flipped it so that the sharp side was down before bringing it up between his legs.

  “Our group is made up of six or seven different military units. The majority of us were in Pocatello, Idaho. That was where my dad’s unit was sent when this started. When the town fell, we retreated to Boise. That was when we found the airbase. They were in communication with several other groups. Army, Marines, Special Forces, even some National Guard units.

  “A group of Marines came on line one day and it sounded like they were in big trouble. They were on the run from a herd being led by some biker gang. At least that is what they said. My dad was on radio duty that night and told them where we were located. He told them that if they could reach us, we could repel whatever was coming. Only, when the Marines arrived…”

  The guy’s voice trailed off. I could tell that he was reliving whatever hell had taken place. Unfortunately, I did not have time for him to sift through his feelings. The sounds of gunfire had died down to the occasional burst, but it sounded like our guys were returning fire with diminished frequency. Despite what the movies portray, a person can only carry so much ammunition. Once it is gone, you are screwed. I gave a little bit of upward pressure with my knife hand and the words resumed pouring out.

  “There were too many…the zombies were like a tidal wave, flattening our perimeter fence. We had never seen anything like it before. We sent messages out to everybody that we were in contact with that our base was being overrun and that it looked like people were using zombies as part of their attack.

  “Once the herd pushed through the gates and did away with any remaining personnel, it was a simple matter for raiders to come in after the place was clear and loot whatever was left. During the evac, I lost my dad. We got separated when his truck hit something. He had insisted that we be in separate vehicles if the need to evacuate ever came.

  “The group that I was with made a run for the closest military unit we knew of from our radio contacts. When we got there, it was a mess. Nobody was in charge, they had…acquired some civilian females and were treating them terribly. One of the men in our truck, a guy named Saunders—”

  “Wait!” I snapped, unable to believe that my suspicion could be correct. “Jon Saunders?”

  “Uhh…yeah…you know him?”

  “I do, and skip the rest of your story for now. Is this group that is trying to invade us friends of Jon’s?” The kid’s eyes dropped. That was answer enou
gh. “Just tell me how many and what you guys are packing.”

  “Our strength is one hundred and seven.”

  That didn’t seem too bad. So obviously their success was based on the weapons that they were using. There was a momentary pause in the shooting that seemed ominous as silence flooded in to replace the cacophony that had my ears ringing.

  “And what the hell kind of firepower are you guys packing?” I needed that answer most of all. He opened his mouth when a new batch of gunfire erupted.

  I had all but forgotten about Darla and her group up on the roof. There was a loud “WHUMP” and another explosion. Debris and smoke poured in through the shattered entrance doors. I waited for the large caliber machine guns to resume, but there was nothing. Shoving my prisoner away, I moved along the wall and descended the cement stairs. Each step was taken with caution as I continued to wait for the shooting to begin with sudden and deadly ferocity.

  “Billy!” I heard a voice calling down from outside. It was Darla; that was the sweetest thing I could imagine at the moment.

  Disregarding my earlier caution, I dashed out, hearing others coming up behind me in my wake. As I reached the decimated sally-port of the Walmart and peered out to the parking lot, I saw what had once been some sort of giant pushcart lying on its side with the twisted remains of one big ass gun mounted on it. In a crude semi-circle around the now defunct weapon were at least a dozen bodies—or parts in some cases—scattered on the ground. Most were still smoldering. The concrete had been turned black in a huge, uneven splotch centered on the pushcart.

  I moved away from the building’s façade and looked up to see Darla and her group standing along the lip of the roof. Darla held up what looked like a burlap book bag.

  “Homemade satchel charges,” she called down. “Can you believe that?”