She giggled. “Oops, sorry.”
Boffo went back into the examining room. He found some bottled water, poured it over his own head and flopped into a chair. She had scared the shit out of him. But then pretty much everything was scaring the shit out of him.
In the hall, Bowden limped to the chair in front of the laptop. He tapped the keyboard, lost the screen saver and started searching for some way to connect with the outside world. He glanced up and saw Callie moving his way. She thought he was kind of cute, but Bowden didn’t seem to notice her body. Probably gay, she thought.
“Ma’am,” he said briskly, “Stay at your station.”
She gave him her best girlie grin. “Nature calls, sir. Got to pee.”
Bowden was already back to work, typing. The screen exploded in snow, then started running some kind of code. “Okay,” Bowden said. “Make it fast.”
Callie passed him and slipped into the small bathroom. White tiles, sit bath with shower head, one toilet and a sink. Callie turned on the light. At least they hadn’t packed up all the toilet paper. She looked at herself in the mirror and fussed with her hair and makeup. Didn’t notice the shift in shadows beyond the small window. Callie hiked up her skirt and sat down to pee. She stood up, flushed and washed her hands. Something made the hair on the back of her neck flutter. Air conditioning? Nerves?
Her stomach clenched with guilt. Doc was a good man, he certainly didn’t deserve being humiliated before his own staff, but Callie knew the marriage couldn’t work, knew she’d been mistaken to marry a man so much older. It had seemed right at the time, but after a couple of years together, the heat just wasn’t there anymore. A girl needed romance. Billy Ray probably wasn’t a keeper but he sure was fun…
She caught her own eyes in the mirror. Adulteress. Callie swallowed. This would be a bad way to die, in a bad state of mind. A sinful one. She held her own gaze for a long, frozen beat. Then she stepped back. Resolved to get back to church the second they’d made it safely out of this. She just needed to find Jesus again. Callie hurriedly turned out the light, closed the door behind her.
Callie did not notice that the small window was unlatched and open half an inch.
10:11 PM
Bowden quickly ran every military frequency test he’d been taught as a radioman back in the day. He had to assume that HQ was trying to find them as well, so it was just a matter of time before some kind of broadband link was established. And then that big bird home. Bowden thought this might be his last go around. There was enough money in the Cayman Islands account. The heat was on, since their employer had been in the news for non-payment of taxes and covering up abuses of power during the wars in the Middle East. Get out while the getting is good…
“Bowden, heads up!”
Bowden stopped typing. A frequency signal popped onto the screen. It began to repeat itself. A message. “Cap, I may have something here.”
“Forget that for a second. A lot of footsteps on the porch. I may need backup after all.”
Bowden hustled away from the computer and back into the waiting room. His shoulder wound ached but he knew he needed to keep moving. If it stiffened up… Cap was down on one knee with his ear pressed to the door. He waved for silence. Bowden got down next to him and listened. Movement, several bad guys shuffling around on the wooden porch outside. Bowden felt queasy. An enemy was one thing, but these creatures…can you kill what’s already dying?
Down the hall from the computer, Champ was playing with her handheld device. She heard Bowden’s response to Cap. It intrigued her. When he left for the waiting room, she stood up. Champ had a good line of sight to the screen. She took four seconds to come to a decision.
“Doc? I’m going to go get some water, okay?”
Doc mumbled something. He was focusing hard, wrapping his hands with an ACE bandage and tape so that he could safely wield surgical instruments as weapons. Champ took advantage of the distraction. She crept down the hall, focused on the code running across the computer screen. It seemed to be a suggested frequency, much lower than the one generally given for PCs. It made her curious. Code meant connections; there was a hacker out there somewhere, or a military group trying to lock in.
Champ memorized the numbers and started searching for the spot on her own device. She found and locked the same sequence, then closed her phone. She grabbed some bottled water and retraced her steps.
Doc was sitting with his back to the rear door. He waved her down, leaned close. Whispered. “Quiet. Someone’s out there.”
Just then, Cap called, “Here they come!”
And that’s when the shit hit the fan.
««—»»
Burkhalter stood outside the command tent, staring at a wisp of cloud draped like a nightgown over the southern stars. As a child, he’d wanted to become an astronaut, but when NASA moved to robot research the glory days were over. His dream of establishing a base camp on the moon was now like something from an ancient science fiction film. As a second choice, Burkhalter gravitated towards the Special Ops, but he hadn’t been physically hardy or crazy enough to last through Hell Week. His exceptional scores did catch the attention of a private contracting firm unofficially connected to the Vice President. Burkhalter had been recruited right out of the Navy, given an Honorable Discharge and trained in War as Big Business.
Thousand dollar suits, an unlimited expense account, free hookers and luxury cars. Not a bad life.
Burkhalter moved up quickly. He didn’t particularly enjoy wet work, but he was ruthless, unrelentingly reliable and showed a distinct lack of scruples. He had his superiors convinced of his patriotic zeal, but in truth Burkhalter was the kind of mercenary able to swear fealty to anyone who happened to be in power. Like many of his superiors, he was essentially a sociopath, although a bit less self-deluded than his counterparts. To him, this was just the way of the world. Some ate well, some starved. Some were born to lead and the rest to serve.
The woman Leanne was a pain, but clearly good at her job. Burkhalter found her attractive in an odd way, not so much for her sexuality as her insolent attitude. She made him want to break her.
“Sir?”
Burkhalter started back towards the tent, “Yes, Major?”
“Someone from those coordinates has found us on broadband.”
Burkhalter burst into the tent. He stood, watching her. Leanne was clearly excited, and probably expecting some kind of pat on the head for establishing a communication link to the team. She worked fast.
“Mr. Burkhalter?”
He nodded, pursed his lips. One word. “Bowden.”
She was wondering how he’d known. His withdrawn arrogance clearly made her uncomfortable.
“Okay, Major, I’m waiting.”
She reacted to his studied indifference. Her mask slipped back into place. “Message says ‘Defending ER. twelve total, ten civilians. Need extract ASAP.’ And yes, it is signed Bowden.”
Burkhalter pondered for a minute. Leanne’s eyes flicked back and forth from the screen to his face.
“Our response?”
“Send this,” Burkhalter said. “Defend that position. Help is on the way. Suck it up. All that sort of thing, okay?”
Leanne bit back her first response. Smart girl, Burkhalter thought.
“You know,” she said, rapidly, “I think I may be able to patch in a way to send audio, perhaps even a visual, kind of a Skype thing, at least from our end. Want me to take a shot at that?”
Burkhalter shrugged. “If it gives you something to do.”
Leanne forced herself to look down at the console and keyboard. She pretended to be busy. Something was wrong here, very wrong. She was a shopworn Alice in uniform, and they’d all gone through the looking glass for sure.
Who the hell are you people?
««—»»
And just like that, the infected were everywhere, pounding and howling and shrieking. They came from all sides at once. Cap and Bowden stayed at the front, but held
back to save ammo, praying the bars and boards would hold. In ER one, Boffo and Callie hugged each other as glass panes broke and a steady thumping sound began outside the window. Fred sat rigidly next to the prone Riggs as his system blew back to High Alert and erased all traces of the downers.
“Oh, fuck me…” Riggs muttered. “Bro, if you start to get loose from there, you will indeed have the worst fucking luck in the world.”
Upstairs in the attic, Officer Paris and Billy Ray stared at one another, eyes wide. The noises were all coming from downstairs, but from above it was easy to tell the building was entirely surrounded.
“My poor Mom,” Paris said. “Mom’s still in the rest home in Elko.”
Downstairs, Timothy’s knitting sped up dramatically as Theresa stopped praying and steeled herself to kill some heathens. Their window wasn’t far from the back door, where Doc and Champ were waiting. The diseased townspeople scratched and banged on the locked screen door, ripping it away, cracking the glass, only to run into the boards that had been nailed up earlier. The noise was deafening.
Champ glanced down the hall, where her foster parents huddled. She wanted to say something to them, but couldn’t focus her mind. So many conflicting feelings, most of them negative. Beside her, the man called Doc stood up and leaned against the wall. He patted her head, gently.
Cap’s voice from the waiting room, “Stay cool, people. Wait for it.”
They didn’t have to wait long. The sheer weight of the townspeople outside began to splinter wooden slats and cause the wall to vibrate. Doc reflexively pushed back against the door. His heart was racing. He kept picturing the poor kid being torn limb from limb by crazed strangers. Doc decided on the spot that there was no way he’d allow such a thing to happen, not on his watch. He’d cut her throat first.
Champ hugged her knees with her right arm and fondled the sharpened stake she carried with the other. When Doc first handed it to her, she’d wondered if she’d ever be able to use it, to kill another human being, but now she was gripped by a fear so deep all doubt had been cast aside. She would kill. She just wanted to survive.
Doc caught her eye. He winked.
In the first examining room, Boffo had removed the rest of his makeup, though out of habit he still wore the big red, rubber nose. Callie again realized he was kind of cute, in a chubby sort of way. Or maybe she just needed the man protecting her to be cute. They were sitting on the floor, trying to ignore the racket outside.
“Boffo?”
“Huh?” He seemed petrified.
“I just realized I’ve never heard anyone use your real name.”
Boffo shrugged. “Never use it. It’s Clarence.”
“Clarence?”
“See? You wouldn’t use it either.”
She managed a chuckle. Callie trembled. “God, Boffo. What is all this? What’s happening? I’m so scared.”
“If you ask me,” he said, “that is a sensible attitude.” Callie slid closer to him, snuggled up a bit. “You know something? I feel a bit safer because you seem so calm.”
“Listen, exactly where did you put all those drugs again?”
Callie giggled “You’re so silly.”
“Actually, I’m serious, Callie. My ass is killing me.” In the waiting room, Cap checked his clip. They were way too low on ammo. Not nearly enough. Cap glanced at Bowden, who was sitting against the wall with his eyes closed. How much can I count on him to do when this goes hot?
The window was long gone. The bars held but the boards began to buckle. Suddenly a gory arm blasted through the wood and grabbed for the top of Bowden’s head. He slid further down and rolled away. Brought up his Glock.
“Save your ammo.” Cap jumped up, crossed the room and banged away at it with a hammer. Chunks of flesh flattened and chipped away. From outside came a high-pitched howl of pain, blood spurted and the arm was withdrawn. Cap nailed the board back into place and another across it for support.
Bowden whistled, said, “Ho. Lee. Shit.”
In the attic, Officer Paris and Billy Ray exchanged looks. Their post was remarkably silent, as if the infected hadn’t yet found a way to get to the roof. All of the noise was coming from downstairs. Billy Ray watched Office Paris process the situation. She frowned. “Should we go down there and try to help them out?”
“Hell, no.” Billy Ray stammered. “Never can tell if they find a way through this window, right? So if you do go, I should man the post alone.”
“Oh.”
“Stay.” He touched her leg again. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Officer Paris let his hand stay on her thigh this time.
Downstairs, Champ watched Doc close his eyes. His lips moved, as if he were thinking aloud…or praying. Scared, she edged closer to sit under the window, right next to him. The door was trembling from the continued stress. The moans and groans outside were unnerving and constant. A pair of hands broke through the wood and grabbed Champ by the hair. She screamed. They started tugging her up and out through the hole in the board.
“Help me!”
Doc jumped to his feet and spun around. In a split second he registered the two infected who were making it in through the back door. A businesswoman in a suit and glasses was pulling on Champ’s hair. Her eyes were wild and bloodshot and her face a ruin of scratches and scrapes. Next to her stood some kind of garage mechanic with a large firelog and a broken nose. He was smashing at the boards while the woman struggled to pull Champ through the opening. Champ was kicking and screaming.
“That’s it kid, fight back!”
Doc grabbed a syringe filled with bleach. He grabbed the businesswoman’s arm, held it. He tried to stick her and almost nailed Champ by mistake. Maybe this wasn’t such a brilliant idea. After a moment he got her. Held on tight. Doc jabbed the needle deep, hit the plunger, moved on.
Champ screamed, “Let go of me!” As the bleach hit her bloodstream the woman stiffened, jerked around and fell backwards out of sight. The man with the log grabbed Champ by the neck with his free hand and tugged. Doc struggled to pry his hand from her neck. The infected man struck him with the log. Stunned, Doc stumbled back. Champ slipped to her knees and her weight made the man lean forward. She seemed about to pass out. Still in shock, Doc crawled her way as he watched her grope along the floor for the syringe. It still had some bleach left. Her hand kept grabbing for it. Doc snapped out of his stupor, rolled over and picked up a scalpel. He went after the man’s arm, slicing deep.
Champ had reached the syringe, and as Doc cut she got the rest of the bleach into the arm of the infected man. The twin assaults drove him away. Doc threw more boards up. Champ held them as he used a hammer and nailed more support into place. They had bought themselves some more time.
“It’s not going to hold them out, is it?”
Doc touched Champ on the shoulder. He shook his head.
“Not for long.”
“What are they doing?”
Doc peeked through the boards. In the moonlight, several of the infected had stopped moving. Some dropped flat, some sat down as if asleep, others quit what they were doing to wander aimlessly in circles. But not all of them. The remainder seemed to continue to circle the building, looking for ways to break in. An owl hooted as if wondering why the noise had stopped.
The hallway was quiet as everyone stuck to their post, but a small breeze kissed the white ER curtains.
In the small bathroom, the window moved. No one was watching. Fingers eased the pane open. Hands appeared. The window slowly filled with a dark, lumpy shape. A flash of white as well. The infected person slid through into the bathroom, dropped with an unheard thump on the tiles and stood there. It was a woman. She stared at herself in the mirror as if unable to process who or what she was seeing. The woman was a nun, perhaps fifty years old, with vapid eyes and cuts on her exposed flesh. She was holding a small .38 Smith and Wesson revolver.
Scuffling noises distracted the nun. She turned slowly to watch several o
ther bloody limbs and emotionless faces crowding the open window, trying to get in. She looked down at the gun in her hand.
And then, feeling claustrophobic and irritable, the nun turned and fumbled for the doorknob.
««—»»
Riggs mumbled something about his luck again, and Fred jumped. Said, “Jesus bro, you flat fucking scared the goose poop out of me.” He edged his chair away from the examining table with a metallic squeal. Riggs was still clearly tied down, but if he had the virus, then hell, a man just couldn’t know what might come next. Have to do the dirty deed. For sure.
“Riggs?” Fred whispered. Caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, a sliding shadow beyond a space between the slats, like someone fluttering the absurdly clean white curtains.
Riggs sighed and groaned. Fred stiffened and slid his chair even further away from the exam table. SCREECH. The sound made the little hairs on the back of his neck ripple like a wheat field. The shadow came again and Fred whimpered. Something big was moving around, just outside the boarded up window. Fred looked back and forth between his friend and the window, then down at the pair of garden shears he was holding. Whoever they were they were still outside. So Riggs seemed to be the bigger danger, but then this was his drinking buddy… So poor Fred battled himself.
Finally Fred eyed Riggs, rose slowly to his feet. The big man was tied down effectively, snoring peacefully, pale throat exposed under the harsh light of the ER room. Goddamned Grandmother of God guess I’d best do this afore he turns into one of them things out there…
Fred approached Riggs, touched his warm throat with two fingers. He swallowed. Raised the garden shears up, hell it would be just like whacking some weeds or slicing through a thick branch in the garden, right? One of them big old desert perennial cactus thingies that opened with a SNAP and had runny stuff inside? Fred raised the garden shears, raised them up, feeling almost downright religious. Had to be sure a man had a right to protect himself. He spoke softly. Fred said, “Sorry, bro. Shittiest luck ever, right?”
Pain Page 6
