Slow Burn (Book 9): Sanctum

by Bobby Adair

  My hate flared and coaxed my murderous desires to the surface. Killing things helped when my moods turned dark.

  I clenched my jaw and fixed my eyes on a nowhere spot out across the horizon. Emotions and rationalizations spun through my brain until flecks of clarity coalesced into something that wasn’t a plan—more a guideline—to support a rash choice. I loosed my tactical vest and slid it off my shoulders.

  Surprised by my sudden animation, Murphy asked, “What are you doing?”

  I looked at Murphy. “I can’t fly away without knowing.”

  Martin cut in. “We need to get back and refuel. We can come back tomorrow.”

  “How much longer can we stay?” I asked.

  Martin heaved a big sigh.

  “Without pushing our luck,” I said. “What’s the safe amount of time we’ve got?”

  “Maybe another fifteen minutes.”

  “Okay.” I looked out the window as I peeled off my shirt.

  “Oh shit,” mused Murphy. “Naked Null Spot.”

  I pointed out the window. “That field over there. Left of the stadium a bit. Do you see it?”

  “I see it,” Martin confirmed.

  Fritz jumped up to look out the window. “The drill field.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” I went to work on my boots. People in the back started to look at me like I was crazy.

  “What’s going on in that cue ball head?” Murphy asked. “Because I’m thinking it’s the usual.”

  I untied my second boot and glanced up. “The usual?”

  “Stupid.” A wicked smile found its way onto Murphy’s face.

  “Martin,” I said over the intercom. “I want you to drop me in that field. Then I want you to hover at like twenty or thirty feet and just stay there.”

  “Why?”

  I looked at Murphy and then at Fritz as I reached out and patted Murphy’s machine gun. “You guys get on these. When the Whites start to come, slaughter them.”

  “Just like that?” Fritz asked.

  I nodded. “They’ll come in droves. With the noise of the helicopter and the noise of the shooting, they’ll come. From all over campus, but from over by the veterinary school, too.”

  “And that’s where you’re planning to go?” Murphy asked. He knew.

  I dropped my pants, leaving myself naked and then sat down to put my boots back on my feet.

  “I’m going to scout things out.”

  “We don’t have time for that,” said Martin. “You’ll barely have time to walk over there. Where am I supposed to pick you up?”

  “You’ll pick me up tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll signal you somehow. I’ll try to make it to the roof of the pharmacy school where you dropped me today.”

  Murphy shook his head. “Dammit, Zed.”

  “What?” I asked.

  Murphy drilled me with a hard stare, slowly shaking his head. He stopped. “I’m going with.”

  “You can’t,” I told him.

  “Why?”

  I looked down at my bare skin. “You know why.”

  Murphy took off his vest. “You’re not the only one who can run around naked as a hillbilly at a swimmin’ hole.”

  “No rifle,” I told him.

  Murphy slipped his hatchet out of his belt and brandished it. He pulled his knife.

  “You sure?” I asked. “Things can get fucked up. Besides, you know you’ve bailed me out more than once by showing up with your gun at the right time.”

  Murphy slipped his vest off. “Seems like every damned day to me.”

  I laughed grimly. “Maybe so.” I turned to Fritz. “Can one of your people operate the other machine gun?”

  Fritz nodded.

  “Martin,” I said, “Fritz is a good guy. I know him from Austin. We were in some shit together. And besides, he owes me. He’ll treat you right. Take them back to Fort Hood. Fuel up and stay safe. We’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

  “What time?” Martin asked.

  “I don’t have a watch.” I showed him my bare wrist. “Besides, whatever we plan, the Whites will screw it up anyway. Let’s shoot for mid-morning. I’ll be here sun up to noon if I can. If you don’t find me, come back the next day.”

  Martin said, “You’re the boss.”

  My first thought was, “Steph’s the boss.” I’d sarcastically said it so many times it was ingrained. “Get us over to the drill field.” I gave Murphy a glance to see how he was coming along. “By the time we get there, Murphy and me will be ready to jump out.”

  Chapter 19

  Martin brought the helicopter so close to the grass near the northwest corner of the field I thought he’d landed. I hopped to the ground and ran. Murphy came out after me. The helicopter’s rotors blasted dirt and debris at us as Martin powered the engines to regain his altitude and angle toward the center of the drill field.

  With no Whites anywhere near us, Murphy stopped and turned to watch the helicopter.

  I looked around behind us—several dozen trees stood off to one side with a building behind. Another building bordered the drill field on the other side. I watched the doors and windows for anything that might move. And I saw it. Whites inside were looking through the glass. More Whites were coming out from behind cars and around the corners of buildings, near and far. As expected, the noise of the helicopter was drawing them in. My hope was that any Whites who had seen us get out of the Black Hawk had already lost the connection between us and the noisy machine.

  “You alright?” I asked.

  Murphy nodded. “First time going undercover. Wishing I’d kept my rifle.”

  “You remember how it worked that time at Camp Mabry, right?”

  Murphy didn’t move, didn’t say anything.

  “The naked Whites spotted the rifle and came after us. They damn near caught us.”

  “That was some shit.” Murphy smiled widely and nodded. “I thought we were dead that day.”

  “If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll feel the same way about this little thing in about twenty minutes.”

  Murphy took his eyes off the helicopter. “I hope not. I think I’m getting tired.”

  “What?” I looked around again. More Whites were coming onto the field, more were howling in the distance. “Maybe we can talk about this on the way. I think things are going to get pretty hairy here, pretty quick.”

  “Yeah.” Murphy turned.

  I stepped into a comfortable run down the long edge of the field, looking back to make sure Murphy was right behind me. He took a few long strides and pulled up beside me as we passed a tall, thin clock tower.

  I wanted to scold him for not staying in line, literally. That’s the way the Whites liked to run, at least when they weren’t crazy for fresh blood.

  “This the right way?” He asked.

  “Yup.”

  “Good. I kinda lost my bearings.”

  “It’s cool. I know where we are.” We ran among dozens of cars scattered in a parking lot, and I pointed ahead. “See between those buildings over there, you can see the corner of that sand-colored one? That one’s attached by a walkway to the Pharmacy building we got Fritz from.”

  “They’re all sand-colored,” said Murphy.

  “Just follow me.”

  We crossed a road and ran into a field as hundreds and hundreds of Whites poured out from between the widely spaced buildings in front of us. They were the ones who’d been lingering around the veterinary science building and the outposts. I veered toward a collection of maintenance buildings so we wouldn’t find ourselves running right through them. I didn’t want their follow-the-leader wiring to make them turn around and follow us. They needed to keep running to their deaths, toward the helicopter’s waiting machine guns.

  We came to a stop against a wall near the corner of a building with a view into the maintenance yard. Along one side stood a rusty, tin hangar-like building with covered bays along one side and open doors facing the yard. Mounds of dirt, tractors, cars, and other such t
hings seemed spread in no organized way.

  The machine guns started to blaze, ripping through hundreds of rounds as the sound of White screams rolled over us.

  I pointed catty-corner across the yard. “If we cut through there, we’ll come out across the street from one of the outposts.”

  “And you just want to walk right up to the place looking like the naked Whites who attacked them?”

  “I doubt they’ll shoot.”

  “Really Sherlock?” Murphy stepped along the wall and took a peek around the corner of the building. “What makes you think that?”

  “All the shooters are dead. Any smart enough to stay quiet are still alive.”

  “Or they’re all just dead,” Murphy argued.

  “Which side of this debate do you want? You can’t just be contrary to whatever I say.”

  “I think I can.” Murphy glanced at me. “You ready?”

  I nodded.

  He ran to a corner of the rusty tin building and looked down the length of the far wall.

  Coming up close behind him, I asked, “Anything?”

  “Nothing near.”

  Murphy jogged across the yard, looking left and looking right. We passed through a narrow gap between two maintenance buildings sitting perpendicular to one another. I followed Murphy through a thick stand of oaks and we came to a stop by a tree trunk thick enough to keep us both hidden from view. An intersection lay in front of us. Across the intersection and surrounding parking lots stood the veterinary science buildings. The first floor of one was fortified with boarded windows and doors, and plenty of two-by-four bracing. In several places Whites were climbing in and out past boards they’d ripped away from the walls.

  “You seeing this?” asked Murphy.

  “The Whites in the veterinary science building?”

  “Yeah.” Murphy looked around, as did I. “I don’t have much hope for the vaccination those guys were working on.”

  “Maybe they barricaded inside somewhere. Like a safe room or something.”

  Murphy turned and looked at me. “Optimism? From you?”

  I don’t know why, but Murphy’s snarky remark felt like an attack. So, I deflected. “At least, I’m not ‘tired.’“

  “What?”

  “Back there, after we got out of the helicopter. You said you were tired.”

  Murphy went back to scanning the street. “Still lots of Whites out there. We should wait before we cross.”

  “What did you mean?”

  “I should have kept my underwear.” Murphy leaned against the tree to rest. “My balls are cold.”

  “They’ll go numb.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “I’m sure you can massage them back to health.” I took a few steps to conceal myself behind another tree and get a view of the area past the building on our left. “What did you mean about the tired remark? All the craziness wearing you down?”

  Murphy didn’t answer.

  I gave him a long while before I pursued it. “Is it this life? All this? Running, chasing, killing? Living from one crisis to the next and barely stopping to take a breath? Is that what you’re tired of?”

  Murphy shrugged. “When I’m in the shit, I dig it. You know that.”

  “No doubt.” I examined the building directly across the street from us. It was a one-story structure with a long greenhouse attached to the rear. If I’d understood Fritz’s description correctly, it was one of the outposts. Judging by the number of fresh, naked corpses in the grass around it, I was sure.

  “Jumping out of the helicopter today,” said Murphy, “and watching it fly off, knowing we were stepping in it again, knowing I had a choice, it felt like a weight coming down on me.”

  “You afraid you’re going to die?”

  Murphy shook his head. “It’s not that simple. I mean, there’s that risk, you know. But I don’t think about it that way. I think I’m too stupid to know I’m not immortal.” He laughed.

  “I think I’ve got that same disease.”

  “I know you’ve got it.” Murphy laughed again. “Hell, you’ve got it so bad, I probably caught it from you.”

  “I think you’ve always had it.”

  “Yeah,” Murphy answered, absently.

  “What is it then?” I asked. “For real. What’s bothering you?”

  “I think it’s the killing. I think it’s finally starting to get to me.”

  “Killing is living,” I told him. “It’s the way things are now.”

  Chapter 20

  The helicopter’s guns fell silent, and the sound of the rotors changed.

  Murphy looked back in the direction we’d come. “They’re leaving.”

  I peeked out at the intersection in front of us. Whites were still in the street, still running in the direction of the mayhem, but not as many as there had been. I pointed to the one-story outpost across the street. “I’m thinking we cross over and check that place first. I mean, it’s right there.”

  Murphy nodded without a word.

  I cocked my head at the veterinary science building. “Then we head over there and see what’s up unless you want to check all the outposts first.”

  “Don’t care.” Murphy examined the veterinary science building. “I don’t have high hopes. But maybe we’ll find some survivors. The Whites couldn’t have killed everybody, right?”

  I half smiled and didn’t answer. Of course, the Whites could have killed everybody. Individually, they were mostly stupid, but collectively they made up a deadly killing machine that seemed always able to surprise with how effective it was at exterminating superior dipshits like me. Being smarter wasn’t everything. I stepped out from behind the tree trunk and waved Murphy to follow as I jogged toward the street.

  We headed for the far end of one of the greenhouses and saw rows of dead stems in hydroponic troughs through the broken glass panes. At the far end of the greenhouse, we came to a closed doorframe. Most of the door’s dirty glass was broken out and lying in our path. Bloody footprints on the concrete walkways ran through it in both directions.

  Murphy elbowed me and nodded down at the footprints, making sure I saw them, making sure I understood what they meant. Of course, I did. Naked Whites had been here before us. They were probably inside.

  I led, crunching glass under the soles of my boots and scanning back and forth through the jumble of metal troughs, pots, water hoses, and crunchy leaves, looking for lurking Whites I knew had to be there. And they always were, sneaky bastards, ready to pounce as soon as I let my guard down.

  My machete was up, keen to cleave a skull. My knife was wrapped tightly in my other hand, eager to split some ribs and rip through a heart.

  A third of the way in, I decided I didn’t want to wait to be surprised. “Hey, dickhead. If you’re in here, come out.”

  “Typical Zed shit,” Murphy groused. “Let me know next time before you do that.”

  Nothing in the greenhouse moved except for the brown leaves rustling when the breeze moved them. I looked over my shoulder to see Murphy on the walkway behind, hatchet and knife ready. “You’re in a bitchy mood.”

  “I should take the lead.”

  “If we had guns, I’d agree. But this is my thing now. I’ve had more swinging dick time than anybody.”

  “Swinging dick time?” Murphy laughed. “Is that what you call it when you run around naked with the Whites?”

  I turned and smiled, glad to see Murphy lighten up a little. “Sure.” I looked over the greenhouse one more time and pointed to the door at the far end of the walkway leading into the building. “Let’s get inside. There’s nobody in here.”

  I hurried up the length of the narrow walkway. At the end, at the doorway into the building, the bloody tracks turned into a collage of curdled red. The Whites had gathered around the door, trying to break it in. But the door was open, swung outwards from the building, undamaged.

  To the right and left, windows opened through the brick wall int
o the building. Clearly the greenhouse had been added some time after the small, one-story building had been constructed. Otherwise, the windows wouldn’t have been there. It was a deduction that made sense to Detective Zed.

  Most of the small square panes on one of the windows were broken out, and the framework for the panes was bent or ripped away. The bloody footprints and smears on the wall told me that’s the way the Whites had gotten into the building when the door had been closed. The door was only open because when the Whites made their exit with bellies full of warm, fresh meat, they were able to open the locked door from the inside. More deductions.

  I stepped through the doorway, careful not to swing it either further open or closed. It was time for sneaking, and a squeaky hinge would not do me any favors. The hall inside was dim and narrow with institutional, shiny floors, streaked with bloody marks and footprints. The walls were smudged by the dirty skin of Whites pushing through the hall to get to their prize.

  I sniffed. Fresh shit.

  The Whites had gorged themselves and then emptied their bowels on the floor before leaving. Or not leaving. They might still be napping inside, too sated to worry about the sound of a helicopter and machine gun fire somewhere across campus.

  I proceeded quietly to an intersection at the end of the short hall and looked around the corner. We were near one end of the building, so the hall leading left was short with only two open doors. To the right, the corridor extended a ways before it cut left at a ninety-degree angle. Most of the footprints led that way. With light glaring through a window to my left, pools of urine glistened.

  The infected fucks were here, somewhere.

  I nodded left.

  Murphy peeked down the short hall, and pointed to himself and then to one of the open doors. He pointed at me and then to the other door. Planning meeting concluded. Proceed to action items.

  We moved down the hall, side-by-side, each watching the doorway we’d assigned ourselves. It only took a few tense seconds.

  I peeked inside my assigned office to see nothing but two big wooden desks facing one another with chairs knocked over and papers strewn, phones on the floor, some of the drawers open. Somebody had put a half-ass effort into ransacking the room before giving up, but no living thing hid inside. I turned to Murphy. He was already looking at me, shrugging. The office he’d checked was also empty.