Zombies On The Rock (Book 3): The Republic of Newfoundland

by Carberry, Paul

  “Eric!” The corridor was dark, a trickle of natural light spilling in from an open door at the end of the hall on the left.

  The room started to spin as Dana’s head was clouded with the fever. Stumbling down the hallway, she was drawn to the light like a moth to the flame. Using her free arm to hold herself up, she leaned against the pine covered walls for support. Every few steps, a fragment of the lamp pierced the skin on the bottom of her feet.

  Where was Eric? Dana could feel herself fading from the immense pain. When she finally reached the open door, she found herself in the bathroom. A clear green jar filled with red and yellow capsules was on the vanity next to an open first aid kit. Eric couldn’t be too far away. “Eric,” Dana tried to scream, but she could only manage a faint sob.

  Dana twisted the pill bottle open and spilled them over the counter top. She tried to run the water in the sink but nothing came out. The taps must have been turned off or frozen. She threw one of the capsules in her mouth, but she found it painful to swallow. She managed to choke it down after a few challenging attempts. Rummaging through the first aid kit, she took out the tape and a new bandage. Dana started ripping the tape of her stomach. It caused her excruciating pain, her skin feeling like it was about to tear off with the tape. Once it was halfway off, she peeked down and nearly hurled. Even through the dark red blood that was smeared all over her stomach, she could see that the stitches had become infected. White puss seeped out through the entry wound and the skin was inflamed all around. Dana grabbed a bottle of peroxide and poured it over the wound, making her shriek in agony. She tore the rest of the old bandage off while she still had the strength; it was only a matter of time before the pain would be too much for her to handle. She placed the bandage over the wound and taped it onto her body as best she could. She turned to head back towards the bedroom, but the room spun around and around, and she slumped against the wall, sliding down slowly as the fever took over.

  CHAPTER THREE:

  BLIND

  Jason strained against his restraints to sit upright in the car seat, every bump and sharp turn sending him fumbling around in the backseat. They had thrown a black bag over his head moments after they forced him into the car, blinding him. In the darkness, all he could see was the blood oozing out through David’s fingers as they dug into Nick’s neck. He could feel the muzzle of a rifle digging into his ribcage. He could hear the men laughing about what David had done. Jason’s anger was reaching a climax, but there was nothing that he could do about it. He felt weak and defeated. His hatred for David Steele fueled his desire for revenge.

  “I’m going to kill you!” Jason’s threat was greeted with laughter. He didn’t know how, but Jason would have his vengeance against David. Jason savoured the thought of performing the cruelest, most diabolical acts against these bastards. Jason was going to take as many of them down as he could; he had no plans for escape. He was going to hunt down every Pharmakon employee and make them pay for what they did.

  “Where are you taking me?” Jason asked but they ignored him. The plastic tie straps dug deeper into his wrists the more he struggled. He could feel his fingers going numb. “David.” Jason started to lean forward but a hand grabbed him by the back of his jacket and slammed him back into the seat. “I’m going to kill you David.” Jason twisted his chest towards the rifle muzzle and leaned into it. “This is your last chance.”

  “David’s sitting up front,” someone answered, causing everyone to laugh. “He can’t even hear you.”

  Jason felt his face turn bright red, his anger flared up. The laughter made him furious with everyone in the car. “I’ll kill all of you.”

  “Who the fuck is this guy?” The guard sitting next to him questioned. The others muttered amongst themselves. A female’s voice reminded him of his wife, Tracy, except it was hoarse and void of any charm. With any luck Jason would be brought to the Pharmakon base and once inside he would find a way to rescue her.

  “I’m your worst nightmare, bud.” Jason kept his voice calm, trying to play the fearless hero.

  “You’re nobody, so shut the fuck up or I will silence you. I’m getting sick of listening to your brash bullshit.” David’s voice boomed in Jason’s ear. A powerful grip dug into Jason’s neck, sending a searing pain through his body.

  “Who is it, boss?” The woman’s voice questioned. “How do you know this guy?”

  “You have to see for yourself.” David yanked the hood off Jason. The bright light temporally blinded him. He raised his hands up to block the glare.

  “Jason...” Her voice was softer now, more recognizable.

  Jason lowered his hands slowly, it was like he was afraid of who he was going to see sitting across from him. The yellow sun from outside glowed in her blonde hair. Before Jason’s eyes got used to the radiant shine, a giant hand covered his face and yanked him back, pinning him against the headrest. Jason tried to fight back, but the guards pinned his arms against his side. A sharp, stinging pain in his neck was immediately followed by a warm gush of fluids injected deep into the muscle tissue. Within seconds Jason felt woozy. The grip on his neck let go and his head was too heavy to hold up now. His jaw slammed into his chest, the muscles in his upper back tensed up and knotted. He tried to look up, but he fought just to keep his eyes open.

  “Jason.” Her voice was filled with confidence now; she knew exactly who he was. Jason tried to call out to his wife, but he passed out cold before her name could escape his throat.

  When Jason finally regained consciousness, his head was spinning. He opened his eyes, but he was entombed in total darkness.

  “Tracy.”

  Jason called out, suddenly remembering that his wife’s voice was the last thing he heard before he passed out.

  He tried to sit up, but he had been put in restraints. He could feel the straps on his legs, chest and wrists. He fought against them to no avail; the bands were probably made from thick leather. There was absolutely no light in this room no matter which direction he looked. How long had he been in this cell? Jason wondered how much time had passed since Nick’s death. It could have been days or hours; he had no concept of time. It felt like he barely got any rest, but that was certainly a side effect of the medication. What did David inject into his neck? A putrid funk hung in the air, like a mixture of shit and blood. It was so strong Jason could nearly taste it.

  “Tracy!” Jason screamed angrily, his voice echoing of the walls. He pictured he was in a small room and sharing it with a rotting corpse.

  Struggling against the leather straps didn’t even cause his constraints to move. Jason strained with all of his might, but the only thing he managed to do was cause himself more suffering. He remembered the last time he had been in a Pharmakon prison. He must have frightened David because this time he was rendered helpless. At least the last time they had allowed him to move and eat. Jason quickly realized his fight with David would not be on even grounds. Being alone with his thoughts, his mind raced with terrible thoughts.

  Why had Tracy become a Pharmakon soldier? Was she there to watch Nick die? If she did, why didn’t she help him? His thoughts quickly spiralled out of control. He was unable to keep focused; the crushing weight of his misery muddled his better judgement. Jason drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

  Jason woke up in a cold sweat. The room was freezing and his body was soaking wet with perspiration. He tried to move, but he was still in restraints. The fetid odour lingered in the room and it had grown more repugnant then before. The sour smell of piss had been added to the mix. It was making his stomach churn. He was still enshrined by the complete blackness, making him feel like he had been cut off from the world. He was starting to wonder if this was the purgatory of his own personal hell. Maybe David had killed him in front of Tracy in that car. Violent images of Nick’s death played over and over in his head. He could see David’s fingers covered in blood and the giant hole in Nick’s neck where his windpipe had been before it had been torn out. Jason tried
to push those awful thoughts out of his head and replace them with more pleasant memories. He tried to picture sitting at home on the couch next to Tracy, just the two of them watching television before the outbreak. He tried his hardest to visualize simpler times, but his mind refused to offer him any peace.

  Jason wasn’t sure if it was a side effect of the drug David had injected into his system or if it was something else, but his mind started playing nasty tricks on him. A vivid and atrocious fusion of his past and present merged into the worst version of his own personal hell. Tracy had replaced Nick, David’s fingers digging into his wife’s neck. Nick’s blood was replaced by Tracy’s, her blank stare fixated on him. She tried to beg for help, but a vile, gurgling groan escaped her lips. David ripped her throat open, a warm gush of crimson sprayed over Jason’s face. She reached out for him, she had tears streaming down her face. Jason tried to reach out for her, but no matter how hard he tried, she remained just out of his reach.

  Jason’s haunting nightmare was interrupted by the sound of a door creaking open. “Let me out of here,” Jason blared at the intruder.

  “Aw, you’re awake,” an unfamiliar voice answered, from just above Jason. “How are you feeling?”

  Jason exerted all of his strength in an attempt to lunge at the intruder. “Where’s Tracy?”

  “Are you in much pain or discomfort?” The man’s voice was coarse and raspy. Jason couldn’t tell if the man was simply ignoring him or if Jason had lost his voice.

  “I’m going to kill every last one of you,” Jason snarled at the man.

  Jason could hear the man tapping something against metal. “Mr. Cook is it?” Jason didn’t respond. “I’m just the doctor here, and not by choice.”

  “What do you mean? They kidnapped you?” Jason was doubtful that this man was here against his will. Nobody who was being held against their will would react as calmly as this man.

  The man continued to tap obnoxiously, the sound boring deep into Jason’s ear drums. The racket got louder and louder with each beat. “Well, not exactly.” The doctor’s scratchy voice cracked. “I had been with my grandchildren when the outbreak started. My wife had a wicked fever. She was burning up. I had called for an ambulance but they never came. She died in her sleep. I did everything I could do to save her, but she passed away in her bed.” He paused for a moment to wipe away a tear. “We had no idea what was happening, why no one was coming to help. I couldn’t leave the kids behind, so we just sat in the house. I had fallen asleep in the chair. My granddaughter had woken me up when she was rummaging through the closet. I looked over and she had taken out her grandmother’s coat.” The doctor choked back a tear. There was a long silence before he began again. “She said grandma was cold and she was fetching her favourite jacket.” His voice came back more timid and the emotional loss hung on every word he spoke. “I was beside myself. I didn’t even get up from my chair to see what my grandchildren were up too. I went back to sleep. Their screams woke me up too late. By the time I got in the room, she had already sank her ghastly teeth into both of them. Their blood stained her pale smile. I didn’t know what to do. I turned and started to run away.”

  Jason felt for the doctor; his story was heart breaking. “I still don’t understand how you ended up here, working for Pharmakon.” Listening to his dark tale had distracted Jason from his terrible thoughts, but it wasn’t the relief he needed.

  “They had kept an eye on me since I was a retired doctor as a backup in case one of their own didn’t make it. Their neurosurgeon was in St. John’s when the outbreak started; his escorts were overwhelmed by the hordes of undead. They needed a replacement. They picked me up as I was trying to flee Gander and offered me protection, food, and water. I’m an old man who can’t fend for himself anymore. What other choice did I have?” The doctor put his hand on Jason’s shoulder. “I know they have made me do some awful things since I’ve been here, but I’ve also been able to help. Besides, I’m too afraid to die. I don’t know if I believe Gordon Purchase has the cure, but if he does, maybe this nightmare will be over someday.”

  Jason felt like this man may be his best chance of escaping. He could tell that the doctor was still a compassionate person. Maybe he could be persuaded to help. “Do you think you could turn the lights on for me? I’m sick of being stuck in the dark.” The doctor removed his hand and remained silent. Jason didn’t hear footsteps or any sounds. The doctor appeared to be standing still. “Please, I don’t deserve this. I can help you.”

  “Mr. Cook the lights are on. I am so sorry, but it’s like I’ve said. They make me do horrible things to people.”

  CHAPTER FOUR:

  HOPE

  The night sky was full of stars and the moon cast shimmering light across the snow. The star lit sky reflected like a mirror in Warrant Smiths boots. He looked over at Private Byrnes unpolished boots. He chuckled to himself. Old habits died hard. Not only did he continue to polish his boots twice daily, but he still inspected his troops even in the apocalypse. They had made their way back towards the city limits while the rest of his battalion pushed forward towards Argentia. Smith carried one of the two working radios and had left the other with the main group so they could keep themselves up to date on any developments.

  “Hey Byrne, let’s stop here and take a quick break. Smoke em if you got em.” Warrant Smith dropped his backpack onto the ground. There was barely enough snow to cover the grass, but the ground was frozen solid. Smith looked around the area for a place to hide his ruck sack. Byrne pulled out a pack of cigarettes and placed a fag in his mouth. Covering his mouth with his hand to shield the lighter from the breeze, he lit his cigarette and took a long drag before repeating the process with a second smoke. Once it was lit, he handed it to the warrant. “Thanks.” Smith took a long puff himself then stared at the cigarette as he flicked it with his fingers and watched as the ash drifted down into the snow. The two men enjoyed the peace and tranquility in the secluded woods. Warrant Smith inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill his lungs and he held it in as long as he could before exhaling. Warrant Smith watched as Byrne made ring after ring, the smoke rhythmically dissipating into a tiny patch of smog before disappearing into the night sky. The sweet smell of smoke and the pine from the surrounding trees reminded Warrant Smith of his early training days when they would spend weeks in the woods. “How many more of those do you have?”

  Byrne looked down at the pack and shook it. “Not enough. Maybe we can find some in town.” He placed them in the top pouch of his ruck sack. He did his best to hide his shivering, but Warrant Smith could see that the young Private was cold.

  “All right, so here is the plan.” Warrant Smith knelt down on one knee. “We do a recce on the place, find our target and extract her. I don’t want any casualties unless it’s absolutely necessary. We can’t risk being seen.” He started rummaging through his pack looking for his winter whites.

  Private Byrne pulled out the white pants and slid them on over his combats. “What if we can’t get to her without being spotted?”

  Warrants Smith had all of his snow camouflage out and had started to pull it on over his uniform. “Then we wait for an opportunity. If one doesn’t happen, we make it happen. We swore an oath to protect the civilians of our great country and I’ll be dammed if I don’t keep my word.”

  “I know, but the government is gone. I mean, shouldn’t we make sure we get her out alive at any cost.” Byrne inspected his weapon, making sure it was functioning properly.

  Smith checked the magazine to see how many rounds were left. “We can’t go around killing people. Besides you seen how many of them there were. We would lose in a gunfight with them. We need to form a battle plan before we take them down.” Twelve rounds was all he had left. He jammed the magazine back into his service rifle and tapped the bottom to make sure the magazine was seated properly. “You see how they were just shooting at the zombies.”

  Byrne broke off some bows from a tree and covered up his ruck sac
k as best he could near a bush. “Yeah, they must have ammo to waste.”

  “Exactly, how many bullets do you have left?” Warrant Smith hung his ruck high up in the tree. “See how much more natural that looks. How often do you see a pile of branches on the ground next to a tree?”

  Byrne looked up at the ruck sack and back at his own. “I have seven plus a full magazine in my tactical vest.”

  “All right, so keep it quite. Remember to use hand signals whenever possible. Stay low and keep your eyes forward. You won’t see anything with your eyes down. Stay alert and stay close.” Smith took the lead and headed towards the hum of the city. Far off in the distance lights could be seen. Their boots crunched into the cold snow, breaking through the hard layer of ice that had formed over the ground. They crept towards the streets, their footsteps would have made less noise on the pavement. It didn’t take long before they could hear people talking up ahead. The warrant held up his hand with a clenched fist and the two men stopped and surveyed the area. Just beyond the tree line a flickering street light illuminated the barren street. Warrant Smith pointed to the right-hand side of the light towards a tall house that had light shinning through an upstairs window.

  Both men moved swiftly towards the house in formation, their assault rifles raised to the ready. They moved in unison; years of training together allowed them to react without hesitation to the basic hand signals they used. A shadow appeared in the window. Warrant Smith held up his hand and both men stopped to observe the movements. They weren’t close enough yet to pick out the details, but the figure appeared to be a child. The kid appeared to be playing with an airplane or some toy, running around the room, racing past the window every couple of seconds. Warrant Smith took his time to evaluate his surroundings. He didn’t feel threatened by the shadow in the window any longer. A dark alley between two houses led to an open gate, allowing him to see a vehicles lights approaching from the adjacent street. With the subtle movement of his arm both men moved towards the gate. They made the effort to stay in the shadows, making sure that when the alley came into view for the driver they would remain in the darkness. Most of the grass still showed in the yard, but the snow had drifted up against the wooden fence that ran along the back yard. The gate door had been torn from its hinges. The wooden door had been removed, but the signs of a struggle remained. The post that held the hinges was splintered and a bloody handprint remained on the board on the other side.