by Jeannie Rae
She removed a red, heart-shaped, metal dog tag from Gypsy’s bloody collar. Looking at it for a moment in her hand, she could see GYSPY etched into the metal and her phone number below. Wiping away a droplet of blood that had splattered onto the surface, Roxy put the tag in her pocket, alongside the cork, before retying the tee shirt around the dog’s neck. Reaching for the hoodie, she pulled it onto the dog and tightened the hood strings. She slid Gypsy into the plastic liner and folded the end over. Roxy wiped the tears dripping down her nose and chin as she gently placed Gypsy into the backpack and zipped it up.
She went back into the manager’s office and viewed the town map on the wall. She tried to think of where to go, when something crept into her mind, a memory. She tried to focus on it.
It had something to do with Randy. Or Rhino. Yeah, it was Rhino. He said something important before I passed out. What was it?
She closed her eyes and tried to think. Okay, Randy shoved me into the truck, Gypsy came out distracted him… He shot my dog! I was shot…who shot me? Randy? No, Rhino. I remember, Rhino shot me. He passed me, and said something to Randy—but Randy was dead… What did he say? He said… We’ve got to go…before…they take out the town at midnight. That’s it! That’s what he said. They’re going to take out the town at midnight. What? They’re going to take out the town at midnight?
And the good news keeps coming.
Roxy looked up at the clock on the wall, quarter after eleven. She had forty five minutes to get out of Port Steward. The bottleneck would surely be jammed up with those trying to leave.
“I need to get out of town, without using the interstate, in now, forty-four minutes,” she said sarcastically aloud. “Sure, no problem.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
Hank parked the truck behind the old post office, driving through an open gate marked with a rusted sign, Authorized Employees Only. A few meandering infected could be spotted on the street, not far from the entrance gate.
The rear side of the old postal office had a haunting feel to it. Discarded mailboxes and sorting tables were huddled together within a small, fenced-off area near the mail truck parking area. A dock area at the backside of the building had graffiti scribbled on the walls and roll up door. Debris and trash from chip bags, soda cans and liquor bottles littered the dock and collected along the fence line. Dave remembered when this place was in full use—with mail carts being whisked along to the trucks, small-town employees that always wore a smile and the mail carriers that didn’t hesitate to throw out a wave. Now it had become a ghost of what it had once been.
Joe continued to sulk in slow motion mode. Dave had tried to engage him. What do you say to someone who just lost their family in a span of a few minutes?
Dave jumped out of the back of the truck and came around to the passenger door, Shotgun had already opened it. As the truck engine rumbled, Dave pushed in the cigarette lighter, then pulled out the holey plank from the truck bed and used it to brace Shotgun’s leg. Taking a moment to see where Hank went, Dave located him at the driveway. Hank was closing the gate and securing it with a chain and a carabiner from his key set.
Dave let his eyes fall to Shotgun’s injured leg. He’d lost quite a bit of blood, but the wound had been wrapped up pretty tight. The saturated shirt looked like it had stopped most of the bleeding. Lacing the box strapping through one of Shotgun’s belt loops, then through the holes in the board and around the leg from top to bottom, Dave made sure there was no slack, then tied it tightly in the front, near the ankle. The cigarette lighter popped out, and he pressed it against the plastic strapping. It melted together, the strap securing the holey peg board to the back of Shotgun’s leg.
“This is as good as it’ll get,” Dave said tight lipped, offering his hand to Shotgun.
Shotgun nodded, taking Dave’s hand. He grunted as he slid off the passenger seat and stood.
“I think it’ll have to do.”
Shotgun wrapped his arm around the back of Dave’s neck. Joe joined them on Shotgun’s other side, shouldering some of Shotgun’s weight. They staggered thirty feet, to a rectangular metal grate in the ground. Dave ducked out from under Shotgun’s shoulder and reached for the grate. As he hoisted on the rusty grate, Hank’s weathered hands appeared at the other end.
Hank smiled at Dave, offering quick nod. Both men heaved and were barely able to get the five by three foot steel out of its resting place. They shoved the corroded drain cover back, until the gap was big enough for them to fit through the opening.
The shimmering moon’s illumination revealed the ground at the bottom of the empty, drain access was wet, but there wasn’t much water down there. It was summer after all—there hadn’t been any rain in several weeks. A steel access ladder bolted to the concrete wall went down about ten feet to the floor of the drain.
“Okay Joe, you first,” Dave said, taking his place back under Shotgun’s shoulder. “You go down, then we’ll hand Rogue to you. Then you can help us from below to get Shotgun down there.”
Without a word, Joe dejectedly walked over to the squared hole in the asphalt and began to descend into the abyss. Rogue whined getting close to the hole, backing up, then moving closer again.
“It’s pretty dark in here. You have a flashlight in the truck Hank?” Joe called out.
“Yeah, give me a minute,” Hank replied, jogging over to the truck. He quickly returned with two black, metal flashlights. Pocketing the smaller one, Hank passed down the larger flashlight to Joe.
Joe gave the tunnel a few passes with the light before turning it off and setting it on the ground. He climbed back up about three rungs on the access ladder to receive Rogue. Hank carefully lifted the Pit Bull at the ribcage, when she began to groan and squirm. Panicking, Hank put her back down, shaking his head.
“You want to trade places?” Dave offered.
Hank eagerly nodded and came to Shotgun’s side, relieving Dave from his position. Kneeling down near the access, Dave called Rogue over. She hesitated at first, but then bashfully came to him. Dave approached her from the side, wrapping his arms around her chest and rear, lifting her, then handing her down to Joe.
Joe could only grab her with one hand. She began thrashing as soon as he wrapped his arm around her ribs. He held on and descended the ladder quickly, setting her on the ground.
One tricky one down, and one to go, Dave thought, eyeing at Shotgun.
Clanking sounded from behind them. Dave wiped sweat beads accumulating on his forehead from the sticky night, and turned to see about eight infected at the fence. They pressed up against the gate, leaning on it and hissing. They could only be roamers by their lack of intensity. A very tall woman in a black tank top skulked behind the fence. She looked a little like Roxy, but taller by at least a foot. Her head turned toward Dave, snarling, as drool crept from the side of her mouth. She snapped her teeth at the chain link fence, before backing up and running into it. She stalked Dave from fence as her blackened eyes cast a feeling of doom over him.
Dave looked at the aged, cyclone fence, it wouldn’t hold for long. Reaching out for Shotgun’s arm, Dave hoped that more infected wouldn’t come. That woman could rile up the others or attract more roamers or worse—runners. Runners, as Dave had come to call them, thanks to Hank’s explanation of their names on their way to the post office, not only ran at speeds that nearly defied the capabilities of humans, but their strength and adrenaline were unmatched. Other than wailers—that call out to nearby infected—runners were the worst.
“We have to get you down fast. We’re going to try not to hurt you, but we have to get out of here,” Dave said, positioning Shotgun in front of the drain access.
“I know. I swear I’m going to help you guys find Kate,” Shotgun said, lowering his bad leg onto the first ladder rung.
Hank and Dave each supported a good portion of his weight by holding him at each armpit. Shotgun slightly hopped down the rungs. After the first few, he gripped the grimy, ladder rugs tightly, all
eviating some of the weight from his legs. Once he made it down to the bottom few, Joe helped him to the ground.
More grunts and growls echoed in the distance. Turning back to the fence, Dave felt discouraged by the sight of the infected. Their numbers had easily doubled since his last look back, and now, there were runners. At least six of them slammed their bodies into the fence, clawing and biting at it. Three runners rebounded off the fence, then raced toward it again with the same inhuman speed and intensity. A young girl, about Kate’s age, began to wail. Others joined in creating a harmony of destruction.
Hank patted Dave shoulder, giving a concerned nod and whispered, “I’m going in.”
With that, Hank climbed down the ladder quickly. As Dave began to climb down, he could see that there were dozens of infected now at the fence and even more answering the call that the little girl had started. Dave began to wonder where they all came from. The infected must scatter when food isn’t nearby to search for people. Then, once one of them gets a whiff or hears a loud commotion, they emerge on the scene by the masses. There must be hundreds or thousands of them by now all over The Port, lurking in yards and between buildings—waiting for the call of the others.
The fence bowed in under the weight of so many pressed up against it. The Roxy-look-alike still thrashed into the fence and into others. More were wailing and howling, while only being temporarily held back by the flimsy fence. It looked as if it would give way any moment now.
Dave stepped down two more rungs and grasped at the metal grate. He tugged and pulled on it, but it was too heavy. He and Hank could barely move it from up top, now that he was beneath it and at an awkward angle, there was no way he could get it closed. He tugged and yanked, but the rusted metal remained unmovable.
Dave heard the crash, metal clanking and grating across the pavement. The fence had given out. He could hear victorious grunts and growls from the horde. Dave shut his eyes tightly and pulled at the grate with everything he had. Suddenly he felt something brush by his leg. He opened his eyes to see Joe shimmying up the ladder next to him.
Joe clutched the grate a few inches from Dave’s hands. They pulled, using their feet wedged into the ladder rungs as leverage. The grate began to move, slowly grinding against the asphalt up top, as echoes of the infected drew nearer.
The men heaved again. The grate was almost in place, as they pulled another time. Dave could see that it was only slightly ajar. As the grunts grew even louder, Dave was sure he would see the army of roamers and runners at any moment. It sounded as if the infected were mere feet from them.
Tugging on the grate one last time, they slid it into the opening. Joe let go, jumping down, shaking his tired arms. Dave pulled his hands out, just as new fingers replaced his in the gap. The infected were above them. Dozens of fingers wiggled through the gaps in the grate.
Dave hustled down the ladder and stepped away from the grate above. Growling fiercely at the crowd gathered above them, Rogue stood in a guarded stance at the bottom of the ladder.
“Let’s go,” Dave said out if breath, backing away from the opening.
“They’re going to get in,” Joe said, shaking his head. “They’ll make it out of the city with us.”
“No, they won’t. They don’t know to pull. I don’t know why, but it’s like there is no common sense with them. They won’t get it. We’re safe,” Dave said, wiping the sweat from his neck and chin.
“Are you sure about that?” Joe asked, raising an eyebrow.
“When Roxy wrecked her car, she had a girl that was infected in the car with her. The girl couldn’t figure out how to unbuckle her seat belt or open the car door. She just kept hitting her head on the window. Like the fence, they didn’t try to open it or climb it. It fell over because they crowded up against it. The weight of them on it caused the fence to fall. They can lean all they want up against that grate, it doesn’t open that way. They won’t get in,” Dave said, still catching his breath.
“Alright, if you say so. Let’s get a move on. I’d like to get out of this tunnel as soon as possible, we have less than an hour until midnight,” Joe said, looking as if he took little comfort in what Dave had said, but nodded in agreement nonetheless.
Hank started out in front, using the big flashlight to illuminate the way. Dave took his spot under Shotgun’s arm across from Joe.
“My father used to work for the city, before he died,” Dave began, “He worked this tunnel for months after the Hughes flood. A couple times I came out on the job with him, and he’d tell me about it when I was really young. It wasn’t until years later when I really got to know the tunnels, hanging out with my buddies. We just need to follow this tunnel about a mile and a half, and then it will fork. Stay to the right of the fork, then about another mile and a half or two, we’ll come up in a field in Bayberry Hollow. We are home free after that.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
James eyed his watch with renewed intensity, eleven twenty-eight. The sterilization would begin shortly. He closed his laptop and slid it into his day bag. Pocketing his cell phone, he grabbed his keys and a hand gun from the second drawer of his desk. The loaded Colt, had been a gift from his father, many years ago. James was suddenly startled by the sound of the intercom buzzing.
“Go ahead Amy,” he said sliding the gun into his bag.
“Sir the last helicopter will be touching down in less than three minutes,” she said.
“Very good then. I am just collecting some last minute things. I have two boxes that I need you to carry. Can you manage?” He asked abruptly.
“Yes sir, be right in.”
Amy walked in with her oversized purse slung over her shoulder. Noticing the boxes on the chair, she scooped them up. James finished seizing the last of his personal effects that would fit into his bag and zipped it up. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he walked empty handed to the door.
“Shall we?” He said, opening the door.
Upon exiting the office, they hurried down a long corridor toward the maintenance stairwell. James realized that this would be the last time he would ever be in this building. Running Angora had been a dream for him. A dream that had come true, and now, he would make even grander dreams come true.
“Where are the remaining passengers for the last flight? And did you contact the Colonel to grant permission for the final flight?” He asked.
“They are already waiting on the landing pad, sir,” Amy said out of breath, trailing behind, “The Colonel was a little ticked about us going over the eleven o’clock deadline, but he said that we are clear to take off no later than eleven-forty.”
“Are the passengers the ones I requested to fly with?” He interrogated.
“Yes sir, um Randy and Rhino, Mara and the little girl, and us,” she said.
After entering the stairwell, they ascended one flight of stairs to the roof. When James opened the access door, he found that the helicopter had already landed, the landing pad being otherwise vacant, as the passengers had already boarded the helicopter.
James ran ahead of Amy and quickly climbed into the chopper. He was buckling his seatbelt as Amy approached. Her long, red hair whipped in the wind generated by the propellers. She struggled to keep the lid on the box. As she approached the side of the craft, Rhino took the boxes from her and helped her into her seat. The big man patted his taped up abdomen, as if he felt a twinge of pain, before giving the pilot the thumbs up, and they swiftly rose into the air.
James nodded to Randy. He looked well. They bullet had expelled itself from Randy’s body. This hadn’t the first time he had been shot. James was well aware of Randy’s healing abilities. This had been the first time he’d been shot in the head though. James had been quite worried when he’d received the call from Rhino. Luckily, the bullet had ricochet off Randy’s skull, skidding across the bone. In a matter of twenty minutes, Randy’s body had completely healed itself. James noticed that his security leader seemed shaken. Randy clenched his jaw as his eyes sca
nned Port Steward out the window, as if he was looking for something. James thought it best to leave him for now. He could find out what’s troubling Randy once they touch down in Blue Falls.
“Your lab technicians have been evacuated?” James eyed Mara.
“Yes, Lex and Angie are waiting for us in Blue Falls. They are preparing a lab in the facility to continue our research and coordinating the arrangements for patient zero,” Mara said, briefly eyeing Randy and Rhino.
“Very good then,” James turned toward the window.
He thought about Walker or as he is now known, patient zero. Walker had been a valuable asset to Angora and to Randy. And now he is even more valuable. He will be Mara’s test subject, providing her with vital data about how the serum interacts with the human body and allowing her to test her cure theories on him.
James viewed Port Steward with nostalgia. Now came the time for him to close this chapter, and move on to the next. Excited about the next chapter—already under way, he glanced over at Mara and little Kathryn Harper, sitting beside Randy.
“I’m glad you made it Kathryn,” James turned his attention back to the little girl.
“It’s Kate. Where’s my family?” She said defensively. “You said that they would be right along.” She turned to Mara.
“They will be,” James interjected, “They’re to meet us in Blue Falls in a few days.”
“Liar! I overheard them talking,” tears streamed from Kate’s eyes as she pointed to Rhino, “They are bombing the city tonight!”
James looked at Rhino, who remained stone-faced, before shifting his eyes to Mara, who wore a faint smirk. James’ eyes found their way back to the child.
“Listen, you weren’t supposed to hear that. We would never have meant to worry you. Your father and sister are fine. They are being evacuated before the air strike,” James said calmly.
“I don’t believe you,” she scowled at him.
