The Undead Chronicles (Vol. 2): Darker Days

by O'Brian, Patrick J.

  “We aren’t all the time,” Weir explained. “But we’re using the department weapons and vehicles, so we figure we might as well represent.”

  Sidearms from both men were lying on the ground, too far for either of them to reach without being shot by the military men.

  “Not much left to protect these days,” Bryce noted. “Why stay here? Are your families still around?”

  Both remained silent a moment.

  “His son and daughter didn’t make it,” Weir said slowly at last. “We held out hope that his ex got them to a safe spot, but it turned out their community got overrun. I sent my wife and kids ahead to South Carolina with some friends. If they make it, we’ve got a good spot picked out where we can make a go of it.”

  Mullins said nothing during the explanation, but his pained expression said what a thousand words could not. Bryce understood leaving loved ones in the hands of trusted people, so saying anything contrary made him a hypocrite.

  “We were gathering the last of what we needed before heading south when we saw your vehicles roll into town,” Weir explained. “We hoped maybe there was some salvation coming for the survivors after all.”

  “We’re still looking for answers,” Bryce said, noticing the nearby Marines weren’t exceptionally thrilled that he took time to converse with the two cops.

  “Where are you guys from?” Mullins inquired. “I mean, what base?”

  “Norfolk,” Bryce answered without elaboration.

  “I was active four years in the Army,” Mullins said as though it might gain him further access to the mission parameters.

  Bryce nodded appreciation instead. Before the conversation grew any more personal, he decided to ensure he wasn’t talking to imposters.

  “Do you two have any credentials on you?” he inquired, drawing quizzical stares.

  Both men reached slowly behind their backs, tossing him their wallets, which they still carried for some reason.

  “Force of habit,” Mullins explained before anyone asked.

  Opening them, Metzger found both driver’s licenses and formal identification from the Buffalo Police Department for each, which certainly couldn’t be forged after the apocalypse without some divine intervention. They each held family photos, and Weir still had money tucked away, as though it might come in handy one day. Not disturbing anything more than necessary, the lieutenant commander finished and tossed their property back to each man.

  He took a moment and decided to see what the two officers knew that might aid with the impending trip to the factory.

  “Were you two working the day the Hemingway Factory went up?” he asked, drawing questioning stares from the Marines who stood around the Humvee.

  He held up a finger, telling them to stay put and keep quiet without even speaking.

  “I was,” Weir said. “I was working on the other end of town, so when the explosion happened, just about everyone else headed there while I was left to protect the remainder of the city. Turned out that was the luckiest thing that could’ve happened to me.”

  “How so?” Bryce asked, noticing even the Marines took interest in what the officer had to say.

  “Just about everyone who went there came down with the sickness. Our guys, deputies, firemen, medics, and definitely anyone who was working at that place. We couldn’t have known.”

  Weir shook his head slowly, and Bryce tried to imagine how many colleagues and friends the man lost that day. He recalled the news broadcast on the ship saying something in the following days about particles in the air from the multiple explosions that people inhaled. Scientists believed the substance was actually part of the terrorist attack itself, and not some incidental secondary effect caused by the explosions.

  “That day was pure chaos,” Weir continued. “The following days were worse, because it was just call after call with these things attacking people. At first, we thought it was some kind of new drug fucking people up, but our rounds weren’t dropping them. We discovered headshots took them down half a day before the news confirmed it.” He paused. “I could’ve been bitten half a dozen times that first day before I knew what the fuck was going on.”

  A moment of awkward silence filled the parking lot with the only sound being the wind coming off nearby Lake Erie.

  “I was off that day,” Mullins said after a few seconds. “By the time I realized what was going on, my ex-wife had already moved the kids to her parents’ house without telling me. Getting around the city was no easy task once people started getting sick after the explosion. People were everywhere in the streets, either looting or running for their lives, and I ended up shooting a few of those things when I got out of my car to look for my kids.

  “At first, I thought I’d be in trouble, maybe even lose my job, but as things escalated, I realized there wasn’t going to be a normal world anymore. I ended up at Brad’s house,” Mullins said nodding toward his buddy, “and he was already on the ball, getting his family sheltered in place to ride out the storm.”

  “It wasn’t until a few days passed without any assistance from anyone that I realized we needed to make future plans,” Weir added. “I sent my wife and kids ahead with some buddies who owned firearms and told Mike I’d help him find his family before I headed south. I wanted them to come with us if we found them safe.”

  Bryce knew from their silence that what they found likely gave both men nightmares in their overnights.

  “I’m not sure anywhere is safe,” he stated, “but being around other people is the important thing. None of us can make it in this world on our own for long.”

  A question crossed his mind, but a member of the undead drew close to the group, making its presence known with throaty noises. One of the Marines stepped forward to stab it forcefully in the skull with his knife before looking around for additional danger before returning to his post.

  “It surely didn’t take you a month to do what you needed to do up here,” Bryce said, addressing both men. “So why are you still in the area?”

  “We ended up helping a few other buddies from work,” Weir answered. “Believe me, I’m ready to find my family, but we helped strangers, too. People saw the uniforms and just asked for help.”

  Bryce might have questioned his own devotion to a job that basically went to the wayside, except he was several states removed from his family on a mission that might cost him his life.

  Presumably for no government paycheck.

  “You’re going to Hemingway, aren’t you?” Weir finally asked, his tone indicating travel in the opposite direction might prove wiser.

  Bryce didn’t immediately reply, evading eye contact instead, which provided the officers with an answer.

  “It’s nothing but death,” Mullins spoke his opinion. “You’re going into the epicenter, where there’s surely going to be remnants of the chemical agent, but more zombies than you would’ve seen at Woodstock.”

  “Zombies went to Woodstock?” Bryce kidded, drawing a thin grin from Mullins.

  “You know what I mean. We’ve survived this past month by staying as far away from that place as possible.”

  Bryce led the two cops away from the Marines slightly, even though his fellow military men had lost interest in the conversation.

  “We’re going to find out who caused all of this,” he said. “I don’t know that it’ll do any good, or that we’ll even survive this, but we need answers before we piece society back together. We might not be able to save the ones already lost, but we might find a way to make certain anyone bit doesn’t die from it.”

  “We get it,” Weir said, “but that doesn’t make it a rational idea.”

  “Look, I’m sorry we aren’t here to help with rebuilding things,” Bryce said. “The fact is everyone is on their own for a while. I know that isn’t reassuring, but getting things up and running will take years, and it’ll be
a town-by-town endeavor. The government managed to save some of our best minds, so maybe we’ll get things right this time instead of catering to the almighty dollar.”

  “Good luck with that,” Mullins said with a doubtful edge to his voice.

  Bryce saw the same structure in place currently that remained in power when the world fell apart. He wondered if there truly was any escape from a society where people who held power and influence dictated everyday lives. Even though currency had changed, the same people still held all of the items people wanted and needed to survive. He couldn’t disagree with the two cops, although they were free to be with their families and move forward as they saw fit.

  Exhaling heavily through his nose, he decided to weigh his future once he returned to Norfolk. For now, he needed to focus on making it in and out of Buffalo alive.

  ***

  Dan Metzger walked down one of the aisles inside the warehouse, finding the interior much more immense than he imagined. After more than a month of sitting vacant, the building smelled musty, though a heavy scent of gunpowder lingered in the air from all of the fireworks sealed inside.

  While larger crates and boxes remained atop the stronger shelving that reached close to the ceiling, a moderate inventory of unopened fireworks remained atop the counters below for perusing by customers. Metzger knelt down beside one of the counters, pulling a small flashlight from his pocket to examine the inventory. Skipping past the traditional noise makers that sat on the ground, he quickly found several gift baskets full of items that fired into the air, producing both loud booms and a brief light show.

  “That’ll do,” he said, scooping up the basket.

  “How many do you need?” Nestler asked, as he and the other two Marines stood guard over Metzger while he conducted his search.

  “Two more to be safe,” Metzger answered. “We’re already cramped in the Humvees.”

  Nestler grunted in agreement, grabbing one of the baskets and handing it to Stanley before scooping up another, which he personally carried outside.

  No one bothered to secure the door, though Metzger stopped to close it as best he could. He didn’t want to be responsible for zombies randomly walking inside and attacking anyone who chose the building for shelter. He found his brother talking to the two police officers, which surprised him, because he figured everyone would give the outsiders the cold shoulder.

  “Everything good?” he asked Bryce when he approached, still carrying the fireworks gift basket.

  “For me?” his brother asked, feigning surprise.

  “They’re more of a party favor,” Metzger replied before nodding toward the two police officers. “You guys tagging along?”

  “We’ll probably let the professionals handle this one,” Mullins said cautiously. “We aren’t exactly equipped to walk into contaminated areas.”

  “Are we?” Metzger asked his brother.

  “Yes. Everything we need is loaded in the Humvees.”

  “We were grabbing a few things and heading south later today,” Mullins said. “Is there anything we can do for you guys before we take off?”

  “Just tell me if we’re doing the right thing by going through town instead of using the interstate,” Bryce requested.

  “For sure,” Weir said immediately. “You’ll see more undead in town, but the streets are basically vacant otherwise.”

  Nestler walked over to the group, having dropped his basket of fireworks into the first Humvee.

  “We don’t have time for this,” he stated. “Either these fuckers come with, or they don’t.”

  “We don’t,” Mullins answered for both. “But we wish you luck.”

  Bryce reached into one of his pockets, plucking out a business card before handing it to Mullins.

  “I know it’s a longshot, but if your travels take you near the base and you need anything, a fellow New Yorker might be of assistance.”

  “Thanks,” both officers said simultaneously before collecting their guns and walking to the squad car.

  “Did you have a reason for doing that?” Metzger asked his brother as they returned to their Humvee.

  “I have the same question,” Nestler said before Bryce could answer. “Those two could lead us straight into a trap.”

  “Doubtful,” Bryce replied. “They don’t want a thing to do with that place.”

  “And after two minutes of deep conversation you know that for a fact?”

  “I’m damn certain they wouldn’t attack us by themselves, and they don’t have time to gather a small army before we reach the plant,” Bryce said, adding some steel to his tone. “They were more than willing to help us before they knew we were heading to ground zero.”

  “And naturally you laid out our entire plan to complete strangers.”

  “I did no such thing,” Bryce rebuked. “Now we can stand here arguing about this, or we can get down to the business of finding out who murdered most of the world.”

  Nestler grunted once again, making his way around the Humvee to assume the driver’s seat.

  “Are you sure those two were for real?” Metzger asked his older brother.

  “Yes. And I have little doubt we’re about to walk into something far worse than any of us envisioned. Those two would be suicidal for following us anywhere close to that place, and they know it.”

  As Metzger crammed into the back of the Humvee, between two Marines, his brother assumed the front seat, looking back to him with concern in his eyes. He wondered for the first time if the fireworks might help, or if the group of ten was destined to be afternoon lunch for the ravenous horde awaiting them at the factory.

  Five

  Sutton received two swift punches to the gut before the soldiers forcefully dragged him away from the bus toward the incoming convoy. Still injured from the skirmish at the abandoned diner just a few days prior, Sutton couldn’t put up much of a fight if he wanted to. At the moment he simply needed to buy his group time, and hope to find some means of escape, which looked highly unlikely.

  When several vehicles stopped in the middle of the road, audible brake noises filled the air from a few of them. With his arms secured by soldiers on either side, held straight outward, his midsection was left completely exposed for Lieutenant Keppler to saunter up to him before unleashing a swift right fist into his gut.

  Reeling, Sutton gasped for air momentarily as Keppler ordered the soldiers to drop him to the ground. They complied, and Sutton hit the concrete hard, still trying to catch his breath while he looked for any opening. His eyes came to rest on Keppler, who knelt down before him, wearing a mixed expression of disappointment and arrogance. He simply shook his head momentarily before speaking.

  “You could’ve simply left,” he said, staring at the ground and fidgeting with his hands momentarily. “What you did was unspeakable.”

  “Taking back my property?” Sutton asked, wondering why Keppler made such a fuss about a box truck full of supplies.

  He noticed about twenty pairs of eyes glaring angrily at him, which indicated the lieutenant riled them up with a fictional account of what went down.

  “We were just keeping watch over it for you,” Keppler outright lied. “But you had to kill Jones when you took it back, and that was your mistake.”

  “Jones?” Sutton questioned, slowly realizing the name of the man who accompanied the lieutenant and allowed Sutton to sneak up on the pair. “I didn’t kill him. I didn’t kill anyone.”

  Ignoring him, Keppler motioned for the soldiers to stand Sutton up, and he launched another fist into his captive’s abdomen, flooring him once again. Letting go of the dead weight, the soldiers allowed Sutton to drop once again. Keppler kicked him in the gut three times in a row, and Sutton strategically placed his arms across his body to keep from receiving broken ribs.

  “What I ought to do is let every man here take a swing at you
,” Keppler said, faking fury over the dead soldier only he could have killed. “We have more pressing issues, however, like hunting down your friends.”

  “No,” Sutton said defiantly, lurching forward only to have his arms caught by the soldiers who held him back.

  “They’re guilty by association,” Keppler said with a sneer.

  “There’s only one guilty party here. What did you do to your man?”

  Several sets of eyes looked to Keppler with inquisitive stares, as though they believed the lieutenant capable of excessive violence.

  “I made the mistake of bringing only him with me,” Keppler replied. “And I wasn’t able to stop you from shooting him in cold blood.”

  “Funny I don’t remember that.”

  “Stand him up!” Keppler shouted, not wishing to give Sutton the opportunity to state his case.

  Once Sutton was forced to his feet, and held in check by the two soldiers, Keppler grew theatrical with his next speech, as though inspiring his men before charging into battle.

  “The man before you shot and murdered one of your fellow soldiers,” he declared. “We’ve been forsaken by a military that no longer functions and doesn’t care about the life of one man. If we want justice for Jones, we need to take it for ourselves.”

  Sutton squirmed each time Keppler amplified his falsehoods, but he couldn’t break free from the soldiers. Even if he did, he couldn’t get far before they tackled him or shot him in the back. His body possessed few reserves, and he decided not to use them up before an opportunity to escape or fight back presented itself.

  “We could simply shoot him,” Keppler pondered aloud. “We could crucify him, but that would make him too much like Jesus. Hell, we could stone him, but that’s too close to the stories we used to hear on Sundays, too. What do you boys think?”

  A number of suggestions rang through the air, causing Keppler to smirk because he didn’t expect such a rousing response. They were sold on his lies, and no matter what Sutton said, his words would ring hollow to their ears. His eyes darted cautiously, looking for weaknesses he might exploit if he needed to break away suddenly. Having delayed putting up much of a fight, he suspected he could assault or snap free from the two hands clasping his arms. Most of the group focused their attention on Keppler, and they stood in a circle that didn’t encompass Sutton.