When he reached the stone stairs to the building, a single gunshot echoed in his ears.
Chapter 6
- Burned Woman
Burned Woman
The Burned Woman’s patrol walked lightly on the downtown pavement. Their steps echoed in a staccato rhythm against the walls of the glass and metal buildings surrounding them. Two of the six-member team pushed shopping carts full of various supplies down the street. There were a couple cases of water in the bottom of each cart for delivery to their community south of downtown San Antonio. The carts were the easiest way for the patrol to bring supplies from where they park their vehicles to the building that housed the others. The team had run this route hundreds of times, and the dead were usually nowhere to be found on the long return walk. The mindless creatures were only able to get around the obstacles the group had placed with random luck, and usually as individuals. They had never been caught by a horde in this corridor near their home and they walked alert but confident.
“This heat, man. Why can’t we have some rain or something,” Ty uttered, wiping his forehead.
“Rain makes it worse. More humid,” said Ricky Wiggins in a matter-of-fact tone. His voice was loud, seeming to bounce along the road. His big brother Tom Wiggins, walking nearby, shushed him gently.
“Shut up. Both of you.” Jesse Diego scolded the two talkers on his patrol. 17-year-old Tyrone Moore scowled, but didn’t talk back to the leader. Jesse craned his neck in either direction to check both his team and the perimeter, tucking his long hair behind his ears with a quick brush from his fingers first on one side and then the other. He walked at the crux of the rough triangle shape the team formed, rifle slung low. Ty and Deb were over his left shoulder while Ice walked to his right. Wiggs and his brother, Ricky, pushed the carts in the center-rear.
They all carried identical magazine-fed pistol-caliber 9mm carbines so they had interchangeable ammunition in a gunfight. Jesse had found the matching rifles still packed in their original shipping boxes in the back of an apartment closet in southtown. Dispatching the undead owner had led the team to a treasure trove of canned and dehydrated food, 5-gallon jugs of water, and more weapons than made sense for one person to hoard. All the items were meticulously packed and brought back to the Burned Woman and her people. The only one who couldn’t shoot was Ricky, but the big oaf wouldn’t let Wiggs, his big brother, go on patrol without him. To contribute, Ricky carried the heavy load of ammunition on his back. Jesse felt bad since the weather turned. The poor kid was always panting with bright red cheeks and forehead whenever they went out. But, whatever, it’s not like Ricky really knew what was going on anyway. If he demanded to be near his brother, he’d carry his weight like everyone else.
Prior to the outbreak, Jesse was a bartender at a little outdoor bar a few blocks from the Alamo. He and his wife Mel, along with many of the people that now followed the Burned Woman, had been struggling to scavenge and survive as the dead overran the city. As a little Hispanic kid from San Antonio, he had never left the state of Texas in his life. His parents were raised here after his grandparents came across the border from Mexico. He watched them both earn their way by working hard and providing for Jesse and his sister. When the dead came, he had never fired a weapon and had no food and nowhere to go. He and Mel survived, barely, on the streets running from carnivorous former humans. A few weeks in, close to starvation, they found the Reverend and, in turn, the Burned Woman found them.
Jesse nodded at Deb and she flashed him a big smile, dimples and all. The patrol leader thought she was cute as hell, but he would never cheat on his wife. He kept his relationship professional with the twenty-something woman. Deb had already been part of the Reverend’s small group of survivors by the time Jesse and Mel came around and she had seen him at his worst. She helped them gain their strength back after weeks of starvation. She was always so cheerful, despite the death and misery surrounding them at all times. He learned that she was a former airman and the only member of the community with any formal military training. In reality, her time in the Air Force rarely came up at their compound or on patrol. She had been some sort of administrator and barely fired a weapon, let alone participated in a fight. Her demeanor, though, brought a needed positive morale to the gloomy group. A flip of her brunette hair and a flash of her southern charm kept the team centered. Frankly, Jesse liked having her around.
Ice, on the other hand, scared the shit out of Jesse. Glad she was on his side, he was greeted with a hard grimace and looked away quickly when he checked on her. They had rescued her from a cockroach-infested restaurant attic, eating rotten meat from cats she trapped. Her complexion was black as night, and glistened with sweat in the summer heat. Nobody knew what she did before or what her real name was, but she could shoot and she worked her ass off to protect all of them. Especially Ricky. If it wasn’t for Ice and Wiggs, Jesse never would have brought an intellectually disabled behemoth into the wilderness of San Antonio. No way, what if Ricky panicked or started hollering when the dead freaks were nearby? He heard Wiggs say once that Ricky had the mental and emotional capacity of a 5-year-old child. Not a risk Jesse would take for a pack mule without the dual protection of Ice and the kid’s brother.
A clatter ahead made the team pause and take aim toward a brick building labeled Toro’s. The yellow-painted brick was emblazoned with a crude outline of a bull just above a fly-covered grease trap. Eventually, Jesse thought, they’d start collecting the grease as fuel. But they hadn’t gotten that desperate yet. They’d cleared the building before, but didn’t check every building every time. A corpse could have easily wandered into the abandoned restaurant and become trapped. The squad watched and listened for a moment before Jesse slung his rifle and extracted a six-inch blade from his belt. He gestured to Ice and she followed suit, flashing sunlight with her polished weapon. They carefully moved forward as the remaining members of the team stood silent watch.
Ice took the lead and positioned herself to the side of the waist-high swinging door leading to the bar’s small courtyard. The little metal tables and chairs here had been overturned long ago, and neither of them saw evidence of living or dead. The entrance door was under a little wooden awning built over a meager patio, but the interior was pitch dark compared to the summer sun illuminating outside. Ice slowly pushed the waist-high door in and the spring-loaded hinges squealed in rusty protest. Jesse stepped in and his partner followed, guiding the door back to a closed position as quietly as she could. They locked eyes and slowly walked heel-to-toe toward the raised wooden patio of the entry.
Suddenly, a loud hiss sounded from the porch and both Ice and Jesse froze in place. The only sound was the steady buzzing of insects as a bead of sweat ran down Jesse’s face and caught in the corner of his lip. He didn’t know what the sound was and wasn’t sure what to do next. The angry hiss sounded again with a low guttural growl behind. In his peripheral vision he saw Ice tighten her fingers around the blade and begin to bend her knees almost imperceptibly. He wanted to whisper a warning, but didn’t want to attract a group of starving flesh-eaters from the inside of the bar.
Ice must have seen something he didn’t because she sprang forward to the portal leading into the bar. Jesse reacted by throwing his knife hand into the air defensively as she disappeared into the dark entryway. Footsteps clattered on pavement as the other four sprinted to the swinging door, flinging it open to defend against whatever lay in wait. As soon as they arrived Jesse had swung his arm around to hold his rifle at the ready position and the team of five prepared to rescue their sixth.
The ear-splitting sound of glass dishware shattering on the floor preceded an orange streak flying from the door. Ty fired three rounds in succession that splintered the wood of the patio before realizing what the flash of orange had been. Jesse’s protest was drowned out by the crack of the gun.
“--a fucking cat!” he cried, pushing the body of Ty’s carbine aside. “You’re shooting at a fucking cat.” Ice came stom
ping out of the bar and pushed herself into the teenager’s face.
“You coulda shot me. What the fuck you thinking?”
“I’m sorry, shit. You scared the shit out of me walking in here all scary and shit. I thought it was a fucking deader,” Ty snapped, pushing back into Ice’s aggressive stance. Wiggs and Jesse both moved to separate the two.
“Break it up guys, we’re almost home. Tyrone, you need to watch your trigger. You thought there was a tiny orange biter out here?” Jesse said, punching the kid’s shoulder for emphasis. “Come on, let’s go. Those shots could have been heard by anyone and we’re too close to the compound to risk being seen. We wait any longer for someone to spot us and we’ll need to spend the night out here.”
The threat of staying another night away from the safety of their compound motivated them. The patrol quickly exited the little yard, Ty and Ice glaring at each other the whole time. Wiggs walked back to the carts where his giant of a brother had his palms pressed hard against his ears. Wiggs was having trouble until Ice calmly touched Ricky’s hands and guided him back to his cart. In short order the team was back en route.
A few minutes later, they arrived at the gate to their home. The heavy iron construction was tucked into a small alley between two brick buildings, almost hidden from the road unless you knew where to look. It was just wide enough for a single shopping cart at a time and several empty carts littered the sidewalk nearby. The shade of the oak trees was a welcome break from the walk in the hot sun and the team quickly unlocked the heavy-duty lock and walked single-file into the secure alleyway.
Jesse took the rear and locked the gate after himself. The team didn’t wait for direction; they all knew to bring their loot to the big storage cage out back before checking if there was water for a shower in the rooftop collection tank. After being gone a few weeks, there was no way to know. It hadn’t rained in several weeks so Jesse highly doubted they’d have the pleasure. The only nice thing about the summer heat was that it warmed the tank enough for lukewarm showers. Maybe next time.
After the big lock clicked shut, Jesse turned curiously to the corridor leading into the set of buildings they called home. It was previously some sort of downtown oasis office for architects or something, complete with storage space, kitchens, a water tank, and a small well. At first they thought the well was cosmetic since the previous occupants obviously didn’t use it as a water supply. But it was legitimate and provided fresh water to the group even if it was somewhat minerally. The Burned Woman had brought them here like she had guided them to so many other lifesaving things in the last months.
Mel usually came over to greet him when the patrol arrived home. She managed their modest armory in the abandoned church building next door. Someone in storage would usually radio to her that they were back, and Mel would rush over to see her husband. This time, however, Jesse was alone in the hall. He saw several people through the glass to his left lounging in the first building. He stepped forward until he was in the small walled yard that contained the well and served as a mutual gathering space between the two buildings. Nobody was outside at the moment, not that Jesse blamed them for avoiding the sun. He considered finding a radio and calling himself, but decided instead to go to the other building and find Reverend Green and the Burned Woman.
“Reverend?” Jesse called out. It was eerily abandoned in the furnished space they called the living room as the patrol leader entered. The few people he saw through the windows were dozing on a couple of the couches they’d moved in here. He felt as odd about the lack of excitement over their return as he did about the absence of his wife’s usual greeting. He stepped over the floor cushions meant to make this building a little more habitable whenever the entire group gathered and made his way to the rear of the room. He was alone as he gripped the handle of the floor-to-ceiling sliding door and slowly opened the Burned Woman’s suite.
He felt compelled to enter the dark, hot room despite his trepidation. He slid the door shut behind him and listened in the blackness, head swimming from the humid air filled with the smell of incense and sage. The room was a cell for the Burned Woman, she was so fragile that only the reverend decided when she could leave and when she must stay. Jesse let his eyes adjust to the darkness until he began to see the billowy form of the Burned Woman’s bed, canopied with white lacy cloth from ceiling to floor. Reverend Green’s kneeling form came into view beside the bed. Jesse stood still, waiting patiently for several minutes while listening to the soft whispers of the reverend’s prayers. Eventually, he rose unsteadily from one old knee to the next until he was on his feet.
“She said you would come,” he spoke. Jesse only nodded, not sure if the elderly man could see him in the dark. “Jesse, come sit.” The reverend reached into the dimly lit corner of the room and dragged two wooden chairs to the space near the bed. Jesse moved forward and sat in one as Reverend Green sat in the other.
“Where’s my wife?” Jesse asked. “Where’s Mel?” The old man covered Jesse’s hands with his own dark, wrinkled fingers and squeezed gently.
“I am so sorry, Jesse. We were attacked four nights ago. Most slept in their quarters while the church was hit. It was silent, we didn’t know what happened until the next morning. You don’t know how difficult this has been, waiting for you to return. Knowing I’d be the one to tell you what happened.”
Jesse reeled. He leaned back in the straight-backed chair and ran his fingers through his hair in mute panic. He only kept quiet out of respect for the Burned Woman. He saw her now, sitting up and watching him silently through the translucent cloth. He felt her eyes on him, burning with judgment. He couldn’t see details through the lace, but could see the misshapen outline of her hairless head and the sharp outline of her teeth glinting with moisture through her damaged lips. She was statue-like in her immobility, and Jesse looked away in discomfort.
He shouldn’t have left. He should never have walked away from Mel knowing how dangerous the world had become. He was stupid, thinking it was safe here. Thinking the little area they carved out protected his Melissa while he was out playing the hero. The Burned Woman knew that, knew what would happen. Why didn’t she stop him from leaving? Why didn’t she stop the attack, if she knew it all? He hyperventilated as the stages of grief bubbled through him. Hate, loss, blame, guilt, and anguish all seemed to overwhelm him at once. He found his hands in the reverend’s again, not knowing if one minute or twenty had passed. He could only squeak a weak question.
“Was she bit?” Reverend Green sighed in response and shook his head.
“It was men that attacked us, not the dead. They came straight for the armory quickly and quietly while we all slept. Our people fought and they killed two, Susan Briggs and Hector. They badly wounded Pat with a head injury. We don’t think she’s going to make it.” He paused and rummaged in the drawer below the nightstand. The humidity was overwhelming Jesse and he began to feel like he was drifting away from the conversation into a narrow tunnel. He was brought back with the rustling of paper as Reverend Green placed what looked like a full-page leaflet in Jesse’s outstretched hand. It was neon green and printed with a series of sentences like an advertisement. He looked at it, confused.
“What does this mean? Is Mel dead or not?” Jesse crumpled the printed note and glared at the reverend in anger.
For the first time since Jesse met her, the Burned Woman spoke in his presence. Her voice was gravelly and dry, and both men snapped their attention to her as she spoke the cryptic syllables.
“Your Melissa, she’s not dead,” she said.
Jesse and Reverend Green both sat and stared at the woman. The reverend always told the people that she was fragile, she needed protection, and she only spoke through him. Through whispers to him only, she had identified sources of food and water. She had found them vehicles and fuel, and she had found this place and secured it with her guidance. Jesse knew she was the reason they had all survived this long, and he waited to hear her instructions on
what to do next. Both men were speechless as she continued.
“I--I kn--know these men. I know who took your wife.”
Chapter 7
- Reunion
Reunion
Kahn sat in his golf cart watching soldiers enter and exit the Tactical Operations Center for Lone Star Outpost. He had wasted the whole day and missed two scheduled inventories gaining the courage to come here. Kahn rubbed his face and yawned, exhausted from the early wake up and afternoon heat. He hadn’t eaten all day and his body and mind were spent. His head throbbed and even though it was only an hour until the scheduled training was to begin, he still had not informed the last name on the list.
The TOC was located in a sunken bunker in the southeast corner of the post. The bunker effectively served as the operational headquarters for everything that happened at LOSTOP, military and civilian. Kahn’s tan coveralls showed dark stains from the sweat he was suffering through to avoid his task of delivering the orders to one of the non-commissioned officers in ops. A couple soldiers in uniform exited the bunker and stomped up the concrete stairs onto the sidewalk where Kahn was parked. They nodded at him and one muttered, “‘sup, Garcia” as they walked toward the motor pool or airlock in the center of the southern fence. The slung their weapons loosely and joked as they sauntered away.
Kahn watched them. One of the men in the center elbowed the man to his left and all four laughed. Kahn pictured them gearing up next to a Humvee, checking magazines and body armor. His eyes unfocused as he suddenly pictured them driving slowly in front of the Alamo on abandoned streets. The vision was clear, he saw every detail as they cruised along at dusk with the rumble of the diesel engine bouncing around the empty buildings. Shadowy monsters began to stalk behind the lights of the Humvee in Kahn’s hallucination. The soldiers were oblivious to the hundreds of hungry corpses creeping toward them in the shadows. He couldn’t hear the screams, but saw the sprays of crimson as the nightmare creatures caught the squad and spilled their blood. He could hear the ripping of flesh and crunch of bone as the jagged teeth of the undead feasted on the still-living soldiers.
Nation Undead (Book 2): Collusion Page 5
