by Brian Parker
Jim switched his CVC helmet for his Kevlar and grabbed his M-4 from its place in the rack before exiting the Stryker. He considered bringing his rucksack, but decided against it. He’d already written his letter to Jill and the kids. He’d lamented in the letter that he’d never see Alex hit that home run, or watch Ella cheering on the sidelines of her high school football team. It was probably the hardest when he mentioned the baby, little Eric, who was only one, still learning to walk without falling.
All that’s in the past, now, he chided himself. Only thing I can do now is try to make a difference for the future of our nation.
Jim turned away from the rucksack that contained the letter and walked tiredly to the waiting truck. He walked up the open ramp and sat down on a bench. The soldier beside him shifted over several inches, and then stood, switching sides of the vehicle to leave him alone on the seat. “I ain’t gonna bite you, son,” he grunted.
“Not yet, sir,” the soldier replied. “But you’ll try to pretty soon.”
“Heh,” he chuckled, watching the ramp close. The watery daylight outside that had flooded the interior of the Stryker was replaced incrementally by the red lighting inside. “I guess you’re right about that. For now, though, I won’t bite you. Deal?”
“Yes, sir.”
The ramp locked into place and the truck lurched forward. Jim momentarily lost muscle control, his helmet slapped against the ramp at the back of the vehicle as they moved out.
“Uh, sir?”
He focused his eyes in the dim red lighting. Across from him was a female soldier, one of only two in the entire force. She’d been the one to ask the question. “Yeah, Specialist? What is it?”
“I don’t mean to pry, sir. But what does it feel like? You know, the infection.”
He considered yelling at her for her insensitivity. Then he considered ignoring her stupid, selfish question. Finally, he just decided that she was curious because his fate awaited them all, and each minute they spent beyond the walls, the higher the probability that they’d end up like him became.
“It hurts,” he whispered, barely audible over the steady thrum of the engine and the sounds of the four axles churning below as they turned the vehicle’s eight massive wheels. “I can feel it moving inside my body, like a thickness in my blood—I don’t know how else to describe it. I have a fever and I’m thirsty—all the time.” He couldn’t remember the word that meant the same thing. “I drank five or six canteens, but haven’t peed since I became infected. My thoughts are still clear,” he lied, “but the words coming out of my mouth get jumbled. It’s like…like I’m beginning to get Alzheimer’s or something.”
“That sounds pretty terrible.”
Jim smiled and then quickly covered his teeth with his lips. He didn’t want the soldiers in the back of the Stryker to see how far along his infection had advanced. He still had the belief that if he saw the jets at the airport, then he could somehow get the information to Higher and they’d be able to do something about the foreign invaders.
“It is,” he replied.
“And sad,” the woman continued. “I’m sorry it happened to you, sir.”
He nodded his head, but didn’t reply. The truck began to slow down and then stopped. Above them, the Stryker’s .50 caliber machine gun completed two full rotations as the gunner checked for infected. When he was satisfied that nothing was in the immediate area, the TC had the driver shut off the engine and lower the ramp.
Jim was up and moving before any of the others. He’d already decided that he’d take point, even if he hadn’t communicated that to anyone else. He was infected and the only thing that he had to look forward to was death.
“Let’s go!” Jim ordered harshly. The two soldiers from the back of the Stryker followed him, along with the TC, the sergeant whose name he couldn’t remember. “I don’t have much time left, but I’m gonna make it count.”
“Roger, sir. I’ll take point,” the sergeant answered.
“No. I’ve got point, Sergeant. If I catch a bullet, it’s no big loss anymore.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he took off at a brisk walk up the gravel road toward the airport. They were supposed to be about a half of a mile away, so he wasn’t concerned with moving tactically, yet. Once they got closer, he’d move off the road and try to creep along the ditch, although he didn’t think it would make much of a difference. There were no trees of substance along the road. The only cover available was the occasional bush that had somehow managed to grow in the Plains.
The distance closed rapidly and he could see the fence line. Jim checked behind him to ensure the others were with him. Even from almost a half of a mile away, the Stryker stood out starkly against the horizon. The lines of sight made it nearly impossible for any type of element to go unnoticed if anyone was watching.
They moved the last little distance in the ditch as he’d planned. They were perhaps two hundred feet from the fence when the sounds of the infected began to echo across the landscape. He froze.
“That’s coming from that town over there,” the sergeant said, pointing toward the cluster of buildings a mile or two away.
“They must have heard the jets land and are coming to investigate,” Jim surmised. There was nowhere to hide. “Let’s move up to the fence line. That tall grass will offer us some concealment.”
By the time they reached it, the shadows were beginning to lengthen with the approaching dusk. The sounds of the infected closing in on the airfield had gotten much louder. They’d closed the distance faster than he’d expected. “Down! Get down!” he ordered, indicating the grass.
The soldiers did as he ordered while he crouched and looked through the fence toward the jets. The two planes were MiGs alright. Each sported a green, white, and red flag. Iranians.
“Those are Iranian jets,” he whispered to the soldiers. “What the fuck are Iranians doing here?”
“Sir, you need to get down. You’re exposed,” the sergeant urged.
“Nah. I’m infected, Sergeant.” He glanced toward the Stryker in the distance. His vision was blurry, so he wiped at them. More blood. “I don’t care about being seen by the infected; I’m one of them now.”
Gunfire erupted from the terminal building. Jim couldn’t see any muzzle flashes, so he assumed that the Iranians were firing from the front side of the building. He looked down at the soldiers and said, “I need you to get back to Sergeant Turner. Tell him that the jets are Iranian. He’ll know who to contact at division with the information.”
The female he’d spoken to earlier blanched. “What are you planning to do, sir?”
He smiled sadly. “I’m going to kill me some Iranians. Those bastards inside that building aren’t the ones who did all this, but they’re all I’ve got.”
“Did all of what?” she asked.
Jim pointed to his eyes and the blood leaking from his tear ducts. “They’re the cause of the infection. They’re the ones who attacked us with this shit.”
“Wait,” the soldier said, rising up from the tall grass along the fence line. “You’re saying that it was an attack and not a biological mutation like they told us? And that you kept it from us?”
“I only found out this morning when I called division,” he grunted. “We followed through with our mission, and I got fucked. I don’t want the same thing to happen to the rest of you. Take the information back to Turner and get the fuck out of here.”
Jim didn’t wait for her to respond. Instead, he staggered along the fence toward the wreckage of a small plane that had taken out part of the fence when it crashed. Ahead of him, the steady staccato of gunfire mingled with the insane screams of the infected. Behind him, the two soldiers who’d taken cover in the grass were already picking their way through the roadside ditch to return to their vehicle.
Jake Murphy cleared the wreckage as the gunfire from the terminal building began to increase. He estimated that he was about six or seven football fields away from where
the two foreign jets were parked near the terminal. It was too far to run all kitted up like he was, so he settled for a light jog, taking advantage of the fact that all of the ground crew he’d seen earlier were now fighting the incoming infected.
He wondered if he was being foolish and slowed after only running for about fifty feet. He’d determined that there were foreign planes on the ground at the airport and that they had a support staff holed up in the terminal. What more did he expect to find out? Getting himself trapped inside the fence while hundreds of infected surrounded the perimeter was not a smart thing to do.
His feet stopped shuffling forward and he stopped altogether, considering whether he should return to the farm and let these foreigners do whatever the hell they were doing. He didn’t need to get himself killed. The sound of feet scraping against metal at the wreckage behind him made Jake spin, crouch, and bring his rifle up to fire.
“Whoa, there!” a voice rasped in English. The sun was barely peeking over the western horizon, its light at the perfect angle to blind him and hide the face of the new arrival.
Jake allowed the muzzle of the rifle to dip slightly. The infected didn’t speak, and as far as he knew, the foreigners he came to spy on didn’t speak unaccented English. After months of not seeing anyone besides the Campbells around Liberal, the town was becoming absolutely crowded in the last two days. First, he’d stumbled across Mark, then discovered the foreigners here at the airport, and now this newcomer sneaking up behind him. What the hell is happening?
“Who are you?” Jake demanded in a harsh whisper.
“I’m here with the US Army,” the stranger said.
“Bullshit. The closest functional Army base is Fort Bliss, down in El Paso.”
“That’s not exactly true…Lieutenant Murphy.”
Jake’s head snapped back like he’d been flicked hard by one of his buddies in the middle of his forehead. “Step closer where I can see you.”
“I don’t want to startle you,” the newcomer said without moving toward him. “Jake, it’s me, Colonel Albrecht.”
The ground seemed to open up underneath Jake. The man’s build was about right, but the voice was different than he remembered. It’d been a long time, though, and he’d only been around the man a handful of times, so his memory could be wrong. What decided it for him was the name. Albrecht wasn’t a common name, so it had to be him. He’d never expected to see his former brigade commander again, and the feelings of anger, even hatred that he’d harbored for the man welled up, threatening to overwhelm him.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t just shoot you right now,” Jake demanded, allowing his voice to edge dangerously toward a shout.
“Jake, we don’t have a lot of time,” Colonel Albrecht said. “I know that we did wrong by you, believe me, I know that now. There’s no excuse for what I allowed to happen—no, for what I did to you by putting you in that situation.”
Jake brought his rifle up again. Something was off in the man’s mannerisms. The Colonel Albrecht he knew would have been up in his face almost immediately. “I said, come closer, sir.” He added that last part out of habit, but he harbored no illusions that he would ever take an order from this man again.
He saw the colonel’s hands rise up, his silhouette dark against the sun behind him. “Jake, I want you to know something before I come closer.”
The gunfire at the terminal was becoming sporadic as the defenders must have been either running low on ammo, or taking casualties. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“I’m infected,” the older man admitted.
“What?”
“I’ve got a few hours before I turn, but there ain’t shit anyone can do for me.”
Jake looked over his shoulder at the terminal before advancing toward Albrecht. He was covered in blood, both from himself and what appeared to be from others. Fresh rivulets of the dark fluid ran from his eyes along his cheeks and dripped from his chin.
Jake doubted that the colonel actually had the few hours left that he thought he did.
“Sir, what are you doing here?”
The man laughed. “It’s funny meeting you here, Jake. I came to arrest you.”
“What?” Jake replied, truly shocked. Why would anyone try to arrest him for going AWOL with the world gone to shit around them?
“I’ve been working through it. Bhagat needs a fall guy. You’re it.”
“Bhagat? The division commander?” He looked over his shoulder once more. The firing had stopped completely.
“Same same,” the colonel nodded, sending drops of blood cascading down his chest. “I found out this morning—before I became infected looking for you—that he knew about the Iranians and North Koreans. That he purposefully kept that information from us.”
The flag he’d seen on the tail fin of the jet flashed in Jake’s mind. The green, white, and red flag that he didn’t recognize must have been Iranian. “What did he know about, sir?”
Human screams from the terminal told Jake that the infected had made it inside. “We need to get under cover where they can’t see us,” Jake said. “We can leave after dark. That crashed plane should provide sufficient cover.”
They retreated to a section of the plane’s hull that was still relatively intact. Colonel Albrecht leaned heavily against a broken window. “I’m gonna be honest with you, Jake. I’m not gonna make it to wherever you’re holed up. You know that. You’ve been out here for a lot longer than I have. But I still have a few hours left.”
Jake eyed him again. “I don’t think so, sir. Maybe an hour, two tops.”
The older man nodded. “I like your honesty. Always have. After we didn’t find you at the farmhouse, we didn’t—”
“You went to the farm?” Jake asked. “Is everyone alright?”
Albrecht stared at him. “There was nobody there. Lots of dead infected, but they were dead for a long time.”
Jake’s mind worked to piece together what the colonel was saying. His mind was slipping as the infection ravaged inside of him, but saying everyone at the farm was dead for a long time didn’t make any sense. Wait. “Sir, did the farmhouse have a weird fence running between the house and a big barn?”
“Yeah.”
“Lots of .50 caliber bullet holes everywhere?”
“Mmm hmm. Last place your…BFT pinged.”
“You went to the Cullen’s house,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I never bothered to fire up the comms system after Sergeant Wyatt and Private Dickerson were killed; there wasn’t any need to since it was just me. I just drove the Stryker back to the Campbell farm.”
“Oh!” He pointed down the dirt road that Jake had traveled earlier. “Five Strykers… Go there. Wait for me. I need to try to find a survive—survive—a prisoner,” he amended when he couldn’t say the word.
“You have five Strykers, here?” Jake asked incredulously.
Albrecht grinned. “Bhagat really wants you dead.”
“That bastard.”
“I got infected at the farm. We were going to start random searches when we saw the planes flying overhead. We came here to figure out what the Iranians—or the North… North…”
“Koreans?” Jake offered.
“That’s it. I came to see what they were doing in the America.”
Red flags went up in Jake’s mind. The colonel was losing it. He shifted slightly, putting a broken airline chair between them and positioning his rifle so the seat back wouldn’t get in the way. “That’s why I came here too, sir.”
Albrecht nodded again. “I don’t have much time. I think I can go up to the infected now. Give me a chance to capture one of those… One of the bad guys.”
Bad guys? Oh shit, he’s losing it. “Do you have any more information about why they’re here?”
His former brigade commander gestured weakly at the terminal. “They caused it. I don’t have proof, but they’re the only ones who weren’t attacked… Now, they’re here. You…you do the math.”
&nbs
p; The older man stopped talking and stared intently at the wall for a moment. “Sir!”
”Hmm?”
“Sir, are you good to go?”
The colonel didn’t answer. Instead, he pushed past him, making Jake grab for his rifle because he thought the man had turned completely. Albrecht stumbled past him without acknowledging him further and headed toward the terminal.
13
* * *
NEAR LIBERAL, KANSAS
FEBRUARY 12TH
Jim staggered toward an open doorway that led into the building in front of him. His mind was fuzzy. He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there. There was snow all around, but he didn’t seem cold. He didn’t feel the wind that blew the snow along the pavement. Had he been drinking?
Somehow, despite his lack of knowing where he was or how he’d gotten there, Jim knew that it wasn’t because of drinking alcohol. He was supposed to be doing something important, but beyond running into that lieutenant, he couldn’t remember what it was. He held a rifle, which made sense, and… He stopped and raised his left hand. In it, he clutched a double set of zip ties. They looked like they could be used as handcuffs.
That’s it! he shouted inside his head. He was supposed to try to capture one of the bad guys. Were they Iraqis? That sounded right. He’d fought against Iraqi insurgents most of his time in the Army, so that was probably what he was doing. He had to capture somebody, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember who the high value target was.
What is wrong with me? Jim wondered. He couldn’t remember getting assigned the mission, but he knew it was his to complete. His lack of comprehension and ability to remember any details were disturbing. He was married, with a kid—no, two kids. Wait. He had three children. How was that so hard to remember? He was a career Army soldier. There was a mission to capture someone… Someone else, who was it?
