“Four guards out of fifty left to protect fifty acres. One may be infected. The others brought their families…” Brit had only been working at the plant for a few months. This was the most they had heard him speak since arriving. Eve smiled at Brit. Brit looked down. Eve had almost been with a guy once. She had been drunk then, too. She ended up just watching him from the bottom as he lay on top of her, in some bedroom, dry humping her and feeling her up, under her top. It was like she was watching someone else having sex with her body. When he noticed her just watching him, he was embarrassed and quickly stopped. She hadn’t really felt any passion. No pleasure at all with him, just curiosity. With Amber, at least she had enjoyed it, at the time.
“We have to keep everyone out! We don’t know who is infected.” Susan sat bolt upright.
All of them looked out the large wall-sized one hundred and eighty degree windows facing the front gates, at the growing crowd of trucks, an RV and various cars piling up outside the gate. There was even a guy out there with a front loader, complete with digging crane. Beyond that were hundreds of fires blazing unhindered in the dry northern California sky, the soot blocking out the sun. The power plant was surrounded on three sides by water. The gate in front was twelve feet high with razor wire on top. The entrance was fitted with a large guardhouse with several rooms. Installed in the asphalt leading through the gate were retractable metal posts rated to withstand the assault of a large truck. There were additional weapons and ammunition locked in the guardhouse.
“We have electricity to last five hundred years. Everywhere else is dark. The military and the government have pulled out and gone underground. We have barely seen the sun in 2 months and we may not see it again for several years with all the dust in the air from the fires and the earthquakes. Not to mention the nuke they dropped on Memphis trying to contain the infection…” Brit was passionate.
“We have at least six months MRE’s,” Kirk was calm, but firm. “The military will come back. We just have to wait it out.”
“They evacuated the entire government! They went underground. We haven’t seen the military or the National Guard in nine days! The banks are closed. The stock market collapsed. The infection has been reported in every major city on every continent. There are rioters and looters running unchecked in every major city. We’re on our own! We are going to have to grow our own food. We need to barter with these people at the gate. Thank God we found that hippy guy – what’s his name?” Brit pressed.
“Sven” Dennis interjected from where he had apparently been sleeping in the chair. Dennis, when still, nearly always appeared to be sleeping. At the apex of his mountainous frame, his eyes were heavily lidded with long sensuous lashes, and it was nearly impossible to tell most of the time. He had plump, ruddy cheeks that hid his eyes effectively and large, moist lips. Despite his appearance, Dennis was an encyclopedia of knowledge. On the tip of his tongue were obscure and useful facts relating to virtually any subject. He was possessed of a razor-sharp, exacting mind, and his opinions, when spoken, were rarely disputed. He was probably the smartest person Eve had ever met, except maybe for her dad, Kirk.
“We need to get rid of him. I don’t like him,” Susan was adamant. “How do you know he’s not infected?”
“He’s not infected!” Brit and Dennis spoke in unison.
“Well, I don’t like him. He’s a drug addict. He’s a bad influence on Eve.” Susan glanced at Eve, who was now draped, spread-eagle, over a reversed chair facing the group. The tiny mini skirt revealed more than it covered. “Honey, can you give us a minute? The adults need to talk.”
Eve shot her mother a smoldering look and then rose noisily, nearly knocking over the chair, before standing to look out the window with her back to the group. Sometimes she really hated her mother. The adults need to talk, she repeated to herself, under her breath, in a singsong voice.
“He smokes a little pot. He’s harmless,” Brit defended him.
“A little pot? The man reeks of it,” Susan tried to keep her voice down.
“He’s a professional grower. He knows how to grow plants indoors without natural light. We’re going to need him. We’re going to need to grow our own food and we don’t know when the sun will break through the haze. It could be…a long time...years…maybe never,” Brit spoke quietly and passionately, his words dropping off to a whisper at the end. Dennis was fully awake now. He nodded emphatically.
“He’s a drug dealer! I don’t like the man. He’s taken an interest in Eve.” Of course, Susan had noticed her interest in Sven. He was so cool; nothing at all like the cheerleaders and football players. There was a moment of silence.
“Susan, with all due respect,” Dennis spoke diplomatically. His wet lips smacked and his long, sensuous eyelashes fluttered, “your daughter is your responsibility as a parent. Besides, I think it might be more accurate to say that she may have taken an interest in him.”
“We need him. He stays,” Brit was firm.
CHAPTER 5: October 15, 11 a.m.
SAN JOSE, CALIFORNIA
“Dixon! Come here boy!” Sven cried to the one hundred and seventy pound male Boxer-Pitt Bull mix sitting expectantly outside of the ordinary-looking rambler in an ordinary-looking development on an ordinary street in the sprawling suburbs of San Jose, California. Images of Dixon shot and Bugs half-eaten had raced through his mind up until this point. He was glad he had found the power plant and really it was because of something that guy Warren had said, but it wasn’t worth the loss of Dixon and Bugs. Sven let out a heavy sigh of relief.
Chris’ eyes went wide with fear and he involuntarily began raising his M-16 to face the threat. As soon as Dixon stood on all four legs, he was a giant, wiggling puppy overcome with joy at seeing his master. Dixon jumped up to Sven’s chest, draping his paws over Sven’s shoulders and shyly licked Sven’s cheek. Sven laughed and kissed him back, scruffing his neck with both hands. The other guard lowered his weapon and laughed.
“That’s your dog?!” Chris was shaken. He looked like he wanted to run. “I don’t like dogs.”
“This is Dixon. Dixon meet Chris and Adams.” Dixon cocked his head attentively, looking only at Sven. Chris looked fearfully at the dog. Adams stayed on the other side of the truck.
Sven swept his waist-length blond dreadlocks off of his face with a long, bony hand and retied them with a scrunchy over his neck. Sven had a giant head with an even bigger garden of dirty blond dreadlocks over a long thin body. He stooped a little, increasing the impression that his head was too heavy for his body. “Dixon, where’s Bugs? Where’s Bugs?” If Dixon was okay, then Bugs was probably nearby.
Dixon barked in response. The bark was high pitched for such a large dog.
A large, white rabbit with a pink-rimmed nose and black, liquid eyes hopped tentatively into the open driveway from behind the bushes. “Bugs!” Sven cried, running to the rabbit. Dixon bounded around him. The rabbit showed no fear of either, but stood his ground, waiting for Sven. Sven picked him up into his arms and cuddled him, kissing his head and ears like a furry, fat white baby as Dixon jumped around excitedly.
“This guy is a regular Tarzan,” Adams quipped, shaking his head, still making no movement to come around the truck.
“Everybody’s hungry.” Sven poured generous helpings of dry dog food and dry rabbit food into side-by-side bowls labeled “Dixon” and “Bugs.”
Sven pushed with a single finger the broken side door to the rambler. A powerful smell like a long dead skunk assaulted them. Chris and Adams grabbed at their noses. “What is that?”
“Ahhhhh,” Sven took a deep breath and then another. “I love the smell of napalm in the morning.” He turned to Chris and Adams, suddenly all business. “Ok, everything goes. All the plants, all the soil, the lights, the grid, the generator, the water pump, the ventilator, everything.” Sven paused in the doorway; beyond him, they could see a large, greasy blackened stain where the booby-trapped shotgun mounted in the door had blown a hole
in the now dead man. The looter had tried to break in and was killed at the door. Now, there was only a dried trail of blood and a disgustingly rank stain where he had expired before rising again to join the undead beasts in their hunt. There was an additional dried trail of blood leading away across the driveway from a second looter injured by the same blast. All three of them stepped over the very fragrant stain. Sven expertly untied the shotgun, checked the barrels and put it over his shoulder. There were no other signs of forced entry.
“Well now Shut The Front Door…” Chris whistled under his breath. Beyond Sven lay three floors and three thousand square feet of potted green plants. Thick, green plastic sheeting covered the floor. A grid of lights with electrical cords snaked down on all sides covered the ceiling. Large, flexible air ducts ran here and there among the ceiling grid. The power was out here, so the house was unbearably hot and humid.
“Too hot; blower’s out; everybody needs water,” Sven ticked off automatically the list of things he would normally handle. His hands went to his head in a gesture of futility. “I’m a grower. This is a grow house.”
“This is going to take more than one trip,” Adams said, as he hefted the first potted plant toward the waiting trucks.
“Oh no! I forgot the spray paint. Do we have any spray paint?” Sven asked.
Chris shrugged. “You can check the trucks,” Adams said.
“I need to tell Jackie and Candy to go to the power plant to find me.” Sven grabbed handfuls of dreadlocks in his hands. He was hoping to find them here.
“We’ll have to come back, if we can get back,” Chris said.
“They’ll figure it out,” Adams laughed.
CHAPTER 6: October 15, 3 p.m.
NUCLEAR POWER PLANT, NORTHERN CALIFORNIA
The sky was an angry slate color. Grey ash floated down like snow. It was three o’clock in the afternoon and it would be getting dark soon. The press of humanity in front of the power plant had grown by the power of ten since their trip to the grow house earlier this morning. There was only one road in and out of the nuclear power plant. It was essentially a giant funnel leading to the gate of the facility. Sven could see that under normal circumstances this was a highly effective security procedure. The two trucks loaded with supplies from the grow house had made it perhaps two thirds of the way. Cars, trucks, vans, campers and every different kind of vehicle were parked every which way across the roadway and the two shoulders. People were out of the vehicles everywhere, knocking on Sven’s windows. It was a scene of chaos and desperation.
“Keep moving! Don’t stop!” Adams screamed into the hand held radio on the dash. Adams leaned on his horn in frustration. Sven turned down the ear piercing squawk of the radio on his dash.
“Everything’s blocked. There’s no where to go,” Sven said. The two trucks had made it to perhaps a quarter mile from the power plant. Sven pounded the steering wheel in frustration. Everything was blocked. His entire world had stopped and he was constipated. He had been so stressed out, he hadn’t been able to take a dump in three days. Where were Jackie and Candy? He had expected to find them at the grow house. Getting a place in this power plant was a life saver, especially now, but not without his crew. Sven lit up a blunt and took a long drag to calm himself. Fuck! He should have gone with the flagellates. But they were gone now and wandering alone out there was certain death. At least he had Dixon and Bugs…
“Go around! To the right! To the right!” Sven fumbled the blunt while turning the wheel, dropping it at his feet, then frantically looked down as he drove, hoping to quickly recover the life-sustaining weed.
Dixon stood in the cab of the truck, the hackles on his neck up, his teeth bared, barking and snarling viciously at the press of the crowds blocking the road with their cars, hands held out beseechingly to the trucks. Bugs hopped around Sven’s legs as he tried to drive, his eyes wide with fear, wanting to run and hide somewhere. “Chill out, dudes,” Sven admonished quietly, realizing that Bugs and Dixon were as stressed out as he was.
In his rear view mirror, Sven could see a line of four cars driving into their wake, also trying to make it to the gate. There were people on foot milling around the stopped cars. Vendors were out, walking among the cars bartering their wares; tube socks, sweatshirts, winter coats, a taco truck. Paper money was still passing hands in many cases. A few recently Tagged offered their right hand or forehead to be scanned. Off to the right of the gate, men were erecting a new fence, preparing for nightfall. A front loader was digging a ditch in front of the newly erected fence – smart, Sven thought. In and among this activity wandered the newly infected. Weird red eyes, blank stares, some with angry red boils visible on their necks and faces, bloody noses that wouldn’t stop bleeding, some were even weeping or sweating blood. It was cold, so everyone was bundled up in warm clothes. When the boils popped they would leave terrifying cavernous holes in the skin which would initially be hidden by the clothes. But the worst was the smell of death that lingered on and around them. It was a deep, earthy smell so strong that no perfume could possibly mask it. It was the smell of the dead walking on the earth among the living. The smell intensified as the disease progressed. In the later stages, the infected person would strip off their clothing, apparently due to the heat of the fever, even in below freezing temperatures, and wander, not knowing who they are or even their name. At the end came the change. The infected person would bleed out. They would go into convulsions, spewing the black vomit. Black vomit was not really black, but black bile mixed with fresh blood. It smelled like a slaughterhouse. It seemed that the infection literally liquefied the insides of its victim, and the infected person would spew the infection mixed with their own blood from every pore and opening in their body until they became nothing more than an empty husk; a skeleton with big hair, claws and teeth. Upon death came the change. The infected individual would become like a lion, instinctively attacking any human it encountered, biting, scratching and spitting to spread the deadly disease. The disease increased their metabolism to such a fevered pitch that they were all starving, and they fed on the humans they killed by sucking their blood for sustenance. But the worst part was that they naturally banded together to hunt in packs; the larger the pack the better. Like locusts, they would sweep across the land as an unstoppable army, devouring every human they came across. Fifty or even one hundred at a time would fall on one living human fighting amongst each other to tear at him and drink his blood. There was no escape.
Up ahead, a forty foot RV stood sideways across the road, blocking it. On either side, blocking the shoulders and even up onto the grass were two more sturdy work trucks. Sven turned his wheel hard to the right coming within a few centimeters of the RV blocking his path. Two men with guns pointed with their fingers and shouted down at him from the roof of the vehicle. There were men in the other trucks with rifles as well.
“Back up! It’s a trap! Back up!” Sven screamed into the radio, jamming the truck into reverse. Sven felt a jolt as one of the four cars in their wake jammed itself into the rear wheel of his truck, stopping any reverse movement. Another jolt as the truck behind hit. Dixon was barking like a mad dog everywhere at the same time. Bugs jumped out of the window and disappeared under a nearby car.
Suddenly, there was a man with a gun at his window wearing a mask. “Just do what I tell you and no one is going to get hurt.” The voice sounded familiar. Sven held up his left hand, while he felt for the triggers of the double barreled shotgun sitting across his lap with his right hand. Dixon growled, beginning to coil for a leap through the window at the man’s throat, then sniffed the air and began tentatively wagging his stub of a tail.
“Sven! Dixon!” Immediately, the man pulled off his ski mask with his free hand.
“Jackie!” Sven cried with relief. “Jackie O! My man!” They clasped hands through the window and pulled each other in giving man hugs through the open window. Dixon smiled and wagged his tail at Jackie. Then whipped around and barked viciously at someon
e on the passenger side.
“Everybody BACK OFF! He’s with me. STAND DOWN!” Jackie looked directly past Sven through the cab of the truck. Sven saw from the corner of his eye another man in the side view passenger window with a gun. The man on the passenger side had the drop on both him and Dixon.
Two shots rang out behind them at the other truck. Jackie vanished into the gloom. He reappeared at Sven’s window moments later. “It’s cool. Come on out.”
Sven, not unaccustomed to being confronted by violent trigger happy men with guns, put both hands out through the window, then stepped slowly onto the street. He held his empty hands up to show he was unarmed. He closed the door, locking Dixon in the cab, to protect him from being shot. “This is Sven. He’s with me! He’s with me!” Jackie’s voice boomed, as he waved both arms shielding Sven with his own body, and giving the all clear signal. Adams was on his knees in the road, his hands on his head. Chris was sprawled out behind, bleeding. He was writhing and moaning in pain. Four men pointed guns at them. The man with the rifle on his drivers’ side door hung back. Dixon rattled the windows barking at the man.
“I thought we lost you, man. We went to the grow house. We couldn’t find you. It’s so good to see you,” Jackie said.
“Ditto, Bro.” Sven couldn’t stop smiling at the return of his friend. “What’s this?” Sven motioned at the blockade and the guns.
TAGGED: THE APOCALYPSE Page 4
