“What about the people? How are they reacting?” Dunfield asked. It wasn't so much that he cared about their well-being, so much as their willingness to help in the cause.
“Scared, mostly confused,” the sergeant explained. “They didn't see this coming, obviously, so they're willing to take what they're given. A good speech and everything should be copasetic.”
“Does the town have a PA system?”
“Roger that, newly installed, too.”
“Then it looks like I have an announcement to make,” Dunfield resolved. As he said this, the sergeant handed him a piece of paper, the speech already written down.
“What the hell is this?” Dunfield demanded.
“We have a guy, used to be a publicist; he wrote this motivational speech for you. To be frank, Sir, we have better things to do right now than write our own speeches.”
“Can't argue with that,” Dunfield agreed, somewhat reluctantly. “Patch me into that PA system.”
“Right this way, sir,” The sergeant replied.
They took a sharp left and began walking toward what appeared to be a communications building. Which is of course to say that it had a fairly large dish affixed to the top of it. From what Dunfield knew of this particular base however, a large dish could have meant nearly anything – or nothing at all. For some reason, unbeknownst to virtually everyone, even high ranking officers, Wright Patterson Air Force base had served as a decoy to draw attention away from Area 51, though there were those who believed Area 51 existed to draw attention away from Wright Patterson. Dunfield believed that both stories were absolute bullshit, but he had no way to prove it, nor did he care. Of course, with the progression of the US government, and the lack of anything to do, it was not inconceivable that they would become bored from time to time.
They approached the building, pulling the glass double doors open and walking through. A white marble floor greeted them, the Air Force Logo imprinted dominantly and centrally on the floor tiles directly in line with a reception desk that stood both empty and ominous against a backdrop of wood panels. Normally this room would be occupied with security guards and a nagging receptionist, but since the apocalypse security had become a bit...lax.
The sergeant, clearly was not intimidated by the décor of the room, walked around the reception desk and approached a bank of steel elevators, none of which appeared to be secured. He pressed the 'Up' button on the second panel to the left and waited as they heard the hum of the car coming down to greet them.
“The elevators are still working,” Major Dunfield observed.
“Yes sir, backup generator and plenty of fuel.”
“What are our prospects on restoring full electrical power?”
“Ah...abysmal sir,” he replied as the doors opened and they stepped in.
Moments later, they exited the elevator on the sixth floor of the building and entered a small room with what appeared to be a makeshift radio setup. Rather than the proper steel or wooden desk to support the equipment, the room was flanked with plastic folding tables and flimsy chairs. Each table was stacked with communications equipment far too heavy and causing that telltale bend in the center. They weren't quite breaking yet, but given another six months in this condition, they would nearly be touching the floor.
“Are you kidding me?” Dunfield asked the sergeant, who simply shrugged in response. He shook his head and sat down at one of the tables, working the old equipment.
“Turn that dial to 5, and that switch to 18, then press that button,” The sergeant pointed toward the proper controls. “Then, eh...rattle it a bit if it doesn't work.”
As Dunfield worked the controls, there as a compliant 'beep', indicating that the machine would work without a proper 'rattling', at least this time.
“Seems everything is in working order, Sir,” The sergeant said, indicating the obvious. “With your permission, I'd like to leave you to it, I have some--”
Dunfield waved him off, indicating that it was not necessary to continue, or in other words, not necessary to waste his time. The sergeant promptly exited before Dunfield began to read from the sheet of paper he'd been handed only moments before.
“Citizens of Fairborn Ohio,” he started. “My name, is Major Dunfield, the current ranking United States Military Officer. I understand that you're frightened, and you may not have been given any answers. I am here today, to give you those answers. While I, nor anyone else is certain of the exact date, an event occurred, and the culmination of that event resulted in the transformation of 85% of the world's population.
This covers the entirety of the United States of America, as well as Canada, Mexico, South America, Cuba, and as far as we know, the whole of the eastern world. Our neighbors across the pond are of no help to us at this point. We were cut off from the rest of the world – completely on our own. This, however, will not hinder our resolve.
We still are, and always will be the United States of America. We declared our independence from the crown long ago, and now, we have a chance to truly prove our own independence. With that in mind, I invite each and every one of you to join us at Wright Patterson Air Force Base in three hours. Any healthy man, woman, or child who volunteers his services to the United States Military will be issued a hot meal, safe lodgings, and around the clock protection. This offer is open to anyone who hears this message, so with any luck, we'll be seeing you at Gate B in three hours. This is Major Dunfield, over and out.”
He closed the radio and exited the small room, leaving the typed speech notes sitting in front of the broadcasting equipment. A brave new world was starting, and he wanted to be there.
***
“Woah, woah, hold on!” Aimee shouted, pointing at the road ahead. Jonah had seen the man lying on the side of the road, but he had simply opted not to stop. Unfortunately, this determination would most certainly not silence his passenger. In the back of the vehicle, Jack Frost groaned as Jonah brought the vehicle to a stop. It was a reluctant stop, to say the least, and it was executed rather slowly, far past the ailing victim.
“We don't have time for this,” Jonah pointed out. “We need to get to our destination, lives depend on it.”
He said this firmly, but not with anger. If anything he was open to suggestions, even if he felt that sticking to the plan was of the utmost importance. Unfortunately, neither of his passengers had any idea as to what the plan was, and he couldn't simply tell him. He'd tried playing that archaic guessing game with Aimee a few nights ago, but her intelligence in that area was less than formidable, which Jonah hated to admit. He'd never been one to put others down, but even he had to admit that Aimee seemed to have a one track mind.
He finished pulling the car over to the side, slightly irritated as the rubber met gravel and the engine sound terminated.
Jonah and Aimee exited the car and walked slowly toward the man who had assumed the fetal position. He was clearly in pain, if not on the verge of death. Standing over him, Jonah knew precisely what was wrong.
“We should leave,” he advised Aimee.
“This man is hurt; we must help him!” Aimee said adamantly. “Have you no decency?”
Jonah shrugged.
“The man's eyes are open, pupils dilated. You see the way they're moving? That's a involuntary reaction.”
“What does this mean?”
“It means don't touch him, first off.”
Aimee has been kneeling next to the man, practically cradling him. That instruction from Jonah seemed more than serious enough for her to drop him and listen wide eyed to this man whom she had met mere days before. Something in his voice told her that there was mortal danger nearby, if not directly in front of them.
“What else...does it mean?” she asked, climbing to her feet.
“There are a series of involuntary muscle reactions, meaning he can use his eyes, but not the rest of his body. While he can see us, he can't react to us, nor can he react to his environment.”
“Wait, wait, yo
u mean...” Aimee gulped, taking a step backward. “You mean to say that he is awake...but cannot move?”
“That is what I mean to say,” Jonah confirmed. “This is a different strain of the same virus currently affecting the planetary population. The body has been commandeered by the virus, but it cannot gain full motor control. Fortunately, it's one of the easiest strains to heal, assuming it doesn't mutate.”
“Heal? Heal? This thing may be healed? Cured? Like a common cold?” Aimee was in disbelief.
“The primary virus erodes the mind, making it impossible to heal. This one simply takes over the body, meaning it is more than possible to create an antidote. The question however, is time.” He looked directly at Aimee. “You need to reach your family, and I have someone to meet. We should keep moving.”
“I will not tolerate such barbarity!” Aimee screamed, rather suddenly. “You say you can save this man, save him!”
“It's not just this man,” Jonah said, matter-of-factly. Aimee looked at him, confused. He pointed to the field beyond the road, where ten more people lay, exhibiting the same symptoms. “It's all, or none.”
Aimee surveyed the surrounding area, taking in the scene. All of these people lay here, silently, resigned to their fate but likely screaming on the inside as the noon-day sun lay waste to their skin, some of it likely irreparable. They had been consigned to death with perfectly healthy bodies and minds by a virus foreign to the minds of any human being.
“We must help them! All of them!” she shouted. Her sense of kindness was her weakness, as Jonah observed.
“If that's your decision--”
“It is,” Aimee interrupted.
“Then we're going to need a few things. First of all, this man by the road, I need him in the field, and I need all of these people moved closer together. Then we're going to build a shelter over them so they don't slow roast in the sun.”
With these things, she was most happy to comply, but she was at a loss as to where to find materials for a shelter.
“In the woods,” Jonah instructed. “Take Jack Frost with you. Gather tree branches, sticks, and fill one of our trash backs with leaves. “We're going to have to rough it for a few hours.”
Aimee seemed less than pleased, but she went to the car and retrieved a less than enthusiastic Jack Frost. The pair set off toward the tree line at the edge of the corn field, which fortunately, wasn't far off. They returned quickly, bringing the necessary supplies, but seemed annoyed when Jonah sent them back to the tree line for more. He specified long limbs as well as short ones they could use for roofing. Though there was a considerable amount of muttering, Jonah eventually obtained everything he needed, and erected what he referred to as a makeshift structure. The others however were more than a bit impressed.
“My God,” Jack Frost commented. “You built the Hilton in a cornfield...”
“What's a Hilton?” Jonah asked, genuinely confused. “It's a ah...well, never mind. You built one.”
Jonah shrugged and turned back to the structure, which he'd already moved the plague victims inside of. He clapped his hands.
“Let's get started.”
***
“No, hon,” Jamie corrected Ross. “The red ones go in the second row.”
Ross rolled his eyes, naturally as he placed the flower in the correct spot. For reasons completely unknown to him, Amanda and Jamie had been growing flowers on their patio, simply to plant them in the community garden. They'd been doing it since before the event, and Ross had no idea why they were out here doing it now.
“Aren't there more important things to do?” Ross demanded, on his hands and knees, wearing Amanda's yellow gardening gloves. “There are zombies out there, you know.”
“That's not really a reason to avoid having pretty things is it?” Jamie said, kneeling beside him with a smirk on her face.
“I...guess not?”
“It's true,” she said. “we could stop maintaining the garden, and you're right, not many people would care at first, but just imagine how you would feel if all the pretty things in the world were gone? What would you fight for? Why would you even want to live?”
“I guess I don't need pretty things to keep me alive,” Ross shrugged.
“Are you sure?” Jamie smiled. “Are you really, really sure? I think I saw you trying on one of Amanda's skirts last nigh---”
“Hey!” Ross practically screamed, gaining moderate attention from a few onlookers beyond their little patch of sidewalk. “We were out of...I...you need to get more pants in the house!”
“I know what I need to do,” Jamie giggled as she continued arranging flowers, “and you have two perfectly good legs, go find some pants in an empty house, good god.”
“I thought you looked cute in a skirt,” Jill said, kneeling beside him as well. She seemed to be working the flower bed, but Ross was certain she wasn't physically there.
“Not you, too,” he muttered to her.
“Sorry, what was that?” Jamie asked him.
“Nothing,” He replied.
“You seem a little nervous,” Jill grinned. “But that's not unexpected. You feel uncomfortable here, don't you?”
Ross didn't answer, or even look at her, but instead continued to place the flowers and fill them with small trowel of dirt. He shook his head a bit as Jill stared at him.
“You don't want to feel comfortable anywhere, and I'll tell you why,” Jill decided. Ross wanted to scream at her, but irregular behavior in a place like this could easily result in a decapitation or a shot to the head. “Look at where you grew up, you were brought up to be...well, something. I don't know what was going through your parents’ mind.”
That confirmed it, she couldn't be real. Jill had never really gotten to know Ross's parents, and she couldn't possibly know any details of his home life.
“I don't know any details, really,” she said. Ross nearly smashed his head into the concrete. Was she real or not? “But there are those little things that get out. All of those Christian values...they can be a great thing, really, but what happens when they get out of hand? I think that's exactly what happened. Your dad was a street preacher, did you know that?”
Ross did know that.
“Every Tuesday and Thursday he'd stand on the side of whatever street he'd picked for that week, and would shout the most hateful things to us 'sinners'. Oh, what was that one? The one that got the local police in an uproar.
You Deserve Rape; Ross recalled both the name of the sign and the petition.
“Right, the 'You Deserve Rape' campaign,” Jill said, as if she'd had a revelation. “Something about women wearing skimpy clothes and 'asking' for it. With that kind of thing going on under your own roof, how could you feel comfortable there? The thing about you Ross is that you're a good hearted person. You might deny it – a lot, but there's a lot of good in you. Maybe, you need someone to help you let it out. Maybe her,” Jill pointed at Jamie.
Ross shrugged again.
“Let's move it up,” Jamie said, loading the remaining flowers into a wheelbarrow and pointing to the wooden handles. “Push please.”
Ross took up the handles of the wheelbarrow and pushed, but was still aware of Jill walking directly beside him.
“Nope, you're not going to get rid of me that easy,” she smirked. It wasn't as if he was trying. Though maybe he should.
“This side is about 3% bigger than the other,” Jamie said, indicating the space across the sidewalk section that they'd stopped at. “So, we'll need a few more flowers.”
“How do you...how could you possibly know it's 3% bigger?” Ross was getting impatient, but this was one thing he genuinely wanted to know.
“I measured it last year,” She replied. “We plant new flowers here every year.”
“Couldn't you just plant flowers once and let them grow?”
“Well, there's something about the soil in this particular patch. The flowers don't seem to last more than a year.”
“Then
why...couldn't you just plant some stupid plastic flowers and be done with it?”
“There's nothing like the real thing, hon,” she replied, still digging out a space for the new flowers, “and a short life is better than no life at all, wouldn't you agree? Pick up that trowel and help me.”
As he picked up the trowel, he couldn't help but notice a long line of trucks approaching the gate behind them and leaving the community. The trucks, had undoubtedly been stored in a series of garages situated near the rear wall. The community itself, Ross had surmised, was about five miles in diameter. This made it more of a small town, but the lack of facilities within the perimeter made it unsustainable. To be frank, there wasn't even a decent grocery store nearby. The only way to reach a grocery store in the old days had been to travel about two miles down what they called 'Middle-Urbana Road' and take a right into town. There was a Krogers, as well as an old Speedway gas station. A few other stores could be seen, as well as some of the older fast food restaurants.
The trucks that were exiting, were undoubtedly going on a supply run. The gated community was unable to sustain itself internally, and would therefore make occasional runs to the area grocery and retail stores. He'd talked to a few people about it, and they described the runs as 'dangerous', though they never went into any detail. It may have been because they didn't want to share a serious conversation with a fifteen year old boy, or because there really was no danger. With the number of supply runs they'd made into the wild, Ross couldn't imagine that there were too many more zombies to contend with. Still, he desperately wished he could have been on that convoy, or spend some time doing something worthwhile.
Fun fact, Ross,” Jill said. “You ARE doing something worthwhile. You're doing something to raise their spirits, and from what it looks like, you're helping Jamie out, too. She puts up a strong front, but I can't imagine any of this is easy for her. Look around, the world's ended, Ross. You're not the only one that was affected. Actually, you were barely effected. You hated everyone, anyway. Now, you have a chance to...well...not have everyone. Isn't that great? You have people who like you, and if you give them a chance, they might even be able to love you.”
Zombies Ate My Neighbors, Family & Friends (Book 2) Page 8
