“Still no vitals, Doctor,” Fuentes growled as he watched the thin green line motor along.
Jessica rotated her watch around her thin wrist and read its face. “He has been gone for nearly six minutes. If he comes back soon he might be recoverable but cerebral hypoxia is just around the corner.”
Fuentes clucked his tongue and said, “If big guy here doesn’t react to the anti-serum soon he’s coming back as either an eggplant... or a zombie.”
The Chinese Alpha battled its restraints and hissed and clacked its teeth at Doctor Fuentes’ backside, which was frustratingly out of reach.
“That’s six minutes... time of death...” Jessica was poised with pen to paper, about to record Agent Stockton’s untimely demise and list Omega infection as the cause of death when the big man shuddered before her eyes and drew in a prolonged lungful of air.
The heart monitor came beeping to life and the green dot started bouncing haphazardly up and down across the glass display.
Jessica stepped back with a bewildered look plastered on her face when the soon-to-be-cadaver’s eyelids snapped open. Jessica didn’t know what to think. Although the man had drawn a breath, his eyes, the windows to the soul, looked like most of the newly turned: milky white.
Fuentes, fully cognizant of the Alpha eyeing his posterior, was not startled by the display of life the agent had just exhibited. Instead he sidestepped to the head of the table, perched his glasses on his nose, threw caution to the wind and peeled back Stockton’s fluttering eyelids. The pupils dilated. Good sign, Fuentes thought, checking his enthusiasm. “Hanson... have we been documenting everything?” The doctor emphasized the word everything because he had a penchant for forgetting things in the short term. He was known for documenting everything on sticky notes, and since the apocalypse got under way those marvelous yellow pieces of paper seemed to be in short supply. When she nodded, he smiled in satisfaction. “Good job Hanson... because I haven’t,” Fuentes said.
Chapter 23
Outbreak - Day 8
Over Casper, Wyoming
Jedi One-Two, the second Ghost Hawk, flew in tight formation, shadowing the fully loaded Chinooks like a sheep hound watching over its flock. They were enroute to rendezvous with the Hercules for the first of their last two scheduled aerial refuelings.
Jedi One-One remained behind, lazily circling the ambush site, while Cade and Desantos acted out their version of good cop/bad cop.
“I have a feeling you two are just hired help... isn’t that right?” Cade asked, playing the good cop. He noted the men’s body language. The bigger man held his chin high and stared daggers at the spook and the operators. The smaller of the two squirmed a little, avoiding direct eye contact. He wore his blonde hair high and tight, military style. The multiple piercings in both ears contradicted the haircut. Full sleeve tattoos covered both arms: skulls, daggers, and flames were inked on every square inch. Apparently “I think I’m a badass” was the central theme but Badass wasn’t fooling anybody.
The other man was just this side of giant; he had a ruddy complexion and a hawk-like nose that had already met its share of knuckles. The man’s black ponytail was pulled back so tightly he was left with slits for eyes. The dead giveaway that he was going to be the more defiant of the two were the series of black tears tattooed underneath his right eye. They weren’t just for show; they were for telling. Ponytail had either spent time in prison--killed a man--or a combination of both.
“So you’re the snitch-bitch of the marriage. That’s my guess,” Desantos said through clenched teeth, his face inches from Ponytail’s.
The man visibly bristled but remained seated.
Without warning Desantos punched Ponytail in the face, making sure to twist his hips to put all of his body weight behind the strike. Blood sluiced from yet another broken nose. “Talk now or your teeth are next. Keep in mind... talking without them is going to be a pain in the ass... and you will talk... or else.” Desantos could tell by the man’s eyes that he was curious about what was going to happen if he remained silent.
“What’s the or else,” the man croaked, spraying bloody spittle on the floor of the helo.
Cade silently eyed Badass, whose lower lip had begun to quiver.
Desantos’ patience was shot. “Ari, find me some Z’s!” he shouted over the faint engine noise, mainly for Ponytail’s benefit.
Ari pointed the helicopter west following the refueling waypoint prominently displayed on his HUD display. God I love this bird’s glass cockpit, he thought to himself. “Keep an eye out for walkers,” Ari requested over the onboard comms.
Ponytail’s face grew whiter by the second because he knew that he was about to find out exactly what the asshole soldier meant by or else.
The spook spotted them first. “Port side nine o’clock,” Tice said into his mic. “Seven bodies moving south.”
“Copy that,” Ari said.
“Last chance,” Desantos intoned, glaring into Ponytail’s eyes.
Ari closed with the herd and held the bird in a steady hover fifteen feet over the hungry Z’s. The creatures were “first turns” and looked pretty beat up. The man might stand a chance, Ari thought as he watched the zombies reaching and staggering, fighting to stay upright in the ship’s rotor wash.
Ponytail’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. It looked like he wanted to speak but the words wouldn’t come.
Cade helped Desantos get him to his feet. Clearly he didn’t want to leave the helicopter; the doomed man fell back to his knees, nothing but dead weight.
Cade drew his Gerber and cut the zip ties from Ponytail’s wrists while Desantos propelled him into thin air. Ponytail rolled the windows up, flailing his arms all the way to the ground. He hit hard, feet first, and rolled. By the time he found his balance the Z’s were on top of him.
Tice mouthed the words, “Harsh way to go,” under his breath and tore his eyes away from the carnage. Maddox could care less one way or the other; he was spent from the constant running and gunning and promptly closed his eyes, thankful for the few hours of shuteye he was going to get during the ride home.
Lopez, not sure where he stood, just looked away, content that God would sort it out.
Hicks, the crew chief, was lost in his own thoughts reliving his part in the mercy killings at the Long Acre Retirement Villa. One thing he was certain of, the man dying down below was involved with bad people and didn’t deserve an ounce of his mercy.
Cade made sure Badass got a good look at his buddy’s death throes. “Ready to talk?” he asked.
While the zombies tore at Ponytail’s guts, Badass spilled his. The poser was a trove of information and he sang like a canary all the way to Colorado Springs.
Chapter 24
Outbreak - Day 8
I-25 Between Castle Rock and Colorado Springs
“Holy shit!” Wilson exclaimed.
Sasha jumped in her seat, startled by sound of her brother’s voice. “What is it Wilson?” she griped.
Wilson pointed in the direction they were headed and said, “Look at those black specks... right there on the horizon... they look like freakin’ UFOs.”
In a matter of seconds the moving specks grew larger and morphed into a number of matte black bat wing and dart-shaped jet aircraft. The ominous looking machines were nearly silent until they passed directly overhead. Then a low timbered howl washed over the valley as the fast movers disappeared over the northern horizon.
“What the heck were those?” Ted asked from the back seat.
“Batman’s boomerang,” William said in a foggy out-of-it sounding voice. “And he’s bringing me my pills...”
“Why don’t you give him another? There’s still a stretch of driving and we might hit a whole mess of walkers when we get to Colorado Springs. Besides, he’d be better off sleeping the rest of the way,” Pug proffered.
After rifling through the bag full of pills Ted found one of the night-night Vicodin pills. Without a fight William swallowe
d the medicine, and then asked for a nice Riesling to wash it down.
Ted propped William up in his seat and cinched the seatbelt a little tighter. “That ought to keep him happy for a while. Everyone satisfied?” Ted spat, feeling more than a little pissed off. More so at himself for not wanting to deal with a loopy William, than at the pushy driver who was a total stranger to everyone in the truck.
Pug finally answered Ted’s earlier question about the over flight. “Those black airplanes... I remember seeing a documentary about them on cable. The bat wing jobs are B-2 Liberty stealth bombers and the others are B-1 something or others... I forget what they called ‘em. At any rate, I’ve got a bad feeling that Denver is going to be glowing in a few minutes.”
“No way,” Wilson blurted.
“Where else are they going flying so low and fast?” Pug countered.
“I hate to admit it... but I think Pug’s right,” Ted opined from the backseat.
Wilson’s conscience was nagging him, and he suddenly felt that he owed Pug full disclosure. “Do you want to tell him or should I?” Wilson asked Ted, referring to the disaster they’d left behind in Denver.
“You go right ahead,” Ted intoned. He’d clearly picked up on Wilson’s meaning and wanted nothing to do with the conversation.
Wilson sighed. He didn’t want to be even remotely linked to the surge of dead following them from Denver, but his mom raised him to be truthful. The monsters weren’t going to stop at some roadside attraction and get sidetracked. They were going to be a problem for the entire South valley, a real big and very hungry problem. Wilson sat in silence and looked out the window for a couple of minutes before he said, “The walkers started doing some weird stuff... moving in a pack like wolves following the alpha male. When we escaped Denver there were eight of us.”
“What happened to the others?” Pug asked, trying his best to sound concerned.
“Those fucking things overtook them... it was awful. Cheryl was torn in two.” Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose and continued speaking, hiding behind the dark shroud of his eyelids. “We were being followed... it’s like they’re goddamn bloodhounds or something... and they are back there somewhere.” Wilson opened his red rimmed eyes and stared straight ahead.
Sasha rubbed her brother’s shoulder, searching her teenaged mind for some comforting words. “It was a good plan and we did escape Denver. Don’t beat yourself up brother... you are not to blame.”
Ted finally piped up from the backseat. “They were hunting for anything living. For Christ’s sake I saw a bunch of them corner a pack of stray dogs and devour them in seconds... fucking seconds. And sooner or later, after they consumed anything with a pulse--including Fido--they were bound to leave the city... it was inevitable.”
“I’d tend to agree with ol’ Ted here,” Pug said. “Besides, it sounds like you’re frettin' a lot over a few walkers. How many did you say there were?”
“I purposefully did not,” Wilson said, barely above a whisper. “And if all of the walkers that were behind us when we fled Denver are still following us... then you do not want to know how many of them there are.”
Pug was about to open his mouth and try to force a number out of Wilson when the female zombie lurched into the truck’s path. He had already been aware of the creature in the distance, limping along the side of the road, but he hadn’t anticipated her abrupt change in direction. A slight glancing blow from the left front fender spun the zombie around.
In that brief moment, Sasha realized that the walker had an infant strapped to its chest and that the small body was wildly flailing its chubby arms in the air. “Oh my God, did anyone else see the baby?”
“Get your eyes checked young lady. All I saw was that solo walker,” Pug lied.
“Well I did. Stop this truck right now. We’ve got to check... just in case,” Sasha said vehemently. She jammed her fist in her mouth and began to gnaw on her knuckles. It was her subconscious reaction to stress and a very hard habit to break.
“We don’t have time to stop... it’s gonna be dark in a couple of hours,” Pug said. “Besides... you know the mom and the child are both in the same boat. They’re fuckin dead.”
“Are you sure? You were going pretty fast,” Sasha said, her voice brimming with hope.
Wilson spoke after a few seconds of uneasy silence. “I’ll go back and check... because if I don’t, it’s going to bother me forever.” He wasn’t doing it only for his sister’s sake. It was also for him... the fact that he hadn’t put the neighbor’s toddler down after he bashed her parents’ undead brains in still weighed heavy on his heart. He could still see little Sarah slamming against the baby gate, her beady dead eyes hungering for a hunk of his flesh.
Pug remained silent, weighing whether he should let the young man out and then drive away, leaving him for the dead. Then he remembered that the Ted fella in the backseat had a shotgun, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember if it was loaded. Curse you old age, he thought. It was very tempting, but he took the high road and pulled over.
They all heard and felt the low rumble of the engines before the jet airplanes screamed back overhead. The stealth bombers were cruising at a much lower altitude than they had been on their northbound flyby.
Wilson gaped at the planes as they blotted out the sky over the truck; they passed so close that he could see the gray U.S. Air Force markings. He turned and peered out the rear window towards Denver, half-expecting to see mushroom clouds blooming on the horizon. Nothing.
As if he were reading Wilson’s thoughts, Pug said, “We’re OK. It looks like they didn’t nuke Denver. Time’s a wastin', you wanna take my pistol... so you can do them both?”
“No, but thanks,” Wilson said icily as he exited the truck, bat in hand, and started his hundred yard trudge towards closure.
Sasha watched with rapt attention while she continued to chew on her fist.
Wilson moved closer to the walker. He had covered only half of the distance before his gut feeling was confirmed--he covered the remaining fifty yards thinking only about what he needed to do.
With only fifteen feet separating him and the hissing ghoul Wilson readied the Louisville Slugger. At five feet the undead baby in the carrier started to moan along with its mother. The chorus chilled his soul. It wasn’t a fair fight--his rage versus the zombie’s mindless drive.
Sasha watched the events unfold through her fingers. Wilson’s bat lashed out. He didn’t stop swinging until well after the zombies quit moving. She folded her small form on the seat and thought about her mom, trying to visualize her warm happy smile and the little tilt of her head when she was about to offer up an unwanted piece of wisdom. It was all gone now. Try as she might she couldn’t even remember what her mom had smelled like--the reassuring scent that meant she was present and everything was going to be all right. And worst of all Sasha feared that she had lost her rock... the always steady and predictable Wilson seemed to be a different person... he now seemed cold and detached.
The door opened. Sasha cringed a little, knowing that she was stuck between Pug and the changed man that Wilson had become.
“Well. Was I right or was I right?” Pug asked smugly.
Wilson wanted to lash out, but he had left it all on I-25. Instead he softly said, “I knew you were right from the get go. The beauty of the whole thing is that now I am alright.”
Pug didn’t know what the kid was getting at and he really didn’t give a shit. He wanted to get to the U.S. Capital and he wanted to get there before dark. In the distance a group of white lights suddenly appeared on the far horizon and began sweeping the sky.
“Look, they’re expecting us,” Ted joked, trying to ease the tension in the truck.
“Then that’s where we’re going,” Pug stated as he pulled back onto the road and accelerated quickly. Although he was anxious to get to his destination he watched his speed a little closer. He didn’t want any more walker encounters now that he was so close to his objecti
ve.
***
The Stryker sat in the middle of the interstate, silhouetted against the backdrop of darkened high-rises in downtown Colorado Springs. From the roofs of the buildings, feelers of light probed the sky. Cheyenne Mountain, Pikes Peak and the rest of the Rockies circled the city like a fourteen thousand foot granite fence.
The survivors, being chauffeured by the strange man named Pug, were instantly blinded by the high intensity lights atop the armored vehicle’s sloping nose.
“Turn off the motor and exit your vehicle,” a disembodied voice ordered through a loudspeaker.
Since the Stryker’s .50-cal was pointed directly at the Ford, Pug wisely did as he was told.
“What do you think they’re going to do with us?” Sasha whispered.
Wilson stepped out first and said, “Whatever it is... it can’t be any worse than the shit we’ve been through already.”
“Wilson. Quit cussing, it’s not like you.”
“You’re not my mom,” he hissed back.
“Quit yer bickering and do as you’re told,” Pug implored. He wanted to blend in, not draw the ire of the U.S. military.
“What should I do about William?” Ted asked anyone that was willing to listen.
“Leave him for now. If you drag him out they might think he’s infected and get a case of the itchy trigger fingers,” Pug advised.
Once everyone, excluding William, was assembled, the voice told them to slowly turn all the way around.
Wilson got a good look at Ted’s splotchy cut up cheeks and forehead and hoped that it didn’t hurt half as bad as it looked.
Two armed soldiers emerged from the vehicle and approached to within ten feet of the survivors. “Are any of you armed?” the older of the two asked as his eyes passed from Pug to Wilson to Ted and then stopped on Sasha for a second.
Pug recognized the rank on the soldier’s uniform and addressed him properly. “Yes Sergeant. I have a .45 and there’s also a shotgun in the backseat, and Babe Ruth here...” Pug elbowed Wilson, “his baseball bat is in the front seat.”
In Harm's Way Page 16
