HOT ZONE: A Post-Apocalyptic Pandemic Thriller (The Zulu Virus Chronicles Book 1)

by Steven Konkoly

  “I’ll take whatever you can give, Dr. Chang. Thank you,” said Larsen. “So I guess the question now is how the hell do we get you out of here? Off-road it with the 4Runner? Do you have any knowledge of the area’s back roads?”

  Chang shook his head. “I don’t.”

  “Then we hike out of here,” said Larsen. “Take our time and evade patrols.”

  “What would you say if I told you I was an experienced pilot, with a plane waiting in a hangar nearby?” said Chang. “I could fly us pretty much anywhere, using this map to avoid any possible quarantine zones.”

  Larsen could barely believe it. Flying to Colorado beat the hell out of Larsen’s plan, and it meant less exposure to any authorities. Private, domestic air travel could be fairly anonymous if done right. “Can we drive to the plane without hitting the roadblocks?”

  “No. But it’s only about two and a half miles away.”

  “Then I’d say we better get moving.”

  They made several steps down the hallway, when Chang’s security tablet illuminated, chiming an alarm.

  “What is it?” said Larsen.

  “Two people just entered the southeast corner of the forest surrounding the house,” said Chang.

  Larsen shook his head. “It’s too soon for another team to get here.”

  Chang didn’t have an opinion about the matter. He was completely trusting Larsen’s assessment and judgment about the capabilities of the other teams. Larsen thought it over for a few seconds before rubbing his face.

  “Kill the lights out front,” said Larsen before removing a long, thick cylinder from a sleeve on the side of his backpack and attaching it to the barrel of his rifle. “If this is a second team, I can take them down in the forest before they know what hit them.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Joshua Olson walked cautiously across the invisible forest floor, keeping a close eye on his father, who was about twenty feet ahead. He made sure he didn’t snag a boot on a tree root or anything else that might tumble him to the ground. His dad walked point, and Joshua was following his lead. They had travelled next to each other in the open, on the streets, walking as fast as they could stand with the heavy packs, but when they reached the cattle fence at the edge of this vast forest, his dad had changed their tactics.

  It was nearly impossible to see very far in the forest, so he wanted them spread out, allowing their senses to react separately to their surroundings. Something his dad missed in the distance, Joshua might catch, and vice versa. They’d moved slowly, stopping long enough to listen for movement. The cattle fence just outside the forest led his dad to suspect they might be coming up on a house hidden inside the woods. He would have diverted them around it, but the trees extended as far as he could see in either direction, and his dad wanted to keep them moving in a northwesterly direction.

  According to their GPS unit, Little Eagle Creek was about three-quarters of a mile ahead. Once they crossed the creek, they would be travelling near the 10th Mountain Division’s western quarantine boundary. His dad planned to hike parallel to the road at that safe distance until they ran into Finley Creek. The creek ran under Route 421, representing the safest way out of the quarantine zone he could identify.

  His dad knew the spot where Finley Creek crossed the road. Heavily wooded on both sides, he said they could avoid aerial detection, day or night, but eventually it would become a popular crossing point for refugees—and a focus for the soldiers. His dad wanted to get across tonight, before the 10th Mountain Division started to plug all of the possible gaps in their containment line.

  He shifted his rifle to the other shoulder. “This thing,” as he now called it, was really starting to bother him. His dad wanted him to take something with a little more range and power, so he’d given Joshua the M1-A1 Scout Squad rifle, a modernized, shorter-barreled version of the M14. With the scope and twenty-round magazine, it weighed significantly more than the AR-15-style rifle his father carried. On top of that, the M1-A1’s basic shoulder sling put it at an awkward position along his side, where it was constantly bumping away at his hip. His dad’s rifle was in a comfortable three-point sling over his vest, basically hanging across his chest. Maybe at some point they could trade off. He couldn’t imagine walking for days with “this thing.”

  Joshua eased between the two trees his father had passed through moments ago, careful not to let his rifle bang against either. When he caught sight of his dad’s shadowy form again, his dad was crouched low, holding up a fist. Joshua immediately unshouldered the rifle and lowered to a crouch, listening intently to the forest around him. He didn’t hear anything beyond the usual insect noises and occasional flutter in the leaves above. After several seconds, his dad slowly and silently joined him.

  “We’re being followed,” his dad whispered. “I definitely saw two people back in the neighborhoods before we broke into the fields. I thought I saw them a few times after that, and I’m pretty sure I saw them again just now. Just barely. It’s hard to see anything in here.”

  “They’re probably doing the same thing we’re doing.”

  “Probably,” said his dad. “Which worries me. They could blow it for us at the creek, or earlier.”

  “They’ve been pretty quiet,” said Joshua. “I haven’t heard them.”

  “They do have that going for them,” said his dad. “Let’s lie low for a few minutes. See what they do.”

  Joshua placed the rifle on the ground next to him and lowered himself to the forest floor, facing the path they had just taken. His dad lay down next to him, staring through his rifle scope at the murky forest in front of them. Joshua kept his rifle next to him, uncomfortable with the idea of similarly using his scope as a pair of binoculars. The thought of pointing his rifle at the people following him didn’t seem right. He supposed it was fine. There was no way for the rifle to accidentally discharge. It just seemed weird to him to sightin on someone like that.

  “Dad, can you get the binoculars out of my backpack?” he whispered. “Right side pouch.”

  “Hold on,” said his dad. “I can see them.”

  Joshua froze, willing himself deeper into the musty forest floor. He put his hand on the M1-A1 and pulled it in a little closer. “What are they doing?”

  “Nothing. That’s the problem. They seem to have stopped because we stopped,” said his dad. “I think one of them has a pair of binoculars.”

  “What do you want to do?” said Joshua.

  “I want to see what they do,” said his dad. “But we don’t have the time. They might sit there all night. I’d go back and have a chat with them, but I can’t tell if they’re armed. Hate to get shot by a nervous Nellie.”

  “I could walk ahead. Bring them to you,” said Joshua.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” said his dad. “Not a bad idea at all.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Jack Harper searched frantically through his binoculars. The two men they had followed since leaving their friend’s neighborhood had stopped for a few minutes before taking off again—at a much faster pace. He didn’t figure that out until the last person in the group, the younger one, nearly vanished from sight, the cop already long gone. It was the first time he couldn’t see both of them through the binoculars, even if they just appeared as shadows in the distance. Now he couldn’t find either of them. Wait. There! He nudged Emma.

  “I got the kid again,” he whispered. “Let’s go.”

  “They have to know we’re following them,” she said.

  “That’s my guess. They’re trying to lose us without making it obvious.”

  “Maybe we should back off,” said Emma. “Make our own way. We can keep going in this general direction. See where it takes us. They’ve pretty much stayed on the same course. At least I think they have. It’s almost impossible to tell.”

  Jack took a step forward, putting his hand on a tree. “That’s the problem. We don’t have a compass. No location services on our phone. We’re literally walkin
g in the dark. We’d have to go back to using roads.”

  “It worked fine before,” said Emma.

  “Until we run into a roadblock,” said Jack, stepping between the two trees he’d seen the cop and kid behind earlier. “They know something we don’t.”

  Emma followed him through. “Or they’re headed for someone’s house, kind of like we were earlier.”

  “Then we’ll move on by ourselves,” said Jack, turning to make sure she was still right behind him. “We need to pick up the pace.”

  A blinding light filled his eyes, causing him to raise one of his hands to his face. The other went to his right hip.

  “Both hands in the air,” said an authoritative voice. “That hand moves another centimeter toward your hip, and you’re a dead man. Ma’am, both hands in the air.”

  Jack raised his hands immediately, struggling to see past the burning light. He could barely keep his eyes open. Once he caught a glimpse of a rifle barrel next to the light, he put himself between the light and Emma.

  “Ma’am, I need you to step to your left. Into the light,” said the voice. “Sir, do not move. I understand that you want to protect your wife, but the best thing you can do for her right now is keep your feet planted. Nod if you understand.”

  He nodded, hearing his wife shuffle to a spot next to him.

  “We had no intention—” started Jack.

  “Before we get to that, let’s have a look at your right hip,” said the voice. “Very slowly turn left.”

  “It’s a .38 revolver,” said Jack.

  “Still need to see it,” said the voice.

  Jack turned slowly to face his wife, who stood wide-eyed with her hands pointing skyward. She glanced at him, a look of complete panic on her face.

  “Ma’am, you’re going to be fine,” said the voice, seeing the same face. “Sir, very slowly lower your right hand and pull your shirt up. I can’t see the revolver. In case you’re curious, I’m holding a semiautomatic rifle. No matter how many times you’ve practiced drawing and firing that revolver, you will not get it clear of your holster before you’re dead. Understood?”

  “Yes,” he said. “It’s my grandfather’s service weapon. He was an East Chicago cop.”

  “Plenty of time for that later,” said the man. “Let’s see the revolver.”

  Jack carefully and deliberately lowered his hand to the edge of his T-shirt and lifted it to expose the pistol.

  “With two fingers, pinch the grip and drop it at your feet. At no point should your hand come toward me.”

  He felt for the wood grip without looking, squeezing it firmly between his thumb and index finger before lifting it out of his waistband and dropping it at his feet. For a fraction of a moment, when his fingers let go, he thought the pistol might discharge, getting them both killed. When it thudded softly against the forest floor, he audibly breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Kick it over,” said the man.

  He did what he was told.

  “Any more weapons?”

  “I have a small folding knife in my back pocket,” said Emma.

  The light vanished. “I think we’re good. Take a seat. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “How do we know that?” said Jack.

  A less intense light exposed the man’s face, one of his hands holding a small flashlight. He was older than Jack by about ten to fifteen years. Tan face with crow’s feet extending past the corners of his eyes. Deeply wrinkled forehead above greenish-brown eyes. The other hand held a gold and silver badge.

  “Officer David Olson, Westfield Police Department. Sorry about the drama, but you were following us,” he said, directing the light back at them. “What’s your story?”

  “Jack Harper,” he said.

  “Emma Harper,” said his wife. “Officer Olson, sorry if we freaked you out.”

  “Please call me David.”

  “Okay. David, we met a few of your neighbors, who happened to mention you were a cop.”

  “They told you that?” said David.

  “They threatened us with it,” said Jack.

  “We’re friends with the Chases. Your neighbors. Our hope was to spend the night in their screen room and take off at first light, but we saw you and your—” said Emma, pausing.

  “My son,” said David.

  “We saw you and your son take off from your house. Jack assumed you knew something we didn’t, and that’s why we followed you.”

  “We just want to get as far north as possible. The 465 is locked down by the National Guard,” said Jack. “Once we get cell service again, I can have my parents drive down to pick us up. They live a few hours’ drive in that direction. They’d be happy to give you a ride, too. Where are you headed?”

  David paused longer than Jack expected, almost as if the question had taken him by surprise.

  “I just want to get past the next quarantine boundary,” said David. “The 10th Mountain Division has secured Route 32 north of here and Route 421 west of here. I was going to cross 421 somewhere past the airport and keep going north. I figured the farther west and north we travelled, the fewer soldiers we’d encounter. I hadn’t given much thought to what comes after that.”

  “I knew it. There’s another quarantine line,” said Jack, thinking more about what David had just said. “The regular army is here?”

  David nodded slowly. “Yeah. Something big happened down in Indianapolis. Here too, I think. People just started losing their minds.”

  “We came up from Broad Ripple,” said Jack. “The same thing happened down there. Craziest shit you ever seen. But it was everywhere. It’s pretty quiet up here.”

  “You were down there?” said David. “South of the 465? How did you get out?”

  “It wasn’t that hard,” said Emma. “They have the roads barricaded, but anyone can get across the 465 if you time it right.”

  “They’ve put all of their manpower at the on-ramps, underpasses and overpasses, where the bulk of the people show up,” said Jack. “We only had to deal with one Humvee on the 465, and it was as predictable as the sun.”

  “How bad was it down there?” said David.

  “Apocalyptic,” said Jack.

  “What do you mean by that?” said David.

  “It means everyone is acting fucking crazy,” said Jack. “Stumbling around with vacant looks on their faces. Running around vandalizing shit like lunatics. Gunshots every minute. Sirens nonstop. It was insane.”

  “What happened to Rudy?” said his wife.

  The question momentarily short-circuited his mouth. He tried to say something. Anything. But nothing came out. He obviously knew she hadn’t forgotten about it, but he’d kind of pushed it as far back in his head as possible. Hoping it would come up in a quiet, unrushed conversation a few weeks after everything had settled. He truly didn’t know what to say, even if he could form the words.

  “I want to know,” she said. “I need to know.”

  “Who’s Rudy?” said David.

  Jack detected an increased tension in the police officer’s voice. He could understand why. The way his wife posed the question, Rudy could have been someone Jack took for a walk and never came back with. He took a shallow breath and answered, “Rudy was our dog.”

  “What happened to him?” said David.

  Jack shook his head slowly. “I don’t want—”

  “I need to know, Jack,” said Emma. “I need to know what we’re up against out here. What’s really wrong with everyone.”

  “I can’t, Emma,” said Jack. “Please.”

  “Jack, I’m not taking another step until you tell me,” said Emma. “I know he’s dead. I just want to know what happened.”

  He glanced at David, whose face had lost the rough edge it had come into the conversation with. In fact, he looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here right now. Exactly the way Jack felt.

  “Tell me,” said Emma. “Please.”

  Jack swallowed hard, tears already welling. Fuck!r />
  “He was on their grill!” said Jack. “Already dead.”

  Dead silence engulfed the group, broken a moment later by a new voice from the forest.

  “Nobody moves. I have all of you covered,” said the voice.

  “What the fu—” started David.

  “Kill the light and let the rifle fall to the ground. I can see you in the dark, too. One fuckup and the whole group goes down—plus the guy you have about fifty yards northwest of here. That’s an easy shot. I’ll be on my way in about three seconds.”

  The forest went dark, leaving Jack to guess what they had walked into following Officer Olson.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Eric Larsen kept his rifle trained on the cop, the bright green laser centered on the man’s chest. He’d been a little slow to follow his order to let the rifle fall, indicating an attitude problem. He tolerated the delay because the cop had to unclip the rifle from a three-point sling to make it happen, and because he wasn’t the enemy. Still. He wasn’t taking any chances. When the rifle hit the ground next to the cop, Larsen noticed the handle of a revolver at his feet.

  “Kick the revolver away,” said Larsen.

  When the cop didn’t immediately comply, Larsen fired a suppressed bullet past his head.

  “That wasn’t necessary!” yelled the cop.

  “I need you to take me a little more seriously,” said Larsen.

  “Message received,” said the cop, kicking the pistol away.

  “I heard part of your conversation,” said Larsen, addressing the couple but keeping his eye on the cop. “Sorry. I don’t know what else to say about it.”

  “There’s not much else to say,” said the husband. “I’m Jack Harper. This is my wife, Emma.”

  “And I’m David Olson, Westfield PD,” said the cop.

  “You’re a little out of your jurisdiction, Officer Olson,” said Larsen.

  “Just David. I’m getting out of here while that’s still an option. My son is the guy northwest of us. Please don’t hurt him.”

  “Your son is fine,” said Larsen. “He doesn’t appear to be aware of me.”