Race the Dead (Book 1): The Last Flag

by Cavanagh, Wren

  At the exit, Theo poked his head out for a quick look. A crowd of the turned were a block away, south of them. Other than that, it looked like they had a clear path to their rendezvous point. “Coast’s clear, let’s go.” They left, walking as fast as they could manage while shouldering the burden of their friend. His feet dragged on the snow-covered ground, the earlier flurries had long since turned into a thick and steady snowfall.

  “This just sucks!” Theo growled angrily through clenched teeth, lips distorted in contempt while he glowered at the sky, squinting against the falling snow.

  “No shit, Captain Obvious,” Alvin laughed his unhappiness, as the snow coated them white, and took a quick look at his friend. Ty, too deeply in shock to notice or care, made no sound, his eyes fixed on a far and bleak horizon that had been reserved for him alone.

  Unseen and far away millions of viewers followed their passage, through snow-blurred lenses. The camerawoman, ever a professional, said nothing. She followed, flanked, and at times jumped ahead of the three young men, every so often cleaning the lenses. The camera was steady and unflinching; it passed no judgment and showed no compassion. #saveTyshon was trending, but so was #leaveTyshon, showing that many of the viewers hadn't much compassion either.

  Attentive viewers would have seen the moving shapes in the milky periphery: shapes moving so slowly, that at first were easily overlooked. A block and half away from the landing site, viewers — attentive or not — wouldn't have been able to miss them. A bit ahead of the group, Eliza panned her shot, focusing it behind the boys, where a slow but determined procession had joined them and was steadily growing. With numb fingers, she paused and zoomed in on the crowd, focusing on a couple of the stark bloodless faces with the jaundiced eyes to give the viewers that something extra, before panning back on the boys.

  Just as she focused back on them, Theo turned and looked over his shoulder. He was the first of the group to notice, or perhaps the camerawoman gave him a silent heads-up. The viewers will never know.

  “Alvin, company.”

  Alvin twisted his head to look, as they both struggled to hold up their friend and keep the pace.

  “They're going to gain up, we’re too slow,” said Theo as he lifted Tyson arm’s off his shoulder. “Keep going. I’ll catch up to you.”

  “Theo...”

  The camera caught the look Alvin gave Theo. Far too much affection and concern came through in that look. Oh, you like that boy, Eliza thought. As she kept pace, she wondered if the viewers would now root against the two kids. Most of the black male viewer-ship alone would shit bricks. You go in front of a live streaming TV camera; you might as well jump in shark-infested waters while carrying your own personal open barrel of chum.

  “Don’t worry," Theo yelled back, “Keep going.” Slender Theo. Silent, blond and pale as an elf in a Tolkien movie. Written off early in the game by the public at large as a dumbass, speech-challenged wigger. He had kept his ax. He jogged over to the silent followers and swung with purpose and care. Fast and agile, he struck in no hurry, each blow well-aimed and well-timed. In less than fifteen minutes the party that had been following them was laying dead on the ground. 20th century style dead. Satisfied, he ran back and joined them.

  “You fucking samurai...”

  “Got that right,” he replied with a small grin, and draped Tyshon’s arm back over his shoulder.

  “We almost there.” He gestured upward with the ax. “Look, the helicopter.”

  The Bell’s rotors spun loudly as it hovered over the community square. One of the men on board saw them and turned to talk to the pilot. In seconds, the Bell landed with the grace of dragonfly, the side doors slid open, and two men raced out to help. They each grabbed one of Ty’s legs and all ran back to the helicopter as a team. In the few minutes that it took to get there, more of the sodden dead were in near-reach, and the snow was almost a tangible curtain.

  “Jesus, it’s getting worse!” Yelled one of their rescuers. A heavy-set guy, fast for his size, jumped aboard and helped lift Ty to the floor. “Get in boys. Get in!”

  “No. Not me.” Alvin yelled over the noise of the rotors and stepped away. “I'm finishing this, Theo, you go. Go on.”

  The blond boy made a sound between a snort and a laugh, shook his head and stepped back from the helicopter.

  “Boys, Jesus. Guys, we gotta go.” The second man looked scared and kept glancing back at the advancing mob. “Wow, they really look dead.”

  “We’ll win this thing. Okay?” Alvin yelled and slapped the side of the helicopter. “We’ll win this thing and meet you outside. I’ll buy you a beer, go.”

  The big man gaped at them and cursed something unintelligible before turning to the camera woman. “Eliza, quit shooting. Get in!”

  Eliza looked at the two boys, wondered if Theo was even eighteen and she was ready to bet that Alvin wasn’t as old as he said, either. She shook her head. “Go on. I’ll keep up with the team here. Just be ready to get me out, okay?”

  “We gotta go!” The pilot yelled.

  “Can’t promise…it’s going to get ugly, hide if we can’t get to you right away. Stay safe!” The big man yelled, and shut the doors as the helicopter shot upwards against the snow.

  “We gotta go, guys.” Alvin screamed.

  The three took off running. The incoming wave of the dead left enough space between them that they managed to run off into a side street. Three blocks later, Theo took a running swing at the entrance door of a tavern. Two more blows at the bolt and the door gave, they had shelter for the night.

  Had they been able to stay behind and observe the progress of the rescue helicopter, they’d have noticed two other larger, more aggressive-looking helicopters join it in the sky. The Army helicopters escorted the Bells back to the landing patch and set down alongside them. The production area had very much begun to look like an official Army base, as crews and trailers are surrounded by Army and National Guard vehicles, and soldiers scurried about getting the grounds ready for an extended stay.

  ----------

  “Jesus...Christ,” Joe muttered, as he limped out of the helicopter, his arm around Warren’s shoulders, the snow pelting them. “This is looking like a base I thought I’d left behind in the ‘Stan.”

  A group of intense-looking soldiers with heavy gloves, surgical masks, and protective eye wear ran toward them with stretchers. They stopped in front of Joe and lowered a stretcher to the ground and stood back. Two very young men just held guns; the one with more stripes on his sleeve gave the orders.

  “Sir, lay down on the stretcher, please.”

  “I'm fine — just a bad ankle. I can walk with Warren here.” Joe was befuddled.

  “Sir, please get on the stretcher or we’ll put you on it.”

  Joe looked into their eyes and saw anger. Their postures were not just intense, but wary: heavy on the caution and with a dash of fear. Just a dash so far. He shrugged his shoulders, no sense arguing. There was no disagreeing with this group and coming out the winner.

  “Okay, no problem.” With Warren’s help, he lowered himself onto the stretcher and laid down. The bearers used thick Velcro straps to secure his arms and legs. “There’s really no need for that,” he said weakly.

  The man in charge who was loosely pointing the gun at his head replied. “Orders, sir.”

  As they lifted him up, he turned his head and saw Tyshon being taken from the other helicopter. The soldiers laid him down on the ground, not the stretcher. They were talking to each other until one of the two armed men shouldered his rifle and took aim for the boy’s head. Joe couldn’t believe his eyes, he gasped and was about to protest, when the man next to the would-be shooter said something, put a hand on the rifle’s barrel, lowered it away, and gestured to the bearers. They lifted the wounded boy onto the stretcher, secured him, and carrie
d him away. Shocked, Joe looked at the group carrying him. One of his escorts looked back at him, gave him a knowing nod then looked away uninterested.

  off the air

  “Well I guess someone decided we don’t to watch this!”

  Serena hadn’t heard her foster father peeved and outraged complaint, she sat transfixed looking at the station’s logo on the large flat screen, holding her breath while she felt her blood rush through her veins at super train speed.

  Her brother, that was her brother! She was sure of it.

  Shaking she got up, ignored by her foster parents who were still railing on about the interrupted show and were now flipping through the channels in the hope of picking it up elsewhere.

  As if in a dream she made her way to her room and began to pack.

  Uncle sam just dropped in

  “Cheryl, it happened.” Breathless and upset, Dorilla Sopas, one of the segment producers, barged into Fats’ office.

  “Dorilla...That’s a door. Knock on it.”

  The woman look momentarily shocked, then offended. Speechless, she beat a hasty retreat, closed the door then knocked on it. Jesus Christ, how did you get this job? Cheryl wondered, as she responded with a sing-song invitation, “Come on in...It’s open.”

  A more composed Dorilla walked into the room and was about to sit down, but Cheryl’s unfriendly and impatient gaze advised her against it and she remained on her feet. “It happened Cheryl — the Army. They're taking over the show. They grounded the drones, the helicopters. They're holding onto everyone on the ground.”

  “We still have a live feed from the ground people inside Prideful?”

  Dorilla nodded and backed away toward the door, she was looking at her with what looked like concern. “Yes, for now. The Army will be cutting it off soon, I'm sure. You okay, Cher?” She asked as her hand began to turn the door handle.

  “Crappy cold…boyfriend passed it on. As long as we have the feeds, we have a show,” she replied with a shrug. “Get legal, and sic our lawyers on them, then you can go home and I’ll see you tomorrow. All right?”

  “Yes, yes, sure, Cheryl. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Hope you feel better.”

  The woman stammered and left, disturbed and tense as she closed the door behind her. Cheryl returned to TLF playing on the tablet, and lost herself in it. Then she blinked, looked up and it was dark in the room. Way past quitting time! God, how did I lose this much time? Did I fall asleep, she wondered, as a sinking, fearful feeling stabbed her guts. No, not just time, she thought. I am losing myself.

  It had been little bit past lunchtime when she had decided to take another liquid break in Fats’ office. She remembered making phone calls and remembered talking to the FEMA, star wannabe. And then? She thought she talked to someone else, but couldn’t really remember who or why. She got up and made her way to the window. The horizon held but a sliver of light, the gloaming sky was a waning natural masterpiece in spectacular shades of soft fading gold and whites, that was fast ceding space to the indigo sky. It was a beautiful backdrop for the tall dark silhouettes of the palm trees. She squinted; there was an unpleasant blurriness to the panorama. Smog? She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes — there was something wrong with her eyes.

  With a sick feeling in her guts she hurried back to the desk, turned on the table light, and picked up her smartphone. She pulled up the mirror app and looked at herself in it. Her eyes, Jesus, her eyes! She zoomed in and looked at her pupils, they had a milky cast and looked dull and hazy. Scared, she lost her grip on the smartphone, it dropped on the marble floor with a breaking sound as she dropped in the chair. Jesus Christ! How long have they looked like this? Since when? She asked herself and began to cry. Thirty minutes later, she was composed enough to let herself out of the building unseen, and headed home for the last time.

  ----------

  They ran as a well-matched team. Youth, and time spent training in the California hills paying off. They ran almost like a single entity — far more weary and humbled that when they had entered the town — they negotiated the streets of Prideful with new-found respect. The run kept them warm, but it wouldn’t be for long.

  Kate kept to the back of the small group, to keep an eye on everyone. Cho was doing fine. Xhiu had tripped a couple of times, startled by shadows, both worried Kate. One was overly confident, while the other getting way too scared.

  And their cameraman — dude wasn’t even breathing hard. She was impressed with him and his looks: young, tall, and lean, with tousled dark brown hair and a short well-kept beard. So cute. Just my type, she thought.

  “When this thing is over, I'm taking you on a date!”

  Logan laughed quietly, said nothing but blew her a kiss. Nice, she thought and smiled, but took a quick peek and checked his hand for a wedding ring. Nothing! Dinner it is then, a wide excited grin split her face. She felt more optimistic and the prospect of failure slipped her mind, this was TV, nothing really bad would be allowed to happen to them. Then she heard the call of the beacon, and as its call grew louder the smile faded from her lips and the group slowed to cautious walk.

  “Assholes...” Muttered Cho, then for good measure she added, “Dickweeds? Fuck! It’s even louder!?”

  The flag and prizes had been dropped in the middle of a fountain. The loud beacon had been playing since God knows when and had gathered quite a crowd.

  “Well, at least they didn’t add a siren and strobes,” Kate pointed out. “Or a damn disco ball.”

  That got a grudging snort of a laugh from her friend. “Thank you very much for that perspective, miss ‘Look on the bright side’.”

  “Yeah. Now that you've brought it up, they’ll probably do that the next season. What do we do now?” Xhiu asked. “There are hundreds of them there. We have to turn back, find another flag.”

  “It’d be the same thing with a different flag. They all have a beacon for a reason. And it’s too late to turn back it’s almost dark and the weather is worse.” Cho shrugged “Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.”

  “OMG, everything is so ALL about you!” Kate’s laughed but her voice had a tinge of exasperation in it. “Go on you, badass you, think of something.”

  That finally got a giggle from Xhiu. Of the group, she had been the most affected by the turned, her fear and tension all too evident. “Did you have one of those tiger moms’?”

  She hid her smile behind her hand she kept on giggling far, far longer that the joke warranted. “Cause it would explain a lot. I had one!”

  Cho didn’t miss the shrill edge in her voice that time, and gently gave Xhiu a quick one-armed hug. “I had a cat dad. And mom was very mellow. They still can’t figure out why I turned out as I did.”

  Kate pointed down the main avenue. “We gotta hurry, getting darker and colder, we got plenty of cars; batteries can’t be dead yet. Let’s set off a series of alarms. Band on hoods, yell, whatever.”

  “Distraction is the name of the game. Let’s backtrack two blocks,” Cho agreed, “That should do it. That way they’ll have a wide, unobstructed path to follow. We can do that, and then double back on a side street.”

  “What if the side streets have a lot of them?” Xhiu asked. “How will we make it back?”

  “Carefully. But look, that's quite a crowd…Anything in hearing range is right there.”

  “It’s the only way to do it. If we get split up, we meet there.” Kate pointed to an anonymous large wholesale store on the other side of the flag. Its door had been torn off its hinges. “We secure it or regroup from there. Let’s go, team.”

  Two blocks later, a din followed in their footsteps. They jumped on hoods, smashed windows, butt-slammed car doors.