by Jason Offutt
Darryl looked back at the rear-view mirror in the cab. The big man and the dark-haired girl laughed. They were talking about something, but not this.
“Well,” Maryanne whispered, her breath hot in his ear; a lithe, soft hand rubbed his crotch. “Are you going to do it for me, baby?”
“Nooo,” Darryl screamed and struggled to his feet, the field-covered scenery dashed by at high speed. He bent his knees, the pain in his injured leg screamed through his mind. The kind, glowing face of Tanya Smithmeyer pushed Maryanne from his vision as he jumped, and his smiling face met the asphalt of Interstate 80 at seventy-six miles per hour.
July 17: Omaha, Nebraska
Chapter 38
Doug dropped his beer can and watched it fall fifty feet into the muddy, churning water of the Missouri River. Terry stood next to him, leaning on the bridge railing. They stared across the river, a great, gray steam engine and yellow diesel, the words “Union Pacific” painted in big red block letters across the sides, sat on short rails on a hillside park overlooking Interstate 80, an American flag and yellow Union Pacific flag flapped in a slight breeze overhead. Doug had pulled to a stop halfway across the river. Omaha was there, on the other side of the bridge, and he didn’t see anything moving. Nothing at all. That bothered him.
“Did you see Herman go?” he asked.
Terry nodded. “Nikki saw him in the rear-view mirror. He just stood up. She said it looked like he was talking to someone. I looked back in time to see him take a header out the back of the truck. We were going pretty fast; I didn’t see any sense going back to look.” He finished his beer and dropped the can in the river, too. Where would it go? Kansas City? St. Louis? The Gulf of Mexico? It didn’t matter. What did? “What are we doing here, Doug?”
“In Nebraska?” he asked.
Terry pointed at a small green sign about ten yards away, bolted to the railing. It read, “Welcome to Nebraska.”
“We’re still in Iowa,” Terry said. “I mean the bridge. Why did we stop on the bridge?”
A bird cawed overhead. Doug watched as it made its way across the river toward Nebraska. It was a crow, Doug worried it would be a buzzard; that thousands of buzzards would be circling the city, painting the sky black, but it was just a crow. At least a buzzard would have told him something. The silence told him nothing.
“Something’s wrong over there,” he said. “This was supposed to be a shelter. People were coming here from all over. Don’t you think we’d see something moving over there, or hear something? Music, machines, anything?”
Terry started walking back to the pickup. “We’re not going to find out standing here.”
The first homemade sign, “Survival Shelter Ahead,” appeared at the end of the bridge. Another sign followed, and another, and another. A large red, spray painted arrow directed them from the highway up an exit to Thirteenth Street, a billboard advertising the Henry Doorly Zoo rose from the off ramp.
“That’s a good zoo,” Nikki said, the tension in the cab almost vibrated. There was terror in the cab, down deep, and they didn’t want to let it get too cocky. “My dad took me there when I was a kid. It had a great shark tank.”
The animals. As Terry drove up the ramp and closer to the zoo, the dome from the desert environment only a few blocks away, he knew he should have smelled animals – especially if they were all dead, rotting in their enclosures.
“I wonder what happened to the animals.” Terry asked. How much food would it take to feed elephants? Bears? Gorillas? Nikki’s sharks? The homemade signs pointed toward the zoo. When Terry pulled onto Tenth Street, the clean avenues of Omaha changed. Tents, many collapsed, lined the grassy median that circled a parking lot covering city blocks. Larger ones, the kind of tents people used to rent for summer parties, dotted the vast lot surrounded by vehicles sporting license plates from all over. North Dakota, Minnesota, Missouri, Kansas, Illinois, Iowa, Utah, Kentucky. People came from a long way just to get here. So, where were they?
“Looks like this is our shelter,” Nikki said.
“Well if this is a survivor shelter, where the hell are the survivors?”
Nikki pointed toward an RV surrounded by military Humvees, some mounted with machine guns. “That looks important. Try over there.”
Terry pulled the truck to a stop outside the military perimeter and stepped from the cab, Nikki followed.
“Where is everybody?” he said, pulling his shotgun out with him. Doug hopped from the Hummer and walked toward him, resting his shotgun on his shoulder.
“I don’t know. I don’t like this at all.” He stopped. A black figure perched on the handle of a machine gun mounted on a Humvee. A turkey buzzard. No, nothing was right here. The bird’s bald, red head turned toward Doug and stared at him. Terry raised his shotgun, but Doug gently rested his hand on the barrel and shook his head. That’s not the kind of noise they needed right now.
“This tent is full of bodies,” Jenna said, standing at the flap of the closest big party tent. Great party today, mates. Thanks for inviting all the cadavers. “They’re wrapped in garbage bags.”
Nikki looked in, the bodies in black bags stacked four high filled the tent, just like at St. Joseph Hospital, just like the stacks where Gene Holleran lay rotting. She turned her back to the open tent, tears threatened to erupt.
“If they’re moldy, the bags must be shut really tight.” She paused, and gently used the back of her hand to erase the moisture from her eyes. “What now?”
Yeah, what now?
“Hey, bossman,” Terry called. He stood beside one of the Humvees and nodded his head to the other side of the RV. “You need to see this.”
Brass shell casings littered the ground around a line of Humvees, their massive machine guns all faced the same direction. Doug stepped next to Terry, his boots sent casings jingling across the asphalt. The carnage was unbelievable. Hundreds of bodies lay strewn across the parking lot covered in gray fuzz, the stalks fresh and filled with spores rose from their chests like a crop. Hundreds of swollen bulbs turned to face them.
“Holy fuck,” Nikki whispered.
“Shot?” Doug asked.
“That’s sure what it looks like,” Terry said.
“What happened here?” Jenna asked, stepping beside them.
“The Army killed these people,” Terry said, backing away from the nearest soldier, the growing fungus on the body seeming to move because of his presence.
“So the Army just killed everyone and what? Left?” Jenna asked.
“That’s sure what it looks like, “Doug said. “But why?”
Nikki came from behind them holding a yellow standard sized piece of paper. “Because of this. It was taped to the door of the RV.” She looked around. “You want me to read it?”
Jenna nodded. “Please.”
“‘Attention’ in big bold letters. ‘In the event of a biological attack or the introduction of a highly contagious disease affecting the public, the U.S. health system may take measures to prevent those people infected with or exposed to a disease or a disease-causing agent from infecting others. The federal government has jurisdiction over interstate and foreign quarantine, and may use the military in enforcing quarantines.’”
“That’s a lot of enforcement,” Jenna said, her voice soft. “This for the fungus thing?”
Nikki shook her head. “No. Something else is going on here. The fungus people died themselves; they didn’t need any help.”
Terry walked around the first row of civilian bodies, they all lay face first in dried spots of blood and gray fuzz spilled from their bodies onto the asphalt, tall gray stalks sprouted everywhere.
“Looks like they had personal hygiene problems,” he offered. “I think we need to leave.”
“But this doesn’t make any sense,” Jenna said. “We had a pandemic, an end of the world thing. I get that. But those people died on their own. Why shoot these people?”
Nikki stepped into the center of the group. “Because som
ething else happened,” she said. Everyone grew silent. “Everything in nature mutates all the time. That’s how diseases get from animals to people. In this case, when people got sick, they died, wandered around for someplace suitable to fall, then grew mold.”
“And that creepy corn stalk thing,” Jenna said.
“And the creepy corn stalk thing.” Nikki brushed her hair from her face. “Then those fucking pods started to burst. They were full of spores. What the hell did those spores do to people?”
The butt of Terry’s gun hit the pavement in a sharp snap. “They’re making them into zombies,” he whispered. “When this shit started, I was worried all the video zombie killing training I’d gone through wouldn’t do me any good because these walking dead people aren’t real zombies. But now they are.”
“They’re not zombies,” Doug said.
Nikki shook her head. “They’re sort of like zombies. The fungus kills people, but still makes them walk to wherever the fungus thinks is best.”
“Wherever it can spread to another host,” Doug said, and pulled Jenna close to him.
“Yeah,” she said. “Except the fungus doesn’t spread by a bite.”
Terry took another step back, away from the sprawling field of moldy bodies. “It spreads from those pod things.”
“No,” Jenna screamed, tears ran down her face. “We’re fucked then. We’re all just fucked,” she spat between sobs. “We’re going to die no matter what.”
“Hey, Doug,” Terry said, pointing to another civilian body.
“We might as well just drive into the fucking river all the good this is doing us …”
“Doug.”
Jenna leaned into Doug’s chest and cried. Doug looked at Terry. “Yeah.”
“Whether the Army killed these people or not, something’s been eating this guy.”
“Yeah,” Doug said, caressing Jenna’s hair. “There have to be buzzards in and out of here all the time. It’s like a buffet.”
Terry shook his head. “No. I’m not talking about pecking, I mean eating. Chomping. Crushing. This moldy guy has chunks out of him. Big chunks. Bites. No turkey vulture did this.” He scanned the parking lot. A lot of things could be hiding around those tents, and among the cars. “What do you think could have done that? Dogs, maybe?”
Nikki turned around, the yellow warning dropping from her hand. “Oh, shit,” she hissed. “The zoo.” They all turned toward the Henry Doorly zoo, the front gates hung wide.
“You think some asshole was stupid enough to let the animals out?” Doug asked.
“Yeah, I do,” Terry said backing away from the field of bodies. “Nikki went there before. What did you say they had?”
“Big cats, you know, lions and bears. Leopards. Bears. Sharks.”
“I’m not too worried about sharks, Nikki.” Terry gently took Nikki’s arm and started walking back to the Ford. “You had me at lions. I think we need to leave now.”
The turkey buzzard on the Army Humvee perched silently; as Terry and Nikki walked by, it slowly spread its six-foot wingspan, greasy black feathers shone in the afternoon sun. Then it took off, the beats of its wings loud this close; seconds later its shadow flew over Doug.
“Right now,” Terry said as calmly as he could muster. “We need to leave right now.”
Doug was the first to round the perimeter of Humvees, Jenna’s hand pressed firmly into his. Terry came next, then Nikki. It was Nikki who saw it.
“Stop,” she hissed. Everyone froze, and Nikki pointed toward a line of trees in a median strewn with camping tents. About twenty yards from them, a bear, a grizzly, a Kodiak, or fucking Fozzie Bear for all they knew, lay half out of a small tent like a puppy in a doghouse, its huge head faced them.
“We need to run for the trucks,” Doug whispered. “If it looks like we’re not going to make it, shoot that thing.”
Terry swallowed hard; sweat began to run down his back. “That’s just going to piss it off.”
Doug nodded. “I know. Run.”
The bear lay still for a moment, cocking its head. Maybe it was full of dead guy, Doug thought, or maybe it was just playing with them. Bears are cocksuckers like that. The four had closed to within about ten yards of the trucks when the beast pulled its 600-pound bulk out of the tent, and shot toward them at incredible speed.
“Holy shit.” Terry reached the F-150 first, threw open the door and pushed Nikki inside. Jenna scrambled around the far side of the H3 and hopped in. Doug pulled open the door and jumped behind her, the bear’s face filled the window as it hammered the side of the truck with its body, slamming the metal door on Doug’s ankle. Pain lanced through him as the weight of the beast crushed the bones in his lower leg. He screamed.
“Doug,” Jenna yelled. She reached over him, grabbed his leg, and pulled it into the cab as the bear reared back and slammed into the side of the Hummer again, lifting the heavy truck onto two wheels.
“Shoot it,” Jenna screamed at Terry who couldn’t hear her. The bear stood back, and the H3 dropped uncomfortably back onto all four wheels. “Shoot the goddamned thing.”
She pulled Doug out of the driver’s seat and crawled over him; he moaned in pain as his ankle bent at a right angle. She plopped into the driver’s seat and grabbed for the keys, the beast’s slathering jaws pressed against the glass, foam dripped down the window, its bloodshot eyes blazing. She screamed, and a horn honked from somewhere. The monster dropped below the view of the window, then brown filled Jenna’s world as the beast sprang and struck the H3 again; the metal groaned under the impact. The horn honked again. Jenna looked; Terry waved her on.
“Go, go, go,” Doug shouted through clenched jaws.
Go, yes go, ran through Jenna’s head. There’s a bear out there. Go dog, go. Go bear, go. Go, just go.
“Just fucking go,” Jenna screamed aloud and turned the key in the ignition; the engine fired. She slammed the automatic transmission into drive and punched the accelerator; the Hummer screeched to life, hopped the curb and skipped onto Tenth Street. The dented metal door grated and popped as the massive beast slammed into it again. Terry fired his horn again as the F-150 shot past.
“Get to the highway,” Doug whispered, his voice choked by tears.
Jenna yelped as something bumped into the Hummer. She looked out the window; the bear ran alongside, its face in a grimace. Is that how they looked on Animal Planet? Shrieking tires from the F-150 next to her snapped Jenna’s head back to the road.
“Oh, shit.” She slammed on the brakes at the mouth of an intersection; the bear skidded onto Thirteenth Street in front of two military Humvees. A gunner on one aimed the mounted machine gun at the enormous beast and let loose a deafening barrage. The bear’s body shook like it was in the mouth of a great, angry beast as government lead ripped it to pieces. Then Fozzie lay still.
When the gunfire waned, Jenna realized she’d been screaming.
July 17: Western Nebraska
Chapter 39
Two more Humvees appeared on Thirteenth Street. Soldiers in biohazard gear stepped away from their vehicles, the stocks of M27s pressed against their shoulders, the barrels pointed at the trucks.
“What’s happening?” Doug asked, all strength gone from his voice. He lay low in the seat, his eyes closed; sweat ran down his tightly clenched face.
“The Army,” Jenna said. “What do we do?” No answer. “Doug?” She turned toward him; he had lost consciousness. A tap on the window brought her head around. A soldier stood there, his young face tense with fear from behind a protective hood. He motioned for Jenna to get out of the truck. She raised her hands and nodded. Another soldier carrying a clipboard pulled at the latch but the bent door wouldn’t move. He pointed to the rear door, then pulled it open. Jenna crawled over the seat and stepped outside. Terry and Nikki stood next to the F-150, their hands atop their heads. Jenna slowly raised her hands over her head and rested them there, too.
“He’s hurt,” she said, nodding back inside the
Hummer.
“Are you infected?” the soldier asked.
“What?”
“Are you infected?” he shouted. “Have you ever taken Ophiocordon?”
Jenna shook her head. “No. We’re fine, except our friend. He needs medical attention. His leg is broken.”
The soldier must have heard her, but she couldn’t tell. “Where did you come from?”
From? When? My mom’s uterus? St. Joe? Barton? Allenville? The Hampton Inn? “Kansas City. We just came up from Kansas City. There was supposed to be a shelter here.”
The soldier didn’t relax at the news. “Have you had any interaction with anyone you don’t know?”
Yes, a crazy bastard who likes to jump out of the back of a moving pickup onto the interstate. She shook her head. “No. I haven’t accepted any packages at the airport, and I’ve never been to West Africa.”
“Do you have any of the following: headache, fever, delusions, dizziness, body aches, excessive hunger?”
She shook her head again. “No. We’re fine. But our friend needs …”
He pulled out a penlight. Jenna started to take a step back toward the truck, but the second soldier, the one with the gun firmly pointed at her face, forced her to steady her legs. The soldier with the light shined it into one eye, then the other.
“She checks out,” he shouted back to the Humvees.
“These check out, too,” another soldier next to Terry and Nikki shouted as well.
Another soldier in a biohazard suit opened the passenger side door of the H3 and examined Doug. After a few moments, he raised a thumbs up. Two men in bio-gear ran from one of the trucks with a stretcher, and they loaded Doug onto it.
“Okay,” the first soldier said, stepping back from the H3, his weapon now pointed toward the sky; he waved everyone toward him. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to leave your personal belongings. You may be allowed to return for them at a later time. You will be traveling with the United States Army to a secured facility where you will be placed under quarantine until it is determined you are not infected with the human form of Ophiocordyceps unilateralis.”
