by B. T. Wright
She had no idea, but she was about to find out.
2
Colorado Springs, Colorado
Present Day
Colt Maddox peered over at the vice president, who sat against the seatback of the helicopter. A smile remained fresh on his face and hadn’t disappeared since takeoff. Colt returned the gesture, but then lowered his head and held his two sons, Dylan and Wesley, tight to his chest. Both shook. What they’d just witnessed outside the Cheyenne Mountain Complex was still fresh in their minds.
When Colt raised his head, he leaned back and closed his eyes. The vision of the last remaining infected who’d fallen just feet from the end of Colt’s smoking rifle—that now sat in his lap—played on repeat in his mind. The swarm of infected were so close to a hostile take-over. Even then, after the helicopter lifted from the ground, he couldn’t find his breath—he couldn’t calm his rapid breathing. With his heartrate elevated, he turned his head and looked out the opening of the chopper doors, seeking solace in the familiar of the mountainous countryside. He watched the beautiful rocky region below, but soon his thoughts shifted from the aspens and pines, to his wife Anna, whom he’d just left behind, again.
His decision to leave had been a calculated one, but regret consumed him. He kept telling himself he was no good to her in the lab at Cheyenne Mountain. No way he was going to find the cure there. And his focus had to remain on the cure, and on his brother, Jake. Jake promised they’d find that cure together. Deep down, Colt knew he would see Anna again. Perhaps that was the only way he could find happiness that morning, or at the very least, calm his anxiety.
But his smile soon faded as the chopper’s rotors shuddered. Colt felt his insides turn at the sudden drop in altitude. Automatically, he reached overhead for something to grab, but there was nothing there. His body rocked forward as the chopper dropped again. Colt pushed the fear aside and chalked it up to rough air, unwilling to get concerned.
It wasn’t until Colonel Jenkins made the panic very clear over the headsets. “Gentleman, I . . . I don’t know how to tell you this but . . . the engines . . . they’re failing.”
Failing? Colt thought. No way. How could they fail? We just flew in from Woodland Park. No. This can’t be right. This can’t be happening. But this was reality. A very real reality that would send them crash landing in the middle of Colorado Springs. And with the threat of infected lurking, they’d be attacked the instant the landed. If they survived the crash at all.
With every rise and fall of the undulating aircraft, Colt could feel his two sons shake beneath his arms. And both Wesley and Dylan let out at least a scream on more than one occasion. Colt locked eyes with the vice president. Fear was trapped in his eyes. A fear Colt felt too. Colt shifted his attention to Mark Joyner—the president’s chief of staff. No fear remained—only dread. The only other man, Brian Bald, was unfazed, keeping his eye fixed on the ground below. Bald was Air Force Special Forces. He was intentional and possibly formulating a plan in his mind while the rest tried to gather their wits. Colt opened his mouth to speak, but swallowed his words instead, unwilling to distract from Bald’s plans.
Then again, he wished he had. Because at that moment, the helicopter was sent into a spin and the force of the spin drove Colt back against the seatback. Everything in the helicopter—including Colt’s backpack—was thrown out the opening. Though Colt didn’t know his backpack was missing, perhaps he would’ve fallen into a deeper panic, knowing their entire stash of Beritrix had just been launched into the thick trees below. Instead, he tried to keep his eye on one spot to combat the motion sickness. But there was no way to keep his head still as he fought the momentum. Colt closed his eyes, wrapped both boys into a hug, and braced for the sudden impact that was sure to come.
“Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. This is Falcon,” Colonel Jenkins spoke, and they could all hear through the headphones. “We’re going down. I repeat. We’re going down. North of Cheyenne Mountain. Somewhere south of the Air Force Academy. I cannot be sure of our exact location because we’re in a flat spin. I repeat, we’re going down. If possible, send reinforcements.”
Air Force Academy? Colt thought. That’ll be teeming with infected. But he didn’t know why those thoughts ran through his mind. They most likely wouldn’t survive the crash anyway. He found his mind wandering. How fickle life was. Unfair even.
“Brace for impact!” Colonel Jenkins said.
Colt closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and flexed his forearms around both sons as they awaited their fate. He expected a flash of orange to light up his closed eyelids and to feel a warmth so intense on his face that he’d be forced to scream in agony, but that wasn’t the case. There was only a hard jolt, a clunk, then a skid to an abrupt halt as the chopper slid through a copse of trees.
“We’re alive!” Colonel Jenkins said into his headset. “Unstrap and get out, or we won’t be for long.”
Colt glanced at his sons. Both were unbuckling themselves. It was Colt who loitered. “Dad!” Dylan swam into his father’s view. Colt was shaken, and his eyes couldn’t focus. Not until Dylan yelled again. “Dad!”
Colt shook himself from the trance and ripped the buckle from his shoulders. He reached down to grab his backpack, but it was gone. Flustered, he searched inside the cabin and on the ground below. Only then did he realize their pack was gone.
Bald stood guard with his rifle pointed toward the trees. The infected would be on their position soon. They couldn’t linger.
On the forest floor, Colt stood near Bald and said, “The bag’s gone. Everything. Beritrix. Extra mags. Food. It’s . . . just gone.”
Bald didn’t respond in that moment—he couldn’t. The best he could do was to search the area and find a way out. Colt leered over his shoulder for movement. The vice president and the chief of staff stood opposite Bald, waiting for someone to make step forward. Colonel Jenkins stepped out from the cockpit and walked over to Bald.
“Any idea where we are?” Colonel Jenkins said from behind Bald, keeping his head on a swivel.
“I do, sir.”
“You do?”
“Roger that, sir. I was dropped near here for training. Had to find my way back to base without a compass. I had one hour, or I’d fail part of my training for TACP. I know of a hangar nearby too. It’s secret.”
“Think you can find your way back again?”
“Without a doubt, sir.”
“Then lead on.”
“Roger that.”
With Bald walking point, the vice president and chief of staff followed next. Dylan and Wesley walked in front of their father, and Colonel Jenkins brought up the rear.
Nobody dared make a sound as they walked. Each had experienced the dangers of the infected first-hand and knew noise lured them in. Which made Colt wonder: why hadn’t they been attacked? Why hadn’t they seen at least one infected person? The noise from the chopper crashing to the earth surely would have attracted them, but none had made themselves known.
Colt clung tight to his Browning BLR Lightweight ’81 rifle—his favorite hunting rifle, and one he’d been able to grab from his house before all hell broke loose. The rifle formed to him like an extension of his body. He placed his final three fingers inside the lever action, and his index finger hovered above the trigger. Over the previous three days, he’d seen the infected evolve—get smarter—which scared the shit out of him, even more as they walked. Perhaps the reason they hadn’t seen any sign yet was because they were walking into a trap.
“There!” Bald forced the words through his teeth so the sound wouldn’t carry too far.
Everyone’s attention shot forward. An abandoned building. Large. Looked like an aviation hangar. And it seemed a path led through the tree line. “Shall we proceed?” Bald said, looking at the vice president.
“Yes.”
Bald crept forward. Colt knew they were close to the Air Force Academy and thought, Maybe there’s another chopper in there. Maybe we’ll find another way out.
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Bald led them in the direction of the building. It wasn’t far off, but there were dense trees on both sides. There was a path through the center of the trees, but if they took that path, they wouldn’t be able to see the enemy attacking. The brush on both sides was thick, and the infected could jump out at any moment. Clearly there was a risk. Colt knew it. The others had to as well. He didn’t say anything, because he knew this was their best chance to get out of the elements and into shelter.
The path was just worn-down brush and bent grass, trampled by another battalion perhaps—one that had rushed for the hangar in a time of need. Bald snuck forward, keeping his head low, scanning right and left.
The grass was soft beneath Colt’s feet, which made their footsteps completely silent. No way noise would alert anyone, not on their current heading. The building was close, maybe a hundred yards off, when the collection of trees closed in on them like a vice. The narrow opening allowed entry, but only in a single file line.
Colt reached forward and tapped Wesley on the head. Wesley turned around to meet his father’s eye. Colt smiled down at him, letting him know he was strong, and everything was going to be okay. But at the moment Colt made eye contact with his son, an infected woman jumped from behind the trees and began thrashing her arms into Mark Joyner.
In his own shock, Colt’s eyes bulged. The infected woman pounded down both her fists into Joyner’s skull with the ferocity of a gorilla. She must’ve gotten three blows in before Bald raised his rifle and fired, dropping her onto Joyner’s lifeless body.
Colt didn’t shoot, he simply grabbed his sons. Then he looked to the trees. Bald and Colonel Jenkins followed suit. Everything went quiet, if only for a split second. Once their eyes were on the trees, they heard the loudest screech they’d ever heard.
Bald grabbed the vice president by the hand and yanked him forward. Dylan bounded over the limp bodies of the dead infected woman and Joyner. Colt threw his rifle back around his shoulder, then picked up Wesley and ran on Dylan’s heels.
Though he was already hauling ass, Colonel Jenkins’ battle cry kicked him into another gear. “We’ve got company!”
Unable to shoot with Wesley in his arms, Colt heard Colonel Jenkins fire a barrage of bullets into the woods behind them. Ahead, Colt saw Bald reach the side of the building, directly in front of a doorway.
Bald grabbed for the handle, but it wouldn’t turn. Colt set Wesley down next to Dylan, and they waited to enter. Colt had to join the fight, so he slung his rifle from around his shoulder and aimed, but he didn’t fire. He simply stood, shocked at what he saw. Over 100 infected men and women filed through the trees. They ceased running and stood side by side. They waited there, staring at Colt and the others. What they were waiting for, no one knew. But it seemed this was a sport to the infected, and Colt and the others were the game. This was a challenge. A hunt.
“Get that door open, Bald, or we’re all dead,” Colonel Jenkins said as he approached. He lowered his weapon and ceased fire.
“We’re all going to end up like Mark anyway.” The vice president couldn’t bear his guilt as futility took him.
Colt could see the sorrow in his own son’s eyes. They were outnumbered, and all seemed lost. “Don’t lose hope, sir,” Colt said. “Don’t give in.”
“Got it,” Bald said. “Picked the lock.”
Colt smiled and said, “See, sir?”
The vice president didn’t return the gesture, but dipped into the hangar. Colt didn’t linger with his sons outside, and he ushered them in. But he himself waited to enter. Colonel Jenkins stepped close. Bald was there as well.
“What do we do with them?” Colt motioned over his shoulder at the group of infected waiting to attack.
Bald shut the door. “I don’t know why they stopped. Truth is, I agree with the vice president. It doesn’t look good.”
“Why do you think they stopped chasing us?” Colt looked to each man.
“You want my gut?” Bald said.
Colt nodded.
“Well, from what I’ve seen of them so far, I’d say they were called off by a superior.”
Colt completely agreed with Bald’s instinct, but decided to play devil’s advocate. “But why?”
“Exactly. Why?” Bald said.
As the three of them looked back to the grouping of the infected, simultaneously, all of the infected lifted their chins to the sky, and their mouths gaped open.
“What the hell is that?” Bald said.
“No idea,” Colonel Jenkins said. “But this is too much weird for me, I’m getting inside.”
All marched through the doorway. Colt gave one last glance at the infected peering upward. This was inconceivable.
3
The previous three days had been a blur for Hunt. She had only survived on cunning and sheer will, and by scrounging leftover scraps of food from the dorm rooms throughout the academy. Lucky for her, she knew the dormitories well, after visiting multiple times while in high school. But knowing the infrastructure of the dorms could not prepare her for what came next.
She was down to her final vial of Beritrix, and a group of three infected men—men from her own class—were clamping down on her current position.
As a subtle breeze pushed through an open window near the opposite side of a control room, the wind made sparks dance in the air. The standby generators fueled the control room, and after some of the monitors crashed to the floor during the infestation of infected, the monitors still flashed and flickered in firelight.
That particular control room was often occupied by the highest-ranking officials in the entire Air Force. On that day though, the room was empty . . . well not quite. Only she remained. She had been forced inside by the men chasing her. Hunt huffed and huffed to catch her breath, trying to figure how they tracked her down. She was careful, always covering her tracks and leaving no trace.
She pushed herself underneath a desk in the middle of the room and pulled her legs tight into her chest. She was taking a gamble hiding there. There was no escape route from underneath the desk. If she was found, she was helpless. But for some reason, she felt safer underneath that desk than in any other place in the room.
At the sound of infected entering, she bided her time. The infected man was breathing heavy. His seething breath was easy to decipher, something she had discerned over the previous few days. The breathing of each infected man, or woman she’d encountered, had the same cadence. She had even timed it once. Like clockwork, there would be five short breaths of intense rapid breathing, then came a pause before another longer, deeper breath was pushed out. This man—the one who hunted her—was no different.
The infected man wasn’t quiet with his feet either. His footsteps were heavy as his toes ran into downed wires and overturned desks with each step. By the sound of his clumsy steps, he was across the room, far enough away for her to exhale in comfort. But in walked another infected. For some reason though, his tempo was different, set in a low rumble as he grunted. She couldn’t help but wonder if they were communicating somehow. But how? Could they be? This was the first time that thought had crossed her mind.
That’s not possible.
But the grunt continued and was followed by another sound: a high-pitched squeal from the other infected who stood on the opposite corner of the room.
She shuddered under the desk, but the movements made her elbow hit the metal corner, which sent pins and needles through her arm. She had hit the ligament and caused searing pain. It wouldn’t last, but she was in trouble. The noise was loud enough to alert the infected that someone was there.
Forced to make a decision, she scanned outward from her position. If she moved forward, she’d be heading directly into drywall, and without knowing their exact location, she felt trapped. But she calmed herself, and remembered upon entering the room she’d seen another exit. A door on the opposite end. Away from the entry point from which the two infected had arrived. But two questions plagued her mind: where
was the third man? And would the door be unlocked? The former was less of a concern than the latter. Because if the door was locked, she’d be dead anyway.
Fear would tell someone to run first and consider the consequences later. But with two infected in the room, she couldn’t just make her decision flippantly. She needed to be smart about her next move.
I can’t believe I’m about to do this, she thought, then crept out from underneath the desk, taking only one small step in crouched position. She glanced left, then right, making sure she wasn’t going to be caught by surprise. Neither man was there, but they were close.
She stood, then quickly faced the center of the room. Both infected men eyeballed her. One approached from the right, the other from the left. They meant to surround her.
They had the same vacant expression as all the infected she had encountered. Soulless. Black eyes.
They stepped in sequence. One foot at time, now avoiding the debris on the floor. If she had taken a moment to think, she might have wondered why they were creeping so quietly. Why hadn’t they before, when they first entered?
She didn’t move. It wasn’t because she was stuck in place, but rather she saw an opening—a path she designed in her head. The geometry of their steps. The angle of their approach. If they had to avoid the debris on the ground, once they got close enough, she could make a break for it.
But then both men did something she didn’t expect. They stopped, turned to each other, and both let out a screech. A reverberating yelp. Her face crinkled and brows lowered. But she didn’t need to ask why in her mind; her question was answered when the third member of the unit walked inside the room.
What was the noise for? They practically read her mind as the new infected joined the hunt and walked up the middle in the exact path she intended to use to escape.
