Uncivil War: Takeover

by B. T. Wright

  “Where’s the airfield?” the vice president asked.

  Bald pointed in the opposite direction.

  “So the academy is that way, and the airfield is that way?” the vice president said.

  “Affirmative, sir,” Colonel Jenkins said.

  “And how far is the academy from that road?” Colt needed to know.

  “About a mile and a half,” Bald said. “It’s really not a bad hike. Fairly flat. The boys would be able to handle it. Closer than the airstrip.”

  “I guess that makes our decision easier, then,” the vice president started. “Let’s make for the academy. Maybe we’ll get lucky. Load up on food, ammo, and medicine, maybe even find a car. Then we make our way to the airstrip. Sound good?”

  All nodded.

  “Good, then let’s follow that road.” The vice president stepped forward.

  But Colt felt he needed to add more. “It’s not the boys I’m worried about.” His words stopped the vice president. “If we walk on the road, we’re out in the open. Easy prey.”

  “That’s true, but . . .” Bald started.

  “But what?” Colt said.

  “There is another way,” Bald said.

  “Which other way?” Colt said.

  “Across the Eisenhower Golf Course,” Bald said.

  “No!” Absolutely not!” Colonel Jenkins spoke up.

  Colt’s face fell. “What? Why?” he said.

  Colonel Jenkins stalled, looking only to Bald.

  They locked eyes, and neither spoke.

  “Uh, someone want to tell us what you two are having a staring contest for?” Dylan was first to break the silence.

  “We saw something right after the outbreak,” Bald said. “Well, actually Colonel Jenkins saw it.”

  “What did you see?” the vice president said. Then all looked to the colonel.

  “A man. At least, I thought it was a man, I couldn’t tell from the helicopter. He was being hunted like an animal by a herd of infected. The bastards uprooted a tree on him and attacked him like sharks on chum. It’s actually the reason I made Masterson turn the chopper around to attack the group of infected outside that restaurant in Woodland Park. I assume that was you guys?” He nodded to Colt.

  “Indeed, it was,” Colt said.

  “I don’t think we have a choice here, Colonel. I agree with Colt,” Bald said. “I don’t think it’s wise to travel on the road. If we can hide, stay deep undercover of the trees on the golf course, I say we do it.”

  Colonel Jenkins huffed and gritted his teeth. It was easy to see he didn’t like the plan, but he too knew it was the best. He couldn’t be brash, not in this situation.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Golf courses are bad luck. Always have been,” Colonel Jenkins said.

  As Bald took a step on the right path, Colt couldn’t help but wonder what the colonel’s fascination with golf courses was. He had to pry. “What? Not a fan of the game?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “What do you mean?” Colt said.

  “Let’s just say I had too many bad experiences.”

  Colt knew there was more to the story, but there was no time for him to elaborate. Not then, because just as they descended the hill, three infected men and one woman came sprinting for their position.

  “Contact! Three o’clock!” Bald dropped to his knee and fired.

  Colt reached for Wesley and swung him around his back. Out of instinct, he grabbed for Dylan too, but quickly realized he was already firing the Glock.

  Shifting his attention off Dylan, Colt stared down the barrel of his Browning. The running infected were approaching, but they were about sixty yards off. From that distance, Colt could hit a quarter through the center of Washington’s head every time.

  Only two infected remained after Bald dropped one and Colonel Jenkins the other. Colt breathed easy, then squeezed the trigger. Immediately, another man dropped. The woman was the only one left. With bullets flying from the barrels of the other men, Colt still felt bad shooting a woman, but no remnant of that woman remained. She was only after one thing: the death of Colt and the others.

  Colt stared through his sight. She was running hard, now only thirty yards away. He breathed easy, then squeezed. Once the threat was neutralized, he lifted the side of his face from the stock of his weapon and looked down into the open field in front of them.

  As the noise of the battle faded into silence, a spitting rain that wasn’t enough to drench, only annoy, fell. When smoke rose from the end of Colt’s rifle, he kept his barrel pointed away from him and toward the road. For some reason, Colt didn’t think the fight was over.

  There’s gonna be more.

  They all collectively held their breath. But a snap from behind, like a twig breaking beneath someone’s foot, shifted Colt’s attention. He gulped. Someone was flanking them. Reluctant at first, Colt rotated his core, and the barrel of his gun followed.

  His eyes danced around the area, but there was nothing. No sign of anyone. Which made the sound even more peculiar. Was it more infected? Hiding? Waiting to strike? Maybe it was an animal?

  But as they stared deep into the woods, Colonel Jenkins didn’t allow them to wait and find out. He had other plans to get to safety. Even if he didn’t fully believe in them. “Run! For the golf course! Now!”

  9

  Again, there was noise in the distance. This time gunfire. The noise reverberated through the canyon, then carried into the stadium. She realized after each shot, the infected in front of her would momentarily stall. She couldn’t take her eyes away or help but wonder why they would cease coming toward her. Were they connected somehow? Did they feel? Or maybe they could sense when one of their own was in trouble and were being called to the hive for support.

  But as she ran and watched the infected, she quickly realized they weren’t going to take their eyes off the prize for long. The infected woman adjusted her gaze, and a shiver coursed through Hunt when she saw the coal black of her eyes.

  Up ahead was another gate. She wished to take it, but where would it lead? She didn’t know the stadium well enough to know. It could lead her into a trap, deep within the cavity of the stadium where many more infected could’ve been hiding. But she couldn’t think about that. It was not like she could outlast the ones who currently gave chase, not around the entire stadium.

  Running for the corridor, Hunt pushed through the entry of the section, stopping only to glance left, then right as she ducked into the belly of the stadium. She scanned the area and saw nothing but the cement columns that held up the structure. They were thick, thick enough to hide behind, and her mind went crazy at the thought of multiple infected who could be lurking there.

  As she whipped her head around, catching her bearings, a sign came into her view:

  USAF Falcon Locker Room

  There’s gotta be a place to hide in there. But if she followed that path under the stadium and into the locker room, she was unlikely to find another way out. Typically, locker rooms led to only one other exit—field level.

  And again, there was the risk of more infected being locked inside. Coaches. Players. Who knew where they had been when Armageddon struck?

  But a shriek from behind encouraged her onward. Without turning, knowing an infected was close, and most likely communicating with another, she sprinted for the double doors and pushed the handle down. To her surprise the door clicked open, and she stepped inside, but stopped walking instantly.

  Inside the hallway, she clung tight to the door so it would close softly and not alert the infected of her position. She was surprised to see a stack of tackling dummies at her feet. Each had to weigh upwards of 100 pounds. They were stacked tight against the opposite wall. Lucky for her, they weren’t pushed flush against the door. She reached down and grabbed for one, but she couldn’t make it budge. Damnit! She kicked the bag with her shoe.

  The other peculiarity was the presence of an orange extension cord. The cord had been fed un
der the door and pushed tight against the wall. It ran deep into the locker room.

  She followed the cord with her eyes until they met the royal blue walls, which seemed to stretch for miles as she peered down the hallway. Her first step was light and quiet. She pushed herself flat against the wall, listening intently for the heavy breathing she’d been accustomed to hearing for the previous three days.

  There was none. But that didn’t mean she was out of danger. Far from it. At the end of the long hall was a giant A, and slightly below, an F. When she turned the corner, she found the mascot—a falcon—that stared into the center of the room.

  As she proceeded, a smell drifted into her nostrils. Not a smell she had expected in a men’s locker room—not sweat stained jerseys, socks, pads and helmets—no, this smell was rotten. Spoiled, like food that had been left out too long. Hunt lifted her shirt and rested the cotton over her nose and mouth to block out the nasty stench.

  Soon the hallway would end. When it did, Hunt lowered her shirt, held her breath, and leaned her torso forward, getting a better vantage point of the center of the room. A giant circle was carved into the ceiling to highlight the A and F stamped onto the carpeted floor. As she stared at the floor, she imagined, the entire team gathered in the center on game day, coming together in a war cry before taking the field of battle against their rival. However true her imagination might have been, the normalcy of College Football Saturday could only be a distant memory.

  Following the curvature of the wall that jutted out at a ninety-degree angle, Hunt hid behind the twelve inches of space and once again searched for any sign of infected.

  Leaning, then turning her head to the right, she saw something. A cluster of flies swarming over a box of food. The foul food was sitting on a table in the middle of the room. It could only have been the game day meal left behind.

  At the sight of the spoiled food, bile rose in her gut, and Hunt dry heaved, but held back what she had inside. She adjusted her shirt again, closing her eyes to keep the nastiness out of her mind.

  Turning the corner of the ninety-degree angle, Hunt stuck to the wall like glue and ducked under a large screen on which she imagined the team could watch game film, or something else to get them pumped up to take the field.

  When Hunt reached the first set of lockers, she quickly dropped to her knees. Each one of the lockers was also a seat, and beneath the seat was storage. A safe locker the men could use for personal belongings. If she was lucky, maybe something had been left behind. Water. Food. Anything.

  She reached down and lifted the hatch upward but paused as it rose only two inches. The squeak echoed in the room. Subconsciously, she closed her eyes and set the door down lightly. She waited, kneeling on the floor with her eyes stuck shut. If an infected was inside the room, surely they would have heard the noise and would likely attack her any moment. And if that happened, she didn’t want to see it coming.

  After what seemed like an hour—but was only thirty seconds—Hunt opened her eyes and let go of the breath she held inside and lifted the hatch, this time forcing it open fast to abbreviate the muffled screech.

  Her shoulders fell.

  The cavity was empty.

  Lucky for her, there were more lockers. Many more to search. After making it through the first row, she’d found a half-eaten Clif Bar and an unopened bottle of warm water.

  She scarfed down the bar in three bites, then emptied the water in one guzzle. After searching each of the other lockers, there was nothing more than a few scraps of food. Broken granola bars, a few shards of beef jerky, and some crushed Pringles in a plastic baggie. She did her best to angle the baggie upward and dump what was left into her open mouth, but there wasn’t much more than a taste.

  She chucked the baggie down, then considered searching the locker room again. To her left was another room. She stared at the placard on the wall and saw the name, then stumbled over something on the ground. The extension cord lead under the door and directly into the office of Head Coach: Jerry Logan

  She approached the door slowly. She didn’t know why, maybe it was out of instinct. The door was cracked open when she reached for it. Pushing inward, she stalled for a moment before entering because she noticed faint light slicing through.

  Generators? she thought. Out here?

  Quickly, she scanned the interior of the office. There was a large oversized desk that protruded perpendicular from the cabinets stacked against the wall. But the peculiar thing was though the desk wasn’t disheveled, or dirty. This desk was clean. She didn’t linger on the cleanliness long, but rather turned her attention to the floor.

  Bingo.

  A mini fridge was stacked against the wall, precisely where the extension cord led. She bent at her knees and reached for the door. When it swung open, she was met with cold air.

  Three bottles of water were the first things she saw. She reached in and grabbed them, then turned around and set them on the desk behind her. She dived back in to see a half-eaten loaf of bread. Next to it jelly. And then out of the corner of her eye she saw a jar of peanut butter sitting on the floor.

  Sweet. She thought she’d hit the motherload, but there was something else she didn’t expect to find. Three vials. She squinted and picked up the jar to read its contents.

  Beritrix. What the hell?

  As she read, a noise from behind her caused her to jump in fear. Someone was there, waiting to devour her. She expected them to inch closer. Maybe she could shove her fist into their throat. Her eyes danced around the room for anything to use as a weapon. The only thing was a collection of plastic silverware, no doubt to spread the peanut butter and jelly.

  “I . . . I didn’t think there was anyone else left,” a man’s voice said.

  She shot up from her knees and spun around. A wide smile grew on her face at the sight of another human. She didn’t even hesitate to lunge for him. She wrapped her arms tight around his neck, not knowing him from Adam.

  When she pushed out of the hug, she said, “Coach Logan, I assume?”

  “That’s right. And who are you?”

  “My name is Cassandra Hunt.”

  The color in Coach Logan’s face still hadn’t returned, but had the wherewithal to ask, “How are you still alive?”

  “By taking Beritrix. I assume you have WD17?”

  “That’s right.”

  “It’s the only thing that protects us from becoming . . . one of them.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Are you taking it still?”

  “Well, yeah, my entire life.”

  “There you have it. That’s why you’re not one of those mindless machines out there.”

  “Right, but how do you know that’s the reason?”

  “I—I read it on a classified document.”

  “Huh.” Coach Logan nodded, then sat down to feel the warmth of something comfortable.

  “Have you been in here the entire time?” Hunt said.

  “Almost.”

  “What do you mean almost?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” His words were curt. “Aside from my house, this is the only other place that felt like home to me. Maybe more so with the hours I put in.”

  “What about the players? The other coaches?”

  “Practice had just ended when all this started. Most guys went home. I did too. I saw my wife and kids—” His face turned sheepish, like he wanted to say more but couldn’t. “Then I came back, and I found Jason.”

  “Who’s Jason?”

  “My assis—well, what used to be my assistant. He attacked me.”

  “What did you do?”

  Again, he stalled. Like he was ashamed of his next words. “I . . . I grabbed a helmet. I had to hit him numerous times. It was the only way to stop him from attacking me.”

  “I’m sorry.” Hunt’s face fell. “I’ve had my own share of run-ins with some of my own friends as well.”

  “What’s it like out there? Haven’t been out
since that day. It’s quiet in here and not easy to get into.”

  “I saw that. You have all those pad thingies by the door.”

  “Those are tackling dummies.”

  “I tried to push them behind the door. To block the infected out.”

  “Don’t worry, I restacked them when I returned. I needed more bread. Found this from the concession stand.” He laid the bread on the desk.

  “Sweet,” she said. “I’m starving.”

  “So, what’s it like?”

  She lifted her eyes off the bread. “There’s danger around every corner. But I’m surviving.”

  “You sure are.”

  “You sound surprised,” Hunt said.

  “Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I just know I could never handle it by myself. I envy you.”

  She nodded, then felt her stomach turn. It ached to be filled. It whined loud enough to hear in the room.

  “Sounds like you’re a bit hungry.”

  “Do you mind?” Hunt nodded to the refrigerator.

  “Not at all.”

  She walked around the opposite side of the desk, bent down and opened the fridge to grab the peanut butter and jelly.

  As she reached inside, Coach Logan spoke. “On second thought, why don’t you make me one too? It’s been a while since I’ve dined with someone. I know it’s not steak or chicken, but it sure as hell beats going hungry.”

  10

  Droplets of water began to pool on Colt’s eyelids as he ran. He brought his left hand to his eyes and wiped the rain away. His vision was cloudy as he bounced up and down with every push of his leg on the slippery earth.

  Academy Drive was fast approaching, and the instant Bald’s foot caught the asphalt, he charged east, away from the rising foothills and the cover of the trees.

  What the hell is he doing? Colt thought. He wished to yell at him—to tell him to get off the road—but perhaps this was the only way.

  He continued sprinting, but the farther he ran, the more sure Colt became that the infected would see them, especially out in the open. Just as Colt was going to say something, they came to another road, one that went north.