Uncivil War: Takeover

by B. T. Wright

  “I do. There’s no way these bastards have evolved that much. Hell, we wanted to use a diversion at the hangar. This just happens to be a better plan. I mean, a diversion still works on me sometimes.”

  “Me too,” the vice president said, but he seemed reluctant.

  “Can we call them gullible?” Bald chuckled.

  “Look, Bald, if we do this, we need to be ready to move at the drop of a hat. These infected may be naïve, but they’re not stupid. We might have five seconds to pull this off. You sure these carts can handle it?” the vice president said.

  “Hell yeah, sir. I’ll check, but I assume most are full of gas. And gas carts can go pretty fast once you loosen the governor a bit, at least fast enough to outrun these bastards.”

  “How are we gonna set the diversion?” Dylan said.

  “Good question, kid. We need to find something to prop against the gas pedal. See if you and the vice president can find me some pipes. Six of them, at least fourteen inches long.”

  As Dylan and the vice president set out on their quest, Bald searched for a screwdriver to loosen the tension on the governor’s springs.

  But their search was forced to move faster when an infected broke through a window on the northeast side of the building.

  “Hurry up, boys.”

  The window was small, not big enough for the infected to squeeze through. At least not a full-grown adult. But at the appearance of a small child being lifted inside, Dylan felt the need to encourage their quickness.

  “Uh, Bald. There’s a kid coming through the window.”

  He lifted his head out from under the cart and looked. “Can you take him out?”

  Bald’s question was flippant, and before Dylan could respond, the vice president handed Dylan his stack of three pipes and took the Glock from Dylan’s hand. Then he said, “Let me.”

  Thankful, Dylan watched the vice president move toward the window. But he couldn’t watch him finish the job, not on a child. Deep down, Dylan was thankful for the vice president and his actions.

  Bald didn’t acknowledge the single shot. Instead, he looked up from under his cart and said, “Got it. Did you find the pipes?”

  “Only four.” Dylan held them up for Bald to see.

  “That’s gonna have to be enough.” Bald lifted them from Dylan’s hand and pushed them into position. “You two, load onto the cart in the back.”

  Dylan watched over his shoulder as Bald unleashed the first cart. From the moment it crashed into the garage door, the attention of the infected who stood outside the window shifted to the front garage door. The one’s who were stacked against the side window, removed themselves and moved toward the noise.

  Bald unleashed the second cart. Then the third. Dylan could hear the punches and yelps outside the garage door. The infected were searching for a way to break inside. Just after Bald unleashed the fourth, he sprinted for the cart Dylan and the vice president were waiting in.

  From the driver’s seat, Bald reached for the choke, pulled it out, and jammed his foot on gas pedal. Before Dylan could ask if they needed to open the doors, the front end of the cart rammed against the double doors and they burst open into the day with the swarming infected just outside.

  17

  The doors flew open but rebounded. The left side of the double door hit an infected woman, and her strength forced the door backward, striking the driver’s side of the cart. But it didn’t slow Bald down.

  Fifteen feet from the building, when the tires met gravel, Bald yanked the wheel to the left, knowing he had to reach pavement as fast as possible. The uneven terrain would allow the infected an advantage, but on a road—a straightaway—the cart could pull away from danger faster.

  Just as Bald turned the wheel, an infected man cut off their advance. The infected man spread his arms wide and made his stance even wider, as if to say ‘come and get me.’ They couldn’t run him down, not in the openness of the golf cart. He could easily latch on and climb inside, or worse break through the plastic windshield with his head and start biting.

  Without taking his foot off the gas, Bald turned to Dylan and said, “Drop him.”

  Dylan lifted his Glock and took aim. He didn’t have the confidence to put him down with one shot, at least not while they were moving, but Bald didn’t slow. Apparently, he had confidence for them both.

  Dylan gripped the polymer body—it felt like an old friend by now. Especially since he’d had to use it every day since this pandemic happened. He fired the first shot and as he looked up from his sight, he was surprised. He caught the infected in the middle of the head and dropped him.

  “Nice shot, kid,” Bald said.

  Bald kept his pace, and swerved around the dead man, and held his path.

  “Uh, boys, we’ve got more company.” The vice president had seen the threat trailing from behind.

  It appeared the shot had drawn the company of all the infected from the front of the outbuilding.

  “Let them come. They’ll just be chasing their tails once we hit pavement in this beast. I can already tell she’s hell on wheels.”

  “You think?” Dylan leaned forward with a grin, still elated about his shot.

  “Damn right,” Bald said. “We’ll find your father in no time flat.”

  Dylan sat back into his seat, finding comfort in Bald’s words, but just as he let his guard down, an infected leapt out the bushes.

  “Holy shit!” Dylan leaned into the vice president and lifted his leg—basically sitting in the vice president’s lap.

  The infected held onto the arm rest as his body was dragged over the rocky road.

  “Shoot him!” Bald yelled.

  Dylan couldn’t get a clean shot, not from his position in the vice president’s lap. To get a clean shot, he would need to lean forward and rotate his body. But that was a difficult task, and a risk he didn’t want to take. If somehow the infected was able to grab a hold of him, or bit him anywhere on his body, what would happen? None had seen.

  “I can’t get a shot,” Dylan said.

  “Sir, can you shoot him?” Bald asked.

  The vice president nodded. “Hand me the gun.” He held his hand out.

  Dylan rested the weapon there. The vice president extended the Glock from his body, aimed at the infected man, and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  No shot echoed into the day.

  The slide was blocked, and a projectile caught. “It’s jammed.” He lifted the Glock up, then ejected the round. He pulled the trigger, but again nothing happened. Though he hadn’t seen it when he re-aimed, but the slide was locked back and the chamber was empty.

  The vice president showed both Dylan and Bald.

  “Well, that sucks.” Bald hit a bump, then turned the cart to his right just as they jumped the curb and entered the parking lot.

  In doing so, Dylan was thrown from the vice president’s lap and onto the floor. From his position, Dylan bounced with every imperfection of the road. He did his best to hold on, but there wasn’t much room, nor was there anything to grasp. He felt his body slipping toward the edge. If he fell out, he was a dead man. It wasn’t possible for Bald to slow either, not with the infected running behind them. Dylan could’ve climbed back into his seat but ran the risk of the infected grabbing a hold of him.

  “Is he still there?” Bald looked to Dylan on the floor.

  The infected’s body was flush against the side, with his bare feet dragging on the pavement. Dylan knew first-hand that these bastards could hold on for a long time.

  Dylan nodded.

  “Do you think he’ll let go?” the vice president said.

  “No.” Dylan didn’t waver.

  “How can you be sure?” Bald asked.

  “Because one of these bastards held onto my father’s truck for the better part of ten miles.”

  “Seriously?” Bald said.

  “Yeah, and we didn’t know it until he climbed his way into the bed of my father�
��s truck and ripped my little brother out the back windshield.”

  “No shit?” Bald said.

  Dylan’s eyes went wide at the recollection and he nodded.

  “Can you kick him off?” Bald said.

  Dylan extended his torso so he could see better. “I don’t think so. His head is too far away.”

  “What about his fingers?” Bald suggested at the arm rest. “Sir, can you pry them up?”

  “I will try,” the vice president said.

  “Use the Glock,” Dylan said.

  “What?” the vice president said.

  “Use the butt of the Glock. Hit his fingers with the bottom of the gun.”

  The vice president scooted closer, but not too close to the edge in fear of the infected somehow grabbing him. “Alright, here goes,” the vice president said. He reared up and slammed the butt of the gun down.

  As the polymer body was flying through the air, Bald took his eye away from the road, only for a moment to watch the vice president knock the infected loose, but that moment of distraction proved to be disastrous.

  A left turn approached. But when Bald saw the shift in the road, he was too deep into the turn. He had to overcorrect or run the risk of crashing into a grouping of trees. Swerving tossed Dylan from the floor and onto the pavement of the road.

  Bald rammed the brakes to the floor, and the cart came to a skidding halt. Dylan rolled over the pavement, coming to a rest only when his body struck a thick pine. He reeled in pain on the ground. Both from the collision with the tree and the open wounds of road rash on his arms and legs.

  As he rolled and howled, the rest of the world seemed to fade, and all he could concentrate on was the pain. When he captured sight of the approaching infected, his screams of pain turned into screams of terror. The pain he was feeling in that instant was nothing like what he’d experience once the infected bit into his flesh.

  He held his breath as the infected approached. It was the very same man who held onto the side of the golf cart. He wasn’t chasing after Dylan, though, he was walking slowly, as if to taunt him.

  As much as it pained Dylan to move, he curled into a ball. He couldn’t run, not then. His body was injured, and the open sores on his legs would burn too much. The infected man closed in and was only a few feet off. Three feet away, he stopped, tilted his head to the side, and grinned. Then hissed like a snake.

  Dylan’s heartrate spiraled out of control. Fear froze him, until he saw an arm fly across the infected’s chest, and the infected tumbled to the ground.

  Dylan’s eyes went wide, and he scooted back across the ground. Bald joined him by his side. “C’mon, get up kid. Get up!”

  In his horror, adrenaline kicked in, and Dylan rose. He couldn’t even feel his wounds as Bald guided him beyond the vice president, who was on the ground wrestling with the infected man. Dylan couldn’t take his eyes off the vice president. Once on the passenger seat, Dylan called out, “No. Stop. We can’t leave him.” He stepped out of the cart but fell back in when he felt the harshness of reality take its toll on his body.

  “He’s gone. There’s nothing we can do.”

  Bald drove away, but Dylan didn’t lose sight of the vice president. The man held his own for a while. At least until, four more infected joined the fight.

  “Why did you let him come after me? Why didn’t you just shoot the infected?”

  “I tried. He just took off after you. I didn’t even have the chance to stop him.”

  Dylan couldn’t watch as the infected tore the vice president apart. All he could do was weep. Weep for the man who had given his life for his own.

  18

  The food Colt consumed was enough to fill the void in his belly, but something else was missing. His body was starting to feel groggy. Slow moving. He didn’t know why. Was it the Beritrix? No, he had his normal injection that morning. It was something else. Like he was sensing danger. Maybe with Dylan. But inside the building, they’d heard no more shots. If they had, maybe his mind would’ve been put at ease, but still. Something felt off.

  Colonel Jenkins was staring at Colt. Almost yelling at him, waiting to move outside. “Colt! Are you ready to move? Now’s our chance.”

  His words knocked Colt from his trance, and he shook his head from side to side. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

  “Good. On my count. Three, two, one.”

  Colonel Jenkins sprinted through the parking lot. Colt and Wesley were close behind, but as Colt ran, he felt sluggish. His movements were slowed and his reaction time lessened. By the time he reached the car, Colonel Jenkins had broken through the window and was already in the driver’s seat. “Get inside,” he said over the honking horn of the car alarm.

  When Colt reached the driver’s side door, he leaned on the roof to stabilize himself.

  “Dad, are you okay?” Wesley said.

  “Yeah. Yeah. Just dehydrated,” he lied, even though that could’ve been the culprit.

  “What are you doing? Get your ass in the car.” Colonel Jenkins leaned over in the driver’s seat to catch Colt’s eye.

  Colt swung the door open and let Wesley enter the back seat, before he dropped inside. Colt didn’t notice the car alarm had ceased once Colonel Jenkins started the engine, nor did he see the approaching infected.

  “Buckle up, boys.”

  Colonel Jenkins shoved the car into drive and slammed on the gas, running down the first of the approaching infected. The weak four-cylinder engine couldn’t gain enough speed to stop the infected fully. As Colt stared at the blacks of the infected’s eyes upon approach, he was reminded of what happened at Eleven Mile Reservoir when the shirtless infected ripped Wesley out of the rear windshield.

  Colt was going to make sure that didn’t happen again, so he raised his rifle. Not thinking about the consequences of what would happen when the windshield was blown out, Colt cocked his weapon and loaded a round.

  “What the hell are you thinking?” Colonel Jenkins said. “Lower your rifle.”

  Colt followed his instruction just as Colonel Jenkins spun the wheel to the left. The infected lost his grip and slid off the hood onto the pavement.

  Colonel Jenkins drove east on Academy Drive, speeding down the road with haste.

  “Colt, are you alright over there?” Colonel Jenkins asked.

  Colt was white and shaky, but aware enough to answer. “I’m okay, yeah.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “How far is clubhouse?”

  “A few miles.”

  The car fell silent. “What’s on your mind?” Colonel Jenkins said.

  “Aside from Dylan? Beritrix.”

  “Mine too,” Colonel Jenkins said. “We don’t have the supply anymore. And if we can’t find any by tomorrow morning, well . . . how long have you gone without it in the past?”

  “Not more than thirty-six hours, that’s for sure. Probably more like thirty at the most.”

  “Is that why you look like a ghost? You don’t think we can get our hands on it?”

  Colt stared at him, then unfolded the flip-down mirror to look at himself but didn’t respond.

  Colonel Jenkins continued. “That’s why I say once we find your boy, and the others, we make or way to the airstrip and find our way to Virginia.”

  “You really think there will be an airplane in the airfield hangars?”

  “Damn straight. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s just get to your son, Bald, and the VP, sound like a plan?”

  Colt nodded.

  When they came to the intersection of Academy Drive and Stadium Boulevard, Colonel Jenkins spun the wheel left to drive back north. Colt didn’t expect to see anyone driving toward them, but as Colonel Jenkins turned, he leaned forward in his seat and said, “What the hell?”

  Colt strained to see as well.

  “Is that?” Colonel Jenkins started. “Well, I’ll be damned. It looks like a golf cart, but there’s only two passengers.”

  At his words, a knot f
ormed in Colt’s belly. Dylan. No. Can’t be. Colt turned frantic. “Two? Why’s there only two?”

  “I don’t know,” Colonel Jenkins said, but as they approached, Colt could see Dylan was there.

  Air filled his lungs, but clearly something was wrong. As they approached, Colonel Jenkins slowed, but Colt didn’t even wait for the car to stop before jumping out to meet his son.

  “What happened to you?” Colt said, running up to the cart and joining his son by his side.

  “He fell,” Bald said.

  “Fell? How?”

  “We . . . uh, had to make a quick turn.”

  Colt studied his wounds. He could tell his son had been crying. “A quick turn, what the hell does that mean?” Colt said.

  “It means we had an infected on our ass. It was holding onto the side of the golf cart, and the vice president, he . . . well he, leaned over to take care of the infected and when he did, I had to turn quickly, and that’s when Dylan fell out.”

  “So this is your fault!” Colt stomped around the front of the cart and toward Bald.

  “Dad, no, it’s not.”

  When Colt stepped again, he was cut off by Colonel Jenkins’ words, “Where’s the vice president?”

  Bald and Dylan went cold with distress. “He’s . . . he’s gone,” Bald said.

  “He saved me, Dad.” Dylan broke down.

  Silence filled the air. A silence for the vice president, but Colonel Jenkins spoke clarity. “I know we need to mourn the dead, but now is not the time. We need to move off the road,” Colonel Jenkins said.

  “Where? The academy? The airfield?” Bald said. “You think we can get either place by nightfall?”

  Colt looked west. The sun was setting just over the mountains.

  “I do,” Colonel Jenkins said.

  “What about Dylan?” Colt said. “He needs to be tended to. His wounds looked after.”

  “Like I said. There will be plenty of people in Virginia for that,” Colonel Jenkins said.

  “What about the stadium?” Bald said.

  “What stadium?” Colt said.

  “No! We make for the airfield.” Colonel Jenkins was unbending.