"And I guess I'm supposed to figure out what it does in humans."
"Yes," the general said.
"Okay then, let's get to it. Time's a wasting."
She, the general, and Cornelius went over preliminary details of how they would get to the northeast. The facility was located underneath an old abandoned resort just outside of the small town of Cherry Ridge. They would fly, with fighter escort for part of the trip, to the closest airbase about fifty miles to the south and then proceed in a small military convoy to the location. A platoon of men would provide security and support on the ground.
They left Cornelius for the time being and Colonel Thompson met them outside once again. He leaned in and whispered something to the general. Jacobs nodded and said, "I'll take my leave of you now, Doctor. The colonel here will take you to see David. I'd like you to be wheels up in an hour."
Ivy nodded. "All right, General."
"Good luck."
Thompson took her out along the same long and convoluted way they had come in. The whole process of getting back to the infirmary seemed to take upwards of twenty minutes. When she got back to David, she could tell from the moment she laid eyes on him, he'd be gone before long. She'd only known him a short time but, because of the intensity of what they'd been through, she felt like she was losing a lifelong friend.
A nurse stood at his bedside checking his IV pump. His breathing was rapid and shallow, followed by short pauses where it would stop all together. Her eyes flooded with tears. Watching him breath that way made her feel breathless. The nurse excused herself and Ivy walked to his bedside and took his hand.
"David," she whispered, "I am so sorry this happened to you." She gave his hand a little squeeze. His skin felt cool. The flesh of his hand felt puffy and yet empty at the same time. Like a half-filled water balloon.
"I wish you could come out east with me. I could really use your help with this mess. It's all a bit much. Aliens. A zombie virus. Half the country gone to hell. Somehow, I'm supposed to figure it all out. Come up with a cure? Sugar, honey, iced tea. I'm barely out of school."
His breathing stopped with something like a sigh and after a moment she let go of his hand. Her tears fell like raindrops, hitting the bed sheet, leaving little wet stains. She grabbed a wad of tissues from off a tray table, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She took a deep breath and let it out. Then she walked out of the room without looking back.
Several nurses ran down the hall past her and into David's room. No doubt reacting to his heart monitor that showed a flat line. She met none of their eyes as she walked by.
She walked to the room she had been using and found the bed covered with an assortment of unexpected things. Useful things. Things she hadn't even thought about. But someone had, and she felt grateful for that.
There were two full sets of clothing. A pair of boots. A bag of toiletries. A satellite phone. A Beretta M9 with two extra magazines. A small duffle bag and a bottle of Jack Daniels with a note that read: Compliments of Gen. Jacobs. The man thought of everything.
She checked her watch. Less than a half hour before she needed to catch her plane to the East Coast. She cracked open the bottle with a trembling hand, still shaken from everything that had just happened. She swallowed a mouthful, wincing as it burned all the way down. Then she replaced the cap and set the bottle down.
She stripped and took a two-minute shower, her first in days. Then she dressed in her clean clothes, threw everything else in the bag, and stepped into the corridor. After finding the nurse's station, she asked a clerk there to contact Colonel Thompson for her.
"That won't be necessary, Doc," said a familiar voice from behind.
Ivy turned to see Sgt. Kowalski in full combat gear carrying what must have been a hundred pounds worth of stuff. "Well, look at you all gussied up."
He smiled and shook his head. "I'm here to escort you to your plane. Our plane, I suppose."
"You'll be joining me on this excursion?"
"Yes. I've been ordered to provide security and assistance."
"You don't seem too happy about that."
"Well, to be perfectly honest, Doc, I like to be in the fight and not sitting around waiting for stuff to happen."
"Don't you worry, Sergeant, trouble seems to be following me lately. I'll bet you a beer you'll have plenty of what you're looking for where we're going."
"You already owe me a beer."
"How about double or nothing?"
He sniffed at the suggestion and shook his head again. "You are too much. Come along, Doc. We are Oscar Mike in less than fifteen."
"Oscar Mike?"
"On the move."
"Let's go then. I wouldn't want to be late for the apocalypse."
They walked out of the infirmary and into the cool September air. Outside, an open topped Humvee with a driver waited for them. They stowed their gear and got into the back seat. Without waiting for instructions, the driver took them to a runway where a large gray four propeller plane sat on the tarmac with its cargo bay door down. They grabbed their bags from the back and walked to the plane.
Sgt. Kowalski introduced her to the rest of the team on the plane. The men all nodded curtly and then immediately averted their eyes. It made Ivy feel uncomfortable if not unwelcome. But they all had their jobs to do, and she wasn't there to make friends.
They made their way to their seats and waited. They waited well beyond the time they should have taken off. Just when she was about to ask the sergeant about the delay a truck pulled up with a large rectangular box that took four men to carry. Once they placed the box in the cargo hold the door closed and they taxied down the runway.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jim heads to Cherry Ridge - Early afternnon Thurs Sep 5
Jim pulled up to Turnello's house with a tremendous sense of relief he'd made it in one piece. That was a distinct change from what he'd felt just hours ago when death at his own hand seemed like the only option.
From what he'd seen farther south, he knew the feeling of safety he had would be short lived. All things being equal, he wouldn't have had any idea what to do at this point, but since Turnello seemed to know something he didn't, there only seemed to be one option. Flee to Cherry Ridge.
He climbed out of the truck and Tiny followed him to Olga's home. Fifty feet from the house, Jim heard B.A. bark and Tiny, tail wagging furiously, sprinted ahead to the front door. He saw a curtain move and then the door opened. Olga stood behind a screen door with B.A. sitting next to her. Jim put up a hand to her.
"You back so soon."
He nodded. "Yeah, things didn't turn out quite like I had imagined." He climbed the porch steps and stood next to Tiny. The two dogs looked at each other and Tiny barked. Olga pushed the screen door open, and he ran inside to play with his friend.
"What happened? You have blood on you."
Jim looked down at himself and for the first time noticed the bloodstains on his sweatshirt and pants. "The entire neighborhood burned down, but we have bigger problems than that."
She frowned. "Entire neighborhood burn down?"
"Yes, but we have to get out of here."
"We? Fire coming?"
"No, this is worse than fire, I think."
"I not understand."
"Look I'm not sure how to explain all of this to you. There's too much to tell and you wouldn't believe some of it. Hell, I don't even believe it and I've seen it with my own eyes. The point is if you stay here chances are you will die."
She looked at him with a profound sadness he had never seen. She shook her head. ”I not going nowhere."
"But--"
"I not going nowhere. This is my home and I not leaving it."
Jim shook his head. "Why are you being so stubborn?"
"I not being stubborn. I'm old and I just not want to run and meet death tired."
Her reply left Jim stunned. He'd never encountered anyone that resigned to dying. At a loss of what else to do he said, "If you change
your mind, I'll be loading up the truck." Then he called the dogs, and they pushed their way around her and over to him. B.A. looked cleaned and brushed. His wound had a dressing taped over it though the tape wouldn't likely stick for long. "Thank you for taking care of him," he said and then turned and walked back to Turnello's place.
He wished he had a better truck, more weapons, more supplies, and most of all, Turnello. He felt like he was just watching everything turn to shit before his eyes. The old woman's willingness to stay in a familiar place at the risk of death made him question his impulse to leave.
He understood the comfort of familiarity, but he also knew relaxing into that comfort could be the quickest way to die. Being a refugee wasn't ideal, but now that the world had made that decision for him, he'd put himself in the best place to deal with the things to come.
He unlocked the door and put his weight into it to push it open. The dogs followed him in and they shared an MRE before beginning the process of packing the truck.
It wasn't a lot of food for a man and two dogs, but he felt the need to ration what little he had. How long the trip would take or what he'd find once he got there were unknowable.
He had three full cases of MREs and loaded those into the truck, stashing a few in the cab. More 9mm ammo went into the glove compartment and the rest into the tub. He wasn't sure what to do with the shotgun shells but took them just in case.
Then he grabbed the jugs of drinking water and put them into the truck bed. He put one into the cab of the truck as well. Then he found a plastic garbage bag and grabbed all the clothes he thought would fit and stuffed them in. Finally he went through the kitchen cabinets looking for any other food. He found a box of crackers, rice, a few cans of vegetables and cans of coffee. All of it went into the truck bed.
He closed and locked the door and hid the key in the same spot he'd found it. Then he went through the process of jumpstarting the truck. When he and the dogs had climbed in, he saw the old woman slip out her doorway and onto her porch.
For a moment, he thought she had changed her mind, but she put up a hand and waved a farewell. He waved back and looked at her for a long moment realizing that he'd never see her again, then he put the truck in gear and drove off.
He felt his eyes well up and he cleared his throat. B.A. whined and put his head down on the seat. Tiny lay curled up on the floor lost among the boxes and stuff. He took a deep breath and then put his mind to focus on what he needed to do. All that mattered now was to get to Cherry Ridge with the dogs safe and sound.
Something clicked inside him. Some switch that turned his sadness and despair into a rage. With rage, he could accomplish much. Much needed to be done in order for him to make it upstate alive. He gripped the steering wheel feeling more like an animal than man.
By now, he had every obstacle and pothole memorized, so he zoomed down the road weaving as necessary. As he approached the knot of cars, he saw a small group of zombies turn their attention toward the sound of the truck. He swerved right avoiding hitting one head on, but then swerved back left and side swiped it sending in to the ground in a crumple.
He jammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop. Reaching down for the pistol he jumped out and shot two through the head. Another grabbed his arm, but he pivoted throwing it off balance and then flipped to the ground, going down on one knee. He shot it through the head at point blank range.
The last one snarled and reached down for him with both arms. He shot it without getting up. The bullet went into its mouth and blew off the back of its head. It collapsed to the ground, its shattered head landing inches from his foot.
He remained there for a moment with his arm extended breathing heavily. He lowered the gun and glanced at the open door of the truck. Tiny and B.A. sat there staring at him. Tiny barked and howled and turned a few times in a circle then ran over to Jim putting his paws up on Jim's leg. B.A. followed coming over to Jim and nudging his hand with his snout.
He put a hand on each of their heads giving them both a scratch. "Come on, you two. We have a lot to do." He got up and headed to the truck, reached in and took out a box of ammo from the glove compartment and topped off his pistol. Then he grabbed the gas can and siphon and went to work.
He moved from car to car filling the can and emptying it into the truck until it was full. Then he filled the can one last time and put it into the bed. He walked up and down opening the doors of any empty cars, looking for one that had a lever to pop the trunk open. The first he found, the trunk was mostly empty, but it had the one thing he was looking for. A tire iron.
The dogs and he climbed back into the truck. Then he drove around the cluster of cars while scanning them for a truck that might have a likely replacement battery. He pulled around to the far end of the cars, popped the hood of the truck and got out to inspect the battery. He let the dogs out and grabbed a pair of pliers from the toolkit.
"B.A., stay here and keep an eye on the truck. Tiny, come on, let's go shopping for a battery." The little dog followed along as he wove his way through the tangle of cars to the first truck he could find. He opened the truck door, popped the hood and went to work on taking out the battery. With his head under the hood of a car so often these days he felt like a mechanic.
He hoisted the battery up and over the fender of the truck with a grunt. Holding it in front of himself with both hands he carried the heavy and awkward cube what seemed like a mile back to the truck. It was a different shape than the old one, but the posts seemed to be the same size. He disconnected the old one and set it aside. Just as he lowered the new one in place B.A. growled.
He peeked out from around the hood and glanced in the same direction as the dog but could see nothing. He went back to work trying to connect the battery, but the posts weren't right, and he kept fiddling with it trying to make it work to no avail.
B.A. growled again. He pulled it out of the truck and set it on the ground. He walked around to the dog and stared into the distance again.
Something far out on the horizon moved. It seemed to span the entire roadway south of the bridge. Tiny sat next to him and whined. A small chill ran through him and he felt a sudden urge to run. He needed to find a battery now.
An idea came to him. He grabbed the tool kit and took out a small tape measure. He measured the post size of the old battery and then just went down the lane of cars opening everyone until he found any battery with posts that matched. It took five tries, but he found something promising. Whatever he saw coming down the road seemed closer.
The dogs both growled again. He lowered the battery into place and connected it. Then he tried to start the truck, and to his surprise, it worked. He slammed the hood shut. He put the tools back into the toolkit and pulled the door open.
The dogs jumped into the cab. Before he got in, he took one last look down the road. What he saw coming now looked like a crowd of people. Except he knew in his gut what they really were. He had this strange urge to count them but knew there were much too many for that.
He got in, backed the truck up, and turned away from the cars and drove onto the bridge in the oncoming lane. If all went well, and he ran into nothing to slow him down, he should make it to Cherry Ridge before dark. What happened then was anyone's guess.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ivy heads to the east coast - Early evening Thurs Sep 5
The C-130 banked and began its descent toward an unlighted runway in the twilight gloom of an overcast sky. Somewhere on the ground, about an hour ahead of them, was the other half of the platoon. Their job had been to secure the airfield and acquire a truck or two or at least an additional Humvee. Their own plane contained a Humvee taking up the front end of the cargo space. Stacked along a center strip in the hold were pallets of food, ammunition, and other things she couldn't identify.
She sat shoulder to shoulder with a dozen men in uncomfortable red nylon fold out seats that hung from a bar running along the wall of the hold. She watched Sgt. Kowalski's head loll along wit
h the movements of the aircraft amazed that he could sleep under these circumstances. With almost no windows to look out it was all she could do to stave off motion sickness. Sleep was unthinkable.
The one thing noticeably absent from their plane was Cornelius. Perhaps he'd gone ahead on the earlier plane or maybe he'd taken his own craft. Though neither of those made any sense. Why would they send him on a flight into a potentially dangerous airfield? Taking his own ship seemed like it would attract undue attention from both humans and aliens alike.
Her eyes fell on that one box they loaded on the plane last minute. The box they had waited for before their flight would take off. It was about seven feet long and two feet high and two feet wide. It seemed constructed out of gray plastic but bore no markings.
There were a dozen people on the plane and many boxes and equipment but this one kept drawing her attention. She couldn't understand why. The only thing she could come up with was the fact that the box had no markings while everything else did. That made it stand out. On a long boring flight with little else to do, her mind looked for patterns where there weren't any.
When the wheels touched the tarmac, Kowalski's eyes opened, and he looked around the plane. He turned on his radio, adjusted his earpiece and throat mic, and said, "Alpha one this is bravo one, how copy?" He paused. "We are wheels down at the LZ." He paused again. "Roger that."
The plane came to a stop. Someone lowered the ramp and half the men streamed out with their weapons ready. They fanned out in a semicircle and took a knee. No one on the plane moved until they all called clear. Sgt. Kowalski turned to Ivy. "Let's go," he said.
They walked out onto the tarmac. In the twilight, Ivy had trouble distinguishing between the faces of the men. "Bravo team, Alpha team is incoming from our nine o'clock with a Humvee and a pair of deuce and a half trucks. You four set security. The rest of you, let's get this stuff out of the plane and on the trucks."
A Bad Day (Book 2): A Bad Day Page 11
