The Walking Plague Trilogy

by J. R. Rain

  The trio descended down the stairs to the parking garage below, while the alarms blared.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The alarm was loud enough to wake the dead. Which is exactly what it did. Jack watched them stumble out from the surrounding trees. Panicked, he and Mike sprinted to reach the door.

  Jared’s arm was bleeding heavily, and Jack was dismayed to see the broken window from which the piercing sound erupted. Obviously, Jared had broken the window, cutting himself badly in the process.

  “He’s got her!” Jared shouted in anguish.

  Jack didn’t have to ask who. Anna, of course. The agent in black was evening the score with Mike, Joe, and Jack.

  He’s got my baby girl! thought Jack.

  “Jack... behind us,” advised Mike.

  Dozens of the undead, if not closer to a hundred.

  Relying on the first instinctive thing that came to mind, Jack kicked in the last of the window. Then he ushered Jared and Mike inside. Doing their best to ignore the alarms, he and Mike shoved a heavy desk against the broken window. Mostly covered, it would hold the zombies back for a while.

  “Jack, in here!” shouted Mike, after Jack had destroyed the last of the alarms with his boot heels.

  Mike had run off to the adjoining Great Hallway. Expecting the worst, Jack found his brother bound and gagged.

  “He took them, Jack! The fucking bastard took them, both!”

  “Where? Where did he take them, Joe?” asked Jack, his heart feeling like it might come up through his throat.

  “Downstairs... the parking garage. They’re going to Dodger Stadium.”

  That’s all Jack heard before running for the stairs and flying down them. But he was too late. The SUV was gone, along with his infected daughter and the woman who had stolen his heart.

  It was turning into one hell of a shitty day.

  * * *

  Jack returned to the main hallway. His head was swirling. But at least Joe was working off a similar blow to the head as Mike had suffered.

  “They’re gone,” he announced. “But before we go after them, we’ll need a plan. First things first. Let’s take care of that cut, Jared.”

  The kid was still bleeding bad and would need stitches. After retrieving the first aid box, Jack stitched the wound with Mike’s help. Not the best job, and surely it would look Frankenstein-ish forever more, but the bleeding stopped. Mike had just tied off the thread when they heard a loud commotion down the hall.

  “Shit,” whispered Mike, looking up.

  Jack nodded. “They’re inside.”

  * * *

  Jack worried they were losing time by not pursuing the ‘agent in black’. But they would never get far if the zombies couldn’t be brought under control. Jack prepared to start picking the suckers off one by one, but Joe stopped him.

  “By the way, Cole totally fucked with our ammo.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look for yourself.”

  Jack glanced to where the cart had been. It was gone. If the bastard’s intention was to make their lives miserable, he was succeeding in spades.

  All Mike, Jared and Jack had for ammo was the bullets they had stuffed into their pockets. And Jared had lost too much blood to fight effectively, barely keeping his arm up. Worries about Anna and Carla threatened to overwhelm Jack—especially without transportation and weapons to get to the stadium and then fight effectively.

  Things looked terribly grim.

  The zombies made their way toward them in the hallway. Thankfully, there were only a few—much less than it sounded like. The armed trio took them out while guttural shrieks erupted from outside the side entrances.

  What in the hell?

  Had Cole unlocked the doors, too? They sounded too close.... No telling how many were on the way. Mike and Joe went to secure one side entrance while Jared insisted on accompanying Jack to close the other, an employee entrance into the observatory. The pair heard a thump and then guttural shrieks as they approached the open door. A dozen members of the undead hovered just outside the entrance. Their contorted faces were pressed against the smoky glass as they fumbled for the handle. Most of the faces sported deep wounds along the cheeks, forehead, and necks. Surely how they were all turned into what they were now.

  A short blast of bullets made the monsters back off just enough to secure the lock again.

  “Sweet Jesus!” he whistled under his breath.

  To be on the safe side, Jared helped Jack further secure the handles by using some of the cut cords that had been used to bind his brother. Soon after, Mike and Joe rejoined them in the main hallway.

  “Held them back,” said Mike, pointing to where they had been moments before. “We secured the door back there. But there’s an awful lot of them this time. The door is gonna give before too long.”

  “Now what do we do?” Joe asked Jack.

  “We figure out the best way to get out of here,” he said. “Then we go find Anna and Carla.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jack and Mike went through the building thoroughly, sealing what doors they could and barricading the ones they couldn’t. Then all the guys gathered the few remaining items Cole had missed, along with what weapons and ammunition they could retrieve safely from the basement level.

  Despite Cole’s efforts to hamstring the group, they managed to recover several dozen rifles and pistols, and a couple of cases of bullets. But not knowing what the bastard had in mind, they raided the custodian closets for anything that looked like it could serve as a weapon, like a couple of shovels, and a garden hose.

  It was hard to concentrate on anything other than Anna and Carla’s safety. But Jack focused on the task at hand. Presently, that meant stashing the supplies into big trash bags.

  “Dodger Stadium?” said Joe, when they were finished. They had their weapons and supplies. They were ready to move.

  Mike shook his head. “He’s obviously baiting us. He wants us to come. We’ve got to be smarter than him.”

  “You don’t know him.” Joe’s dark voice matched the spreading shadows, it was early evening. “He doesn’t care. Yeah, he wants us to come. Especially me and Mike. He hates us. He wants us, but he doesn’t care about Anna or Carla. He wants revenge.”

  “So, how to get there as quickly as possible?” asked Jack. “Both the truck and the patrol car have flat tires.”

  “We can hike,” suggested Mike. “But it wouldn’t be safe. This zombie bullshit has to be spreading like wildfire.”

  As they talked, the sound of dragging feet and snarls drifted from down the hall again.

  “My turn.” Joe sighed, and then drew his hunting knife and went after them. Everyone else paused to listen to the blows—the crunch of bones—until he returned. “Piece of cake,” he said.

  Jack didn’t like how commonplace the violence had become. But the world was changing fast. This got him thinking about Brice and the woman, Julie. With darkness approaching, he didn’t know what to do about either one. He thought about Anna and Carla again.

  “All we have is my truck,” he said, “The tires are shot.”

  “Screw the tires,” Jared said angrily. “I mean, who’s going to care? Anyone out there to give us a ticket, even?”

  “He’s right, you know,” Joe said. “We could at least make it down the hill on the rims.”

  “We could probably hotwire something when the truck gives out,” Mike said. “We’ve done that many times before.”

  Everyone looked to Jack again for a final answer. He didn’t think of himself as completely in charge, but maybe he was. After all, it was his daughter and girlfriend’s lives out there on the line.

  “Okay,” he said, after giving it some thought. “Let’s take the truck. Load up, and search for Brice first. We’ll at least start with that.”

  Jared didn’t like it. He wanted to get Anna. Period. Jack shared his pain, but carried the more experienced perspective of doing the right thing usually meant the best
results would follow. Saving Brice first was the right thing to do.

  They all agreed to use as few bullets as possible. When it was time to go, Joe and Mike covered Jack and Jared, who no longer bore the pallor of death after consuming several energy bars, as they loaded the truck. It was then decided Joe would drive, Jared shotgun, and Mike and Jack would man the back.

  Brice and Julie were still barricaded in the bathroom when they retrieved them. Brice was damned happy to see them, and he had kept Julie tied up, except for her feet.

  “She wasn’t going anywhere,” he advised. “I took the tape off of her mouth so she could have a drink from the sink. Had to put it back on, though, as she wouldn’t stop talking even for a nanosecond.”

  Jack chuckled in spite of his worry. “We’re getting the hell out of here, Brice. You coming?”

  Indeed, neither Brice nor the captive named Julie put up a fuss about leaving. Mike lifted her into the truck bed none too carefully. Whatever kindness he’d given her before had been used up and worn out. “Just sit there and shut the hell up,” he ordered, ignoring her muffled protests.

  The tire treads came off before they reached the bottom of the hill. The rims protested with an absurd screech, and sparks roostered out from the friction created by the road. Joe had to slow down significantly, but he could drive faster than the critters that used to be human ambled. From the back, Jack and Mike sharpened their moving target skills whenever one got too close. Other than the walking dead, the streets were empty.

  Joe cut the engine under the cover of a large elm tree when they reached the intersection of Los Feliz Boulevard. Darker than any of them had ever seen it. The quiet was eerie, along with the soft rustling breeze that usually went unnoticed. Trash blowing along with it. The occasional crazy, the less occasional car passing. The stars... they could damned near see them all.

  Indeed, the world was different now, and the six of them took it all in, each in their own way. Mostly in shock. For those few minutes, surely it sank in that nothing would ever be the same... ever again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cole had been up for about thirty hours straight, with no sleep, since he’d left Seal Beach. Presently, he leaned back in a comfortable office chair in Dodger Stadium’s media room. He chewed on a pretzel and regarded Carla. Part of his training meant going without sleep for nearly four days. Thirty hours should’ve been a piece of cake. But he felt tired... tired, irritated, and restless.

  * * *

  Carla sat nearby on the floor. She’d managed to get herself to a sitting position from where he’d dumped her. She met his eyes evenly. She didn’t know where Anna was, and this worried her a great deal. But she would never let on to the Agent in Black that she was scared.

  Never show them your fear.

  She kept her eyes on his, not allowing herself to look at the pretzel. She was ravenous beyond belief. Thirsty, too. She swallowed both back.

  Fuck him, she thought.

  A few hours ago, Cole had driven them to the ballpark. Parked in the huge lot, she’d watched him study blueprints of the place. Where he’d gotten them, she had no clue. Probably the military base, she reasoned. After a few moments, he rolled the papers neatly and started the SUV again.

  The ground level held several loading docks and large supply elevators. Cole had picked one of the locks and drove the vehicle inside. It was dark, a stark contrast to the afternoon sun. It took some moments for Carla’s eyes to adjust to the dimness.

  The vile agent cursed when the elevator didn’t work. He cuffed her hands to the steering wheel, leaving Anna, head and arms still covered, in the back.

  “Be quiet,” he had reminded Carla. “We don’t know what she’s capable of, do we?” And he left.

  Carla had been extremely uncomfortable in this position, but she kept as still as she could. Every time she moved, Anna shifted.

  Roughly twenty minutes later Cole reappeared, smiling knowingly. The utility elevator stood open, the lights glowing behind him. He got in the car and released Carla from the steering wheel. He then drove the vehicle into the elevator. After the door closed, it brought them up to the main level, and this time the elevator’s other door opened and he drove them into the coliseum that had once hosted millions of fans in its heyday. It now sat deserted, empty.

  Cole parked, re-cuffed Carla, and coaxed Anna out from the back seat. Carla watched as he led the girl down a concourse. Anna still had that jerky gait, following his voice. They turned a corner, out of Carla’s sight.

  Carla stretched and wiggled to face the carpet. There’s got to be something, she told herself. She remembered the tiny objects Joe and Mike had used to their benefit; a simple bobby pin, a nail. Arms bound behind her, she used her feet to feel for something she could use.

  She was sweating; Cole would wonder what she’d been up to. But Carla didn’t care. As far as she was concerned, they weren’t on speaking terms. Oh, I want to kill him, she thought as she swept her shoes methodically across the floor.

  She imagined how she would kill him, in what way she would take his life. Thinking of the possibilities, she almost missed it. But there it was... a pen. She contorted into an impossible position to see it. A Bic ballpoint.

  Carla kicked off her shoes and tried to grasp the smooth sides with her toes. She was on her stomach now, her intent to bring the pen up behind her...it fell onto the passenger seat. Damn it. She glanced up to find Cole returning alone.

  Salty drops slid into her eyes. Maybe she could get it if she sat back in her seat. And her shoes...

  He was studying the stadium as he walked. Carla wriggled again onto her back, sliding as far as she could into her seat. She shoved her shoes back on; one of the heels collapsed, she tried again. Meanwhile, Cole turned his gaze to her. She tried to appear calm, all the while searching for the pen behind her as he drew nearer. Her hand found it with just enough time to slide it into her pants and inside her underwear, which kept it snug against her skin. She could feel it poking her and wondered if it was visible from the outside.

  “What have you been up to?” he asked, his voice cold. Carla ignored him at first, looking straight ahead. She’d wiped some sweat onto her jacket, but her hair was messed up.

  She glared at him, unable to answer.

  “Whatever it is you’re doing, it won’t work,” he advised. He unlocked the cuffs again. “Time to get going.”

  He drove the SUV down the empty stadium concourse ahead until they reached the Press Room. He’d emptied the SUV of all weaponry and shattered several beer bottles, spreading the glass across the floor. Obviously, this was intended to alert him when someone attempted to rescue her and Anna. She watched him type on the computers, and test the sound system. At one point, he asked her, “Hear that?”

  Other than the initial test signals, she heard nothing. It wasn’t until he turned her face to view the ballpark and its surroundings that she saw legions of the undead approach en masse from the hills, slowly ambling toward them. He wanted to make sure she saw them. Carla was amazed and frightened by how many there were.

  “High-pitched sound,” he explained. “We can’t hear it, but the crazies can. Like dogs. I hope your friends are ready for this. If they are, it will be a fun, ah, ballgame.”

  He’d kept the soundless pitch going, apparently from the huge speakers throughout the park, until the zombies crowded the fences and gates, pushing against them. Some of them found a way in. Carla watched in horror as he hit another switch. The classic organ started the song, and “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” blared through the park. The mob intensified their efforts, pushing their way through any open gates. Soon, they wandered the ball field, their ears attuned to the now-eerie song and the high-pitched signal.

  They climbed the stairs, dragged themselves over seats, and more and more came. They made their way into the concourses and smaller halls, searching, yet unable to find the source of the alluring sound.

  Cole lit a cigarette and smiled into Car
la’s smoldering eyes. “Aren’t you excited, sugar lips?” he asked, though her mouth was taped. She didn’t bat an eye when he exhaled a cloud of smoke into her face. “This is it. The final move, the nitty-gritty, as they used to say.”

  Carla fought to appear stoic. She wondered what the others were doing. Jack was probably frantic. She knew they’d come for her. She prayed it was soon. The longer they waited, the worse things would get. That’s how it looked as the music blasted, and they kept coming.

  Despite her growing anxiety, she was determined to win the staring game with Cole. She knew police psychology; undoubtedly, he was also well educated in behavioral science. They couldn’t bullshit each other with psychology strategies. She wouldn’t even give him the satisfaction of knowing she was about to pee her pants.

  Then the look on Cole’s face changed, and Carla saw what she hoped would never be there. A leering look of mad desire.

  “I’m tired of talking to myself,” he said. He reached forward and ripped the tape from her mouth, opening her fat lip again. Blood dripped down Carla’s jaw. “I might let you clean yourself up a little,” he said casually.

  “How kind of you.”

  “Now, don’t be like that. I’m keeping you alive, aren’t I? I could toss you out there and be done with you just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “As a matter of fact, I’m going to untie you. I’ll need your shoes first, and to frisk you. You understand, I’m sure.” He didn’t wait for a response. It was simple to tie her shoes into a complicated knot that would take some work before she could use them again. He pulled her to a standing position and searched her, his hands lingering at her breasts and inner thighs and ignoring the pen stuck into the back of her underwear. Still Carla kept her wits and didn’t break or react. Outwardly. Inside, her rage increased as she swore again she’d see him dead before the end of what she now believed would be a bloody battle on the horizon.