Claire and I walked to a clear spot on the overpass to meet the soldiers. One approached me. He looked like the squad leader. His gun was down, but ready. I extended my hand in friendship.
“Thanks, guys. You came -,” I started to say.
“Hands up!” The soldier raised his gun.
We stood dumbfounded at the command. “Hands up! Now!” the soldier said, with a little more anger in his voice. Claire and I obeyed.
“Have you been bitten?” he barked at us. We shook our heads no in unison. He turned and waved two more soldiers in our direction. “Search them. Make it snappy. We’ve got to get outta here.”
The two soldiers started to search us. They took our weapons and went about searching our pockets and bodies for more. After that, they lifted our shirts and checked our stomachs and backs for zombie bites. They also checked our arms and legs. We didn’t resist. I think we were in shock. “All clear, sir!” one of the soldiers said to his superior.
“Get them in the truck.” He turned to his squad. “We are moving out. Let’s go!”
The squad started back to the truck. One of the soldiers nodded his head towards us and said, ”Let’s go.”
Claire and I obeyed. At least we weren’t in handcuffs. Claire looked at me and started to say something, but I put my finger to my lips to tell her to stay quiet. No sense volunteering any information about us. Besides, they had a lot of weapons, including a nasty one attached to the roof of their vehicle.
They herded us into the armored truck, and we sat down on one of the seats. If the outside of the former United Nations wonder truck was weird, the inside was even weirder. It looked like a mobile command center, all state-of-the-art electronics and wall-to-wall buttons and switches. The troops all came inside and silently sat down around us. The door closed, causing a brace of little white lights to come on overhead. I heard the powerful diesel engine come off idle, and we were off.
Claire was sitting across from me, looking worried. I gave her an everything-will-be-all-right look. After all, the uniforms were American, the vehicle was from the UN, and we were not being restrained or anything. They took our weapons, but that was probably just a precaution.
Still, I had to wonder as we picked up speed and drove away from the overpass: Was this a rescue or a kidnapping?
Chapter 3
Wallace and Odegard
We rode in silence for a few hours.
With no windows in the armored truck, I couldn’t see where we were going. It was west, I think. A couple of times, I was tempted to ask the stoic, silent soldiers what our final destination was, but I think they were under orders not to talk to us. The only voices I heard were the vehicle operators giving status reports to some base. Occasionally, I would feel the truck turn. We must be off the highway and on the secondary roads. I felt helpless. I didn’t know where we were or where we were going.
I didn’t like not knowing where I was. This was beginning to feel like a kidnapping.
Claire was sitting across from me looking nervous. When we first hit the road, she was grabbing the seat so hard her knuckles turned white. I told her through facial expressions to be calm down. Eventually, she relaxed a little. After so many weeks on the road together, we could practically read each other’s minds.
The truck made another turn, ran for a bit at full speed, then stopped with a whoosh of brakes. The side door opened, and another uniformed soldier stepped into the vehicle. He had a medical insignia stitched on to his shoulder, along with the flag of the United States. He stepped in front of Claire and kneeled down. The medic-soldier fumbled around in his pocket and produced a small penlight. He turned it on, gently grasped Claire’s chin, and shined the bright light into her baby blues. He checked both eyes, then waved at the two soldiers seated on her right and left.
“She’s okay. Bring her in,” he said. The soldiers stood up, and they escorted her off the vehicle.
The medic turned and repeated the process with me. The soldier was a young fellow, only about twenty years old or so. I noticed he wore sneakers instead of boots. Really weird footwear for a soldier, I thought. He stepped in close. A light shadow of beard was on his face, and he was chewing some kind of gum. He looked closely at my eyes.
“He’s good. Kind of bloodshot, but okay.” He nodded to the soldiers seated near me. They stood up, and I was escorted off the truck.
I exited the truck into some kind of garage or quarantine building. Tables and chairs were set up along one wall, along with some small showers. The extra soldiers from the truck marched off into a hallway to another section of the building. A guard closed a chain-link fence behind them.
Claire was seated at one of the tables. Two men, one older with snow-white hair and in uniform, and one in a dress shirt and tan pants, were asking her questions. She looked a little stressed. I was directed to another table and told to sit down.
“What’s going on? Who are you guys?” I asked. Maybe I was overtired or something, but I was starting to get a little concerned.
The soldier took one of his hands off his gun, and pointed one of the fingers at the ground. “Just sit down.” I sat. What else could I do? Really didn’t fell like being shot. I glanced over at Claire. The questioning was over, and they were taking blood. “Wait a minute. What are they doing to her?”
“She is being processed. You’re next. Just stay seated.”
Processed? Sounds like they were going to cut us up and eat us for dinner.
White-Hair Soldier Boy and Tan Pants finished with Claire, and started to walk over. They left her under the watchful eye of a guard, a cotton ball on her arm where they took blood. She looked at me and shrugged.
The white-haired soldier walked up and extended his hand. “Hello. John, is it?”
“Yeah.” I took off my glove and grasped his hand. He had a strong handshake. It was the handshake of a career tough guy. His face broke out into a grin. The lines in his face made him seem older than when I first saw him.
“Great. I’m General Ray E. Wallace. Your little lady over there told us your name.” He gestured over his shoulder. “This smart-looking fellow with the glasses is named Keith Odegard. He’s my computer and process guy.” He shook my hand with great enthusiasm. “Always glad to meet another survivor.” His voice was smooth and tinged with a Kentucky or maybe a Virginia accent. There were some small stars on his shirt. At least he looked like a general.
“What the hell is going on? Where are we?” I asked.
“In due time, John, in due time. First, ole Odegard here wants to ask you some questions, and we need a blood sample. Okay?”
I calmed down a little. “Okay. Ask away.”
Without saying a word, Odegard sat down and put a laptop on the table beside me. He opened it and tapped a few keys. It was an actual working computer. It had been nearly a year and a half since I had seen one.
“Do you have an Internet connection? I’d like to see how my stocks are doing,” I joked. Wallace let out a little laugh. Odegard looked up, and adjusted his glasses.
“Actually, no, we don’t. The facility has a built-in information network. We salvaged a few databases and transferred them to this facility: tax and property records, college transcripts, DMV, credit reports.”
Wallace shook his head. “He was kidding, Odegard.”
Odegard glanced at his boss. “Oh.” He turned back to look at me. “Very funny. I need to ask you a few questions. Okay?”
“Shoot.” I leaned in.
Odegard tapped a few keys. “First, your name. John M. Linder. correct?”
“Yes.” I hoped they didn’t have my DMV records. I had a few outstanding citations.
Odegard tapped a few more keys. “The M is for?”
“Michael. My father’s name.”
A few more tapped keys. “Telecom engineer, freelance. Age forty, born nineteen seventy five in Atlanta, Georgia to Michael and Beth Linder. One sister… Angela Linder, age thirty-five.”
“I’m
forty-one. My birthday was a few weeks ago. The family info is correct.” I thought about my mother and sister. Angela was working in Hong Kong when the outbreak started. Mom was living north of Atlanta. I hope they weren’t part of the army of the undead. Dad was gone. He died a few years ago. I hadn’t thought of my family in a while. It made me a little melancholy.
Odegard tapped some more keys on his computer. “Forty-one…Okay. Wife: Gia Marie Linder, age thirty-eight. What happened to her?”
I didn’t answer at first. A picture of my lost wife flashed in my mind. It was Sunday, and she was reading the paper. Gia always liked to pretend she read the editorials and the main section first, but I knew she always grabbed the funnies to read first thing. I could see her curled up on the chair in our rental house living room, her long legs and bare feet curled up under her. I could almost smell her. Like flowers, only stronger.
“Don’t know,” I managed to croak out. “I never found her.”
Odegard stopped typing. “It’s okay. I’ll put her down as ‘missing.’”
The questions were killing me, and I felt worn out, old, and a little depressed. I guess some tears showed up in my eyes. Odegard looked a little concerned. “Are you okay? I have a few more questions.”
“I’m fine. Just a little tired,” I answered.
Wallace interrupted the questioning. “We can ask them later, Keith.” He looked at my eyes, and called over a medic. “Lets just get a blood sample and get this man to bed.”
Odegard stood up. “He might be suffering from post-traumatic stress. He might not be as fit as you think he is, General.” He straightened his glasses and looked in my eyes.
“That’s enough, Keith.” Wallace gave Odegard a look that cut him off. The medic arrived with a needle and a length of elastic to expose one of my veins. It was the same medic that had checked me out in the truck, now changed into medical wear. He tied the band on my arm and prepared the sample jar for my blood.
I strained to catch a glimpse of Claire at the next table through all the people. Two guards were leading her away to the hallway out of the garage. They were taking her away. She glanced back and said in a loud voice, “John… help! I don’t know where they’re taking me!” She began to struggle. One of the guards grabbed her by the arm and was pulling her away.
They were separating us. I didn’t like that.
Even though the medic was to taking blood, I tried to stand up. I looked at Wallace, who was quietly talking to Odegard, and said, “Where are they taking her? Who the hell are you guys?” My voice echoed in the vast space of the garage.
“Take it easy, John,” Wallace said in a calm, syrupy voice. “She’s going to quarantine for a few days. You’ll see her soon.”
Quarantine? I chose not to believe him. “I don’t want us to be separated. Let me go!” I tried to stand, but the medic and two guards held me down. My rage began to build, and I started to fight. The guards grabbed me and held me down. The battle had begun. “Where is she going?” I yelled, as the guards restrained me.
Wallace nodded to the medic, and I felt a needle go into my arm. A warm fluid gushed into my veins, and I started to feel lightheaded and a little dizzy. I tried to fight it, but blackness began to overwhelm me. I fell to the floor.
The bastards had drugged me. Soon, the blackness drew over me like a sheet on a dead body. Very soon, I found that I didn’t really care about Claire any more. In fact, I didn’t care much about anything.
Chapter 4
Quarantine
They gave me the good stuff.
I slept for a few hours. A couple of hours of black, dreamless sleep. The drugs knocked me out completely. Whatever they hit me with drew me into a black hole of sleep that caused a huge blank. They could have done anything to me during that time. I wouldn’t have felt it at all.
I awoke, one eye at a time, in a bright, well-lit, room. I was on an actual bed, not the usual hard ground with backpack as a pillow. The sheets and pillowcases smelled like laundry detergent. Spring Rain, I think. I also smelled a lot better as well. The body odor, sweat, and general mustiness were gone, replaced by soap and shampoo. Someone had even given me a shave.
Maybe I was dreaming. Maybe the whole thing was a dream. With great effort I turned over, almost expecting to embrace Gia’s sleeping form beside me. Of course, the bed was empty. I soon remembered where I was.
It took a couple of tries, but I managed to get to a sitting position. My body felt like it weighed about a thousand pounds. Even though my head was pounding, I managed to take a look around. I was a room roughly the size of a large hotel room. A row of cabinets and lockers were on one wall. Besides the bed, there was a small table and chairs and a stand with a high-definition television perched on the flat, wooden surface. The remote was on the table.
Standing up was difficult, but I was able to get to my feet. After a wave of dizziness passed, I started to walk around the room. My legs felt heavy, but they loosened up after a few minutes. The only way out looked to be a door with no window on one wall. I walked to it and tried the handle. It was locked tight. So I might be a prisoner.
Another door on the opposite wall led to a small bathroom. It was fully stocked with a sink, a tub, and a shower. Soap, shampoo, toothpaste and other toiletries were on the rim of the tub in small boxes. Extra towels were hung neatly on the rack. I took a look in the mirror above the sink, not looking forward to the reflection.
Actually, it was the best I had looked in a while. My hair had been washed and trimmed. My face was clean shaven. I was dressed in a white t-shirt and some orange sweatpants. They even gave me new socks and underwear. It was all clean and fit great. Except for the bloodshot eyes, I was looking at a pre-zombie-apocalypse version of myself. Turning the taps on the sink rewarded me with cool, fresh water. I splashed a little on my face, dried myself with a clean towel, then walked out of the bathroom.
My head was beginning to clear. I glanced up at the ceiling to see if there were any cameras. I was sure someone needed to keep an eye on me. Wallace had mentioned quarantine. These rooms must be where they kept survivors. They kept an eye on them in these pleasant surroundings to see if they turned. I checked out the lockers and cabinets along the wall. The cabinets had extra white shirts and orange sweatpants, along with more underwear and socks. Another cabinet had books, magazines, and some table games for entertainment. There was also a gaming system and several game discs. Another small drawer had a portable DVD player with some movies and TV shows. These people had all the bases covered. I wondered how long I had to stay in here.
I opened one of the lockers and took a look. My old jacket and pants hung on a small rod. Both had been cleaned and repaired. My black shirt had been retired. A brand-spanking new black T-shirt in my size hung beside my old clothes encased in plastic. My backpack, holsters, and soft-sided ammo case hung on a hook at the back of the locker. They had all been cleaned as well. All of my other personal items were in a white box on a shelf. Everything I had when I came in was still there. The one thing missing was my weaponry. That concerned me a little.
I felt naked without my weapons.
After walking around a while, taking in my surroundings, I circled back to the bed and sat down with a sigh. There wasn’t much I could do. The door was locked, and this Wallace guy was in charge. I lay back down on the bed. Might as well conserve my energy. The sedative they gave me was wearing off, so my head was now clear. I was also getting a little hungry. I wondered when they fed quarantined survivors. Maybe they didn’t.
I hoped Claire was okay. I didn’t like being separated from her. I spotted a small phone attached to a charger plugged in to the wall beside the bed. I picked it up and pushed the large button on the side of the device.
After a few seconds, a young man’s voice answered. “Quarantine Operations. Is there something you need, sir?”
The voice surprised me. Almost sounded like a hotel. “Uh… no. Just wondering when I might get some food?”
“We’ll be serving in a few minutes. Anything else, sir?”
“No. Thanks.” The phone clicked as the young man hung up.
The lock beeped, and the door flew open. Two uniformed guards with serious expressions on their faces and even more serious-looking rifles walked in and took positions at the door. General Wallace and Odegard followed, with Odegard pushing a cart with dishes covered by metallic domes. Apparently, dinner was served.
Wallace had a big smile on his face. I couldn’t help but notice the large sidearm strapped to his waist. It was a huge, silver-plated revolver. “Hey John. How we feeling?” he said in his smooth-as-butter Southern accent. He directed the tray of food over to the table and beckoned me to join him. I walked over and joined him and Odegard, glancing nervously at the guards. Wallace noticed my discomfort and waved the guards outside. “Take five, boys. I don’t think we need you.”
“But sir,” one of the guards protested. “He could…”
Wallace cut him off. “That’ll be all.” He turned to me and winked. “Our boy here is going to behave, right?” The guards left, closing and locking the door behind them.
Wallace began to pull the metal domes off the food. The room was suddenly filled with the aroma of dinner. “Well, now. It’s good to see you up and around. I imagine you have one hell of a headache.” He paused to laugh a little. “With all that adrenaline, we had to hit you with some strong stuff.”
I was in no mood for pleasant conversation. “Why did you drug me?”
Wallace stopped laughing. “Well, now John, that was for you own protection. We didn’t want you to hurt yourself. When we took your little friend to quarantine, I thought you were going to tear the place apart.” Odegard said nothing, but shifted a little in his chair.
His mention of Claire renewed my anger a little bit. “Where is she?” I asked.
“Claire is okay,” Wallace said, taking a folder from Odegard. “Miller, Claire Margaret. Age twenty-three. College student. Very feisty. Asked a hell of a lot of questions. Parents… Thomas and Heather Miller, whereabouts unknown. I guess that’s happening a lot these days, huh? Not knowing where your people are.”
Sometimes We Ran (Book 2): Community Page 3
