Rise & Walk (Book 2): Pathogen

by Gregory Solis

  “Well, how do you like that?” Margaret said, finishing with a timid smile.

  “Are you okay?” Veronica’s voice waivered.

  “Oh yes dear. I think I over did it on breakfast, but as long as I have my little pills I’m fine.” She smiled, “I think I should go lie down for a while though. Do you mind helping me upstairs?”

  “Not at all Ma’am.”

  Veronica helped her to stand as Jack took a step back. He raised his eyebrows towards Veronica who gave him a relieved look as he returned to washing the dishes. The two women made their way out of the kitchen with Veronica guiding Margaret McCormack with slow, careful, and deliberate steps.

  “Poor nice lady.” Jack said to himself.

  Seventeen

  In the large three-car garage, Nikki watched Tony while consciously trying to avoid chewing her fingernails. He was moving around the garage with some haste preparing their vehicle. She knew that he must be hiding some hurt feelings with Jack’s refusal to join them. She felt somehow responsible for their troubles, but she needed Tony. She couldn’t imagine coming up with a plan like he had or being able to pull it off on her own. She wanted to say something but feared addressing the issues between him and Jack. She approached Tony, but he spoke to her first.

  “Have you ever driven anything this big?” He asked.

  She looked at the large faded-yellow Ford Bronco. It wasn’t as massive as the Chevy but it was still an imposing machine, like many of the jocks in town loved to drive. She shook her head.

  “You can drive on our way down. I want you to get used to it so you’ll have transportation after we split.” Tony looked down with an almost absent-minded expression and then moved to the work bench. He pulled a battery from a charger on the bench and loaded it into the grip of a portable hand drill. He squeezed the drill and it whirred while spinning. He faked a smile her way and placed the drill in the cab.

  A cold chill rose in Nikki’s stomach. She heard Jack in the kitchen say that he wasn’t coming but it wasn’t until this moment that her survival-fog had parted enough to reveal the fact that Tony and Jack would be heading home. He wants to coach me how to drive because they’re gonna leave. She ran her hand across the hood trying to hold back her unexpected emotions. Veronica appeared at the door joining the living room to the garage. She held the Walkie-talkie in her hand.

  “Mind if I tag along?” Veronica said.

  Nikki looked at her hoping that Veronica couldn’t read the worry in her expression. Tony moved around the Bronco.

  “I don’t think you should,” Tony said as he pointed to Veronica’s side where some fluid was beginning to show through her shirt. Nikki reacted,

  “You’re bleeding?”

  Veronica sighed and pulled the shirt away from her wound, the fabric clung to her skin before snapping free. She shook her head.

  “No its just seepage, I need to change the dressing.” Veronica said.

  Nikki could see the disappointment in Veronica’s eyes. She assumed that Tony saw the same when he spoke.

  “We’ll be okay. If we can’t handle it, we’ll bug out, but we’re gonna have to move fast.” He shrugged.

  Veronica nodded and extended her hand with the walkie-talkie,

  “You left this.”

  Nikki watched Tony’s face as he seemed to consider the small hand radio. She observed the change in his expression, that thoughtful look he had, as an idea formed.

  “Keep it. Turn it on after we leave. If we score some more, we’ll try to call in and let you know.” Tony said.

  Veronica nodded, her gaze never leaving Tony.

  “What’s wrong with Jack?” Veronica almost whispered.

  “Nothing,” Tony said shaking his head slowly, “he gets like that. He’s just worried about his Mom.” Nikki thought she heard a tone of anger in Tony’s voice.

  “What about your parents?” Veronica asked.

  “Don’t have any,” Tony said. He flashed a contrived smile and turned back to the workbench.

  “I’m sorry,” Veronica said.

  “Its okay, they’re not dead; at least I don’t think they are, but… It’s a long story.” Tony kept his back to the girls while sorting through items on the bench. Veronica closed her eyes in a long tired blink and nodded. She turned and reentered the house.

  Tony’s words confused Nikki. She could tell that he didn’t want to talk about it. But what does that mean, he doesn’t have parents? He turned and offered her the .45 caliber Colt pistol.

  “This is like your gun from yesterday only a whole lot bigger.” He said. She took the gun in hand and felt its weight, more then twice what Tony’s .380 weighed.

  “Anyways!” She exclaimed in surprise at its weight.

  “Yeah, this is a serious World-War-Two gun. It operates just like the .380. It holds seven bullets and it is going to kick really hard when you fire it.” Nikki ejected the magazine and attempted to pull back the slide. She lacked the strength to fully open the slide on the weapon. Tony helped her and continued.

  “I wish I had something smaller for ya but you are familiar with the .380 and this is as close as I got.”

  Nikki smiled as Tony shook his head while staring at the weapon.

  “Its gonna make a LOT of noise.” He said frowning.

  Nikki inserted the magazine and found the slide lock with her thumb. She pressed down hard and the breach slammed closed, chambering a live round. She engaged the safety and looked up at Tony.

  “Thank you.” She said.

  “Sure, next time, I’ll teach ya how to make Molotov Cocktails.” He said still looking at the pistol in her hands.

  She reached out meekly with her left hand and brushed his shoulder almost as if her strength had suddenly failed her. She looked away and struggled with her words. She forced herself to speak, though she still couldn’t look him in the eye.

  “No, I mean thank you for coming with me… for sleeping outside my door, for everything.”

  He carefully pushed her gun hand to the side and put his arms around her. She accepted the embrace and breathed in deep for a moment. She heard his heartbeat inside his chest. She had no idea why he would want to help her but she sure as hell wasn’t going to question it and risk him reconsidering his assistance.

  “No problem. It’s kinda my thing.” He said.

  Eighteen

  The Blackhawk gracefully glided towards the tarmac with its nose tilted upward. The pilot leveled out just inches from the ground and touched down easily. The surrounding air pressure outside subsided as the main rotors above began to slow. Richardson removed his helmet and opened the co-pilot’s door. Alexandra watched him join a Lieutenant Colonel standing in front of a nearby Humvee. She unbuckled her seat belt and removed her headphones as two servicemen dressed in green fatigues slid open the side door for her. Even while winding down, the turbine of the Blackhawk was deafening. She held her hands to her ears and hopped down from the chopper helped by the men. One soldier picked up a thick fuel hose and rushed towards the helicopter. Alexandra trotted to catch up with Richardson and was on his heels by the time he reached out his hand to shake with the Colonel.

  “Colonel Borden, How’s things?” Gavin smiled.

  “It’s a shit-storm.” The Colonel shouted back then led Gavin to the open rear door of the Humvee. Alexandra joined Gavin in the back without any introductions. The Colonel sat in the front and motioned to the driver to move out.

  “How are things shaping up?” Richardson asked.

  “Bad.” The Colonel said turning his body back towards them. “Command has assets trying to maintain order in Los Angeles but they’re spread too thin.”

  “Have there been many casualties?” Richardson asked.

  “Affirmative. That’s the problem. The wounded don’t stand a chance. No one, I mean not a single individual that we’ve brought back wounded from one of those things recovers.” The Colonel turned back towards the windshield and continued, “If we’re not careful
, our own soldiers could become their reinforcements.”

  Alexandra saw Richardson’s face harden?

  “You have infected here?” Gavin asked.

  “Just military personnel; for morale we make every effort to treat the wounded and bring them back. The men have orders to secure the injured in case they…” The Colonel turned his head away, “In case they change; and they always do.”

  Richardson sat back in his seat and looked outside the window at the various military vehicles parked in neat rows. Alexandra produced her remote earpiece for her telephone from her pocket and inserted it in her ear. Her phone was a secure line to her facility; a resource she wanted available at all times.

  “How are you securing the infected?” Richardson finally asked. The Colonel motioned to the driver and mumbled something that Alexandra couldn’t understand. The Humvee veered off towards a cluster of armored vehicles surrounding a fenced in tennis court. Mechanical weaponry mounted to the Bradley Fighting Vehicles pointed inside their perimeter, at the double courts within.

  “We keep them here.” The Colonel said.

  Alexandra’s throat became very dry as she realized what was being guarded so carefully. Her stomach tightened as she recognized the swaying shapes behind the fence as human, infected soldiers. She had only seen glimpses of the things on the network news broadcasts. The images always seemed fleeting or from a long distance. She had heard a rumor that the networks were being ordered not to show the infected with any great detail as not to alarm the public. Seeing the infected now, in person, Alexandra thought that the public had a right to be alarmed.

  “Originally, they were tied up,” the Colonel said, “But a lot of them have worked their legs free. They really don’t like to sit still.”

  Alexandra’s heart almost flew from her chest when her phone beeped in her ear. Her loss of composure appeared to go unnoticed as the men’s attention was focused on the cage of corpses. She reached up and engaged her earpiece. It was the pilot with a progress report.

  “Why are you keeping them?” Gavin gasped as they came to a stop.

  “They’re our men. We can’t just put them down without attempting to find a cure.” The Colonel said as he exited the vehicle. “Some officers disagreed at first, but the order came from the White House that we should make every effort to secure our wounded until we know more.”

  Gavin exited slowly and walked forward to the front edge of a Bradley. Alexandra opened her door and followed, her eyes trained wearily on the fence.

  “The helicopter is fueled and ready sir.” She said. He nodded and she noticed him unbutton his blazer, perhaps to allow himself access to his gun if necessary. A waft of sour air, hot and choking, blew from the cage stinging her senses. The smell was a vile mixture like wet kitchen garbage and sweaty exertion. She closed her eyes and grimaced for a moment until the wind, thankfully changed direction.

  “We can’t stay here long; it riles them up. They don’t seem to mind the soldiers in the Bradleys.” The Colonel said saluting towards the main view port of the nearest vehicle. “They have CBW air filtration systems, so the boys don’t have to smell this all day.”

  Alexandra noticed a small mass of black body-bags piled near the netted division between the courts. The bags writhed and thrashed with the tormented undulations of their undead occupants seeking escape. She watched other dead soldiers collect at the fenced area closest to them. For a moment she wished the whole affair was some sort of elaborate hoax perpetrated for Richardson’s benefit. It wouldn’t be the first time an officer went out of his way to curry favor with one of the world’s largest arms manufacturers. But this was no ruse with a stripper ready to jump out of a body-bag. She had never seen a dead body before, but every instinct she had told her this was very real. The soldiers suffered from various bite wounds. Some had no visible wounds at all. Their arms were behind their backs, secured in a way that she couldn’t see. One poor young man, a Private from the single stripe in his shoulder, was missing both eyes while half of his forehead was peeled back towards his hairline. No, it wasn’t peeled back, the skin was missing. She could tell from the cluster of bloody gauze hanging about his neck that someone had tried to bandage him up at some point. The young Private leaned forward, and without any regard for his wound pushed the bloody pulp of his face into the chain link fence, grinding the thin layer of facial muscles against the rough galvanized links. It howled towards Alexandra as if to beg for the taste of her flesh. She found herself backing behind the Bradley as the creature turned its head from side to side, scraping bits of itself on the fence, leaving behind glistening tissue. It unnerved her that the sightless thing clearly knew where she was and though its eye sockets only held aqueous remains of burst organs, the thing still tried to look in her direction. Alexandra heard a voice from over her shoulder as a man approached.

  “They should be put down, every one of ‘em.” said an imposing man dressed in black combat fatigues. He must have been six-foot-four, with a submachine gun strapped to this chest. He was adorned with various ammunition pouches and a large handgun at his side; a .44 Magnum Desert Eagle, if she wasn’t mistaken. Alexandra noticed that he wore no nametag, rank, or insignia, not even an Aries patch. His eyes were hidden behind a dark pair of ballistic safety glasses. Richardson turned and smiled at the newcomer.

  “Royce, good to see you.” Gavin said shaking his hand. “Colonel, this is Royce Denkinger, he heads up my private security detail.”

  “I know him.” The Colonel nodded but made no effort to shake the man’s hand. Alexandra couldn’t help but notice the volume of groans from the cage increase.

  “We almost didn’t make it out of the city.” Royce said, “We had to rendezvous with our chopper in the L.A. River.”

  “Are you happy with your team?” Richardson asked. The tall man nodded.

  “I’ve never worked with Lewis but he’s qualified. The rest,” He cracked a cold smile, “are outstanding.”

  The groans turned to growls as more dead soldiers, leaned towards the fence. Alexandra noticed one large, well built Corporal twitch as he appeared to attempt to bite at the metal links. Everyone took notice as the muscled corpse growled deeper than the others. His thick shoulders rocked back and forth as he struggled to free himself of his bonds.

  “Are they hand-cuffed?” Denkinger asked, his palm resting on his pistol.

  “Zip-Cuffs. We issues sets of nylon riot cuffs to each soldier. It’s now SOP to cuff any casualty for return; just in case.” The Colonel answered in a distracted voice.

  “You might wanna start issuing duct-tape for their mouths too.” Denkinger said. The Colonel scowled at the suggestion.

  The Corporal growled once more and shook his upper body until something gave with a loud wet sound. His arms flew forward, free from their bonds. The skin of the creature’s right hand had de-gloved from its bone, tissue, and ligaments, leaving a skeletal, gore covered remnant. It placed both hands on the fence and though his mangled right claw wouldn’t close, it tugged with its left hand and raged. A bloody ring of wet goo clung to the loop of nylon Zip-tie that remained on its left hand. A soldier behind “lefty” slipped on his discarded flesh as if he had stepped on a rubber glove, filled with jam, and stumbled to the cement.

  “No soldier should end up like that.” Richardson said. Alexandra turned, afraid she might vomit in front of the men. She lifted her hand to her earpiece and turned away pretending to take a call. Denkinger noticed her condition.

  “You all right there little lady?” He chuckled. She froze and clenched her teeth.

  Alexandra Devereaux, Vice President of R&D, hadn’t had to endure any overt sexism since attaining her position years ago. She oversaw two-hundred personnel, mostly men and mostly ex-military; none of whom would presume to question her authority. Even her suspicions of Richardson’s interest in her were just that, unfounded suspicions. He had never made an unseemly comment to her. He was a demanding boss but always professional. Her blood bo
iled that this armed thug felt that he could call her “Little lady.” She turned on a heel and saw the dismissive smile on his tanned face. Denkinger’s robot-like glasses burned through her.

  “She’s all right, aren’t you Alexandra?” Richardson said.

  Alexandra acknowledged her employer with a quick nod and continued her ruse with the earpiece. She noticed that she had become the center of attention with the three men staring at her; Denkinger wearing a cold grin. Turning away, she noticed the driver giving her the eye from within the Humvee. His gaze moved up her body and then quickly away as if he could avoid notice by not meeting her eyes. Fucking enlisted men, she thought, all dick and no brains. Another shift in the wind brought the stink of decay back to her already taxed senses. She held her breath and returned to the back seat.

  “Eyes front Troop.” She admonished the driver and closed the door. He stiffened with both hands on the wheel and looked forward as if at attention. Her jaw clinched as she saw the three men outside laugh at something Denkinger said. They turned back towards the infected soldiers as Richardson gave him a Good-Old-Boy pat on the back. Alexandra’s instinctively reached for a smoke then quickly remembered that she didn’t bring any with her. Richardson was a health nut and didn’t allow smoking around him; therefore, she had left her smokes in her bag.

  Alexandra huffed angrily. She despised chauvinism, sexism, and old men who live in a world by and for old men. She was blessed with a natural beauty, bright blue eyes, light blonde hair, near perfect teeth, and clear skin, but she quickly found that being attractive could be a detriment in a world run by old men. Through puberty, men came to see her as a sex object, a bit earlier then she’d have preferred. Too quickly she had received the base sort of attention that her young mind didn’t quite understand; jokes and innuendos mumbled by her mother’s friends, men at the country club, and sometimes the staff. Even women began to treat her differently as some regarded her as a threat for the attention of old men and their old money. She withdrew from the culture of her mother’s family and refused her debutante rites. In college Alexandra began hiding her beauty. She noticed that her professors, men and women both, treated dark haired, less attractive girls with a greater degree of seriousness than those with fairer hair. As an experiment, she dyed her hair dark brown and suddenly instructors stopped calling her ‘Sweetie’ and began using her name. Through her studies she disregarded fashion for utility and learned how to wear very little make up making those years much more comfortable for her. She couldn’t completely hide her beauty but people began to notice her for her ideas and abilities and not just for her body.