by R. J. Spears
Kinsler had volunteered to take guard duty, but it had been out of self-interest than any kind of altruism.
“I don’t know, Jonsey,” Kinsler said as he rubbed the stubble on his chin. He was in his early forties with twenty one of those years in the Army before the undead stink cloud covered the Earth. “The old man seems a little off, but he’s in command. We’ve seen a lot of shit come our way and he’s seen us through it all.”
Jones sat on the edge of his bed, wondering if he had taken the right path by standing up to Colonel Kilgore. Like the others, he had seen Kilgore pull together a disparate group of soldiers who had reported to Wright-Patterson Air Base after the civilized world went to pieces. He had melded them into an effective operational force and set up a command-and-control structure. They had rescued civilians, established a sense of order, and fought the undead to a standstill. There had been days when he actually thought they might win the war against the dead. Those days had been few and far between.
Then things changed. One of the Army scientists had convinced the Colonel that there was a cure out there and everything went out the window. They abandoned all rescue missions and totally focused on finding those few people who were immune to the zombie virus. The Colonel became a man obsessed with a total focus on “The Cure.” Jones was on-board until he began to witness an uncomfortable skew to the Colonel’s direction and thinking. The scientists took on a cold equation approach and treated the few people they even suspected of being immune as just research subjects. There was nothing human about them. The research doctors treated them with the clinical remoteness of lab rats, doing experiments that would have been considered barbaric before the world circled and went down the drain.
The people went into the labs and after a while, their bodies came out. And there were the screams from inside in-between.
Still, Jones was on-board and tried not to pay attention to what happened in the labs. Not knowing was best.
He did that until he couldn’t. After the experimental subjects ran out with exception of Jason Carter, things got bad. Then Carter escaped.
Colonel Kilgore’s obsession became single-minded, focusing in on Carter. The Colonel pulled out all the stops, and that’s what brought them to this place. In Jones estimation, Kilgore had become unhinged. Being a lifelong military man, he knew that the chain of command was only so good. When it went south, it was up to the next in command to stand up and that’s what Jones felt he was forced to do.
A lot of good it had done him. With the Colonel’s current mental state, Jones felt lucky to be alive, but that hadn’t been enough.
“Gary, you and I both know that the Colonel has lost his way,” Jones replied in a clear and calm tone.
“These are tough times,” Kinsler replied. “The path isn’t always clear.”
“There is no path here,” Jones said as he rubbed a hand across his smooth scalp absently. “There is only madness. You’ve seen how he has treated these people,” Jones said, spreading his arms wide. “And how many men have we lost? How many have just walked away?”
“Not that many.”
“You know that’s not true. The other men said a lot have just gone AWOL.”
“What are you proposing we do?”
“You know what we need to do,” Jones said, rising to his feet. Kinsler was a tall man, but Jones had three inches over him. Still, there was no threat implied by Jones’ actions. These were two colleagues, wrestling with an uncomfortable mess. One that they both shared, but had come at from different angles.
“You’re going to have to spell it out for me Jonesy?”
Jones needed a moment to collect his thoughts and leaned against the sidewall of his little room. “We need to remove the Colonel from command.”
“You make it sound so easy. He’s running this place with an iron hand and he has a gun in that hand.”
“Both of us know there are men who don’t like what is going on. I mean, why the hell are you here, right now, talking to me?”
Kinsler looked over his shoulder, making sure that no one was in the corridor, then re-focused on Jones. “Sure, I don’t like what the Colonel’s doing, but it’s not that clear cut. We’ve both been around. How much of what leadership has done have we liked?”
“This isn’t troop assignments or shitty missions. The Colonel is mentally unsound to maintain command. He’s killing innocent people and risking all our lives.”
“This shit would drive anyone a little crazy, but I think he’s riding the edge.”
“No, he’s over it,” Jones said soberly.
“That’s your opinion.”
“I’m not the only one. How many of the other men are thinking the same as me?”
“Some of the men have left, sure. One of the chopper pilots just took his ride and left.”
“Things are falling apart,” Jones said taking a step closer to Kinsler. “We are the only ones left in the command structure that can do anything.”
“Lodwick will never go along with any of this, and he’s critical,” Kinsler said.
“So, you’re considering it?” Jones asked.
“No, don’t put words in my mouth. The old man will pull it together.”
“He won’t.”
“That’s your opinion. I don’t have time for this shit,” Kinsler said, waving a hand dismissively in Jones direction.
“Then why did you start this conversation?” Jones asked.
“I can’t go there,” Kinsler said, his head falling slightly for a moment as he wasn’t able to meet Jones’ stare.
“We have to,” Jones said, hoping to convince his friend anyway he could.
“No, not yet,” Kinsler said as he backed out of the room.
“How bad does it have to get?” Jones said as the door shut in his face. The lock clicked loudly, echoing in the tiny room, leaving Jones with his thoughts, and Kinsler outside with his questions.
“What can we do with just one vest?” Jo asked, referring to the electronic control vest that was hidden away. This same electronic vest had the ability to control zombies with receiver implants in their brains. This vest and these controllable zombies were a product of an evil genius they had called the Lord of the Dead. He had been determined to kill everyone at the Manor, but they had been able to turn the tables on the madman and kill him, but not before he had nearly destroyed their safe haven, the Manor.
Jo was also aware that there was a small group of the controllable zombies hidden in a partially collapsed room in the basement of the main building. She also knew that Russell had a wild plan including these zombies.
“We can have a small undead army at our control,” Russell replied.
“But the soldiers have guns,” Jo said. “Lots of them.”
They were seated at a table in the dining room with Maggie and Henry. Aaron’s place at the table was conspicuously absent. Four soldiers stood on the periphery of the room, ready with weapons, but they also looked nervous, fidgeting back and forth. A few of the Manor survivors sat spaced around the room, looking lost and frightened, as if all hope was getting ready to drain out of the whole complex.
“Have you noticed there’s a lot less soldiers around?”
“Yes, I have, but we don’t have any weapons,” Jo said. “They hold all the cards.”
“No, this is a game changer,” Russell said.
“I don’t get it. What does controlling zombies give us?”
“The element of surprise,” Russell said. “If we get the zombies on our side, then we can create confusion, and then we find an opportunity to either fight or run.”
“How do we even get them upstairs?” Jo asked.
“Henry says he’s found a side corridor off where the zombies are and if we can get them into that, it would be like a highway to the first or second floor,” Russell said as Henry looked on with a small sense of pride that he was being included in the “adult” conversation.
Jo turned her attention to Henry and asked,
“How did you find this corridor? How are you getting out and around the guards, anyway? Your mother would kill me if something happened to you.”
“She doesn’t know and doesn’t need to know,” Henry said mustering up as much courage as he could. “Listen, the soldiers are spread really thin. I think some couldn’t care less what we do as long as Kilgore doesn’t find out. They treat me like a dumb kid and I run with it. This corridor runs along the southwest wall of the complex in the basement. We only have to open three doors and herd the zombies up a back set of stairs.”
“You make it sounds so simple when it’s not,” Jo replied.
“When did you get so negative?” Russell challenged. “So scared.”
“When they killed Aaron,” Jo said with some heat in her voice.
“Well, I’m scared, too,” Russell said, “but I’m pissed.”
Steve Hampton walked by their table carrying a plate of something that looked akin to food. His eyes drifted toward them.
“Keep your eyes in your head, asshole,” Maggie said.
Hampton picked up his pace and moved to a table in the back of the room.
“I don’t trust that piece of shit,” Maggie said.
“You’ll get no arguments from me,” Russell said.
“Well, I guess the real question is to you,” Jo said to Maggie. “Can you control these zombies down a corridor and up a set of stairs with your vest?”
Maggie took a moment to consider her answer, then said, “I think I can. At least the ones that have control modules.”
“What about the ones that don’t?” Jo asked.
Maggie shrugged.
“We can take care of them,” Russell said confidently, but wasn’t sure if they could. They had no guns and could only muster up makeshift weapons.
“What about your vest?” Jo asked. “I know when you came into the complex, it went dead. How come it works now?”
Maggie let loose a big smile and directed it at Henry. “Because of this little genius. He rigged it up somehow to a more powerful battery, and I’ll tell you the truth, it seems like it’s supercharged the vest. I can’t tell you how, but I seem to have a lot more control, like nitty-gritty control of the dead shits than I did before.”
Jo went silent, weighing the options before her. Things had calmed down some since Kilgore had killed Aaron, but she knew it could only be the calm before the storm. She had looked deeply into Kilgore’s eyes after he has shot Aaron and she saw madness. Maybe there was fear mixed in there, too. Those were a dangerous combination and were only amplified when a man had a couple dozen armed soldiers at hand. But action meant risk. Standing up to Kilgore had gotten Aaron killed, and she had had just about enough of seeing her friends die.
Then she thought of what Aaron would do. She knew after Brandon died, Aaron had seemed to have a death wish, but he also contained it for the good of the group. At least some of it.
She knew what Aaron would do, but didn’t trust going with that instinct without another gut check. When she considered what Joel would do, she had similar doubts because he always thought outside the box. Too far out of it at times, but she trusted him and she knew what he would do.
She blew out a stream of air and asked, “When do we do this?”
Russell surveyed the room for a moment, then looked back at Jo and said, “As soon as possible.”
Jo paused for a moment, scanning the room for any prying eyes or ears, then said, “Give me a chance to check out one thing and I’ll agree with giving you the go ahead.”
“What are you thinking of doing?” Russell asked.
“The less you know, the better.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Maggie said.
“Whoever does,” Jo responded, and unconsciously her hand went up to touch the light bruise on her head, the aftermath of being pistol-whipped by Colonel Kilgore.
Chapter 3
Out of the Frying Pan
It took a few minutes to rouse everyone, but we were back on the bikes and headed northward. We picked up speed moving up a gradual grade in the road onto a state highway, headed north. This raised road spanned for several miles, sitting twenty feet above the fallow farm fields below us. Being above the ground level was a double-edged sword. We were above any of the wandering undead in the fields, but basically trapped with any undead we might meet along the highway. If that was in any numbers, we might be in trouble.
None of us spoke as we rode, a gentle breeze out of the west wafted over us, cooling our overheated bodies. We passed by what looked like a small manmade lake just off to the east of the road. The water was dark and murky with sun dappling off of the small waves rolling across it. In all my trips north in the past on this same road, I never really wondered why it was there and I didn’t give it much more thought this time.
Fortunately, the undead were few and far between. The worst encounter was when we drove by an oversized white van with what looked like dried, melted chocolate smeared all over the insides of its windows. Inside, two undead creatures pawed at the windows as we slid by. Kara warned Naveen not to look. I’m not sure what Naveen saw or not as I had the lead.
Kara rode up beside me and asked, “How far do you want to go today?”
“Let’s push past Chillicothe first, if we can,” I replied.
Chillicothe was a small city much like my hometown of Portsmouth. To me, it seemed to have been doing better in terms of an economy before the Outbreak, but what teenager ever thinks their hometown is worth anything? Its claim to fame was the state’s first capital, but that was ancient history as every place was now the capital of zombieville. Its other notable feature was a massive paper mill on the town’s south side. When it was running at full tilt, a pungent overpowering odor drifted all the way out to the highway, making me wonder how the people in the surrounding vicinity put up with it.
In the past, I was always the first to complain in our car trips north. My dad would roll up the windows or turn the AC on to recirculate and things would be all better. It was all so simple then. Press a button and everything was fixed.
Not so much in a zombie apocalypse, though. Where was that easy button again?
The air was clean and fresh as we pedaled along with me lost in my fairytale fantasies, but a part of me wished that I could draw in that stink again because it would mean that civilization, with all its warts and blemishes, was still churning away and the world wouldn’t be awash in zombies.
To dream the impossible dream.
I was drawn out of my reverie by a low rumbling coming up behind us. It was a deep resonating bass sound, almost like a growl. When I turned my head, I half expected to see thunderheads darkening the sky behind us, but instead, I saw a small group of motorcycles riding our way at a fast pace. There had to be at least five, maybe six. They were indistinct in the distance, but they looked like Harley Davidsons, the type bad-ass motorcycle gangs rode. For some reason in my mind, motorcycles meant trouble and that would turn out to be true.
“We’re going to have company,” I yelled.
I started to slow down and moved toward the shoulder of the road and the others followed. We were essentially trapped on the raised highway. There were no cars on the road to shelter behind if these guys did, indeed, mean trouble. Our only options were to stand our ground or go over the sides. To our east were nothing but open fields leading to a lightly forested area. To our west was another open field, but I could also see the outskirts of the city.
I decided that it was best to get off our bikes because there was no outrunning men on motorcycles. They’d run us down like any manner of roadkill if we tried.
I stopped and let my bike fall to the ground while keeping my eyes riveted back on our impending company. There was something about facing down a biker gang while straddling a bicycle that didn’t inspire a whole lot of confidence. It certainly didn’t send out any macho signals.
Everyone grouped up on me and followed my lead, dropping their bikes an
d getting their weapons ready.
“Joel, what do we do?” Kara asked, pushing Naveen behind herself.
A finger tapped my shoulder and I pivoted to see Jason pointing northward. I followed the trajectory of his finger and saw two pickup trucks speeding our way from the north.
I wanted to yell, “Hey, you’re driving on the wrong side of the road,” but something told me that these weren’t law abiding citizens of days gone by.
I could make out the heads of people poking over the back of the cab of both pickups. They had to be standing in the back bed of the trucks. I was guessing none of these people were with the local Welcome Wagon.
We could stay where we were, but if these were bad guys, we were in deep shit. Caution became my watchword and I looked at our exit routes again. If we went to the east, there was a long metal guard rail to vault and an embankment leading down to the low ground. At the bottom of a steep, but short embankment was a lot of open ground, though, and that would leave us exposed. We’d have to haul ass into the trees line or backtrack to a large red metal building surrounded by model mobile homes. (These were in a lot better shape than the ones we had just ran the gauntlet through the day before.)
If we went to the west, there was a guardrail to climb over or navigate around which would take precious time. We would lose another few seconds to cross the two lanes of highway in front of us and then the other two lanes, leaving us exposed for a lot of time. The plus of going that way was the buildings over there to use as cover in case these guys had guns. And I knew damn well they did. Anybody still alive had to have guns. It was just the way of our brave new world.
“They’re getting closer,” Brother Ed said. There was an edge in his voice.
I wanted to say, “Thank you, Mr. Obvious,” but once again, showed some restraint. I doubt anyone would give me a gold star for it, but it was progress in getting my impulse control in check.
