by Tim Moon
Steve was a shy person. He was kind of a typical nerd: smart, but slightly awkward. It wasn’t like he gave off a creepy-guy vibe, but conversations were always a little strained with him. Getting him to talk could be a chore.
Steve continued, “I’m not sure the company was prepared for the infection to spread outside of the developing countries so quickly. It probably came as a surprise that it showed up so fast, here in the states.”
“You don’t think that was part of some big plan?”
“Hard to say,” he said, shrugging. “But I don’t think so.”
“Then they’re as dumb as they are evil. Everything moves quickly these days.” Vanessa leaned back and nibbled on her bread.
Steve twirled his fork, twisting up a fat wad of spaghetti. He speared an olive slice to hold all the noodles on and shoved the whole bite into his mouth. A drop of spaghetti sauce flicked onto his cheek as he slurped up a noodle.
“I suppose we’ll stay here for a few days,” she said. “It’s important to see what happens with the news. If the word gets out there, then the government can take action. Maybe Black Tide has an antidote or some way of countering the virus?”
The look that Steve gave her didn’t seem very hopeful. “I told you that a vaccine or antidote was never discussed, and when I looked, I didn’t find any information regarding such a thing.”
“I guess they didn’t plan on having to worry about it reaching them, or maybe the executives are already in hiding and don’t have to worry about it?”
“Don’t know,” Steve said with a mouthful of spaghetti.
There was a moment of silence.
Steve offered to take over and clean up.
“You cook. I clean,” he had said. “That’s the way my mom taught me.”
“Sounds good to me,” she had said. “I’m going to go take a shower and freshen up. Have as much spaghetti as you want, there’s plenty and we’re in no rush.”
Steve grunted with a mouthful of noodles.
She went to the bathroom to shower. When she finally stepped inside the large slate-tiled shower, she let out a sigh of relief. The hot water stung a little but felt great, easing the tension in her shoulders. Amazingly, the house even had a fine selection of body wash, shampoo and conditioner. It was like staying in a hotel suite, except for the whole apocalypse thing happening outside.
She spent a long time in the shower, nearly forgetting that she should probably save some hot water for Steve. Reluctantly, she turned the faucets off and stood in the shower letting the water drip off her body. Vanessa knew they were in a tough situation. Black Tide would be after Steve and possibly her too, if they were able to figure out her identity.
She left the bathroom with one towel around her body and another wrapped around her hair. Steam escaped into the hallway. She walked over to her bedroom, or at least the bedroom she’d be using, to get her clothes. It was light enough outside that she didn’t need to turn on the lights. The dim room was soothing.
She sat on the edge of the bed and the emotions from the accident bubbled up. Her eyes blurred with tears as the day’s events replayed in her mind. The people at the coffee shop screaming and shoving, people in the plaza attacked by the infected, bodies torn apart, the airplane crashing into all those cars, exploding into an inferno. Her stomach sank and her shoulders fell under the weight of knowing who was behind it all. Tears spilled down her cheeks.
If only she’d been able to warn people earlier.
31
Ben was still about one hundred yards away from the Humvee. This section of the parking lot must have seen some of the heaviest fighting. All around him, bodies littered the ground along with broken glass and spent bullet casings. Many of the cars were shot up and he’d stepped over body parts more than once.
He fought the urge to just sprint to the Humvee. Doing so would be too risky given the number of infected lingering in the area. He couldn’t draw any undue attention to himself.
Ben came around an old Chevy and heard a loud beep. His heart leaped into his throat. He froze behind the car, glancing around to see what had made the noise.
Another beep.
Ben realized it came from his pocket. Cursing his stupidity, he reached into his cargo pocket and found that his iPhone had lit up. He had two text message alerts on the lock screen calling for his attention.
Turning off the volume, Ben unlocked his phone and checked the messages. They were both from his father. Ben frowned at the phone. The last time he’d heard from his dad, he was in the hotel. Ben’s frown deepened as he read the messages.
The first one read: “Yes, I heard Hawaii was hit hard. Infection is spreading. Are you safe?”
“Can you get to the mainland?” the second message asked.
A groan nearby.
Ben’s head snapped up and his eyes widened. One of the infected must have heard his stupid phone. Slowly twisting around, Ben rose up and peeked through the car, over the edge of the window.
A mere two cars away were a pair of infected moving in his direction. The beep hadn’t seemed that loud. Ben grimaced and looked around. His first thought was to run away from them.
The road where Charlotte and Oliver hid was to his right and the airport was on his left. Behind him were more cars, but he wasn’t sure he could move around the car without being seen. The two infected were coming at him from either side of the row of cars. It was almost as if they were trying to pin him down so he couldn’t run.
Another loud moan and this time a grunting sound followed it.
Could they coordinate with each other? Was it coincidence or communication?
Ben felt the pressure mounting. It was an almost unbearable urge to run that welled up within him as the two infected closed in. With no good alternatives coming to mind, Ben simply moved toward the trunk of the car where he’d be well hidden from sight until he was ready to strike.
The footsteps were close and Ben tensed as he slid the gun out of his pocket. He focused on slowing his breath. Shooting the infected was out of the question. It needed to be as quiet as possible. When he pressed the magazine release, he winced at the click and sound of the magazine sliding out into his other hand. He put the magazine back into his pocket, checked the chamber for a round. One bullet ejected from the gun and he caught it in his hand and dropped it in his pocket.
A shadow fell across the pavement, alerting Ben. He turned the pistol around so that he was holding the barrel like a handle, using the grip as a hammerhead. Another lazy step forward put the zombie in kill range.
Ben sprung up from his hiding place. He was slightly shocked that his target was a tall, husky woman in a loose floral print muumuu, stained red and black by the blood of the living and infected. Her thick hands reached out for him, fingers straining to make contact with his skin.
Batting her hands aside, Ben swung wide with the pistol and connected with the side of her jaw. Her head twisted to the side, but she didn’t stop. The momentum of the large woman forced Ben to backpedal until he ran into the car behind him.
Ben swung again with the pistol, hitting almost the same place. A loud crack sounded. Her jaw cocked sideways and stayed there, but she still managed to snap her teeth at him. Those cold, dead eyes bore into his skull.
Cursing under his breath, Ben felt panic begin to swell up inside of him. He fought it back. The woman’s belly pressed him into the car and made breathing difficult. He shoved her as hard as he could and created enough space to slide along the car. She tipped sideways, bending the side mirror against the car while Ben slid along the edge of the hood.
Ben stepped around behind her. He saw the other infected mere feet away, so instead of attacking, he grabbed her muumuu and yanked hard, pulling her backwards. She stumbled and fell down, creating a barrier between him and the approaching zombie.
The other infected was a young man, probably Ben’s age. However, the disease that made him a zombie negated his youth and agility. The guy’s shirt said
, “Beast Mode: On,” but he was currently in turtle mode after tripping over the woman and face-planting on the pavement.
Ben stood just out of reach, thinking how sad and pathetic they looked fighting against each other to get at him. No doubt the two of them could end him, but only if he lost his cool. Staying relatively calm and collected, Ben had them on the brink of defeat. He was faster and smarter than the infected were and it buoyed his spirits.
With both of his enemies prostrate on the ground, Ben stomped down with his heel on the guy’s head until it cracked open like a coconut. Fluid rushed out onto the pavement and his body went limp, effectively trapping the woman underneath. Even now, she was too weak to move him off her.
Stepping around the outstretched hands of the young man, Ben repeated his attack on the woman. She made angry growling sounds. He stomped on her head with force and enthusiasm as if he was kick-starting a motorcycle. To her credit, the woman was able to grab his foot for just a moment before her hand went limp and slid off his ankle.
Both of his attackers were dead - again. Ben checked to see if any others had spotted him or heard the noise. He wiped away the sweat that trickled down his forehead and settled at the edge of his eyebrows, threatening to sting his eyes. With a heavy sigh, he noticed one straggler dressed like a TSA officer headed in his direction, but she was still a ways off. Ben wouldn’t be waiting around for her.
He knelt down to check the pockets of the two he had killed. The young man was probably a tourist, because he had a wallet and a cell phone, but no keys. Looking at the woman’s dress, he quickly concluded that she didn’t have pockets. Zero for two with no keys to show for the effort and no keys meant to no vehicle. Ben frowned as he evaluated the situation.
Checking the area one more time, Ben saw the TSA zombie trudging along in his direction, but she appeared to be the only one. After taking out two infected, he was confident a lone zombie wouldn’t be too difficult to handle. So he paid her little mind and set his sights on the Humvee. He could practically feel himself sitting in the driver’s seat. Not that he knew what that felt like. He’d never driven a military Humvee.
Grinning at the thought, Ben stayed crouched down and edged down the aisle of cars. On the south side of the parking lot was a road that ran around the perimeter of the parking lot. It also led directly to the intersection where his Humvee sat waiting for him. Ben turned before he made it to the end of the aisle. He wanted to stay between cars so that he had some cover on either side of him. Without hesitating, he dashed across the next aisle of cars.
He wiped the sweat off his brow again, thinking that it almost felt hotter among the cars than it had among the rocks. Oliver must be struggling. Ben’s stomach was growling with hunger, he couldn’t imagine how the kid was coping.
Peering over the hood of the car on his right, he was disappointed to realize that the infected woman had apparently spotted him. She was angling toward him. He sighed, but wasn’t too worried.
Ben crouched next to the car and thought about which way he’d go. He could take the direct route, but it would put him in the road, exposed to all of the infected in the area. On the other hand, he could take the indirect route, which meant taking a wide sweeping arc through the parking lot. One meant risk of exposure to the infected he could see and the other mean risking running into infected that he couldn’t see.
Knowing that he couldn’t waste too much time on the decision he opted for the quicker, more direct route. Whichever way he went those bastards would hone in on him once he started the vehicle. As long as he got inside the Humvee before they reached him, he’d be okay.
Then he spotted a pair of dead soldiers not more than twenty yards away. Both of them sprawled out on their backs in an empty parking spot, surrounded by a wall made up of the dead bodies of the infected. Ben felt a rush of hope pulse through him. If he was lucky, the soldiers would have keys. Ben crouched low and sprinted as fast as he could across the next aisle. He reached the other side and ducked behind the first car he came to. Ben slowly bear-crawled around the back end of an old Camry to reach the bodies of the soldiers.
Both men lay on the ground with their innards strewn beside them, exposing gaping holes in their bodies. Flies rose from their corpses and an overpowering odor of rotting meat threatened to choke Ben. He gagged several times and put a hand over his mouth to hold his bile down.
Trying not to stare at their grievous injuries, Ben focused instead on pillaging their gear. He felt awful about doing it, but it wasn’t doing the soldiers any good and it meant everything for him and the group. His hopes were fulfilled when he found an M4 assault rifle lying on the ground. Ben picked it up and took a moment to untangle the sling from around the soldier’s arm.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to Neal, the man’s name according to his nametape. Moving the dead felt intimate in a way. But he knew that his group needed the gun far more than this soldier did. He’d fought his last battle, stalling the infected so people like Ben could get away. For that, Ben was grateful.
Once it was free of its previous owner, Ben checked the safety. The last thing he wanted was for an accidental discharge that would bring down all the infected on him.
Under the rifle, there was a magazine of ammo, which must have fallen out of the pouches on Neal’s belt. It was still full, so Ben picked it up, but he realized he had nowhere to put it. With a grimace, he began to remove Neal’s load-bearing vest.
As he freed the vest from the body, Neal’s head lolled to the side, staring at him. Ben gasped and fell back. A look of pained shock was frozen on his face. Flecks of dried blood on his lips gave him an eerie look. His eyes were milky and glazed over with death. A fly landed at the corner of his eye and walked around for a moment before taking off.
Ben pushed away and got up into a low crouch. He quickly patted down the remaining pockets on Neal’s uniform, but he didn’t find anything useful. Ben pulled on the vest, slid the magazine he’d found on the ground into a pouch, stepped over Neal’s body, and approached the other soldier. This guy was nearly decapitated. Infected had nearly chewed his head off in addition to disemboweling him. His nametape was unreadable beneath a thick coat of blood. Ben wasn’t sure how safe it was to touch the brackish fluid so he could read the man’s name, so he focused on scavenging.
Of course, there was another rifle and ammunition in the soldier’s pouches, but not nearly as much as in Neal’s. Ben checked the magazines in his pouches and ditched two that were empty, replacing them with full ones.
Ben heard a groan behind him and whirled around. The slow moving TSA officer had wandered over and sneaked up on him.
“Shit,” he said in surprise. Ben raised the rifle, but froze. He couldn’t shoot. The infected continued forward, twitching and stumbling like a drunken person.
Cursing again, Ben stood up, holding the rifle in both hands like he’d seen in the movies and smashed the butt of the rifle into the lady’s face. Her head snapped to the side and she stumbled, falling into the car on Ben’s right side. Taking advantage of her misstep, Ben rushed forward to hit her again. Then he was falling. Ben hit the ground hard, scraping his elbows and wondering what the hell happened. Glancing behind, he saw that he’d tripped over Neal’s leg.
As Ben scrambled up, the woman dropped on top of him. He tipped over onto his back, which worked out because he could hold the rifle between them. She couldn’t bite him this way, but laying prone also made it difficult to kill her.
They thrashed on the ground, each of them fighting for an advantage to end the other. The woman was surprisingly strong, just like Eric had been. She snapped her teeth at him and clawed at his face and neck. Her chipped nails succeeded in slicing the side of his neck, but with adrenalin racing through his veins Ben barely felt it. Twisting the rifle, he forced the magazine into her gaping mouth as she groaned wildly. Shoving with all his strength, he chipped her teeth, wedging the metal into her maw.
Ben drew up one leg, into a sit-up positio
n, and pushed hard. Her weight shifted forward and to the side. As she slid off the top of him, he kept the rifle pressed firmly against her head and twisted his body until they had switched positions. Now Ben was on top. He found that it was much easier to avoid her hands. Still, she managed to rake her dirty nails down his arms, leaving scratches like a wildcat.
He slammed her head against the pavement as he stared into her blackened eyes with all the fear and anger coursing through him. Half a dozen slams later and she still struggled under him. His arms burned with the effort and sweat trickled down his face, stinging the cuts she’d opened up on his neck.
Ben looked down at the vest he wore. There was a small pouch near his left shoulder. It looked like it held either a knife or a flashlight. Letting go of the rifle was risky, but he went for it. Tearing open the Velcro flap, he was disappointed to find it was neither. The pouch was empty.
“Perfect,” Ben said, growling.
He raised the rifle with both hands, turned it vertical and smashed in her head with the butt of the rifle. Ben rose from his knees to a crouched position and drove half a dozen hard strikes into her face until her arms flopped to the ground and she stopped twitching. The woman’s face looked like a bowl of burnt chili.
Ben was sucking air as he stepped away from her and sat down. A powerful desire for water sprung to mind. Enveloped in humid heat, Ben was now drenched in sweat. His arms were burning with lactic acid from all the work and a lack of water. Fighting the infected couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes, but it’d been all out effort and it left him drained.
Ben knew that whether he liked it or not, others were relying on him. He was close to the Humvee, and with the weapons, they now had a greater chance of surviving long enough to get to the Quarantine Center. At the QC, they could get all the help, food, water and showers that they needed.
Blood covered his hands. It looked like Ben dipped his hands in tar and the smell was…unbelievable.
