The grass field in front of us is empty.
“Where’s the helicopter?” the soldier at front shouts, voice rising above the moaning and screaming. “Where the fuck is the helicopter?”
“Charlie, give me a timetable.” Tigh’s voice is firm, mouth close to the radio hanging on his shoulder. “No, that’s too long. We need you now. Move.”
We face the parking lot, shooting at anything that moves. The gun in my hands only clicks and clicks. I spent all my bullets, hitting nothing in the process.
The girl in my arms stirs.
Blades cutting air never sounded more beautiful. Charlie lands behind us, just in time to rescue us from the remaining mob. The climb to safety is clumsy, but quick.
“Where’s Jones?” Tom says, holstering his weapon and helping the father buckle his safety belt.
No one answers. Tigh stares at me while I hold the girl tight.
The Last One Out III
November 30th, Tuesday, 9 am
Red Star decides I ought to ride with him in the front of his truck. In his words, what is the fun in hiding while "the good stuff" happens outside? I could say that nothing good happens outside at all, but it is clear I will not win that argument. Our convoy consists of three trucks with eight people in each. That totals twenty-four soldiers loyal to a man who desires even more power.
We ride towards an unsuspecting town to steal their resources. If my guess turns out to be right, Red Star also plans to capture and recruit any person capable of carrying a gun. Recruiting¸ as in forcing them to abandon former loved ones in exchange for staying alive.
“How long have you been together?” I ask Red Star, my head almost bumping against the truck's roof. “These people seem very loyal to you.”
“That's because they are.” He turns the wheel with little thought, ignoring holes and rocks in the way. “I only keep the loyal ones.”
The question of what happens to the rest is left unsaid. I have enough theories to fill the gaps. Back at home, I once saw a documentary about guerrillas and their always very charismatic leaders, but it is quite weird to see one so up close. No wonder the government here used to rule with such an iron fist; when your enemies come from within and have considerable arsenals, control and brutality seems the only option to keep the peace. It does raise the question of how such a man would amass a following without being arrested.
Red Star's style of driving reminds me of New London's cabbies, with their death-defying stunts to avoid traffic during rush hour. Here, the death-defying part is no longer just an expression: not once, but twice we hit wandering infected who stain the truck's window with blood and bits of brain. Aside from those, the roads are clear, silent for most part, which permits Red Star to fulfill his clear desire for speed.
“Tell me, before all this, what did you do?” I ask, genuinely curious about the past of this peculiar man.
“I killed people for money, of course. Pretty nice job. Until the military decided I wasn't good enough for them.” He laughs, barely avoiding a hole in the pavement the size of an elephant's footprint. “Something about being a sociopath.”
Of course.
“Well, clearly it was their loss,” I say instead, placing one hand against the car's front panel to avoid hitting my face directly against the window. “You are probably very good at killing people.”
“Oh yes. Very.”
I gulp, letting out a small laugh. The hand holding the briefcase sweats.
“I'm pulling your leg, Professor. I worked in Tech Support; I fixed their computers and logged in their drones. Barely made enough to pay for my son’s tuition.”
I don't quite believe him.
“And how did a professional such as yourself ended up being a leader of mercenary band?”
“The getting fired part was true. After that, I had to come up with some way to survive. Funny thing is the world going to shit was the best thing for business. Before that it was all gangsters wanting brute force to scare off the competition. A job monkeys could do.”
Whoever said the best lies are the ones mixed with a little truth knew what they were talking about. I can recognise a fellow user of the technique. The part about the gangsters is probably true by the way he can't hide his disdain, as is being fired by the military. The part of actually working as tech support? Lie. If he is telling the truth about having a son, I am not sure.
“How about you, Professor? Besides pretending to be a professor, what else did you do back in the good old UK?”
“I resent the constant implication that I am lying.”
“Well, too bad. I'm gonna keep doing it.”
This line of questioning only serves to annoy me, so I try to change it to a more relevant one. “How long until we get to this town and you take me north?”
Red Star focuses on watching the road, but the smile on his face grows when I mention our destination. He is looking forward to the massacre. “It'll depend on two things.” He takes his right hand off the wheel, lifting a finger. “One: if they are smart. Two: if they are dumb. If it's the first one, then it's going to be easy-peasy. Get in, get out. If they are dumb….Well, then things will get messy.”
“What you mean is if they are dim enough to resist.”
“Exactly.”
“Do you really think a Genghis Khan approach will result in anything but a bloodbath?”
“I don't use a Chinese approach to anything. I resent that. Communism is bad for you, Professor.”
“Genghis Khan wasn't Chinese, he was Mongol.”
“What the hell is that?”
I let out a sigh, embarrassed for him. A sociopath, but not a smart one. “An empire. Genghis Khan commanded an army and conquered Europe by brute force. The Mongol Empire was the largest contiguous empire ever created, until recently.”
“Oh. That sounds good. Why shouldn't I do that?”
“Because it is medieval and uncivilised?”
“Do you know any war that was pretty and clean?”
He got me there.
“But this is not a war.”
Red Star's laugh reminds me of a cartoon dog with smoking problems.
“Course it is. It’s a war against the old, to make way for the new. When this whole thing ends, someone has to sit on the empty throne. Maybe I could make a real one for me, made out of gold too. Is that too tacky?”
“I don't think you are quite grasping the size of the problem we are facing. Society is doomed, humanity is on the brink of extinction.”
“Now who doesn't know his history, huh? Does the Black Death ring a bell to you, Professor? Or maybe smallpox…or cholera. Hell, even opium made people into zombies before. They thought it was the end of the world too. Yeah, society as we know it is doomed. I say fuck yeah, that society sucked. The next one will be better. One shaped to fit mine and my family's needs.”
This man sounds more dangerous by the hour. He's not half as dense as I wish, but not half as smart to realise he's no better than a tyrant in training. A dangerous combination. Such a person will not mind delaying me, pretending to keep his promise, but then changing his mind at the first annoyance. The urge to leave grows inside me.
A radio call grabs our attention and Cobra’s voice mixes with static. “We have a problem back here. Truck's out of commission.”
Red Star stops our vehicle and makes me get out with him. Smoke comes from the second truck's front. Bunny lifts the engine's hood, a toolbox on the dirt road beside her. Skulls and Cobra watch the surroundings with their impressive guns on display.
“Bunny give me the bad, but some good too.”
“Well, boss, the good is that we just need a new head gasket and some oil. The bad news is I don't have the part, and even if I had, it will take me half a day to fix it.”
Red Star whistles, calling over Cobra. “Know any place we can find some head gaskets?”
Cobra chews her gum, and then spits it out, looking around the empty landscape. “Yeah, there's a town a
round here. Maybe one hour on foot. Small, but has a mall.”
“Okay then, you take me there.” Red Stars claps, with a big smile on.
I go back to the first truck, ready to wait safely inside the car, when Red Star calls me. “You’re coming too, Professor.”
“Why on Earth would I do that?”
Red Stars claps his hand against my back, with force. “Because I want to keep my eye on you. You seem eager to jump ship. And we can’t have that now, can we? It’s too soon.”
“I have no plans of leaving your group’s protection. I am not that crazy yet.”
“Yet. That’s the key word, huh?”
I sigh. This is not going to end at all. The three of us leave the convoy behind, walking towards a small dirt road. Red Star goes in the front while Cobra walks next to me, her stares trying to pierce into my skull. The woman hates me for some reason, and has no qualms about showing it.
“Are you two close?” I ask the serious woman, indicating Red Star.
“Define close.”
“Are you romantic partners?”
Her laugh makes Red Star look over his shoulder at us for a brief second. “Yeah, right. No way in hell. I hate the bastard.”
“You seem to hate a lot of things, if you don’t mind me saying.”
She rolls her eyes. “Lots of things deserve the hate.”
We pass a group of infected, eating a barely recognisable deer by the road. Red Star decides he wants to kill them all, even if it means risking our lives in the process. I stand as far away as I can, my free hand over my left ear while they unload their guns and blast the group into a bloody mess. No elegance, no aim. Just a rain of bullets where a few shots to the head would suffice.
What a waste of time and resources.
The town’s name is Whitefield, population twelve thousand. We are greeted by a welcome sign barely left standing. Cobra leads us into the main street, marked by burned cars and broken store windows. Red Star finds us a still usable vehicle, and we travel deeper into the town.
“How come you know this region so well, Cobra?” I break the silence of the car ride.
She eyes Red Star, who answers in her stead. “She’s my scout. I send her before the rest of the guys, to check things out.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“That’s why she goes. See, Cobra wants to die. She’s very dramatic.”
Well, that explains nothing and everything, I suppose.
“You know the concept of suicide by cop?”
I nod.
“Well, there you have it. Except in her case is suicide by being dumb and risking herself a lot.”
Cobra rolls her eyes, taking a chewing gum stick out one of her many uniform’s pockets.
“Do you want to know why she’s like this?” Red Star continues, smiling next to me. “It’s a pretty funny story.”
“I somehow doubt that.”
“It is. Hear me out. I cheated on her. That’s all it takes. I slept with Bubblegum…Was it Bubblegum?”
“Eagle,” Cobra corrects him, popping her gum.
“Right. Eagle. And that’s it. She wants to die because of that. Ain’t that hilarious?”
“I am afraid I don’t understand the joke.”
“Okay fine. It’s a sob story. Her kid died. Or she thinks the kid died. Which one is it?”
Cobra doesn’t answer it.
“Anyway, she left the kid alone in the house and didn’t find him after. Gone, poof. She worked as a bodyguard to some pop star. Was it Kesha?”
“Kei-chan, actually. She’s a popular idol in Japan,” Cobra once more corrects him, staring outside the car’s window.
“Whatever. She worked with that person, and had to leave the kid alone all the time. But this time, when she came back, he was gone. I think…If you ask me, that is,” Red Star laughs. “I think the kid ran off because she was a sucky mom. Or maybe he got inside a pedophile’s car. I say that’s a fifty-fifty chance.”
“Can we stop this?” Cobra’s voice comes out different from before, almost pleading.
“No we fucking can’t. I’m telling a story here, Cobra. The Professor wants to know how you ended up being such a bitch, so shut the fuck up.”
So the craziness shows itself at last. Cobra’s silence not only makes me pity her: it also demonstrates I am far from safe. If a strong hard woman like this doesn’t dare to punch the bastard in the face, I have much to fear here.
“I think that’s quite enough. I have no need to need to hear the rest of this,” I announce, in an effort to spare everyone more pain.
“See? You ruined the moment, Cobra. It’s over. Done. Happy? Of course your aren’t. You are incapable of enjoying anything. God, what a waste of space you are.”
The rest of the car ride consists only of silence, for which I am incredibly grateful. The town itself shows no sign of human life, and Red Star’s only challenge is swerving around abandoned cars.
Whitefield during any other time than the death of civilisation would probably be described as charming. The main street has nice boutiques and ends at a brand new mall, with a park and a beautiful lake for its front plaza.
“I need to take a piss. You two stay in the car.”
Red Star gets out of the vehicle, after parking next to the lake. Cobra does nothing but stare at the window.
“That was uncalled for. I am sorry to have even brought up the subject.”
My words elect no response from her.
“Why do you follow him?”
“Why people usually do stupid things?” She sighs. “He can be charming when he wants. I guess I was too fucked up to notice all those times he wasn’t.”
“You can leave, I am sure. You seem a pretty capable woman. Surviving on your own might be possible.”
Cobra shakes her head.
“Why not?” I insist; something inside me pities this woman.
“There are good people following him. They need my help.”
Her reason makes little sense to me. “By helping them you are helping him. And this man will do more harm than good in this world. I am certain.”
Her eyes stop at my briefcase. “Do have a better idea?”
She wants to know what is inside the briefcase. Wants me to give her a reason to betray Red Star. Unless, of course, I am wrong and this is another cryptic test or trap.
“I suppose I do not.”
Safer to pretend ignorance at this moment. Cobra goes back to eyeing the window.
Even knowing I was right to not admit my desire to leave, her question stirs something inside me. My brother comes to mind and it is easy to understand Cobra’s harshness and defeated outlook. Not long ago I was like her, wishing for death.
“I am truly sorry about your son. I lost someone close to me as well, and while the wound takes time, it will heal.” It took me an airplane trip escaping from hell, but not everyone can do it so quickly. “You can do so much more alive. Especially under these dire circumstances. The world needs people like you. Good, honest, prepared to make sacrifices to save others.”
Cobra’s dark brown eyes find my own. She closes them, takes a deep breath, then moves her body over mine, reaching the door on my side and opening it.
“What are you—”
“Run. Get out of the car.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He isn’t going to take you where you want go. The truck isn’t really broken. He brought you out here to kill you and take the briefcase.”
My eyes widen. “But why the farce? Why not kill me back at the barn?”
“The Red Star likes to pretend he’s not a murderous bastard to his adoring fans. Now leave.”
“I will not get far alone. Come with me.”
While she hesitates I stare out the windows: Red Star whistles happily and shakes his legs to finish relieving himself.
“Sorry, I can’t. I’ll try to distract him, but can’t promise anything.”
“Thank you, Co
bra. I owe you my life.”
“My name’s Noriko. Stop talking and leave.”
I get out of the car and run.
The Geek IV
November 23rd, Monday, 11 pm
Ten people volunteer for patrol. Not nearly enough to cover the whole town. Roger gives them each a handgun. The only person not shaking or staring at it like it was a bomb is Lily’s mother.
We are dead. So dead.
Roger, Ma, the wonder team, and myself make the total of fifteen people with firing power. I’m not a fan of guns, but with the current situation being what it is, I qualify as an experienced shooter. Sure, give me a hand grenade and a sniper rifle in Call of Duty, and I’ll kill anyone in seconds, but in real life? I have no idea what I’m capable of.
The prospect of getting close to a zombie without a cell bar separating us gives me chills, but it’s not like I have a choice. Besides, I have more to offer than half of these people, who haven’t seen even one zombie up close.
“All right, now, the most important thing about firearms is gun safety,” Roger starts the lesson, a lowered gun on his hand. “First rule: always assume the gun is loaded. Treat it with respect and caution no matter what. Second rule: only point your gun at what you are willing to kill. Always be aware of what you are pointing it at and what’s behind it.” He shows his finger away from the trigger. “Third: keep your finger off the trigger unless you are ready to shoot.”
Slowly, hesitantly, our courageous volunteers aim at the targets in front of them. This is the same shooting range Roger spent his afternoons for years, going from school straight to here. His instructor, Jacob before he was fired, only had comments about elbows too high and terrible aim. I don’t know why I used to follow him to this place, when the only real company I had was a book and the sounds of bullets.
Who am I kidding? Of course I know.
Anything was better than going home to Dad. He used to ask to me to read him the newspaper by his bedside, all the while coughing blood when trying to laugh at one of my stupid jokes. He wanted me to pretend he wasn’t dying from lung cancer. After he died, well, things got worse. The house was too empty and silent, so I just followed Roger everywhere, happy to be an observer to his life and avoid living my own.
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