by T. W. Brown
“I heard a baby crying,” Dillon cut me off.
“What?”
“Serious, Steve. It sounds like it’s coming from down by the bathrooms.”
I jogged over. Dillon had a flashlight shining down the little hallway where the bathrooms and a few unmarked doors lined the walls. I listened, straining to hear it.
Nothing.
“Why didn’t we hear it earlier?” I glanced outside at the loaded truck. Ian was busy and things were deteriorating fast.
“How should I know?”
Dillon began moving towards the hall. I still didn’t hear any baby crying. I did, however, see a handful of shapes moving in the shadows and coming our way. The crash of some display stand or shelf or something caused me to jump. On reflex, I had my nine millimeter in my hand, my flashlight sweeping from left to right. Then…I heard it.
A baby’s shrill cry.
Dillon broke into a run. I lined up a shot on what had once been a very fat man. The entire abdomen was an open, gaping meat cave. I watched a particularly large and pendulous strip of gray fat swing from the left side of its exposed and broken ribcage. I think I even saw a dangling lung. Then, I shot it in the forehead and continued to glance from open, dark store, to parking lot growing ever busier, to Dillon who was now raring back to kick what I assumed to be a locked ladies’ room door.
I quickly took out the only other two zombies that might cause any problems before Dillon could get in, grab the baby, and we could quit this scene. Ian and Barry were both shooting now.
“Hurry up, Dillon!” I screamed needlessly.
He smashed open the door on the third kick, stepped in, and I lost sight for just a second. Then, two things happened almost simultaneously that caused every hair on my body to stand on end.
Dillon screamed.
And…One of the zombies, close enough to see, but far enough away to not be a threat, made the most frightening sound I’ve ever heard.
A baby’s cry.
Dillon stumbled back. Attached to his right arm was what had once been an old lady of at least seventy. My initial hope that flashed for just a split-second was that she would be toothless and that her dentures would have long since fallen out. Apparently she practiced good oral-hygiene, because before that hope could take root, she tore away a strip of flesh. Blood sprayed, looking black in the shadowy illumination of my flashlight.
Finally, Dillon managed to shove the emaciated, skeletal form aside and scramble back towards me. I stood frozen and unsure as he ran my way, clutching his arm to his chest.
“Run!” he screamed.
I turned and bolted for the truck. As we emerged into the daylight, I saw that things were worse than I had been aware of. Those things were coming from everywhere, and there were hundreds!
“‘Bout damn time!” Ian exclaimed as he swapped a new magazine into the AK-47. Barry was loading two spares between taking shots at the too-close-for-comfort horde of walking dead.
Both men glanced back and noticed Dillon’s injury almost simultaneously. Neither said a word, but their eyes were clear pictures of their emotions. Barry’s was pity and resignation. Ian’s was sadness…true and unbridled sadness.
“Let’s get the hell outta here,” Ian finally managed.
Everybody made for the truck. I got behind the wheel. Barry climbed in the passenger’s side, then Ian. The door slammed and Dillon still stood outside.
“Y’all make a run for it. Just gimme me a second to draw some of those fucks away if I can,” Dillon said, his eyes tight from the pain.
“Dill—” Ian began.
“Don’t even say a word, kid.”
“You can’t possibly consider letting those things eat you,” Barry gasped.
“Nope.” Dillon shoved his AK through the window and drew a large revolver that I was pretty sure was a .44 Magnum. He tapped his forehead with the bright, chrome-plated barrel. “I’ll take a few with me, then finish what that thing started.”
“Good luck.” I nodded. There was no sense in drawing this scene out, and Dillon obviously felt the same way because he turned and walked away.
We rolled up our windows, and I watched a man I’d come to really appreciate having at my side walk back to the darkened store entrance. I could see in the rearview mirror as he walked up to the hunched over figure of the old lady who had sealed his fate. She…it…was just emerging from the building. He strolled up, placed the gun to its forehead, and fired.
Many of the zombies to our right veered away from us, following the obvious and visible prey. I cranked over the steering wheel and dashed for the clearest path we had. Nevertheless, it was still a bumpy ride as we slammed and careened off the moving obstacles between us and the parking lot exit.
I heard three more shots…a long pause…and one final but slightly muffled boom of the Magnum. I reached the exit a few seconds later and swerved a bit as I turned down the street and towards the interstate.
There were still several zombies in the way, but I managed to miss most of them. The ones I did hit, I usually only caught with glancing blows that sent the body spinning away. I reached the on-ramp and floored it with nothing further impeding the rush to be back with our friends.
Once on I-84 East, the road was almost wide open. In the distance I spied the big, white power company truck, Anton’s car…and what looked like six or seven military vehicles. Before any of us could say a word, a pair of black attack-helicopters zoomed up from behind.
I said that the road was almost wide open. That is because halfway between us and our friends were the shambling mass of undead that remained on Teresa’s tail when we split up.
The two helos swung apart from each other and, with noses down, bracketed the seemingly oblivious pack of zombies. A loud, roaring buzz erupted as the helos’ machineguns opened up on them. In seconds, nothing was standing.
I considered stopping, but two things eliminated that option: my friends were over there, and really, where would I go? It’s not like I could outrun those attack helicopters. The best plan would be to simply drive up to where all those military vehicles sat parked around Teresa and the others and see what hand is dealt. If the military was going to kill us, then there was no reason for them to mow down that mob of zombies.
Right?
A few minutes later we pulled up. Barry, Ian, and I had our hands on our weapons, but not one single soldier so much as raised a gun in our direction. Instead, they waved us into their perimeter.
A quick scan of the situation revealed that nobody seemed agitated or scared. Thalia was even accepting a piece of gum from one of the soldiers. Maybe, just maybe, things were getting better. At the least, perhaps we would be taken someplace safe. My mind tried to set aside all of what I could only assume to be Hollywood-generated fears. Still, all fiction has some basis in fact.
Right?
***
The leader of the group, Sergeant Paul Wimmer, informed us that we were spotted by an air patrol out of Idaho. The army had a “Safe Zone” nearby. He made sure to stress that we were under no obligation to follow, but that we were welcome if we chose. He gave us a few minutes to decide for ourselves.
The vote had been unanimous.
An hour and a half later we were sitting at a checkpoint. I could see what was obviously once a very small town? ...village?...hamlet? Hell, this place is tiny.
The Army has been very busy. Large earthmovers are visible inside the perimeter. They were obviously used to dig the deep trench that encircles the encampment. A heavy-duty fence that is at least fifteen-feet high is the second line of defense. It is electrified! I don’t know how, because I don’t hear the roar of a generator. It is apparent that this place has power up and running. Of course there are the typical machinegun towers and foot patrols, but the zombie presence is minimal. A half-mile back we passed a pit or trench—whatever—where a group of soldiers in HAZMAT suits were burning bodies. They seemed to have everything under control.
There are
at least a few hundred people here. Less than half are military. I was asked my name, as were all of us. That had Ian a little nervous. I am certain that he, Dillon, and perhaps even Anton, might have escaped from a jail or prison. Well, none of that matters to me. Those guys have been a part of our group, and I’d say that all debts to society are square. Besides, the soldiers didn’t ask for anything other than our names. I doubt that, even if my guess is correct, that’s enough to identify him.
“Are we really safe?”
I jumped. Teresa had come up beside me as we waited for everybody to give their name. Of course I really had no idea what to do next. All the soldiers who’d been with the patrol that escorted us here had been escorted to one of those long camou-flage tents—all except Sergeant Wimmer. He was in deep discussion with three soldiers and a lady in civilian clothes.
The last of our party, Barry, had given his name. Now we were all just standing in a huddled group. I was about to suggest that we take a look around when Sergeant Wimmer came trotting over. He removed his helmet, revealing very dark hair kept in a crew cut. Strands of gray stood out in stark contrast. “Sorry about abandoning you folks for a few minutes there. We are still trying to keep a certain degree of military order about things.” He casually waded into the midst of our little pack. “I had to dot a couple of I’s and cross a few T’s.”
“And what is it that we are supposed to do now?” I asked.
“Well,” Sergeant Wimmer faced me directly, “Steve is it?” I nodded. “First, we need our medics to check everybody out. I know that you all said nobody has been bitten, but I hope you’ll understand that we can’t simply take people at their word when it is a matter of life and death.” Most of us nodded or voiced our consent and understanding. “Then, I imagine that you all could use a real meal.”
That lit everyone’s eyes up. Still, it was just the way things had been that, at least for me, allowed a kernel of apprehension to sprout deep roots in my mind. I glanced around, but it seemed I was alone in my fears. Even if they are slight, I just can’t ignore them. I still feel a sense of obligation and responsibility to these people…especially Thalia and Teresa.
I dropped to the back of our group as Sergeant Wimmer led us through the camp. I could see construction taking place on what looked like an apartment building. Nothing fancy, just a two-story affair. I also noticed a couple of buildings with “Do Not Enter” signs and guards posted at the entrance. That added some fertilizer to my little kernel of doubt.
I could hear the sergeant talking, but my eyes were everywhere. If he was so bent on holding our attention, I imagined it was to keep us from being too observant. I watched some of the regular non-military types walking about. They seemed fine …normal. A few even waved or smiled as we passed.
We rounded a building and came to another of those camo-tents. A flag with the Red Cross on it fluttered from a small pole. Right beside the tent was a playground. Thalia squealed with delight and looked back at me from where she stood holding Teresa’s hand while clutching the giant bear Ian had procured in the other arm.
“Would you like to play with those other children?” Sergeant Wimmer knelt in front of the little girl who was excitedly hopping from one foot to the other.
Thalia nodded vigorously. Children are absolutely amazing. All of the death and horror we’ve experienced seemed washed away in an instant. Again I glanced at everybody else’s faces. All I saw was exhaustion and just a hint of—could it be?—relief.
“Well then,” he glanced up at Teresa, “we’ll get you and your friend here checked out first so you can go play.”
In the distance I heard a short burst of gunfire. We all jumped. Evan Thalia froze for a second.
“Relax, folks.” Sergeant Wimmer stood up, raising his arms like a teacher settling a classroom of second-graders. “Just somebody taking down a walker. I assure you that we are all perfectly safe inside these fences.”
Again I looked around. Nobody else even seemed to have broken stride. The children at the nearby playground were still laughing, swinging, and chasing each other around the giant play structure. These people actually feel safe!
Maybe…just maybe.
***
I sat on the paper-covered examination table in my underwear. The curtain that had me isolated from everybody else rustled as an older lady in her sixties wearing scrubs came in. Her face was stern as she read from a clipboard. All in all, this was sort of comforting. It was just like I remembered every doctor’s exam.
“You seem just fine, Mister Hobart,” Doctor Zahn said. The name was on a tag pinned in perfect symetry above the breast pocket of her scrubs. “Of course a final confirmation of your blood test will be completed within the hour.”
“Or my pizza is free?” I made a failed attempt at levity that earned nothing more than a single raised eyebrow.
“Clean clothing is being brought in for you. You may dress, and then you are free to go.” Doctor Zahn about-faced, walking away, and then paused at the curtain. She turned, and her eyes met mine, “You did exceptionally well with your group of fellow survivors. Most people get to us on the verge of starvation. Over half are infected. That little girl is…” She didn’t finish whatever she was about to say. Instead, she simply nodded and exited.
An orderly came in moments later. He had a neatly folded stack of clothing. But it was what was on top that made me just a little excited…soap, a wash cloth, and a towel! I was led to a plastic-curtained cubicle where I would actually take a real shower! I heard a couple of others already running. The water was hot!
“Five minutes, sir.” The orderly pointed to a timer that he was setting as I stepped in and felt the near-ecstasy of hot water cascading down my skin.
I glanced down at my feet and watched with mortified fascination as a brownish-red slurry swirled down the drain. I scrubbed and scrubbed, suddenly fearing that I would never come clean. Eventually, it was just clear water at my feet. I waited for the ding of the timer before I would relinquish this luxury.
I re-emerged into the brightening, clear-blue sky of late afternoon. The heat felt good on my freshly scrubbed skin. My eyes scanned quickly, searching for a familiar face either from my group or the soldiers who…rescued?...found us.
It took me a handful of seconds to recognize Teresa and Thalia. Thalia was in a pair of pink denim shorts and a halter top while Teresa was in a light blue, floral print sundress. Of course, the little girl was oblivious to my arrival as she climbed on a huge wooden playstructure engaged in some sort of chase with the other children. Teresa was standing on the edge of the cedar-chip ground that marked the playground’s boundary.
She jumped when I placed a hand on her shoulder and I immediately felt foolish. First, I was already letting my guard down while this sixteen-year-old girl was on high-alert, scanning the area and most likely already memorizing possbible escape routes and defensible positions. Second, grasping, touching, or even nudging somebody without warning could get you a bullet in the head on the other side of these fences that seemed to promise security.
“Sorry.” I raised my hands and stepped back.
“Old habits.” Teresa blushed.
We watched Thalia, neither of us speaking. The whole idea of being safe felt too surreal after what we have seen in the past several weeks. Within about an hour Jamie, Joseph, Billy, and Aaron joined us. I think I was the only one to notice Jamie and Teresa’s close proximety to one another. Could it be this simple? I mean, can things be righted and put back on track by something as simple as children playing tag at a playground and teenagers falling in love?
One by one, our band of survivors gathered at the edge of the playground. Once we all passed examinations and enjoyed a shower, we naturally congregated together. Whether it was attachment, or simply the comfort of familiarity, not one person failed to seek out the group.
Eventually, Sergeant Wimmer arrived with Doctor Zahn and two other doctors that I imagine inspected the rest of the group. With the
m was a man wearing slacks and a light blue button-up shirt with his sleeves rolled to the elbows. The top button was undone and the tie tugged loose. My radar went off instantly. This guy seemed to be trying way too hard to look unassuming.
“Look at his hands,” Barry leaned close and whispered. It seemed I was not the only person on edge.
I glanced at the man’s hands and, for a moment, didn’t see anything extraordinary. Then it sunk in. They were immaculate. Nails trimmed, and I’d bet recently manicured. Stepping forward I extended my right hand and shook his in greeting. Those hands hadn’t seen a hard day’s work in this guy’s life.
Politician?
“Randall Smith, CDC from Atlanta,” his drawl was slow and casual, but his eyes reminded me of every oily politician or sleezy televangelist that had ever been caught in a scam and tried to fabricate an excuse or justification.
“Steven Hobart, insurance adjuster from Seattle,” I said. Then, one by one, I introduced my fellow survivors…minus occupation or city of origin.
“Seems you folks have had quite a time,” Randall said. “But let me officially extend a welcome to our little bastion. You are all welcome to stay. Of course, we will be happy to have each and every one of you remain, and would meet with each individually to assess what skills you may possess so that you can contribute to our society of survivors. However, none of you are required to stay if you do not wish. Nobody is a captive.
“I know you have questions, but we would like to get you settled in to where you’ll be living if you decide to remain. Tomorrow I will meet with everybody individually and answer any of your questions then.
“I would do so today, but I am already late for a meeting with our electrical engineers. So, please, even if you are not planning to stay, be our guests tonight and enjoy a nice hot meal and a good night’s sleep.”
