by Paul Seiple
Alan saw Melanie's mouth move, but her words were garbled. He thought back to an ARMA meeting on the development of an undetectable tracking system. It was a way to track someone through an agent introduced into the body.
"He's tracking me," Alan said.
"That's not possible," Nick said. "There's no way GPS is working this long after things went dark."
"You forget who we are dealing with," Alan said. "ARMA was developing a tracking agent that attached itself to someone's DNA."
"No shit? I'm impressed," Nick said.
"Well, fill me in. Why is he tracking you?" Melanie asked.
"To get to him," Q said, walking up to the group. He pointed at Nick.
"Me?" Nick asked.
"You're the tech whiz. He doesn't need doctors. He doesn't need scientists. Tech is god in this archaic world. You said it yourself," Q eyed Alan. "He's tracking you with an agent attached to your DNA. We can't even find gas to run a Pinto."
"Hold up." Melanie put her hands above her head. "Someone start from the beginning."
"In the infancy of the outbreak, Mitch asked me to find Q," Alan said.
"Correction, he asked you to kidnap Q," Nick said.
"You all know each other?" Melanie asked.
"It's a small world," Nick said. "I was eavesdropping on ARMA with an app I developed. I figured out they were going after Q. I got word to him, but Alan still found us."
"And Mitch realized Nick was the real prize," Q said.
"I'm flattered," Nick said.
"If Alan took you to Mitch, why aren't you trying to kill him?" Melanie asked.
"Well, he also helped us escape from Mitch," Q said.
"And I ended up imprisoned for it," Alan said.
"Hence the dysfunctional family reunion at your place." Nick shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry."
"I have to leave," Alan said.
"Are we in danger?" Melanie asked.
"No one is safe if I stay. He's tracking me. Mitch will definitely come here, and he won't be alone."
"Mitch understands that it's human instinct to align with those familiar to you in situations like this. He bet everything that Alan would try to find Nick and me," Q said.
"That's why I have to leave now. There’s still time to lead him away from you," Alan said.
"You're not well enough to go out there," Melanie said. "You'll die."
"If I stay here, we will all die," Alan said.
Twenty-Nine
Laura added three cans of tuna to Alan’s bag. She tossed a pill box on top and closed the flap. Laura scanned the medicine cabinet, trying to find anything else that could help Alan.
"I think that's it," she said.
"I can survive on tuna," Alan said.
"I was talking about the medicine. There's a sandwich bag with Ibuprofen. There are a few Cipro in the pill bottle to fight off infection. It's all I could spare. I wish I could give you more," Laura said.
Alan smiled. "I'll be fine." He patted the bag before slinging over his shoulder. Alan let out a shriek when it hit his wound.
"Be careful," Laura said.
"I'm not sure you should leave," Melanie said, entering the medical tent. "We can defend Winston."
"Not from Mitch. He's hellbent on destroying everything in his way. He’ll have more bodies and more firepower," Alan said.
"So what are you going to do?" Melanie asked.
"Squatch is rounding up some gas. Nick and Q have put together a plan for me to take out Mitch and whoever is with him with the element of surprise. If it works, the world will be yours to rebuild," Alan said.
"And you?" Melanie asked.
Alan flashed a quick grin. "I'm the surprise."
"You're going to sacrifice yourself?" Melanie asked.
"I'm not a good person. I contributed to this mess. The least I can do is take the trash out," Alan said.
"You saved me," Melanie said.
"No offense, but that’s not enough for redemption," Alan said.
Alan waved to Melanie, Q, and Nick just before disappearing into the woods. He backtracked to the spot where the infected ARMA prisoners were taken out. The bodies were still there, but the decaying process seemed much faster than what science had taught him. There were only traces of flesh left on the bones. It was possible animals cleaned the corpses, but Alan hadn't seen much sign of wildlife except the occasional rabbit in a long while. The more realistic answer was Judas didn't leave evidence. When the host was no longer salvageable, the virus cut its losses and erased its existence from the bodies.
Alan walked along the river. He didn't know where he was going but knew he had to get far away from Winston. The morning sunlight rippled along the top of the water. Alan admired the beauty of nature and its ability to mask the horrors going on around him. No birds chirped. The wind was still. The silence was calming. Alan was at peace with his fate. From the days as Mitch's prisoner, he knew his future. Alan didn't believe in Heaven or God. As he walked, he questioned that lack of belief. With death so close, if there was a chance of being with Liz again, he would do anything to make it happen.
Alan stopped to rest. His belly was full, but his body wasn't handling the foreign substance known as protein too well. He took a swallow of water, hoping to wash away the sickness forcing its way up his throat.
A grunt startled him as he rested on a rock at the water's edge. He lost his footing and slid into the water. The shock of the cold wetness paralyzed him. Sharp pain pierced his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. There were several more grunts. Alan gained a semblance of composure and turned toward land. Three men, wearing ARMA prison jumpsuits, stood over him. They carried no sign of infection. Their flesh held a pinkish, almost healthy hue. Their eyes were clear. If they were infected, they were not like the others. They didn't try to go into the water after Alan. They watched him, knowing he couldn't last long in the cold water. He would have to come out or die.
Alan walked against the current to try to avoid the men. The force of the water against his body coupled with the coldness was torture. The men paced along the bank with him.
"Are you infected?" Alan said.
His question was met with a grunt. Alan stopped moving. The men froze with him.
"All right, I have to get out of this water," Alan said. Element of surprise, he thought. Instead of moving forward, he let his body go limp, and the current took him downstream. The movement seemed to puzzle the men. Alan dug his heels into the river bottom. He used his remaining energy to pull himself to the bank.
The men moved toward Alan. He fought with the straps of the backpack to remove it from his left shoulder. Every move dug into his wound. He pulled a hunting knife from the pack and struggled to his feet just as the first man drew near. Alan stomped the side of the man's knee. The sickening sound of bone snapping echoed through the peaceful air. The man dropped, and Alan plunged the knife into the top of his head. Alan shoved a second man, who was a bit taller, to the ground as he reached for him. Alan dislodged the knife from the first man and forced it into the right eye of a shorter, stockier man. He placed his foot in the man's chest and kicked him into the water. The taller man got to his feet and threw his body toward Alan knocking him to the ground. The knife flew from Alan's hand leaving him weaponless. The man fought to pin Alan's wrists to the ground. Alan shifted his hips. The man became unbalanced. Alan raised his arms while the man still gripped his wrists. Alan jerked to his right and reversed positions. He was now on top. The man was strong but thanks to the protein, Alan was stronger. The man held his grip, but Alan pushed his hands toward the man's face. He shoved his thumbs deep into the man's eyes. Alan lifted the man's head and slammed it again and again onto the ground until the man went limp. Alan rolled off and took a deep breath. If there was any doubt he was doing the right thing, this latest encounter erased it. Mitch had to die, and Alan welcomed the thought of witnessing it.
Thirty
Nick poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Q.
He grabbed a mug for himself.
"Am I to take it the reunion with Carolyn didn't go well?" Nick asked.
"It's complicated," Q said.
Nick smiled and pointed at Q. "Nice shitty Facebook reference. That's something I don't miss these days."
Q sipped the coffee and made a sour face.
"Sorry, James made it," Melanie said. She sat down next to Q. "So you and Carolyn are a couple?"
"We were," Q said.
"Shit happens during an apocalypse, ya know," Nick said.
"I’m offended. All these years, I thought you liked my coffee," James said, hobbling to the table.
"I do, dear, but it's an acquired taste," Melanie said.
"It tastes like shit," Nick said. "What? I'm not afraid to hurt your feelings."
"I've never noticed it until now, Nick. But you have a poor vocabulary. Can you think of anything to say that isn't a variation of shit?" James asked.
"What can I say, I like to say shit," Nick said.
"That's enough, children," Melanie said. "Should we prepare for this Mitch guy?"
"We should pray Alan is right, and he can lead him away from here," Q said. "There are not enough of us to fight Mitch."
"Why does he want you?" Melanie looked at Nick.
"I'm a goddamn tech whiz. Didn't you listen to Q?"
"I think it has to do with the smart bomb Mitch created," Q said.
"The Judas Kiss?" James asked.
"I have one," Nick said.
"What?" Melanie asked.
"The bomb. I found one in Black Dog," Nick said.
"You went to Black Dog?" Melanie asked. "I lived in Black Dog."
"It's a long story that involves me saving Q's life, but yeah, we went there," Nick said. "There is nothing left."
"You have the bomb with you?" James asked.
"Yep," Nick said.
"Can you recreate it?" James asked.
"Apparently, Mitch thinks I can," Nick said.
"What's the point? Mitch isn't concerned with curing Judas," Melanie said.
"The purpose of the bomb was to eradicate a specific target. In Black Dog, it was people infected with Judas. But the bombs could be programmed to pinpoint any target," Q said.
"If Nick can make them, then maybe we can program them," James said.
"And then, we're on an even playing field with Mitch," Q said.
"Do you think we can program one specifically for this Mitch guy?" Melanie asked.
"It's possible," Q said. "I was briefed on the inner workings of the bombs by Gerald Dickson. There were plans to use the bombs to eliminate terrorists."
"Mitch is definitely a terrorist," Nick said.
Thirty-One
"I don't understand why you need me, if you can track him with that thing," Wayne asked.
"The agent has been in Dawson's body for years. It fades with time. The body views it as a toxin. Eventually, it is flushed. Tracking Dawson has become harder as time passes," Mitch said.
A chirping sound came from a tablet being carried by a soldier in front of Mitch and Wayne. The noise was consistent.
"We have hit, sir," the soldier said.
"Excellent, Morris. Kept tracking him," Mitch said.
"Is that your man?" Wayne asked.
"Dawson is three miles to the west," Morris said.
"Shift west," Mitch said.
"Wait. Melanie's camp is south," Wayne said.
"I don't care about the camp. My objective is finding Alan," Mitch said.
"But you promised if I took you to the camp, I could have Melanie," Wayne said.
"That was when I thought Alan was there. I cannot afford to lose this track," Mitch said.
"This is bullshit. You used me," Wayne said.
"Everyone gets used, Wayne."
"I'm not going with you," Wayne said.
A soldier to the right of Mitch drew a revolver and aimed at Wayne. Mitch motioned for him to put the gun away.
"You are not required to come with me. You are free to go anywhere you wish," Mitch said. "I feel as though I must warn you, these woods are littered with the dead."
"No shit. I've been dealing with them for years. I'll be fine," Wayne said.
"You don't understand. Before we arrived, we released 2.0 into the woods," Mitch said.
"What the hell is 2.0?" Wayne asked.
Mitch reached into his vest pocket for a vial. "Remember I said Judas evolved? We evolved too. This controls the infected known as 2.0. They are no longer dead. Judas fights to keep the host alive. We help it out with a dose of this. Everyone is happy... and I have the most loyal army history has ever witnessed."
"You're really fucking crazy," Wayne said.
"Venture out if you choose, but know you will be the prey," Mitch said.
"I'll take my chances," Wayne said.
The soldier aimed the revolver again.
Mitch lowered the soldier's wrist. "Let him go. He's already dead."
"Sir, it looks like Dawson is stationary," Morris said, tapping the screen of the tablet. "Given the terrain, we can be there in a little over an hour."
Mitch put the vial back into his vest pocket. He smiled. "Let's go visit an old friend."
The abandoned camp was the perfect place for Alan to set the trap. There was a dilapidated barn with a good portion of its roof missing. What was left of the roof shielded one corner from outside elements. Alan placed a tripwire near the ground at the only entrance. The wire linked to an old barrel that at one time was used as a stove of sorts. He placed a small mason jar of gasoline inside the barrel.
Alan walked the perimeter of the barn thinking out loud. "OK, Mitch will hang back. I'll be in the barn. He will send someone in to get me. The wire will get tripped and set off the grenade. The barrel will explode. I'll pull the pins on the grenades and drop the barn. It's going to work, right?"
Alan's question was met with silence.
"It has to work."
Alan went inside the barn. He found a pile of hay that someone or something had used for a bed and spread it over the dirt floor. He grabbed a smaller jar from the pack and sat it on a rotten wooden beam. "I'll spread the gas on the hay. The grenades will set the chain reaction. Everything burns."
Alan walked out of the barn and stretched his arms above his head. The wound from the gunshot hurt, but his body was adapting. The sky was blue with very few clouds. The sun caused Alan to squint. He guessed the temperature to be around seventy to seventy-five. It was ideal for him. He glanced at the tripwire, then moved on to the barrel. Everything was in place.
"I couldn't ask for a better day to die," he said, heading back into the barn to wait for Mitch.
Ten soldiers walked ahead of Morris and Mitch. The chirp from the tablet told them Alan was still being tracked and in the same place.
"Less than a mile," Morris said.
"Silence the tablet. No noise. No talking. Dawson will not be expecting us, but I know him. He will be on guard," Mitch said. "I don't want to chase him."
After a few minutes of walking, a dilapidated structure popped into view over a small hill. One of the soldiers turned to Mitch who motioned them on. An open area appeared through the woods. When they got within twenty feet of the barn, Mitch ordered them to stop. He stepped to the front of the group.
"Alan Dawson, I know you're in there. Let's not make this messy. Why don't you come out peacefully?"
Mitch waited a minute, but he didn't expect a response. Alan was not going to give up easily. Mitch stepped behind the soldiers again, expecting gunfire to ring out from inside the barn. There was nothing.
"Are you sure he is in there?" Mitch asked.
Morris swiped the tablet. A bubble popped up on the screen. Subject is thirty-two feet to the west. "He has to be in there, sir."
Mitch sighed. "Alan, I could have sent my team to get you, but I personally wanted to be a part of this reunion. We have a lot to catch up on." Mitch tapped his watch. "Don't keep me waiting."
> Alan positioned himself in a nook in the rafters of the barn. He ran the knife through the apple, letting a slice fall into the palm of his hand. The knife was still tainted with the blood of the infected who attacked him early. Alan didn't care. Judas posed little threat to him. Alan was immune, but in the past, the thought of ingesting tainted blood had been stomach-churning. This was Alan's last stand. One last “fuck you” to the virus.
Mitch called to Alan from outside the barn. He ignored the request to make himself known and ate another piece of apple. This was a “fuck you” to Mitch as well.
Soon, Mitch would grow ill of the disrespect and send people in for Alan. Mitch prided himself in being calculated, but he was predictable. He wouldn't charge the barn for Alan. He would order his sheep to go in. Alan went over the plan in his mind one last time. The barrel was placed where he figured Mitch would wait, about thirty feet from the barn. As long as Mitch in the vicinity, he couldn't escape the damage.
Alan bit into what remained of the apple and tossed the core below. He savored the taste of his last meal. Alan thought back to being a teenager and reading about killers' last meals before execution. He preferred steak, maybe loaded mashed potatoes, and definitely onion rings. The overripe apple was nothing close to that, but it was better tree bark.
Alan eased back against the wood, placed his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. He mimicked the threats coming from Mitch and laughed. Alan was weighted with guilt for contributing to the state of the world. This wouldn't bring Liz back. It wouldn't bring anyone back, but it would send Mitch to Hell where he belonged.
"Don't keep me waiting."
Alan opened his eyes, imagining Mitch dramatically looking at his watch, waiting for a reaction. Mitch was always a showman.
"Alan, you're trying my patience," Mitch said. "This does not have to go this way. We both know if I send my men in, there will be bloodshed. We can avoid any more violence. This world has seen enough."
