The Outbreak Series (Book 2): Purgatory

by Baker, Thomas

  "Hurry up and get him in there Randall," came the voice of Charlie from the other room.

  "Cool your jets slick," Randall said.

  JT didn't know if he was talking to Charlie, the new prisoner, or both.

  Randall opened up the door to Tyrone's cell. Tyrone's singing cut off mid sentence.

  "I don't want that crazy man in here with me, you damn pig." Tyrone protested.

  “Don’t put me in here. It hurts. Take me to Linda. It hurts.” The man struggled like an animal.

  "Don't tell me how to do my job," Randall said, growling out the words. "I'll take the cuffs off you when you calm down Ken."

  Randall shoved the prisoner through the opening and slammed the door. He was locking the cell when the prisoner charged the door. His head bounced off the bars without any hesitation. Randall was startled. The keys dropped from his hands and skidded across the concrete floor.

  "Holy shit!" Randall backed up, mouth open.

  JT was at the bars of his cell, his hands gripped tightly around them.

  "Randall," JT was screaming. "What have you done? You locked a zombie in there with him!"

  No sooner had Randall closed the door did his prisoner, Ken, turn.

  Ken charged the door again. A long gash marked his forehead from his run in with the metal bars, yet no blood seeped out of it. When Ken looked up, his eyes were dead.

  "Oh no, oh no, oh hell no," JT could hear Jelly moan. It was distant, like the man was talking through water.

  The Ken zombie stumbled around, his hands still clasped behind him. Tyrone shrank back in the corner, his face a mask of fear. His hands were raised out before him, like that would stop the coming attack.

  The thing charged, a gnashing and biting mindless machine.

  Tyrone snapped into a roll, dodging at the last second. Again the thing slammed into the concrete wall and turned around without hesitation. Its nose was now noticeably crooked and a few teeth were snapped and jagged.

  "Fuck sake's Randall. Stop taking a doughnut break and get the keys!" JT was shouting, hysterical.

  Here he was standing feet away and was utterly powerless. He shook at the bars helplessly. Another dodge, this time the Ken zombie was a little closer to snapping a piece of Tyrone off. JT had to think his terror was making Tyrone sloppy. He had seen this kid move before like a blur.

  Randall still stood there, dumbfounded. Did his brain take a vacation? The one thing Tyrone had going for him was at least the zombie wasn’t a Runner.

  "Sheriff Randall, get me out of here!" Tyrone pleaded his voice breaking and trembling.

  This time when the zombie charged him, Tyrone went low, knocking it's legs out from under it. It went flat on its back, rocking back and forth like a flipped turtle. Tyrone jumped back up to his feet. The Ken thing kept on snapping as Tyrone sprang back up.

  Randall was finally moving. He cast about like a hundred year old man. JT could hear him muttering. "Find the keys, where's the keys, find the keys."

  "Fuck man! They are right over by Jelly's door numbnuts!" JT said.

  Tyrone was standing up on his cot. The zombie was over on its side, recovering its feet. JT thought Tyrone chance was now to stop on its head, kick a whole in it, something. His friend seemed paralyzed.

  Randall's hands shook as he tried to get the right key into the hole. On his fourth try he succeeded. Ken zombie regained its feet, swaying like a drunk on Saturday. His back was to the Sheriff. All of its attention was on Tyrone. Randall reached in and grabbed the center of the handcuffs. He pulled hard, yanking the squirming thing out of the cell. When it was clear of the cell, Randall pulled his gun and put the barrel right against the zombie's temple.

  The sound echoed harshly off the concrete walls. The zombie stopped as if it had a switch had been flipped to off.

  Randall slammed Tyrone's door back shut and locked it. He hunched over, his hands on his knees, taking whooping breaths. Looking over to dead Ken, and then looking away. Tyrone jittered all around his cell, cursing under his breath. JT still stood at the bars, his arms aching from gripping them so tightly. He let go but didn't back away. He was about to go off on Randall when the man strode out of the room like he was on a mission.

  "Charlie! Charlie!" JT could hear the Sheriff yell in outrage from the other room.

  "Tyrone! You okay?"

  Tyrone was still pacing in his cell like a caged tiger.

  "Yeah, yeah," He said, speaking at a rapid pace. He stopped for a moment, patting himself all over. "It didn't touch me." He continued with his pacing.

  Sheriff Randall walked back in. He looked at the zombie with a look of shock, anger, and disgust all over his face.

  "What the hell was that Sheriff?" JT started in. He couldn't help it. "I would call it an assassination attempt."

  "That's idiotic!" Randall snapped back.

  "Really? Come on Randall, don't kid yourself anymore. I’m damn sure you know how quickly people turn. You can't tell me that wasn't deliberate."

  "Charlie showed up and said Albright wanted Ken locked up for the night. Said he was drunk and out of control." Sheriff Randall seemed to be talking to himself more than to anyone else.

  Tyrone stopped and came to his cell door. He opened his mouth then closed it several times, as if he had something to say but it wouldn't come out.

  "Drunk my ass! Sheriff come on! Whatever persuasion or brainwashing the church has put on you, you gotta see through it now. They tried to kill Tyrone. And use one of your precious townspeople to do it."

  Randall glared at JT. JT thought he could see in the Sheriff's eyes a kind of resignation light up. One that suggested JT could be right.

  "The weird thing is, where’d they get a zombie to bite Ken? It had to be close. So Charlie had enough time to get him down here," Jelly interjected.

  JT thought that was an interesting point indeed.

  "Look, Tyrone. All I can say now is I'm sorry about that. I'm relieved you weren't injured. I’ll get this all cleaned up."

  "That's what you said last time officer," Tyrone shot back. "Isn't it funny? This is the second time you failed to protect me from Charlie."

  Randall didn't reply. He grabbed the zombie by the heel of his boots and pulled him out, leaving a trail of brain matter leading out the door. He was gone for several minutes and came back in with vinyl gloves on and a mop bucket.

  "Sheriff." JT had taken the time Randall was gone to count backwards from twenty, twice, while taking some deep breaths. He thought he sounded pretty calm considering.

  "Yes JT?" Randall's looked at him. His response seemed to be the most authentic and real JT had seen out of him yet.

  "You and I, can we please talk man to man in your office?"

  Randall leaned on his mop handle. He seemed to be in deep contemplation as he looked JT up and down.

  "You got it. I agree it's time we talk."

  With that, Randall pulled out the mop and dropped it on the floor with a plop.

  Hannah knocked on the door, feeling her face warm up. Sweat popped out on her forehead. It seemed like time drew out into infinity as she waited for the door to open. She was about to turn around and walk away when it did.

  "Hannah, what a pleasant surprise," Albright said, putting on his usual one hundred watt smile.

  The door was only cracked open, but Albright drew it open wider. Alice passed behind Albright and out the door. She gave Hannah a smile as she passed. Hannah thought she looked happy. She took it as a good omen, given what she wanted to talk to Albright about. Maybe he could take some of this burden off of her, transfer it to God. Then she could be happy again, like Alice.

  "May God's blessings be on you," Albright called after Alice, before turning his attentions back to Hannah.

  "I'm sorry Hannah, but usually I like to have appointments made with me. Not to have people just showing up at my door. Things need to stay organized. Unless it was an emergency of course. As you saw I was already in a private meeting and it wouldn't be
fair to interrupt other people right?"

  It was a gentle rebuke, but it was enough of one to cause Hannah to almost lose it. Her face contorted as she tried to hold in her tears. Albright must have seen it. He quickly softened and ushered her in without another word.

  "Something is troubling you my child," Albright said, putting his hand in the small of Hannah's back and guiding her in. “I have a few moments in my schedule. Sit.”

  His office had a large desk, two chairs in front of it, and an area in front of that with a bookshelf and a couch. Everything was dark brown and wood tones. She was sure it normally felt intimate and cozy but right now she felt nothing but stifled by it.

  He sat her on the couch and pulled up one of the chairs. Subtle incense burned in the air, which was a nice break from the stink of too many people living in such a small space as the church. The smell seemed to have a little calming effect on her nerves. She took several deep breaths, settling her hands in her lap. Before sitting down in the chair, he crossed back over to the door and checked it.

  "Now my dear, I can tell something is bothering you. What is it?" Albright said, his soothing, pleasant voice attempted to calm her.

  Hannah had thought earlier, as she was eating breakfast, she needed this. It seemed like a good idea. Now that she was here, she was having difficulty starting. Words were stuck in her throat. Talking about it would make it too real she realized now.

  "Take your time," Albright said, crossing his leg. "It looks like it is something...uncomfortable to talk about."

  She couldn't go through with it. Even here, in as safe a place as a church, with a man of God.

  "It was a mistake," Hannah said, rising. "I'll be going now."

  Albright rose too. He put a hand on her shoulder. He gently but firmly guided her back down to the couch.

  "Come now Hannah. I can't help you if you don't tell me what it is that's bothering you. You should know you can't keep it from God. He already knows what pains your soul. There is no hiding from Him. He has put me here, with you, to help. Trust in that if nothing else. Lay your burden at Christ's feet."

  Deep down Hannah knew he was right. God did already know what was hurting her. The loss of her Mom, she was surely dead or a zombie by now. Ashley, what horrible things were done to her. What Harold had done to her. Her old life, gone forever. Taken away by monsters.

  Taking a deep breath to keep from sobbing, Hannah plunged in.

  "I lost my best friend. Not long ago. We met a crazy man. Insane. His name was Harold. We didn't know he was crazy at the time. We thought we were going to be safe. Instead, he killed her, turned her body into a trophy. JT tried to keep it from me but I overheard him tell..."

  Her resolve broke and the dam opened up inside. She was unable to speak for awhile. She didn't even notice Albright move beside her. Suddenly he was holding her hand in his. She found her head on his shoulder, making his black shirt damp. When she finished and the tears dried up, her head was pounding and her body felt limp. She was afraid if she tried standing, she would collapse. She tried to continue but stammered instead.

  "Easy now, easy my dear," Albright said, patting her back. "Sounds traumatic. What a large blockage you have released from your spirit. We can take it slowly. Here let me get something for you."

  Albright rose and went behind his desk to an alcove. His back was to her, Hannah couldn't make out what he was doing. He came back carrying two wine glasses filled with a crimson liquid.

  "You have wine?" Hannah's eyes widened.

  "I was able to make a small stock, after the town was cleared," Albright said, handing a glass to Hannah before sitting back down beside her.

  She took two hesitant sips of it. It was smooth going down, and had a tiny drying effect at the end. She swirled it around in the glass and took a bigger drink.

  "This is so good." She took another drink.

  "It is a find," Albright said, casually tipping his glass to his lips.

  In a few moments Hannah felt a tingling in her head. It was a pleasant sensation. It encouraged her to drink more, which in turn increased the buzzing.

  "Oh, I seem to have reached the bottom of the glass already," Hannah said, smiling. The happy feeling spreading through her was like a long lost friend she didn't realize she missed so much until they came back.

  "So you have," Albright took the shaking glass from Hannah's hand.

  He stretched, placing both her empty and his mostly full glass on an end table beside the couch.

  "Now, do you feel as if you can tell me what happened with this Harold?" Albright asked, placing a hand on Hannah's knee. It sent an unexpected tingling throughout her body. She looked into his eyes, which she noticed were an interesting hazel with flecks of green in them.

  She started from when they were on the run with Ashley hurt, dodging zombie hordes which seemingly surrounded them. She ended with JT discovering Ashley's body under the boathouse. One of several of Harold's grisly trophies. JT buried her down there, in the dark.

  "She didn't even get a proper funeral. I never got a proper goodbye," Hannah said, dry eyed. It was like she was able to view it like a movie in her head, happening to strangers. She felt detached from it all.

  "What an ordeal," Albright said after a moment, shifting in his seat. He raised his hand from her lap to her hair, and brushed it back. "How terrifying for you and all your friends. How strong you are too, to make it through that and still keep on going, taking care of your friend Gus."

  "Why Reverend," Hannah pleaded. "Why would God do this? Why would he take my friend, in that way? Why would he allow us all to suffer like this?"

  "Noah probably thought the same thing as the heavens opened up and the Earth flooded. Every member of this church, including me, have had this thought as we laid in bed in the middle of the night, wide awake, aware of the horror outside. Like Noah and every human on the Earth since then, how can we know His will? Noah did know it wasn't his fault. It was the wicked."

  Albright stood, pulling up Hannah with him.

  "Do you wish to pray?" He said, cupping his hands around hers.

  "Yes."

  "Then bow your head. Let us pray silently, for Ashley and for all the other of God's children he has called back. For at least take this comfort Hannah, she is in a better place now."

  They bowed their heads. Hannah closed her eyes as well, enjoying the warm touch of Albright's hands around hers as she prayed.

  Sheriff Randall returned to the holding area after wheeling out his gore filled mop bucket. He stopped and glanced down at the wet floor before approaching JT's cell and stopping with his keys in his hand.

  "JT, I am going to unlock this door. You and I can talk in my office. I'm going on good faith I’ll not need my cuffs," Randall looked JT right in the eyes. "Am I wrong in doing so? Because if I am, I still have my pistol."

  "No sir, you have my word." JT didn't break his gaze. He took Randall’s meaning loud and clear.

  "What the hell is this?" Tyrone was up and shouting. "You're going to let him out. After you've locked ME in this damn birdcage with a zombie? This is bullshit!"

  "Tyrone calm down, I got this." JT was trying to remain calm himself and reassure Tyrone at the same time. This might be his one and only change to get them out. He didn't want to blow it.

  "Oh yeah I'm sure you got this JT. I bet if I were Hannah you wouldn't be leaving me in this damn place alone."

  The barb caught JT square. "Listen Tyrone, stop with your crap. No one is leaving anyone, I'm going to talk to the Sheriff for a few minutes and I’ll be right back."

  Tyrone didn't respond except with a huff. He audibly plopped down on his cot making a show of puffing and sighing loudly.

  "Hey man, grab me a pizza with extra cheese while you're out," Jelly heckled from his cell as JT and Randall headed out.

  JT found himself feeling surprisingly impressed as he entered Randall's office. He gazed at the walls full of old photos, awards, and the most notable to JT, several
marksmanship awards. A shadowbox in the middle stored an American Flag and a few Marine Corp Marksmanship badges.

  I guess running isn't a good option from this guy. Clearly he is not in the chasing business.

  JT sat in one of the two padded chairs on the visiting side of the Sheriff's desk. Randall made his around and sat in the large black leather chair. Sheriff Randall placed his elbows on his desk and rubbed his face several times before laying his palms flat on the desk.

  "Well young man, what is it you see fit we need to speak about?"

  JT seized the opportunity, "Sheriff, this Reverend, his followers, it's all a front for a violent scam. My friends are in danger. People you know from your town are in danger. Sheriff we're all in danger. Look at what happened to Tyrone."

  Randall slumped back in his chair placing his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.

  "You know I am right," JT continued on when he got no response. "What happened here today was no accident at all. Are you ready for when they decide they no longer need you around? For when Charlie decides to shove you into a locked cell with a zombie or two? My friends and I have been out there, we have survived. We have no interest in the church."

  "Let me stop you right there JT. Do you think of me as some out of touch old man? Like it would be so simple to pull the wool over my eyes?" JT started to answer but Randall continued on, "I used to be a young hot shot just like you. I used to live my life like I’m sure you did. Before the world collapsed into a shit heap. You're the type of fella that has this, may the bridges I burn light my way type outlook on life."

  "Sheriff, I wasn't..." JT tried stammering out the words but Randall cut him off again.

  "I'll tell you when I am done.” Randall paused. JT decided he’d let Randall rant. “Let me tell you something JT. I have seen things in this world you couldn't believe. I am battle worn and tested. I've learned my lessons the hard way, made more mistakes than I care to admit. You think it's easy pointing a gun at a zombie? Try having to point a gun at a fifteen year old kid trying to make a name for himself whose parents you see at church every Sunday passing the collection plate."