by Bobby Adair
“It wasn’t like that,” Jerome responded.
“It sounded like that when Zed told me about it. Did I miss something?”
Jerome said nothing.
“So I didn’t miss anything,” Murphy continued. “Let me ask you, did you help Zed rescue those sorority chicks that were stuck in the other dorm?”
“They weren’t sorority chicks,” Jerome corrected.
“Are you saying that you did help rescue those chicks?”
“I didn’t say that.”
We walked another half a block in silence before Murphy added, “Sounds like you’re a pussy.”
Jerome shot Murphy a withering look and hurried ahead.
I shrugged.
Murphy grinned.
Another block passed and Murphy said, “Man, I didn’t thank you for getting me away from the jail after we busted out.”
“I think you did. Besides, we helped each other that day.”
“How’s that?”
“You know.”
“No.”
“You know,” I repeated. “When we were crossing the street when Earl got shot. I froze. You pushed me across. You probably saved me from getting shot, too.”
“Man, you were just in my way.”
“Whatever.”
Sweating heavily in the heat, we reached the university building across the street from the co-op and came to a stop in a shady spot behind a limestone block wall. I knelt down behind the short wall and scanned the broad intersection.
Two military Humvees sat in the middle of the intersection, empty. Bodies lay strewn about at random angles all over the asphalt, on the curbs, in the surrounding lawns, and in the parking lots.
“I guess there was a battle here,” I said.
“Do you think those Humvees have the keys in them?” Jerome asked.
That was the question on my mind as well.
Murphy said, “Humvees don’t have keys, dumbass.”
“I’m not a dumbass.” Jerome was irritated and probably regretting his decision to come along with us.
Murphy asked, “Did you lie about being a CDC scientist, when you really just owned a sub shop five blocks away?”
“That doesn’t make me a dumbass,” Jerome told him.
“No, but it does make you a pussy,” Murphy snickered.
Jerome fumed, “I’m not walking all the way across town in this heat. I am not a pussy. I’m getting a Humvee.” Jerome stepped out from behind the wall and with a determined look on his face, made his way through the maze of the dead toward the middle of the intersection.
“The infected don’t care if you step on them,” Murphy called to him.
“Quiet,” I told Murphy. “I’m not saying that Jerome doesn’t deserve it, but lighten up on him a bit.”
As Jerome neared the Humvees he slowed and glanced around.
To Murphy, I said, “I don’t know if driving is a good idea.”
Murphy said, “Those are up-armored Humvees. They’re a lot more durable than that Toyota you totaled.”
“Okay.” I didn’t really agree, but I didn’t want to disagree either. I had no desire to walk six or seven miles in the heat, especially not knowing what dangers awaited us.
After a few moments of watching Jerome, Murphy looked back and forth across the wide intersection and said, “I don’t like this.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Look around, man.”
“Yeah?”
“All those bodies lying around. Where are the dead soldiers?”
I looked. I didn’t see a single uniform. “Maybe they all got infected and wandered off.”
“All of them? Wouldn’t at least some of them have gotten killed? I mean, look how many dead infected are out there.”
“It’s a mystery,” I said, dismissively.
Jerome arrived at the nearest of the two Humvees, opened the driver’s side door, and peered inside.
“And those doors will keep out the infected?” I asked.
“Unless they have a rocket launcher,” Murphy answered.
“So driving one of those might really work out for us?”
“Depends.”
“On what?” I asked.
Murphy answered, “What are you going to do when you get to where you’re going and your Humvee is being swarmed by frenzied infected?”
“I don’t know. I suppose we could just wait for them to get bored and wander away. They eventually do.”
“So we wouldn’t want to use it for short trips,” said Murphy.
“No, I guess not.”
Movement from the opposite corner across the intersection caught our attention.
Two soldiers in gas masks stepped out of some bushes and moved cautiously toward the Humvee into which Jerome was leaning. From Jerome’s position, his view of them was blocked by the other Humvee.
“MOPP gear,” said Murphy, softly.
“Mop?”
“The military protective gear. The gas masks, hoods, gloves, and stuff.”
“Oh.”
“That’s why they’re not infected, but it doesn’t explain why they weren’t killed by the infected, like everybody else.”
“They may be able to help us,” I said, as I started to stand, but Murphy put a restraining hand on my shoulder.
“What?” That annoyed me.
Murphy put a finger to his lips and shook his head. He hoisted his weapon.
I didn’t know what to think. I couldn’t see the danger he saw. What danger could there be? This was the Army. They’d been only six blocks from the dorm the whole time, and doing fine against the infected. Things weren’t as bad as Wilkins and crazy Mark thought they were.
The soldiers came up on Jerome from behind and startled him. One of the soldiers said something harsh, but with the distance, I couldn’t make it out.
Jerome stiffened, dropped his weapon, and raised his hands.
One of the soldiers took a defensive position at the rear of the Humvee and the other stepped up toward Jerome, stopping several feet away.
There was talk.
Jerome made some excited gestures and spoke loudly.
The soldier said something else, and Jerome opened his shirt and showed him his chest, leaning forward with eyes wide open.
The soldier spoke into a radio headset.
Jerome started talking again, but in a different tone of voice. He was pleading. That worried me for a second, but then again, he was a pussy. For his sake, I hoped he didn’t wet his pants.
Three distinct clicks echoed as fire spat from the end of the soldier’s gun.
A bloody mist erupted from Jerome’s back. For the smallest fraction of a second, surprise froze on his face.
I gasped.
“We gotta go!” Murphy said, as Jerome crumpled to the asphalt.
“Fuck that!” I threw the barrel of my M-4 over the wall and pointed it at the soldiers. Before I could pull the trigger, Murphy grabbed my shirt and pulled me into the shrubs and mulch. Shards of limestone exploded off of the top edge of the wall and stung my skin.
“What the hell?” I didn’t hear any gunshots. Everything was very suddenly going to shit, and I wasn’t putting the clues together fast enough.
“C’mon,” Murphy hissed. Bent over as short as he could make himself, he ran away from the wall, back the way we’d come, back to where there was plenty of cover.
I crouched and ran as fast as my legs would carry me.
We got to a row of tall bushes and rounded a corner, putting an entire building between us and the intersection.
Murphy stopped at the corner and cast a quick look back.
“Anything?” I asked.
“Not yet. Run!”
Murphy took off at a full sprint under the sprawling branches of the old campus oaks. He angled toward a building across a street and ran further into campus. I matched him stride for stride past one building, a second, and a third, arousing interest from the infected as we sped past. Thankfully, non
e gave chase.
When Murphy decided that we’d put enough distance between us and the soldiers at the intersection, he found an unlocked door and slipped inside. Welcome air conditioning washed over us, but I had not a moment to appreciate it.
We bounded up a staircase to the second floor and ran down the length of the building. We glanced through the glass door windows into each classroom we passed. The floor was deserted. We entered a classroom at the end of the hall and closed the door quietly behind us.
I caught my breath. Murphy did the same.
Chapter 3
It took a few minutes for us to recover enough to speak easily. Murphy gasped, “Shit. I should have seen that coming.”
“What the hell just happened?”
“We got ambushed,” Murphy told me, clearly distressed. His absent smile and vacant eyes told me he blamed himself.
“They killed Jerome, for no reason.”
Murphy peeked out one of the classroom’s large windows, careful not to expose himself more than was necessary. “Yeah, it would seem so.”
“That doesn’t make any sense to me, Murphy.”
“He was infected. They probably shot him because of that.”
“But he was a slow burn. He was talking to them. He wasn’t a danger!”
Murphy shrugged, shook his head, and said nothing.
“Is it open season on all of us?”
“I don’t know man. Maybe they were nervous. Maybe they were trigger happy. Maybe they just like killing. With all of those dead infected laying around the intersection, they were definitely good at it.”
“Maybe they weren’t the Army. Maybe it was just some guys…” I trailed off.
Murphy shook his head emphatically, “They were soldiers.”
I sat down at one of the desks bolted to the floor in neat rows, and stared out the windows at the oak branches and leaves that dappled the view of the buildings across the street.
It was murder.
Those soldiers murdered Jerome.
As that sank in, I muttered, “Fucking assholes.”
“We shouldn’t be surprised,” Murphy said. “The cops, the doctors, the Army, nobody has been sympathetic, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m angry, Murphy. I’m really fucking pissed. That was such bullshit. I mean he was standing there with that stupid pussy-ass look on his face, with his arms in the air and that dickhead just shot, shot him three fucking times. Fuck!”
Murphy said, “I was there, man.”
Murphy left me to my fuming and took up a position by the wall where he had a clear view out the window. Murphy was getting over Jerome’s death, or at least getting past it. He was looking out for pursuers. He was looking out for our safety. And I was having a tantrum.
I needed to get control.
The Ogre and the Harpy.
I breathed deeply and relaxed my clenched hands, then watched my palms as the blood flowed back in and filled the indentations left by my grip on my rifle.
The Ogre and the Harpy.
Anger would kill me if I didn’t get it under control. Clear thinking would keep me alive. I needed to follow Murphy’s example.
I stood and went over to check the window into the hall. No one and nothing. I nudged the door open and listened. Silence.
Minutes passed with no change; I let the door close and went to stand beside Murphy.
I asked, “So were those silencers on their guns?”
“Yup, suppressors.”
“I think that’s why they’re not already dead. If the infected don’t hear them, they can stay hidden while they shoot. They don’t have to worry about drawing in more than they can handle.”
Murphy nodded, “That’s pretty much how I see it.”
I said, “I think that if these guns are going to be good for anything but a last resort, we need suppressors.”
“Yeah.”
“Where can we get those, Murphy?”
“We could check gun shops or find the house of some gun nut and go through his stuff. But with all the shit going on, who knows? I’m guessing all the gun shops are cleaned out already.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound good.”
Murphy offered, “We could come back in a few days and take theirs.”
“I don’t follow.”
“C’mon, man. Those guys can’t keep their MOPP gear on forever. They’ve got to take it off sooner or later. They’re probably camped out in a building around here somewhere. And every time they go in and out, they risk tracking in the infection with them. Hell, that guy that shot Jerome today probably got at least a little blood on his gear. He was close enough for it. He probably doesn’t even know it. So, when he goes back to wherever him and his buddies are hiding out, he might touch it or his buddy might touch it.
“I don’t know how long the virus can live outside of the body but I’m guessing that if it’s in blood, it has a better chance of staying alive than if it just gets sneezed out or something.”
“So you think that by killing Jerome, those soldiers are going to wind up infected.”
“Yes, Zed, I do.”
“I like the karma of it.”
“Zed, if they get infected, the odds are that none of them will be immune. In a few days they’ll be wandering around here like the rest of the infected, if they don’t kill each other first.”
“I’m good either way. Do you think they’re coming after us?”
“Nope.”
“Why?” I asked.
“If they were coming, I think they would have by now. Besides, I think they’re doing pretty well ambushing the infected where they are. They don’t need to hunt. Whitey just wanders by. I’m not sure they were trying to kill us as much as scare us away. After all, they knew Jerome was infected when they killed him. They didn’t know if we were.”
“Whitey?”
“I’m tired of saying infected. Three syllable words suck.”
“You know, you’re practically white now, Murphy.”
“I’m mocha frost, man.”
“Mocha frost?”
“Yeah.”
I asked, “So we have mochas and whites. Any other color distinction?”
“You tell me, you’re the one with the hang-up about it.”
I took another long look out the window. “Murphy, you’re just trying to keep my mind off of Jerome, aren’t you?”
“Yeah man, you dwell on shit too much. I know everything sucks and all, but we can’t do anything about that. Lighten up, man. It’s better to die with a smile on your face than a frown.”
Time to change the subject. I asked, “Do you think those soldiers were an isolated group who just had the right equipment and the good fortune to figure out effective tactics, or do you think the whole Army is just around the corner and heading this way, cleaning up as they go along?”
“Isolated,” Murphy answered.
“Why?” I asked.
“If there was a big force coming in and clearing out the infected, we’d have heard the gunfire when we were outside. We didn’t hear any of that.”
I said, “I guess we didn’t.”
We watched silently out the windows for a while longer and periodically checked the hall.
When the conversation started again, I asked, “What should we do next, do you think?”
“I hate to say it, but I think Jerome was right.”
“About what?”
“We need a better plan than just walking to northeast Austin. I’m going there. I have to. But if I want to get there alive, then I need to think it through.”
I said, “We need to think it through.”
“Yeah, let’s talk about that for a second.”
“What?” That surprised me. What was that supposed to mean?
“Zed, I’ve been thinking about this a lot while we’ve been in here. You almost got yourself killed out there when Jerome got shot. If I didn’t pull you down, those snipers would have got you.”
“Tha
nks for that, Murphy.”
“I’m not looking for thanks, Zed. I want to know what you were thinking.”
My defenses flew up. Interrogatives always rubbed me the wrong way. My anger boiled for a second. I repressed it and calmly asked, “Why does it matter?”
“Let’s face it—we barely know each other, Zed. I don’t know you well enough to understand why you do what you do. I do know that your behavior is probably going to get you killed. I don’t want to be standing in the wrong place when that happens, because I might get killed too.”
“I don’t have the military training that you have, Murphy. When those soldiers shot Jerome, I didn’t think. I reacted. What they did was wrong.”
“And you were going to make it right?”
“No, honestly, I didn’t think about that. Not consciously anyway. Maybe I was just angry. Maybe…I don’t know.”
“Let me ask you about what you did for Felicity, Amber, and Marcy. What about helping me when I was delirious? I mean, I’m thankful. I’m grateful. I know I owe you my life. But Zed, it’s like you’ve got some kind of hero complex or something.”
My simmering anger turned to laughter. “Sorry Murphy, you’ve got the wrong guy on that. I’m not a hero. I don’t want to wear a cape or have a secret identity, and I don’t need to hear anybody’s applause. I don’t even want a Batmobile. Well, maybe a Batmobile. I’m just trying to do the right thing.”
“But you keep trying to do all this heroic shit, Zed. It’s like you think you’re invincible.”
“I definitely don’t think that, Murphy.”
Murphy turned and focused his attention back out the window, leaving me with my thoughts.
I recalled what happened with Felicity. I didn’t think then. I reacted. I’d heard her scream and saw her running. I knew she was going to die if I did nothing. I wanted to run back to the safety of the dorm, I really did. But something in me wouldn’t let that happen. I made a split-second decision and just got lucky after that. We both lived.
The choice to rescue Amber and Marcy was made with a lot more forethought, and was based on a ton of inaccurate assumptions. None of us expected the amount of danger that I’d put myself in. But why did I do it? I didn’t know them or anything about them. Yet, I’d risked my life to help them.
And Wilkins and the ROTC boys; what about them? I’d helped them too, but why?
