by R. J. Spears
I don’t know how he did it, but he found the strength to talk. “Okay, we need a plan if I don’t make it.”
I cut him off. “You’re going to make it.”
“I don’t have the strength to debate you,” his voice weak and broken. “If I don’t make it, Joel, you’re in charge.”
What? That was all I could think. There’s no way I can lead these people. I can barely lead myself.
“But what about Travis or Brandon?” I asked.
“There’s no time for discussion. I don’t have it in me. You do think outside the box but are completely devoted to these people. You’re the best choice.”
Doc Wilson raised an arm and waved the group back. “The decision’s made. Now, everybody get back. I have work to do.”
The group did move back, and I felt the events of the day sweep over me. This was compounded by Greg’s revelation that I could now be in charge. I felt a wave of dizziness sweep over me, and I backed into a chair and sat down.
The surgery took hours. It seemed that Doc was in a battle of his own, fighting the bleeding, maintaining Greg’s blood pressure, and keeping him alive. I sat off in a corner and watched helplessly. The rest of the leadership team stayed in the room as the Doc did his work. Somewhere about 4:00 AM, I drowsed off but woke up to hear the Doc shouting.
“He’s crashing,” Doc said.
Kara ran over to a cabinet to get him something. Ellen jumped to her feet from a chair she had been drowsing in and ran to the edge of the bed, terror in her eyes.
I was groggy and didn’t hear what the name of the medicine the Doc has called for, but Kara’s expression was near panic. It must have been serious stuff. She ripped the cabinet open, got a medicine bottle, and a very large syringe, and brought it back to the bed.
The Doc loaded the syringe and held it poised over Greg for a few seconds, caught in a dilemma that I couldn’t figure out. He committed himself and jammed it into Greg’s chest. He flung the syringe aside and started CPR. This went on for several minutes as he frantically pushed down on Greg’s chest over and over again. Kara watched on, tears streaming down her cheeks. She leaned into and put an arm around Ellen, who stood in total shock, her face blank.
I stood and started toward the bed, but Kara held up her hand to ward me off.
“Come on, dammit Greg. Fight,” Doc said as he climbed onto the bed and straddled Greg’s body. He cursed several times and called Greg’s name as he frantically kept performing CPR.
I don’t remember how long this went on. I felt a coldness seep into my body, a hopeless dread.
The Doc worked like a man possessed, but it was clear that things were sliding away. After a couple more minutes, Kara stepped up next to the bed and put a hand on his shoulder and said, “It’s over.”
Ellen slowly crumpled to her knees beside the bed, holding onto the side railing like someone might cling to a life raft.
“No, it’s not,” Doc shouted and continued the compressions.
“He’s gone,” Kara said. “You can’t bring him back.”
The Doc stopped and looked around the room blankly, like a child lost in the woods, his arms dangling at his side. Kara reached out and tugged gently at the Doc’s sleeve, urging him to get off the bed. It took a few seconds, but he complied and moved to a chair where he sat with his head in his hands.
I felt tears coming down my cheeks.
Chapter 48
Like a Dark Phoenix
A searing pain shot up from what was left of his right foot. Pin pricks of pain dotted his legs and back. The stench of his charred clothing and flesh almost made him gag, but he pushed the impulse down.
He lay on his back in the dew-covered grass. The moon hung silently over him, sitting placidly among the stars, flat as a plate.
His memory was fragmented, scattered snapshots firing in his mind. He remembered the explosion. Someone had hit his foot with a red-hot sledgehammer. The bus was safe; then it wasn’t, as fire filled the driver’s area.
He had to move, but the pain in his foot overwhelmed him. He nearly blacked out and woke up thinking someone was shooting on the bus. The fire had ignited his spare ammunition. He came back to full consciousness and found the cabin filled with a thick, choking smoke.
He knew he had to move in spite of the pain.
He dragged himself into the center aisle; the pain in his foot was mind-numbing. Fire ran along the roof of the bus like an angry river, rippling and boiling. He pulled himself down the aisle, hand-over-hand, towards the back of the bus. It was painstaking work. Smoke and fumes whirled around his face, and he felt himself swimming in a wave of darkness, but he kept moving, instinct telling to get out of the bus.
He didn’t remember how he did it or how long it took, but he found himself at the back door of the bus. He pushed on it, but it didn’t open. His consciousness narrowed down to a tight tunnel only giving him the tiniest of views out the window as he choked on the smoke billowing around him.
Why isn’t this damn door opening? His mind screamed.
Oxygen deprivation was shutting down his thought processes. He couldn’t grasp the idea that he had to pull the safety handle.
There were no words, just a primal instinct to survive. He rose to his knees despite the shooting pain in his foot, and his hands searched the door, pawing at it mindlessly. After a few more seconds of searching, he felt the strength leaving his body. His hands fell from the window as all of his systems started shutting down. Fortunately, his hand fell onto the handle that opened the door.
His mind fired up in desperation, some small portion of it recognized what the handle was, and he pushed it down. The door cracked open, and he fell against it, hoping just to fall out of the bus to safety, but another explosion went off behind him. In his near unconscious state, his body went limp. The force of the explosion hit him in the back like a tidal wave, lifting him off of his feet and propelling him out the door.
He swam in and out of consciousness for several hours, unable to move. He opened his eyes and saw that he was just under the back end of the blackened bus. Smoke seeped off it into the air in wispy tendrils. His thoughts were a jumble, bouncing around. He wondered how badly he had been burned and why the zombies hadn’t taken him during the night. He could only guess that they had stayed away from the fire and had not noticed him lying there. But he knew they would, once the fire died down.
Against all the pain, he willed himself to sit up. He gave every ounce of his remaining strength to make it fully into a sitting position. A wave of blackness swamped his vision, but he remained upright.
He was afraid to look down at his foot, but there was no avoiding it longer. Where is the end of my shoe, he thought? His mind couldn’t accept that a part of his foot was missing. Maybe it was better that way? At least for now.
Something moved just out of the corner of his vision. Fear and adrenaline kicked his mind into full gear.
He patted his side and found his pistol and then his knife. He pulled out his knife, fearing if he fired his pistol, any zombies in the area would be drawn to the sound.
He heard the footfalls coming up from behind him and turned to see a female zombie dressed in a hospital gown stumbling in his direction. The pain of moving nearly took him down again, but he fought it.
She closed the gap quickly, snarling, ready to eat. He waited, steeling himself.
He watched and waited. Step-by-step, she moved in for the kill; her hands clutched the air as she reached for him. He knew he only had enough in reserve for a single thrust.
Her shadow passed over his face and started the descent down towards him. He timed his attack, bringing up the knife as she came down. His blade bit just under her chin, thrusting up into the soft flesh and into her brain. He twisted it with his last remaining bit of strength.
She collapsed on him, knocking him to the ground, and he blacked out.
He came back to consciousness, not knowing how long he was out. The zombie still lay across hi
s body. He wriggled out from under her as the stench of her nearly overpowered the smell of his burnt flesh.
Despite the pain, he was more aware and awake than he had been. His hands ached from the burns as he reached down to his side and felt for his walkie-talkie. He grabbed it and brought it up to his mouth. He depressed the talk button and said, “Rex, come in.” His throat felt parched and scratchy. He waited for several seconds and then tried again. “Rex, this is Anthony. I need you.”
The seconds seemed like hours as he waited for a response. He drifted on the edge of consciousness and wondered if he should just let go. This world was a shithole, and there had to be something better, but one thing kept him from letting go. One crystalline ball burning deep within his being. Revenge. Revenge for their taking Layla. Revenge for what they had done to him.
Now, if he could only get that chance. Blackness started to collapse in at the edge of his vision, tightening down like a heavy metal door closing, and everything stopped as the darkness took him.
Chapter 49
Requiem
I was beyond exhausted. I was spent fifty times over. Fifty times fifty. My body ached. My soul ached even more.
The leadership team called for a town hall meeting first thing in the morning. I was more than clueless as to what had to be said. All that went through my mind was what would Greg do?
The news of Greg’s death filtered through the complex. Most people shuffled into the dining hall with blank faces, lost in shock and grief. Others came in with looks of fear. Some were angry.
I waited until they had taken their seats and all talking stopped.
What I was going to say was a mystery to me. I could tell them how I really felt: that I was hopeless and lost. That I was having trouble finding meaning in this brutal and callous world. That I was pissed off beyond words. That I either wanted to sleep for the next century or go on a zombie killing rampage until I couldn’t find any more to kill.
Crying was not an option. If I started with that, I might not stop.
I looked out at the crowd, and all eyes were on me.
I cleared my throat and said, “As you know, we lost Greg last night. We’ll hold a service later today for him. I’m not great at eulogies or anything like that. All I can say is that Greg was a good man. I’d like to take a moment and pray or meditate or whatever you want to do because I’m sure that’s what he’d want us to do.”
Most people bowed their heads, while some looked skyward.
I bowed my head, but my thoughts were a muddled mass of confused emotions, each one tearing at the other. I couldn’t break through them to anything coherent.
A voice sounded next to me, “Our Father who art in Heaven. Hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come.” It was Kara’s voice.
Others joined in with the next line, and the hall was filled with our voices by the fifth line. I felt Kara’s hand take mine, and my mind cleared, and I began reciting along with the others. When we finished, I asked for a little extra from the Man Upstairs and then looked up to the faces in the crowd.
Tears streamed down many faces, but no one was outright bawling.
“He gave it his all every day and did everything to protect us,” I said, my voice shaky. “And now, most of all, he wants us to go on. Greg asked me to take on the role as leader, but that is only temporary. We’ll have to hold an open election to fill Greg’s seat on the leadership team. That will happen tomorrow. Today, we celebrate and honor Greg. A big part of that will be going on just like we always have.”
I had something else to say but wasn’t sure how to start, so I just barged right ahead. “As you know, we have someone in the infirmary who claims to be immune. Well, we need to let you know that this has proven to be true.”
Any sense of restraint or calm broke in the room as people started shouting questions.
“What does this mean?”
“Can he make us immune?”
“Are you sure?”
Thank God, Doc Wilson stood up and raised his arms in the air for everyone to be quiet. It took twenty seconds for the room to calm down. “We know that he is immune. We have used a blood transfusion from the man to Hub to keep the virus at bay, and Hub is holding his own, but…” the talking started again, and the Doc had to shout above it to continue. “But this isn’t sustainable. The young man, Jason, only has a finite amount of blood. Greg and the team collected some lab equipment at the hospital, and I’m going to do some more testing, but I want to make this all very clear. I am not a research scientist, and, even if I were, I have no way of making a vaccine. I don’t have the equipment.”
The questions started again, but Kara broke in, “We do have hope though. Something will come of this. I just know it.”
I stood and said, “Unless anyone else has anything else to say right now, I’m adjourning the meeting so that we can get ready for Greg’s memorial. We will have another meeting tomorrow to have the election.”
There was more to say, and the meeting went on for another hour with us just spinning our wheels and nothing productive happening. I finally had to really end it, telling people that there was work to be done, and I would truly address all of their questions tomorrow.
Epilogue
Greg’s memorial was both heartbreaking and inspiring. Kara and Doc Wilson led it with Kara’s taking care of the spiritual matters, and Doc’s leading the rest of the details because he had known Greg the longest. Ellen, Greg’s wife, and Henry, his son, were rocks during the whole ceremony. I had trouble looking at them because their grief was so obvious despite their restraint. Tears flowed freely, but there were no laughs as we recounted some of our favorite stories about Greg. The pain was just too close to the surface.
It was a long day, and I basically collapsed into bed when it was over. I had no dreams or visions but just slept like the dead. Only I had to wake up the next morning.
I dreaded the next day because of the impending election. Adding a new member to our team was a wildcard that I didn’t want to have to deal with. Of course, my tenure as top dog would end, and while I didn’t really want to lead, there’d be the vote of no confidence on me that would really bite.
We tallied the votes, and there was bad news and then worse news when it was all over.
There was no campaigning, but Brother Ed worked behind the scenes and used his influence to get himself voted onto the leadership team which we all knew was going to be a disaster. But the people had spoken.
That was the bad news. The worse news came with the results of who would be our real leader. If Brother Ed’s vote was a disaster, this next vote was a catastrophe.
I was voted in as leader by a landslide.
My reaction was best summed up in two words, holy shit.
A Note from the Author:
You complete me. Really, you do. As a reader, you are final goal for me as a writer. I write stories with you in mind and I do hope you enjoyed this one.
Here is my ask: Please consider writing a review of the book on Amazon. As an independent author, reviews enable more people to see my books and buy them.
The story behind the story.
My love of zombies can be traced back to George Romero’s “Dawn of the Dead.” As a teenager, I saw this movie and was blown away. Not because of the gore (and there was plenty of that), but because of the story and the characters.
What I hope to do with my writing is to bring you stories that engage you and characters that you want to know more about. With this series, I want to explore the role of faith when people are faced with a dire situation. I hope, as you read it, you consider what it means to you.
Further Notes from the Author to Readers
If you liked the book or didn’t like it or find issues like typos or grammar errors, feel free to contact me and let me know. I do my best to root them out, but even after two editors and ten plus reviews by me, things slip though. Also, if you don’t like one of my character’s does, let me know. I’d love to hear from you.
The best way to contact me is via email: [email protected]
If you like this book, please check out the other books in this series or read my Forget the Zombies series, starting with Forget the Alamo.
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