Containment_A Zombie Novel

by B. A. Hippsley

  “How you want us to do this, guns in the front and unarmed guys at the rear?”

  Austen Colt had a good point. He was an experienced man who knew how to use his AK47. He was wearing a Russian ammunition vest full of magazines for his AK. It amused Benteen to take the rise outta him for having a name like Colt but always using Russian stuff. But he was one of the few men Benteen trusted around firearms. The rest had chrome plated pimp guns.

  “What you brought that Commie piece of crap with you for, Austin?”

  “This baby can outshoot, outrange and outdo that M16 of yours any damn day of the week ‘T’ and you know it.”

  Benteen looked at Colt and suppressed a smile. There were very few people who could get away with using his middle name and less who knew what the ‘T’ stood for. As Eddy Joe formed the group into the skirmish line, Benteen gave them the last instructions.

  “Listen up. We gonna hold this formation the whole time. Nobody shoots nothing, ‘less I tell ‘em first. We looking for tracks, any tracks, so keep your eyes open.”

  Holding up his hand, Benteen ordered the group forward into the dusty heat of the midday sun.

  ****

  Ramon Tuco took a long drink from his water bottle. He was hot and tired. They’d spent almost two hours searching for this Firth’s guy. He was thankful for wearing his old boots and not the new pair his wife had bought him for his birthday. Firth had insisted they search for this phantom but now everybody had had enough. Benteen had finally called a halt and now his troops were back at the starting point, much the worse for wear. Benteen and Eddy Joe were a few feet away from Ramon but he could clearly hear that neither man was happy about the diversion.

  “What a total waste of God damn time.” Benteen thrust his canteen back into his back pack. “A God damn goose chase!”

  “Reckon I agree with ya. I walked my feet off, but I never seen nothing up there.”

  Most of Benteen’s search team were clustered around the two deputies. Ramon agreed that it had been a needless waste of time and effort, but only Benteen and Eddy Joe were prepared to say so. A few feet away, he could see Firth and Murray Scott talking; Firth stopped and looked over at Benteen.

  “Maybe there weren’t no tracks ‘cause there weren’t anything to leave ‘em in the first place.”

  “You got a problem there Gerard?”

  Benteen turned to square up to Firth, who was now standing a few feet away, flanked by Scott and McDowall. The hum of conversation ceased immediately, everybody awaiting Benteen’s response.

  “Nope, but maybe Jim-boy made a mistake – happens all the time.”

  “I saw him too.”

  “Yeah well, then maybe you made a mistake too.” It was not in Benteen’s nature to back down.

  Scott tilted his head to one side, shifting his body as he did so. “Sounds like you’re calling the Mayor a liar there, deputy?”

  Ramon Tuco’s eyes darted from one man to the next as the mood changed from tense to volatile. It was well known that Scott was one of Peter Firth’s strong arms. Tuco had seen him beat up a guy once outside Barany’s Bar; he was the kinda person who got off on that thing, and he was built for it. A shock of cropped white hair crowned his boxer-like features and a broken nose completed his harsh appearance. Standing in his tan body warmer with his heavily tattooed arms folded across his chest, he looked every bit as mean as Benteen.

  Benteen walked right up to Firth. “I ain’t calling no one a liar. The word I used was mistake.” He turned to Scott. “Look it up, if you can read…”

  Colt stepped up to Benteen. “Gerard’s right, stress can make folks see all sorts of things, things that ain’t always there.”

  “Gee, that’s just swell. Not only do you think I made the whole damn thing up, you think I’m crazy as well!”

  “That ain’t what I’m saying here. We spent all that time tramping about and we never saw no evidence. Not one scrap.”

  “Well, maybe you’re just not as good a tracker as you think you are.”

  Ramon winced; he was sure that if looks could kill then Firth would be in a pine box. Benteen took two steps forward and stopped directly in front of Firth. Just like a crap game, everyone was waiting to see how this would play out. To the left of Benteen, Ramon could see Boulle inching his way forward. He was looking intently at Scott; it was the kind of look that went right through a man. There was unstated business between these two.

  “If there’d been anything to find I’d have found it. And we wouldn’t have wasted all that time, like a bunch of idiots.”

  “Think I don’t want to look for my boy or something?”

  “Guys, guys, let’s simmer down a notch here shall we?”

  Preacher Goodman moved briskly in between the two, placing his hands on each man’s arms. He smiled broadly, then turned to Benteen.

  “Gerard, now wouldn’t you agree that if whatever or whoever we’ve been looking for went into the stream, then we’d have no tracks, right?”

  “Sure, but I didn’t see no prints to begin with.”

  “Fair enough, but with a bunch of guys stomping about down there, is it possible that any tracks could have been destroyed?”

  “Well...I guess...”

  “Tony, since tracks could have been destroyed, then it may have been impossible for Gerard to find any, agree?”

  Firth rubbed his fingers over his mouth and shot a sideways glance at McDowall before nodding to Benteen.

  “Yeah, yeah that’s possible.”

  A buzz of chatter erupted around the small group as people nodded in agreement. McDowall placed his hand on Firth’s shoulder and gave a cheerful grin and Scott took a few steps back. When Ramon looked to see where Boulle had gone, he’d already melted back into the throng. However, Goodman had not yet finished and called out in a loud voice.

  “Gerard, we don’t want to forget what we’re all doing up here and Tony best remember that Gerard’s up here looking for your boy.”

  Benteen and Firth acknowledged each other and the respective groups made their way back to the vehicles. Ramon walked alongside the two lawmen; he’d a feeling that things were far from resolved, then he heard Eddy Joe voice his opinion.

  “Well that sure cleared up that, I’d say?”

  “That what you think?”

  Benteen stopped dead and slowly turned to look at the other lawman.

  “I smell a rat, a two legged bald rat. That fink is up to something, I just don’t know what.”

  “Aw, come on man, Preacher’s already said about the tracks and...”

  Benteen gave him a scornful retort.

  “Your Momma drop you on your head or something? Nuts to the tracks! I’m talking about that fool goose chase he lead us on.”

  “I don’t get you.”

  “Firth didn’t want us back on that search. Each time I said about getting back on the case, he come up with reason after reason not to. He was all about finding that thing. Don’t you see?”

  “No, I don’t see.” Colt sent Benteen a bewildered look. “I don’t get the connection here. If there was a guy up there and he just wandered off, that doesn’t mean he wasn’t there ever. What if we just couldn’t find him?”

  “Bull! Brad said those things hunt on sight or sound. They ain’t the fastest of critters, so it can’t have got far. Now, all us crashing around is sure gonna bring some attention.”

  “What you saying there, he was more interested in that guy than his son?”

  Benteen jabbed his finger at Eddy Joe. “Like I said, something’s not right here.”

  To Ramon nothing would have been more important than finding your own flesh and blood.

  “If it was my boy up here, I would not waste my time on a crazy guy, I tell you this.”

  Benteen looked at Colt and Eddy Joe then touched the brim of his hat and winked at Ramon.

  “Now there’s a man who knows the real deal when he sees it.”

  Ramon Tuco clambered aboard the Jeep with
Preacher Goodman. Maybe those devils and the blackout were not the only things to worry about.

  ****

  Eastman walked up the steps to the solid wooden door and rang Peter Firth’s doorbell. As he waited for the answer he looked about: just an ordinary detached town house. A dilapidated cinder block wall enclosed the overgrown lawn and a small stone path led to the double garage. An ordinary house, like any other, but bought from the dirtiest money you could imagine.

  Eastman caught sight of Mrs Grison’s twitching curtains; he smiled and tried the door again. He heard the latch scrape back as the door opened a fraction. He recognised the figure of Mary Firth standing just inside the gloomy hallway.

  “Mary, can I talk to Peter?”

  “He’s not here.”

  “Can I come in? I need to know where he’s at, please.”

  The door opened just wide enough for Eastman to pass. Mary stood aside, shutting the door behind her. Her thin frame was topped by long straggly auburn hair that looked as if it needed a good brush. The light blue dress she was wearing had seen much better days, like its owner.

  “I said, he’s not here and I don’t know where he is.”

  As she stepped into the light he caught sight of her swollen lip; it infuriated him but he was here on other business. They moved into the sparsely furnished living area. Two brown leather chairs occupied one side of the small room, a damaged wall cupboard on the other side. The tiny portable TV seemed out of place on the huge glass fronted, wooden cabinet. Eastman noted the fist marks in the inner door and the broken photo frame in the next room.

  “You know Mary; you really ought to have those stairs or that cupboard door fixed. You know the one that keeps on whacking you? I’m darn good at DIY, perhaps I can fix it?”

  “What’s he done this time?”

  “He cleaned out Wal-Mart and darn well near caused a riot.”

  Eastman set down his hat on the TV.

  “I need to find him.”

  “What’s that to do with me?”

  “Mary, if things turn bad here, then people won’t get the stuff they need, ‘cause Peter’s bought it all up. Folk are gonna be forced to buy it from him. What if they don’t have the money?”

  “He’s out till all hours with that whore.”

  She walked to the window and gazed out.

  “I don’t know where he is anymore.”

  He caught a glimpse of the marks on her wrist. He’d known Mary since college and it pained him to see her like this. But they’d been down this same road before; she had to be the one to act.

  “If you know where he is, tell me. With all that stuff, he’s gonna hold the town to ransom. Things are gonna get out of hand. People are gonna suffer. Do you want that?”

  “Why don’t you try his girlfriend’s house? I’m sure they’re real snug. Now please leave.”

  She opened the living room door and gestured him to leave. Eastman nodded his head, collected his hat and moved towards the hallway. He’d have to find Firth on his own.

  “Brad, wait! He’s gone to that lock up Barney uses; he went there with a truck, just now. Don’t let on, or he’ll kill me!”

  Eastman turned around and reached out, taking Mary’s sunglasses off. Her tearful, blackened eyes looked sadly back at him. He held her hand and she let out a painful yelp. Eastman clenched his fists and cursed under his breath.

  “Why the hell do you put up with all this crap? Just say the word and he’s gone. He’s gonna hurt you real bad one day.”

  She lowered her eyes and for the second time, Eastman headed for the front door, his heart leaden with sadness.

  “He’s my husband.”

  Eastman shut his eyes and sighed deeply as he opened the door and stepped out into the bright sunshine.

  ****

  Leona Arcado neatly folded the hand towels and placed them on top of the wicker basket outside the bathroom. She was in her thirties and a slim, attractive woman. She normally wore her dark brown hair up but today she’d allowed it to flow over her shoulders.

  She looked across at Tony’s closed bedroom door; it was best to leave him rest, Vinnie had said. It was all right for her to miss a shift, but for him to miss one was a sin, or so he’d made out. After all that had happened at the health center, home was the best place for Tony.

  All this talk of infection had done a good job of scaring people half to death. So she’d rung Molly at the Post Office and told her she’d not be coming to work that day. She looked at her watch; it was time for something to eat. Leona walked into the kitchen to make her son a bite to eat.

  She liked the idea of the bungalow being all on the same level. Although small, Vinnie preferred the term ‘compact.’ The wood finished kitchen was as perfect as you’d expect from a husband who was a carpenter and a good one at that. She opened up the fridge and selected one of Tony’s favourite pizzas, Hawaiian, with a thick base. She picked off the mushrooms; Tony hated them. He said it made the food taste ‘funny’ and for years he’d believed his pizza came devoid of mushrooms. She tossed the offending vegetables in the trash and slid the pizza into the oven, selecting the right temperature before sitting down to wait for it to cook. She looked out of the window across the street and watched as Marko Vega picked up his upturned trash-can, his trash strewn across the sidewalk. He’d just retired after years in the bank and had too much time on his hands. He blamed cats. He always blamed cats but this had been Robert Pool, out of his skull last night. Perhaps she should have told Vega but she liked Robert and he could do without the hassle.

  Leona looked away from the show; she had other things on her mind. She was worried about the effect things were having on Tony. He’d become withdrawn and for the last few days he’d just holed up in his room. Then there’d been those freaky dreams he’d told them about; Vinnie had played them down but she could see they had gotten to the boy.

  When Britney and Marv had come to call, he’d perked up a lot and it had been good to hear them laughing. It was disgraceful the way Mandy Galway had treated the kids in JM’s, sure the woman was overwrought, but she’d no cause to behave like that.

  The aroma of freshly cooked pizza signalled that everything was ready. She took the piping hot pizza from the oven and placed it on a tray, with a glass of cola and some cutlery and set off for the bedroom.

  She called out to her son and then placed the tray on the floor in front of his door, before swinging the door open. She entered with the food tray and called out again. Tony lay on his side, facing the still drawn curtains. As she placed the tray on the bedside table, she was tempted to leave him sleep but he needed to eat, even if she had to feed him herself. She reached out and gently shook his arm, then once more with added effort. His head lolled back towards her and she screamed at the pools of blood gathered in the corners of his eyes.

  ****

  Eastman sat in his patrol car watching out from the side lane leading from Wilmot Road. The locality was a nest of lock-ups and garages, even at this time of day hardly anybody was about. The area had once been a hub of activity, with trees and the smell of freshly cut grass: that had all long since disappeared. Now the grass was overgrown and many of the lots were vacant. Most of the people he remembered as a kid had died, whilst a lot of other people had moved to look for work. With the street lamps out, the place was a virtual no-go zone after dark.

  Wilmot Road lay directly in front of him and just beyond that was lot thirty-four. This belonged to Barney Branigan. It had originally been just a small compound with a garage, but at some time or other, Branigan had acquired Matt Henson’s lock-up also. The whole area was now enclosed by a high wall, leading on to the sidewalk. Just above the wall, Eastman could clearly see the white roof of a large delivery van. As he watched, the van periodically bobbed up and down, an indication that the vehicle was being unloaded or even loaded up.

  Aldo Kolp came into view, carrying a six pack of beer. Kolp was one of Peter Firth’s heavies; he was the kind of guy that
looked suspicious even going into his own house. He was oblivious of Eastman and entered the compound via a large, brown, wooden door. Eastman reached down between his seat and the car door and picked up his nightstick. It was a piece of kit he seldom carried, let alone used, but it was a useful midway point between bare knuckles and a bullet.

  As he made his way across the street, Eastman kept one beady eye on the compound; the last thing he wanted was for someone to spot him now. He stopped by the brown door and listened to the subdued voices inside. He could hear two voices; Kolp had to be one, he couldn’t make out the other. Eastman gently pushed the unlocked door open and went inside.

  Just to the left of the door stood Kolp and another member of team Firth – Don Breck. Breck always reminded Eastman of a large Forrest Gump but he had no notable track record and was largely regarded as the outfit’s driver. Both men had their backs to him as they drank their beer. The whole lock-up was piled high with Wal-Mart products – everything from band-aids to power tools.

  “You boys got yourselves one hell of a stock-take going on here.”

  Eastman gave a wry smile as the two goons spun around in total surprise.

  He walked further into the compound, locking his thumbs behind his large silver belt buckle as he did so. Barney Branigan’s large brutish frame stepped out from behind the truck.

  Although way past his prime, he was still someone to watch out for. His hard green eyes fixed on Eastman.

  “We got a bill of sales for this whole pile…” He walked up to the others.

  “…and this is private property, Sheriff.”

  “That an invite for me to come back with a search warrant there Barney? ‘Cause if it is, then this is gonna be the start of one bad day for you.”

  “Ain’t nothing wrong here.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Eastman made his way to the blockhouse. “Now, mind telling me where Peter Firth’s at?”

  “Ain’t seen him all day.”

  Branigan blocked Eastman’s path and stood in front of the door. “Like I said, this is private property.”