Land of the Dead (Book 1): Infected

by Campbell, Cian

  “But Dad…I can help!”

  “You could help, but I don’t want you to. I want you to stay safe.”

  “But it will all be easier if you have more people with you…and you’ll be safer.”

  “I’ll stay safe, critter. I promise.”

  With that, Dillon finished his third glass of water and headed out the door, where he found Talbot waiting for him.

  “We start at the top and clear unit by unit, just like earlier. Where are all of the people from your building?”

  “We put them in the rec rooms on the ground floor. It’s crowded, but we figured we wouldn’t move them into units until everything was clear.”

  “Good. Let’s get this over with so we can get some sleep.”

  “Sleep? What’s that?” Talbot said, laughing. “Seriously, though, we need to come up with a watch schedule for the night.”

  “Yes, we do. And we need to bring everyone up from the first floor, lock down the elevators and lock the stairwells as well.” Dillon opened the stairwell door and Talbot began to clear. Talbot cleared up while Dillon watched down.

  “Good call, Dillon. I’ll get with Rick and have him do it all, after we clear the place. Come to think of it, we can probably have other people take watch tonight. We’re going to need our rest, and they won’t need guns to do the job if we’re all safe on the upper floors.”

  “Agreed. Now, didn’t you say something about getting this over with and sleeping?”

  Talbot laughed. “Well, here we are, the fourth floor. Let’s do it.”

  The fourth floor cleared fairly quickly. Only seven of the units were occupied, and everyone was healthy. The third floor rapidly became problematic. Dillon knocked on a door, and heard something slam into it from the other side. Talbot, standing to the side, called for Dillon to step back, and did so a little too loudly. One of the infected came through the window at Talbot, but tripped over the lip of the window and brought the curtains with it.

  “Get back!” Talbot said again, backpedaling. Dillon backpedaled as well, and then there was the sound of shattering glass behind them. Dillon couldn’t see the curtain covered target well enough to aim for a vital spot, so he flipped the weapon to automatic and fired a short burst at the center mass. It did the trick. Dillon could only hope that Talbot knew that his job was to cover the rear, or he would have a target on him any second. He heard Talbot fire a few shots in rapid succession and knew he was covered.

  The door in front splintered as an infected Todd Madera ran towards Talbot. Dillon fired a quick burst, but the target had enough momentum to crash into Talbot, taking him down. Dillon pivoted towards Talbot, stepping back so that he could view both danger areas as much as possible. Talbot had a family. A wife and….two kids.

  Talbot was scrambling to get away from Madera, who was experiencing his death throes on top of him. Another target presented itself at the window that Talbot had been covering, and Dillon fired another burst, dropping it before spinning around to face the broken door. Just as he did, a small figure ran at him, snarling. It was Tommy Madera, and he was still wearing footy pajamas.

  Dillon kicked out at Tommy, pushing Tommy almost a dozen feet back with his boot. Tommy made a wheezing noise as he impacted the concrete wall next to the door, then began to stand immediately. Dillon fired another burst, saw a shadow in the doorway, and fired yet again. He then turned, put a single round through Todd Madera’s head, and checked on Talbot. He was okay, but definitely wired from the experience. Then, Dillon set about moving the bodies back into the house by wrapping them in the curtains. After that, he sat down on one of Madera’s dining room chairs and sobbed quietly for a few minutes as Talbot watched the door. Then, having let it out of his system, Dillon stood up, squeezed Talbot’s shoulder, and they continued the clearing for two more hours.

  Dillon expected his sleep to be fitful. After all, he was still bruised from being shot and stressed with the burden of protecting the greater Embassy community. In the end, however, he slept like a log, and Hannah confessed over morning coffee that she had experienced difficulty waking him up at all that morning. It was 10 AM on Saturday. Dillon decided to give the satellite phone another try. Bryce picked up.

  “Bryce, how’s it going up there?”

  “Terrible. We had to button up last night after a group of locals scaled the walls.”

  “Were they infected? The infected don’t seem to be great climbers.”

  “No. Just locals trying to get away from the infected. Dillon, there’s thousands of infected out there. For all I know, it could be millions. The whole city seems to be overrun. I don’t think we’re getting out.”

  “How are you on food and water?”

  “For as few people as we have up here, we have almost a year. The Ambassador is talking about taking in more locals, though I’ve convinced him not to let them inside the Embassy buildings. I also convinced him to share no more than 50% of our food supplies.”

  “Well, that’s something. Have you ever considered not listening to the Ambassador?”

  “He’s the boss. That’s how we work. If not, what’s the point? That being said, I’m putting you in charge of everything down in Maadi. The only person you’re going to listen to is you.”

  “I understand, but what about the Director of USAID?”

  “We have cameras in his villa. He’s dead. It looks like looters got to him. Hell, Dillon, it looks like the looters were police officers.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “They knocked on the gate and asked to speak with him. When his guards opened the door…well, you know the rest.”

  “Shit. That could be a problem.”

  “It could. Watch your back.”

  “I will. We’re trying to get the armored vans here tonight. Without them, I don’t see much of a chance of getting people to the airport. Hell, we lost one just getting from one housing compound to the other.”

  “And how many people can you transport in the vans at a go.”

  “Rick said 52 if we pack them tight.”

  “And how many people do you have down there?”

  “One hundred and eighty eight.”

  “Damn. Dillon, trust me on this one – make sure you get Hannah and Mikey out on the first trip. I would seriously consider getting yourself out as well.”

  “I’m the last one out, Bryce. That’s how we work. If not…”

  “Yeah, I understand. Keep your head down, Dillon.”

  “You too, Bryce.”

  Much of the day was spent inventorying provisions. Everyone was pitching in to make sure the displaced Americans had food, water, and a place to stay. It didn’t look like they were going to have to break out the MREs anytime soon, but the city water had shut down and the generators had finally ran out of diesel. Dillon thanked God that it was not summer in Egypt.

  Dillon planned his trip to the USAID compound. He was going to need five people to move the vans back to the apartment complex.

  “Rick, how many armored Suburbans do we have at USAID?”

  “I don’t know. Between Five and Seven.”

  “Okay, we plan on seven, because I would hate to leave an armored vehicle there if we can put eight more people in it. Seven more vehicles would allow us to get a total of 108 people to the airport in one trip.”

  “But didn’t you say we couldn’t get more than 48 on a C-130?”

  “We can get 92 on if we reduce luggage to a single backpack per passenger.”

  “Do you think the plane will show up?”

  “I think the first one will. After that, I think that the infected AND the healthy will be crawling all over that airport. I need you, Doc, and Hannah on the first plane out.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m considering it. I really am. None of it matters if we don’t get those vehicles. Do you have the master list of our folk?”

  “Right here.” Rick slid a list of names, written on college-ruled paper, across the table to Dillo
n.

  “Okay, this isn’t going to be fun. We need to highlight the names of everyone with weapons training in green, and anyone with essential skills in orange. Anyone with health issues that is a liability gets the yellow highlighter. Get Doc to help with that last list.”

  “How do I find all of this out?”

  “Ask. Don’t take anything for granted. The housewife could have firearms training. Okay?”

  “Yeah, I’ll ask. What do you consider essential skills?”

  “Things that help people survive the apocalypse – doctors and nurses, welders and carpenters, anyone who grew up on a farm….”

  “Dillon, there aren’t a lot of people like that in the State Department.”

  “I know, but there are a few. Nina Sobowski was a medic in the army. I’m betting a couple of the Facilities guys are welders or carpenters or architects. I think at least two of them have an engineering degree.”

  “Alright, I’ll have it to you by dark.”

  “I hope so, we only have so many candles around here.”

  “What time are we leaving tonight?”

  “We’ll go after midnight. Right now, I need to figure out how we’re going to get eleven passengers in my Suburban.”

  “That’s easy, you don’t. We only need three more suburbans.”

  “Huh?”

  “Four vans will hold 52 passengers. Four Suburbans, including yours, will hold another 28 passengers. That’s 80 passengers, plus the eight drivers. That’s 88 people. You only need to fit EIGHT people in your suburban tonight, because you only need to get the four buses and three additional Suburbans.”

  “That would be easier, but still scrunched. Plus, we will still need the eight drivers to turn around and come back here to pick up the second group if the military says they’re sending another plane.”

  “Dillon, I doubt those drivers are going to agree to drive back here when they are staring at an open C-130. I mean, I will, and you will, but it’s not even an easy choice for us. We’ve figured out that there might not be a second plane, so I’m sure everyone else has, or will.”

  “Damn. You’re right. I hate to say this, but we have to be more selective on our list.”

  “More selective? That’s going to be an issue. I already have people saying we should go by rank in the foreign service.”

  Dillon ran his hands through his hair. “That’s not going to happen. The most useful will get the first seats. The world will need craftsmen, soldiers, and teachers more than it will need office managers. Too many people are managers and too few are leaders, Rick.”

  “You’re probably right, but let’s save room for a few managers on that list, or you leader types won’t know how to implement anything more complex than breakfast.”

  Dillon laughed. It felt good to laugh. “You have a point. That’s why you’re going on the first plane.”

  “Nope. I need to stay here to give everyone not on the first plane some hope. Besides, I’m working on an alternate evacuation plan.”

  “I’d love to hear it.”

  “We need a riverboat.”

  “You’re crazy.” was Dillon’s gut instinct. There were dozens of flat-bottomed river boats on the Nile. Some were used as hotels, some provided cruises up or down river, but most were used as floating restaurants.

  “No. I’m not. I took a river cruise from Cairo to Alexandria last summer. Some of the larger river boats can hold over a hundred people, and they can make the trip in a day. The Alexandria airport is next to the river. If we can’t get a second flight to meet us there, we can always try to find something that is seaworthy enough to get us to Cyprus or Crete.”

  “I still think you’re crazy.”

  “Hey, it’s all we have to work with. You don’t seem to have any better ideas.”

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t an option. I like crazy.”

  “Good. I’ll have to work out some details and borrow your binoculars to scout out the river.”

  “I’ll come up with a plan to divert the infected to other areas. Maybe we can come up with some homemade smoke grenades or noise makers to keep them off of your route. It’s only three blocks. In the meantime, Rick, you rework that list and I’ll figure out how to get those vehicles from the USAID compound.”

  “Gotcha.”

  Dillon did not like the crew that he was forced to assemble. The good news is that they all had driver’s licenses. The good news ended there. Only three of the eight had any experience with firearms, and that included him. Of the other two, one had served in the Army as a chaplain’s assistant and the other had hunted a few times. Dillon wanted people like Talbot, but instead was getting people like Lauren James.

  Lauren James was thirty years old, and this was her second overseas tour with the State Department. She was a Public Affairs Officer, and typically arranged small public relations events for the Ambassador and Deputy Chief of Mission. She was pretty, had a Bachelor’s in Political Science and a Master’s in International Relations from Georgetown. She had worked as an intern for one year on Capitol Hill before joining the State Department, and had served two years in Greece. She had attended two State Department language schools, each for thirty six weeks. The first had been for Greek, the second for Arabic. She considered herself an up-and-coming professional on the front line of U.S. diplomacy. In short, she was a privileged academic with no real experience in life-or-death situations. Though highly intelligent and educated, Lauren lacked common sense and street smarts. She abhorred violence, and thought that there was a peaceful way to resolve everything. She thought that people who were trained to do violent things were obviously less intelligent than she was, and generally looked down on law enforcement and military personnel as if they were members of a lower caste.

  Dillon tried not to stereotype people. He tried not to underestimate them. Looking out at the group that was coming with him to drive four vans and three Suburbans he saw two partial sheep and five total sheep. He was not impressed. Had he not worried about looters, possibly ex-police and ex-military looters, he would have taken Rick and Talbot with him. He would have Nina Sobowski with him. But then, who would be left at the compound to protect everyone else? So, Dillon spent a few minutes showing Marty Crenshaw, the ex-chaplain’s assistant turned Economic Policy Officer, and Donnie Anders, the southern boy who had become a Consular Officer, how to use MP-5s. Dillon spent another ten minutes going over the plan, with Lauren James second guessing him at least three times. Finally, Dillon asked her if she wanted to plan the operation herself. That shut her up enough for him to finish, but probably didn’t win her loyalty. Dillon considered his snappy comment to have been a leadership failure, and made sure to apologize to Lauren before they left. She nodded and mumbled, which wasn’t a good sign.

  As it grew dark, there was a one or two hour rush of activity. It seemed like every survivor had waited until dark and was now starting to move or loot or raid their neighbor. Gunfire was sporadic, as was the sound of breaking glass. Then, after a bit, it seemed like everyone had either accomplished their nightly goal or stopped trying. Ever patient, Dillon radioed for Rick and Talbot to quietly open the gate and then asked Lauren to slowly drive, lights off, onto the street.

  Dillon was in the front passenger seat. Marty and Donnie were in positions to open the left and right rear doors and exit quickly. They both had MP-5s with homemade silencers, but neither had loaded them yet, though they carried several magazines of ammunition on their persons. That was Dillon’s way of preventing accidental discharge of the weapons inside the vehicle. The drive was….immediately challenging.

  “What’s that up ahead?” asked Dillon. He immediately felt the Suburban begin to accelerate, and his foot felt for the imaginary brake pedal as Lauren plowed through an impromptu barricade that some locals had hastily assembled. She didn’t flinch, and she didn’t change course when the locals threw rocks and even fired a few homemade shotguns at the vehicle.

  Dillon decided then and ther
e that it was time for him to immediately reassess Lauren James.

  The rest of the trip went smoothly enough. There were a few bumps along the way, literally. When a small group of infected was attracted by the noise of the Suburban, as happened more than once, Lauren would grit her teeth and drive right through (or over) the group. It didn’t matter if it was a large or small group. It didn’t matter if it was men or women or children. She just drove. They made it to USAID in record time.

  “Load up.”

  Dillon heard Marty and Donnie load up. It didn’t sound crisp and professional, but it sounded like it had been done right.

  “Hop out and secure the perimeter. You both watch the street while I get the gate open”

  Dillon watched as the two men did their job fairly well. Granted, there weren’t any targets, but they were conducting themselves well. Dillon quickly moved to the USAID gate and found it had been locked, against all regulation, with chains and padlocks.

  “Shit….”

  Dillon briefly wished he had bolt cutters. Shooting locks didn’t work like it did in the movies. Most of the time, it just jammed the lock in whatever position it was when you shot it. That usually meant jamming it in the locked position, which was less than helpful. Dillon looked at the front windshield of the Suburban and shrugged in confusion.

  “Let me ram it.” Lauren said.

  “That would be a very bad idea, Lauren. Chances are it will make a huge amount of noise and damage our vehicle.”

  “So what? All we have to do is get another Suburban. There are extras here.”

  Damn. She was smart.

  “It’s still too loud.” offered Donnie. “I suggest we use the jack to break the chain.”

  Dillon was quickly reevaluating all of the Foreign Service Officers. They were smart, motivated, surprisingly cool under pressure, and most importantly resilient.