Dust of the Devil's Land

by Bryan Killian

  Sly inches the forklift forward, easing down on the accelerator. The box begins leaning forward, picking up the rear of the forklift. Sly eases the speed, feeling the rear drop. Though the box has moved only a few feet, it has attracted attention. Sly can feel the front of the Conex box dipping again as the front wheels of the forklift reach the mouth of the driveway. She raises the box slightly, keeping it from dragging. The front wheels level out on the street, allowing her to accelerate. She turns the wheel sharply to the left. The right end of the box swings in a wide path, striking down multiple zombies, grinding them along the pavement. Sly straightens the wheel and wedges a pry bar down onto the gas pedal. She steps down on the right side of the forklift then jumps. The forklift is traveling 4 mph, so she doesn’t fall, but hitting the pavement still hurt like a motherfucker.

  Craig follows Sly, turning right as directed, but stops. Shifting the truck in reverse, he follows closely behind Sly. He glances at Papi expecting some push back. Papi doesn’t say a word as he glances between the side mirror and out the windshield. “Come on, come on, let’s go,” Craig says anxiously. Just then he sees Sly jump from the side of the moving forklift. “Fuck!” Craig yells, exiting the truck.

  “Oh shit!” Papi exclaims, exiting the other side, following Craig’s lead. Both men run while firing their weapons. Papi’s 12-gauge cuts down two zombies closing in on Sly.

  “Hurry up, Sly we have to go.” Craig is yelling and waving Sly along, then his eyes grow wide. He takes a shooters stance. “Down!”

  Sly quickly finds she can’t run with her bruised back and throbbing left leg. She draws her sidearm but refrains from firing, not wanting to waste rounds. She estimates the distance between her and the closest zombies, deciding to take her chances retreating. She turns, seeing Yonkey and Roger standing in the bed of the truck. Yonkey is aiming his rifle directly at her. She screams without even thinking, “What the FUCK!” Her world is about to end in her eyes, causing time to slow to a crawl, then Craig and Papi appear from the sides of the truck and Craig is motioning for her to get down. She sees Craig raise his .40 and drops to the ground. Every instinct tells her to look behind her but she leaves her trust in Craig and Papi, never turning. She holds her hands over her head, listening to the volley of gunshots. She hears Papi’s shotgun and other weapons firing, then a wet grotesque thump next to her. Cool sprinkles fall across her face like light rain. She opens her eyes looking at a man who was once an accountant for the county, lying lifeless without most of his head. The bottom half of his face remains, with his blackened tongue protruding from what’s left of his mouth.

  “Fuck this.” Sly stands, starting her trek for the truck again, accompanied by Craig this time.

  “Thought we we’re going to lose you there,” Craig says, placing his right arm around Sly’s waist in an effort to assist her.

  Papi is two steps ahead, walking backwards. “Runners, more than one. Let’s go.” He fires two rounds, but the buckshot spread is too thin. He moves to Sly’s other side, helping carry her.

  Sly slides into the backseat next to the still-unconscious Adam. She lifts his head slightly, then places it in her lap. Papi climbs into the front seat, followed by Craig, pulling his door shut with a resounding thud.

  Craig peers into the rearview mirror and gasps. “Where the fuck did all the runners come from?”

  “Don’t know, don’t care. Let’s go,” Sly answers, grimacing from the pain radiating up her back.

  “10-4,” Craig responds, pressing down on the accelerator. The truck lurches forward and dies. Craig fumbles with the key then turns it, listening to the engine turn over and over.

  CHAPTER 42.

  False Panel

  Jack wakes to the sound of absolutely nothing. The silence of the dead world is unnerving, eerie and sends a chill up his spine. The closet is dark, indicating night has fallen. He watches shapes dance on the ceiling purely from his own imagination, or so he thinks. In reality, he can’t tell what is real, fake, or a dream. He looks for Julia, her ghost, or just a vivid memory. When that fails he looks for his son, knowing he won’t find him, but there is comfort in the search. His back pops multiple times as he stretches. He slowly recalls why he is in the master bedroom’s closet, the loss of his phone with all the electronic memories of his family. Why am I trying to survive this? What’s left? He stands looking out into the dark master bedroom, anger building against the man who slept there before him. He looks down at the hazy outline of his left hand missing two fingers. “I’m gonna burn this fucking place to the ground. Do you hear me, Julia? I’m gonna burn it.” He stares into the darkness, hoping for a glimpse of her ghost.

  A minute later Jack walks into the master bedroom. His thoughts settle as he remembers he can turn lights on. He feels along the wall for the bank of switches, turning on the bedroom and walk-in closet lights. In the closet he studies the empty shelves and overturned drawers, then spots it. A back wooden panel situated behind hanging shirts is slightly ajar. He steps over, sliding his right hand along the edge of the panel, finding an edge. He pulls it open. “Let’s hold off on burning this place down, Julia. Things are looking up.”

  Behind the false panel rests four deep shelves and a small wall safe. Jack sees his old iPhone on one of the shelves. He snatches the phone and cradles it, feeling tears well up, before returning to the control center, where he searches for an old iPhone charger he saw earlier. He finds the charger and walks to the bank of monitors where a power strip is fastened to the wall. He plugs the charger in and slips the connector into the bottom of his phone. He stares at the dead screen for what seems an eternity, then the phone vibrates softly as the Apple logo appears on the screen. Shuddering with relief, Jack rests the phone on a small shelf before returning to the bedroom.

  The remaining shelves hold various treasures. Just above the safe sits a humidor with a glass top. Jack pulls the humidor out, evaluating the cigars inside. He’s not familiar with the cigars, has no clue if they’re quality or not, besides, Julia never approved of smoking. Next to the humidor four different flasks of various sizes rest, including Jack’s. He picks up each one, checking for contents, and finding all filled to the top. The next shelf contains a plush caddy holding several pairs of expensive looking cuff links, tie clips and two watches, none of which interest Jack. On the shelf that held his phone he finds several DVD’s in clear sleeves. All are home movies so Jack leaves them be. He has no intention on watching the man in white’s home movies. Bad karma.

  Jack studies the safe for a few minutes, wondering what the man in white could possibly be hiding inside. The safe has a small keypad and a handle, and is locked. He looks over the keypad, deciding whatever it holds isn’t worth the effort. Jack grabs the humidor and the four flasks, carrying them out to the control center. He plops down in the office chair, kicking his feet up on the desk. Sitting near the edge of the desk rests a small remote control. Jack reaches for it, somewhat surprised he hasn’t noticed it before. He points the remote at the bank of three monitors and presses the power button waking up all three monitors. Jack sits watching the outside world, noticing a little movement in cameras 6 and 7. One camera is facing down the street from what he guesses is the peak of the house, while the other is positioned above the garage door, covering the home’s short driveway.

  Jack counts three zombies wandering near the house. The diversion/booby trap the man in white had set proved successful in clearing most of the zombies. Jack can’t tell if the remaining three are part of the original group he encountered or if they just arrived. Either way, he can’t figure out how they know he’s there. He sits contemplating his next move, even though he’s tired of escaping, finding he just has to repeat the same process with no payoff. He shakes his head and looks about the room.

  Smiling to himself, Jack walks to the coffee pot. Soon the wonderful smell of coffee brewing fills the room. He retrieves his iPhone and the charger, knowing the phone won’t hold a charge for long. On the lock screen
is a picture of Ronan running with a long multicolored kite trying to take flight. The coffee maker beeps, indicating the brewing process is complete. Jack fills the same RABA cup. He props the phone on its side, pushes the photo button, then chooses the slide show option. The first of the 763 photos appears, slowly fading to the next.

  Jack sits with his fresh cup of coffee, watching memories appear one by one. Julia smiling with Ronan standing next to her at his pre-school graduation, Ronan running into the warm waters of Whiskeytown Lake, Ronan peacefully sleeping on the living room couch. The pictures bring Jack back to happier times. He leans forward in the chair, watching intently until flickering lights in the master bedroom draw his attention.

  “What the hell?” Jack stands as everything goes dark. “Shit.”

  CHAPTER 43.

  Underground

  Phillip paces back and forth, studying the detailed electronic map of North America. The map is crisscrossed with small red, yellow and green lines. Over the last two weeks most of the green lines have turned to yellow and then red. Significant parts of the mid-west, including most of Chicago, Milwaukee, St. Louis and Kansas City, now sit completely red, while parts of southern California, and major metropolitan areas of the East Coast, show residual green. Small pockets of green are scattered throughout the states, as well as parts of southern Canada. Mexico was lost to solid red early on in the event. Phillip walks along the monitors, knowing green indicates functioning power sources, providing access to possible information or communication feeds. Once a strong green line is located, the worm will attempt to make contact with whatever source is on the other end. Early in the event the worm found hundreds of pockets of survivors, though the architects, Phillip Lodge and Jason Dix, were not privy to the Renaissance City plan the DOD initiated. Over the course of a month nearly one million innocent lives were extinguished. Phillip and Dix had no idea their program was primarily being used for hunt and destroy.

  Once Phillip and Dix discovered the government’s true intentions for the use of their program, they were presented with a simple option: die instantly, or continue managing the worm. They were told Renaissance City had failed and that their creation would be used to search out the remaining pockets of survivors to send them help and extract them, if needed, to a safe zone. Seven safe zones were established within the United States, including one in Hawaii. Rumors of a safe zone in Montreal were also floating around, though Phillip had yet to speak with anybody from around there, and he spoke perfect French.

  Phillip and Dix received the promise of new lives once the event ended. They didn’t let their anger get the best of them. They agreed to terms, feeling they could do some good for the people of the United States. The real number of casualties caused by the use of the worm was never revealed to them, though they started piecing together what had been transpiring across urban and rural areas as well as the densest metropolises the states had to offer. Phillip and Dix kept their conversations low and to a minimum, knowing they were being watched. They spoke in code, just as they had in college. They had a plan.

  Phillip continues pacing up and down along the map, then stops in front of New Mexico. Albuquerque.

  “University of New Mexico is back up,” Phillip states without turning from the map.

  Dix looks up from his computer screen where he’d been monitoring the worm’s progress through a series of algorithms and percentage charts. “I thought all of New Mexico went red a few days ago.”

  “It did. But look, that’s a strong green to the University campus. Knock on the door, let’s see if somebody is home.”

  Dix slides his chair to a neighboring console and begins typing.

  “Should we call in Spook?” Dix asks, typing feverishly.

  “I’ll call him, keep knocking.”

  Phillip picks up a black telephone receiver containing no keypad. There is no dial tone, only a quick beep and then an operator.

  “Operations.” The female voice has a heavy Boston accent.

  “This is Mr. Lodge down in the fish bowl. Can we get a large cheese pizza and a 2-liter bottle of Coke down here? Oh and tell the suit we have New Mexico back up and hot. Thanks.”

  Phillip hangs up before the operator can answer or ask an annoying follow up question.

  “Alright, take a look at monitor 16. I think we have a feed from a security camera just outside the campus library.” Dix strikes the enter key, transferring the image from his computer to one of the large 60” monitors hanging on the wall.

  “Oh fuck, there must be survivors in there. They can’t possibly keep all of them out of there for long,” Phillip says, stepping closer to the monitor. He watches the black and white images, mesmerized by the story unfolding before him, even though he has seen similar stories time and time again, thanks to the worm.

  On the screen, at least a hundred zombies are beating and pushing against the main library doors. Phillip pays particularly close attention to the top of the screen, seeing the library door give a little with each surge. “They’ll be in any minute. Do you think Spook has any personnel in the area?” Phillip asks.

  “No, I do not have personnel in the area,” Spook answers from the door. “And you may call me Mr. Butler from here on out.”

  “10-4. Dix, try and get a feed inside the library. Let’s see who’s in there and if we can help.”

  “I’m jumping from terminal to terminal. They’re all dead ends…no wait, I think I have one…monitor 8. I’m bringing up audio as well. Phillip, you’re on.”

  Phillip moves down to monitor 8 and watches the screen switch from a map showing parts of the mid-west, to a grainy color picture of three disheveled faces staring back at him.

  “Hello. Is there…I can see somebody in the corner. Look at the bottom of the screen.” A young blonde female speaks pointing to the bottom of the screen.

  “Yes, hi. My name is Phillip Lodge. I work with the government and I have been looking for live feeds. I had almost given…”

  “Yeah yeah, that’s fine. We need help! The library is surrounded and I don’t think the doors will hold much longer. We don’t have any weapons and we’re out of food. Can you help us?” This voice is gruff, obviously not the blonde. The blonde moves aside, revealing the source of the voice.

  Phillip remains quiet as he stares at the wheelchair bound man. “We know your location and we are seeing what we can do. How many are in your group?” Phillip asks in a calm voice.

  “Seeing what you can do. What kind of bullshit is that? Can you help or not? If not, get the fuck off the line and let us find somebody who can.” The wheelchair man glares at the screen.

  Phillip can see lines of saliva running down his stubble-covered chin. Just as he is about to answer Spook steps forward gently pushing Phillip aside.

  “My name is Sebastian Butler and I am your best hope for survival at this time. I have command over an apache helicopter squad approximately 100 miles from your location. I need you to seek a safe place…”

  “A hundred miles! You don’t get it! They’ll be in here in a matter of minutes. Teresa and Sara can make it to the roof. I’m fucked. I’m not going anywhere.” More spit flies from the man’s mouth.

  “This is the best I can do. You have thirty seconds to decide,” Butler stares straight into the web cam, not wavering from his conviction.

  “Fine, send them. We’ll see what we can do.” The man in the wheelchair turns away from the camera and can be seen motioning for the girls to head for the roof. Their voices are muffled, but Phillip thinks he can hear the man saying, “Just go. I’ll stay here. There’s nothing left for me.” The second girl, a short dark haired Asian with a rather thin face, kneels down and wraps her arm around the neck of the man. “Please come with us. We’ll carry you up the…Sara. SARA!” The dark haired girl turns from the web cam. Phillip and Spook can see only her backside as she stands next to the man in the wheelchair.

  “Oh fuck, they’re in. Run, Teresa. Go, go, go, get the fuck out of he
re.” The man in the wheelchair shoves Teresa away from him. She turns, attempting to wrap her arms around him once more. The man in the wheelchair fights her off, shouting, “Please go, Teresa. Please go!”

  “Confirming the dead are in the building,” Dix announces with no emotion. He is watching monitor 16, which depicts the scene outside the main library doors. Both Phillip and Spook turn, seeing the zombies stream into the library.

  “Aw shit, man. Can we do anything for them?” Phillip asks with his mic on mute.

  “No. I don’t have any personnel anywhere near New Mexico. The state is lost. Shut it down,” Butler commands, stepping away from the monitor. Phillip stares at the monitor, watching the zombies reach the floor where the two survivors are waiting. He watches the dead rush the man in the wheelchair and the girl named Teresa holding his hand tightly. She ducks her head into his chest. They are met with a ravenous tornado that tears them apart in less than a minute. Soon Phillip can’t tell them from the zombies. The wheelchair is knocked to the floor without its occupant. Teresa is dragged off camera but the sounds of the dead feeding can still be heard.

  “Shut New Mexico down. I don’t want to see that again,” Butler commands once more, before heading for the door.

  “What about the one they called Sara?” Dix asks.

  “Doesn’t matter. We can’t help her. I need you guys to find large pockets of survivors. Ones that have the means to stay alive and protect themselves. Ones that can help create safe zones. This savior shit you guys have been doling out the last few days has to end. Stay on task.”