by JE Gurley
“Tucson. Bob was from Yuma originally. He wanted to see if his family had made it.”
Mace was skeptical. “After a year?”
“I know. I know. We tried to dissuade him, but he wouldn’t listen, so I went with him.”
Mace did not miss her use of ‘we’ but let it slide. Her reluctance to reveal too much information to strangers was natural.
Elliot completed his examination of the injured man. “His right leg’s broken in two places and he’s feverish. His color is bad and his breathing is shallow. Did you splint the leg?” he asked Trish.
Trish smiled. “I was an EMT, but we had no medical kit. I used a piece of metal from the helicopter. Do you have anything for pain and fever?”
“In the ATV,” Elliot said. “I’ll go get it and drive it here.”
As Elliot disappeared into the night, Trish asked Mace, “What are you two doing out here. We must be miles from anything.”
“Elliot saw a reflection from the windshield of the chopper. We came to investigate.” He looked around and saw no supplies. “Do you have food or water?”
“Just a thermos and some granola bars, but they’ve been gone since yesterday. Bob won’t eat or drink anything. I was waiting until daylight to try to walk for help.” She pointed to the west.
“You’d have had a long walk in that direction.” Mace dropped his pack and took out a canteen. “Here,” he said handing it to her.
She downed several large gulps of water, and then remembering her injured friend, offered him a sip, but he was unconscious. She poured some water over his brow and patted his feverish cheeks with a damp hand. She accepted a handful of dried fruit from Mace and chewed it quickly, washing it down with a mouthful of water.
“How many people in your group in Tucson?”
She winced when she realized that Mace had not missed her mistake. She stared at him as if judging how much she should reveal. Finally, she said, “There are twenty-three of us.” She chuckled. “We call ourselves the Tucson Survivors Society as a kind of joke, I guess. You know, spitting in the Devil’s eye. I guess we’re all immune; at least no one’s gotten ill yet. Some gangs gave us some trouble early on, but we killed a few of them, and they leave us alone now. We’ve got water, power and food, but no way to know what’s happening around us. We’re safe from zombies, but they infest the area like cockroaches. It’s tough to get out except by helicopter.” She glanced at the wreckage. “I guess that’s out of the question now.”
“You wouldn’t have found anyone alive in Yuma. Tens of thousands of zombies passed through months ago, killing everything in their path.”
“Poor Bob.”
As if realizing someone had spoken his name, Bob roused just long enough to moan, cough several times, and then passed out again.
She looked at Mace. “Where are you from?”
“Agua Caliente, the solar power farm near here. We’ll get your friend back there for medical treatment. We have some doctors with us.”
She sighed, “Thank God. I was afraid I was going to lose him.”
The sound of the ATV grew louder as Elliot approached. He skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust. “We’ve got problems,” he said as he jumped out of the ATV. “Let’s get him loaded and get out of here.”
“Zombies?” Trish asked, scanning the ridge for movement.
“Coyotes – dozens of them. I spotted them in the next ravine over.”
Working quickly, they strapped Bob into one of the passenger seats, carefully avoiding further injury to his broken leg. He was still unconscious and his breathing was ragged. Mace settled his helmet on the injured man’s head to protect it.
“Grab your gear and let’s go,” Mace told Trish.
She reached behind a boulder and produced a Remington double-barreled shotgun. “I’m packed.”
Mace smiled at her. “I can see you are.”
The blood-curdling sound of a large pack of coyotes howling echoed through the darkness.
“Too late,” Mace said. “We need some light.” With that, he raced to the helicopter and punched a hole in the fuel tank with his knife. “Stand back,” he warned as fuel gushed out the hole and pooled up beneath the helicopter. He withdrew several feet, struck a road flare on a rock, and tossed it underhanded at the helicopter. The fuel erupted into a fireball as soon as the flare landed, engulfing the helicopter in flames and illuminating the entire ridge and ravine below. Nearly fifty coyotes milled about, frightened by the flames but so driven by their hunger that they refused to slink away into the night. Mace knew they could never fight their way through a pack that large while driving.
Trish didn’t wait for the others. She fired both barrels of the shotgun into the massed coyotes, scattering them and killing two. As she reloaded, Elliot began picking them off with carefully aimed shots from his 9 mm pistol. Mace joined in with short, sweeping bursts from his AK47. The 7.62x39mm cartridges travelled at over 2300 ft/sec. When they hit, they tore large chunks of flesh from the coyotes. In their hunger, the coyotes turned on their injured comrades, overpowering them and ripping out their throats. However, enough of them remained to pose a serious threat to the humans, who watched the pack savaging its own members with growing horror. Reloaded, Trish took careful aim at the nearest coyote and fired. It yelped and leaped into the air as the buckshot ripped into its flank. A well-placed shot from Elliot’s 9 mm ended its contortions. Mace fired another burst into their midst, clicked on empty, and shoved in a fresh clip. The burning fuel ran down the side of the ridge, splitting the pack in half. Mace decided to use the opportunity to its best advantage.
“Come on,” he yelled and ran for the ATV, firing into the nearest pack of coyotes.
He dropped his rifle beside him in the seat and slammed the ATV in gear as Trish and Elliot climbed in. He drove as close to flames as he could to limit the coyotes’ attack to one side. The heat singed the hair on his arm and the side of his head. Trish let loose with both barrels at one coyote that raced for the ATV, almost beheading it. Elliot continued to fire his pistol. Coyotes dropped around them. Mace drove down two coyotes foolish enough to stand yelping in the path of the ATV. The vehicle thudded over their crumpled bodies, and then the ATV was up the next ravine and pulling ahead of the pack, who had to race around the burning fuel to pursue them. Behind them, the helicopter finally exploded, showering the ridge with burning fuel. Several coyotes caught in the shower raced away in flames.
Trish dropped the shotgun beside her seat and cradled her companion’s head as the ATV bounced and shuddered across the rough terrain. He was still unconscious but moaning. Finally, when he felt they had outdistanced the pack, Mace slowed the vehicle and picked a smoother path. Neither he nor she were wearing a helmet or headset mic, so he could not ask her how the injured man was doing, but he realized that time was of the essence. He had not had the heart to tell Trish, but he had caught the unmistakable smell of gangrene as he had helped Bob into the ATV. Amputation would probably be necessary, if he survived the journey
The remainder of the return trip was uneventful. They arrived back at Agua Caliente just after ten p.m. Erin met them as they drove up, frantic with worry.
“We saw the explosion,” she burst out.
“We had to dissuade a few coyotes,” Elliot told her. “We have an injured man here. Can you do something for him?”
Kevin Houseman and Charles Bemis, two of her technicians, helped Elliot move the injured man to one of the trailers.
“I want to go with him,” Trish said.
“Better if you come with us,” Mace said. “He’s in good hands. You could use a good meal.”
Her eyes continued to follow the group carrying her companion until they disappeared into the trailer, then looked at Mace and smiled weakly. “Yeah, I guess I could.”
Renda met Mace at the door of the trailer they had set up as a combination kitchen/dining room. She crossed the room quickly, hugged him tightly, and then cast a suspicious glance at the woma
n accompanying him. In the dark, he had not noticed that Trish was, in spite of the dirt and grime covering her face and clothes, a very attractive woman, but Renda had. Trish’s short, dark hair framed a thin face with large, blue eyes and a short, pert nose. He suspected Renda was jealous. He quickly made introductions.
“Trish, this is my wife, Renda. Renda, this is Trish. Her friend is injured. Erin and the others are seeing to him.”
Renda’s expression softened. “Sorry to hear about your friend. Is he badly injured?”
“A broken leg and a fever, but he should be fine.”
Mace’s expression revealed to Renda that things were more serious than Trish believed. “Mattie and I were just finishing up the dishes,” she said. Mattie, a short, rotund woman smiled at them and returned to scrubbing a pot. The hearty aroma of Thanksgiving dinner lingered in the air, quickly reminding Mace of his own gnawing hunger.
“How about some leftovers?” he suggested.
Renda opened the oven and removed a platter laden with pieces of roasted chicken, mashed potatoes and stuffing, and rummaged through the refrigerator for cranberry sauce and something to drink. Mattie stopped scrubbing long enough to place a container of gravy and a bowl of peas in the microwave oven. As the food warmed, Renda set three plates and three wine glasses on the table and opened a bottle of white wine.
“Nothing for you?” Mace asked.
“Nothing for me,” she replied, patting her belly as she laboriously seated herself. “I’ve eaten. I’ll just nibble from your plate.”
Mace grinned. Since her sixth month of pregnancy, her ‘nibbles’ had become grazing, but except for her obvious bulge, she still retained her physically-honed body. She continued her exacting regimen of exercise and workouts with her Guan dao, a pole-mounted weapon with a three-feet-long curved blade, the only personal item she had brought with her during the hasty evacuation of Biosphere2.
Trish was obviously famished, tearing into her plate of food with reckless abandon. Mace tried to match her enthusiasm, but surrendered graciously as she started on seconds. Renda, true to her word, picked over Mace’s plate with a practiced eye, choosing a piece of untouched chicken and spooning a few peas into her mouth, but passing on the calorie-filled mashed potatoes and stuffing. Mace sat back in his seat to finish his glass of wine.
“We have apple pie,” Renda said around a mouthful of chicken. “Canned apples, but it’s still good pie.”
Mace groaned. “No thanks, Hon, I’m full.”
Trish pushed back from the table looking embarrassed by her ravenous appetite. “I … I guess I was hungry.”
She picked up her glass to take a sip of wine. Just as she did, the muffled sound of a pistol shot startled her, and she dropped the glass to the floor. Mace watched it fall almost in slow motion. Trish’s scream of “No!” silenced the sound of its shattering.
As she tried to rise from her chair, Mace restrained her with a hand to her shoulder. She fought back, frantically pounding his chest with her fists and kicking the table with her feet, shouting obscenities at him. He tried to calm her with reassuring words he did not feel and was not surprised that she did not believe him. Her smoldering eyes silently accused him of betraying her and her companion. When Elliot walked in a couple of minutes later, she ceased her thrashing and stared at him in silence.
“I’m sorry,” Elliot said, “he was infected and turning.”
“No,” she cried, “he’s immune.”
Elliot shook his head. “His injuries were too severe. He had gangrene. It was too much for his system to handle. The virus took over.”
Mace released her and she slumped back in her chair. She shook her head. “No, it’s not true,” she protested.
“I think you knew,” Elliot said. “All the signs of infection were there – his ragged breathing, his color.”
She covered her eyes with her hands and burst out in tears. “I hoped … I couldn’t …”
Renda laid her hand on Trish’s shoulder and said softly, “Come with me. You need a shower and some sleep.”
Trish rose from her seat and accompanied Renda without protest. When she stumbled, Renda wrapped her arm around her shoulder to help her. Mattie looked first at Mace, and then at Elliot before following the two women outside. After they had left, Mace turned to Elliot.
“You’re certain?”
Elliot let his shoulders slump. “Erin was.”
“If he was immune, that means a serious injury can weaken the body enough for the virus to take over.”
“Erin said it might be mutating again.”
Mace slammed his fist on the table hard enough to rattle the dishes. “Damn this thing! We can’t catch a break.”
The efficacy of Blue Juice was already in question. If an injury could trigger the virus, they could all be in jeopardy. Mace noticed Elliot’s haggard look.
“You look done in. Sit down and have some chicken and a glass of wine.”
Elliot shook his head. “I don’t have much of an appetite right now. Maybe later.”
Mace understood Elliot’s reluctance. His recent meal now lay heavy in his stomach. Instead of an air of Thanksgiving celebration, he now sensed a pall of death hanging over the camp. First, they had endured Brisbane’s gory death and now the disheartening news of the death of a stranger. Word would spread quickly of the man’s zombie conversion, sending rumors of infection scurrying through the group. He knew that he should move quickly to dispel the rumors, but exhaustion, the meal, and the wine conspired against him.
“Later,” he mumbled to Elliot, closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.
The group at Agua Caliente attended their second funeral in as many days, the first for one of their own, and the second for a stranger. Once again, they paid their respects in small groups to avoid detection by satellite. Trish, jolted by the sudden death of her friend and still harboring resentment at his killing, held herself apart from the others. She had showered and changed into borrowed clothes, revealing just how striking she was. Looking at her, Mace hoped they didn’t have another Janis Heath among them. Heath had been a beautiful troublemaker at Biosphere 2, finally meeting an ignominious fate at the hands of Hunters sent to spy on them.
“Everyone seems suspicious of her,” Mace said to Elliot as the two paid their respects to the man they had tried to save. “They’re giving her a wide berth.”
“Word’s out that Krell turned zombie before I shot him. They’re scared. At least it jolted Erin out of her depression. She’s eager to rebuild the lab now, but we have a bigger problem.”
Mace nodded. “Trish’s friends. With the military moving south from Phoenix along the railroad, they might be in danger.”
After one of Vince’s recent expeditions into Tucson, he had reported that the military was busy clearing the railroad tracks, and he had observed a train heading south toward Tucson heavily laden with spare rails, cross ties and repair equipment. After the military’s indiscriminate use of the toxic nerve gas Sarin in Phoenix to eliminate zombies, Mace and the others expected a repeat in Tucson soon. Any human survivors would be at risk.
“Do we warn them?”
Mace was concerned with another aspect of the problem. “Do we dare bring them here? We’re crowded as it is. More people make it harder to hide. Can we risk another Biosphere2 fiasco?”
“No, a larger group would only draw attention to us, but we should at least help Trish get back with a warning. They can find their own place to run to.”
Mace was glad to hear Elliot agree with him. He and Renda had discussed Trish the previous night in bed. Renda had gotten over her initial jealousy and expressed concern for Trish’s plight, but like him had no desire expand their group. Like Elliot, she thought that they should at least warn the other group of the danger they faced. However, she was not keen on the idea of risking anyone to return Trish to Tucson, especially her husband.
“We’ll need the bus.”
They had converted the school
bus in which they had escaped from Biosphere2, into a zombie-proof vehicle, adding metal plates to the windows and a makeshift snowplow to the front. Slots beneath the metal plates allowed the passengers to fire weapons into attacking zombies in safety. A .30 caliber machinegun swivel-mounted in the enlarged rear emergency door made short work of pursuing zombies. A slide out ramp allowed for quickly loading salvaged supplies.
“And at least four people,” Elliot added, “a driver and three shooters.”
“Vince and Amanda?” Mace suggested. He trusted Vince more than most in their group, and both he and Amanda were excellent shots.
“And you and I.”
“We’ll give Trish a few days to recuperate. In the meantime, Vince and I can try to locate Erin’s new equipment.” And I’ll have plenty of time to convince Renda that I have to go.
The last group of people paid their respects to the man who had now brought fear among them. His normal-sized grave dwarfed Brisbane’s, which contained only a small box of ashes, all that remained after his immolation in the Biohazard Level 4 lab. The freshly turned soil served as a reminder to everyone that the world had not changed. Their Thanksgiving dinner had been but a very brief respite from reality and even that marred by Brisbane’s death. They faced death every single day no matter how comfortable they tried to make their lives or how far they removed themselves from others. The virus was alive in the air they breathed, in their lungs, waiting on any opportunity to attack. The thought sent a chill through Mace as he unconsciously scratched his chest. He could well imagine how those not immune, those who were dependant on Blue Juice, felt. Was the virus doing its evil work on one of their number even now? Would one of them go to sleep normal and awaken as a zombie?
The one member of their group who seemed most affected by Brisbane’s death was eighteen-year-old Cy Adler. The two, both quiet loners, had formed a friendship based on their mutual unease in large groups and their shared love of video games. With plenty of electricity available and no television broadcasts, keeping a television set strictly for X-Box presented no problem. Cy, who had first arrived at Biospehere2 calling himself Billy Idol and wearing only black Billy Idol t-shirts, had been one of the Hunters sent to spy on the Biosphere2 group, but in the end he had cast his lot with the survivors, even saving Mace’s life, for which Mace was extremely grateful. Cy’s close friendship with Renda, almost a mother-son relationship, had brought him part way out of his fantasy world of dead rock stars and video games, but he still mingled with the others in only a limited way. With Brisbane’s death, Mace feared he might slip away entirely.
