by Shana Festa
It was more than two miles before we saw our first reanimated corpse. Impaled on the wreckage from a motor vehicle accident, its skin hung off its body like it was two sizes too big. As we passed, its arms reached up to us like a baby begging to be coddled.
A few hundred feet later an emaciated dog ran from an unmoving corpse. Its muzzle, covered with blood from the abdomen of the body it had been feasting on, was in stark contrast to its tan fur. Without human intervention, pets would be forced to find food for themselves. The scene sent a flurry of new thoughts through my head. Were animals susceptible to the infection? I had no answer, but was curious what would happen to the dog. The last thing we needed to deal with was a pack of undead dogs knocking at the door. After Santa Barbara Boulevard ended, we turned left onto Cape Coral Parkway and headed to the bridge in search of the missing truck.
"An M4’s magazine holds thirty rounds." Seth reached under his seat and handed me a tactical vest. "You’ve got six spare magazines."
I could tell they were loaded because the vest was heavy and cumbersome as I maneuvered it onto my torso. The gravity of what we were about to do hit me as I slid my arms through the vest. Lieutenant Dan went over the plan again. We parked about a klick away from the truck, I now knew that a klick was equivalent to a kilometer or pretty close to a mile, and headed to the bridge on foot. It was unlikely we would find the men kicking back and catching some rays by the tanker, but it gave us a starting point and hopefully would provide us with some clue as to what happened and where Jake was.
I was surprised by how few walking corpses we came across. Empty streets meant they weren’t dropping dead on their own. They had to be moving. The problem was, the only time I saw them moving was when they had a target in sight. Living, breathing targets. The truck stopped moving and Seth put it into park and killed the engine. Two Humvees stood abandoned nearby. The team hit the ground and was immediately on alert.
Fanning out, with guns at the ready, we began walking to the bridge. It wasn’t lost on me that the men kept me in the center of their protective circle. Adam fell into step beside me. No one spoke. Bayonets had been affixed to each of our weapons. Our orders were clear. Silent kills unless absolutely necessary.
We knew the zombies were attracted to smell and sound. Smell, we couldn’t do anything about, but we wouldn’t give them the benefit of hearing us. When faced with one or two at a time, we could easily take them down without guns. I mean easily in the sense of physical stress. Psychologically, I still struggled with killing. I even felt a bit of remorse for Lena.
The entrance of the bridge loomed before us like a gaping mouth. Seth’s hands began moving in rapid succession like he was having a Tourette’s attack in sign language. With eyes so intensely focused on the group, his hands moved like he was cranking a handle. This was answered with a thumbs-up from the men. So, I followed suit, deducing this must be him asking if we were ready to move.
He shimmied up about ten feet and pancaked himself behind a minivan, looked around and patted his head. He pointed at Sanchez and brought his thumb to his eye like he was looking through a spyglass. The group, myself included, just following the leader again, moved up to Seth and stopped. Only Sanchez continued past him, crouched low and weapon at the ready.
Seeing my obvious confusion, Seth then tugged his ear, patted his forearm, made a finger twirling motion, and followed it up by sticking his finger up his nose. I was totally lost; I could almost feel the question mark bouncing over my head. Every man in uniform had a shit-eating grin on their face, attempting to maintain composure and not laugh. Mouth agape, I snapped my head back to Seth with the realization that he was completely messing with me. He stood there, hands on hips, and chest puffed out in pride at his little practical joke. I won’t lie. It was damn funny. Completely the wrong time, but a well needed tension breaker.
Back down to business. Seth made a few more gestures, too fast for me to see, much less understand. But the soldiers clearly did, and they split into two teams. One covered our front, and the other flanked us as we began moving again. I heard the wet squishing noise of knife penetrating brain as they dispatched any undead that got close.
We kept low, using the cover of cars in case there was a horde waiting for us. It was a good thing the bridge had three lanes, giving us some breathing room between cars. As I passed their windows, I found myself looking inside. Some were empty; others entombed the undead as they made feeble attempts to free themselves. Windows were smashed and dried blood, cracked and flaking from the elements, covered the bridge in large splatters.
The trek to the fuel tanker was a quiet one. We had come into contact with only a handful of undead. As we neared the truck, I noticed a change in the blood. It was still tacky. Flies swarmed the area and their buzzing made my skin crawl.
"Sir," I heard one of the soldiers whisper. I immediately jogged to where he was standing. On the ground lay what had once been one of our men. Clad in shredded fatigues, he looked up at us vacantly as his jaws snapped. The force of his jaw clamping down caused his front teeth to shatter, and the broken pieces had fallen into his throat. His body didn’t move. I suspected that was largely due to what little was left of him. They had picked him clean. Both legs were gone and his central mass was an empty cavity down to his spine. I wondered how long they feasted on him until he turned and if they kept on eating him even then. His hand still clutched the radio. This was the voice of Echo One we’d heard the day before.
I searched the area and found no sign of Jake. Five other men were discovered, completely devoured. They too had been picked clean, but they had gunshot wounds to the head. Someone had shown these men mercy. Was it Jake? Echo One reported being cut off from the Humvees, which meant there were only two paths they could have taken: across the bridge, or over the side and into the water. The end of the bridge was gone, just missing. Someone must have blown it to try to keep the virus from spreading; which side had done it was a mystery.
A small inkling of hope welled up in me as I contemplated the possibility that the other side of the bridge was untouched. But as I looked further into Fort Myers I saw the same scene of destruction and chaos we’d faced in Cape Coral. Buildings still burned, and it was eerily silent. That narrowed it down to the men jumping from the bridge. Of course, this assumed they hadn’t died and joined the new regime of the dead.
The sounds of struggle cut through my ruminations, and I heard someone yelling. "Jesus, get him off me." One of the dead soldiers had been lurking under the fuel tanker and grabbed Sanchez by the ankle. Adam was closest and plunged his bayonet into its head, killing him for the second time.
"Are you okay, man?"
"I’m fine." He was shaken, but looked okay. He stormed away from the group mumbling something in Spanish.
"Come on, man. How many times I gotta tell you I have no idea what you’re saying? My Spanish is limited to the Taco Bell drive-thru menu. So unless you’re saying burrito or chalupa..." Seth called to his back, letting his sentence trail off. Sanchez lifted his arm over his head and flipped him off.
"Fuck, now I want a burrito," he joked.
Having found nothing at the tanker, we doubled back to the Humvees and regrouped. Two of the men drove the fuel truck back to the compound. At least we had completed the original mission, now all we had to do was find Jake and the others. We checked all the surrounding stores closest to the bridge. No signs of Jake or any other living soul…
The last store we entered was The Toy Emporium. From the street, the store looked untouched. I cupped my hands around my eyes to block out the devastation around us, and focused on the beautiful beacon of serenity in front of me. Without the mass destruction in view, I could almost imagine it was a regular Sunday morning. Expectant children bouncing with anticipation of their trip to the monolith, excitement at seeing the endless shelves of toys. The local owner, a pillar of the community, would be busy setting out treats and stocking the shelves.
This shop had been a
staple of the community for the better part of thirty years. The sun created a mirror effect on the front windows, and I could see myself and the ruin in my background reflected in its glass. My appearance was shocking. The cold eyes of a killer stared back, my usually soft, compassionate demeanor, dead, like the rest of the city.
The illusion of normalcy vanished as the glass door opened inward. Toys were scattered, most burnt from whatever fire had claimed the back of the store. Plastic dolls took on a menacing appearance with melted faces and mangled limbs. Once plush, the stuffed animal pile had fused together to leave a heap of crispy polyester forms indistinguishable from one another. There was nothing here, other than shattered hopes and dreams. There was nothing to say, and the desolation left us feeling empty.
It was late afternoon when we emerged from The Toy Emporium. The sun would be setting soon. I thought about Jake, possibly alone out here. I didn’t want to leave, but I was smart enough to know staying longer would be a death sentence.
I rode in the back of the truck on the way to the compound. Adam drove the fuel truck back, and I was relieved to not have to deal with his hovering. Concealed in the shadows where no one could see, I cried silently and prayed for my husband. The day had taken a lot out of us. Our shoulders sagged, heavy with failure, and no one spoke when we returned. Daphne greeted me at the door, her wagging tail falling slowly between her legs as she caught wind of my mood. I could feel the other’s eyes on me as I silently made my way to the roof and closed the door behind me.
Laying down on the bed Jake had made for us, I pushed my face into his pillow, yearning to catch a whiff of him.
Later, the door to the roof opened and Adam stepped out.
"I want to be alone, Adam. I need some space."
He ignored the request and sat down beside me. As he put his arms around me and squeezed, the emotion I had deep inside flooded its way to the surface and bubbled over.
Meg had come up behind him clutching Daphne to her chest like a security blanket. She ran and flung her arms around me. We mourned Jake silently together. The only sounds were our hushed sobs.
* * *
Chapter 17
Up, Up & Away
I awoke to the sounds of rifles cracking. This wasn’t anything out of the ordinary in this new life, but something was different. I realized they were closer than usual, and they sounded muffled. Adam was standing by the roof door looking back at me, fear evident in his eyes. "What is it?" I asked him.
"The shots are coming from the store. Inside the store."
"Oh my God, we need to go help. Do you think they got in?" I looked over the edge of the roof and found the gate intact. The parking lot was clear. If they hadn’t breached the wall that meant they came from within. One of us had either gone mad, or worse…turned.
Adam had figured it out too. "Sanchez," he uttered. "That motherfucker must have gotten bit and then lied to us about it."
"That was over twelve hours ago. The longest I’ve seen anyone go before turning is three hours. That means he could have been zombified for over nine hours." I felt a twinge of relief that I had slept on the roof but immediately berated myself for being so selfish.
My mind was in overload. So many questions came bubbling to me at once that I had to hold onto the wall for fear of fainting. Could people turn without being bitten? Do some last longer than others before turning? For a moment, thoughts of a vaccine bombarded me, only to be shoved aside with the reality that we still knew nothing about the infection.
"Stay here," Adam ordered.
"The hell I will!" There was no time to fight. We could hear the screaming now—screams of terror, screams of pain—as our friends were eaten alive. Adam threw open the door, closing it quickly to keep Daphne out of the fray, and we ran down the narrow stairs that led to the back room. Meg stood weaponless at our backs.
As we passed through the double doors to the store, we were met with a scene so horrific it would be seared into my memory for eternity. Tent city looked like a bear had attacked. The tents were ripped apart and bloody viscera lay in heaps around the camp. To my right, a group of children feasted on several residents of the compound. Straight ahead, toward the front of the store, another group of those we had begun to call friends bore down on several terrified soldiers.
They weren’t shooting anymore, no doubt out of ammunition. Instead they stabbed at the infected with bayonets, while others wielded their rifles like bats and swung wildly into the attackers.
It was too late. There was no coming back from this. I saw something move out of the corner of my eye and turned to find I was being stalked by Mr. Talbot. I raised my rifle and fired off a burst on automatic. One of the shots caught him in the eye and the bullet exploded his face. As he dropped, I saw a small group huddling in the corner. Margie held Gabby in one arm and used the other to hold a crazed Mrs. Talbot back from running to her husband. I yelled for them to get to the roof.
They ran along the back wall and disappeared behind us into the back room. I heard Mrs. Talbot screaming her husband’s name as Margie dragged her along. It was then, as she yelled Jim, that I realized I never knew their first names. They had just been the Talbots. I made a random mental note to learn her name if we survived. I turned to Meg and demanded she get to the roof.
There was no room for negotiation. She saw it in my face and turned to run. After losing Jake, I would hold on tight to Meg and make sure she lived even if it meant I died in her place.
Sounds of struggle and death were all around. I saw Lieutenant Dan dragged down as a group of undead piled on top of him and began tearing him apart. "No," I whispered. He’d been our savior, our rock. I couldn’t let him become one of them. Raising my rifle, I took careful aim. Under the pile of writhing bodies, his face was visible. His features contorted with pain as they tore at him. He saw me right before I pulled the trigger. His quivering lips formed the words do it just before I ended his life.
Adam and I advanced further into the store and began picking off the group ahead of us. We created a gap large enough for Seth and four other soldiers to run through. The sound of whimpers from one of the still-intact tents spun me around and I peered in to find the pregnant woman and her husband cowering at the back corner. "Run," I shouted at them. "Get to the roof." They wasted no time and fled in the direction of the stairs.
Seth’s group was almost to us when the last soldier was tackled by Sanchez. He screamed in pain as Sanchez bit through his arm. I raised my rifle to shoot, but Seth grabbed me before I could. "There’s no time." The truth was I hated Sanchez in that moment. All the pent up rage I’d been suppressing for the last week bubbled over and was aimed at him. I wanted to break free and shoot the fucker until he didn’t move, and then shoot him once more for good measure. We had become the main course in this fucked up meal.
I looked back one more time, taking in the scene. Sanchez’s left pant leg had been rolled up, and I could see a circular bite wound on his ankle. Gauze hung off the small wound and was held in place by a single remaining piece of medical tape. All eyes were on us, and their legs propelled their mangled bodies in our direction. We fled to the back room and up the stairs.
The only thing that separated us from them was a rusted fire door. I knew it wouldn’t hold them for long as they pushed and scrabbled their way to get to their prey. Seth jumped into the pilot’s seat and started up the helicopter. The wind began to whip into a frenzy around us as we piled into our only means of escape. I watched the mattress and bedding sail off the roof and plummet out of sight.
Even with all the equipment we’d removed, there wasn’t enough room for us all. The chopper was meant to hold only ten. We had eleven plus a dog. Even if I were willing to give up Daphne, which I wasn’t, her small mass wouldn’t create enough space for someone else.
Margie passed Gabby to Adam and stepped back.
"Margie, what are you doing?" I asked.
The look on her face was one of resignation. A lump formed in
my throat as I realized her decision. She was sacrificing herself, her life, so that we might live. Gabby fought to reach her in Adam’s arms. She kicked and screamed, begging through tears for Margie to come with us. Margie took another step back, outside the reach of Gabby’s clawing hands. I looked at the faces that filled the helicopter. Most of us looked down at our laps in shame, for fear of being deemed less important somehow and thrown from the aircraft.
The door began to bulge. Puffs of rusty dust rose from the hinges. Seth yelled back to the group. "We need to go." He pulled back on the throttle and the landing skids raised imperceptibly. We were overweight. The gravity of our situation was too heavy to consider. Someone else needed to stay behind lest we all perish. No one wanted to die, and exiting the helicopter was suicide.
A soldier stood on each of the skids. I felt the weight of the craft shift and we tilted to the left as one of them stepped off, sealing his fate. He stepped next to Margie and pointed his weapon at the failing door that finally burst apart. The fresh corpses of our group fell out. Those unlucky enough to be at the front of the line were trampled as others made their way out of the small opening.
Gabby was still crying for Margie to join us as we hovered precariously mere feet above the roof.
The soldier positioned himself in front of Margie and began shooting the undead as they came through the door. There were too many, and they were on him in the blink of an eye. Adam turned a struggling Gabby away from the gory scene as they fell to their knees around the soldier and used their hands to carve him like a Thanksgiving turkey. I closed my eyes as they began to eat Margie and as her tortured screams reached me.
Seth yelled at the controls in a fit that could rival even the brattiest kid, attempting to bully the rotors into speeding up faster. It still wasn’t fast enough and fetid hands began probing the opening. The soldier on the landing skids wrapped his arms around the metal frame of the door and tried to pull himself into the cabin. His eyes betrayed his fear as he fought to gain purchase and lift his legs out of biting reach. The helicopter lifted off the roof, but it wasn’t fast enough.
