by Calen, Tom
“How are we on gas?” he asked Shane.
Checking the gauge, he informed Mike that the truck now held slightly less than a quarter of a tank. Even without the added excursion to distract the Tils, the truck had been unlikely to make it back to the mountain without a refill.
“Okay,” Mike said as he stepped out of the truck and gave Shane his instructions. “When you get outside of the city siphon what you can with the kit. You should only need another quarter of a tank to make it back; more if the Tils occupy the trail we used and you need to use an alternate route. When you get to the base of the mountain, send up a flare so the others know you need them to meet you.”
“And where will you be during all this?” Paul asked.
Looking his second-in-command eye to eye, he replied flatly, “I still have three more men out there somewhere. I’m going back to get them.”
Without pause, Paul gathered his pack and exited the truck, saying, “And I’m going with you.”
“So am I,” both Lisa and Andrew spoke in unison.
Mike did not argue. He knew that spending a night in the city was dangerous at best. While he would not order them to accompany him, he was willing to accept their volunteering for the mission. Besides, he thought with a smile, if I said no the three would have just gotten dropped off further down and doubled back to me anyway.
The four took whatever food, water, and weapons the others could spare and filled their packs. Mike then went to the driver’s side window for a word with Shane. The young man, recently turned twenty-four, looked nervously towards Mike.
“You can do this. I wouldn’t leave you guys if I didn’t think you could,” he spoke softly, his words measured and filled with authority. “You’re in charge of them now. Get them back safely.”
As he nodded his head, Shane seemed to relax. “Yes, sir,” he replied, his voice was strong, saturated in pride and a desire to serve his leader well.
Mike stepped back from the truck and watched them drive away. Taking a deep breath, he turned to the others. They stood before him, these soldiers of the new world, awaiting instructions.
“Let’s secure a location, then we’ll discuss the plan,” he announced, hoping that in the interim he could come up with a plan to discuss.
In their scouting of the surrounding streets, thankfully empty of any infected, they found several locations that would serve as a secure shelter for the night. Mike settled on a bank two avenues over from where they were dropped off. Between the vault and the tellers’ cage, the bank afforded them reasonable protection in the event of a Til attack. As Lisa and Andrew cleared the cage of discarded debris, Mike and his second-in-command began barricading the front door.
He was deep in contemplation when Paul, his voiced hushed so the others could not hear, said, “So, no plan, yet?”
Mike huffed a laugh and replied, “That obvious, huh?”
Lifting one end of a desk, while he hefted the other, Paul reduced some of Mike’s concern by saying, “To me, yes. To them, probably not, but I can tell when you’re turning things over in your mind.”
In the time that Paul had been with the camp, Mike had sought his counsel on numerous occasions. While he begrudgingly accepted the role of leader, he was self-aware enough to know when he needed the input of others. Even when he was a teacher, in what seemed a lifetime ago, he had sought advice from the veteran educators regarding lesson plans, classroom management, and various teaching techniques. One of his best skills had been taking what others told him and adapting it to fit his needs. When the virus broke out, he had been but one year away from tenure, and perhaps another two from chairing the history department. In the intervening years, he had laughed at his former self and the concerns that once plagued him.
“If they got separated at the hospital, they would have holed up within the vicinity,” he said as the two placed the desk atop its twin in front of the doors.
“If they survived,” Paul countered.
“Until we see proof that they didn’t, we’re operating under the assumption that they’re still alive.” The tone in Mike’s voice clearly indicated he would hear no argument on the subject.
“That still leaves a lot of buildings for them to hide in.”
Mike nodded, “So you agree that they would have stayed in the area?”
“Jon was with Lisa under the lieutenant. There’s no way he’d leave them behind. Especially not with all those Tils surrounding the hospital.” Paul’s sense of loyalty made any deviation from his statement inconceivable to him.
Sliding a four-drawer filing cabinet across the green marble floor, Mike, his voice strained from the physical effort, replied. “I saw three buildings near the hospital with enough height to offer some security.”
“So we start there tomorrow?” Paul asked.
“Tonight.” After he spoke the word, Mike waited for the coming debate.
“Tonight? So that’s it, huh, you’re just trying to get killed?” Paul’s voice quickly rose from its previously hushed tone. “It’s suicide to go out there at night and you know it! Why the hell are we barricading the damn door if we’re just gonna give ourselves to the bastards anyway?”
Mike knew his second meant well in his frustration, so he did his best to keep his voice level. “Because in here at least the four of us can get some rest without having to keep watch. It’s just after noon now. That’ll give us six or seven hours to sleep before the sun goes down. We know Tils are less active at night unless agitated. If we stay…”
Paul cut him off saying, “And the four of us traipsing blindly through the streets isn’t going to agitate them?”
“If we stay alert,” Mike continued, “we can slip past them. If the others are in those buildings they know to keep a light shining in the window for rescue. You and I both saw what this place is like during the day. And after our rescue stunt, those Tils aren’t going anywhere for a while.”
Jaw clenched in frustration, Paul remained silent.
“Look, I’m not saying it’s the best plan, and I’m open to suggestions. But come sunrise tomorrow, those streets are going to fill up with hundreds of hungry Tils hell-bent on finding the meal that got away.”
“You’ve always said travelling at night is too risky,” Paul reminded him, his voice lower, but still gravelly. Lisa and Andrew continued clearing the debris in the cage feigned disinterest, but his previous volume and body language had already caught their attention.
“I know. And it is. But, this time I don’t see any way around it,” Mike conceded. He did not continue, having laid out his argument as fully as he could.
A moment of silence passed between them.
Paul raised his eyes slightly to the ceiling, his head shaking side to side as he took a deep breath. “You’re a crazy son of a bitch. You know that right?” Paul responded, the slightest of smiles breaking across his face, signifying the end to the debate.
Chapter Seven
Sleep claimed its mastery over the huddled mass of students that filled the faculty room floor. Though not an overly large room it did, however, provide adequate space for the sixteen students Mike Allard watched over. Unlike the others, sleep did not enslave the teacher that night. Propped in one of the soft leather chairs that once encircled the conference table, he stretched his legs out in front of him. The relaxed manner of his body failed to accurately represent the tense thoughts that held much needed sleep at bay. His left hand fiddled with a pen he had fished from the pocket of his jeans some hours earlier. Turning the pen over and over again with his fingers was the only thing that satisfied his craving.
I need a cigarette, he thought to himself. The concept of thinking of such an insignificant need during the situation he and the others faced amused him. There were moments when he imagined himself fighting off a horde of those creatures below to reach the half-full pack of Marlboros in his truck.
You’ve watched the Die Hard movies too many times, the voice in his head mocked, and you’re
no John McClane yipee-kaying through the airport.
Forcing his mind away from the nicotine-induced hero delusions, he began to wonder what the coming sunrise would bring. He thought about the chance of a rescue from some unknown source. Recalling how quickly the virus had spread, the number of infected announced by the world’s governments, and the result of the sheriff’s bite wound, Mike was beginning to think that any rescue was unlikely. Four armed men had been overrun in mere minutes.
The realization left him with one thought.
“We’re on our own,” he whispered softly in the dark room.
That was difficult to accept. Before the attack, almost one hundred students had been in the building. Were he and the others all that remained? Or did others now hide in rooms around the school feeling the same sense of defeat and isolation?
Tomorrow, we have to check for other survivors in the school, he silently decided.
Mike knew that the school would not be able to support a prolonged stay. There were too many entrances, either through windows or doors, to offer long-term protection. Even if they could raid the cafeteria kitchen for food more substantial than chips and candy, the faculty room was not going to be able to serve their needs indefinitely. He turned escape scenarios over in his thoughts. If more infected blocked the courtyard, the group would have to devise a way past them. Then what? Mike questioned himself. Where do we go?
Some thirty miles north was a large military base. To Mike, it seemed like the best option. The sheriff had said dozens of calls had come in from the town before the school had been attacked. Reluctantly, he had to assume the small rural community had been overrun just like the school. With their numbers, and if more survivors were found in the school, Mike estimated that at least three or four vehicles would be required to make the trek north to the base. The military and its defenses would be the best protection, and hopefully a source of information as to what was happening.
Before his next thought took shape, Mike heard a shuffle from the floor to his right. The sound startled him, and he was surprised to see how instinctively his hand had moved to the gun in his lap.
“It’s Derrick, Mr. Allard,” the running back whispered.
Relaxing, Mike said, “You should be sleeping, bud.”
“I can’t. Every time I try all I see are those…those people. It’s like…I don’t know, man, I mean, is this happening?”
Mike could hear the frustration and fear in the young man’s voice. The first hours of the night had found him ruminating over the same question. Growing up, he had been a fan of horror movies and the zombie, werewolf, and vampire villains terrorizing the foolish characters that inevitably made ridiculously bad attempts at escape. More humorous than frightful, those movies were indulgent breaks from the real world. If he wanted to be really scared, Mike had watched films with psychotic serial killers that hunted unsuspecting victims. To him, the fear was real because the villain could be real.
Now, though, it was not a serial killer that stalked them, but rather something closer to one of those creatures from horror movies. His mind struggled between acceptance of the situation he and the others faced, and rejection of the heretofore implausibility of such a situation.
“It’s crazy, right? Things like this aren’t supposed to happen,” Mike responded.
“Is it everyone? Do you think everyone that got sick turned into…” Derrick’s voice trailed off.
“I don’t know. My mom, my brother and his daughter were all in the hospital with it this morning.” Mike felt a pang of guilt as he realized that he had not been able to reach any of them after he had talked to his aunt.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Allard. Jenni’s folks were both sick this morning, too.”
Mike wondered how many dead would need to be mourned by the people surrounding him.
“How about your parents?” Mike asked.
“They were fine. My mom didn’t want me to come to school today, but I wanted to be here for Jenni.”
“How’s that working out for you?” Mike laughed, the comment slipping from his lips before he could catch himself.
Taking no offense to the offhand remark, the teen jokingly retorted, “It’s right up there with when I decided to jump off the barn with a sheet for a parachute.”
In the stillness of the night, Mike heard a familiar click followed by a soft, red glow.
“You guys are gonna wake everyone up if you keep laughing,” came a voice from the darkness.
The faint burning ember of a cigarette tip moved closer to Mike and Derrick. As the cigarette’s owner took a drag, the face of Erik Lasdale was illuminated. The second-time senior had spent the last four and a half years at John Moore High School creating a very large reputation, matched only by the equally large discipline file bearing his name. If there had been a fight in school, most assumed Erik had been involved. He had grown up in a challenging home; his mother spent more time with a bottle than her five children, and a revolving door of men that moved in and out of her room. His father was long gone. Whereas most could easily write him off as a prison-bound delinquent, Mike—who had taught Erik since beginning his career at John Moore—had come to see a different side.
Erik, though he tried hard to hide it, was actually rather intelligent. Clearly not a student that studied, he did possess an impressive skill to hear details and catalog them for future need. Of course, that assumed he saw passing a test as a need. He performed well in Mike’s classes, it was most of his other subjects that he blew off with casual ease.
Taking a seat in one of the empty chairs, he tossed both lighter and cigarette pack into Mike’s lap.
“Go ahead, Mr. A.,” Erik teased. “You’ve been fiending for one all day.”
Quickly rejecting the notion of not only smoking in school, but smoking in school with a student, Mike began to hand the pack back to the long-haired nineteen year old.
“You’re kidding, right?” the young man said through one side of his mouth while a cigarette dangled from his lips. “You shot up how many people today? And a cigarette’s breaking the rules? You think anyone’s gonna care that you smoked a butt while keeping all these kids safe?”
Either hearing sense in the words, or willing to give into his craving, Mike felt a small amount of guilt as he inhaled from a newly-lit cigarette. That guilt left with the smoke he exhaled.
The few remaining hours of the night passed as the three discussed Mike’s plans for the coming day. He felt relieved when both agreed with his decisions. Derrick, however, suggested a small detour before heading north to the military base.
“My dad has a bunch of guns. He collects ‘em. Our house is only a minute off the main road outta town. If my parents are there they can come with us, and if not, I know the combination to his gun safes.”
Mike understood Derrick’s true motive for suggesting the excursion, but he worried that each student would then ask to check their homes for loved ones. Travelling to sixteen different houses was a risk he was unsure about taking. He was cautious in rejecting the idea. Since he had no family in the area, he did not want to ignore the needs of the others. Agreeing to discuss it further in the morning, the three let the conversation drift to an end. Soon, he could hear the steady shallow breathing of Derrick and Erik as they slept.
* * *
Michelle was the first to wake, with the others quickly following suit. Though the room held no sunlight, the natural rhythm of the body brought them all out of their slumber. Mike informed the group of the plan of action he had devised during the night’s isolation.
No sounds from the hall beyond the barricaded door were detected. Within half an hour the team to search the school—Mike, Derrick, Blaine, Erik, Josh, and Jenni—were loading weapons and ammunition onto their bodies. The others watched with worry, knowing how deadly dangerous yesterday afternoon’s excursion had been. Though sharing some of their concern, the six prepared themselves with greater confidence due to their previous success in collecting the gun
s from the patrol cars.
Jenni Calente had insisted on being part of the group. With stereotypical minds, the males of the group at first balked at the demand. Derrick especially had wanted to keep her out of harm’s way. But the lean and agile senior would not be dissuaded. As the youngest of five, all brothers before her, she had grown up hunting, fishing, and camping. She was as adept with a firearm as she was with her hair straightener. Jenni often joked that she was an “Ah ha” baby, as the youngest of her brothers was seven years her senior. They had long since graduated from the high school and had moved to various parts of the state, with one establishing a residence in California. Though her 5’5” frame was diminutive in comparison to the others of the search party, her years playing soccer had conditioned and strengthened her body well. Her athletic prowess was matched by her intellect. At the last grading period, Jenni had been ranked fifth in her class. The combination of brains and brawn had secured her a full scholarship at the state school. Sensing a no-win argument, the others soon relented and she took her spot among the search party.
Mike’s watch showed him that it was a little after 7:00 AM, as four students pushed aside the vending machine. Though a night had passed, he felt like his last two adventures in the hall had occurred only moments before. As much as he wished to remain in the relative safety of the faculty room, he knew that answers and help could only be attained beyond the door he now opened.
Having passed on the revolver, which Erik now carried, the history teacher had armed himself with two semi-automatic handguns. Derrick had informed him that they were Beretta 92FSs, though the classification held no meaning to him. During the night, he had practiced loading and unloading the weapons to prevent any fumbling that could change the outcome from life to death. Checking that the hall was indeed free of infected, he motioned for the others to file out after him.
