Whatever It Takes

by Mike Staton

  The gargling noise echoed up the small hill as the man threw his head back and vomited up a mound of blood into his hand.

  “Get down!” Percival shouted. He dropped to a crouch as the glob of red splattered over his visor turning his vision red.

  Percival lifted his shotgun and fired blindly down the hill. He was terrified of being temporarily blinded, and the low lifting moan that echoed from both sides of the road simultaneously didn’t help in the slightest.

  It was answered by other moans further away, echoing through the forest. Some were the otherworldly summoning moans of the zombie, some were the regular feeding groans.

  Percival pointed his shotgun in the direction of the closest moan and squeezed the trigger. The gun belched hot lead down range.

  “Can you see?” Karl asked.

  Percival turned his head in the direction of Karl’s voice. Through the red, smeared, haze he could make out Karl’s outline. Percival nodded.

  “Sort of.”

  Percival felt the barrel of his shotgun shoved toward.

  “We’ll handle this, you keep your head down and clear your vision,” Karl said amidst a hail of gunfire that sounded as though it were all around them.

  Percival muttered and cursed but did as Karl said. He listened to the crack of the hunting rifle and the soft, but loud, boom of the shotgun as well as the pops from the pistols. He slung his shotgun and wiped his hand across his visor. It just smeared the blood across his vision rather than helping to clear it up.

  He didn’t dare to lift the visor. The damned zombie had been pretty accurate when hurling the globule of vomited blood. Percival dug into his pockets, seeking a cloth. He pulled a handkerchief out as the gunfire quieted around them.

  “Are they gone?” he asked. “And can I have a splash of water on the handkerchief?”

  “They’re gone, or dead.” The voice that answered Percival’s question was one he didn’t recognize.

  Cool water was splashed over the handkerchief. Percival quickly scrubbed the edges of the visor to keep any of the viscous blood from dripping into the helmet and thrust the obscuring plastic out of the way.

  “Who’re you?” Percival demanded.

  A man in military fatigues stood in front of the group with a rifle cradled in his arms. He wore a hazmat helmet that didn’t quite fit the rest of his garb.

  Percival pulled his motorcycle helmet off and looked around. Two other men stood in a similar getup to the first. One cradled an M-4, the other a shotgun of some sort.

  As Percival’s gaze came back around to the first man. He seemed to have been waiting to be looked at before answering.

  “I’m Colonel Pete Saunders,” the man said. He pointed at the two men and named them in turn. “The one with the shotgun is Private Stefan. The one toting the carbine is Private Ronald Panthaki. Who are y’all?”

  Percival nodded. He started to off-handedly scrub the motorcycle helmet visor.

  “I’m Percival Polz. That’s Karl Slowell, Andrina Carso, Roy Joy, and Sarah Josephewitz.” Percival nodded to each of the individuals in his group. “We heard you were offering help.”

  The Colonel nodded and motioned for them to follow him as he turned around to walk up the road. The two privates fell into step out to the flanks of the group. It seemed, to Percival, that this wasn’t the first time they’d escorted other survivors to the depot.

  “We’re glad to see you out here.” Percival finished scrubbing his helmet and pulled it back on. His vision was streaked by strands of red that he’d missed, but it was a small price to pay to avoid getting a face full of the zombie blood vomit. “Are you alone out here?”

  “There’s a handful of us back at the depot,” Pete answered. “More than enough to handle just about any kind of attack.”

  “Not quite what I meant,” Percival said. He felt as though the military man had just leveled a low, unspoken threat at him. “Is there still a government? Are you on the horn with anyone else?”

  “There’re pockets all over the country. Some bases still stand, and have been in contact.” Pete paused for a moment. He twisted to look at Percival through the front of the hazmat helmet. “Rumor has it something is being reestablished out in the northwestern states, but we’ve not been able to confirm anything.”

  “Country’s a crapshoot man,” Ronald said.

  “Stow it, private,” The Colonel’s response was quick and decisive. “What my wordy companion means, is that it’s difficult to get a clear answer concerning the bigger picture.”

  Percival looked over his shoulder at Ronald. The man looked as though he’d been physically slapped. Percival settled that he would have to have a private talk with the Private. Sometimes those that were shot down quickly really knew more, or were more willing to share, than their superiors.

  “Have any other survivors come along?”

  “A couple,” Pete answered. “We’re going to have to confiscate your weaponry and check you for wounds, you realize.”

  Percival was glad that his motorcycle helmet was back in place. It hid the scowl on his face. “We’re all clean.”

  “I’d love to take your word for it, sir. But, I can’t. We had a survivor who found us four weeks ago who turned when we didn’t check him.” Pete paused for dramatic effect. “He took one of us down with him. We’re not going to break protocol again.”

  “What’s the check got to do with taking our guns?” Sarah asked. “Do you have any women to check the women?”

  “Naw, but we gots a really girlie boy tuh do it,” Stefan said. “You can get your gun back after we’ve confirmed you’re clean.”

  “I’m sure that Miss Nero will assist in the inspection,” Pete sounded sincere. “And we can’t risk you blowing a gasket and shooting one of us because it turns out you are infected and don’t want the rest of the depot to know.”

  “What happens if one of us is?” Percival asked.

  “We’re not murderers, sir,” Pete answered levelly. “You’ll be given the option of taking a bullet at the time of discovery, or waiting until you turn.”

  Percival knew none of his team was infected, but it was also nice to hear that ‘protocol’ was to give the option to infected survivors. It was the same policy that his team had, and the same policy exacted by the survivors back on campus.

  “Do you know what the hell caused those zombies to fling shit at us?” Karl asked.

  “Some sort of mutation. Can’t say what caused it for sure, but we’ve met a couple different types of zombie out here. Probably method of infection or some chemical difference in the brain. I’m not a medical officer, so I can’t say,” Pete said.

  “A couple other types?” Percival asked. “You mean to tell me there’s even more behavioral anomalies in these things?”

  “We’ve only met two,” Pete answered. “The spitters, those’re the ones you met out here on the road, and a group that like dark corners. We met them at the car dealership in town. Nasty group, those are. Barely give any warning that they’re there.”

  “We know. We ran into those.” Percival shook his head. “Cost us a member of our team.”

  “You got off lucky, dude,” Ronald said.

  “We lost three going into that building. That was back when we thought we could clear sections of the city. Back when our standing orders were to ‘rescue civilians at risk.’ We’ve changed strategy since then.” Pete’s measured steps led them around a bend in the road. He then took a branching street. “It’s a good thing we found you out on patrol. We’re a lot easier to find at night.”

  “Yup, our lights illuminate the horizon. Don’t work nearly as well durin’ the day,” Stefan said.

  It didn’t take long to walk around another bend in the smaller offshoot and see the military depot rise up out of the forest like a majestic fortress.

  “Stick to the road, it’s the only safe way in,” Pete cautioned. “The surrounding grass and forest area is laced with claymores. It keeps the spitters at ba
y. They seem smarter than the others.”

  “An’ it blows the livin’ shit out of everything else.” Stefan sounded genuinely excited at the prospect of blowing things up. “Like, shuffle shuffle, ka-boom!”

  Percival was feeling a little uncomfortable around the group. He followed Pete up to a gate in the chain link fence surrounding the military depot. He stopped and turned to face them as another military man ran up to the fence.

  “We need to take your weapons here.” Pete slung his rifle and held his hand out for the first of the team’s guns. “I give you my word as an officer to return them as soon as we’ve confirmed that you’re clean.”

  Percival turned to look at the other survivors he’d led down this path.

  Sarah looked uncomfortable at turning her over her shotgun and pistol. Andrina had already thumbed the safety into place and looked ready to relinquish her weapon. Karl had opened the bolt on his hunting rifle. Roy Joy was practically hugging his pistol to his chest.

  “What about just relinquishing ammunition? Some of my team just isn’t comfortable with letting go of their weapons.” Percival turned back to Pete.

  “We can’t compromise. No entry if you don’t let go of your guns.”

  Percival frowned. He didn’t want to give up his gun. It would leave him without a secure means of defending himself.

  “We can’t let you just walk away either,” Pete said.

  Ronald and Stefan both leveled their guns at the team.

  Percival got the impression that there were other guns from hidden locations in the depot also pointed at them. “I don’t like this. Just what would we do if we left? What, are we your prisoners now?”

  “This doesn’t need to be difficult, sir.” Pete kept his hand held out. “Really, all will be explained after we’re safe and secure.”

  “Armed fanatics,” Karl muttered and held out his rifle to be taken.

  Percival felt disarmed by Karl’s action, almost as much as he was soon after physically disarmed by the soldiers. Each member of his team gave up their weaponry, though Stefan had to practically wrestle Roy Joy’s pistol out of his grip.

  Afterward they were led through the double gate in the chain link fence. Percival tugged his helmet off. At least they hadn’t taken his duffel bag, or even bothered to search it. He wondered if they really were the military following protocol if they didn’t search everything. While they’d left extra guns back at the car, he still had the eight-pound sledgehammer. It was a small comfort.

  The military depot consisted of four gray metal buildings with doors, but no windows, that looked to be tall enough to be two stories. A single guard tower stood at one corner of the depot.

  Percival and his team were led to the closest, and what appeared to be smallest, of the buildings.

  “Where are the other survivors?” Percival asked.

  “I assume you mean ‘civilians.’ They’re around. Private Ronald is going to get Miss Nero.” Pete pulled open the door to the building. “Women to the right, men to the left.”

  Percival walked into the building and veered left. There were two sets of cubicles. They looked similar to the cubicles they’d seen in the car dealership. Percival assumed they were likely just prefabricated stock units. He passed through the entry to the left-hand set.

  Karl and Roy Joy followed him.

  The military personnel didn’t.

  Inside the cubicle was a single cot with a white sheet. There was some red spatter stained into the walls of the cubicle and Percival’s discomfort rose.

  “What do you make of all of this, Karl?”

  “Military’s bad people,” Roy Joy answered. He moved to the corner of the cubicle and crouched. He started rocking in place.

  “I’m going to have to agree with the madman on most points here.” Karl turned to look at the entrance. “This was a bad idea.”

  Percival nodded. He was agreeing with the older man. He hated being wrong. “Sorry.”

  “You didn’t know.” Karl fell silent as a man they’d not met came walking through the entrance to the cubicle.

  He was dressed in military fatigues and carried a clipboard. On the front of his uniform, over the left breast pocket, was stenciled ‘Dr. Jacobs.’

  “Who’re you?” Karl asked.

  The man gestured to the name on his uniform. “I assume your eyes are bad enough to not be able to read this. Incase they are, I’m Doctor Jacobs. Medical officer for the unit here.”

  “And we’re getting our weaponry back as soon as you clear us, correct?” Percival asked.

  “That’s correct. Please strip down to your skivvies, or nude if you don’t wear them.” Jacobs looked over his clipboard at them. “Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be.”

  Percival looked at Karl and set his duffel bag down gently. He didn’t want the medical officer to hear the clink of spare magazines, loose ammunition, and his sledgehammer. He set his motorcycle helmet down on top of it.

  “Won’t take us at our word, eh?” Percival unzipped his jacket and started to shed layers of clothes. He wasn’t exactly unfit before the zombie apocalypse, and afterward he’d lost weight and gained muscle that he wasn’t ashamed to show.

  “No, sir. I’m sorry.” Jacobs made a note on his clipboard and looked up at him. “Lift your arms. Your friends will have to strip as well.”

  Percival looked to Karl. The older man set his bag down slowly and started to strip as well.

  Percival didn’t think there’d be much of a chance that Roy Joy would begin to shed clothing without any sort of convincing.

  “Turn around slowly with your arms raised.” Jacobs moved closer to Percival.

  “What can you tell us about the weird behavior of some of the zombies?” Percival asked as he slowly turned around.

  “Not a whole lot. I don’t leave the depot.” Jacob made another note on his clipboard. “Face me and hold your arms out to show your palms, then the backs of your hands.”

  Percival did as the doctor asked. “What about attacks on the depot? I assume there have been attacks.”

  “I’m a precious resource here. I keep my head down when the spit’s flying. How did you get the cut on the knuckles of your right hand?”

  “Punching a wall.” Percival kept his arms extended.

  “Are you engaged in any sort of romantic actions with any of your team?”

  “No.” Percival’s lie was immediate. He knew precisely what the medical officer was getting at. The cut on his knuckle from where he’d broken the skin on the wall was a possible source of infection. He’d been careful to keep the small wound covered since then. “I’m not infected.”

  “Alright, you can lower your arms now.” Jacobs didn’t comment about Percival’s status, and merely moved next to Karl. “Lift your arms.”

  Percival grumbled lightly and got dressed as the doctor checked Karl for wounds. Percival had hoped for a blood test or something conclusive like that.

  Karl dressed while Jacobs talked to Roy Joy. The round man was refusing to even stand, much less strip off his clothing to be inspected. Percival moved over beside Jacobs and crouched in front of Roy Joy.

  “The sooner this man checks you for wounds, the sooner we can be done here, Roy Joy.” Percival reached out and put both his hands on Roy Joy’s shoulders to stop the man from rocking.

  “Military’s bad. They shoot my friends.” Roy Joy looked up at Percival, then past him at Jacobs. “Doctors’re bad too. They hurt and…”

  “Roy Joy, you can tell me all about it later. Right now, this man here wants to make sure you’re not infected,” Percival said. “He’s one of the good guys.”

  “I don’t want to stay here.” Roy Joy looked back to Percival.

  “You won’t have to. Promise. We’ll only be here a couple days, then we’ll go back to the campus,” Percival said.

  “To the good place? No bad guys there? My friends are safe there?” Roy Joy asked.

  Percival had had a very s
imilar conversation with Roy Joy when he had first met him. “Yes. The good place. It’ll be safe there for everyone. But first, before we can leave, this guy has to look you over. Okay?”

  Roy Joy nodded and slowly got up. Percival helped him slowly shed his suit. Percival folded the clothing and put it neatly on the bed. Jacobs talked Roy Joy through the same inspection he’d given Karl and Percival.

  Jacobs made a note on his clipboard and turned to leave.

  “What now?” Percival asked.

  “Dress and assemble outside.” Jacobs left the cubicle.

  Percival suddenly didn’t like the man. He got the impression that he was being dishonest in a very subtle fashion and it rubbed him the wrong way. Percival helped Roy Joy back into his suit. He then hefted his duffel bag. He slung the bag over one shoulder and held his helmet in the other.

  “Your opinion?” Percival looked at Karl.

  Karl just shrugged.

  Percival frowned and led the way out of the cubicle. He looked over to the women’s cubicle. Andrina and Sarah apparently hadn’t finished their physicals yet. Percival stopped halfway between the men’s cubicle and the women’s cubicle.

  Percival looked toward the door. Ronald stood beside it. He didn’t look too terribly happy about Percival’s delay. “If you’d please come this way.”

  “’Least you’re polite about it.” Percival looked at Ronald directly. “I’m going to wait for the ladies.”

  “Jacobs just went in there. Could be awhile.”

  “Why didn’t this ‘Miss Nero’ do the inspection?”

  “Needs the doctor’s sign off.”

  “Bullshit.” Percival turned away and walked toward the women’s cubicle.

  “Sir! Stop, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

  Percival could hear the private move away from his post at the door. His footsteps quickened until he’d broken into a full run.

  “Sir! Please don’t dis—“ Ronald’s words were cut off.

  Percival spun to see what had happened.