I know the value you have and what you can offer this world, Stevie had told Walt one time long ago. But you’re the one who needs to realize that.
The first two years had been tough, but by the time Walt had reached his twenty-first birthday, he’d had his one year sobriety chip.
I’m proud of ya, Steven had told Walt, but throw that damn chip away! he’d barked.
Walt remembered being confused, but over those two years, Stevie had never given him bad advice. He’d thrown the chip in the nearby trash bin.
Symbols are important, Steven had said, but remember that, at the end of the day, they are just that. Symbols.
Stevie had walked out of the room and returned with a Louisville Slugger. Walt remembered how heavy the bat had felt in his hands and realized that, in the twenty-one years he’d been alive, he’d never held one.
Swing it around, Steven had told him. Get a feel for it in your hands.
Walt had gently swung the bat back and forth as he stared at Stevie.
Now I want you to take your fist and punch the bat, Stevie had commanded him.
Punch it? Walt had asked, confused.
Yes, Stevie had barked back. Punch it.
Walt had poised the bat in his left hand as he balled his right hand into a fist and struck the thick end of the bat.
Fuck! Walt had yelled as the pain shot up into his wrist.
How’d that feel? Stevie had asked.
Not good, Stevie! Walt had cried out. I’ve known you long enough to know you’re up to something. What’s the point of the bat?
It’s hard, Walt, Stevie had told him. If you took this bat and struck the mirror over there, it would shatter. If you hit the corner of the wall, it would splinter.
Let me guess, Walt had said as he’d started to roll his eyes. I’m the bat.
No, you Faccia a culo, Stevie had said, resorting to his native Italian. You’re the mirror and the corner of the wall.
Stevie had taken the bat away from Walt and then continued. You gotta remember that you can be easily broken. Life is a fucking baseball bat. It’s hard, and when it hits you, it hurts.
Stevie’d had one-hundred percent of Walt’s attention.
But also remember that just because life is hard, it doesn’t mean you can give in. Stevie had paused to let that sink in.
So I need to be harder than the bat, right? Walt had asked.
No, Stevie had replied in a softer voice. You need to be smarter. Sharper.
Sharper?
If you tried to be harder than the bat, Stevie had explained, you’d spend the rest of your time fighting life. But if you’re smarter, you can control your life.
Stevie had then told Walt to follow him into the garage and had placed the bat on his workbench. Afterward, he’d picked up a scrap piece of wood and started banging on the baseball bat.
See what you get if you try and be as hard as the bat? Stevie had asked. You get nowhere. The bat doesn’t get so much as scratched.
Stevie then produced a four-gauge, seven-inch nail and proceeded to hammer the nail through the thickest part of the bat.
If you’re smarter and sharper than life, Stevie had finally concluded, then you can have an effect on it.
Stevie then handed the nail-studded bat to Walt. These will be your sobriety chips, he’d explained. Each year that passes, you hammer a nail through that bat to remind yourself you are smarter and sharper than life, and that no matter how hard life hits, you will always stand up to it.
6
Will to Heal Center
Spicewood, TX
Present Time
Walt rolled over on the couch and lazily opened his eyes. On the floor next to him lay the baseball bat Stevie had handed him all those years ago. He counted the eight nails sticking through the bat, and a tear rolled down his cheek. He had two bats with eight nails in each and another that currently had five nails in it. Every year he added a nail to the bat, but the one he carried around to always remind him of Steven Spalatucci was the one Spalatucci gave him.
‘Stevie,’ as he affectionately called his bat, had saved his life twenty-one years ago, and Stevie still saved him to this day.
Chapter Two
1
Near the Northwest Florida Regional Airport
Four Hours Ago
“You’ve got the plan down, right, McKellan?” asked Wolfe. “You let the infected see you, then you run like hell towards the hanger.”
“I got it,” said McKellan nervously. “Do we even know how fast these bastards are?” he asked before anyone else in the room could say anything.
McKellan started to sweat more as he thought about what he was about to do. He was going into a known infected area to draw attention away from the group.
This is insane, thought McKellan, but he wanted to do his part. He knew he was the best person for the job. Standing at a scrawny five-foot-six-inches, McKellan was the only one in the group that had run multiple marathons before the world had ended. He could handle the long distance—that he was sure of—but he wasn’t a sprinter, and he didn’t know how fast those fuckers really were. No one knew.
“Walk with me for a second,” Wolfe said to McKellan as he placed his hand on his shoulder. “You know I wouldn’t ask you to do this if it wasn’t a proven method that’s been attempted before. Those crazy bastards in Texas have been doing this for over six months, and they’ve killed a lot of those fuckers out there.”
Wolfe hesitated for a second to gauge McKellan’s potential response, then continued. “The only reason we haven’t done this yet is because our communications were down,” Wolfe explained. “The boys in Texas contacted us over a damn CB radio!”
“Yeah, I know,” McKellan said as he stared at the floor. “But there’s so many unknowns here.”
“There are,” Wolfe said, “but I also know that you have some extremely talented and well-trained soldiers backing you up.”
McKellan wasn’t a soldier. He was just one of the lucky civilians who’d managed to make his way to the Eglin Air Force base when the shit had hit the fan. Once he’d seen his sister come back from the dead, then attack and kill their mother, he’d figured whatever was happening was happening all over the place.
He’d gotten the hell out of Valparaiso, Florida and had made his way to Eglin AFB.
When he’d arrived, none of the soldiers could believe that a scrappy-looking kid like him could’ve made the three-mile journey to the base.
But he had made it, and he’d made it by running. He ran out the front door of his parent’s house and hadn’t stop until he’d reached Eglin. Running had saved his life then, and he knew, if only for that reason, that he was the right person for this mission.
Mission, McKellan thought. At least they want me for a mission.
McKellan was always aware that he couldn’t offer any particular skills to the base. All the soldiers and civilians who now lived there contributed something. Some cooked, some provided medical assistance, and others were sharpshooters in the towers. All he did was laundry. He offered nothing to the overall survival of the base.
But then Wolfe, the base’s highest-ranking officer, had come to McKellan personally to ask him to do this.
I do have a skill they need, McKellan thought as his chest swelled. They need me.
Wolfe was about to say something, but before he could, McKellan spoke up: “I’ll do it.”
*****
Everything went exactly as Wolfe said it would. McKellan slowly trotted about two-hundred feet past a large group of the infected, and they immediately started chasing him.
McKellan didn’t need an invitation. He picked up his pace and started running toward the hanger. Wolfe had given him a small, pocket-sized mirror he could use to see how fast the infected were running. So far, McKellan was less than impressed with their speed. He couldn’t get an exact count, but he estimated about eighty of those things were after him. He kept his pace nice and steady.
He knew t
he plan inside and out. He would run into the side door of the hanger, and after the zombies chased him inside, a soldier would slam it shut and barricade them in. He’d then run out the door on the far side of the hanger, where another soldier would close and barricade that door. Then it would be the Fourth of July as an implosion brought the building down and cooked all the infected inside.
The hanger was only about a hundred feet away. The soldier was well hidden behind the door, and there were plenty of other soldiers hidden around the hanger.
McKellan took the mirror out one last time to check on the infected behind him. He almost stopped when he saw about ten of them break away from the group and run off to the right. He assumed the spotters saw them through their binoculars. He just kept running.
He ran through the door of the hanger and made his way to the other door for his exit. He thought it was odd that the other door wasn’t open yet, but he trusted the soldiers.
McKellan had to stop as he reached the door. It was still closed. He tried opening it, but it wouldn’t budge. He looked over his shoulder and saw the infected flood into the hanger. They immediately spotted him and ran in his direction.
McKellan started to panic and banged louder on the door. He heard movement on the other side, but no one opened it.
The zombies were getting closer to him.
“Open the goddamn door!” he screamed as he pounded on the door.
Finally he heard the latch unlock as the door opened.
He started to run through, but stopped at the sight of one of the infected staring right at him. On the ground was the soldier who was supposed to have manned the door.
They were expecting us, McKellan thought. They knew about our plan.
The zombie lunged at McKellan with the speed of a deer trying to dodge a car. The first thing McKellan noticed was the smell. The thing smelled of death as it brought death to him.
The skin all over its face was rotten, and most of it hung loosely from the cheeks and forehead. He could see its broken teeth and noticed its tongue had been chewed off. The rotted creature threw itself at McKellan as the stunned runner stood paralyzed with fear.
McKellan fell and had the wind knocked from his lungs as he landed on his back. The thing was on top of him and grabbed his shirt with its broken and bloodied hands.
McKellan did his best to keep the thing away from him. He pushed back on the infected’s shoulders, but the damned thing was stronger than it looked.
As McKellan lay fighting, he heard the other infected running toward him. The footsteps became louder and louder. As he bent his head to try and see where they were, McKellan felt the zombie’s fingers push into his belly. He screamed as he looked at the thing on top of him. The zombie leaned down and ripped the skin off McKellan’s chin.
Blood flowed everywhere as McKellan’s screams were muffled by the creature as it tore out his throat.
As he silently screamed, McKellan felt more hands on him as the other zombies fought over his body. The hands ripped and tore at his flesh until death mercifully took him.
For now.
2
Eglin Air Force Base
Three Hours Ago
Wolfe listened to the reports coming in from the soldiers in the field. The infected had followed McKellan the entire distance to the hanger just as planned, when a group of them unexpectedly broke off and ran behind the hanger.
The ten zombies went straight for the soldiers stationed by the back door—the very same door that was McKellan’s escape route.
The spotters couldn’t even warn the soldiers before the zombies were on top of them. They overtook the soldiers quickly and efficiently. The soldiers didn’t even have a chance to fire a single round.
The spotters in the trees and on top of the other surrounding buildings reported to Wolfe that the zombies had killed the soldier who was supposed to lock the infected in the hanger.
“What the fuck is going on out there?” Wolfe screamed into the walkie-talkie. “Everyone report in!”
The radio remained silent for a few minutes until the silence was broken with the screams of the soldiers as they were being torn apart. Wolfe only heard a few words between the screams, but it was enough for him to piece together what was going on. The zombies had climbed into the trees and onto the roofs of the hangers and wiped out all the spotters.
The few snipers out on the field were able to pick off a few of the infected, but they were overrun by their sheer numbers.
Only seventy-three creatures chased McKellan to the hanger, but now there were well over two-hundred of the infected.
It was a massacre, and not one soldier escaped with their life.
*****
“Sir!” Wolfe heard a soldier yell down the hallway. “Sir! We have a problem!”
Wolfe grabbed his rifle, ammo belt, and side pistol as he went out to meet the yelling soldier.
“What’s happening, Bilke?” Wolfe barked.
“They… they’re here,” was all Bilke managed to say.
For a second, Wolfe thought that maybe another squad of soldiers had come to back them up from some nearby base. Then he saw the look on Bilke’s face and knew that wasn’t the case.
Wolfe grabbed Bilke. “What is it, soldier?” Wolfe asked, trying to shake Bilke back to reality.
“We’re being attacked, Sir,” Bilke finally reported.
“Attacked?” Wolfe asked. “But there were only around eighty of them. We have the defenses to hold them off,” Wolfe said, the disgust noticeable in his voice. “Now get back up to the gates and hold them off, soldier.”
“Sir, you don’t understand,” Bilke said sheepishly.
“Then tell me what the fuck is happening!” Wolfe shouted, losing patience.
“There’s hundreds of them, sir,” Bilke said, almost in tears. “There’s hundreds of them attacking.” He looked right into Wolfe’s eyes. “They’re already in the base.”
Wolfe let go of Bilke and ran to the window. Everywhere he looked, zombies were attacking and eating soldiers and civilians alike. Outside his window he saw a mother on the ground, trying to shield her young child as two zombies attacked. One zombie jumped on the mother and tore into her belly, pulling out her stomach and eating the contents. The other zombie ran away with the young child in its hands, tearing away the flesh from the child’s face.
Wolfe jumped onto the CB radio and was thankful he’d left it on the channel on which the guys from Texas had contacted him.
“It didn’t work, it didn’t work!” Wolfe screamed into the CB handset. “We were ambushed! They’re attacking the base… overrun…” That was all Wolfe was able to shout.
Standing in the doorway was a zombie covered in blood and gore. The creature's mouth and teeth were stained red, and it looked directly at the man on the CB. Before Wolfe could raise his pistol, the zombie leapt over the desk and was on top of him.
As the zombie landed on him, its fingers plunged into Wolfe’s eyes and he felt his eyeballs explode in his head. He next felt the zombie’s teeth penetrate his left cheek as it tore away his flesh. Wolfe heard the window explode behind him and was grabbed by another zombie. His arm was torn off and shock immediately washed over him.
The last thing he felt were the teeth sinking into his throat.
And then blackness.
3
Fort Hood Army Base
Present Time
Wilder drove through the makeshift gate and nodded at the armed soldiers standing at the entrance of Fort Hood. Fort Hood looked nothing like it had two years ago. It was one of the locations that housed a black budget research facility and was one of the first labs that had experimented on animals with the bio-nanotechnology.
Fort Hood was also one of the first military bases to be wiped out. The fact that anyone had survived the massacre was nothing short of a miracle—but, really, it was due to the sheer numbers found on the base. Fort Hood was originally commissioned to test and train World War II tank destroy
ers. When the base was built in 1942, it had been constructed with 158,706 acres of open space. It had also been the only base in the U.S. capable of stationing and training two Armored Divisions, or approximately 24,000 troops.
Fort Hood fell quickly due to all the open space it had. The base was too difficult to defend. Those who survived the initial attack were still uncertain how the virus escaped containment and spread so fast. Before the alarms even had a chance to go off, animals were running all over the base—more, in fact, than had actually been in the labs. The lead scientist, Dr. Palmyr, had proposed a theory that the lab animals had somehow communicated with the wildlife in the surrounding woods, but he’d been quickly ignored. He had, after all, been bitten, and was in excruciating pain. After Dr. Palmyr had died, a soldier had put a bullet through his head to ensure that he wouldn’t come back, but no one on the base had really understood what the infection was. No one had understood that the rules of Death had changed.
Fort Hood had housed over 53,000 soldiers and civilian employees, and over three-fourths of them had become infected. Butsko and Wilder hadn’t been present at the time of the massacre, but had heard nightmarish stories of how fast the infection had spread. Scientists at the SilsAdvanced Research Facility(where Butsko and Wilder had been stationed) estimated that it took around fifteen to twenty minutes after exposure for the infection to kill the subject, and then another ten for reanimation.
From the reports of the Fort Hood massacre, people had died and had come back to life in minutes. Containment had been impossible.
Three jet fighters had scrambled from the nearby naval air station in Kingsville but had never made it to Fort Hood. The air traffic controllers at Kingsville had sat there helplessly as they listened to the fighter pilots scream as they crashed to the ground. Birds had brought down the jets by flying directly into the engines. Most of the air traffic controllers considered it a freak accident, but there were others who thought it was too freak an accident, and suggested that the birds had purposefully taken down those jets.
Outbreak (Book 2): The Mutation Page 3
