by Sean Kidd
The judge said he was getting away with a slap on the wrist. That slap turned out to be five years in an upstate prison in Dannemora, New York.
A sentence like that might have scared most people, but for the stranger, it was a chance to get away, eat regular food, watch cable TV, and kick his opiate habit. This time, he’d get off the smack for good.
They say the fist time you go to jail you’re tested to see how tough you are. Proving himself in a fight was something he’d never had to do before, and he wasn’t concerned about it happening. The important thing was to make sure you’re ready for it. It didn’t take very long. As a matter of fact, it came on the first day. Walking into a block with a bunch of new fish was a perfect opportunity for a veteran inmate to put someone to the test. Most new fish are weak and quiet people. They were usually the first to be tested, and they almost always failed. Most would end up being passed around the cellblock wearing blush and lipstick. The different gangs in the prison made them their bitches.
Kane’s brother thought it was funny and wondered why those losers would put up with it. He swore he’d never let anyone take advantage of him. He’d rather be dead.
It took almost a whole week before the other inmates started sniffing around Kane’s brother.
It starts out simple enough, with the heckling and sexual innuendos. It was best not to let them goad you into a situation you couldn’t control, but eventually, they’d get to you.
For Kane’s brother, it was after rec. The inmates had a pretty intense basketball game and it ended with tempers flaring. The guards lead them from rec to shower privileges that they got three times a week. That’s where they made their move. Kane’s brother wasn’t expecting it. He seemed to be getting along well with the other inmates. In his opinion, it was a real accomplishment for someone who hated people.
Two males walked up to him jawing. Their job was to distract him while two more inmates made their move from behind. The idea was to beat him to the edge of unconscious and then gang rape him. Nobody ever said prison was fun.
A lifetime of abuse and hatred made the men’s task more difficult than they had expected.
The first convict grabbed Kane’s brother by the shoulder and spun him around saying, “I’m gonna make you my bitch.” While a second stood there and laughed at the show that was about to unfold. The laughing man annoyed Kane’s brother, so he struck him in the face hard enough to break his nose and shatter his jaw.
Blood gushed from his nose, mixing with the shower water as it swirled down the drain. The second man swung his fist, only the have it connect with air. Kane’s brother was too fast and dropped down striking the man on his bare balls. He let out a yelp and crashed onto the floor. Kane’s brother turned toward the two men that had tried to distract him and watched as they raised their open palms and backed away.
The broken jawed male was back on his feet again, before he could do anything he was struck in the face a second time and tumbled backward onto the shower floor. Kane’s brother jumped on top of him swinging his fists wildly and screaming, “You’re my bitch, bitch.”
The second man’s balls recovered enough for him to attempt a getaway.
Kane’s brother caught the movement out of the corner of his eye tackled him to the floor. He slammed his forehead against the hard tiled floor until blood mixed with the water. He rolled the man over onto his back and sat on his chest, “Looks like you got a broken nose too. Here’s something to remember me by.”
Kane’s brother knelt over and took a huge bite out of the man’s cheek. He spit the piece of flesh back at the man and bit the other side, giving him a matching set of holes exposing his cheek bone.
Kane’s brother was pulled off the inmate, screaming and kicking wildly, “You’re my bitch! You’re my bitch!”
That little stunt got him a month in isolation. But he figured, fuck it.
Thirty days in solitary confinement feels like a year of regular time. While most men walk the fine line of sanity. Kane’s brother stewed and swore he would get revenge for making him have to sit in isolation for a month.
Exactly thirty days later, he was released back into general population. It was just before lunch. He made his way to the mess hall when he saw the two men who had attacked him in the shower. Not out of isolation for five minutes and Kane’s brother ran over and attacked them again. One of the men still had gauze bandages on his face from the healing bites. He tore off the gauze and bit him again, ripping off more of his cheek. The bite was so deep he felt his front teeth scrape the man’s cheekbone. He laughed hysterically and screamed, “You’re my bitch! You’re my bitch!”
Again, he was pulled off by the guards and placed in isolation.
Everyone heard about the incident and everyone knew his name. The remainder of his five years in prison, no one said a word to him unless he spoke to them first. He projected fear and lived in silence.
* * *
Now he walked the abandoned building searching for clues, something that might tell him the whereabouts of his brother, Kane.
A rotting corpse gave stench to the room. He stood over it and stared. The face was bloated and covered in flies, but he could tell by the filthy white wife beater shirt, this corpse had once been Sam.
“Where’s my brother you rotting bone bag,” he said kicking the corpse with his snakeskin boots.
Bullet holes in the side of the structure allowed sunlight to shine into the building. One by Kane’s office caught his attention. The door was open, but after a quick examination, it bore no clues other than the empty closet.
“Now why would you leave your closet door open? You wouldn’t do that, would you? Someone must have got the upper hand on you and stole all your weapons. If Sam is out there dead, where are you? Are you dead to? Did you go after these people? I think you may have.”
The man in the snakeskin boots continued his search outside the back door. Footwear impressions led to the stone outcrop beyond the field.
“Where did you go?”
The trail that led him to an old truck at the edge of the wood line, “Well, hello Mr. Piece of shit truck. My brother drives a Humvee. So whom do you belong too?”
Scoping the area at the back of the fairgrounds led to the discovery of more tracks, “I see you again. Where did you go now?”
The tracks to the Army Reserve vehicle impound.
“It looks like someone joined your group, judging from the extra sets of tracks and acquired a Humvee. Ah, moving up in the world, I see. And where did you go from here?”
Kane’s brother followed the tracks down to the Route 3, “It looks like you had a vehicle chase. So who was chasing whom? It must be Kane chasing you. That means my brother must still be alive.
Hours passed as Kane’s brother circled the town in search of the Humvees. He drove side streets, back alleys, and dirt roads with no signs of either Humvee. He had to find something soon, zombies were beginning to overrun the town.
While he hated cops, he loved their toys. And the new toy he had acquired a few days earlier was an MRAP. A mine-resistant ambush protected vehicle. A fancy name for a zombie-proof truck. It was all decked out with strobe lights, sirens, S.W.A.T. emblems and stupid cop shit like that. He was sure it equated to a cop’s wet dream. Whether he thought it was cool or not, it was perfect for running down zombies, and the bulletproof shell ensured he’d have no uninvited guests inside the vehicle or survivors taking pop shots at him.
The man in the snakeskin boots hadn’t seen a living person in days. He wondered if there were any left in Plattsburgh. That was until he caught sight of someone running in through the side door of a house. He was old, carried a shotgun, and his head supported a stylish fedora.
The old man saw Kane’s brother, but didn’t think he’d seen him. The old man crawled through the inside of his house, pulled off his fedora, and peeked out the window at the MRAP. He watched for any movement around the vehicle. He was convinced the stranger was gone until he heard
the hammer cock behind him. The old man raised is arms and turned around slowly, “What do you want?”
Kane’s brother kept the revolver pointed at the man’s head, “I want my brother old man. His name is Kane. He and his men patrol these streets in a military Humvee. Have you seen them?”
“I don’t know who your brother is, but I know his gang. They drive around kidnapping women, so they can torture them. The boys went after him and probably killed him.”
“Hmm, boys you say? What boys are these?”
The old man looked down at the floor, realizing he had just given up his friends.
“What’s your name old man?”
“It’s Smith and don’t try to be nice to me because I’m not going to give you any information.”
Kane’s brother rubbed his chin thinking, “So these boys, why did they go after my brother?”
Smith kneeled there with his chin up in the air, proud.
Kane’s brother moved the revolver three inches to the right and blew off Smith’s ear, “Now, Smith. Let me explain something to you. My brother, he was the nice one. I was always the mean one. That’s because I took all the beatings. My mama didn’t love me. Now, if you want to live, you better answer my questions, or I’ll turn you into a sieve. So let’s try it again. Why did they go after my brother?”
Smith huddled on the floor. He stayed quiet and refused to answer.
Kane’s brother walked around Smith as he spoke, “I never understood this, the old people way, some sort of sense of pride that goes back to the old times I suppose, it's honorable. But in the end, they give it up. They always give it up, and you’re no different, old man. So once again, why did they go after my brother?”
Smith babbled something about pride and friendship, so Kane’s brother crushed his hand with the heel of those shiny snakeskin boots.
“That looks like it hurts. So why don’t you quit fucking around and tell me what I want to know? I'm beginning to lose my patience with you.”
No answers came from Smith.
The stranger pressed the revolver against Smith’s shoulder, “Come on old man. Tell me what I want to know. I’ll give you three seconds. One. Two. Three.” The sound of the revolver bounced off the house walls. Smith rolled to his back clutching his shoulder. Blood was pouring out of the wound.
“Tell me what I want to know, Smith.”
“Just kill me!” Smith screamed.
An evil laugh bellowed from Kane’s brother’s lungs, “I’m not going to kill you,” he sighed, “I’ve got bigger plans. Now tell me what I want to know.”
“Never.” Smith stuttered.
“You are a tenacious son of a bitch aren’t you?”
Smith rode the edge of consciousness while Kane’s brother bent over to look at the wound, “Looks like I nicked an artery. You’ll be dead in less than five minutes if I don’t do something fast. Better come with me.”
Kane’s brother latched onto the old man’s ankle and dragged him outside next to the MRAP.
“Don’t go dying on me now. I’ve got just the thing to fix you up.”
He climbed into the MRAP and stepped out a few seconds later with a MAC-10 machine pistol. He pointed it in the air and pulled the trigger. It took less than a second and a half to empty the 30 round magazines. He dumped the magazine, replaced it with a fresh one, and emptied it into the sky again. He climbed back into the MRAP and returned with a beach towel. He squatted next to Smith and put the towel over the wound, “You’re bleeding pretty bad, old timer. We don’t want you dying yet, let’s get some pressure on that thing.”
Smith was in and out of consciousness. Whenever he would start to pass out, Kane’s brother would rub his sternum with his knuckles, bringing him back to full consciousness.
Between the direct pressure and chest rubs, he would look up and over his shoulders. He was searching for something, and it was long before he found it. The MAC-10 had done its job. It was the new age dinner bell.
Three zombies turned onto Stetson Avenue and headed in the direction of the men.
“Hey, over here. Come get us. It’s lunch time.” Kane’s brother called out. Smith saw the zombies heading in their direction.
“What are you doing? They’ll kill us for sure.”
Kane’s brother laughed again, “Kill us? They’re not going kill us, old man. They’re going to make you live forever,” he said as he climbed onto the MRAP steps.
He waited until he was sure one of the zombies had bitten Smith, then he put a bullet through their heads.
Smith looked at the bite marks on his arm, “Kill me,” he screamed.
“I said I was going to let you live forever, you silly old man. Now you can. I bid you farewell.”
Smith coughed black ooze and fell unconscious as he watched the MRAP drive out of sight.
CHAPTER 30
“Sorry Master Chief, I’ve never heard of Simone or Aiken. Should I have?” Daniels asked.
“Probably not, but there’s always a chance you ran into them on your travels. Wishful thinking I guess.”
“Who are they, Master Chief?” Cecilia asked
“You can call me, Sawyer,” he chuckled, “Only my boys call me Master Chief. You guys are civilians. There’s no need for that. To answer your question, at last report, Col. Aiken said Dr. Marcil and Dr. Simone had created a serum that would cure this plague. They were supposed to be on their way to Atlanta via private jeep.
At the time, General Strong thought we were grounded due to a lack of pilots. Well, someone, somewhere, knew a guy that could fly a chopper. We scrounged up a Seal Team, hopped aboard, and flew to Canada.”
“Canada?” asked Bunker.
“Affirmative sir. The scientist’s lab was at McGill University. We flew there as fast as we could. Unfortunately, we found Dr. Marcil deceased outside the lab door. Judging from the black tire marks near the body, it looked like they got out of there in a hurry. We’re assuming Col. Aiken and Dr. Simone are still alive and en route to Atlanta.”
“You said team before. Where are the rest of your guys?” Daniels asked.
“You’re looking at ‘em. All that’s left are Beck and me. There were seven of us plus the pilot when we started. The pilot and three of my guys died in the crash. I lost Salvatore trying to get out of Central Park. There were thousands of dead there. Someone left the carousel running, and the music is drawing them in. We landed in the middle of all the dead. Beck and I were lucky to make it out alive. Now we’re all that’s left. We’ve lost all communication with Atlanta, by now I’m sure they think we’re all dead.”
Daniels looked around the room. There was an enormous 30mm cannon on a tripod pointing out the window. Against the wall were two loaded RPGs along with a few rifles and, at least, ten ammo boxes.
“I don’t understand,” Daniels said, looking at the equipment, “If your team crashed in Central Park, then how did you get all these weapons.”
Sawyer let out another chuckle, “Good question. I guess I can tell you since it's no longer classified.”
Sawyer led Daniels to the eastern window, “What do you see out there?”
Daniels searched the white and gray buildings, “I have no idea.”
Sawyer lifted a finger and pointed directly across the street.
Daniels followed his finger down, “The church?”
“Exactly,” Sawyer agreed, “Although, we like to refer to them as mosques. That particular mosque doubles as a recruiting station for ISIS. No one walks in or out of that place without having his or her picture taken by the NSA. The weapons belong to the NSA. They never use them. I mean if you take a look at them, they’re all brand new. They pretty much just use the camera system. But if there was ever going to be fallout from that place, they would be ready.”
“How did you know it was here?” Daniels asked.
“How did you not know?” Sawyer replied, “Do you think for one second we’d let terrorists go unwatched?”
Daniels though
t about it for a second, “I guess we don’t.”
“Hell no, we don’t,” Beck chirped, “We’re set up all over the U.S. watching these turds. If they try to make one move against us, red, white, and blue is gonna kick some ass.”
Daniels looked away from Beck back toward Sawyer, “So how did you end up in New York?”
“We missed them at McGill, so we took a chance heading to the New York and Pennsylvania border. I thought they would take Interstate 81 down to Atlanta. It avoids the larger cities, and it’d be easier for them to resupply in the smaller towns. It was just a hunch, so we bee lined for the interstate. Our route brought us pretty close to the city and, well, to be honest; we wanted to take a look and see how bad it was. Well, that’s when it happened.”
“What happened?” Daniels asked.
“Someone shot us down.”
“Someone what?” Bunker gasped.
Sawyer looked in Bunker’s direction, “Yeah, you heard me. Someone shot us down.”
“With a rifle?’ Bunker gasped again.
Sawyer shook his head no, “We think it was a Stinger.”
“What the hell is a Stinger?” Daniels interrupted.
“It’s a hand held heat seeking missile. You launch it like an RPG, and then it picks up on a heat signature, like the exhaust from our chopper.”
“Oh my god,” Daniels shrieked, “Who would do something like that?”
Sawyer shook his head again, “I don’t know, Daniels. I just don’t know.”
CHAPTER 31
Kane’s brother continued searching the streets looking for any signs of their crew. It was almost two hours later when he caught a glimpse of the wrecked Humvee on the northbound lane of Interstate 87.
“They’re you are. Let’s have a look shall we.”
Most people would have raced to the scene of the accident. But not Kane’s brother, he was much too sly for that. He sat and watched for any movement around the Humvee and tree line near the crash site. Convinced the scene was safe, he put the MRAP in gear and drove a complete circle around the Humvee before stopping behind the wreck. He reloaded his MAC-10 and climbed out of the MRAP.
