by Baker, Rich
Both men remain still as the zombie loses interest in the window and turns back toward the growing crowds in the street. D-Day rises, letting his rifle hang by its sling. Cortez has momentarily forgotten his mistrust of the former soldier.
“They do that now and then. I think something reflects off of the window, and they come charging. I’ve been watching all this shit on the TV, and when it started getting dark I turned off all the lights on this level, so I don’t think they can see inside.” Cortez says all this without looking at D-Day, but rather staring out the windows. “I’ve been in the back office watching the cameras. It’s almost like watching a movie, except it’s real, you know? I know the security guys in the apartment building across the street, and I saw one of them attacked and killed by these things. Now he’s out there roaming around and waiting for someone he can attack. Robert. His name is—was—Robert Paulson.”
D-Day lets that hang in the air for a moment. Cortez has at least been thinking strategically, even if he’s a little off balance.
“Cortez, how long have you been here?” D-Day asks.
“Me? About six years,” he replies absently.
“No, I meant today. How long today?”
Cortez looks at his watch, doing some mental math.
“I’ve been on for sixteen hours, give or take,” he says, reflecting on his thoughts. “I guess the next shift ain’t coming in. Like, ever.”
D-Day nods. “What if I help you out?” he offers. “You can get some sleep; I can watch the cameras and you can get some rest.”
“You serve?” Cortez asks.
“Fourth Infantry, 1st Brigade. We captured Hussein.”
Cortez’s eyes widen. “Were you there for that?”
“No. It wasn’t my unit that actually laid hands on him. The guys who did were insufferable after that.”
Cortez keeps pressing. “You see a lot of combat?”
“I saw my share,” D-Day says and leaves it at that, though he suspects Cortez wants more detail.
“Ever see anything like this?”
“No, nothing like this. I don’t think anyone has seen anything like this.” He’s tempted to tell Cortez that the Army is planning to be in Denver tomorrow but thinks better of it.
Cortez regards him for a minute, and then turns and opens the door to the security office, giving D-Day a nod to follow him.
D-Day enters the office and shuts the door behind him. Once the door is shut, Cortez turns on the lights and switches on a bank of monitors. He pulls two chairs up to a console and motions for D-Day to take a seat so he can give him a rundown of the equipment.
“We pride ourselves on keeping the building secure,” Cortez begins, “from the decorative barricades to keep any Tim McVeigh wannabes away, to the ballistic glass in the windows, to the airlock security entrances, this building is designed to keep people out unless they have proper authority to be here.” His mental autopilot has kicked in, and he’s repeating something he’s said to a thousand trainees.
D-Day has heard all of this before. “Cortez, I read the brochures. It’s partly why I moved here. Tell me about the cameras.”
“Okay, okay. We have sixty-five cameras on the interior of the building, ten on the exterior, and eighteen in the parking garage. We can see every hallway, every public space like the gym and rec room, every side of the building, every emergency exit, every stairwell entrance, and every parking space in the parking garage.”
Cortez gestures to the bank of LCD flat-panel monitors three wide and four high mounted on the wall in front of the console. “We have twelve monitors, and we can subdivide them into quarters so we can watch up to forty-eight views at once. These four,” he waves his hand over a separate set of screens built into the console itself, “are the only ones we record from. We always record the front entrance, we always record the entrance from the parking garage, and then the other two we rotate as needed.”
Cortez fiddles with a few buttons and the third screen changes. D-Day sees “10-W” in the corner next to what is obviously a date and time stamp.
“This is the tenth-floor camera on the west end of the hallway,” Cortez says. He moves a joystick, and the camera rotates. Next he turns a dial and the camera zooms in on a doorway. D-Day’s apartment. “See, we can see anything happening in the public spaces, right up to your doorstep. We’ve got about a half a million wrapped up in this system.” Cortez is proud of his workspace.
He shows D-Day how to change cameras on the monitors and manipulate them. Cortez is right; there’s not a single viewpoint that D-Day can’t access, but there’s only a few he really cares about. He queues up the emergency exits as Cortez goes to the security manager’s office to stretch out on a cot and, he hopes, get some sleep.
D-Day settles in. The front entrance seems secure, with only the occasional zombie investigating the building’s facade. He zooms several of the external cameras on the surrounding landscape and buildings. The Safeway and strip mall across the street to the east is overrun with the undead. Every store that still has lights on is filled with the creatures. The cameras can’t penetrate the darkened storefronts, so D-Day can’t tell if there are any survivors in them. If only these cameras had FLIR, he thinks to himself. Infrared would be nice to have right now. Easy to spot people in the dark. He wonders if the zombies show up on FLIR, or if they are ambient temperature. He changes cameras.
The apartment building’s parking garage to the north has thirty to forty of the creatures milling around, mostly on the first level. He’s not as concerned about this access point because it has an airlock design like the front, and it only grants access to an elevator that requires a resident’s access card to operate. Once inserted, the resident’s card opens both the front and rear elevator doors. First-floor residents simply pass through to get to their apartments, and upper-level people take the ride to the appropriate floor. It’s unlikely a zombie, even if it had an access card, would be able to operate it. If they’re that smart, we’re fucked, he thinks. Nothing he’s seen thus far leads him to believe that there’s anything other than animal instinct in these reanimated human shells.
He changes cameras again. To the west, he can see the four-story apartment building across the street has undead throughout.
Another camera change, looking south. The building Cortez referenced, where he knew Robert Paulson, the security guard, has a pool and party area that is rife with the undead. D-Day zooms the camera in and can see the parking area’s entrance that leads under this neighboring building has dozens of revenants inside. They’ve breached the access door to the main building. Panning up, D-Day can see them through the windows of several of the units on the first few floors. How they got up there, he has no idea since he doesn’t have a schematic of the interior. He can see one unit with its door open. Light from the main hallway shines on blood that has sprayed the door and has run in streaks before congealing.
He pulls the camera’s view back and focuses it on the street in front of the building, then on the sides and rear. The undead are everywhere in the streets as far as he can see. He’s surrounded. Behind enemy lines. Outnumbered several thousand to one. And he has no plan on how to get out of here.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks it. No messages, no texts. He tries calling Martha Cowher at Fort Carson, but the call doesn’t connect. Instead, he’s told that all circuits are busy; please try again later.
The monitor he left connected to the camera on the west side emergency exit of his building catches his eye. Someone has left their apartment and peeks out the exterior door. On another monitor, he pulls up the first-floor interior west camera, and he can see the door to the last apartment, 103, is open. A woman lingers in the doorway of the apartment while a man has the door to the stairwell open and the third person, also a man, looks out the side exit door. This third man, the one who first drew D-Day’s attention, steps outside, pushes the door completely open and holds it there.
“What the hel
l is he doing?” D-Day says out loud. A second later, a figure on a motorcycle enters the frame and jumps onto the sidewalk from the street then gooses the motor to climb the five stairs leading to the emergency exit. The figure bails off of the motorcycle, and it slams into the door, wedging it open. The man rushes over to the biker and tries helping him up. The biker removes his helmet to reveal long dark hair and a woman’s face. She gets to her feet and starts limping to the doorway. The image on screen begins to fill with the undead, rushing toward the pair from the street.
Inside the building, the man at the stairwell door gestures frantically at the pair to hurry up. A half dozen or so people have opened their apartment doors to see what’s happening. The trio—the older man, the younger man, and the woman from the motorcycle—get into Apartment 103 and shut the door a few seconds before the first of the undead begin running into the hallway.
“Cortez!” D-Day shouts. “We’ve got problems!”
Six
Fort Collins, Colorado
“Andy, tell me you have your iPad,” Ben says as he maneuvers the old FJ Cruiser to hit as few zombies as possible. Still, every few seconds there’s a thump as he either runs one over or one of them runs headlong into the side of the vehicle.
“Yeah, I have it,” Andy says from one of the bench seats in the rear of the 4×4. “Why?”
“You still have that maps program we used when we went camping last fall?” Ben asks.
“Um … yeah, I think so.”
“Good. Check on there for a connection from Overland Trail to the utility pole access road,” Ben says.
“What are you cooking up?” Toni asks.
“Overland Trail dead-ends at Southwest Community Park, so I’m hoping there’s no military there. I did temp work last summer for the parks department at Dixon Reservoir, remember?” Ben asks as he steers around a group of three zombies feeding on some unfortunate soul in the middle of the road.
“Yeah, so?”
“Well, there’s a series of walking trails and bike paths that connect the park and the Dixon Recreation Area. There’s also an access road used by the Poudre Valley Power Authority for line maintenance that follows those big hundred-and-fifty-foot power poles south out of town. If we can get to that road from the park, we can get out of here,” Ben says.
“So you’re betting that the Army isn’t going to be watching that road? What if they are?” Toni asks.
“Why would they? It’s not named, or labeled on any map. It’s all land owned by the power company. I only know about it because I worked at the reservoir last year and the power lines pass the east side of the res. We used a section of the access road to get around that side of it,” Ben says.
“If you know how to get there, just go the way you know. I don’t trust Gadget Boy there and his electronic maps,” Keith says.
“The way I know takes us there on Dixon Canyon Road, which leads west out of town. There’s nothing else that gets you out of town that direction until you’re way north. If they’re trying to seal off the town, I’m sure that road is guarded. Plus, Andy’s app is not just a map, it’s got a satellite view. Like I said, this road isn’t on any map. Andy, how you coming?” Ben asks.
“Got it. As long as nothing has changed since these images were taken, you can turn right into a neighborhood just before the park. It dead-ends in a cul-de-sac. There’s a dirt trail there that connects to the park’s trail system, so you just have to jump the curb, veer to the right, and you’re on that access road. There’s just one problem—it looks pretty wide open to the east. Any Army checkpoints like the one we just left will be able to see us,” Andy says.
“That’s why I need that night vision rig of yours. I’ll turn off the lights and go slow, keep my foot off of the brake, and use the parking brake to slow down. Even if I only get fifty feet of visibility from your goggles, it’s better than nothing. If anyone has a better idea, now’s the time to bring it up,” Ben says.
“I trust you,” Toni says. “Besides, I’ve got nothing better.”
“Just get us away from this place. I don’t care how,” Danielle moans from the back seat.
“Vamanos!” Keith says.
Andy and Natalie offer their agreement, and Ben dodges another zombie, and at the next intersection heads toward Overland Trail to set their plan in motion.
The further west they go, the fewer zombies they encounter. The houses are dark, though occasionally they see someone peek out of their blinds, a horizontal slit of light appearing and disappearing just as fast. After a few minutes of silent, zombie-free travel, they reach the end of Overland Trail and the access point to the park.
Everyone in the FJ40 holds their breath. Ben turns off the lights before hopping the curb at the end of the cul-de-sac, to which Andy had navigated them using his iPad. He dons Andy’s night vision goggles that, though they are little more than an expensive toy, are effective enough to let him see a few dozen feet in front of him. Their speed has slowed to a crawl, but they’re still moving forward.
They’ve gone about a mile when the trail gets rough. Ben depresses the clutch and pulls on the parking brake to bring them to a stop. He shifts the old SUV into four-wheel drive.
“Talk to me, Andy. I can’t see where I should go next,” Ben says.
“We can’t see shit,” Keith says. “Next chance we get, we’re getting more of those night vision goggles.”
“We need something better than these, man. Like I said before, they're better than nothing, but these were not made for driving,” Ben says.
In the back seat, Andy hides inside a sweatshirt with his phone and his iPad to keep the light from giving them away. He’s checking their GPS location on his phone and checking the more detailed map he has downloaded to his iPad.
“Okay, I think I’ve got it,” Andy says. “If you go to the right, you should see a clearing that goes up a hill just past the next power pole. You’ll be going over a bunch of scrub brush. When you get to a huge rock, go left. You’ll see a couple of trees, and you’ll have to go around them. You should be under the power lines at that point. Make a couple of lefts and you’re back on a real dirt road. Keep on that road and we will hit County Road 38.”
“Okay, I’ll never remember all that. I can see a hill on the other side of this pole. I’m heading there. Here goes nothing,” Ben says.
He turns the wheel and steers up the hill. The FJ lurches and bumps over bushes and smaller rocks but has no problem scaling the hill.
“I see a boulder bigger than the FJ,” Ben says. “Which way now?”
“Left,” Andy says, “then right around two big pine trees.”
Ben turns the FJ left, downhill, and continues to drive through bushes and rocky patches. He pulls the parking brake again as they get close to a couple of large trees. The FJ slides on the loose rocks, turning sideways. Ben steers into the skid and gets the SUV under control, then maneuvers the vehicle around the trees. He spins the wheel a couple turns to the left, bounces the 4×4 over the drainage gutter on the side of the dirt road, and brings it to a stop. Danielle gets tossed off the bench in the rear, and Andy falls on top of her, unable to catch himself with his arms inside his sweatshirt hideaway.
“Get off of me, Andy!” she cries out. “And Ben, what the fuck? Can you keep it on four wheels, please?”
“Holy shit!” Keith says. “That was wild! I thought we were going to crash there for a minute. Nice driving, Tokyo Drift!”
“Sorry guys,” Ben says. “It’s not easy without the brakes. If we can stay on this road for a while, it will be easier going.”
They all breathe a collective sigh of relief. Ben shifts the FJ out of four-wheel drive and gets them moving again.
“Are we sure that there’s no easier way?” Danielle asks. “If I get tossed around like that again, I’m going to be sick.”
“Every other way takes us closer to Taft Hill Road or Shields,” Andy says from under his sweatshirt, back on his spot on the bench seat. �
��We know Shields is blocked at Trilby Road because that’s where we met the Army dicks, and I’m willing to bet that Taft Hill is blocked there as well.”
“Ugh. I wish we brought some Dramamine,” Danielle complains.
“I wish I brought some Rohypnol,” Keith says.
“Real fucking funny, Keith,” she says. “Date rape is hilarious. Dick.”
“I’ll try to keep the fishtailing to a minimum,” Ben says before Keith can respond to his angry girlfriend. “Andy, I’m at County Road 38. What do I do now?”
Andy gives Ben directions, navigating them south through a country neighborhood for just over three miles. The distance takes about twelve minutes since they’re still driving without any lights.
“This next bit gets dicey,” Andy says from the back seat. “This road dead-ends at someone’s house, but there’s a broken trail just before their house that gets us most of the way through Loveland. We just need to get to that trail, and we should be home free.”
“I don’t like this,” Danielle says.
“What else is new?” Keith responds.
“Seriously, ass!” she says. “We’re in the middle of nowhere on a road that dead-ends at someone’s country house. We’re in the middle of Night of the Living Dead, and we’re driving right into Texas Chainsaw Massacre.”
“Dani, ease off the drama, all right?” Keith says. “It’s not like you’ve had any other ideas.”
“I didn’t even want to fucking come on this ride!” Danielle says. “I want to get home to San Diego, but you guys were going to bail on me.”
“Oh, give it a rest …” Keith starts to say.
Ben stops the FJ, hitting the brakes hard enough to make everyone slide forward in their seats and startle Keith into silence. For a second.
