From here, they couldn’t hear the ensign firing anymore, or couldn’t tell if he was firing. Given the size of the crowd that had amassed around his position, neither man thought they’d see him again.
As the American stabilized his breathing, Naeem took the time to size him up. His blue eyes shone brightly, and his chin stubble made him look older than he might have been. Naeem had been raised to despise Americans, and western culture. His father always referred to them as treacherous and devious, only involving themselves when there was something for them to gain. They were a Godless people, who forced their beliefs and values onto others. Naeem had also been led to believe that they were all lazy, all of them living off of the hard work of others, most commonly immigrants. Cale, however, didn’t seem to embody any of these traits. Maybe in another life, he’d have considered Cale an enemy, but in this life, where the dead walked, he was glad to have him as an ally.
The American looked ready to move again, and Naeem lead the way. After arriving at the circle drive, they altered their course to the north and moved along the water’s edge. The bay was littered with boats of every size and type. They varied from small fishing vessels to large private yachts. They passed in front of buildings, where infected still roamed the area, searching for the source of the gunfire. The two-man chain gang weaved back and forth, avoiding the creatures as they went. They approached the narrow walkway they’d used to get to the street. Bodies of infected were piled up all along the alley. Naeem and Cale were careful not to linger near them, in case one of them was only lying still, not dead. They stepped out onto the dock, where, thankfully, the boat was still moored. Armed men shouted orders at them in Arabic. Naeem put his hands in the air as he followed their instructions and Cale did the same.
“Keep your hands up, and walk slowly toward the boat.”
Naeem and Cale moved toward the docked ship.
“Where is your handler?” one of them asked.
“He was surrounded by those things,” Naeem answered.
One of the other scavenging crews had already returned to the boat. They were half naked, and were putting their clothes back on.
“Come aboard, and take all your clothes off,” the crewman ordered.
Cale followed Naeem off the dock and onto the boat. One of the men shouted at a man emerging from the narrow walkway. Cale turned to see what they were yelling at. It was an infected. The armed crewman took aim and shot the creature.
While a guard produced a key and removed their shackles; Naeem began to strip.
“What are you doing?” Cale asked.
The crewman who’d given the orders shouted something at him. He was confused, so Naeem grabbed Cale’s shirt and motioned him to take it off. Cale then understood that they were searching for bites. Cale undressed, and he and Naeem were carefully examined before being given another order. The air was cold on Cale’s naked body, as he dressed.
Scavenging team three sat on the deck of the ship while their handler stood talking with the crew of the U-boat. Cale and Naeem took a seat on the deck next to the other team. From above, grey clouds began to spit rain, and sporadic gunfire could be heard from the city. On occasion, an infected would make its way through the narrow passageway toward the boat, only to be exterminated immediately. Essentially, it was the living versus a city of undead, but with their backs to the sea and a choke point to keep the infected spread out, it looked as if they might all live to fight another day.
Cale wondered how much ammunition he’d need and how long he’d have to sit there shooting to cleanse the city of infected.
Another undead emerged from the mouth of the alley. The men prepared to fire, but suddenly the infected man began waving his arms and shouting. Cale stood up to get a better view.
“Holy…” Cale said in disbelief.
11.
Punch Line
Pashet was too busy firing into the putrid crowd to notice that the two men he’d been charged with watching had fled. The frantic officer only realized he was alone when he stopped to reload. From the safety of the car’s roof, he looked around for his refugees. They must have made a run for it.
“Cowards,” he said aloud in his native tongue.
He hoped they’d been killed, at the very least the American. If the American was dead he wouldn’t have to do these stupid little missions. But even though this was his first outing, he realized that he enjoyed shooting these things. His attention turned back to the mob surrounding his perch. He’d finally realized that they really did die only when you destroyed their brain.
There were only a few left around him, so he finished reloading and easily took them out. More infected navigated the labyrinth of abandoned vehicles, and moved toward what they hoped would be their next tasty morsel.
“Dogs!” he shouted at them.
Pashet laughed, and fired at them some more. But not wanting to exhaust his ammunition, he seized the opportunity to escape. The boat would wait only so long. The fat man tried to climb gracefully down to the hood of the car, but slid clumsily off the windshield and fell heavily to the ground. The confidence he’d been feeling immediately melted away as two infected walked around the front of the car, blocking his avenue of escape. The first, a woman, threw herself at him. Pashet stopped her by thrusting his knee into her stomach. Her blood stained teeth gnashed just inches from his chest.
“Oh, God!” he exclaimed.
He grabbed what hair was left on her decaying head and pulled it sideways. She lost her balance, and the chunk of flesh that the hair had been attached to pulled free, leaving the side of her skull bare. Kicking her to the side, Pashet scrambled to get up, but was grabbed from behind by the second infected. Together they wrestled across the hood of the car and onto the ground. With a grunt, Pashet pulled free of the man’s death grip. He didn’t even turn to look back as he ran away.
His heart pounding, the fat man ran down the street, not caring which direction he was going, as long as it was away from the creatures. Wearily, he sought refuge between buildings, only to emerge onto Kayet Bai Street, which was teeming with infected. Somehow, he’d stumbled upon a whole hive of them, and all it took was one to catch sight of him, and its throaty moan alerted the others to his presence.
He fired as he retreated the way he’d come. The creatures, slow and uncoordinated, were easy enough to deal with, but it was their sheer numbers that made them dangerous. Why were there so many of them in one spot? The ensign turned to run, but was immediately met with blood stained teeth. It was the woman; she’d followed him. Out of pure instinct, he punched her in the face. Her flimsy body toppled backwards, and he continued running the way he’d come. If only he could double back to the hospital, he could get back to the boat using a route he was familiar with. Just as it had in the staff locker room in the hospital, his vision blurred and narrowed. All he could do was run.
Wheezing loudly and sweating profusely, Pashet backtracked to the hospital. For the first time since he was a child he ran as fast as he could without stopping. More infected spilled into the streets from surrounding buildings and side streets. He’d never been so afraid! He barreled ahead, bowling over any undead that crossed his path. He finally made it to the half-way point between the boat and the hospital. He thought about slowing down to catch his breath; his lungs were on fire. For a moment, he took refuge behind a parked car, but an infected child trapped inside the vehicle slammed suddenly against the window, growling ferociously. For a moment Pashet stared in disbelief but quickly resumed running. He stumbled clumsily as he went, still suffering from tunnel vision and unable to see anything but what was directly in front of him.
Pashet was relieved when he found the narrow alley. He knew if he went straight through it, he’d find the boat. He tripped over bodies that littered the area, falling on top of one of them. Frantically, he scrambled to his feet, and realized that he could finally see the boat.
“Don’t shoot!” he shouted.
“Get over here,
fast!” one of the crew shouted back.
Pashet could see the American standing on the deck of the ship with a stupid and bewildered look on his face. How he loathed Cale.
“Take off your clothes,” the boat’s captain ordered in Arabic.
“Excuse me?” Pashet asked.
“We have to search you for bites,” the man explained.
“I’m not bitten,” the ensign said dismissing him.
“We have to check,” the man insisted.
“Piss off,” Pashet fired back.
“Sir, we’re required…”
“And I’m telling you, I haven’t been bitten,” Pashet interrupted him.
The men raised their firearms, and pointed them directly at the short fat man.
“This time I’m not asking,” said the captain. “Remove your clothing.”
Pashet stared at the man, but, unfazed, he stared right back. Two infected cleared the alley and moved slowly down the walkway. The captain’s eyes never left Pashet’s as the armed men switched targets and put down the infected.
The captain didn’t need Pashet to remove his clothing; in clear view, on the ensign’s hand, there appeared to be a bite. The veins around his knuckles were already turning black as the infection spread. Cale noticed it, too.
Before anyone could react, Pashet lifted his rifle and shot the captain in the face, and then quickly shot one of the other armed men. The remaining two, including the machine gunner and the handler for team three, took cover behind a large crate on the deck. Pashet’s back was to Cale, so Cale decided to act. Everyone was frozen in shock at what was going on. Cale pounced on the fat man, tackling him to the ground.
“Coward!” Pashet shouted, trying to fight back.
As they rolled across the deck, he managed to turn his body toward Cale, but then he was pinned. The soldier was stronger than Pashet had thought. A sharp pain in his neck stopped him immediately, and Pashet fought to breathe. He hadn’t noticed that, during the scuffle, the American had reclaimed his knife, just as he hadn’t noticed that he’d been bitten when he punched the woman in the face. He was in fact, infected. The knife pierced one side of his neck and protruded through the other. He gurgled curse words at Cale hoarsely, but choked on his own blood.
Cale leaned in closely.
“I told you I’d be taking this back,” he whispered to the dying man.
In an instant, the other men were on him, shouting and screaming in their native tongue. Unsure what to do, Cale slid the knife across the deck at their feet, and then raised his hands above his head. The men continued to yell at him.
“I don’t know what you want,” Cale tried to explain. “Look at his hand,” he said, as he pointed toward Pashet.
One of the men moved to the body to investigate. As a group, they discussed it further. After some deliberation, Cale’s restraints were reapplied, and he was secured to the railing of the boat. The men threw the bodies of their murdered comrades overboard into the bay, and then threw Pashet’s body over as well. Cale looked at the man in the water. His glassy eyes stared up at the grey sky. His tan uniform darkened to brown in the water, and blood oozed from his body, surrounding it in red.
Cale watched as the red tides slapped the shore.
12.
Simple Truths
Cale was relieved to be aboard the submarine again. Even though he was confined mostly to his room, he preferred the safety of it to the legions of undead outside its shell. The boat ride back had been intense. They’d finally left, after waiting extra time for team two to return. Their wait was in vain.
He listened to the pressure of the water testing the integrity of the sub, and felt the hum of the turbines as they propelled the craft to its destination. He felt himself drifting off to sleep, but was wakened by the sound of the door being opened. Naeem was back. He’d been taken out of the room shortly after their return, and Cale was sure it had something to do with Pashet’s death. Hopefully he could convince Lieutenant Commander Amun that Pashet was infected.
The guard pointed at Cale, and motioned him to follow. Cale hopped down from his bunk, nodded to Naeem as he passed him, and exited the room. The guard led him through the narrow walkways. He was a short, clean-shaven man, much smaller than Cale. Cale could have easily overpowered him, but where would he run if he did? The man stopped outside an open door.
“In here, please,” Amun said.
Cale stepped past the man, and entered the room, where the lieutenant commander waited.
“Go ahead and have a seat,” The Egyptian offered.
“Thank you,” Cale said, as he sat in an empty chair.
The door closed behind him with a loud clang. A single bulb provided light in the space, and Amun sat behind a metal desk that was welded to the floor. Along the walls were charts and nautical maps. A stream of smoke rose from the cigarette that sat in an ashtray. On his desk next to it, Cale recognized his iPod and ear buds, along with Zach’s tan notebook and knife. The two of them sat for a moment and stared at one another. He wondered what Amun wanted from him, and Amun wondered what information this American would give him about his mission. Amun was the first to break the silence.
“It’s an interesting read,” he said, as he tapped Zach’s notebook. “There is a touching letter to your wife in there, however I suspect it isn’t your letter or your book.”
“No sir,” Cale responded, “it…it belonged to a good friend of mine. I promised I’d deliver it.”
“Ah,” The officer said sounding amused. “With no disrespect, I think it sounds like a fool’s errand.”
“With respect, sir,” Cale started, with a hint of hostility, “I disagree.”
Amun eyed the American and smirked. He was certainly a driven young man, he thought.
“What became of your friend?” he asked.
Cale took a deep breath and relived putting Zach to rest.
“I…I killed him,” Cale answered.
“So he was one of those things?” Amun continued.
“No.”
Amun was intrigued now. Why would the American kill his friend?
“So he was alive?”
“Yes,” Cale answered. “Could we not talk about it?”
Amun was still curious but decided to get to the point.
“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked changing the subject.
“I may have an idea sir.”
Cale was trying to sound respectful. This man had in his possession three items that Cale wanted back.
“Specialist? Is that the correct rank?”
Cale nodded, “Yes, sir.”
“Well, Specialist, tell me what your idea is. Why are you here?” Amun asked sounding amused.
“It’s about ensign Pashet’s death, sir.”
Amun smiled at the American again.
“Yes,” he said, still smiling. “I have a few questions about what took place.”
Amun picked up the cigarette, rolled it gently between his thumb and forefinger, and then took a puff. He flicked some of the ash into the tray, while exhaling slowly. Smoke drifted up and danced around the light bulb above them.
“I’d already seen that the ensign wasn’t very fond of you.”
“No, sir. And the feeling was mutual, sir,” Cale answered.
Amun chuckled.
“Yes. Well, it was mentioned to me that he turned his weapon on you and…”
Amun was never very good with names. He struggled to remember what the Sudanese man’s name was.
“Naeem,” Cale helped.
“Yes. Naeem. He told me that my officer turned his weapon on the two of you.”
“Yes, sir. Once on the way to the hospital, and then he actually fired at us while we were in the hospital.”
“And why did he fire on you?”
“He thought we were infected, sir.”
“Why would he think that if he was with you the entire time?” Amun asked.
“We were told to go get the supplies
by ourselves, sir.”
“Ah,” Amun said not sounding surprised at all. “And where did the ensign go while you gathered supplies?”
“I’m not sure, sir. We didn’t meet back up again until he fired on us in the hallway.”
Amun extinguished his cigarette, smashing it into his ashtray.
“So, once you met up again…” Amun produced a pack of cigarettes with Arabic writing on it. He pulled out a cigarette and placed it in his mouth, then offered one to Cale.
“No, thank you, sir.”
“So once you met back up, what did you do?” Amun finished as he lit his next cigarette. Smoke rolled out of his mouth and nose.
“Um. We exited the building through a window, sir.”
“Then, what?” Amun pressed.
“We got outside and jumped on top of some cars.”
“Why did you do that?” Amun said, playing stupid.
“To get away from the zombies, sir.”
It just slipped right out. Cale hadn’t meant to say it. In fact, he felt silly using the word, but what other word could he use? It’s what they were.
“The what?” Amun asked.
“Infected, sir. We got onto the roofs of the cars to avoid the infected,” Cale corrected himself.
“Okay. And once on the roof of the automobiles, what happened?”
“Ensign Pashet began firing into the crowd, sir.”
“Go on,” Amun stated. “What did you and Naeem do while that was going on?”
“We left ensign Pashet to escape, sir,” he answered reluctantly.
Amun smiled like he’d caught a child trying to sneak a cookie.
“So you left your handler behind?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So you left him behind,” he reaffirmed, “then you went back to the boat. Why didn’t you try to escape?”
“Sir?” Cale was confused now.
“Why didn’t you simply run away? No one was there to force you to come back right?”
“Where was I going to go, sir?”
That’s what he wanted to hear. If the American knew that there was nowhere to go, he’d have to stay. He’d only needed to hear him say it out loud.
Z Plan (Book 2): Red Tides Page 7
