Z Plan (Book 2): Red Tides

by Lerma, Mikhail

  Once the food had run out, and they’d both eaten their fill, Cale and Delrick sat and listened to the crackling of the fire. Cale watched the flames lick at the starter log he’d used. He basked in the sounds of the night and the warmth of the fire. It had been some time since he’d been camping. The last would have been just before he’d shipped out for basic training. He’d been a soldier for four and a half years. It was weird to think it had been so long, yet at the same time it felt like much longer. Far above, shooting stars whizzed by. He’d never been the superstitious type, but he quickly wished that it had all been a dream, and he’d wake up at home, and none of the madness would ever have happened.

  He imagined the streets of his hometown, and the once busy Fourth Avenue, now littered with debris and abandoned vehicles. He thought of the undead, moving, slowly and clumsily through the streets. He imagined himself in the front yard of the house he grew up in on the corner of Sixth Avenue and Lincoln Street. He knew of course, that the house had been demolished years ago when he was fifteen. The bank had foreclosed on the home when his Aunt Marie and Grandmother were unable to pay the taxes for the new paved road. He could still picture the house, still see the chipped green paint, the spot on the west side where his mother had started to paint it a peach color, and the patio, where they’d left their hand and footprints alongside their initials. Every day, Cale would remove his shoes, to see if he could fit into his father’s prints yet.

  A rustling in the grass behind him snapped him out of his reverie. He looked at Delrick before reacting, but he hadn’t stirred. He just lay there with his eyes open, watching the fire. Cale could still hear something approaching and getting closer. The crickets continued to chirp, and a man dressed in American ACUs walked up behind him, carrying a lawn chair. He opened it up and took a seat across the fire from Cale. One look at the man, and he knew he was seeing things.

  “It was you I saw on the Italian cargo ship, outside the captain’s cabin,” Cale stated.

  “Yes, and again on the swing, and at the house,” Zach said.

  “Why are you still here?” Cale asked.

  Zach’s eyes eerily reflected the light of the fire.

  “You tell me, Cale,” he replied.

  “Are you a ghost?”

  Zach laughed, “Really? You’re asking that? I thought you didn’t believe in that kind of stuff.”

  “I saw you die. I…I killed you,” Cale said as he stared down at the flames, “I watched your body burn.”

  “You sure did.”

  “So you’re a ghost,” Cale accused him.

  Zach laughed at him.

  “Why are you laughing?” Cale snapped, becoming frustrated.

  “Are you a ghost?” Zach mimicked, “Come on, man. Get a grip.”

  “We’re in a world where the dead rise up and eat the living,” Cale retorted.

  “So we are,” Zach answered, “But no, I am not a ghost.”

  “Then what are you?” Cale asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m here because of you,” Zach said.

  “Because of me?” Cale inquired.

  “Yep.”

  “What does that mean?” Cale asked.

  “You need me here for something,” Zach answered.

  “For what?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Why don’t you just tell me?” Cale asked.

  “Because I don’t know,” Zach answered.

  Delrick looked at Cale, his head tilted to the side. Cale knew Delrick must think he was nuts. He looked back at the fire. It danced wildly, orange, yellow, and red entwined together. Cale thought about why his friend might be there with him. It was a long time before he spoke.

  “When I first got the call that I was being deployed, I was scared. Scared I’d never get to see my little girl grow up and that she’d grow up without me, like I did, without my parents. Then I got to the armory, and I looked around at you guys, the people I was being deployed with. I didn’t trust a single one of you to risk your life for mine. When we got to Fort Bragg, I was positive I was going to go through the whole thing alone, without a single friend.

  I didn’t really even know what a friend was.” Cale paused for a moment.

  “Even in school I found it hard to make friends. I mean, sure, I had people I hung out with: Chris, John, and Wade. We hung out, but I never trusted them to watch my back for me. If we were in a fight, I’d throw myself in front of a punch for them, even knowing they’d never do the same for me. I was well aware of the underlying resentment they had for me. They believed I thought I was special because my parents had died. It was a subject I could never open up to them about. Is there something wrong with me?” Cale asked.

  Zach shook his head, “No man. Keep talking brother.”

  Cale liked that. He liked that Zach had called him brother.

  “I just…I just don’t trust people. I don’t trust them to look out for me. Not when I’ve been looking out for myself my entire life. I bend over backwards for them, but do they ever do the same? No. The answer is no,” Cale paused again.

  “Go on,” Zach pushed.

  “The answer was no. Then I met you, checking to make sure the holes in your ears hadn’t sealed shut.”

  “You asked me if I was a cross dresser.” Zach finished the thought for him.

  The two of them shared a laugh.

  “Yeah. It just came out,” Cale explained.

  “It was alright,” Zach reassured him.

  “I thought you were just going to be the guy I shared a room with. I didn’t realize that you would be my first true friend, or that you’d introduce me to Cacy and Travis. It wasn’t until I thought I was going to lose everything that I realized I didn’t have to lose anything. Not if I trusted you guys,” Cale teared up.

  “It was war, buddy. We had to trust each other,” Zach explained, “We trusted you with our lives too.”

  “Then why am I the only one here?” Cale sobbed. “You guys trusted me, and it was my ideas that got you killed.”

  Cale looked up. Cacy was prodding the fire with a stick, and Travis stood enjoying a cigarette. Zach still sat across from him. The fire lit their faces.

  “Shit happens, man,” Travis stated, as he exhaled smoke.

  “You can’t take that much credit,” Cacy remarked.

  “But I can take some of it,” Cale replied.

  “We all can. We were all responsible for our own actions. We’re all big boys here. You didn’t force us,” Zach reassured him.

  “You got infected because of me,” Cale stated.

  “We did rock-paper-scissors,” said Zach, sounding annoyed. “If it had happened the other way, we might be in very different places.”

  “I shot you,” Cale said, wiping the tears from his eyes.

  “You saved me from becoming one of those disgusting things,” Zach said.

  “Hey, now,” Cacy interjected.

  “No offense,” Zach said, raising his hand to Cacy, but never looking away from Cale, “The fact is you’re here because you’re my friend—you are a survivor. Life hasn’t been exactly fair to you, and you’re better off for it. Some kids become emotional shutdowns, or just fall apart when a parent dies. You held it together for your brothers and for yourself. You held it together for the guys you hung out with as a kid. Even knowing that they’d never do the same for you, you did what was necessary to protect everyone. You were always ready to make the sacrifice. You can’t always be that guy, Cale. Sometimes you have to let others sacrifice for you. I gladly gave my life so that you could go on.”

  “Same here,” Travis said, throwing his cigarette butt into the fire.

  “Me too,” Cacy said cheerfully.

  Cale wiped his eyes again, but the tears just kept coming.

  “We love you, man,” Zach said for the three of them.

  “I love you guys, too,” Cale replied, but when he looked up they were gone.

  Delrick was the only one still there. He looked at Cale
curiously.

  “This doesn’t leave the camp circle,” Cale said to him in a joking tone.

  Delrick whined quietly, yawned, dropped his head to the ground, and rolled onto his side.

  “Good idea,” Cale said, as he yawned.

  He lay on his sleeping bag watching the sky. He looked for familiar constellations, but was only able to identify two. The stars were so pretty.

  28.

  Moving On

  Cale shivered in the crisp morning air. The fire had burned out overnight and Delrick had abandoned him. Cale hoped he hadn’t imagined Delrick too, but the empty plastic bowl confirmed his existence.

  “Thank God for that,” Cale said sleepily.

  He stretched and groaned as his joints popped. Cale hopped up and began preparing breakfast before he hit the road again. He looked around the pasture for infected and for Delrick. There were no signs of either. Within ten minutes, he’d eaten and packed everything back into the van. After filling the tank, he started his long day. He stopped to remove the heavy fence that had kept any curious infected out, and as he did, he noticed a pair of torn pants and a shoe. A rotted leg and foot were still inside.

  “Oh, shit,” he whispered, and then quickly looked around.

  The coast was clear. He’d somehow gone unnoticed by the undead. Another lucky break. It was one Cale wouldn’t take for granted. He finished moving the fence, and jumped back into the driver’s seat. The gravel crackled under the tires as he headed back to the highway. Some way down the road, he saw something off to the side. He slowed, driving cautiously. There were five infected feeding on something. The group paid no attention to Cale, their rotted faces covered in blood, grotesque hands clutching entrails and patches of fur. Just a couple of feet away, Cale recognized Delrick’s leather collar.

  “God damn it,” Cale said, as he stopped the vehicle.

  He readied his rifle and stepped out to confront the creatures. He took careful aim and fired at the first one, which gained the attention of the other four. One by one, Cale put them down, avenging his canine companion. Their snarls and howls stopped as each hit the ground. The only sound that continued was Delrick’s whining. Despite being disemboweled, he clung to life. Cale could see one of his lungs expanding and contracting as he fought for air.

  “I’m so sorry, boy,” Cale said, as he aimed his rifle at the poor thing’s head.

  He couldn’t let him suffer. The crack of the firearm echoed loudly across the French countryside. Though he had only a few rounds left, Cale felt it was necessary. He climbed back into the van and continued on his journey. He’d spent a little time plotting a course. His destination was Dieppe, a large city in the north of France. A larger city meant more infected, but it also offered a better chance of seafaring vessels. He’d have to take a risk if he wanted a good payout. He’d easily be able to drive there in one day, but dodging cities along the way would add to his time considerably. It was funny how a nine-hour drive could become a day and a half trip when zombies were involved.

  He still felt silly using that word.

  His route would take him through Clermont-Ferrand. It was a large city, but if he stayed on the highway he might get through without trouble. It would also take him along the outskirts of, and through a couple of other cities. Cale decided he’d stop for the day halfway between Vierzon and Orleans. On the map it looked like a lot of farmland. He just hoped the infected had stayed closer to the cities.

  Cale exited the gravel country road onto the paved highway. The all too familiar hum of the tires filled the cab. He wished he’d driven further the day before, and was getting anxious to get back out onto the water.

  He imagined Lauren cradling Marie inside their closet as the infected banged at the door. At this point he was on autopilot, his mind fully focused on getting to his family, to the front door of their house. Their home was rented, a tiny two-bedroom stucco. He could see the wooden floor of the porch that he and his wife had painted blue. He thought of opening the creaky old screen door and throwing the front door inward, shattering its large window. The furniture would be upended, and smashed. Cale would hear Lauren screaming over the hungry howls of the infected.

  “Cale! Help us!” she would cry.

  He’d run though the living room and into the bedroom, where an army of infected crowded around the small closet door. The first of their numbers would approach him, and with super-human strength, he’d punch a hole through the thing’s face with his bare hands. He’d grab another, and easily toss it into the living room, where its head would explode on impact with the wall. The rest of the creatures would turn toward him, but his speed would be too much for them. In a split second he’d run through their numbers and stab them with Zach’s knife. Just as he was about to open the door to rescue his wife and daughter, a figure wandering into the road brought him back to reality.

  An elderly man stumbled out of the ditch. His arm was bleeding as he clutched it. Behind him were a half dozen infected. When he saw Cale coming down the road, he began waving his one good arm frantically. Cale slowed the vehicle, but stopped fifty feet short of the man. He quickly hopped out and raised the firearm as a show of force. The old man limped toward him.

  “Stop!” Cale shouted.

  The man yelled something back to him in French and continued forward. The infected pursuing him followed.

  “I said stop! Please!” Cale shouted to him.

  He wanted to help, but knew it was too late; the old man had been bitten. Cale wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he just let them tear him apart.

  “Stop! Halt! Don’t move!” Cale tried other phrases to get the man to obey, but he kept coming. Cale opened fire on the group behind, and the old man fell to the ground in fear. Cale fired carefully at the undead, trying to conserve his ammunition. Once they were all dispatched, the old man clamored to his feet. Cale kept the weapon trained on him. He’d done all he could for him now. The man approached the American.

  “Stop where you are!” he shouted.

  But the man kept coming.

  “Don’t!” he shouted again at the man.

  “Tuez-moi. S'il vous plaît me tuer. Je vous en supplie,” the old man pleaded.

  “I don’t understand! Please, stop! I’ll Shoot!” Cale screamed.

  The old man continued, unfazed. Cale fired a shot at the ground, three feet to the left of the man. He flinched for a second, but then kept coming and repeating himself as he approached Cale. Cale fired another shot, this time much closer to the man. He yelped and jumped, but then moved still closer to Cale.

  “I’m going to kill you! Stop!” Cale shouted.

  He was ten feet away from Cale.

  “Stop!”

  The old man was within five feet. Cale knew he had no choice. He fired at him, striking him in the face. The 7.62mm round obliterated his head, splattering its contents across the highway. Cale’s breathing was rapid and heavy. He was shaking as he looked down the barrel of the rifle at the old man.

  “Fuck! Why didn’t you fucking stop?” Cale screamed at the corpse.

  “God damn it!”

  Cale stood over the man, trying to slow his breathing, but found he couldn’t. He jumped back into the van and rested his head on the steering wheel. His hands were trembling. His heart was pounding.

  “It had to be done, buddy,” Zach said.

  “Why didn’t he fucking stop?” Cale asked.

  “He was dead already. You did what you had to,” Zach answered.

  Cale looked at Zach in the passenger seat. He looked clean and shaved, had a fresh haircut, and his uniform was neat and tidy.

  “I didn’t want to…” Cale started.

  “I know man. No one can blame you. He was as good as dead,” Zach explained. “You helped him, just like you helped me.”

  Cale took a few more deep breaths to calm himself.

  “Let’s just go,” Zach suggested.

  Cale agreed; moving on was the best thing to do. He put the
van in gear and drove around the bodies in the road. He sped up to put them far behind him.

  “So what’s the plan?” Zach asked.

  “Same as it was before. Get to the water, find a boat, and go west until I hit America,” Cale answered.

  “What if you run into the same problem?” Zach inquired.

  “Which one?” Cale asked back.

  “Any of them,” Zach laughed. “What if you’re adrift again? What if whoever picks you up, if you get that lucky again, isn’t as nice as the Egyptians were?”

  “Nice?” Cale sounded skeptical.

  “They could have killed you on sight. Face it buddy, you’ve been lucky so far,” he said.

  “Lucky? Are you fucking serious?” Cale objected.

  “I know it doesn’t seem like it to you, but come on man. It’s been tough, but it all could have been worse,” Zach explained.

  “I don’t think it can be any worse,” Cale said.

  “Dude…” Zach started.

  “How can it really be any fucking worse?” Cale interrupted, “The world is overrun with zombies. Fuck! I shot my best friend! Anyone I’ve come in contact with I’ve gotten killed, I’m on the run from a group of men who I’m positive want me dead. I’m sure I’m losing my sanity, and I’m talking to my fucking self on a road trip through fucking France.”

  Cale looked over at Zach to wait for a response, but the seat was empty. He was gone, and Cale was alone again.

  “That’s just fucking great. Now I really am talking to myself, you asshole,” Cale said angrily.

  The rest of the drive was quiet. He stopped every couple of hours to get out, stretch, and fuel up the van. He was able to drive straight through the cities along his route, thankful that the French government had closed down the roadways. From the raised highway in Clermont-Ferrand, Cale could see endless droves of the undead. The streets were completely jammed with them; and the sight frightened him to the core. He was terrified at the thought of facing those odds. The military had set up checkpoints at every exit, and cement barriers and tall chain link fences kept the infected trapped inside the city. Cale was relieved to leave them behind.