by Bobby Adair
I didn’t know what to think. I couldn’t see the danger he saw. What danger could there be? This was the Army. They’d been only six blocks from the dorm the whole time, and doing fine against the infected. Things weren’t as bad as Wilkins and crazy Mark thought they were.
The soldiers came up on Jerome from behind and startled him. One of the soldiers said something harsh, but with the distance, I couldn’t make it out.
Jerome stiffened, dropped his weapon, and raised his hands.
One of the soldiers took a defensive position at the rear of the Humvee and the other stepped up toward Jerome, stopping several feet away.
They said some things back and forth.
Jerome made some excited gestures and spoke loudly.
The soldier said something else. Jerome opened his shirt and showed his chest, leaning forward with eyes wide open.
The soldier spoke into a radio headset.
Jerome started talking again, but in a different tone of voice. He was pleading. That worried me for a second, but then again, he was a pussy. For his sake, I hoped he didn’t wet his pants.
Three weird clicks echoed as fire spat from the end of the soldier’s gun.
A bloody mist erupted from Jerome’s back. For the smallest fraction of a second, surprise froze on his face.
I gasped.
“We gotta go,” Murphy hissed, as Jerome crumpled to the asphalt.
“Fuck that.” I was pissed. I threw the barrel of my M4 over the wall and pointed it at the soldiers. Before I could pull the trigger, Murphy grabbed my shirt and pulled me into the shrubs and mulch. Shards of limestone exploded off of the top edge of the wall and stung my skin.
“What the hell?” I didn’t hear any gunshots. Everything was very suddenly going to shit, and I wasn’t putting the clues together fast enough.
“C’mon,” Murphy whispered. Bent over as short as he could make himself, he ran away from the wall, back the way we’d come, back to where there was plenty of cover.
I crouched and ran as fast as my legs would carry me.
We got to a row of tall bushes and rounded a corner, putting an entire building between us and the intersection.
Murphy stopped at the corner and cast a quick look back.
“Anything?” I asked.
“Not yet,” he told me. “Run.”
Murphy took off at a full sprint under the sprawling branches of the old campus oaks. He angled toward a building across a street and ran further into campus. I matched him stride for stride past one building, a second, and a third, arousing interest from the infected as we sped past. Thankfully, none gave chase.
When Murphy decided that we’d put enough distance between us and the soldiers at the intersection, he found an unlocked door and we slipped inside one of the university buildings. Welcome air conditioning washed over us, but I had not a moment to appreciate it.
We bounded up a staircase to the second floor and ran down the length of the building. We glanced through the glass door windows into each classroom we passed. The floor was deserted. We entered a classroom at the end of the hall and closed the door quietly behind us.
I caught my breath. Murphy did the same.
Chapter 3
It took a few moments for us to recover enough to speak. Murphy gasped, “Shit. I should have seen that coming.”
“What the hell just happened?” I asked.
“We got ambushed,” Murphy told me, clearly distressed. His absent smile and vacant eyes told me he blamed himself.
“They killed Jerome, for no reason,” I said.
Murphy peeked out one of the classroom’s large windows, careful not to expose himself more than was necessary. “Yeah, it would seem so.”
“That doesn’t make any sense to me,” I said.
“He was infected,” said Murphy. “They probably shot him because of that.”
“But he was a slow burn,” I argued. “He was talking to that dude. He wasn’t a danger to them.”
Murphy shrugged, shook his head, and said nothing.
“Is it open season on all of us?” I asked, wanting something to blame for wrong I’d just witnessed.
“I don’t know man,” said Murphy. “Maybe they were nervous. Maybe they were trigger-happy. Maybe they just like killing. With all of those dead infected laying around the intersection, they were definitely good at it.”
“Maybe they weren’t the Army,” I speculated. “Maybe it was just some guys.”
Murphy shook his head emphatically. “They were soldiers.”
I sat down at one of the desks bolted to the floor in neat rows, and stared out the windows at the oak branches and leaves that dappled the view of the buildings across the street.
It was murder.
Those soldiers murdered Jerome.
As that sank in, I muttered, “Fucking assholes.”
“We shouldn’t be surprised,” Murphy said. “The cops, the doctors, the Army, nobody has been sympathetic, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m angry, Murphy. I’m really fucking pissed. That was such bullshit. I mean he was standing there with that stupid pussy-ass look on his face, with his arms in the air and that dickhead just shot, shot him three fucking times. Fuck.”
Murphy said, “I was there, man.”
Murphy left me to my fuming and took up a position by the wall where he had a clear view out the window. Murphy was getting over Jerome’s death, or at least getting past it. He was looking out for pursuers. He was looking out for our safety. And I was having a tantrum.
I needed to get control.
The Ogre and the Harpy.
I breathed deeply and relaxed my clenched hands, then watched my palms as the blood flowed back in and filled the indentations left by my grip on my rifle.
The Ogre and the Harpy.
Anger would kill me if I didn’t get it under control. Clear thinking would keep me alive. I needed to follow Murphy’s example.
I stood and went over to check the window into the hall. No one and nothing. I nudged the door open and listened. Silence.
Minutes passed with no change. I let the door close and went to stand beside Murphy.
I asked, “So were those silencers on their guns?”
“Yup, suppressors.”
“I think that’s why they’re not already dead,” I said. “The soldiers I mean. If the infected don’t hear the gunshots, the soldiers can stay hidden while they shoot. They don’t have to worry about drawing in more infected than they can handle.”
Murphy nodded, “That’s pretty much how I see it.”
I said, “I think if these guns are going to be good for anything but a last resort, we need suppressors.”
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“Where can we get those?” I asked.
“We could check gun shops or find the house of some gun nut who wanted one bad enough to go through the permit process,” he said. “But with all the shit going on, who knows? I’m guessing any gun shop that might have one is cleaned out already.”
“That doesn’t sound good.” I looked back out the window.
Murphy said, “We could come back in a few days and take theirs.”
Looking back at him, I said, “I don’t follow.”
“C’mon, man.” He waved a hand back in the direction of the intersection. “Those guys can’t keep their MOPP gear on forever. They’ve got to take it off sooner or later. They’re probably camped out in a building around here somewhere. And every time they go in and out, they risk tracking in the infection with them. Hell, that guy that shot Jerome today probably got at least a little blood on his gear. He was close enough for it. He probably doesn’t even know it. So, when he goes back to wherever him and his buddies are hiding out, he might touch it or his buddy might touch it.”
I said, “I don’t know how long the virus can live outside of the body but I’m guessing that if it’s in blood, it has a better chance of staying alive than if it just gets sneezed out or something. So
you’re thinking that by killing Jerome, those soldiers are going to wind up infected.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I like the karma of it.” I put on a smile but there was no joy in it, only mean revenge.
“If they get infected, the odds are that none of them will be immune,” said Murphy. “At least it seems like nearly nobody is. In a few days they’ll be wandering around here like the rest of the infected, if they don’t kill each other first.”
“I’m good either way,” I said. “Do you think they’re coming after us?”
“Nope.”
“Why?” I asked.
“If they were coming, I think they would have by now,” said Murphy. “Besides, I think they’re doing pretty well ambushing the infected where they are. They don’t need to hunt. Whitey just wanders by. I’m not sure they were trying to kill us as much as scare us away. After all, they knew Jerome was infected when they killed him. They didn’t know if we were.”
“Whitey?” I asked.
“I’m tired of saying infected.” Murphy shrugged. “Three syllable words suck.”
“You know, you’re practically white now.” I felt like I had to remind him.
“I’m mocha frost, man.”
“Mocha frost?”
“Yeah.”
I asked, “So we have mochas and whites. Any other color distinction?”
“You tell me, you’re the one with the hang-up about it.”
I took another long look out the window. “Murphy, you’re just trying to keep my mind off of Jerome, aren’t you?”
“Yeah man, you dwell on shit too much.” Murphy took a deep breath as he paused. “That’s obvious to me already. I know everything sucks and all, but we can’t do anything about it. Lighten up, man. It’s better to die with a smile on your face than a frown.”
Time to change the subject. I asked, “Do you think those soldiers were an isolated group who were lucky enough to have the right equipment and the good fortune to figure out effective tactics, or do you think the whole Army is just around the corner and heading this way, cleaning up as they go along?”
“Isolated,” Murphy answered.
“Why?” I asked.
He said, “If there was a big force coming in and clearing out the infected, we’d have heard the gunfire when we were outside. We didn’t hear any of that.”
“I guess we didn’t,” I admitted.
We watched silently out the windows for a while longer and periodically checked the hall.
When the conversation started again, I asked, “What should we do next, do you think?”
“I hate to say it, but I think Jerome was right.”
“About what?” I asked.
“We need a better plan than just walking to northeast Austin,” said Murphy. “I’m going there. I have to. But if I want to get there alive, then I need to think it through.”
I said, “We need to think it through.”
“Yeah, let’s talk about that for a second.”
“What?” That surprised me. What was that supposed to mean?
“Zed, I’ve been thinking about this a lot while we’ve been in here. You almost got yourself killed out there when Jerome got shot. If I didn’t pull you down, those snipers would have got you.”
“Thanks for that,” I said.
“I’m not looking for thanks,” he said. “I want to know what you were thinking.”
My defenses flew up. Interrogatives always rubbed me the wrong way. My anger boiled for a second. I repressed it and calmly asked, “Why does it matter?”
“Let’s face it—we barely know each other,” he told me. “I don’t know you well enough to understand why you do what you do. I do know that your behavior is probably going to get you killed. I don’t want to be standing in the wrong place when that happens, because I might get killed too.”
“I don’t have the military training that you have,” I admitted. “When those soldiers shot Jerome, I didn’t think. I reacted. What they did was wrong.”
“And you were going to make it right?” Murphy asked.
“No, honestly, I didn’t think about that,” I said. “Not consciously anyway. Maybe I was just angry. Maybe…I don’t know.”
Murphy scrutinized me and said, “Let me ask you about what you did for Felicity, Amber, and Marcy. What about helping me when I was delirious? I mean, I’m thankful. I’m grateful. I know I owe you my life. But Zed, it’s like you’ve got some kind of hero complex or something.”
My simmering anger turned to laughter. “Sorry, you’ve got the wrong guy on that. I’m not a hero. I don’t want to wear a cape or have a secret identity, and I don’t need to hear anybody’s applause. I don’t even want a Batmobile. Well, maybe a Batmobile. I’m just trying to do the right thing.”
“But you keep trying to do all this heroic shit,” said Murphy. “It’s like you think you’re invincible.”
“I definitely don’t think that,” I told him.
Murphy turned and focused his attention back out the window, leaving me with my thoughts.
I recalled what happened with Felicity. I didn’t think then. I reacted. I’d heard her scream and saw her running. I knew she was going to die if I did nothing. I wanted to run back to the safety of the dorm, I really did. But something in me wouldn’t let that happen. I made a split-second decision and just got lucky after that. She and I both lived.
The choice to rescue Amber and Marcy was made with a lot more forethought, and was based on a ton of inaccurate assumptions. None of us expected the amount of danger that I’d put myself in. But why did I do it? I didn’t know them or anything about them. Yet, I’d risked my life to help them.
And Wilkins and the ROTC boys; what about them? I’d helped them too, but why?
I wasn’t a hero. I wasn’t a soldier and I wasn’t a boy scout. Still, I did what I did, and would likely do it all again. Perhaps I was trying to live up to some image I had of myself, and living up to that image was more important than staying alive. Or maybe it was all just a big basket of psychological Easter eggs left in my brain by the Ogre and the Harpy.
When I looked up from my thoughts, Murphy was looking at me. He started in, “Before I say what I’m going to say, I want you to know that I appreciate your offer to help me find my mom and my sister, even though the odds of me finding them alive are pretty much zero. But they’re my family, Zed. It’s my duty to go, no matter how small the chances of finding them. Hell, I might get killed before I make it across the highway. You know what I’m saying?”
“Yes,” I said immediately and then added, “No. Not really.”
“I don’t know why you’re helping me,” he said. “I don’t understand it. But I don’t want you to get killed trying to save some people who are probably already dead, or worse.”
I stood up and paced around the floor. I took my time collecting my thoughts before I responded. “Murphy, I don't know about your hero theory. Maybe right, maybe wrong. I don’t know. What I do know is that I’m just trying to do the right thing. It’s just that simple.
I said, “Last week, I would have told you that the world couldn’t get any more fucked up than it was. Then it did. Last week, I made a living just rolling down the hill with all the the other unhappy assholes in the world. I got drunk and I got high a lot just so I wouldn’t have to think about it. And you know why, Murphy?”
Murphy said, “I don’t think I want to know.”
I told him anyway. “Because I didn’t know who I was. I was just trying to be whatever I thought I was supposed to be and not trying very hard at it. Well, I’m not doing that anymore. I’m tired of taking the easy way out of everything. I’m tired of being ashamed of who looks back at me in the mirror. It’s just that simple. If that gets me killed, then I just don’t give a fuck about that. At least I’ll die proud of myself for a change.
“As for why I’m tagging along with you? I’ve got no family. All of my friends are probably dead. And if they weren’t
they’d probably care as little about me as I do about them. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t even call them friends. They’re circumstantial companions. We all have crappy jobs and no girlfriends but we don’t like to drink alone. So, we hang out together and bitch about life. But none of us was ever going to do anything about it. It was always easier to just take another drink.
“On top of all that, you and I are the only people we know who are like us. I’m sure there are more out there, somewhere. There have to be. But in case you haven’t noticed, people like us are getting ostracized and killed just because we’re infected and we’re scary. Murphy, you and I are a persecuted minority.”
Murphy’s big laugh reverberated through the empty classroom. “Ain’t that a hoot? I go from being a mildly repressed minority to being a persecuted minority just because I got whiter.”
I laughed along with Murphy.
When we’d laughed ourselves out, Murphy said, “I think you’re right. Man, I think you’re a good guy, I mean, there’s a little bit of craziness in you, but maybe that’s what it’s gonna take to live in this fucked up world. I’ll stick with you if that’s what you want to do. We’ll have a better chance together than alone.”
Murphy reached out to shake my hand.
His hand engulfed mine and I nodded.
“And I’m giving you a superhero name,” he said.
“What?” A protest, not a question.
Murphy announced, “Null Spot.”
“What?” A question.
“That’s your superhero name,” he said. “Whenever you go off thinking about doing some superhero shit, I’m gonna call you Null Spot.”
“Whatever.”
Chapter 4
Murphy and I spent a long while talking about what we needed to do to get to his mom and sister, and what we needed to do to survive. Unfortunately, stealing an armored Humvee, if we could find one sitting around, seemed like the best idea considering all the other risks.
I said, “I could check with Steph, if she’s still alive. There might be a Humvee over by the hospital that we could swipe.”
Murphy asked, “Who is Steph, again?”
