“I think we don’t have enough information. I think that the streets are pretty clear, we’re going to be able to leave.” Mark leaned against the wall next to Margaret. “I think signaling them is a bigger gamble than I’m willing to risk.”
“What if they are the key to salvation?”
“What if they are rapists and murderers? We just don’t know, and personally I’d prefer to stay with people I know and trust.”
“They’re going to want a decision soon. God, I hate this, I don’t want to be the deciding vote.”
“I know.”
“Anything else?”
“Yea just imagine the worst-case scenario. At least out there, with the undead, if it goes bad, it’s going to be relatively fast. If those are the worst kind of people on that boat, it could possibly lead to a lifetime of pain and torture.”
“That is true. I hadn’t really considered that.”
“Personally, I’d rather take my chances with the undead. At least them I know their motives ahead of time.”
“Thanks Mark. You want to head back in, I think I’ve made my decision.”
Two minutes later Margaret walked into the executive board room, Jackie and John were standing in the corner near the window talking quietly. Herb was lying on the couch with one foot on the floor, and his other leg propped up on the table. They were able to get his hip popped back into socket, but Herb was in a lot of pain. Thankfully the one thing they had a vast supply of was medicine. Apparently, most people who travel do so with their entire medicine cabinet. They had a white assortment of narcotics, and antibiotics.
“I don’t want to signal the boat either.” Margaret said quickly.
“Aw shit, I fucking knew it!” Herb exclaimed from the couch. “You’re all a bunch of loons.”
“The streets are clear Herb, we can go. You can go to the ships if you want to.” Mark said.
“I just thought we should stick together.” Jackie said.
“I think we should stick together too, but we don’t want to go to the boat. The risk is just too great.” John argued.
“They have food, supplies. They can provide safety.” Retorted Herb.
“You don’t know that Herb.” John said.
“I’m going. I’d like someone to go with me.” Jackie said looking at Herb. He looked back at her for a long moment.
“Yea. I’ll go. I’ll take you.”
“Herb, I’m not going to argue with you, and tell you how crazy this is. But we should stick together.” Mark pleaded.
“I got to go, I want to be with the boys with all the guns. I really think it’s really going to be fine. Mark, just come with us.”
“I can’t. We can’t. I don’t trust it.” Mark said shaking his head.
“Margaret, John, do you feel the same?” Herb asked. They both nodded. John wouldn’t make eye contact with him. “Well, all right Jackie. Looks like it’s just you and me.” Herb said shaking his head.
“Take some supplies, in case you have to run, please.” Mark suggested. “Are you going to be able to run?”
“I will if I have to.” Herb said.
“But really, you have to take some of the supplies just in case you can’t get on the boat and have to go it on your own.” John agreed.
“Sure, thanks.” Herbs tattoo covered arm reached out, Mark accepted it and gave a firm handshake.
“Be careful brother.” Mark said.
“You know me.” Replied Herb.
“Yea, I know you, that’s why I’m reminding you to be careful asshole.” Mark said. Herb smiled getting to his feet. It didn’t look like it caused him too much pain, but it wasn’t done quickly either. Mark turned and looked at Margaret and John.
“So, I guess we should be ready to go in the morning?”
“You got it.” John said exiting the room. “Get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”
Boulder Colorado
7:32 PM Sunday August 18th
Captain Horn had been very near death when he’d made it into this house two days ago. He had lost a lot of blood and had passed out more than once.
He’d lost a fist size chunk of flesh out of his right calf, a fairly good piece missing from his left shoulder, and numerous other less severe bites. He’d lost so much blood, he honestly wasn’t certain that he would survive the night. But he did wake the next day, he got up, he changed his bandages, and had continued a heavy dose of antibiotics and painkillers.
Since then he’d been resting, recovering, and watching. Watching the roads, watching the undead roam the streets, watching their habits from the safety of a second-floor bedroom. He noted that they constantly move. A swarm that will pick up any stragglers that are standing dormant nearby. He also noted that they emit a constant guttural moan, not very loud, but in the silence, it can be heard clearly. He was hoping he could see them attacking someone to see how the “swarm” reacts when prey is near, but he wasn’t so lucky.
The supplies gathered from the house were more than enough to last him a few days. He could have survived for weeks here if not for a lack of water. He hadn’t expecting the power to go out, didn’t really consider it. Now he regretted not collecting more water in advance. He was upset for a while telling himself that he should have known that the power would go out. Now his only option is to leave the house. His primary goal was attempting to contact the Army. If there is anyone left to contact.
He figured his best bet was getting back to the garrison, if it didn’t look too bad. There are radios in every vehicle. His whole body still ached when he moved. Most of the wounds had crusted over, but there were so many of them he felt like he cracked and oozed every time he moved.
Stepping out onto the covered front porch, the summer sun had just fallen behind the Rocky Mountains, and a pink haze still held on to the mountain tops. The air was crisp, and there were some malicious looking storm clouds to the south. He had watched about fifteen minutes ago a swarm had moved through. He waited for about ten minutes after they had all passed before deciding to go.
As he limped slowly down the street the sound of his boots striking pavement seemed to echo through the empty neighborhood streets. As he made a left-hand turn, he could see the convoy of vehicles a block ahead. It seemed he was going to make it back to the garrison without seeing any undead.
When he was within a half block, he could already see that the pavement around the vehicles were stained red. Walking up to a large personnel carrier, he opened the driver’s side door and painfully hoisted himself into the cab. Horn looked down and saw the twinkle of the keys hanging from the ignition. He couldn’t help but to look up at the barricades. The downed razor wire, the broken wood, the stains of dried blood. His boys, under his charge, all dead. He turns the key into the on position, the red light on the CB radio lights up, he twists the dial down to the emergency band and picks up the mike.
“This is Captain Earnest Horn, 32nd army reserve company Boulder Colorado, does anyone copy?” He waits. “Command. Does anyone Copy?” A garbled voice breaks through heavy static.
“ate... orth... not… y… rescues at.. time… ory.” Horn couldn’t quite hear what the voice on the radio was saying, but it sounded like there was no help coming. He keyed the mike and put it up to his mouth.
“I don’t know how well you can hear me, but listen, my name is Captain Earnest Horn. I was part of the US Army Garrison in Boulder Colorado. I have been bitten. I was bitten two days ago.” He removed his thumb from the button and waited as silence filled the line.
“Do you copy?” Horn asks into the mike.
“Stand by captain Horn.” Captain Horn sighs in relief. “Can you get to high ground?”
“I can try.”
“Pop smoke or light flares, there’s a chopper on the way. Copy?”
“I copy.” Captain Horn replaced the mike on the holder.
“E.T.A. nineteen minutes.” The voice said on the other side.
He checked the side mirrors and saw no movemen
t. He hadn’t seen any substantial buildings nearby, he had to move towards city center. Knowing he couldn’t make it that far on foot his hand moves to the key in the ignition. With a brief prayer he turned the key and the old truck rumbled to life. Pushing the gearshift into first gear he accelerates down the street. No more than a half a block down he sees the swarm of undead streaming around the corner a block and a half behind him. He pushes he accelerator down to the floor and shifts into second and then quickly into third, gaining speed rapidly. He makes a left and turn and pushes the big truck to sixty.
As he began to enter downtown more cars began to obstruct the road. There were a lot of cars on the road here, so Captain Horn down shifted back to third and pushed the truck hard, swerving in and out driving lanes. Even going up on the sidewalk to avoid the congestion of stalled vehicles.
He was forced to slow farther when there was a full blockage of the road, he pulled the truck up to the bumper as carefully as he could and shoved the vehicles out of the way with the large green truck. Just as he began accelerating, he could he the swarm cresting the top of the hill. It was slow going there were some tight spaces that he had to fit through. He spotted a grocery store on the right-hand side, swerving across two lanes he slammed into the back corner of a Volkswagen beetle flipping it over on its side.
Captain Horn pulls the truck around the corner of the store and pulls up against the wall until the side of the truck grinds against the brick building. He grabbed his pack off the passenger seat and jumped out the door. Horn jogs as quickly as his injured body would allow him, around to the back of the truck, and lowers the rear gate. He hopped up inside the canopy glancing quickly over his shoulder. Nothing could be seen yet, but he knew they’d be coming any moment now. He moved immediately to the right side of the truck, sliding a large black case out from under the long green bench. He grabs four flares and closes the lid quickly.
Returning to his feet he could see the stream of undead pouring down the street flooding over cars only three blocks away. He hesitated for just a moment picturing himself jumping up onto the back of the truck. His shoulder already hurt like hell, he imagined the pain of pulling himself up on to the canopy and making his way onto the roof.
Then he saw that they weren’t turning towards him. He backed slowly deeper into the truck as they streamed past moving down the street.
The swarm passed right by him, and there was just a trickle of slower zombies trying to keep up with the pack, when Horn first heard the distant tapping of a helicopter. He had a sudden thought that shocked him. He didn’t know how long they would search before giving up, but he didn’t think it would be too long. He knew he had to make it to the roof soon. Plenty of undead still moving through the streets. He sat, waiting impatiently, as the last of the light dying over the Rockies faded into the most star filled night Captain Horn could remember. He moved as quickly and quietly as he could onto the roof. He moved all the way to the far end of the building before popping two bright pink flares. He dropped one on the ground and threw the other about ten feet away. It didn’t take long for the sound of the chopper to start sounding closer, and only seconds after he saw two lights in the distant sky.
An eternity passed as those lights grew slowly closer. Finally, they were right over top of him and coming down quickly. Wind from the blades above began swirling quickly around the roof and the lights seemed blindingly close.
Just before the landing skids touched the roof Captain Horn noticed the first of the dead scramble over the top of the roof. He lunged toward the chopper that was still hovering. Placing his foot on the bar and yanked open the door throwing himself through with all of his might.
“GO! GO! GO!” He yelled as he flew through the air. The chopper rocked and jolted into the air. Horn looked out the far window he saw them pouring over the top of the roof and streaming across the roof out of the darkness and into the light. The helicopter lifted and listed to the right as it strained to pull from the onslaught of undead clinging to the side of the craft. Horn Jumped up and slammed the door closed as the chopper began to spin to the left.
“Come on you bitch!” the pilot screamed. As if coming unglued the helicopter jolted into the air, flinging several of the creatures into the air, Captain Horn watched as one of them actually clipped the rapidly spinning blades flinging it in several pieces off into the night. Horn pulled himself into a seat and clipped on his seatbelt. He took a deep breath, leaned his head back and grabbed the headphones off the back wall.
“Nice flying son.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Captain Earnest Horn.”
“Airman Thomas McNamara.” Captain Horn jumped slightly when a hand with a broken pinky finger smacked against the window.
“There’s still one hanging on the left side.” Captain Horn said buckling his seatbelt.
“Got it.” Airman McNamara said. The chopper drifted gently to the right and then spun to the right, Captain Horn grabbed onto the handle over the door as the pilot snapped the stick back to the left flinging the undead off their craft and down into the dark abyss.
“You have yourself a real talent on the stick son.”
“Thank you, sir.” The pilot smiled.
Sunday, August 18th, 8:01 PM
Bitterroot Valley Montana
Jeff Covemaker was back on guard duty sitting his window watching the front drive which is now adorned with row after row of trenches and barricades with razor wire. The last of the dying light had just faded away into full darkness. Jeff was exhausted from the day’s work and had only been allowed about three hours of sleep this afternoon before going back on watch. The only upside was that he was going to be relieved at one o’clock in the morning. He didn’t have to pull an all-nighter again.
Only a few people still stirred downstairs, most everyone else had gone off to sleep early after the day of hard labor. The only chatter remaining on the radio was Glen Hazlett. He was a lunatic down in Wyoming. He was what one would call a conspiracy theorist. He could drone on four hours on end talking about every conspiracy you can think of. Every other frequency had fallen silent.
Taking another bite of hamburger left over from dinner Jeff gazed out to the dark forest landscape in front of him. The moon was nearly full and hanging just above the tops of the trees. The star-filled sky was clear other than a wisp or two of white clouds. Jeff found himself admiring the moonlight reflecting off the tops of the trees. When he looked back towards the road there seemed to be smoke coming from way off in the distance. Jeff didn’t really think much of it, there had been more than one fire in the distance lately. It didn’t strike him that that anything was out of the ordinary until he looked back a few moments later and noted that the fire appeared to have moved. He picked up his rifle and peered through the scope he watched the line of smoke more closely. He squinted trying to study the lines of the trees, and their relationship to the smoke. After only a minute he was certain that not only was it moving, that it was on their drive and moving this way. He reached across the window and pulled a grey cord that was hanging to the right of the window.
A bell began resounding throughout the house. Almost immediately there was enough commotion in the house that Jeff could feel it through the floor. Five men burst into the room.
“Jeff, what’s up?” A large man in a blue shirt named Owen asked.
“There is fire.” The man looked at him. “It’s coming this way.” Jeff said. Owen was still looking at him, though now he looked even more confused.
“Let me see.” Owen stepped forward and took the rifle from Jeff. “You’re sure it’s heading this way?”
“Pretty damn sure. Been watching it for a few minutes now, it’s definitely moving.”
“Let me see.” Owen said putting the rifle up to his shoulder. He closed his left eye and peered through the scope. He held the crosshairs at the end of the road. He watched for a long moment. He let out a long-exasperated sigh.
“Alright, Ted, Donald
, get everybody moving. Ready up.” Both the other two men departed the room with purpose. Owen handed the rifle back to Jeff.
“Jeff, keep a close eye. Stewart is going to stay to relay any updates. Tell him if anything changes.”
“You got it.” Jeff said resuming his position at the window.
Six minutes later Jeff passed along the first and possibly the most vital piece of information. Stewart ‘s jaw dropped, and his eyes widened. He rushed off down the hall. Had he stayed there another moment Jeff believed he would have seen him make water in his pants.
Jeff told him that the approaching flame was actually a swarm of undead. They are coming down the road by the hundreds, maybe thousands. There is a large group in the middle of the pack that are on fire. They are heading this way and are approximately 1 mile away.
Stewart never returned. Another man, Chester Pickmen showed up at the door and formally advised that he was to relay any new information.
Two minutes later Jeff told Chester the next thing to relay to the group. The group of undead are at the first two sets of barricades, and they do not appear slowing them down very much at all.
It was only 47 seconds later before gunfire erupted from inside the house. There were slots along the wall of the front room, those slots were now filled with survivalists with machine guns, and rifles. Behind them was a row of helpers whose only job was to reload and hand back the next weapon. The room is filling with smoke, the barrels of some weapons handed back are glowing red. The gunners watch in horror as the flaming undead flow like water over their barricades. Every time one of them falls there are more behind them the deep trenches slow them for only a few moments before it fills up then the other undead flow right over top. The razor wire doesn’t even phase them they sever fingers, hands, some even whole limbs that get tangles, but they come right through as if nothing were happening. Clean headshots are only coming to those with scopes on their rifles or when they get close enough that they can be seen clearly by the naked eye. But the expenditure of ammunition is flowing at such an alarming rate that some of the people designated to reload were forced to run downstairs for more cases of ammunition. This delay caused some to have to stop firing to wait for someone to bring another weapon.
The Z Strain Page 21
