He led his team to finish their immediate goal. Now that they had a bit more experience doing it, the job of finding fuel went much quicker. The entire time, Cedric kept watching the infected man. They could hear him yelling in the throaty, animalistic way that all the infected sounded.
“He’s going to draw more in if he keeps that up,” Steph said once the man started beating the metal of the car hood.
“Fine,” Cedric said. “We’re about full of fuel anyway.”
Cedric grabbed his two red gasoline cans and Steph grabbed hers. They carried them to the Hummer and dropped them at Pearson’s feet.
“I’m going to go deal with Rambo over there,” he said jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “Can you fill the Humvees up?”
Pearson grunted his agreement and grabbed the first can.
Cedric turned and began to walk to the infected man. “Stay behind me,” he told Steph.
“I know the drill,” she said without emotion.
Cedric closed the distance and pulled his machete from his back. It was a weapon he rarely used. Every Nighthawk had one, but Cedric could count on one hand the number of times he’d used it to kill an infected. It just never felt right in his hand.
Cedric shifted the weight of the blade as he climbed onto the back of the Camry that had the man pressed against the wall. Steph circled around the side; her machete raised.
Cedric slowly climbed to the roof and began to speak, “Alright, big guy. I feel for ya. Not your fault.”
The man thrashed harder with Cedric so close.
“Woah now,” he said starting to lose his balance from the vibrations. “Just hold still and this will go quicker.”
The man continued to thrash, beating his hands on the car hood.
Cedric, afraid of losing his balance, crouched down to plant one knee of the roof. He pulled his hand back and swung the machete down with all the force he could.
He felt the blade make contact and stop.
At first, Cedric thought the blade had gone through the man’s arm where he’d aimed and hit the metal below. He was stunned when his brain caught up to the sight in front of him.
His blade had been stopped. The infected man had thrown up a fist and caught the blade on his knuckles.
Cedric gasped as he pulled back wrenching his machete from the man’s fist. Blood began to sprout from the wound, but it had done minimal damage.
The man looked Cedric dead in the eyes and bellowed.
Cedric’s heart sank as he shouted, “Shoot him!”
Steph dropped her machete to the ground and reached for her handgun. Before she could pull it free, the infected man grabbed the front of the car and pushed. The bare metal of the tire rims screeched on the pavement as the car slowly inched backward. Cedric grabbed for his own gun just as Steph began to shoot.
Cedric didn’t even register that his partner had fired. He pulled his 9mm free and opened fire. His adrenaline and fear clouded his judgment. He fired again and again.
The infected man collapsed but Cedric continued to fire. He emptied his entire magazine before he began to breathe again.
When he turned to look at Steph, she was visibly shaking.
“They’ve never done that before,” she choked out. “They’ve never reacted. They’ve never done any of that.”
She slowly pushed her sidearm back into its sheath and knelt to the ground. Cedric rolled off the side of the Camry and put his hands on his knees. Before he could help it, he vomited.
Within seconds, Clarke and Stewart were at their sides, checking on them.
“What the Hell happened?” Clarke asked looking at the man.
“Apparently,” Cedric said standing up straight, “these things regain some thought after this long of being infected.”
When he got back to the vehicles, and Clarke and Stewart retrieved their fuel, Cedric and Steph explained what the man had done.
“And that’s never happened before?” Pearson asked.
“Like I said,” Steph explained, “we’ve never seen one this old before. Apparently, they learn, or grow, or something.”
“They start to think again,” Stewart remarked.
“That’s bad,” Davis said thinking through the implications. “What happens when they start to really think? More than just reactions, I mean.”
Cedric was about to respond when he heard a noise from the other end of the parking lot.
“Crap, we got distracted,” he snarled as he pulled his gun from his belt. As soon as he saw the coloring of the three infected, he holstered his gun and pulled his pipes out. He casually walked forward, confidence regained and slung a pipe at the first man. He felt the bone break under the pressure.
Before the next could react to his presence, he cracked it in the temple. She fell too. Cedric took a quick step backward and pulled the third to the ground as he dropped his pipes.
Once the last man was on the ground, he smashed his face into the pavement.
Cedric exhaled briefly as he stood back up. He gave a thumbs up to the group and looked around. Steph had followed him the fifteen feet but was staring, wide-eyed, into a nearby field. From the vantage point of the Hummers, it was impossible to see. But from here, Cedric could. He took a quick estimate: 50.
“Formation!” He yelled picking his pipes back up. He knew that there was no way to get everyone in the Hummers and drive them out before being overrun. He knew, instinctively, this was their best option.
Within seconds, the hoard was upon him and Steph. He swung madly. He could hear Steph’s machete making a horrid slicing sounds as she swung.
Cedric felt his clothes begin to get soaked in blood. He was sure it wasn’t his own. He would have felt it. After his seventh kill, he heard a new sound near him.
Pop, pop, pop.
He turned slightly to see Clarke and Stewart with their guns held up. An hour ago, he would have yelled at them to drop the rifles. Now, he understood their panic. He wasn’t used to an old infected. They weren’t used to a hoard.
Cedric continued to swing when infected got close. His arms were aching due to the reverb in the pipes. He knew he was slowing. Finally, after his fifteenth kill, he felt a hard knock on his back. Before he could turn and rebound the attacker, he was on the ground.
Cedric knocked the infected man off him, but a woman immediately took his spot. Before Cedric could mount his defense, he saw a flash of black as a loud crack sounded in his ears. Then, the woman was gone.
Cedric quickly pushed himself to his feet and saw Karli swing her metal softball bat like she was in the middle of a game. She shot her front foot forward and swung low, shattering the leg of an infected man twice her size. As he fell, he swiped his hands out, but she was gone. She ran a short distance. Some of the infected broke off the main hoard and followed.
Karli swung again, this time much higher, and smacked the side of a woman’s head. There was enough force that the woman spun completely around as she fell, dead.
Cedric looked away, grabbed the nearest infected man by the hair and yanked. However, when Cedric did this, it did not have the intended effect he normally received.
Instead, the month old glue separated and the toupee came loose. The force Cedric had used to pull now had no weight. He fell backwards again. But this time, he managed to knock Clarke over.
In a panic, Clarke tried to stand back up before clearing his surroundings. There were only a few infected left, but one of them was directly at Clarke’s side.
Cedric tried to reach him in time but was stopped by his own infected. Cedric punched the now bald man in the center of the forehead. He stumbled backward with the force. He then pulled the gun from its holster and pistol-whipped the man directly in the temple. He collapsed.
When Cedric turned around, he saw that Karli had managed to take Clarke’s attacker out—but not before the infected man had taken a small chunk of skin from his neck.
The church van pulled into the parking lot of the National Guard
Armory. Dr. Moore stepped out of the driver’s seat and shook Colonel Qualls’ hand.
“Thank you for letting us in,” he said briskly.
“I think we need to talk. I don’t understand why you killed off other council members and drove away in a stolen van,” Qualls said.
“I did no such thing,” Dr. Moore said without any emotion.
“Ben tells it differently,” Qualls said. “He called on the CB and said that we should shoot on sight.” Qualls turned his back on Dr. Moore and began to walk away. “But I know you, Doc. Your people will be given a place to sleep. We need to talk.”
Dr. Moore followed closely behind Qualls to his office.
Charlie quickly climbed down the ladder and started to walk to the infirmary to deal with Bennet. As far as he was concerned, Bennet needed to die. He just couldn’t do it in front of his mother.
He stopped at the stairs on his way and picked up his notebook. He quickly ripped out the three pages of plans, folded them, and roughly shoved them into his back pocket.
Right after he did, he saw Ben emerge from the infirmary door.
“What the Hell happened here?” Ben shouted at Charlie.
Charlie took a step back trying to figure out what Bennet had told him. “I don’t know,” he finally said once Ben was close enough.
“Bennet is lying in the infirmary, knocked out cold. I can’t find anyone. Who’s on duty?” Ben asked.
Charlie felt his spirits rise. Ben didn’t know yet. He knew he had to take charge of the situation. “I’m trying to figure everything out, but it looks like Dr. Moore has helped the prisoners escape.”
Ben clenched his fist and spat out, “How did it happen?”
Charlie shook his head, “Still trying to figure it out. Wilson is gone. The door was busted open. There’s no security on the roof. Gerard was supposed to be up there, but I can’t find him.”
Ben began to curse. After a moment he said, “Find out everything you can. I’m going to find Gerard and wring his neck. He’d better be dead if he’s not at his damn post!”
Ben turned and started back for the main building. Charlie went to the infirmary to finally deal with Bennet. When he walked in, he found Frank and another man he didn’t know the name of standing guard over him. The second man raised his gun.
“Chill,” Charlie said walking past them. He began to search through the cabinets looking for an acceptable reason to be in the room. He had planned to imitate the movies and smother Bennet with his pillow. Instead, he ended up leaving the infirmary with a bottle full of pink liquid claiming he had an upset stomach from the stress.
Charlie spent the next few hours trying to make it look like he was investigating. He locked down the entire vocational building with chains and told Ben over the CB to give him a heads up if he was headed down. He could easily use the excuse that he was trying to stay safe since Bennet was now down.
While everyone thought Charlie was trying to piece together what happened, he spent the next hour pulling spark plugs from all of the vehicles. Ben had woken the full defense crew from their sleep and placed them on the roofs with orders to shoot anything that moved outside until morning.
Charlie knew that Bennet had ruined the rest of his plan, but he continued in hopes anyway. Charlie left the spark plugs in one vehicle. He pushed the dirt bike to the council room and covered it with a bedsheet. To the best of his knowledge, he was the only person left at the facility who knew this door could actually be opened.
After all of his preparations were done, he went and started writing on a sheet of notebook paper. He wrote everything he could without revealing that he’d been behind it.
He planned on taking the dirt bike out the next morning and pulling it through the backwoods to escape. He had everything, including a small backpack of supplies, ready. He waited.
The next morning, Ben called over the intercom system, “I need everyone from the facility to be taken to the main cafeteria. We need to have a chat.”
This is it, Charlie thought to himself. While he’s got everyone there, I’ll go.
He was about to grab his backpack from the council room when he heard someone yell, “Who's got the key to this chain?”
Charlie dropped his backpack and walked out of the room. “Right here,” he said holding it up.
Once the chain was unlocked, he turned to leave.
“Where you going?” he heard his wife say.
“I’m right behind you. Tell your dad I’ll be right there,” Charlie said. “I forgot my medicine sitting in the room. I’ve just got to grab some and I’ll be there.”
“That’s fine,” Frank said. “I’ve got some. Glad you showed me where it was. That deer meat tore my stomach up.”
Charlie smiled as he took the bottle from Frank. Okay, I’ll rush back. I don’t have a gun on me. I’ve got nothing. They do. I’ll just have to rush back.
Charlie took a swig of the bottle and handed it back. “Thanks, man.”
Frank nodded and held the door open for him.
Charlie grabbed his wife’s hand and followed the small crowd up the walkway to the main building. Within a few minutes, they were at the assembled crowd. Most looked confused and worried.
Ben waved him over. “What have we found out?” he asked.
Charlie handed Ben the notebook with his fabricated evidence on it. “Not much, really.”
“That’s fine,” Ben said. “I’ve got enough.”
Once Ben was sure everyone was accounted for, he began to talk. “I’m sure some of you have heard the news by now. The council has abandoned us. Some of them attacked me yesterday when they summoned me to meet. I defended myself. Charlie can attest to all of it. Two council members died in the struggle. Some of the soldiers who stayed behind died too. Bennet is the only one left. He’s in critical condition.”
Charlie began to tune Ben’s lies out and checked his watch. He knew he had to hurry.
“..but we are glad to see that we’ve pulled through,” Ben said. Charlie looked around and saw the faces of the people. He could tell that they were buying it. He snarled.
“Bennet,” Frank said from the side.
Charlie whipped his head around looking. Frank was attempting to get Bennet to sit in a chair, “You don’t need to…”
Bennet shoved Frank away and raised his arm. Charlie saw directly down the barrel of the pistol as it fired.
Denise screamed as her husband fell to the ground.
Ben began to yell, “Grab him!”
Bennet calmly looked at Charlie’s still body on the ground. He noticed the papers that had been haphazardly shoved in Charlie’s pocket.
“Check his back pocket, Ben!” Bennet yelled over the screams of the crowd.
Ben saw the tips of the papers and yanked them out. As he examined them, his snarl grew larger.
“He tried to kill me last night,” Bennet shouted over the roar of the crowd. “I wasn’t about to let him kill anyone else.”
Ben threw the papers, the real evidence, to the ground and left the cafeteria shouting, “Back to lockdown!”
Chapter Sixteen:
THE LIVING AND THE DEAD
Eric awoke the next morning in a fury. He remembered every hit that was delivered to him. When Garcia explained what had happened after he went unconscious, he was even more enraged.
“We need to go back,” he kept insisting. After Reid had examined Eric to the best of his abilities, Eric slid from the hotel bed and began to pace. The room was an economy, one-bed hotel room on the second floor.
“No,” Garcia said finally. “You are not listening. Ron built that huge CB transmitter for missions, right? Well, Hermon heard a message on the CB last night that a group of ours escaped. He told Colonel Qualls to shoot on sight. They didn’t come here, where else would they go?”
“So, you want to go to Qualls?” Eric asked. “Isn’t he going to shoot on sight?”
“Doubtful,” Garcia commented. She sat down in the only cha
ir in the room. “Remember what Davis said a few days ago? Qualls wants Ced as his number-one, right-hand man. He’s not going to take orders from Ben. He knows there’s bad blood there.”
“But if Ben’s in charge,” Ron said sitting down where Eric had been laying, “we don’t know. There’s just too many variables.”
Eric looked out of the balcony window. “Does the van have enough fuel?”
“We didn’t even make it all the way,” Reid said. “I had to carry your heavy butt the last two klicks.”
Eric laughed, “At least you got your workout. So, how are we supposed to get to the FRA compound?”
Ron bounced on the bed a bit as he began to speak, “In Cedric’s report, he said the other van was still in the parking lot at the propane depot. It’s only been a few days. Think it’s still there?”
“Probably,” Garcia commented. “You up for a run Eric?”
Eric turned from the window and said, “After that serum? Hell, I’m ready for a marathon.”
The first thing Hank did when he woke up the next morning was to find Dr. Moore.
Dr. Moore was sitting outside of the main building at a picnic table drinking coffee.
“How’s the caffeine?” Hank asked.
“Honestly?” Dr. Moore said raising an eyebrow, “it tastes a bit like mud. I truly hope they started boiling their creek water after I sent the message with Davis.”
Hank didn’t respond to that line of conversation. Instead, he jumped into the real reason he’d found the doctor. “What did Qualls say last night?”
“He’ll hide us for a time, but that’s it. No assistance,” Dr. Moore said with a sigh.
“Weapons?” Hank asked.
“Only what Charlie managed to gather for us,” Dr. Moore said. “He should be here by now.”
“I know,” Hank said. “But, either way, we’ve got to do something.”
“What can we do?” Dr. Moore asked. “I’m not a fighter and you’re old.” Dr. Moore wasn’t trying to be rude; he was just tired and felt the need to be blunt.
The Living Saga (Book 2): Enduring Page 17
