by Gray, W. S.
He blinked. Trey put one hand on his naked hip. Shivering, he nonetheless felt flabbergasted by what he’d just heard. “What, now?” he asked. “Infected, as in… turned into… fucking zombies?” he asked.
“Son, you’re a lawyer. Well, used to be one, at least. Why so much language?” Harry asked.
“Oh, shut the fuck up, dad. What do you mean? None of this is making sense,” Trey said.
Harry frowned. He obviously didn’t like being told off by his son. Nonetheless, he took a deep breath and forced himself to go on. “I guess they think… whatever it is that is behind this whole zombie apocalypse mess is… I think he said Lyssavirus. But, from what I gather, they basically see the virus that’s turning people as some weird version of rabies. Or something. I don’t know,” Harry said.
Trying to think, Trey looked down at the concrete and chewed on his lower lip. “Hmmm…” he said. Then an epiphany struck. “Hey, that kind of makes sense. In a weird sort of way. Rabies is supposed to make you hydrophobic,” he said. Then another thought collided with that one. “But… how did all those others make it onto the island with us?” he asked.
“Maybe they just floated?” Harry asked, shrugging. “I mean, under the circumstances, it doesn’t seem like they had much choice. Maybe they didn’t like it,” he said. “But that didn’t change anything,” he said. Then he smiled wryly. “Hey, can zombies drown?” he asked.
Chuckling, Trey shook his head. It was hard to believe everything had come to this. “Hey, will you ask them if we passed the test or whatever? Can we get dressed? Because… I’m fucking freezing,” he said.
After a brief exchange, Harry nodded. “Yeah, we can get dressed,” he said.
As he put his clothing back on, Trey thought about what he’d been told. He fought to dredge up the obscure, esoteric details he’d learned at some point about rabies. He snapped his fingers. Smiling, Trey turned to look at his dad. “I had to help with a patent on a rabies vaccine, once,” he said.
“What?” Harry asked, his turn to be confused.
“I…” Trey shook his head. He waved a hand dismissively. “I can’t remember any of it, anyway,” he said.
“No, no… that could be important, son. I mean, if there’s something out there that might fix… whatever this is…” Harry said, his tone thoughtful.
“Well, I mean, it’s more to prevent infection,” Trey said. “You know, a vaccine,” he said.
“If these things can’t infect anyone else, that pretty much stops the spread of the virus,” Harry pointed out.
But then a violent crash and a sudden burst of sirens blaring broke them out of their reverie.
Chapter 4
Maxime ran.
The other two French soldiers quickly followed suit.
“Priorité 1. Tout le personnel retourne aux stations selon le protocole d'urgence.” Trey listened to the French being broadcast from some amplified speaker hidden nearby. Responding to the urgency and haste with which his counterparts displayed, he grabbed his gun and trotted across the lot toward the other building where he’d seen his daughter and wife taken. As he did so, however, he heard several screams followed by a series of shots fired from nearby.
Turning, he saw an angry mob rushing toward him. Heart racing, Trey searched around, trying to find somewhere to hide. He didn’t think he had time to even get back in the building he’d only just vacated.
Realizing that engaging the enemy at that point was largely an exercise in futility, he fled to a nearby crate, where he crouched down. Watching as the crazed crowd passed him in pursuit of several running French soldiers, Trey decided to help out. He aimed and picked off several from the crowd. Then he moved in a low crouch, only barely escaping the grasping hands of the stragglers in the back.
Suddenly, as he found a new position from which to harass the enemy, Trey noticed movement above. He smiled sharkishly.
A menacing-looking gun with a long metal barrel poked over the edge of the brick building where a French soldier had taken up a position above the horde. What appeared to be a tripod stabilized the beastly death-dealing machine. Several holes in the metal at the base of the barrel could be seen just before a long, vertical shaft of metal jutted up from the weapon.
Covering his ears, he bent his head down just as the raucous blast erupted through the chaos of the night.
Daring to open one eye when he’d become convinced that the coast was clear, Trey opened his mouth and stared in shock at the carnage on display before him. Wrangled bodies, twisted and contorted in various macabre poses, rigid in death, littered the pavement. The silver moonlight framing the scene cast an additional element to the entire nightmarish vision. His ears ringing, he tried to make sense of what was in front of him.
So many bodies…
And none of them bore the telltale flesh wounds of the damned.
Dark blood slid down in a thick pool from the piles of destroyed corpses. Trey watched it with a cruel curiosity. A haunted feeling tiptoed through the mausoleum of his soul, whispering as it went. Suddenly, a bird landed on the cracked head of one of the creatures. He jumped. Startled, he blinked. Something about the abrupt action jolted him from his reverie.
Slowly, he got to his feet. Trey looked around, searching the area for any sign of his family. Seeing Chloe, he smiled, relief flooding his veins at the sight of someone he knew. Taking a moment to collect himself, he inhaled deeply, holding the breath for several seconds. Resisting the urge to turn and confront the bizarre, sick art exhibit of deceased zombies that persistently banged against the edges of his consciousness like some pigeon, he stared straight ahead and moved toward the girl.
“Hey,” Chloe,” he called out.
The girl ran to him, throwing her arms around him. She began sobbing as Trey put a tentative arm around her. She planted her face deep into his belly, her body wracked with the raw emotion pulsing through her.
“It’s okay,” Trey said, his tone hollow. He patted her on the back. In the back of his mind, he worried about how the scene might look to an outsider. Not to mention it was a bit odd to be comforting someone other than his own daughter. But, almost concurrent with these thoughts, Trey vividly recalled the death of Chloe’s father. A murder she’d been brutally forced to witness. Having endured that with the girl, he figured she was practically as good as family. Especially with how much she’d contributed to his own survival thereafter, as well as the survival of the crew.
“It’s okay,” he said again.
He knew it wasn’t okay. Trey doubted things would ever be okay. But the lie helped reassure him just as much as he hoped it did her.
“They…” Chloe said, pulling her face away and looking up at Trey, her face puffy and red. She sniffled and wiped a hand across her nose. Then she wiped it on her pants. “I want to go home,” she said.
Trey smiled sadly. He clutched her to him. He shared her feeling. The only problem was that there was no longer a home to return to. And there wouldn’t be anything close for a long time.
“Where’s Sofia?” he asked, pushing the girl away. He took the moment to survey the scene. The sirens had gone off, leaving a tense silence in the wake of their sudden, marked absence. Soldiers milled about, acting in a synchronicity that was amazing to witness. Turning slightly, he noticed a number of soldiers rolling concertina wire around the perimeter, where the previous rows had somehow been breached. Smiling, he noticed that Marshall had joined in the effort, helping the others.
“She’s… she’s in there,” Chloe said. She pointed toward the other building.
“Okay, well… go find Harry,” Trey said distractedly, already moving in the direction of the second warehouse.
Once inside, the raucous din and powerful stench of diesel colluded to give him pause. Trey stopped. He scanned the crowds swirling around, trying to pick out Sofia or Melody. He saw a few people that looked vaguely similar, but every time his heart skipped a beat and he thought he’d finally succeeded in locating hi
s kin, the relevant person turned and revealed themselves as someone else. Trey grew frustrated. He clenched a fist and grunted.
Then he smiled and began marching toward his daughter. “Sofia!” he called out. He reached her after only a few seconds.
Their embrace was as sweet as wild honey. A stray tear slid down Trey’s cheek. He didn’t bother to reach up and wipe the warm droplet away. He held Sofia, his body shaking from the effects of residual emotion. A smile spread across his face. Bending down, he sniffed his daughter’s hair. He inhaled her scent.
Then he drew back, pinching his scrunched-up nose and waving a hand in front of his face.
“Hey,” Sofia said, frowning. “Rude.”
Trey smiled. He reached out ruffled her hair. “I sure am glad to see you,” he said.
“Yeah, they sprayed us with ice-cold water,” Sofia said. “It hurt,” she added, shivering at the memory.
“I know,” he said, nodding. “They did the same thing to me. Grandpa said that it’s to check for rabies,” Trey said.
“What? Humans can get rabies?” she asked, her curiosity suddenly overcoming any anxiety or discomfort she’d experienced at recounting how she’d been assaulted by French military members shortly before a mob stormed the base and got mowed down by a heavy machine gun.
Looking at Sofia, Trey couldn’t help but smile. He shook his head in wry amusement. “You’re something else,” he said.
“Stop, dad. You’re embarrassing me,” she said. She jutted out one hip and put a hand on it. “What?” she asked, shooting him a look that reminded Trey of her mom.
“Nothing, Sofia,” Trey said. “Yes, humans can get rabies,” he said. “Sometimes, when animals get rabies, they exhibit hydrophobia,” he said.
Suddenly Melody appeared. “Hi,” she said. She looked at her husband, a question in her eyes. Then, after a noticeable pause, she leaned in and gave Trey a kiss on the lips. “What are you two commiserating about?” she asked.
“I was just explaining why they hosed you down,” Trey said.
“And the reason is?” Melody asked, a rigid frown slashing across her face.
“Oh, Harry said they said it was to check for rabies,” Trey said.
Melody suddenly began nodding vigorously. “That makes sense,” she said.
“Um, what?” Trey asked, raising one incredulous eyebrow.
“Hydrophobia. Actually, that used to be the name for rabies, a long time ago. But… I guess it kind of makes sense. Not really, though, the more I think about it,” she said.
“I know, that’s what I was thinking. All of those zombies on the island,” Trey said, smiling with self-satisfaction.
“No,” Melody said, shaking her head. “No, not that. Though, that IS a good point. No, hydrophobia usually only occurs in the late stages. And, from what I understand, it only manifests itself when someone is presented with liquids to drink,” she said.
“How do you know all this?” Trey asked, looking at his wife with a new sense of respect. She never ceased to amaze him.
“Well, I was doing those shifter romance books for a while. Had an entire series with werewolves and all that,” Melody said. “You don’t remember me telling you?” she asked.
Blinking, his face blank, Trey shrugged. “I’m sorry?” he said, turning it into a question with his tone.
“Oh, it’s okay,” she said. “You never paid attention when I blathered about my books,” she said. Then she sniffled and grew sad. “I miss it,” she said. “I miss my fans,” she said.
Trey reached out and patted her arm.
Then Maxime marched in and shattered the moment. Harry walked beside him. The man stopped a few feet from Trey and called out, adopted a stentorian tone that carried through the large space. He didn’t have to wait long before the crowd became quiet. Then he began speaking. Maxime paused every so often to give Harry an opportunity to translate.
“He says that the crowds outside the base are growing and threatening the security of the base. He says that we don’t have long before the overrun the place,” he said.
Maxime spoke again. Then paused once more to allow Harry to do his business.
“Maxime says that we need to begin formal evacuation procedures. We’ll be leaving in about two hours,” Harry said. He gulped. “He says that the patrol craft can only support a hundred people… if they stretch things,” he said.
In the wake of that stunning bombshell, Trey had a hard time realizing their French, bank-robbing Mormon liaison had resumed his speech.
“He wants to take the Bishop as well as myself and one other foreigner with him. That and thirty soldiers. Maxime is asking the rest of the French soldiers- and all of the combat-oriented troops- to remain behind with… the rest of the foreigners allowed onto the base,” Harry said.
Then Maxime once again spoke.
“There are two frigates coming from New Caledonia. They should arrive here at the island soon,” Harry said. “Within a day, possibly two. The hope is that everyone will be evacuated,” he said.
As Maxime turned smartly and left, the room erupted into an angry, accusatory din.
“What the fuck are we supposed to do?” Trey asked, rushing toward his father. An intense feeling of betrayal rushed through his veins. Accompanying that was a fierce rage that threatened to undo any semblance of sanity that remained.
Chapter 5
“Shit,” Harry said.
Looking down at the ground, he held his hands clasped behind his back and chewed his bottom lip. He appeared lost in thought. Finally, his troubled gaze connected with that of his son. “I’m sorry,” he said, his tone earnest.
Trey knew his dad meant it. Nonetheless, neither the candor nor the words offered any tangible relief from what he was experiencing. He’d just been almost literally thrown to the wolves. And it certainly appeared that his father was willing to act as a willing accomplice in that process.
The man’s complicity and complacency couldn’t be absolved with a single sentence, no matter how powerfully or artfully delivered.
“Well, the question still stands,” Trey said, fighting hard not to overreact or show the rage he felt simmering to a boil inside the hot black cauldron of his soul. “What the fuck are we supposed to do?” he asked. Glancing around, he noticed the flurry of activity taking place in the wake of the surprise announcement. People carried boxes. Others moved armfuls of plastic tarps that crinkled with each step. Everyone was doing something. Except him. Grunting, he shook his head and returned his attention back to the father he partly blamed for his present difficulties. “I mean, c’mon, dad! I can’t even fucking speak French. How I am supposed to even know if… Dad, you can’t let this happen,” he said.
“I have to, son. What choice do I have?” Harry asked. He appeared defeated. The weight of the decision obviously asserted itself in his cowed demeanor. “We need to get off of this island, Trey. And these are the people that are going to facilitate that,” he said.
“Why does he even need you, anyway? What use would he have for a translator?” Trey asked, stomping one foot down onto the concrete.
“For one, a lot of maritime radio traffic is conducted in English,” Harry said. “I’m sure most of them know the rudimentary stuff. In fact, I guarantee it. Because that’s the only way they’d be able to communicate,” he said. “Nonetheless, I don’t know, Trey… I really don’t. I mean, maybe they might even encounter an Australian vessel or something? It’s really not up to me, son. Maxime wants me to go with him. And, unless you really want to risk pissing him off and getting stranded here, it’s kind of pointless to stand here arguing about something neither of us has much control over,” he said.
Trey took a deep breath. Deep down, he knew his dad was right. And he also understood that he needed to let it go. To adapt to their changing circumstances. The person that failed to be fluid in the apocalypse was damned. He’d already had that lesson firmly embedded in his consciousness. Nonetheless, the feeling of betrayal
was hard to ignore.
“Okay… but… can you at least give me a few phrases? I need to be able to communicate with these folks somehow while you’re gone,” Trey said. “And, uh… will you get some basic orders from Maxime? On what we should be doing while we’re here?” he asked.
Harry smiled sadly. He reached out and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. He let it rest there for several seconds. “I really am sorry, son,” he said.
“Forget it, dad. It’s not something that can be undone. I’m pissed, but… look, fuck it, okay? We need to just go with the flow,” Trey said. “What should I know to say?” he asked. “Crash course in French in sixty seconds,” he said.
“Uh, Merci means thanks,” Harry said.
“Fuck, dad!” Trey exclaimed, clenching a fist. He inhaled, pausing to fight the rising tide of anger assaulting the beaches of his mind. “Look, I need phrases I can remember and that will be useful… under these conditions,” he said. “I’m not going to be saying thank you or asking for a train ticket during the zombie apocalypse.”
Harry chuckled. He scratched his head, looking down at the ground. “Okay, okay. Let me think…” Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. “Tuer might be one word they use for shoot. It pretty much means kill, but… you get the gist. Uh…le gauche or de gauche is left. Right is… a droite. Allez la-bas means go over there,” he said.
Trey mouthed the words silently as he tried to seal them in his memory. After several seconds, he nodded. “Those are useful,” he said.
Then they were interrupted by Maxime.
Harry took a few moments to gather the requested directives from the man who seemed to have assumed command. As he did so, Trey watched the exchange, his mind drifting back to the scene he’d witnessed upon their arrival in the capital city. Part of him wondered if the memory were even real. Everything seemed so fragmented and surreal. Yet, another aspect of him needed to know why the Frenchman had decided to rob the bank. And he figured he might not ever get another chance to ask.
