by David Spell
Ah, interesting that McCain’s name is the one she uses to reference the Atlanta office, he thought. I guess she likes tall guys.
“Yes and yes. Marshall and his team came up to Washington several months back for a case they were working on.”
“Was that the one involving the dirty bombs mixed with the zombie virus?” Nicole queried. When she saw the surprised look on Walker’s face, Edwards clarified. “Everything pertaining to the virus crosses my desk. I don’t know all the details of that investigation, but the samples of the virus mixed with radioactive waste were fascinating.”
“I imagine so,” Jay nodded. “The results were like nothing that we’d seen before. Those Zs were stronger, faster, and meaner than any that we’d dealt with previously. But to answer your other question: I met McCain when he flew up during that investigation and briefed us on some other things that we needed to know about. I take it that you and he are friends?”
Nicole glanced at Jay and then looked down. “Kind of. He and his men rescued me after the last attack in Atlanta. I’d gotten trapped inside our HQ with one of the civilian security officers. Darrell and I knew that we were going to die; it was just a matter of when.
“When Chuck and his men showed up, neither of us could believe that it was actually happening. I still don’t know how those agents fought their way through all those infected to get to the CDC building, get inside, rescue us, and then fight their way back out. After that, I couldn’t go home; my apartment was near downtown. Chuck allowed me to stay with him for a few weeks.”
Nicole saw Jay’s eyebrow rise slightly and she felt the need to clarify. “There were actually several of us living with him. I shared a room with Emily. Her boyfriend, Scotty Smith, is another agent. Emily’s a paramedic and her work partner, Darnell, stayed there, too. Chuck was very generous in opening his home. He’d just lost someone very close to him, though, and kept to himself. He left almost two months ago to try to find his daughter and we haven’t heard from him since.”
Walker could see that Edwards had feelings for McCain. He is a good-looking man, Jay thought. If I swung that way I might have a crush on him, too.
“I’m sure Chuck’s fine, Nicole,” Jay said, gently. “From what I’ve heard, he’s one tough hombre.”
Nicole looked into Jay’s eyes, realizing that he had seen right through her veneer and discerned her feelings for Chuck. Embarrassed, she stood quickly. “It was nice meeting you, Jay, but I need to get back to work.”
Jay stood and extended his hand. “Thanks for letting me sit with you, Nicole. I really enjoyed the chat. Maybe we’ll cross paths again before I push off for the next assignment.”
South of Hendersonville, North Carolina, Saturday, 1205 hours
They ran without stopping for hundreds of yards. Beth wasn’t a great judge of distance but she figured they’d pushed hard for over ten minutes. The forest seemed to be opening up again and they could see a road in front of them.
Chuck paused at the edge of the tree line, panting heavily, checking their surroundings. A large, open field lay before them on the opposite side of the street. The wide, treeless area bordered the forest with a dirt drive running along the left side of the field. Back to their right was Upward Road where the group of several hundred Zs had last been seen. We don’t want to go that way, Beth thought. In the other direction, the narrow two-lane road ran along the edge of the forest for half a mile before curving sharply out of sight.
After a break of two minutes, Chuck leaned in, speaking softly next to his wife’s ear. “Across the street, straight up that dirt drive for fifty yards or so, and then we’ll cut to the left into the woods again.”
Elizabeth nodded. “You never told me what Plan B was?”
“Run like hell,” he answered, with a slight smile. “You first and I’ll cover behind us.”
The young woman raced across the street, glancing over her shoulder, watching her husband give her a slight head start, and then following. She rushed onto the small driveway, noting that the huge open field to her right looked like someone’s massive garden, row after row having been plowed, waiting to be planted in the Spring.
What did Chuck say? she tried to remember. She was having trouble concentrating, the stress starting to catch up with her and the adrenaline beginning to wear off. I think he said go fifty yards and turn into the woods. How far is fifty yards?
Chuck was impressed with Elizabeth’s conditioning. She’d barely been breathing hard when they stopped. And here I am, sucking wind and feeling every one of my forty-four years.
He kept glancing behind them as they sprinted up the dirt track. Beth was thirty feet in front of him and they had already covered over fifty yards, his wife setting a blistering pace. They needed to get back into the forest, but he couldn’t yell. She finally looked back at him and he motioned towards the trees.
Elizabeth nodded and altered her direction, turning into the thick brush. McCain continued scanning the tree line on the opposite side of the street. Still clear. He didn’t see the large, partially buried stone that caught his foot, sending him sprawling. He landed hard, stunning and knocking the breath out of himself on the dirt and gravel drive.
Suddenly, soul-penetrating zombie growls erupted from across the road. Chuck clambered to his feet, trying to suck some air into his lungs, his chin stinging from where it had impacted the ground. Beth paused at the edge of the forest, watching him with concern as the Zs came pouring out of the forest where the two of them had just exited. Most of the group were shufflers, but a few sprinters were mixed in.
“Keep going!” McCain yelled, knowing there was no need for silence now. “I’ll be right there.”
His M4 came up and he fired at eight infected who were less than sixty feet away, sprinting hard. Instead of running away, however, the loud crack of Elizabeth’s AR added to the fray as she also fired into the larger group, less than a hundred yards from them. Several fell to her shots, the pack relentlessly in pursuit of their prey, the sounds of gunfire serving to intensify their desire for fresh meat.
Many of the Zs shuffled into the plowed field, the uneven rows and soft soil sending them stumbling to the ground. Others came straight down the dirt driveway, which funneled them towards the couple. McCain surveyed the scene, realizing that the zombies in the field would eventually get through it, but for the moment, it was allowing him to slow down and make good head shots on the closest ones. The awkward terrain meant the undead were tripping as fast as they managed to get back to their feet. At least thirty shuffled down the drive, three more sprinters breaking out of the pack.
“Just shoot at the ones on the driveway,” he ordered, his shots dropping the runners.
The last of the quick-movers, a young man with a mullet hair cut, dropped just fifteen feet away and McCain turned his fire back to the rest of the group being funneled towards them, shooting quickly. The Colt locked open and he performed a quick reload, continuing to thin the herd. After just a few shots, however, the rifle was empty again. Oh, crap, that was the partial magazine from earlier, he realized, slamming his last full mag into the weapon.
Beth had stopped firing, her rifle empty as well, and she fumbled with the magazine release. Chuck grabbed her arm and pulled her into the forest where they began running again, pumping their legs as hard as they could. The infected would not stop their pursuit and the couple needed to create some distance fast. The police officer guessed there were at least fifty Zs still moving on that dirt drive and in the field and he was sure that there were plenty more rushing through the forest on the other side of the street, drawn to the gunfire.
As much as he hated to admit it, McCain was starting to think that this was it. He was no quitter, but the big man knew that they couldn’t keep running forever. Chuck had no idea where they were and knew that if they didn’t find someplace to hide, they were going to become zombie food.
Elizabeth was nearing panic mode. These nasty creatures just would not stop. She
had never been so scared in her life. No, that’s not true. A thought suddenly penetrated the cloud of fear and fatigue. When those thugs murdered my friends and kidnapped me, I knew I was dead. There was no way that I was getting out of that one. My only hope then was that I could fight and resist to the point where they would’ve killed me before gang-raping me.
But somehow, against all odds, she had survived. Chuck McCain had broken in, killed all the bad guys and had saved her life. Her husband didn’t look like her savior right now, she thought. He looks like he’s going to collapse at any moment. Blood dripped from his chin, the result of that nasty fall a few minutes before, and he was clearly out of gas from their non-stop sprinting.
She instinctively slowed her pace, allowing Chuck to keep up. She reached back and took hold of his left arm, dragging him along. Another memory forced its way into her thoughts as she tried to keep her own legs moving.
Right after she’d been kidnapped, the murderers had thrown her into the backseat of her own Jeep Cherokee for the drive back to their safe house. One of the animals sat on either side of her, reaching under her shirt, laughing and telling her all the things they were going to do to her when they got to the hideout. It was in that moment that she had turned back to Jesus. She had been raised in a Christian home but had walked away from her faith when she went off to college.
Knowing that she was going to be raped and murdered, Elizabeth had made peace with God. She hadn’t even asked for deliverance knowing that her predicament was probably too much, even for the Almighty. A few minutes later, though, the door had burst open and Chuck had rescued her.
As they continued their flight through the woods, Beth prayed again, quietly speaking from her heart. “I’m sorry that I only seem to pray when I’m in a crisis. Please help us. Show us what to do and where to go. Thank you for bringing Chuck into my life. And no matter what happens, I’ll keep trying to trust you.”
“Did you say something?” McCain asked, gasping for air.
“Just praying,” she muttered, the pace starting to take its toll on her, as well.
After running in a straight line for five minutes, Chuck pulled Beth to the right, changing directions to make it more difficult for the Zs to track them. The terrain began a gradual descent and they ended up in a hollow, surrounded by hardwood trees. A shallow five-foot wide creek ran through the small valley and the ground rose on the other side, promising a degree of safety if they could get there. Even in his exhausted state, McCain recognized this as an ideal spot for deer hunting. The hardwood trees provided acorns and the little creek provided a water source. He just hoped that he and Beth didn’t become a food source for their pursuers.
Without hesitation, the couple plunged into the cold water, thankful that it was only a foot deep where they crossed. They scrambled up the embankment, hoping that the Zs would have difficulty climbing the hill. The high ground would provide a natural defensive position. They weren’t going to camp out there, but it was the perfect spot to rest for a few minutes. Chuck collapsed against a large oak tree, Elizabeth plopping down next to him, both of them gasping for air.
Even now, McCain was still working, though. “Let’s get you reloaded,” he gasped, trying to control his breathing.
Beth’s rifle had locked open back on the dirt driveway and they hadn’t stopped running since. Chuck walked her through removing the empty mag and inserting a fresh one. He showed her how to gently release the slide so that it wouldn’t slam closed and give the pursuing Zs a noise to key in on.
“Turn around and let me get into your pack,” he asked softly, patting her on the shoulder.
She felt him open her backpack and rummage through it as she kept watch down the hill and across the creek, feeling better now that her weapon was loaded again. A moment later, her husband handed her a bottle of water.
“Drink half and let me have the other half.”
She hadn’t even thought about how thirsty she was, gulping the water greedily and then handing the remainder to Chuck. He had removed two extra rifle magazines from the pack and put them into his mag carrier. For the first time, she saw that all his other pouches were empty. Did he really shoot that much?
“You’re bleeding,” Beth whispered, reaching for the small first-aid kit attached to her web gear.
Elizabeth pulled out a square gauze bandage and quietly ripped the paper off. She pressed it against his chin, pulling it away after a few seconds.
“It’s not very deep. I think it’s more of a scrape than anything else. Do you want me to try to clean it now or wait?”
McCain poured a few drops of the precious water onto the gauze and let her work on his chin. Chuck’s breathing was finally coming back under control as she wiped the dirt from her husband’s wound. He then stuffed the used bandage in one of his cargo pockets, not wanting to leave behind something containing their scent.
Elizabeth was still thirsty but understood that they had to carefully guard what was left. Beth knew she’d had four half liter bottles in her pack. Now she had three. Both of their backpacks had contained similar loads. Food, water, extra ammo, and a few clothes. With the loss of Chuck’s pack in their abandoned vehicle, they’d lost half of their supplies. Really, more than that because they also had extra food and water in the vehicle along with a shotgun. All left behind.
McCain took one of the partially full rifle mags off of Beth’s web gear, leaving her with two full and one partial, along with the thirty-rounder in her weapon. They had both gone through a lot of ammo and didn’t have very much left to hold off a horde of flesh-eating zombies. Beth hadn’t fired any rounds from her pistol, however, and Chuck had only cranked off a few from his Glock so they both still had a quantity of 9mm ammo.
The woods were still quiet but they knew that it was time to get going again. Chuck climbed to his feet, looking surprisingly refreshed after the brief respite. The big man scoped the woods across the creek, not seeing any signs of their pursuers. They turned and plunged deeper into the forest.
The couple slowed their pace slightly, moving at a brisk walk, conserving their energy since they weren’t in contact with the trailing zombies. Chuck was leading with absolutely no idea where they were heading, just hoping that they would eventually come across a house or business where they could seek shelter. Twenty minutes later, the forest started opening up again and they found themselves standing on the edge of yet another country road.
Directly across from them was a large mobile home park. From what they could see, it was composed primarily of single-wides, with a few double-wides thrown in.
“Watch behind us,” the police officer told his companion, raising his rifle and scoping the trailer park, looking for any signs of activity.
He could only see one section of the trailer community, a line of trees hiding the rest from his view. He knew the layout, though. They were all the same. Narrow streets containing rundown trailers. No yards to speak of. No real privacy, the mobile homes packed in tightly.
He had a quick déjà vu moment: as a young police officer who often worked the rural area of his county, he had spent many Friday and Saturday nights breaking up fights and mediating domestic situations in similar trailer parks early in his career. The lack of privacy and close proximity sometimes led to neighbor-on-neighbor clashes.
When McCain had first become a cop, a backup unit was a luxury. You were expected to be able to take care of yourself because the officer in an adjoining sector was at least fifteen minutes away. One memorable night, he’d been dispatched to a large brawl in the street of one of the trailer parks.
As the rookie officer pulled his cruiser into the neighborhood, he saw a scene right out of the WWE, with at least twenty people, both men and women, slugging it out. This was redneckery at it’s finest, he had thought, adrenaline pumping through his system. Chuck had been on the force for less than a year and didn’t know that no one in the department would have ever held it against him if he had waited for backup on an al
tercation of this magnitude. Twenty-to-one odds were never good to bet against.
As a newbie, McCain just assumed he was supposed to put a stop to the riot, and waded in with his nightstick and metal flashlight flailing. The combatants all quickly turned on him and Officer McCain realized that he had probably made a tactical error. Chuck was a fighter, though, and went into full combat mode.
When the next two police cars arrived twelve minutes later, they found the bloody and bruised officer holding his own against a large group of intoxicated trailer dwellers. Four of the biggest males and one of the females were sprawled unconscious around him. A fifth man, who was clearly inebriated, was lying off to the side, screaming in pain that his leg was broken. Chuck hadn’t even been able to handcuff anyone yet, still just fighting for survival.
The three officers had ended up arresting twelve suspects, nine of whom required a stop at the hospital emergency room first, courtesy of McCain’s fists, elbows, feet, nightstick, or flashlight. That incident had also solidified Chuck’s reputation with his fellow officers.
Now, looking out over the mobile home park in front of them, he wondered what adventures this one would hold?
Chuck leaned over and whispered some instructions. “Let’s go all the way down that main street and see if we can find an empty double-wide to hide in. A trailer isn’t the best safe house but we don’t have many options. If we’re on the far side of the complex and get compromised, we can duck back into the forest over there.”
He led the way across the blacktop, the distant sound of the pursuing zombies just now reaching their ears. Beth wondered how they had been able to track them, but then remembered Chuck describing how strong their sense of smell was.
