A Pound of Flesh: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (30 page)

Having composed himself, Lopez proffered
confidently, “That was the day before all of the cellular circuits
failed. I’m certain she went to Sacred Heart and she’s safe with
Father Brand. I feel it in my bones.”

“She sounds like a strong, intelligent
lady...a
survivor
,” Cade said, co-signing the younger
operator’s hope.

“I’m just going to think good thoughts and
trust that God will look after those unfortunate souls back there,”
Lopez declared, sounding a little more hopeful. “And I’m going to
continue to do the same for my madre.”

Cade had nothing more to add; Lopez had
succeeded in beating him to it. He merely nodded, broke eye
contact, and gazed out the window.

Like a modern day Hooverville—RVs, pop-up
campers and tents of all shapes, sizes and colors dotted the shore
and crowded every square inch of dusty ground inside of the tree
line. If it weren’t for the putrefying bodies and staggering dead,
the scene that flashed by the helicopter might have been mistaken
for any camp ground, anywhere in the United States on Labor Day
weekend—overflowing to say the least. In reality, what Cade saw
spilled a few more precious ounces from the imaginary glass in his
mind—which was no longer half full—nor half empty—it was just about
bone dry
.

Despite having practiced his customary
pre-mission ritual, Cade caught himself losing focus and zoning
out, eyes locked on the glassy water gliding by mere feet below the
helo’s underside. Try as he might to concentrate on the task at
hand, he kept obsessing over the prisoner back at Schriever and the
well-earned punishment he was going to mete out. He also found it
difficult to ignore his own bearded face reflected in the glass.
The red-rimmed eyes staring back at him, witness to so much death
in so short a time, gave him pause. He felt like he was at another
convergence, and upon returning to Schriever, a long sit down with
Brook was in order. It
might
be time to check his patriotism
at the door and dig deep to find out where his real priorities
lay.

Chapter 30

Outbreak - Day 11

South of Schriever

With the southbound lanes leaving Colorado
Springs thoroughly obstructed with bumper to bumper cars and SUVs,
the thirteen vehicle convoy navigated the northbound lanes
zippering their way through the smaller number of stalls and
pileups, oftentimes leaving the freeway altogether to circumvent
major blockages.

Directing his question at the general,
Sergeant Hill asked, “Where did all of these people go... it’s like
they just left their vehicles here and poof?”

“Some stayed put,” Gaines said, indicating
the many reachers and grabbers trapped in their glass and metal
prisons. He swept his hand towards the countryside made up of scrub
trees and red-brown hillocks. “The rest are out there somewhere,
son. Waiting for us to slip up and become their dinner.”

***

It chilled Wilson how the numbers of Zs began
to increase exponentially the closer the slow moving convoy got to
the interchange. Although nothing close to the hordes out of
Denver, he couldn’t help but notice the similarities between the
two, and judging by their stained and ratty clothes most of the
shamblers appeared to be first turns that had already logged lots
of miles on foot migrating from somewhere.

“I have a question for you lady.”

“Brook works for me,” she said sharply. Still
kind of heated from the earlier Pug comment, she sat coiled,
waiting for the wrong words to spew from the kid.

“Where is your daughter?” he asked.

She swallowed hard and gazed at the modern
day version of the Trail of Tears filing by on the other side of
the divider, hundreds of vehicles manned by corpses—both moving and
truly dead, cars packed with belongings of people whose fate she
would never know. She noticed one truck in particular, its bed
loaded with plastic yard toys, household furniture and all manner
of worldly belongings—a poignant testament to that family’s hope
that they would find refuge somewhere.

Sensing her unease, he raised his palms from
the wheel and said, “If you don’t want to talk about it that’s OK
by me.”

Brook turned away from the carnage outside to
glare at Wilson. “Why do you care?”

“I heard the
hurt
in your voice back
there... when you were trying to save the young girl.”

“I do not want to go there so drop the
personal stuff.”

“My bad,” he said quietly, returning his eyes
to the road.

***

As soon as the lead gun truck reached the
turn off that would take them towards the warehouse district,
Gaines noticed the number of sun baked walkers trudging the
interstate had inexplicably slowed to a trickle. For all he knew
the stragglers at the tail end of the herd could have been victims
of a house fire, hobbling along single file in ones and twos,
blackened skin peeling and sloughing off.

“General Gaines,” Hill pointed a little west
of south, “there—you see the smoke?”

“Looks like we’ve got a forest fire in the
distance.”

“That’s where the New Koreshians are coming
from, eh?”

“Not funny, soldier. I lost a cousin in
Guyana. Ever heard of Jim Jones?” Gaines said behind a withering
stare.

Concentrating as he downshifted, Hill eased
the Humvee around an overturned Suburban, and as they came up
alongside the
turtled
Chevy a pale appendage reached from
the blown out window. He turned the wheel to the left ever so
slightly and maneuvered the three ton Hummer’s left front wheel
over the groping hand.

Gaines shot a
why the hell did you have to
go and do that
look at his driver as the sound of crunching
bone made its way through the undercarriage and reached their
ears.

“Sorry General,” Hill said guiltily. Then,
switching back to the first subject, he pulled the name from his
memory. “Jim Jones... he was that guy who made people drink
poisoned Kool-Aid... right?”

“You can call me Gaines. I’m still a door
kicking shooter in here.” He tapped his body armor over his heart.
“And you are correct, the devil held a hell of a sway over more
than a thousand people... enough to get them to line up and commit
mass suicide. My aunt Laura and my cousin Lonna were among the nine
hundred and nine followers he made drink cyanide. Lonna wasn’t a
follower—we were around ten at the time—tragic shit.”

“I’m sorry I dredged that up sir,” Hill said
as he followed the onramp heading east. The roiling columns of
brown-gray smoke now obscured the horizon off of their right
shoulders to the south near Pueblo. “Two more miles,” he said. Then
he made a silent pact with himself to cut out the wisecracks and
stick to the facts—yes sir, no sir—the last thing he needed was to
get on the general’s bad side. After all, driving the man around
would come with perks that he could get used to.

***

Brook removed the magazine, noted the shiny
brass, and then reseated it in the well. After running out of
ammunition—which Cade would have pointed out as a dangerous rookie
mistake—she vowed to always be more vigilant. She reluctantly filed
that one in the ‘
need to know’
column. What had happened
back there hadn’t put their daughter in danger—therefore Cade
didn’t ‘
need to know’
about it.

She wriggled in her seat trying to rid the
stiffness wrought from sitting in the truck for two hours wearing
bulky ballistic armor under her fatigues. After the encounter with
the zombies she contemplated removing the heavy piece of equipment
until Cade’s voice infiltrated her thoughts advising her otherwise.
Just a few more minutes
, she said to herself.

“That’s got to be the place,” Wilson said
hopefully.

In the distance, at the bottom of the long
gradually sloping four-lane highway they were currently on, sat a
sprawling grid of gray metal structures. Consisting of acres and
acres of identical two story square buildings—their tops bristling
with antenna, refrigeration units and various HVAC apparatus—the
business park resembled something the
Borg
might have
cobbled together.

Wilson whistled. “That’s a big piece of real
estate down there, lots of nooks and crannies for a rotter to
hide.”

“I hope the general knows where to start.
Because if he doesn’t we may be staying the night.”

“I didn’t bring my pillow la...
Brook
.” He almost said
lady
again but wisely
corrected himself. There was no telling if the
lady
was over
the Pug comment or not.

Brook shot Wilson a glare—held it for a
second—then cracked a thin lipped smile.

“I want to get back and make sure Sasha is
OK. Plus, the thought of staying overnight, in the dark, without a
twelve foot fence to keep the rotters at bay is effing
terrifying.”

She stared at him. “What doesn’t kill us only
makes us stronger.”

He stared back as long as he dared.

The facility was less than a football field
away and the convoy was beginning to slow.

“Don’t you want to get back to Raven?”

“More than you know.”

The feelings Brook was experiencing
“
outside of the wire”
—as she had heard Cade refer to the
cities and streets and buildings beyond Schriever populated by
walkers and death—was refreshing and like no other. The last time
she remembered having felt this alive was at 11,240 feet above sea
level on the summit of Mt. Hood back in Oregon. She had been
chasing that high ever since and finally had found its replacement.
To Brook, the adrenaline flow caused by combat had become like a
drug and she wanted more.

***

Grand Junction, Colorado

Daylight was dwindling and so was Taryn’s
hope that she would ever see her family again. The smartphone’s
battery was officially dead. She was tired of rereading texts and
tweets and looking at pictures of people she knew were probably
dead anyway. She closed her eyes.
Time to go or you’re dead
,
her inner voice said forcefully. She stood and opened the door as
quietly as possible. The smell blasted her in the face. Dickless’s
constant trips up and down the carpeted steps had left a
discernible black slug track of bodily fluids down the center.

Get the gun
.

She reached the main floor undetected and
crept to the air marshal’s rigid corpse. She stared at the lifeless
eyes and the bullet hole in his forehead, and as her fingertips
made contact with the gun, her wrist brushed against cold flesh,
making her shiver. The cross hatched grip felt strange in her palm
as she struggled to free the black revolver from the cop’s ankle
holster.
Unsnap the strap.

Somewhere behind her one of the monsters
began to moan.

She looked around frantically. Dickless was
nowhere in sight; however, Porkpie was angling towards her from the
right.

Taryn’s fight or flight instinct kicked in.
Flight won out. Hopscotching over bloated bodies, she made her way
to the revolving door. She hit the handle running. The door moved
six inches then seized up. Looking up the reason became
clear—trapped between the partitions—Chester stared down at her
with milky dead eyes. Taryn thought if she could get the door
moving she could trade places with the undead porter and find
herself on the outside. In a last ditch effort to escape the
concourse and avoid the advancing hipster she threw all of her
weight behind the effort. Still, the door wouldn’t budge.

“Shit, shit...,” she blurted.

With Chester blocking her way and more
zombies bearing down, Taryn was beginning to panic.

With his mouth agape a hissing Dickless
lunged for her.

Ducking the clumsy cadaver she scooted
backwards on the gore slickened tiles, scrambled to her feet and
ran for the upstairs office, her sanctuary, her prison.

After dodging the swipes of half a dozen
other creatures she bounded up the stairs and slammed the door
behind her.

Sitting there staring at the gun clutched in
her hand brought little comfort. She didn’t know whether she
possessed enough courage to attempt another escape. And she was
sure she didn’t possess the nerve to turn the gun on herself—so
here she was right back in the same goddamn purgatory she had been
since the dead began to walk.

Three minutes later Dickless had trudged the
stairs and was again rattling the door to
his
office.

Chapter 31

Outbreak - Day 11

Schriever AFB

Colorado Springs, Colorado

Civilian Billets

After a light rap the door slowly hinged
open, allowing a slice of muted early evening light to wash across
the floor. Footsteps, heavy on the wooden stairs, preceded the
large form filling the doorway.

Looking up from her game of
hide from
them
, the wide eyed girl retrieved a tattered cloth doll from
under the covers and clutched it tightly to her chest.
He smells
like one of them a little bit
, she thought,
but he isn’t
acting like one of them
. She decided quickly she wouldn’t be
scared.

“Hi little girl... what’s your name?”

He’s talking, that means he can’t be one
of them
, thought the girl. “My name’s Regina.”

“Hi Regina, is your mommy here?”

Regina pointed a tiny finger vertically and
whispered, “She’s taking a nap.”

A weary voice came from the top bunk. “I’m up
here.” Then a woman peered over the bunk’s edge. “Why in the hell
did you barge in here and what do you want?”

“I knocked.”

“Not loud enough,” the woman said as she
lowered her medium sized frame to the wooden floor. She ran her
hand through brunette hair; though dappled with gray she was still
attractive (some would say a
catch
) and appeared much
younger than her forty-one years. “You gonna answer my
question?”