Zombie Fallout 3: THE END .... (12 page)

“
You done jawing over there Ramirez?” The sergeant asked him.

Ramirez rattled off a string of what can only be construed as eloquent foreign cuss words.

“
That doesn’t look like a Country Buffet on kids eat free Wednesdays son. Any chance you could be a little more forth coming on any information?”

“
I really wish I knew.” Brendon had no sooner finished the sentence and he bent over from crippling cramps. His stomach muscles nearly ripped under the strain.

“
Murphy!” The sergeant yelled in alarm.

“
Fine, I’m fine.” Brendon whistled through his teeth. Placing his hand on the sergeant’s arm to stop him from summoning help.

It was then the sergeant noted the bandage. “What’s this?” He asked suspiciously. “You didn’t have this yesterday.” The sergeant stepped back, fingering his holster.

Murphy rushed up and quickly accessed the situation that was quickly turning from bad to worse. Murphy had seen enough victims turn to zombies to realize that Brendon was close to joining the ranks of the enemy. His skin was taking on a gray pallor. Severe stomach cramping would immediately be followed by whole body spasms and then death. The body's last gasp so to speak.

Brendon was able to get himself under control and stand without a noticeable stoop. “I’m fine.” He slurred. “Let’s go.” Claws of stinging stitches tore out from his stomach and spread throughout his body. It took every fiber of his being to stand and endure under the scrutinous stare of the sergeant. Murphy placed himself between the sergeant and Brendon. Somewhat to hide the pain the kid was going through but mostly to keep the sergeant from just outright shooting him. “We’ve got to go now.” Brendon whispered. The strain of the words clearly evident.

“
I think it’s rabies.” Murphy told the sergeant. “The sooner we can get him back to base the sooner I can get him treatment,” although that was a lie. Once symptoms of rabies showed, treating it was far too late. Murphy could only hope that the sergeant didn’t know this.

The sergeant thankfully stopped touching the hilt of his gun. “You stay here kid, we’ll get your future in-laws and then we’ll get you all back to Custer.”

“
I’m going.” Brendon said defiantly.

“
Don’t push it.” Murphy whispered.

“
This is it for me Murph, I just want one more chance to see her.”

“
Sarge, I can give him a heavy dose of antibiotics right now, it will get him through the next few hours.” Also a lie.

“
Have it your way kid.” The sergeant got back in the transport and strapped himself in.

Murphy proceeded to give Brendon a mild sedative. “This will help a little with the cramping.”

“
Thank you for everything Murphy. I’ll put a good word in for you when I get to where I’m going.”

“
I’d appreciate that.” Murphy replied, and that was not a lie.

“
What’s the plan?” Henderson asked leaning down from his gunner’s position.

“
Guns blazing, I suppose.” The sergeant answered.

‘
I was hoping for something a little more concrete.’ Henderson mumbled to himself once again checking that his weapon was fully ready to fire.

Murphy got into the passenger seat.

“
Rabies my ass, Murphy. That kid’s dying." The sergeant said. "We all watched what happened to Greenfield after he was bit.”

“
I know Sarge, he just wants to see his girl one more time.”

“
Well let’s not disappoint him.”

Henderson cussed as his head smacked against the machine gun's breech due to the unprepared for acceleration.

“
The house is on fire!” Henderson yelled down.

“
Do you think I’m driving blind.” The sergeant replied. “You’d better start cutting us a path or this is gonna be a bumpy ride.”

The Browning M2 .50 Caliber roared to life as it dealt ever-lasting death. The full-throated scream of the bullets as they emerged from the barrel brought a certain sense of satisfaction to the Sergeant as he slammed the troop transport into the outskirts of the zombies.

“
Fucking gomers.” He said grimly.

Murphy had grabbed every available handhold as the transport lurched from side to side under the assault, his ears almost bleeding from the noise of the small cannon above him. “Should have joined the Air Force.” He said, not for the first time nor the last.

Various pieces of zombie appendages slammed against the reinforced battle windshield. “Hope you topped off the windshield wiper fluid.” The sergeant needled a green tinged Murphy.

Time had slowed for Murphy. He watched a piece of hot brass as it lazily floated down and stuck to an eyeball of a middle aged zombie woman. The contact of the hot metal made her eye explode sending viscous fluid shooting out dislodging the offending ejecta. Murphy could not figure out how the sergeant even knew where he was going. Gore and blood covered every available port. It was like they were traveling within the innards of some giant beast of mythical proportions.

The smell of fire began to overtake the smell of zombies. ‘Must be getting close.’ Murphy thought. He felt the lunge of the transport as the sergeant decided that more speed was needed.

Brendon was having severe difficulty controlling his extremities. Tremors coursed through him; compounding the difficulty was the uneven ground caused by zombie bodies that he was traversing over. “Too late, too late, too late,” became his mantra. His legs were spasming just as the truck ahead of him sped up. Brendon had to will his leg to his bidding before he fell behind and without the grace of a machine gun hacking a trail he would be cut off quickly.

He scooted down on the seat, the movement forcing his leg down onto the accelerator. Control came back slowly and with difficulty. He was able to press the brake on his own as he pulled up to what little remained of Carol’s house.

“
All aboard!” He said as he spotted, Mike, BT and Jen. His heart lifted at the sight of them.

“
Glad to see you boy!” BT shouted from the truck bed. Brendon agreed.

Brendon heard some commotion in the back, but cognitive functioning was becoming increasingly hard to do. “I’m me!” He yelled.

“
Yes and soon you will be mine.” A cold voice burrowed out of the depths of his mind.

“
NICOLE!” He screamed, his second to last sane thought. The last being when he shoved the Walther 9mm under his jaw and double tapped his disease addled brain.

CHAPTER ELEVEN - JOURNAL ENTRY 5 -

“
You’re Catholic right?” BT asked me.

I was hesitant to answer, religious conversations rarely go well, most in fact end in Holy Wars. Don’t believe me? If there are still any left, find a Muslim and ask him or her what they think of Christianity. That will be a short conversation revolving around the blade of a knife being inserted into various parts of your being.

“
Yeah why?” I answered reluctantly.

“
That’s the religion where you go up to the Priest and get wine and bread right?”

“
Where are you going with this?”

“
Just answer the question.”

“
Yes, the congregation receives the Eucharist, the representation of the Body and Blood of Christ.”

“
That’s what I thought.”

“
You just needed a semantics lesson then?”

“
Not really, but I did wonder something.” He paused. I didn’t prod he was up to something I could tell by the way he was smiling at me, like a jungle cat getting ready to pounce. He was looking at me waiting for a reply. Apparently it would be funnier if I prompted him.

“
Fine BT, what are you wondering?” The words practically oozed scorn, he didn’t care.

“
How did you do it?”

I instantly knew what he was talking about, but I’d be damned if I was going to let him corner me that quick. “BT I’m tired and I’m in pain, I just want to go to sleep.”

“
Bullshit!” He said sitting up. “You know what I’m talking about, spill it.”

“
Is this really necessary?”

“
I don’t have anything better going on right now. Not unless they’re hiding Naomi Campbell somewhere on this base.”

“
I figured you for more of a Halle Berry type.”

“
Don’t change the subject, but yeah she’s third.”

“
Who the hell is second?”

“
Man, don’t laugh, I’ve got this thing for…oh, you sneaky bastard you almost got me.”

“
I tried. Alright if you must know I bought a carton of Eucharist wafers and had them blessed. I used to bring my own to church along with a thermos of grape juice, I hate wine.”

BT would have rolled out of his bed if his leg wasn’t in suspension.

“
Have you ever been to a Catholic mass? Its friggen disgusting.” I said starting my defense. “First they make you shake hands with all your neighbors. There’s Kenny, the eleven year old that has had his finger shoved up his nose the entire time. There’s old man Baker, who smells like 4 day old meatloaf left on the curb during a heat wave. Then there’s Mrs. Porter with her infant and she just changed a dirty diaper without using wipes. Yeah real effen sanitary!” My voice was rising with the increase of potential germs. “So then we get through that particularly nasty infectious test tube archaic trait and move right along to sipping wine out of a golden chalice that the entire mass has put their cracked, canker laced lips on not to mention those with cold sores.” I was shuddering. “Then the priest hands you a wafer that he had clutched between his thumb and forefinger, but what’s worse than that is he’s been doing that to everyone else also and they have had the chance to breathe all their germs on those two fingers as he placed the wafer on their tongues.”

“
Oh man, I needed that!” BT said holding his gut he was laughing so hard.

“
Ass.” Was all I could muster.

After a significant lull, I realized that BT had drifted off into slumber. I was close too, when distant gunshots rang out. Fully alert now, I realized my dilemma. Here I was with a damaged arm tied to a bed without a weapon, I was sort of like a human kabob without the marinade or the accompanying vegetables or wooden skewer or…OH STOP TALBOT. Great just great, I was pissing the other half of me off.

“
BT you awake?”

“
Yup I heard it too.” BT said with his eyes still closed. “Relax Talbot.”

“
Not really in my nature.”

“
We’re in a military base, I’m sure they can take care of whatever is going on.”

“
Yeah you’re probably right, I just hate being this helpless. Bambi could come in here right now and kick both of our asses.”

“
Now are you talking about a zombie Bambi or just a regular type Bambi?” BT asked in earnest. “Cause I’m going to freak out a little if you’re thinking that there could be some zombie animals. Can you imagine nests of zombie rats coming after us, with that little hairless tail, or what about zombie pigeons? They’re already the rat of the sky. Or maybe cockroach zombies.”

“
Stop already. I thought I was bad.”

“
I think maybe we have too much time on our hands.” BT said. “But you don’t think there are animal zombies do you?”

“
Fuck no.” I said much too quickly, more to defer my unbounded imagination than to qualm BT’s fears. Could the disease pass the species line? Why not, other diseases did. Super, nothing like a 600-pound silverback gorilla wanting to munch on your head. “Oh no.”

“
What Talbot?” BT asked alarmed. Looking wildly about the room for this new threat.

“
I was just thinking about a zombified Big Foot.”

BT was a half second away from calling me crazy, before he really let the thought of that set in. “Oh man, that would be really bad.” BT said and he meant it.

“
Big Foot as a zombie?” Tracy asked from the doorway. “What are you doing Talbot? Didn’t I tell you not to infect others with your touched thoughts?”

“
It could happen.” I said, defending my position.

BT nodded in agreement.

“
The Doctor either needs to up both of your meds or halve them. I don’t know which.” Tracy laughed.

“
So what gives?” I asked, nodding my head to the doorway.

“
I figured the gunshots would get you thinking, I just didn’t know how far and fast you’d go down the rabbit hole.”