“I’m sorry about your man.” The person who stepped through the doors looked less like a scientist and more like the manager at a rundown nudie bar. He had a large gut, slicked mustache, and greasy hair that hung down to his shoulders. The only thing that even competed against this seedy persona was the flawless, white smock he was wearing.
“I’m Doctor Jeremy.” He looked relieved to see us.
Then it dawned on me. “Are you related to…”
“Fifth or sixth cousin; I don’t think he even knows.” He attempted a faltering smile.
“What are you talking about?” BT whispered.
“Think hedgehog,” and I left it at that.
“You are the weirdest fuck I have ever met.” He followed me as I went and shook the doctor’s hand.
We were safe for the moment. The doctor showed us where we could get cleaned up and eat, though you can hardly call a quarter packet of ramen a sustaining meal. But it was something. I penned a letter to Halsey’s girlfriend and dreaded every second I’d spend giving it to her. I’d lost her significant other on my watch. It happened; men and women died all the time in war. That didn’t make it any easier. I had just folded the letter up and put it in my pocket when there was a soft knock on the door to the room I was sitting in.
“Just got off the radio with your commander. They’ll have a new plane at the airfield tomorrow; he expects us to be on the return flight. Again, Lieutenant, I am sorry for your loss. The rest of your people are getting some rest; I suggest you do as well.
“Thank you, doctor. Can you tell me why we’re here? Was it worth it, at least?”
“Time will tell. It’s always history that is the perfect scrivener of events, although, unfortunately, history is always tampered with by the humans recording it. They are inclined to write things down in a light that puts them or their cause in the right.”
“How about we discuss the philosophy of historical bias another time, and you tell me why Bennington cost me one of my men and risked the rest of our lives, and I’ll internally decide if admission was worth the price.”
He put his hand to his chin and looked up before he spoke. “I do think it was worth it. What we have here isn’t just research or a theory; we have a working weapon, a biological agent.”
I pressed the bridge of my nose and paused; as a soldier, I didn’t like anything that started with the word biological. “So how do we get all the zombies to head down to the local clinic to receive their treatment? Who’s the poor bastard that has to administer those shots?”
He cocked his head slightly, not following the thread of my thinking. Not surprising, really; you have to be around me for a fair amount of time to thread around the tangents and pull it into something relatively cohesive.
“Why, you, of course. And others like you,” he added quickly. “You see, the viral agent is added to bullets, much like how the Native Americans would dip their arrows into toxins created either from dangerous plants or poisonous animals.”
“Great. We’re going back to primitive weapons.”
“I think you are failing to understand the basic principles involved here.”
“Inform me.”
“How difficult is a headshot?”
“A lot harder than hitting a target center mass.”
“What if I were to tell you that a grazing wound on the arm of a zombie could now be its undoing?” I sat up straighter. “I thought that might pique your interest.” He smiled.
“So, we just dip our bullets in some scientific mystery brew, then?”
“It’s a little more difficult than that; the virus is hardy but not quite that stable. We have experimented quite successfully on hollow-tipped bullets. We fill in the hole then seal the bullet with a plastic cap. Once it strikes the enemy, the contents are introduced into the victim.”
“How fast?” This was all great and fine, but if the virus took twenty-four hours or longer to make the zombie sick and then die, it was barely above useless. If we were firing, that meant we were usually a minute or less from being killed.
“Our first trials typically took three hours; we now have it down to ten minutes, and we think we can improve upon that, though, we have begun to run out of the necessary resources to keep testing and advancing.”
Ten minutes was a vast improvement, but still contained some serious drawbacks.
“Lieutenant Talbot, I’m saying that we can get this to be nearly instantaneous and soon. Imagine the lives that can be saved if even the most superficial of shots will drop the enemy.”
“Sounds great and all, but what of the safety to the personnel around this new miracle weapon?”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, how toxic is it to the people that handle this viral agent? What if a soldier is hit by friendly fire or, more likely, while they are putting rounds in a magazine and one of these plastic caps comes off and they get some on themselves? What then?”
“That would not be advisable.”
“Not advisable like they will get a headache, or not advisable like all of their internal organs will liquefy and run out their assholes?”
“More the latter.”
“Are you kidding me, doc? You want to send soldiers out there who, in most cases, are just kids, with a weapon that can kill them upon contact? You realize what goes on out there, right? Lots of running, dropping things, hurriedly getting magazines ready in the worst types of situations. I’ve seen men put bullets in their mouth as a placeholder as they pick up fallen rounds. What about an antidote?”
“There isn’t one; we saw no need to work on that. The virus we have created, it mimics the one it is attacking. That is why it is so effective and ultimately difficult to treat.”
“It can be done; I’ve seen it.”
He looked at me like I was lying. “I don’t want to discount what you may or may not have seen, but that is highly unlikely.”
I left it at that. I had my son and my best friend as all the proof I needed and Avalyn too, maybe. He exited my room shortly after that. I should have slept like the dead; instead, I had my hands clasped behind my head and got into a staring contest with the ceiling tiles. Something wasn’t right here. Was it just coincidence that Dewey existed in New York? Or had he been shot with one of these poisonous darts? Was there ever a viral agent with a hundred percent death rate? I suppose there were many, if left untreated. Rabies was one, plague was another, and I’m sure there were plenty of others; hell, viral infections killed millions. But didn’t most deadly viruses only have a ninety-eight percent mortality rate? Or even eighty? What if Dewey was one of the two percent, or twenty percent, that had survived? Had he incorporated this new virus and twisted it around to make himself a better version? That stopped my mind in its tracks. Was Doc Jeremy effectively creating a super-soldier zombie? This thing that mimics its host before taking it down; how do we know our enemy so well? Isn’t it always so, that things which herald a great change for good, also bring in or make way for a great evil as well? The balance remains. The two are too tightly intertwined to stand independently. I entertained the thought of shooting all of the people in this facility and then burning the place to the ground. I’d be executed for committing treason, but if I let them live, would I eventually be known as the man that effectively hammered the final nail into the coffin of humanity?
It was some hours later when there was a knock on my door; at some point I’d fallen asleep. Dreamt I was trapped in the subway and I was being chased by a billion or so rats. To me, it was even more proof that I was the Pied Piper in this story, although, instead of getting rid of the plague I was bringing it with me. Either that or my betraying mind was setting me up to think that. Can’t trust the brain; it’s always out doing its own thing and then you’re left there, trying to assemble all the pieces into an understandable picture. Kind of a weird thing when one part of the brain is determined to confuse the other.
“You in there?” BT finally asked as I was running around with errant thoughts.
“Since when do you knock?” I was sitting on the bed tying my boots.
“Since the last time I walked in on you and you were trying to hula hoop. I’ve wanted to talk to you about that; first off, where’d you get the toy, and why were you trying to do it naked? Forget it…I’m sure you’ve got some half-assed explanation as to why you were, and in your mind, I’m sure it makes complete fucking sense, which means it will mean zero to me. I don’t even know why I brought it up; now I have to relive that.” He rubbed his eyes. “Fuck, now I don’t even know why I’m here.”
“Wanna see what I can do with a slinky?” I stood.
“Not a fucking chance. Oh yeah, Bennington is on the line for you.”
“Why are you running that errand?”
“Because the rest of the unit is kids, man. I didn’t want to take the chance of exposing them to something they’ll never be able to forget. They’re so young and impressionable–they’d have years for that to fester around in their heads. Plus, while we walk down the corridor I want you to tell me what you think about what they’re doing here.”
“You know?”
“Not sure what the security clearance on this place is, but they can’t stop talking about it. I think they’d high-five each other every few seconds if they weren’t so damn nerdy.”
“What’s nerdy got to do with it?”
“They’d miss and smack each other in the face. Little pencil-necked geeks would be running around with wads of toilet paper shoved up their noses.”
“You done?”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Never said that. As far as their weapon, I love the theory behind it, terrified of side-effects and practical use.”
“Side-effects?”
“I think Dewey might be a side-effect.”
BT stopped in his tracks. “Whoa there. You got anything besides that insane imagination of yours to back that up?”
“Not one iota–other than the fact that Dewey resides about a mile from this location.”
“That’s a leap, Mike, but it’s not quite as mighty as some of the ones you’ve taken in the past. What are you going to tell Bennington?”
“Maybe to nuke New York; doesn’t really matter what I think. He wants what they’ve got. He’s just calling to make sure we get their asses on that plane.”
“You seriously have a bad feeling about this?”
“A man-made virus rushed to the battlefield that hasn’t been properly tested? I mean, what could possibly go wrong?”
I had not been expecting to have a video link to Bennington; when I went into the communications room, he must have read in my face the thoughts I’d been going over.
“Everything all right, Lieutenant?”
I didn’t know what to say; all I had were gut feelings, nothing even close to evidence. Conjecture, I guess that’s what the experts would call it. Bennington took my unwillingness to answer as an answer.
“Good. We have sent appropriate parts for Major Eastman and his crew to repair their plane. Your job is to get Doctor Jeremy, his team and their work aboard the replacement plane. You and your people will guard the other plane until such time as it is ready to take off again. Talbot, your demeanor is speaking louder than any of the words you have yet to voice.”
“Colonel…this weapon they’ve designed; I’m not sure it has been tested properly or completely, I mean, for potentially devastating side-effects.”
“And the reason for your concern?”
“You realize it’s a virus, right?”
“I am well aware of the work; been following it for months now.”
It dawned on me then. “So, if it hadn’t worked up to par, these men would be staying here.”
“You know the limitations we have at Etna; we cannot continue to grow without those coming in being able to offer something in return.”
“Viruses mutate continually. You are going to take what they are using here and introduce it into the zombies. I think there needs to be more testing to check for potential problems.”
Bennington didn’t say anything but it was clear enough he was holding back some anger.
“Have you ever thought, Lieutenant, that perhaps it is best to leave the thinking for those that are capable of it, and that you should just do as you are told?”
“You realize it’s my personnel that are out here sacrificing to make sure that this mission is completed, correct? And that now, I have to come back and sit down with Private Halsey’s girlfriend to tell her he gave all? I think I have a right to be concerned with what we are fighting for and how we do it.”
“I’ll let you know what you need to be concerned with, Lieutenant. You get those scientists on the plane and I’ll deal with the rest.”
“You’re making a mistake, sir.”
“This conversation is done. You have six hours; get them to where they need to be.” And with that, he shut off the feed.
“That went well,” BT said from off to my side.
I must have been wearing my anger on my sleeve.
“Hey, man, don’t direct that my way.”
“If our loved ones weren’t in Washington, I’m pretty sure we’d be hijacking a plane. I knew Bennington was a hard-ass; I never thought of him as an asshole, though.”
“A hard-ass and an asshole are pretty close to each other, if you want to get technical,” BT said.
“I suppose you’re right. Let’s get the eggheads of the apocalypse rounded up and ready to go.”
The bio-engineers had known for a few days that we were coming to bring them to Washington, yet they’d done nothing to prepare for it, almost as if they couldn’t think of two things at once. Although, who was I to fault them that? I was lucky if I could think of one thing at once, like, ever. But the fact that they were just now packing was mind-boggling. Like they never even considered that we might be coming in hot and would have to leave as quickly as we had arrived. I could somewhat understand their perspective, I suppose. They had not suffered through the zombie apocalypse like the rest of us had; they’d not fought through hordes to find refuge; they’d not watched loved ones be torn apart, unreachable, unsavable. They’d not had to relive the horror of constantly running, the shaking, spasming limbs that kept us awake for hours afterwards, despite utter exhaustion. That’s not to say their existence had been easy thus far, but it had not been quite as intense as the vast majority of those still clinging to this side of life.
“Haven’t these people ever heard of hard drives?” BT asked as we moved about the fortieth box stuffed with paperwork and files.
“Jeremy, we need to go,” I said. The doc looked harried and afraid. At this exact point in time, I was under the impression he was regretting his decision to leave the facility. No part of me blamed him for that. I was beginning to wonder if they were packing everything in their desire to take as long as possible. With a deadline looming, I was pushing them as hard as I could. As a Marine, it was ingrained in me to hurry up and wait. I would much rather have left the moment Bennington started the timer, then sit and wait at the plane for five hours. In my mind, that was infinitely better than packing out for five hours then making the one-hour drive to get there in the nick of time. The odds everything was going to go off without a hitch were not in our favor. Four hours should be plenty of time–if we left now. At the two-hour mark, I forced their choice.
“We’re not ready,” he responded, short of breath.
“I get that this stuff is important, but if you put any more in the vans, there’s not going to be any room for the rest of us.”
I saw it, I swear I saw it in his face. He wanted to fill the van with gear and get his staff to the plane while leaving us to hoof it as best we could. Again, if everyone I loved wasn’t in Washington, I would have wished him luck and pointed him in the general direction. He kept eye contact for another ten seconds, hoping I would yield my position and tell him “fine.” He was in for a surprise if he thought that was going to happen. I’d already lost one good person on this fuck-fest of a mission; I would not needlessly endanger anyone else.
“You’ve got two minutes or I’m taking the van with all your work and leaving. I’m sure the scientists at Etna will be able to reverse engineer it.” Then I turned and walked out of the room. “Kirby, Stenzel, keep an eye on the van,” I said quietly over my microphone.
“What are we watching out for sir?” Stenzel asked.
“Rogue scientists.”
I heard her snort, but when I didn’t add anything else, she must have realized I was serious. I found BT on the second floor; he was looking out the window at the city and the ocean beyond.
“You think at some point this will all be over?” he asked.
I didn’t have the heart to tell him I didn’t think so.
“Feel free to lie,” he said when I came up beside him and was looking out, stoically. The ocean was sparkling from the morning sun; the peace and tranquility it offered seemed promising.
“Even with my prompting, you’ve got nothing to say?”
“Right now, man, I just want to get home. I’m thinking about what I’m going to say to Karen and how I don’t want to have to repeat that speech to anyone else.”
Uncharacteristically, BT reached out and put a massive arm around my shoulder.
“Nothing you could have done, Talbot. If it wasn’t him, it would have been someone else’s family you’d be notifying.”
I pressed my head against the glass, pondering whether the life I had traded for this one was worth it. BT pulled tight to hug me.
“You at least going to buy me a granola bar?”
“Fuck you, Talbot.” He let me go.
“And thank you.”
“Any time, man. We’re in this together.”
We went downstairs and sure as shit, I spotted Doc Jeremy spying the van and the two guards I had posted, he had that look of someone that was wondering if he could get away clean. As I brushed by him, I spoke into his ear, “I would hunt you down to the ends of the earth.”
He jumped from being startled. “You don’t understand what we’re leaving here.”
“No, maybe I don’t, but I don’t think you understand what we sacrificed to get here. Let’s go! Everyone get in the van–we’re leaving!”
“We’re not done!” Jeremy looked panicked.
“I don’t care. That plane will leave whether you’re on it or not; makes no difference to me. And since we’ve got all our cards on the table, if you don’t get in that van, I’m going to toss all of this research before we get to the airport and say we were attacked and it burned up in a massive fire. Sure, I’m going to be the one that starts the fire, but the end result is the same.”
“You can’t!” He looked like I told him I was going to make a pile of babies and puppies and douse it with gasoline, he was that flabbergasted. Not sure if that’s the right word in this scenario, but it fit at the time.
“I can and I will. Bennington is all hot and heavy to get this weapon; personally, I think it’s a massive mistake and should be permanently shelved. We’ve already witnessed the zombies mutating at an unheard of pace, and now you want to introduce a whole new viral agent. Did you ever stop to wonder if they might incorporate this into their genetic code and use it for their own purposes?”
“That would be impossible.” He said the words, but not with complete conviction. He knew something. He also knew if he didn’t deliver, he was stuck here. Sure, they were safe, but their supplies were dwindling quickly. It wasn’t much of a stretch to think they would fudge some of their trials to make the results more favorable. Wouldn’t take much to have Bennington foaming at the mouth. But the commander was smarter than that, wasn’t he? Surely he would know that by putting out the kind of ultimatum that he had, people would do just about anything to get in his good graces.
“What’s the fatality rate?” I asked, trying to catch him off-guard.
He deferred. “It’s all in the paperwork.”
“Yes, the very impressive stack of paperwork that a camp under duress isn’t going to spend an inordinate amount of time studying. I’m asking you, though; what’s the fatality rate?”
“Nearly one hundred percent.”
He said “nearly” so softly I had to ask him to repeat it.
“Nearly equates to what?”
“A number so small as to be statistically insignificant.”
“Listen, Kirby’s dick is so small as to be statistically insignificant.”
“Hey!” Kirby shouted out, Corporal Rose smacked his shoulder in jest.
“I still want the number.” I had moved in closer to the doctor.
“Ninety-nine point four percent.”
“Like Ivory soap?” BT asked.
I looked over at him and scowled. He shrugged.
“So, one zombie out of every two hundred or so survives? What happens to the one that makes it?”
Jeremy, all of a sudden, looked like he had itchy skin syndrome, if such a thing exists. He wouldn’t even look at me. “It’s something we need to work on.”
“Winters, ring me up Bennington!” I shouted over the doc’s shoulder.
“We’re almost out of food!” Jeremy grabbed my arm.
“I strongly suggest not touching me again,” I told him as I pulled my arm free.
“Don’t mind him,” BT told the doc. “He’s got a thing about germs.”
Within a minute I was once again talking to Bennington.
“Haven’t left yet?” was the first thing out of his mouth.
“They’re looking for a place to put the sink right now.”
“What do you want, Talbot? I’ve got other things going on and while I generally like talking to you, you’re not my priority today.”
“Sir, I’m telling you something is wrong here. They’re only telling you what you want to hear in regard to this weapon.”
“Do you have that little faith in me?”
“No, sir, I don’t. I mean, sure I do.” Partial lie; I thought it was better to make that one so we could continue the conversation.
“I know more about the weapon than they think I do. We hacked into their computers months ago. I know it has over a ninety-nine percent kill rate; with those kinds of numbers I think we can deal with the ones that fall through the cracks, don’t you?”
“Sir, the ones that ‘fall through the cracks,’ as you say, they’re not the same. You can scoff if you want, but what if we are making genius zombies? Ones capable of using tools, of manipulating machinery? Maybe gain access to a nuclear silo?”
“Starting to reach, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know. Am I?”
“We’ll do more testing when they get here. I can’t promise, Talbot, because of the pressures this camp is under, but I will do my best to make sure it is as reasonably safe as it can be. That enough?”
I was abundantly aware that Bennington had changed his tactics to dealing with me. Maybe he knew that merely ordering me to do it wouldn’t be enough, that I might say fuck it, just to spite myself. I was still sitting on the fence with the whole thing, but in the end, none of it mattered. If they’d hacked the computers, they already had all the information they would need. It seemed the question was much more difficult.
“Why are we here, sir?” I asked.
He was silent; he’d seen that I had figured the puzzle out.
“You knew about Dewey; you wanted to see him in action. Wow…that’s it. You going to deny it?”
“Would you believe me if I did?”
“I lost one of my men for a mission that didn’t need to be performed?”
“We lose people all the time, and yes, it was imperative that you went. We needed to gauge the strength of the survivors. We did not, however, believe them to be so advanced. So, yes. We knew there were side-effects, just not to what degree.”
“You fucker!” I raged. “You think you could have maybe given me a heads up before you dropped us into this shithole? Would that have been too much?”
“We didn’t strand your team deliberately, Talbot. The mission shouldn’t have been so…complicated.”
“I’ll be back soon, colonel. We’ll continue this discussion, and I’m going to…” And that’s when I was lifted clean off my feet.
“Hello, sir,” BT grunted as he hefted me away. He made a sawing motion across his throat to have Winters cut the feed. “I’d ask you if you lost your mind but that’s an established point.” BT set me down roughly.
“You heard him, didn’t you? He popped us in here knowing full-well what we were in for!” I was pacing, too angry to sit still.
“Maybe not full-well.”
“Don’t temper my anger, BT.”
“Definitely not trying to do that. Just so you know, he’s doing what commanders have been doing since people began fighting people. He was probing the enemy to learn their strength and weaknesses.”
“You seem pretty alright with this, considering we’re the low men on the totem pole here. Fuck–I’m not even sure we rate being on it! We’re more like the part that is buried in the shitty dirt that supports the rest of the pole. I mean, it’s something you come to grips with, being expendable, I mean, but you figure that your leader, for the most part, has your best interests at heart, that he would rather see you succeed than fail. That’s not the case here! Yeah, we were a tool for Bennington, but he didn’t care if we came back broken or…at all, really. Sort of like a cruel benevolence.”
“What’s that even mean?”
“He comes across as giving a shit when, in reality, he is just giving you shit.”
“Mike, think this through. He had to believe we were going to make it, right? Just because he had all the data doesn’t mean his people at Etna would be able to work through the notes and processes these guys have done. It would have taken them months, years, even, to get to the same place as these people here. He knows we don’t have that kind of time. So yeah, maybe he had an inkling all wasn’t right here. So what’s he do? He sends the unit with the best chance of success, that can adapt and deal with whatever they find, and still get the job done.”
“Fuck you, BT. Stop reasoning for him and stroking my ego at the same time. That’s underhanded, even for you.”
“Is it working?”
“A little bit…probably a whole lot better if we hadn’t lost Halsey.”
“Yeah, I’m going to miss the kid too. I know you know this, Mike, but you’re going to have to come to terms with the fact that he’s not going to be the last one we lose.”
“I hate this shit, BT. We should be having barbecues in your backyard, eating great food, drinking beer…and I’d be telling you about all the Yeti sightings in the general area.”
“Yetis? Why yetis? Can’t we discuss Australian rules football?”
“Had a weird dream once about them; you were in it. There was a Speedo involved.”
“Who had the Speedo on?”
“Not me.”
“Why was I playing Australian rules football in a Speedo?”
“Not that crazy thing you call a sport…the dream was about Yetis. It’s something I’ll never be able to forget. And back to the other thing, the mere fact that they have to distinguish their football by throwing the word ‘rules’ in there just means it is going to be some seriously skewed version of the way football should be played. They probably have to factor in that they need to avoid deadly animals on the playing surface; that whole country terrifies me. I bet even the puppies there are highly venomous.”
“Can we get out of here now? And promise me one thing, Talbot.” He stopped my forward progress. “I don’t want to hear about the Speedo incident again.”
“Was it real?” Not sure why I asked.
“What color was it?”
“Gold. Bright gold like the color of shorts a boxer might wear into the ring or something more up your alley Rocky from Rocky Horror Picture Show.”
“Thanks for the visual. It’s possible we had the same dream; it doesn’t make much sense though. I was with Linda, and we didn’t know each other then. But in the dream, we’d known each other for years. Fuck it…I don’t know, and mostly I don’t want to.”
We were back in the underground garage. Doc Jeremy and his group had piled into one of the two vans.
“Out.” The look he gave me was pure panic. “No, I don’t mean it like that. I need you to split up the talent here. Two vans. If something happens to one of them, I need to make sure some of your people make it because before you deliver this weapon to the masses, you are going to make sure it’s a hundred percent effective or you’re going to sabotage it completely so it never sees the light of day. I don’t care which, but I need some of you alive to make that happen.”
After a few minutes, he had what he thought was a fair distribution of talent and knowledge. I did the same. I took Gary, Winters, Corporal Rose, PFCs Kirby, Grimm, and Springer. BT was in charge of the other van and only took three with him due to the reduced space from all the files. It was a small unit, but considering it was BT, Tommy, Corporal Stenzel and Private Harmon, I figured he’d be fine. We did one final check of the perimeter of the building before rolling up the steel garage door. Not a zombie in sight. I was more than expecting them to start pouring out of doors and around street corners the moment we got on the road; that it didn’t happen only began to make my paranoia meter peg out. Now I figured that Dewey knew we had the scientists, and that the best thing he could do would be to allow us to go so that more of his kind could be created. How far out of the realm of possibilities was I? Tough to say. That I’d even thought it lent the notion credence in my mind.
“Sir, getting a relayed message from Etna,” Winters started. It was good to know that comm was back up. “We’re on live sat; Etna says we should take the next left and lay low at an amusement park there for a few. We’ve got a horde of speeders about to pass over our path.”
“They on an intercept course?” I asked.
“Doesn’t appear that way, sir. A herd of deer is being chased.”
“Next left, Corporal.”
“It’s a one way, sir.”
“You’re kidding, right? We’ll be all right. I promise not to deduct any points off your driver’s license.”
“Good thing, Lieutenant, because I never got one. Failed my first test. Was planning on going back at some point and then this happened.”
It was sobering to hear that from her, heartbreaking, really. Not so much the license, but how many things she and future generations would never do. Prom, Friday Night Lights, either playing football or rooting from the stands or even making out under the stands. As I’d gotten older, I thought that as a country, we were getting soft. We coddled our children, attempting to protect them from every possible harm out there. Talk about an exercise in futility. That was something that couldn’t possibly be done, and in the end, we were doing them more harm than good. By attempting to shield them from the cruel world, we left them ill-prepared to deal with it. I’m as guilty as the next person of this, but I would never have wanted things to turn out the way they had just to toughen up our youth. Yeah, I fantasized about a zombie apocalypse, but the reality of it…? Well, it just plain blows thick, chunky, chewed-up phlegm balls.
We pulled in to the Victorian Gardens Amusement Park. First thing I saw was the Ferris Wheel. Looked in pretty good shape; as long as the thing didn’t light up like a Christmas tree, I’d see if Winters could get it up and running. I convinced myself it would be a good way to survey the city. Then the thought of being trapped on the highly exposed ride changed my mind with a quickness.
“All right, let’s set up a perimeter, check out the buildings close by,” I said as I exited the vehicle. I headed over to the Ferris wheel and sat in the bottom-most car as we waited for the zombies to run on by. Gary stiffly walked over to join me.
“I’ve got road rash where no one should have road rash.” He was looking at the seat next to me but decided against it.
“Other than that, how are you doing?”
“It’s the only thing I can think of, so, I guess by default everything else is fine.”
“One way to look at it, I suppose.”
I tilted my head back and was looking up into the sky; the car rocked gently back and forth. It’s possible I even dozed off. It was a half hour later when Harmon called out to me. I awoke with a start, my rifle at the ready–a learned response I doubt was ever going to be forgotten.
“Sir–you’re going to want to see this.” She was coming closer, holding a notebook out to me.
I wiped my eyes and took the proffered object. “Winters, anything?”
“Got word the enemy’s got the deer surrounded–haven’t moved too much farther from where they were.
“Great. See if there’s a way around. What is this?”
“I think it’s a…sort of like a last will and testament to a couple, I found it over there, it was stuck to a zombie.” She pointed to a food stand.
“We talking bars of gold or something?” Not that gold meant all that much, but it was still shiny and fun to look at.
“You might think it’s even better, sir.”
My interest was piqued. I started reading. What follows is an account of Laura and Marcus’s final moments.