Things remained tense between Holly and me. She didn’t outright flirt with Chavez, but I could see her temperature go up whenever he was around. From what I could tell, though, he appeared to remain neutral towards her. Maybe I’d misjudged him.
Each morning, Chavez left without breakfast at around six to join the rest of the troops in town. But not before reminding us of the basics for staying safe, which included proper food preparation, handling and maintaining weapons, and avoiding STDs. In no time, we had these rules memorized and chanted along with him. Sometimes, we made our voices nasally; other times we used fake accents. Once, someone farted loudly in the middle of the recitation.
The three remaining soldiers—Yang, Warnick, and Quigley, who went by the name “Quigs”—organized patrols through the surrounding forest to look for draggers.
Quigs and Yang were around the same age, early twenties. They seemed likable enough, and enjoyed joking with each other and playing Call of Duty. Sometimes, their exchanges were uncomfortable, but they seemed to get along well. Yang liked calling Quigs “TT” or “T-Squared,” and Quigs referred to Yang as “DWA” or, more often, “DW.” Later, I learned that “TT” was short for “trailer trash” and “DWA” meant “driving while Asian.”
Warnick, on the other hand, seemed like a veteran, though he couldn’t have been more than thirty. He never smiled and was a huge fan of Weezer, especially “Island in the Sun.” One day, I found him disassembling his AR-15.
“What are you doing?”
“Replacing the stock so I can bump fire. During a civil disturbance, we’re permitted to use only semiautomatic weapons.”
“I’d say we’re way past civil disturbance.”
“I’d say you’re right.”
“So, do you have a family or—”
“I don’t like chitchat much.”
“Huh.” I felt like an ass.
At first, I thought hunting draggers was insane. Warnick told us we needed to eliminate as many as possible to prevent the spread of disease. After the second day, I decided to join the soldiers on their patrols. Mostly, it was out of boredom. How many repeat episodes of Say Yes to the Dress and Here Comes Honey Boo Boo could a person watch? Ram wanted to join us, but I insisted he remain behind so he could be in charge of our base. He seemed to see the wisdom in that and reluctantly agreed.
Usually, we’d find one or two draggers and dispatch them with a single shot to the head. I was getting pretty good with the bullpup, but I still kept my axe, slung over my back with a rope. Landry came dressed in his shark suit. He wasn’t taking any chances. Good thing, because one day we met up with a horde.
Something you need to know about draggers. Just because they’re dead doesn’t mean they can’t move fast. It made no sense. After death, rigor mortis sets in, then disappears. Next, the body bloats with gases. Not with these things, though. Many became lean, almost athletic.
The first one I encountered surprised me. We had split up to cover more ground. Before I could get off a round, the thing swiped at the bullpup, knocking it out of my hand. As I backed away, I grabbed the handle of my axe and swung it up and over my head, slicing into the dragger’s neck. It kept coming at me—its head half-off—looking at me like a curious dog, hundreds of maggots bubbling out of the dry, fleshy wound.
Though draggers are dangerous, they always follow the same playbook. It goes like this. First, they grab. They’re strong, so once they have you, it’s hard to get away. Then, they try sinking their teeth into you—face, neck, or arms. When they get that first taste, that’s when they really go to work. It’s like a frenzy. Next thing you know, you’re a party platter, as more of them join in the fun.
So, I did the logical thing. I whacked off both its hands. It flailed at me with the stumps, struggling to pin me. I danced around it, trying to return to where my gun lay, to put an end to this lame Kabuki routine. Quigs appeared from the forest, laughing.
“I didn’t know you could dance, Pulaski.”
“A little help?”
Spitting, he raised his AR-15, took aim, and shot the dangling head through the eye. The body teetered for a moment, then dropped where it stood. I was breathing hard when he came over to check the remains. I wanted to hit him for laughing at me.
“He surprised me.”
Quigs didn’t say anything as Warnick and Landry joined us in the clearing.
“Everything okay?” Warnick said.
Quigs looked past him, squinting into the distance. “Where’s Yang?”
A scream startled us. We followed the sound and discovered Yang on the ground, a dragger—a middle-aged woman—on top of him, tearing away at his arm. Warnick marched up to the dead thing, grabbed it by its greasy hair, and fired two rounds into its skull. As it shuddered violently, he kicked off the carcass and examined Yang.
“Thanks, man.”
Saying nothing, Warnick stood. Yang looked scared as we circled him, staring at his arm. He knew what we were thinking. Landry raised his rifle and pointed it at Yang’s head, but Warnick pushed the barrel away. Grabbing my axe, he kicked Yang’s arm away from his body, stood on his hand, and, with one swing, hacked off the limb above the elbow, just missing the chest.
Yang screamed till his voice was raw, blood squirting everywhere. Warnick tore the rope off the axe to make a tourniquet. After a few minutes, he got Yang to his feet. The soldier was already going into shock, and it was hard for him to stay standing.
I stared at the severed arm. “You’re not taking him back?”
“He’s infected,” Landry said.
Warnick got Yang into a sitting position. “He was bleeding pretty bad, which may have stopped the virus from traveling.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“This happened to a couple of our men. We found that if we can remove the appendage in time, there’s a chance the victim won’t turn.”
Landry examined what was left of Yang’s arm. “I don’t know… It’s risky.”
“Has that ever worked?” Warnick ignored me. “Warnick, has it ever worked?”
“Once.”
Quigs draped Yang’s good arm over his shoulder and got him to his feet. “We have to try.” Then to Yang, “Come on, buddy.”
“I promise you I won’t put anyone in danger,” Warnick said. “Let’s get him back to the compound.”
Thankfully, we didn’t run across any more draggers. Because we had working radios, we were able to alert the command center we were coming. By the time we arrived, Holly and the others were waiting with medical supplies. We decided to lock Yang in the service building that housed the generator. He was weak, and Warnick had to contact Chavez to bring blood for a transfusion.
After giving Yang water and painkillers and trying to make him as comfortable as possible, Warnick stepped outside and joined us as we waited for Chavez.
“Once he’s had the transfusion, we’ll leave him locked in there. Then, we wait.”
Landry didn’t look happy. “I still don’t like it.”
“What if it was one of us?” Holly said. “I’d do it for you, Irwin.”
“I appreciate that, Holly, but staying alive means making tough choices. If it was me in there, I’d expect you to do the right thing.”
The one problem with our plan was there was no way for us to know for sure how long it would take. We’d all seen people turn. Could it vary by individual? Ram, genius that he was, had thought to install video cameras inside the building. At least, we could monitor Yang without having to go inside.
Eventually, Chavez showed up with blood and more medicine. I later learned he was an EMT before joining the military. He cauterized the arm, gave Yang blood, and set up a drip containing antibiotics and morphine.
“Let’s put him in my vehicle. I’ll drive him to the hospital.”
“I like that idea,” Landry said.
Warnick looked at Chavez. “With all due respect, that’s a bad idea. If he’s infected, we don’t know how long before he turns. He might end up attacking you on the way down.”
Chavez considered this as he inspected the interior of the building. “Is this place secure?”
“Yes. And we can monitor him using those video cameras.”
“Please,” Quigs said.
“Okay, but I want you all out of here. Someone give me the keys. I’ll finish up in here.”
During his shift, Quigs kept his eyes on the monitor. Some of us went down to the basement to have a look. Others watched from the monitors in the kitchen. So far, Yang was stable, and I thought he might actually pull through as Warnick had hoped. We agreed to convene in the morning and decide what to do next.
That night towards the end of my shift, I noticed the drip stand lying on the ground. I wished there were a microphone so I could hear what was going on in the generator building. I called my backup, Warnick. Chavez came with him, and the three of us watched for a time as Yang staggered back and forth. Then, opening his mouth incredibly wide, he released a gusher of black blood.
“Shit,” Warnick said, kicking a chair and running a hand through his short hair.
His mouth still dripping, Yang stopped in front of one of the cameras and stared stupidly into it. We could see the unmistakable dead eyes and knew this wasn’t a person anymore.
“Should I get Quigs?” I said.
Chavez unholstered his sidearm. “No, let him sleep. I’ll take care of it.”
I turned to Warnick and laid a hand on his shoulder. “At least you tried.”
“Just so you know, Dave, I’d give you the same chance.”
We watched as Chavez checked his weapon and left to put Yang down.
“Make sure you take one of the dogs with you,” I said. He glared at me. “You know, just in case.”
As we focused on one monitor, Chavez and a German shepherd entered the room with Yang. Only a moment ago, Yang had been swaying rhythmically in front of the camera. Now, he was alert and very interested in getting close to a warm human being. But he never got the chance. Chavez fired three times at Yang’s face, tearing off his nose, then the top of his head. Yang fell onto his back, and the dog trotted forward to sniff the body while Chavez said something. A prayer? Then, he dragged the body out of view.
Warnick and I had been watching the monitors for a long time and hadn’t seen any sign of Chavez. Finally, he headed for the stairs.
“I’m going to see what’s happening.”
Ben came down to start his shift. “What’s going on?”
“Yang turned,” I said. Then to Warnick, “Wait, I’m coming with you.” As we trotted up the stairs, I called down. “Ben, keep an eye on that generator building.”
When we got outside, we found Chavez placing a black nylon bag into the back of the Humvee and closing the door.
“Everything okay?” Warnick said.
“Yeah, why?”
I turned towards the generator building. “Is Yang’s body still in there?”
Chavez pointed to the fire pit outside the fence. There was a blaze going. “We’d better get inside.”
As we went in, I glanced back at the Humvee. I thought Chavez was acting strangely but dismissed the feeling. What did I expect? He’d just finished killing one of his own men. Warnick had told me Chavez served in Afghanistan and had gotten shot up pretty bad. How could harrowing experiences like those not affect a person?
“Ruined my damn uniform,” he said to no one. “And you can’t get the blood out.”
All the next day, Quigs was sullen and refused to eat, so Chavez relieved him to get some rest. Holly tried comforting him, but all he wanted was to sit around playing Call of Duty. If Yang’s death affected Warnick, he didn’t show it. No one spoke of it again.
The next day, we heard a disturbance outside. Aaron was on duty in the basement and sounded the alarm. Upstairs, the dogs were barking. From the kitchen monitors, I noticed two teenagers—a girl and a boy—running towards our fence. They tried climbing it but were instantly electrocuted and thrown back.
As we ran out the front door with our weapons, we saw them getting to their feet and, still dazed, begging to be let in. Behind them, an angry group of armed men was approaching. One of them—the largest—fired at the two but missed. We didn’t return fire for fear of hitting the kids.
The boy was short and looked to be around twelve. I could tell he was injured. His left hand was dripping blood, and I was afraid he might’ve been attacked by a dragger. The girl looked older. She was tall and wore a lot of eyeliner. Her fingernails were painted black and reminded me of the undead.
“Open the gate!” Holly said.
“Aaron can’t hear you.”
She gave me a look as Warnick grabbed his radio and gave Aaron the command. The two teenagers slipped inside, and as the gate closed, we fired warning shots to keep the pursuers from trying to get through. The girl and boy hid behind us as the men fell back. Chavez had already left for the day. The rest of us stood in a line, training our weapons on the leering bozos just outside the fence.
“Yer makin’ a mistake,” the leader said.
I recognized the voice and realized it was Travis Golightly, the racist owner of the Beehive and first lieutenant to Ormand Ferry. These guys were Red Militia.
Holly put her arms around the kids. “Why are you trying to shoot them?”
“They’re brother and sister. Most likely, both are infected.”
“You should leave.” She looked at Warnick and Quigs, and they seemed to agree.
“You know what?”
For some reason, Travis thought better of it. He muttered something to the others, and they lowered their weapons.
“Your funeral.”
We watched as they disappeared down the driveway, then took the teenagers into the house. The boy didn’t appear to be suffering. In fact, he was acting normal. We escorted them into the kitchen where Holly examined his hand. The wound was a straight line down the middle of his palm, as if someone had used a knife.
“The cut’s pretty clean. Please tell me a dragger didn’t do this.”
The boy sneered. “I got into a fight, is all.”
Holly cleaned and bandaged the hand while the girl watched intently.
I could see Landry gearing up. “I don’t want to take any chances. This boy cannot stay in the house.”
“Hang on.” Holly got them a couple sodas from the refrigerator. “What are your names?”
“I’m Griffin Sparrow. This is my brother, Kyle.”
“Nice to meet you.” Holly introduced the rest of us. “How old are you, Kyle?”
“Thirteen.”
Warnick had been sitting off to one side, silently observing the two of them. He got to his feet and addressed Griffin.
“What were you two doing way out in the forest?”
“That guy you talked to outside? He’s our stepdad.”
“Travis Golightly is your stepfather?” I said. “Shit.”
Holly rolled her eyes at me, then placed her hand gently on Griffin’s shoulder. “So, you were running away from him?”
“That doesn’t explain how you got all the way out here,” Landry said.
“We were on patrol. With those men.”
“What do mean, ‘on patrol’?” Warnick said.
“You know. Looking for dead people.”
“And what about your brother’s hand?”
Griffin looked at the floor. “They use us as bait. You know, for the dead.”
“What?” Holly said.
“Because we’re fast. Especially Kyle. The blood attracts them, I guess.”
Ben looked at his son. “Dear God.”
“Where’s your mom?” Holly said.
Griffin looked away, avoiding eye contact with any of us.
“One of those things got her, so now we’re with Travis.”
Holly stood and, glancing at Warnick, encouraged the girl to accompany her.
“Griffin, I want to check you to make sure you’re okay. Come on, there’s a bathroom around the corner. This’ll just take a minute.”
When they returned, Holly maintained a neutral expression, but I could tell she was concerned.
“She’s fine. No bites.” Then to the kids, “We need to give you both tetanus shots just in case. Okay?”
Griffin looked at her brother. “Sure, I guess.”
“Can you get the medical kit?” Holly said to Warnick.
After Warnick had injected them both, Holly turned to Kyle, who was watching her place a small bandage on Griffin’s arm.
“Kyle, I’m sorry. Look, you’re prob’ly telling the truth, but we have to be sure.” Then to me, “Let’s take him out to the generator building.”
We decided to let Griffin stay with us in the house. I wanted to believe their story, crazy as it was. But with Kyle, we couldn’t take a chance of infection. We walked him over to the generator building and left him inside with food, water, and a sleeping bag.
“There are cameras in here so we can see you,” Holly said, pointing. “You don’t need to worry about the draggers or anyone else. This building is safe.”
Kyle was walking in circles and found the bloodstain on the floor where Chavez had shot Yang. He scraped it with the toe of his shoe.
“How long do I have to stay here?”
She looked at me, then at him. “We’re not sure. But it shouldn’t be more than a day or two.”
“I don’t want to be in here by myself!”
I could tell the kid was scared.
“I’m sorry, Kyle. There’s no other way.”
“Whatever,” he said, and kicked the sleeping bag hard across the floor.
We locked the door without looking back.
When I walked into our room, Holly was sitting on the bed, a million miles away. I put a hand on her shoulder, and for the first time in days, she took it in hers.
“There’s something those kids aren’t telling us,” she said.
“I had the same feeling.”
“Dave, I found bruises on Griffin when I examined her, some of them fresh.”
“What about the boy?”
“Nothing, except for his hand.”
“So, you think Travis beats her?”
“Worse. The marks weren’t just on her arms and legs. They were on her inner thighs.”
“You mean that huge guy on top of…” I couldn’t even finish the thought. “That ripe, sick bastard.”
Tearing up, Holly crossed her arms over her chest as if the room had suddenly turned to ice. I sat beside her and gently rubbed her shoulders.
“I’m almost sure of it,” she said. “Maybe their mother used to protect her.”
“And now, she’s gone.”
She looked up at me, tears streaming. “She’s only fifteen.”
As the reality of the situation hit me, I said what I was thinking before I could stop myself. “How in hell are we going to manage with two kids?”
“I’m not turning them over to that monster,” she said, and left me sitting on the bed.
Twenty-four hours had passed and Kyle hadn’t exhibited any telltale signs. Several of us stood around the monitors in the basement watching as the boy paced back and forth. Every so often, he looked up at the video cameras, exasperated, and kept repeating something.
“Anyone read lips?” I said.
Outside the generator building, we could hear Kyle calling from behind the door.
“Hello? Still not undead!”
Laughing, we unlocked the door and brought him into the house. Holly cut away the bandage and found that the wound had closed. What we’d noticed with the undead was that nothing healed. Whatever damage to their bodies they sustained stayed with them. In the bathroom, Holly cleaned Kyle’s wound and put on a fresh dressing.
“You’re fine. Let’s get you something to eat.”
She brought him into the kitchen and told everyone what she thought. Most of us were still skeptical as Warnick examined the boy. Though he didn’t have a lot of experience with the undead, Warnick pretty much knew what to look for. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small, worn Bible. He flipped to one of the many dog-eared pages and handed the book to Kyle, pointing to a passage.
“Read that.” The boy squinted at it. “Out loud.”
Kyle was embarrassed and turned to his sister, who nodded. He ran his finger down the page and began, stumbling at first over the tiny print. I didn’t know what it was at the time, but I’ve since learned it’s from Psalm 79.
O God, the heathen are come into thine inheritance; thy holy temple have they defiled; they have laid Jerusalem on heaps.
The dead bodies of thy servants have they given to be meat unto the fowls of the heaven, the flesh of thy saints unto the beasts of the earth.
Their blood have they shed like water round about Jerusalem; and there was none to bury them.
Warnick took his book back and stood. “He’s fine.”
Aaron looked at him, confused. “I don’t get it. What did that prove?”
“One of the first things to go is speech,” I said, remembering Jim. “And I’m pretty sure draggers can’t read.”
Kyle looked hopefully at Holly. “So I’m okay, right?”
“Yes.”
She smiled and gave him a hug. Was she falling for this awkward, unkempt little rugrat? The boy turned red from the attention. To make things worse, Holly tousled his hair. Then, he gave in. I think somewhere in him he craved a mother’s touch. I noticed Griffin looking away, trying not to show any emotion, and guessed her brother was everything to her.
I wanted to savor this moment. It was a rare bright spot in what had become a hellish struggle for survival. None of us—not even the soldiers—were prepared for this. And in the coming days, things would get worse.
Knife-in-the-gut worse.