Hell Released (Hell Happened Book 3) (5 page)

Russ didn’t know why he was still breathing.

Throughout his career in the Army he’d been renowned for being a thoughtful, intelligent and kind man, prone to thinking outside the box and finding ways to accomplish a mission within the structure of the military, or at least within the spirit of military regulations.

For this catastrophe, Russ had no idea what to do.

There was nothing for him to do.

Everyone he loved was gone. All his friends were dead. All the contacts he had in the military were dead. He could dial the phone all day and no one would answer.

Russ didn’t know why he’d been spared, or for how long he would be, but he wasn’t going to sit in his house where his wife and he had settled down and wait for death to take him.

In his life, he traveled all over the world, but with retirement he was looking forward to traveling the United States. He and his wife had visited the gulf coast, the Grand Canyon and the locks at Sault Ste. Marie Michigan. They’d made plans to visit the sites in D.C. this year, but those plans went with the plague. He’d been to D.C. dozens of times but had never stopped to see the sights.

Looking out the front window this morning, Russ decided today he would drive onto Ft. Benjamin Harrison. He had played golf on its course a thousand times and felt the need to surround himself with something familiar.

Russ was still in good shape for a man of any age. He was adamant about eating well and keeping his body in good shape. Except for letting his slightly graying hair grow to longer than the standard military cut, he still looked like he did in his military portrait. His back was straight and strong on his 6’ 4” frame and he could still run three miles in the morning in less than 25 minutes. His jaw was square and smallish ears which hugged his head. His eyebrows hadn’t begun to curl and while he needed reading glasses, he hadn’t been in the mood to read and didn’t wear them.

His house was without power, but water still came from the taps and gas to the stove. He heated water and shaved before heading to the course. His face in the mirror showed some age, but it wasn’t an old man’s face staring back, rather more of a weathered and experienced face. He had caps on two of his front teeth that had been knocked out during a fight in Afghanistan, and his nose was imperfect from the rock that had shattered it during riots in South Africa. A scar on his neck was the only thing visible from the bullet that had nearly taken his life in Iraq four years earlier.

For a 62-year-old man, Russ wasn’t displeased with who looked back at him in the mirror. His wife hadn’t minded either, and from the rumors she passed on, neither were other women.

He loaded his clubs into his Sierra truck and drove the short distance to the base. Cars were wrecked on the highway, but not so many as he couldn’t drive around. He drove past the main gate and the Finance and Accounting building. It was the first time he’d been on the post since the plague and martial law had been declared.

He pulled into the parking lot of the 19th Hole, the bar and entertainment building beside the course. There was a nip in the air this early in the spring, but Russ didn’t mind. Some of the places he’d served over the years were much less hospitable.

The golf carts were still lined up. The electric ones were all dead from lack of charging, but the ranger’s cart started up on the first try. Russ drove over to his truck and loaded his clubs and drove out to the first tee.

No one had tended the course in more than a month, but this early in the spring, it wasn’t in terrible shape. A few warm up swings and Russ drove his first ball long and straight down the fairway.

He smiled. It might be a good day.

Two hours later, Russ was finishing the 17th hole. He was rather pleased with his play, shooting a respectable 85 so far. If he could par the 18th, he’d shoot less than 90 for first time in more than a dozen years.

He was teeing up for the 18th hole, thinking about how much he wished he had someone to whom to brag. He thought about how his wife had always encouraged his golfing and outdoor activities and even learned to play the game early in their marriage just as he had learned to play her game of tennis.

Three wags of the club in his address, then a torque on the back swing and Russ, using his three-metal driver hit the ball 200-yards safely down the right side of the fairway, a few feet inside the deeper fringe. From there he’d have a nine iron to the green and if he laid it onto the green well enough, maybe even another birdie putt.

He jumped and dropped his club when someone applauded his drive.

He spun and crouched, picking his club back off the ground in case he had to use it as a weapon. He was surprised anyone else was alive, but more surprised that person was on this course watching him play golf and clapping at the drive.

“Nice shot, mister,” the woman was saying as she stopped clapping.

“Who…what….why…who…?” Russ stammered looking for the woman who was hiding in some bushes behind his cart. It wasn’t easy to startle Russ, but the woman had.

It was a situation so unbelievable to him he couldn’t find the right words or the right questions to ask. He didn’t know which to start with.

“I’ve been following you since you drove onto base,” the woman said. “I was in the accounting center and saw you drive by. You’re one of the few people in this area still alive, but you didn’t act like the other ones I saw, so I thought I’d follow you.”

“There’re others alive?”

“Yes, sir, but you don’t want to meet them,” she said as she came out from behind the bushes she had been hiding behind. “The first ones I saw a week ago were six or seven men with guns and they were just shooting up stuff. I saw another group of three guys and a woman, but they had a person was chained to the hood of their truck. I really didn’t want to meet them.

“Then there’re the mutants on the far side of the base. I saw them two nights ago and they were feeding on some bodies. There were two of them but they were making so much noise, they didn’t hear me. That’s when I went and hid in the accounting center.

Russ started relaxing some as the woman told her story. He wondered if she were a little crazy. He hadn’t seen anyone or anything like she’d described.

“When you drove by in your truck by yourself, I thought I’d follow and see what’s up. So far, you’ve played honest golf and my dad told me a man who plays honest golf is an honest man.”

Russ stood there looking at the woman. She was probably in her early 40s, half a head shorter than Russ; she was fit, but not skinny, with short dark brown hair with a few strands of gray, accenting rather than aging, and curiously vivid green eyes. She was also armed with a standard Army M-16A2 rifle, with the magazine in it. Russ hadn’t thought to arm himself, thinking there was no one from whom he had to defend himself.

The woman, who had answered his immediate questions with her burst of a story, now answered his next few.

“I’m Mrs. Lisa Schaeffer. My husband was Maj. Steve Schaeffer. He was assigned to the accounting center for the last three years. He died three weeks ago and I’ve been waiting to die ever since.” She shrugged. “I guess I’m immune from the plague, like you and those others are.”

When she finally gave him a chance to speak, he did. “I’m Col. Russ Hammond. I was an instructor here back when there was a school over there,” he told her pointing to the east. “My wife, who also died, and I enjoyed golfing so I thought this morning would be a good time to try my luck.”

“Where’ve you been living? How’ve you survived?” Russ asked the woman who had kept the M16 pointing in his general direction, but hadn’t really aimed it at him.

“I was living off post, not far from here. I left to come on post after Steve died. We don’t have any power now and I was out looking for food and seeing if there was anyone else still alive who didn’t look threatening. I was going to look around Indianapolis today and was in my husband’s office picking up a photo of him when I saw you drive by.”

Russ ran his fingers through his hair. This woman had a way of staying sane in the insanity that was all around them. That said something about her. She talked a lot, but maybe it was just nervousness.

“Well, I’m not going to attack you, Mrs. Schaeffer, so could you please point that thing in another direction,” he said indicating the gun. “I’ve been shot once and it isn’t any fun at all.”

She smiled, showing a line of teeth that had obviously been seen by a dentist regularly. There were the beginning lines of crow’s feet at the corner of her eyes indicating she smiled a lot. His request actually made her blush a little.

“Sorry, Col. Hammond, but I didn’t think I could totally trust you until I watched you play golf. Are you going to finish this hole? I’ve been keeping track,” she said pulling out a little piece of paper and a short pencil, “and you’re at 83 so far.”

“Actually, I had to assess myself a two-stroke penalty because I accidentally grounded my club in that bunker back on 12. I’m at 85. And please, call me Russ. I guess my former military rank doesn’t mean much anymore. I doubt there is any military any more.”

Lisa made a face, like she wasn’t surprised a man like Russ, who was playing alone, who thought no one was watching him, kept honest track of his own penalties. “Okay, Russ, if you call me Lisa.

“Can I ride in your cart? I’m a little tired from following you without you seeing me.”

“Please do, Lisa. Let’s finish this hole and then find us a lunch. I’m starting to get a little hungry.”

The two survivors got in the cart and found Russ’ ball. His second shot fell short of the green, but rolled close enough so Russ pulled out his putter.

During the ride, Lisa told Russ of the two other groups of survivors and more about the two mutants she’d seen from a distance. Russ let her talk, not needing to ask many questions because the woman had an eye for detail.

Russ’s first putt was to within three-feet of the hole. He was lining up to finish his round of 89 when they heard the machine gun fire in the distance.

Lisa ducked behind the cart and Russ dashed off to kneel beside her. The gun fire had come from a good distance away, but they weren’t taking any chances. For all the strength and bravado Lisa had showed earlier, the gun fire frightened her and she reached over the cart to get the M16 she’d put between the seats.

The gun fire went on for a full minute before the silence returned. Russ and Lisa waited a few minutes more to make sure it was finished. Lisa looked at Russ, whose back was against the cart. He appeared to be lost in thought.

“What’re you thinking?”

“I’m not really sure. There’s obviously more people alive than you and me on this post this morning. I think maybe we ought to search out where they’re at and see if they are of like mind as you and me or if they are like one of those other groups you saw.”

Lisa nodded. “Can you finish your game first? I want to know if you’re going to break 90 or choke on the three-foot putt.”

Russ shook his head, not believing what the woman was saying. “Seriously?” he asked her.

“Yes sir. I want to know if I hang around with you if you’re going to crack at a little pressure.”

Russ couldn’t believe this woman. He’d left his putter on the green. He thought about the gun fire he’d just heard. From the sound of it, it was probably a distance away, but it was still gun fire and Russ was real sure he shouldn’t be making a target of himself by walking out on the green.

Also, there was no reason he needed to prove his integrity or strength of nerve to this woman. What he knew he should do was stop playing around and find something with which to defend himself in case he did run into some bad guys.

He looked at the green over the hood of the cart. His ball was still there. His putter was lying right beside the ball. He had 88 on his scorecard and if he sank the putt, he’d be happy with the round. It might be the last one he’d ever get a chance to play in his life.

It was a three-foot putt. All he’d have to do is aim a cup to the left and a firm stroke because of the longer grass. It wasn’t an easy putt, but he was pretty sure he could make it. He looked at Lisa. Her face was blank, waiting for him to make his decision.

“Aw hell, it’s the best round I’ve had in longer than I can remember. What the hell,” he said, getting up and walking on to the green.

Russ felt a little stupid, but he picked up the putter and made four practice swings. He then lined up the putt and struck the ball just as he’d pictured it in his head. The ball didn’t roll very fast because of the longer grass, but it was going the direction Russ had aimed.

The taller grass was inhibiting the curve of the ball. Russ had aimed a cup-width outside to the left and the ball wasn’t turning as Russ had guessed. The ball was moving to the right, but Russ was unsure if it was enough.

He’d given it a firm tap and as the ball rolled to the very edge of the hole, it circled the cup 270 degrees along the lip before dropping in.

Russ smiled.

Lisa, who had stayed beside the golf cart, cheered a quiet “good job!” to him.

Russ looked back at her. Her smile was infectious. “Can we go find out who’s doing all the shooting now?” he asked. Lisa nodded. Russ put the winter pin back in the hole on the green after retrieving his ball. “Let’s put this cart inside that little shed. I think we should walk to see who else is out there so we don’t announce our self too soon. We can come back for my truck later.”