Rise of the Dead (14 page)

For a second, I can't even remember, and then it comes to me. "Second grade."

"These kids are all in sixth grade," she says. "I'm sorry."

I can't believe it. She has to be on that bus. For a single moment, I had hope that I would find her there against all odds. For a moment, I believed that fate was a real thing and that I had been dragged through hell for a purpose, to find my daughter. Only to have it turn out to be a sick coincidence. Another statistical improbability, unrelated to any grand design. But it didn't feel like that. I felt like a character in a novel that the author was fucking with.

"How did you get them all the way down here?" I ask the woman.

"These kids weren't in classes. They were going on a field trip to the planetarium," she says. "We were just very lucky."

Lucky.
I lose the strength to stand anymore and have to lean against the bus
.

"I got a call through to the school when this first started. Some of those things were already inside. They were trying to lock down individual classrooms. It sounded pretty bad, so we didn't head back there. That's all I know."

Danielle comes over and starts to lead me away. "Sorry if we woke you and the children."

"It's fine. I'm really sorry I don't have your little girl with me here. I hope you find her."

The door of the bus squeaks closed, and we start the long, quiet walk back to the barracks. I can only guess at the time, but it must be one or two in the morning. The soldiers have vacated the steps out front. We call the elevator and return to the third floor. I use the swipe card to unlock my door, and Danielle follows me in.

"We can check the hospital tomorrow," she says, watching me collapse onto the mattress. She sits down on the opposite bed. "I want to see how Chet is doing, too."

I mumble some words of agreement, but I am so exhausted I can barely form a sentence.

"Are you sure you don't mind sharing the room?" she asks.

I hear the question but I am already drifting off to sleep, and I say nothing at all.

Eleven

The next thing I know, I open my eyes and see Quentin standing in my room having a whispered conversation with Danielle. It's light outside. The bright sunlight leaks through the window shades onto my face. I hear Danielle telling him about our walk through the camp last night.

"This place isn't safe," she says. "Not at all. I think it's only going to get worse. The people out there are desperate. You need to talk to him again."

"Talk to him," says Quentin. "Right. In case you didn't notice, he doesn't really give a shit."

"Well, we better figure out a plan when things go bad here," says Danielle. "Because it's about to happen."

"You don't know that," he says. "There's food, water and electricity here. This place is worth fighting for."

"She's right," I interrupt. I sit up and look at the clock. It's just after eight. "That's no army out there. Those people aren't soldiers. If I can find a way out of this place, I'm leaving before things get out of control."

"And go where?" Quentin asks.

"I don't know," I say. "I like my chances better when I'm on the move. That's how we survived this long. When we tried to hole up, we were nearly eaten alive."

"The only family I have now is here," Quentin says. He plants his fist on the desk and leans forward, looking across to the headquarters. "I don't understand why you think it's better to keep running."

"No one expects you to come with," I tell him. "I expected to be going it alone."

"But you're not," says Danielle. "And we're not leaving Chet here unless he decides to stay. So you have time to think about it anyway." She tilts her head towards me as she says this and raises her eyebrows, a look I know from years of marriage means
don't even think about going against me
.

A knock on the door breaks up the conversation, and I open it to find Lt. Commander Reynolds in his pressed white naval uniform. His face is clean shaven, and his trim brown hair is clean and neatly combed. I catch a scent of some strong aftershave or cologne. If you saw him, you would never believe the human race was on the verge of annihilation. Maybe that is the point. He looks past me and notices Quentin and Danielle in the room as well.

"We have a situation," he says. "Captain Black ordered me to get you to headquarters immediately."

"What kind of situation?" asks Quentin.

"An urgent situation," Reynolds said in a flat tone. Soldiers walk back and forth through the hall, some dressed in fatigues, loaded with packs and headed to the line, others in robes and towels headed to the showers.

"I just woke up," I say. "Just give me a minute to take a piss." I turn toward the bathroom door, but the officer clears his throat.

"I'm sorry, we don't have a minute," he says.

"Fuck," says Quentin.

It's clear the situation Reynolds mentioned must mean that we are in immediate danger. We follow him down the hall and toward the elevator. The soldier in the cowboy hat we spoke to the previous night is in the elevator car and spots us approaching so he holds the door. He pinches the tip of his hat down in greeting to Danielle.

“Hi Chuck,” smiles Danielle.

“Morning, miss,” Chuck nods.

I watch the lighted numbers as we pass the second floor. When we reach the lobby, we follow Reynolds out to an armored Humvee parked out front. No golf carts today apparently. The air is humid, the kind of muggy summer days I have always hated in Chicago. I notice there is a lot of gunfire coming from the direction of the hospital.

"Did they get inside?" Danielle asks Reynolds as he opens the rear door for us.

"It's happened before," he says. "We have always driven them back out again. We had to retake that hospital once already. Lost the whole medical staff, though. We're preparing to evacuate just as a precaution." He closes the door and gets in behind the wheel. The soldier in the cowboy hat, Chuck, gets in the front passenger seat, so I guess he's with us now, too.

As Reynolds starts the truck, I lean forward to ask him a question. "How are you going to evacuate all these people?"

"We aren't evacuating at all yet," he says.

"But if you had to," I push the point, wanting an answer.

He accelerates toward the end of the block. "We have a few large yachts anchored just offshore. Only room for maybe eight or nine hundred. It would be impossible to evacuate all of them." He takes a right around the corner, pulling up behind another Humvee parked in front of headquarters.

"Don't worry, though, it'll be fine," he says. "If there is a problem, the Captain ordered us to take you out on one of the helicopters with us." He gets out of the car, and we follow him up the front steps. Some soldiers are piling sandbags around a couple of serious looking machine guns at the base of the steps. The snipers on the roof keep their attention focused east, watching for any sign of a breach. A couple of the Blackhawk helicopters circle a battle going on near the hospital building. It doesn't take any military training to see that things are becoming desperate at the station.

We follow Officer Reynolds downstairs to a storage area, which now serves as the armory for the base. An armed guard keeps watch over a gate and salutes Reynolds when we approach. Reynolds swipes his card and unlocks a cage door, nodding to the sentry.

"What are we doing down here exactly?" I ask.

"My orders were to get you ready for evac," says Reynolds. Then he added, "in case the situation degrades. We stop at a caged window in the middle of the long hall, with a supply clerk stationed beyond it.

"If you will all let the private here know your measurements, we will find some more suitable clothes," says Reynolds. "There's a locker room down the hall for you to change. Sorry, there won't be any time for showers just yet. Lieutenant Fletcher and I will round up some supplies and be back to collect you in ten."

The cowboy and Reynolds leave us, and we tell the young clerk our shirt, pant and shoe sizes, which he jots down on a slip of yellow legal paper. The soldier begins collecting items from shelves and racks in the storeroom and piling the neatly folded clothing on the counter.

"This is crazy," says Danielle. "Why are they giving this stuff to us?"

"My father thinks he owes you for helping me," says Quentin. "He feels obligated to return the favor."

"Favor? It feels like I'm being enlisted," says Danielle. "I'm no soldier."

"We are all soldiers now," I say. "We don't really have a choice. But we're not getting this gear to fight. This stuff is to give us a chance to survive.”

I grab up a pair of uniforms and the boots off the counter and walk to the locker room. Danielle goes on the opposite side of the aisle of lockers, and we change into the uniforms we were issued. One set was black and the other a green camouflage. I picked up the black pants with large cargo pockets, but Quentin tells me to wear the other one.

"Black is for night only," he says.

I kick off my leather shoes and strip out of my tattered dress pants and pull on the uniform. I button the top right over my Navy t-shirt. I find these separate pads which I don't understand until I watch Quentin strap one around his kneecap, so I do the same. I look down at my outfit and feel sort of ridiculous like I am some kid dressed as a soldier. I look down at the floppy hat and decide not to put it on. I lace up the pair of tan boots.

Danielle walks around from the other side of the lockers, her dark hair now back in a ponytail. She looks like she has aged ten years in a matter of days. She is still bruised and has several slim scabs along the right side of her face. Instead of just an attractive young woman, she also looks every bit a hardened soldier too.

"You look ridiculous," she says to me. Then she looks at Quentin. "You look better this way."

The door opens, and Reynolds and Fletcher come in with assault rifles slung over their shoulders. They each carry enormous rucksacks full of god knows what. Food and ammo, I imagine, but there must be a whole lot of it. I look at the heavy packs hoping they don't expect me to lug one of those around everywhere.

"Holy crap," says Danielle. "I hope you don't expect me to be able to carry all that."

“Hopefully, you won't need to," smiles Reynolds. "If you're all ready, let's load up and go see the captain."

We lug the gear back up the flight of stairs and as we approach the lobby I can hear the sound of gunfire just beyond the doors. We go outside, and I can see the corpses lining up at the hurricane fence beyond the courtyard.

"The damn bastards got the hospital again," says Chuck.

I notice a look of concern cross Reynold’s face as he stares off at the horde pressing against the flimsy barricade. Troops are pouring out from the barracks now, some only half-dressed, spreading out into the courtyard and spraying the bodies at the fence with bullets. The snipers on the roof are firing more slowly, but steadily and without end. From this distance, I can only make out the massive size of the crowd. There are hundreds of thousands of corpses trudging forward like a glacier of rotting meat. It's just a matter of time before they topple that fence and there isn't enough firepower here to hold them off.

"We better hurry," says Reynolds. He opens the trunk, and we heave the heavy supplies and assault rifles into the back. Quentin is already running up the stairs for the door by the time the last pack is loaded. We follow him up the stairs and down the hall to the captain's office.

"We need to get the fuck out of here now!” Quentin pleads.

Captain Black stands behind his desk, looking out the window at the courtyard beyond. The captain has changed from his dress uniform into some battle fatigues. He has a pistol holstered at his waist and has traded in his cigarettes for a big cigar that he chews between his teeth. He turns and looks at Quentin, and grins. I have to wonder if the guy is losing his mind.

"Those fucking things are going to be all over the place any minute," Quentin urges.

The captain walks around the desk and puts his arm around Quentin. "Calm down there, son," he says. He speaks with a mellow voice like he is reading a child a bedtime story. He withdraws the cigar from his mouth so he can speak more clearly. "It's time you go with the Lieutenant Commander.”

"What are you talking about?" asks Quentin. "There's too many out there. We need to evacuate now."

"You are being evacuated," he says. "I have orders to hold this base at all costs. We will fight to the last man." The captain removes his hand from Quentin's shoulder and walks back around the desk. He withdraws his pistol from the holster and pulls back the action.

"No," says Quentin. "I'm not leaving you to die here."

"I can't leave my troops to die here," the Captain says. "You can see that, can't you?"

"Then I'm staying to fight them, too," Quentin says. "I'm not leaving you either."

The captain's calm demeanor fades for a moment. His brow furrows and when he sticks the cigar back between his teeth his jaw clenches as he bites the tip. For a brutally long moment, he just stands there, staring at his son.

"You still don't get it," he says. "These men are willing to lay down their lives to protect those people back there. So that some of them can survive. And I can lead them down that road because I know that you can survive this. I can't do it for nothing." His eyes are glassy but fierce and determined.

"Pop," says Quentin.

"Get on that chopper, boy," the captain growls. He nods at Reynolds and turns around and faces the window again. One of the Blackhawks is circling the fence, firing rockets into the crowd of undead, the sky erupts into a burst of flame and chunks of flesh and bone. The building trembles beneath our feet.

Reynolds salutes the captain, then steps out into the hall. Danielle follows him, and I walk out behind her. Quentin remains a moment longer, staring at the back of his father. I want to get the hell out of there, but I stop in the doorway and wait for Quentin. He opens his mouth as if to speak then seems to change his mind. He glances down at the floor and shakes his head.

"So long, Pops," he says. Then he backs out of the office, and we move quickly down the hall.