Rise & Walk (Book 2): Pathogen (14 page)

Twenty-One

The driving rhythm of the Blackhawk’s rotors shook Alexandra in flight.  Seated in the rear of the aircraft surrounded by eight heavily armed soldiers, she squinted against the fast moving air allowed in by the open gunner’s hatch.  For some God-awful reason Denkinger felt the need to ride while manning one of the side-mounted M-60 machine guns.  He had helped himself to the communication headset when they boarded leaving Alexandra no choice but to resort to the small Ear-muff like hearing protectors which weren’t as effective as the larger, more robust headset.  This also had the effect of isolating her from the cockpit conversation, which had been irrelevant for the most part, but she now found herself missing at least, the ability to communicate. The other men all wore some sort of wired earphone in each ear and a sponge like hearing protector in the other.  They also wore what Alexandra recognized as throat-microphones; small black bands around their necks that used vibration sensitive transducers to pick up and transmit even a whisper.  Because the throat transducers were not true microphones, they didn’t pick up background noise, making them perfect for communicating under combat conditions.  Their equipment was all pretty common for an Aries team.  They wore the standard armored vests with tactical pouches; all but one man wore their vests in the sleeveless configuration. 
Meatheads like to show off their arms
, Alexandra thought. The odd-man out, an Asian man, wore his optional sleeves, neck collar and groin flap for maximum protection.  He was encumbered by more equipment then the others and carried no machine gun, just a pistol.  Alexandra assumed that this man must be the medic.  The man next to the medic wore three fragmentation grenades, which upon noticing, alarmed Alexandra greatly.  Frag’s might be alright for contractors in Iraq, Afghanistan, or some other war torn private military sandbox, but in the United States such munitions were highly illegal.  An uncertain sickness built in her stomach as she panned her head to her right and saw that the soldier next to her wore three similar grenades.  The release spoons were held in place by Carter pins, as well as by tactical nylon pouches rendering them reasonably safe.  Alexandra was used to the guns.  In her line of work she had fired a large number of firearms and been present for many explosive tests on the range.  Those tests were run by her Skunks, people she trusted in controlled situations, not armed strangers packed tightly around her wearing live explosives.

Alexandra directed her view towards the floor of the chopper and tried focus on other things.  The men were tasked with their security; the weaponry was there to support that effort.  Misappropriating a fully armed Blackhawk from the Department of Defense was a far greater worry then a crate of fragmentation grenades.  She told herself to ignore her concerns and just try to get through the day.  Then, suddenly for some unknown reason, like an intangible nudge, she felt the urge to look to her right.  The urge was like one of those moments in a quiet restaurant when she’d feel compelled to look in a direction only to find someone at a table across the room looking at her.  It was just one of those coincidental, innocent things that happened once in a while.  She turned her head not expecting anything of the instinct but froze when she saw one of the men, a ghastly pale skinned creep staring at her legs, with his mouth sinisterly open at one corner.  The man was oblivious to his detection and obviously experiencing some deep carnal thoughts that chilled Alexandra.  Thankful that she wasn’t wearing a skirt, she straightened up in her flight-seat and closed her posture as much as possible to appear less interesting.  The man’s hollow cheeks puffed into a thin smile as his gaze climbed her body like a snake up a vine.  Disgusted, Alexandra decided to meet his leer with a stern return.  Her chills doubled when the freakish mercenary looked her in the eye and smiled wider undeterred by her scowl.  She locked eyes with the man, determined to hide her fear and not let him win by looking away.  The experience was unreal as she was surrounded by others who seemed to be unaware of the unspoken exchange.  The man drew the tip of his tongue over the top of his bottom lip in a subtle motion that caused Alexandra’s face to sour and her hands to ball into fists. 
Hell with this
, she thought and turned to the soldier next to her.  She tugged at his shoulder and had to yell in his ear.

“Tell that Asshole to keep his eyes to himself!” She said pointing to the dark, greasy-haired pig.  The mercenary to her right pushed on his throat mic and said something that she couldn’t hear over the screaming turbine.  What was said was said in the clear as all eyes went to the greasy man who looked away quickly, his face a chalky mask of childlike embarrassment.  Denkinger turned back into the cabin and said something into his throat mic, from which the pervert shrank. 

No disinfectant like sunlight
, Alexandra thought.  She noticed that Greasy-man was wearing a bandoleer of 40mm grenades across his chest; the kind that fire from the grenade launcher mounted underneath his automatic rifle.  The gold tips on the grenades signified that they were High-Explosive rounds.  Just one of those HEDP rounds could take out a city bus; she’d seen it done on the proving grounds.  Suddenly she didn’t feel so secure with her security team.  Denkinger looked back over the row of seats towards her and gave her a contrived smile.  No, she didn’t feel very secure at all.

Twenty-Two

The rear of the sporting goods store was dark and cool. Nikki’s eyes had trouble resolving any detail at first as they transitioned from the bright sunlit outside.  Tony stood in front of her in silence waiting at the ready.  He produced his small flashlight to search around the warehouse area.  The smudged bluish beam floated across large high shelves packed with merchandise.  To their right, Tony stopped the light on a wooden ladder in the wall that led to the roof.  They both waited a tense moment but nothing was heard.  Tony relaxed and handed her the flashlight.

“Here, have a look around. I’ll check out the front.”

Nikki watched his crouched silhouette creep towards a pair of swinging double doors.  He looked through the round plastic windows and proceeded into the showroom. 

Nikki shone the flashlight around the area.  The weight of the Colt began to fatigue her arm.  She braced the weapon from below with her other hand while still shining the flashlight.  She saw a rack holding several sets of golf-clubs, a shelf full of camping tents, Soccer balls, Basketballs, and other sporting equipment.  The merchandise was interesting but not useful as weapons. She started to feel a touch of excitement that she was essentially looting a store, taking anything that she wanted for free.  Slowly proceeding into the storeroom, she saw a shopping cart containing several boxes of women’s tennis shoes.  She looked from side to side, confirming that no threats were hiding in the darkness, then back to the cart.  She was alone, no one would see, she could have whatever she wanted. 
I can always use another pair of shoes
, she thought as she made a small grin.

Tony crouched behind a glass display case observing the showroom floor.  Twenty yards away in the front of the showroom he saw that the windows had been smashed out.  Broken tempered-glass littered the inside of the building like shiny green crumbs. A distorted rack of athletic clothing had been pushed up against the wall and a cash register lay spilled out on the floor surrounded by change but no cash.  Tony reconstructed the scene in his mind and surmised that someone had driven a vehicle into the store, busting through the windows.  The path of destruction ended in the back of the store, near the locked gun shelves.  Tony almost kicked the counter in anger when he looked to his right and recognized the torn out shelves, as formerly holding rifles and shotguns.  From behind the sales counter he made his way towards the gun rack, keeping his eye on the showroom for threats.  He would have felt a lot better if the windows were intact and not wide open to the uncertain world outside.  Boxes of ammunition were spilled out on the floor behind the counter.  It looked to Tony as if someone had used bolt-cutters to free the rifles and shotguns from the locks on the gun rack.  He found three small rifles tossed to the rear of the counter area.  They were twenty-two caliber rifles, small bore weapons that apparently no one wanted to steal.  All the larger caliber arms were gone.  He found it curious that all the weaponry was taken but there appeared to still be plenty of ammunition left behind.  The ammunition was in disarray as if someone had torn quickly through it but they left quite a bit behind.  He reached down to pick up a box of .380 pistol ammunition.  He found another three boxes and placed them on the counter.  Nikki was used to his old pistol and would be better able to handle it then the Colt.  Tony glanced around the merchandise for hand radios.  A sudden scraping sound caught his ear.  He dropped to one knee and took cover behind the counter.  With a weary eye he struggled to locate the source of the sound while trying to remain calm.  He couldn’t see anything of note through the glass display case.  Another moment and he heard another noise, something sliding, tearing in the distance.  He wasn’t sure if it was just wind from outside or something more threatening.  As he scanned the area, he saw his prize.  On the left side of the store, in the middle of the showroom was a display at the end of an isle.  The display held three packs of hand radios exactly like the one he found in Lance Richardson’s garage.  He felt an insane urge to run over, retrieve the radios, and get the hell back to the safety of the display case but the knot in his stomach reminded him that now was no time to be stupid.  He scooped up two of the twenty-two caliber rifles and found a box of .22 caliber rounds.  Patience would serve him better in this situation.

Nikki found herself a pair of nice athletic shoes; the kind with special heels that were supposed to improve the shape of one’s bottom. She had emptied the cart of shoes while looking for her size.  She also set aside three other pairs of increasing size for Veronica.  She had no idea what Veronica’s size was so she brought a variety, and why not; they were free after all.  Nikki rummaged around the merchandise and found a few clothing items for she and Veronica, an aluminum baseball bat that she thought Tony might like, and a case of double-A batteries.  Now she stood staring at a collection of protective equipment.  She recognized the shelf full of Football shoulder-pads and thought of the protective vests that Tony and Jack wore.  There were other types of pads used to protect the arms and areas of the legs.  She wondered how practical the equipment might be against the undead. 

Tony returned with assorted goods cradled in his arms. He began to pile them into her cart.  He had two small rifles that were new to Nikki.  He broke open a small box of ammunition and began loading.

“Shine the light so I can see.” He said while working.

“What’s that?” She whispered.

“This is a twenty-two; a very small rifle, but relatively quiet.  It’s not as powerful as everything else but it can still get the job done.”

“Did you find any Walkie-Talkies?” She asked eagerly.

“Yeah out in the store, but I want you to cover me out there.”

Nikki watched him load the twenty-two.  It was different from his pistol but she recognized the basics.  It held bullets one after another in a tube under the barrel, rather than on top of each other in a magazine.  It had a bolt that slid back to move the rounds into the chamber and she quickly noted the safety.

“No problem,” she said offering him the Colt.

“What’cha got here?” he asked nodding towards the cart.

“Stuff” she said with a shy hesitation.

“Stuff we need, stuff we can use, or stuff we just want?”

He handed her the loaded rifle.  She thought for a moment, and then answered.

“The batteries we need; the rest we can use.”  She said.

“Cool,” he said and finished loading his rifle, “I think I heard something out there.  Stay behind the counter and keep en eye out for me.”  He left his shotgun in the cart and motioned for Nikki to follow.

Twenty-Three

Mason cursed as he drove the Chevy in search of the sporting goods store.  He had been circling what passed for downtown Whisper for ten minutes now and had yet to find the Bronco.  Veronica had given him general directions but admitted that she had never actually visited the sporting goods store.  He was beginning to worry that he might not be able to find the place.  Mason had to admit, now that he was close; he had a curiosity about what kinds of weapons might be available at the store.  He ran through a mental checklist of what he would need to help get home.  The truck had only a quarter tank of gas left.  He would need to fill both of his tanks to get near Berkeley.  If he could get a length of rubber tubing he could siphon gas from vehicles along the way.  He spent a few years working at a gas station and was familiar with how and where the gasoline is stored in underground tanks.  If he could find a small hand pump, some stations even had them on the premises, he would be set.  Mason had decided to leave his Kawasaki in the hills.  He loved that bike but at this point, he just wanted to collect Tony and get a move on.  
Where the hell is that punk
?  Mason wondered if Tony just took the blonde to the high school and followed her inside.

“Come inside and meet my parents.” He mumbled to himself.

Mason had seen a handful of creatures so far during his journey.  Some gave weak chase and were quickly left behind.  As he circled the area, he was beginning to see the same creatures over again.  One bedraggled corpse in dirty brown pajamas was beginning to wear on Jack’s nerves.  Every time he would idle around a corner, somehow, the creature would eventually follow like a stray animal seeking a home.  Mason was creeping along at just above five-miles per hour but as he would take a turn, he would notice the thing appear around the last corner in his mirrors.  He pulled over after the fourth turn in front of an ice cream shop, finally fed up with his persistent pursuer.  He parked the Chevy on the opposite side of the street and observed his surroundings. The coast appeared to be clear.  He reached over for his sword and considered his actions.  His years of Kendo training had been put to good use yesterday but he wondered if he might not be pushing his luck.  One slip, one mistake, especially now, without Tony’s eyes to watch his back, and it could be Mason wandering the streets in torn and bloody military surplus gear,  looking for a hot lunch.  Suddenly, taking out his ghoulish follower didn’t seem like such a safe choice.  Mason grew angry that he had to leave the thing be for lack of back-up.

He thumped a bare fist on the steering wheel.  He loved Tony like a brother but thought,
damn it if that punk doesn’t have a knack for wasting my time
.  They should be on the road to Berkeley now not screwing around trying to impress some broad.  Tony should at least be here to back him up.  But that was his buddy; always distracted by pretty girls who end up blowing him off.  If he put as much effort into his training as he did into chicks that used him, he’d probably never gotten fat. 

Mason saw the creature turn the corner and shamble into the middle of the street.  His filthy Pjs flew open and revealed his torn night shirt caked with dirt and dried gore. 

“Would you happen to know where… oh I forget the name, the sporting goods store is?” Mason said looking in the rear view mirror.  The creature grasped at the air with a thumb-less claw.  Mason shifted into to reverse and pumped the accelerator.  The Chevy’s chrome rear bumper shattered the creatures knees, folding them ninety-degrees in the wrong direction, while it’s head ricocheted off the tailgate.  Mason pulled forward and resumed his search.  In his rear view he saw the thing’s head spill magenta jelly on the asphalt.

“Oh that’s right; it’s called Bulls-Eye’s, Thanks.” Mason waved.

Tony led Nikki through the swinging doors and motioned for her to stand behind the counter.  He put his fingers to his lips once again and she pinched her eyes slightly knowingly.  He held his rifle to his shoulder to show her what to do.  Nikki lifted her weapon in imitation and nodded, then took aim out over the sales floor. 
Yeah, she’s doing great
, he thought.

Tony listened for a moment and heard nothing.  He moved from behind the counter and into the sales floor.  He became very aware of his heartbeat as it picked up speed. 
Keep it together man; you got a hottie watching you
.  Halfway to the hand radios, he noticed a number of duffle bags hanging on the wall.  His radio plan called for a bag of some sort, and they certainly could use others, so he quickly detoured and pulled a bag free from the display.  He leaned his rifle on the wall and started crushing and stuffing other bags into the first.  He moved quickly, his fear doubling with every moment his rifle was not in his hand.  The safety of the counter area seemed so distant even though it was only thirty or so feet away. He grabbed another bag and stuffed a few more inside.  Turning, he tossed the first bag back towards the counter; it fell short but landed with a soft thump.  Tony never had much luck throwing objects.  Tossing the second bag, his aim was off and it crashed into a stand-up display containing sports watches.  He would have been mortified at his exhibition of clumsiness in front of Nikki but for the sound he heard from the front of the store.  He saw Nikki’s eyes go wide.  His bad throw had caught something’s attention, probably something dead.  He turned, retrieved his rifle and moved out towards the sound.  He saw nothing, but the dragging, scraping sound became louder.  He smelled a foul stench in the air, like wet rotting fruit on a hot day, but still saw nothing.  He heard glass, broken glass being pushed aside and now a slight chemical smell, like ammonia, like some of the dead.

Holding his rifle at his hips he crouched down and looked out near the floor.  Across the room a figure, lying prone, emerged from underneath a clothing rack.  It clawed at the tiled surface, dragging itself along.  Now, Tony began to hear its breathing, dry and low. 
Was it breathing hard with the effort
?  There was something very creepy in the way that it was crawling towards him without directing its face towards Tony.  He aimed his rifle but still feared firing and possibly alerting any hungry ghouls on the street.  The ghoul was twenty feet away and crawling slowly.  Tony knew if he was careful, he could have time for an idea.

Standing, he motioned to a very determined looking Nikki with his palm open to relax.  He then grabbed a rolled up sleeping bag from the shelf above the duffle bags and shoved the barrel of his rifle inside the space in the center.  Fearing a backfire, he shoved the rifle until it came out the other end, then slid it back carefully, covering the barrel a little but leaving enough space for the hot gases to release.  He set the sleeping bag on the floor and used it to support the rifle. He lay on the floor and did his best to aim at the approaching corpse.  As the creature closed the distance, Tony could see that it was in quite a state.  The top of its head appeared matted with blood and he noticed a ring of gouged cuts around the crown.  A hunting knife protruded from its spine, flopping from side to side as it struggled to reach Tony.  Watching its pathetic approach moved Tony.  His fear, while still present, gave way to a small portion of pity.  Someone had done a number on this guy, the same people who now had a truck full of rifles and shotguns.  These dead things needed to be put down but not made sport of.

“Sorry man.” Tony whispered and fired.  The sound from the center of the rolled up sleeping bag sounded more like the quiet cough of a well mannered theatre patron than a rifle shot.  The small bullet bored solidly through the top of the tattered ghoul’s head, dropping it to the floor.  Since his plan worked so well and for good measure, Tony fired once again.

Tony stood letting the sleeping-bag slide to the ground and stepped carefully to the creature with his twenty-two at the ready.  He surmised that the knife in its back must have damaged its spine rendering its legs useless, hence the crawling.  He pushed at its shoulder with his boot, just enough to confirm a suspicion; the thing wore a nametag.  The corpse was an employee of the store; a bloodstained bandaged area of his right arm appeared to cover a bite wound.  But what really worried Tony was that the marks around the crown of its head went all the way around.  Whoever stole a store full of weapons was sick enough to try and scalp a corpse.

There might be worse things than the undead in town
.