The End: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (15 page)

George held tight to Billy. Both of them sat at the back of the Rhino Runner. George could see the woman standing outside shooting at something, an unknown headlight beaming on her in the distance. She had left the side door open when she stepped out. The guy behind the wheel was occupied. He was talking with someone over a radio almost identical to the one that Willy had on his hip. Willy sat next to George, and Billy leaned back, head propped against the seat, eyes closed.

“Shouldn’t you be out there helping them?” George said.

Willy didn’t move and acted like George hadn’t even spoken to him. The sound of gunfire coming from more than one person stressed George out. “Why aren’t we leaving?” he shouted at the man in the driver’s seat.

Luke didn’t respond, focused on the radio.

*

Seth was out cold.

“Kent, help! I can’t get him up!” Cynthia yelled at Kent, who fired at the mob steadily drawing closer from the side street.

As Kent looked over to see Cynthia leaned over the fallen man, the gate behind her suddenly gave way. To Kent, it wasn’t as sudden as it should have seemed. It was almost in slow motion. As he turned his head to see what she was yelling at him for, he watched as the lining of the gate to the alley tore open from the bottom. It bent up and out, the horde moving forward. Kent heard nothing. All sound had vanished as he watched, as if nothing else existed except this single moment. Kent looked back at Eric, the others still firing in slow motion, unable to hear their guns. He could see the flashes of light on each gun as they were fired, but no sound.

The crowd of creatures clambered out from the broken fence as it gave way. Cynthia jumped to her feet, darting away toward the front of the bus. Kent watched in slow motion as bullets tore into their flesh, the busted fence behind them. Blood splattered and sprayed. Heads jerked and zombies fell. Kent’s view widened to see a very large man standing on top of the bus firing a rifle into the oncoming crowd. Things suddenly snapped into real time, and Kent abruptly comprehended that he had been held in the cold hands of shock.

“It’s time to get the hell out of here,” Gus said, getting Megan’s attention. The bus steadily became surrounded by zombies. The spark of their gunfire shined in the night, each person doing their best to drive the mass of undead creatures down.

Megan retreated back toward the confines of the big vehicle, motioning for the other two shooting alongside her to follow suit. Eric, Megan, and Kent jumped into the Runner from the side door.

Luke, half out the driver’s window, fired single shots from his 9mm pistol. Each pull of the trigger was a direct hit, sending its victim to the ground.

Cynthia screamed and shouted, banging on the opposite side of the bus that didn’t have a door. Zombies poured in behind her from the alley. A large cluster of them immediately fell on Seth and feasted on his body. Seth never let out a single scream as they tore into his flesh, ripping him into bits, devouring him bit by bit. The creatures’ hands came away bloody as they ripped and tugged. Chunks of the unconscious man’s flesh came away from his body, shirt now totally ripped apart.

The bus started to move forward, Gus still on the roof. He reached down and grabbed Cynthia by the hand, pulling her up with little effort, the mob of zombies behind her only inches away from dragging her down. A sharp jolt of pain shot through Gus’ hand.

She looked back as the large man held her close, the bus bouncing forward toward the street. “He’s… gone.”

Seth’s body was covered with bloody, rotting, putrid zombies all leaning over him, undoubtedly feasting on his remains. Dozens of others shuffled past those feeding, arms stretched out toward the bus.

Countless zombies still continued to spill out into the back lot from the alley and the side street. The second-story window was filled with the undead. As Luke looked in the side mirror, he saw the building and the horde. One zombie fell from the window as they drove off. Before taking his eyes away, he thought he saw Bo Brad Barrie, the pilot, standing at the window, bloody and mangled. It couldn’t have been. It just couldn’t.

Gus lowered the red-haired woman down into the bus from the roof latch as it slowly edged on trying to make its way passed the ghouls that approached on either side. He followed her down into the crowded space, grabbing the torch gear, and then made his way back halfway up the ladder.

“Do you know how to use that?” Megan called from below.

“It’s two valves and a nozzle handle. How hard can it be?” Gus said.

“The igniter is automatic. Don’t squeeze the nozzle unless you want to burn something,” Megan said and headed back to the cab.

Luke drove the Rhino Runner up the infested streets as fire rained down off to the side. “Things will clear up once we get back to the interstate. Who all do we have back there anyway? I told headquarters three civilians but looks more like six or seven.”

Megan said, “Just an in and out OP, eh?” She smirked and stepped away.

The bus now moved at a steadier pace. She went to the refugees, and asked, “Anybody injured?”

No one said a word. They all seemed spent and lost in their own thoughts, their own nightmares. As Megan stood over them, one hand holding the railing over her head to keep a steady balance, she noticed that Willy was out cold and didn’t look in the best of health. She let go of the rail and moved closer to get a better look at him.

After shaking his leg and saying his name a time or two with no response, she pulled out a small flashlight and shined it in his eye, while peeling the eyelid back with her finger.

“Willy… right?
Willy
… You there? Willy?” She put away the light and continued to examine him, taking out a first-aid kit. After opening the box and putting on some thin rubber gloves, she continued checking his vitals. She wrapped the cuff of the blood pressure monitor around his arm and proceeded to pump it tighter.

“Mr. Wellington? Is that you?” Eric leaned up in his seat, talking over the woman in the middle of the cab checking the other soldier. “Hey, Wellington!” Eric spoke louder leaning out from his seat a little more. The old man looked like he was in a trance staring at the floor, his arm around a kid that Eric had never seen before.

“Hey, George!”

George looked up and across the seats, right at Eric. “Eric! How in the world did you end up here?” The old man’s face lit up showing a sense of hope, his eyes lightly watering as he recognized the teenager across from him.

“Yeah! So that
was
you on the radio this morning. I had my doubts, but thought it might be you. I recognized the voice. Where’s Tyler?”

Any glint of hope instantly evaporated from the old man’s face upon hearing those words. After a moment, George met the young man’s gaze again, this time, his voice frail revealing his true age. “Tyler? Well… I… I was kind of hoping you would—”

Megan got shoved to her back against the wall of shelves and guns, Willy on top of her gnashing his teeth. His mouth sank into her throat, squirting blood onto Kent’s shoes as Megan fell to the floor.

Cynthia screamed. Everyone panicked, shoving on each other and trying to move toward the front of the bus, Willy’s undead corpse now feasting. Megan’s body twitched violently on the floor, a pool of blood formed around her.

“Stop the bus! Stop the bus!” Eric shouted.

Luke looked back, craning his head. Everyone crowded toward the front. Everyone but Megan and Willy.

Gus shot down the ladder, hearing the screams and frantic yelling. The bus stopped. Gus tossed off the flamethrower pack dropping it at his feet. He reached out, pulling Willy up by the back of the shirt. With his other hand, Gus slammed Willy’s head into the side of the bus. His hand was the size of Willy’s entire face, covering it all. Two more slams against the wall. He shoved the former soldier away, pulling out a large hand blade from his hip. In one flawless motion, he drove the knife under Willy’s chin and up. The metal blade penetrated the flesh sliding through the mouth and into his skull. Willy’s limbs instantly went limp.

Gus dropped the zombie to the floor, blade still lodged in its skull, blood pouring down the handle. He retrieved the 9mm from his hip and aimed it at Megan. Blood spilled heavily from the open wound. As he lifted the pistol, Luke’s arm reached up from behind him grabbing the large man on the wrist. Everyone else stood to one side of the bus as far as they could, huddled together in fear and shock, silent.

“No, wait!” Luke said.

“It has to be done and you know it!” Gus said.

The gun went off twice without hesitation. Her head shot back, two holes instantly appeared leaking blood from them. One hit the chest above her breast, and the other dead between the eyes. She lay still no longer convulsing. The puddle of blood beneath her steadily grew.

No one moved. No one spoke a word.

Cynthia held tightly to Kent. Billy had George’s arms wrapped around him. Eric had frozen in place, stunned as everyone else.

Gus lowered the gun. “I’m sorry, but it had to be done. It’s best to end it quickly.”

Luke looked up at the bulk of a man and glared with pure rage in his eyes, arms shaking. Gus grabbed him by each arm and pulled him into his chest. Luke lost it. Crying uncontrollably, he broke out into tears, mourning the sudden loss.

Very shaken up and hardly uttering any real words, Luke looked up at Gus. “Not… like... this…”

“You need to be strong, soldier.” Gus pulled Luke away and shook him. “We need you to be strong. We need to get to base. Can you do that?”

Luke rubbed one hand through his hair and glanced at the civilians, all of whom looked scared out of their minds. “Ya, I can do this.”

Luke turned and got behind the wheel, putting the bus back in drive without even looking back.

George opened his bag and pulled out a plain shirt and covered the dead woman’s face. The ride back to base was long and quiet. Very long and very, very quiet.

REGROUP

1

The sun rose early Friday morning just like it had every morning in the past. The Tallahassee sky was a bright baby blue without a cloud in sight just like the day before. It was officially day four of the outbreak and things weren’t looking any better for General Baker and his men. He had already lost more lives than expected and began to feel like the higher ups might be leaving him in the dark about a thing or two. Maybe this outbreak was more than they could contain.

Between the twenty choppers sent out daily to survey the infected zones and conditions, only fourteen had made it back. His best flight team was MIA, and the General was starting to think he needed a new strategy, a new approach to this chaos.

Baker sat in his office not seated behind the desk, but standing at the window, watching a single chopper be loaded with supplies. He decided to cancel all outbound missions for the next two days. They weren’t going to find any significant lives to matter. The risk wasn’t worth the reward. The five civilians that now found themselves on his base were the only survivors they had come across.

The chopper getting prepped before him was scheduled to depart in less than an hour, headed for Jacksonville. A biochemical organization could very well be behind this catastrophic plague, and if so, he felt the higher ups in the military might have something to do with it as well.

As always, Lieutenant Foster was close by, sitting behind him and awaiting orders for the day. Baker’s ashtray sat on top of the desk with a freshly lit cigar, unattended.

“Have the civilians examined by Dr. Gibbs as soon as they are up and about. No need to wake them, I’m sure the last couple of days have been long. Let them rest. I’m going to want a full report of their physical exams and history. I want to know who we have staying with us. Full background checks. I also want an update on Luke Beal. I heard word he had a mental breakdown last night with the loss of Megan.”

“And Gus, sir?”

“I want him saddled up and ready to lead the Jacksonville team.”

“But, sir, he fractured some bones in his right hand, not to mention he came in rather late last night and lost both of his teammates. I don’t know that it’s a wise idea sending—”

“He is the best man for the job, hand or no hand, Lieutenant. I want him on that chopper leading that team! Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hell, while you’re at it I want an assessment of Luke Beal, pronto. If he feels fit for duty, then I want him on that team too.”

“But General—”

“No butts! That’s an order!”

Baker turned from the window and glared at the Lieutenant.

Rob stood, tossing up a half-hearted salute, one that the General did not return.

Taking his seat at the desk, Baker shooed Rob out of his office with a flick of the wrist while picking up the phone.

Foster exited.

*

After leaving the General’s office, Rob made his way down the hall passing door after door to several other offices. He finally made it to the laboratory building after crossing the courtyard centralized within the military base. The small building set across from the barracks. He made his way into the building after crossing the small courtyard leading into the double doors to the small construct.

The courtyard was also not quite that big, or that much to look at. It was the only actual designated smoking space on base, a section of the fortified compound the General never seemed to visit. A large oak tree with several benches surrounding it grew in the center. Several soda machines and one empty snack machine set against a barracks’ wall. Rob had been working at this facility for a while now and only once saw that machine filled. It lasted all of three days before being emptied again. The courtyard reminded Rob of high school for some strange reason.

The small laboratory building was only a one-story box, housing five office spaces all of which were labs except for one. One of the rooms was actually designated as an office space used for group meeting between the different directors. Its door read
Dr. Theresa Gibbs
, she being the lead scientist and medic on the team. His mind raced back to finding her at his door and sharing a few hours in the dark. Her smell, her taste, the intimate moments had him longing for the next encounter.

Rob passed the labeled door, taking a left down the hall toward the group of lab rooms knowing good and well that the doctor would not be in her office. She never was. He was actually even surprised it had her name on it. He couldn’t recall a single time that the office space had ever been used by anyone. Most of the scientists kept to the labs or the cafeteria.

To Rob’s right was a single person restroom with both a male and female logo next to the door. To his left, he passed Professor Taft’s lab space. As he passed by, peering into the room from the door’s small horizontal window, he saw the room was empty. The image of Taft that was shown at the meeting, the enlarged image of the dead man’s mutilated face, skin torn to the bone and eyes missing, instantly popped into his head. He tried to shake the thought as he passed Gibbs’ door by only a few paces. He stood at the door for a few moments, still lingering on the thought of Taft’s rancid decay of a form. He prepared himself, knowing good and well the man he had just thought of was dead and yet still somehow continued to function as if still alive.

*

Dr. Gibbs had just finished taping the fractured hand of Gus
the bus
Stanford. It was obvious how the man earned his nickname. He sat on top of the metal desk in the center of her workspace, taking up more than half of the table.

“Your bones will heal with time. You shouldn’t be using it.” She turned from him, making her way to the sink. “I’ll take a look at it again Sunday before I get sent to Tennessee.”

“Oh yeah, I thought you had to leave tomorrow,” Gus said.

“No, the team and I were supposed to, but I talked the big wigs into giving us another day. We leave sometime Sunday. I’m not exactly sure when.”

After knocking on the door with two quick taps, Rob stepped into the lab.

Gus sat up high on the table, his shirt off, holding his busted hand out in the air.

Gibbs had her back turned to both men with her hands in the sink that was set across the room from the door.

“What can I do for you, General?” Gibbs said, sarcasm dripped in her voice.

Rob loudly cleared his throat as he stepped into the room, making eye contact with the man who sat on the metal table, smiling. He slammed the door a little harder than intended as he stepped in. She turned to see who it was, half-expecting Baker to be traipsing into her workspace pitching a fit at her for not being packed and ready for the lab team evacuation even though she had been granted extra time.

Taft stood against the wall, still tied like before. His wounds looked worse than the previous time. It had only been a short while and his skin seemed to be tightening up, drying out and turning a flaky gray. The restraints dug so deep into his neck and ankles that they looked almost nonexistent, sunken beneath the skin to the bone. The skin on one arm had been peeled off revealing blackish blood and gray muscles, along with bits of bone. The dead man stood chewing on something, and it looked like it might be a bit of his own flesh that had once hung in front of his mouth. The man was beyond a mess, beyond dead. He was hell.

“Oh, hey Rob,” said Gibbs with a little pep in her step, not at all fazed by the corpse of a man standing tied to the wall across from her. She smiled, drying her hands, stepping toward the two men, happy to see him. “What can I do for you this fine morning?” She gave him a furtive wink.

Gus watched as the two would-be romantics got lost in each other’s gaze for a moment or two. “Is it just me or can you cut the sexual tension in this room with a knife?” Gus said.

Rob instantly broke from the glance and stared down at the floor, cheeks a light red.

“So, Lieutenant, what brings you here?” Gus asked.

“I came to speak with Dr. Gibbs about you, but since you’re here, that will make my job a little easier. I came to check the status of that hand of yours.” He looked away from the shirtless man, still holding out his hand and focused on the lady. “What’s the damage looking like long term? I’m going to need him back in rotation ASAP.”

“I’ve sent the report in. His hand is fractured,” she said.

“Yeah, I’m aware of that. I’ve gone over that with the General. That is why I’m here. Gus, you have been selected for another OP. It leaves in less than an hour. Can you handle it under your condition?” Rob pointed at the man’s damaged extremity.

Gibbs said, “I don’t think he should be going back out like this. His hand needs to be immobile, and that could take several weeks.”

Rob kept his gaze on Gus. “The truth is, things are falling apart around here, and we are running low on qualified men. Well, soldier? You’re the best man for the job, and we need you. This is the last OP before we send in the bombers.”

Gibbs threw down the paper towel she was using to dry her hands, irritated at Foster, irritated at this whole system. “You can’t be serious! They’re just going to blow everything up. Just wipe their hands of it and call it a day. You can’t do that, it’s unethical.”

Foster continued, “Gus?”

“Yes, I can do it. What’s the job?”

“Jacksonville. You will get a short debriefing as soon as you are done here, so put that shirt back on,” Rob said before turning to Gibbs.

With distress in his eyes, she could tell that he didn’t like the situation or the way it was being handled anymore that she did. “Where’s Beal? He’s possibly getting sent out too.”

“Yeah, right! That guy is a mess. After what I did to his woman, after what I had to do, there is no way in hell that guy is working with me. He might snap and try to take me out when I’m not looking or something… No way,” Gus said as he put on his shirt. “That guy has lost it!”

“Speaking of being
one to snap
, how are you doing by the way?” Rob asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you lost Bo and Willy last night. I just wanted to make sure that you’re able to handle it,” Rob said.

“I’m fine. What’s past is past. It’s old news, water under the bridge and all that shit. Let’s just go,” Gus said with a slight hint of hostility.

Gibbs gave Rob a concerned look as the two men stepped out of the room.

2

Kent stood in the hall right outside the barracks. He and the others had gotten in late last night. After they arrived, several armed men escorted them to a secure set of rooms with bunks and blankets. To Kent, the rooms looked like they had once been storage closets or even an old office, but he couldn’t have cared less. He was happy to finally be some place safe, surrounded by tons of armed people, with plenty to eat. They hadn’t had anything in the way of food as of yet, but lunch was definitely on the agenda for him today. He was starving.

He still wore the same thing he had on the day he met up with Eric and Cynthia. His shirt was torn in places. Blood and soot covered his wardrobe from head to toe. A guard had mentioned throwing clothes in the wash sometime this afternoon. At this point, it didn’t seem like a wash would do his clothing any good. It would be better if they could find him something new to wear.

Two men dressed in fatigues rounded the corner, both armed with guns at the hip. Kent leaned over a water fountain as they slowly headed in his direction. The stream of water sprung up at the push of the button, meeting his lips.

“—and that’s just ridiculous. I can’t believe the President, of all people, would bald-faced lie like that on national television,” one of the men said as they walked up.

“What do you expect? Why else would he have given a speech at seven a.m. in the morning? They make announcements early in the day so that most people are unable to see it. Give them time to make some edits. Show the five o’clock news what they want them to see, leaving out the details,” the other officer replied.

“What exactly was said, if you don’t mind my asking?” Kent turned away from the fountain and faced the two men.

“What, you didn’t see it?” replied the taller of the men.

“No, I was asleep. I came in with a few others just last night,” Kent said.

“Oh, shit. You came in with Luke and Megan?” The man talking suddenly got jabbed in the side by the other soldier’s elbow.

Kent said, “Yeah.”

“Well, the President just had a press conference talking about this little epidemic and totally lied. He said that what we have going on in the Southeast is the result of an oil spill off the Gulf coast or something stupid like that. Said they quarantined things to keep us from exporting poisoned fish and other seafood. Made it out to be another BP-type incident. Sent in teams to clean things up, people already really sick and what not. What a crock!”

“Quarantine? So you’re telling me that the rest of the world is okay?” Kent stood wide-eyed, his shocked expression partially hidden by the massive shades he still wore.

“Where the hell you been, man? Under a rock?” one of the men asked.