The End: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (19 page)

She glared at Kent and pulled his hand away. “Really now, and what if the government doesn’t pony up like you think they will? What then?”

“I know what I’m going to do,” Eric interrupted while he looked down at his bandaged hand. The bandages wrapped around all four knuckles. Some blood and other liquid lightly soaked the top of it around the cut. He flexed his fingers as he spoke, slowly taking his eyes from his wound and toward his comrades. “I’m going to retire.”

The cafeteria suddenly filled with laughter at the thought of a teenager already set on retirement. Billy turned and smiled along with the laughter. The mirth lasted for only a few seconds.

“How’s that thing holding up?” Cynthia asked pointing at Eric’s bandages. “Looks like it hurts.”

Before Eric had the chance to speak, Kent butted in, “Man, you sure were in there for a long time. What did they do to you in there?”

“Fixed me up, of course,” Eric said. He looked down at his hand a bit longer in thought before continuing. “And yes, it freaking hurts. The doctor stabbed the hell out of my knuckles with a big needle. She sucked out some liquid from it to do some testing of some kind she said, and then gave me a shot. That was painful. Her assistant had to hold my arm down to do it,” Eric replied, his eyes fixed on what little was left on his plate. The fork in his hand mixed the last bit of food around as he stared. “Since she gave me that shot, I kind of feel funny. Like sick to my stomach or something. I just want to lay down when I finish eating.”

“What about you, Mr. Wellington? What are you going to do now?” Eric asked.

“I was hoping to speak to the General sometime today. I plan to continue searching for my son and want the Army’s help,” George said looking down at the little boy sitting beside him. “And for Billy’s parents too!”

Billy immediately joined the conversation as if listening in the whole time, “My parents? I watched daddy shoot my mommy at home. She was attacking him in the living room. After that, my dad took me through the woods behind the house and across the street into a park. Daddy locked me in the bathroom there. I could hear him shooting some more and then it stopped. He left me there.”

The room was suddenly quiet. Billy went right back to watching the television as if what he had said was nothing at all. He leaned forward taking a sip from his straw without taking hold of the cup of soda. Both of his hands lay tucked to his side, hands gripping the bench as his legs swayed.

George sat in silence thinking back on when he happened upon the young boy locked away in that park bathroom. He had recalled one time Billy mentioning that his father was a policeman. George instantly flashed back to the moment when he drove up to the park. Several zombies littered the area meandering about. A few intently clung to the restroom door trying their best to get it. George vividly recalled one of those corpses being a uniformed officer, gun still in hand. Blood covered the victim’s throat and shirt, along with several chunks of flesh missing from its upper arms. With the gun in one hand, the zombie pounded at the locked door alongside a few others. Lost in thought, George was surprised that this detail had not clicked before.

George’s train of thought suddenly was interrupted by Billy’s giggling. Something on the television must have been funny to the little boy.

6

Luke Beal hovered over the sink in the joint bathroom that he shared with another military officer from across the hall. Looking at his reflection in the foggy mirror, hot water running in the shower behind him, Luke stood in the room with only a towel draped around his waist with both hands pressed against the sink holding him upright. He was a mess. Beside his thoughts, the only other sound he heard was that of the high-pressure water spraying into the tub from the showerhead behind him.

The main barracks were more like a set of college dorms than anything else. There was a main hall with rooms on each side. Every other room shared a full bathroom with the adjacent room next to it. Each set of sleeping quarters was generally shared with a roommate and had previously been furnished for them. With two beds, a couch, a mini fridge, and a television, each room was identical. Luke had the luxury of not having a roommate. He wasn’t the only soldier to be so lucky. With the chaos and the content losses, a lot of people didn’t have roommates these days. It was quite common to have one person per living quarter, despite the setup. Luke also didn’t have to worry about the tenant from across the way barging in on him in the bathroom. They both kept up with each other’s schedule, and Luke was well aware that the other man was on guard duty today until late.

He and Megan used to spend Fridays relaxing in his apartment if they were off. They would watch television, talk about anything and everything, and just enjoy each other’s company. He missed her scent, her touch, but most of all, her laugh.

Lost in thought, Luke imagined the two of them in the shower, like several times before, making love. Each bead of water splashing against her bare skin as it dripped down her chest tightly pressed against his. Her heavy breathing deep into his ear while he held her close, each leg tightly wrapped around his hips, her back pressed against the tile wall.

He took a deep breath and sighed even deeper. The train of thought broke as he stared at himself in the mirror. Unable to make out his face, he wiped the heavy condensation from it. Staring straight ahead, as if into the darkness of the abyss, Luke glared at his own reflection, sick to his stomach with anger.

His lover and friend was dead.

After a few moments of heavy breathing, he found himself lost in thought once more. He found himself inside the Rhino Runner peering over Gus’ shoulder. The big man had his pistol drawn same as before. As he watched from behind the big man, he witnessed Megan pleading on her knees for mercy in the eyes of her executioner. She cried out for help, and before Luke had the opportunity to—

CRACK!

Luke suddenly snapped out of the daydream of the
nightmare
as he slammed his fist into the mirror. Bits of glass fell around his bleeding hand into the sink and onto the floor. All he could think of was that big man’s stupid face.
You know it has to be done
, he had said before he murdered her.

With those words playing over and over and over again in Luke’s head, he felt enraged. Angry at Gus for shooting the one woman he had ever grown to love. But more so, angry at himself for not doing something, for not taking action.

What had made him just sit back so reserved in the briefing this morning? He had the opportunity to step up, to say something to that big prick of a man. Gus had it coming! Yet, Luke just sat there, mouth closed. Megan deserved some type of retribution, and he just let it slip away so easily. Why?

Luke also couldn’t help but think that he was taken off of the Jacksonville operation because Gus had it out for him. Sure, Luke could admit to himself that he was a little out of it and couldn’t say he actually took a single bit of information away from that debriefing. But, Gus was surely the reason he was removed from the mission. Why? Was Gus too little of a man to face his victim’s lover? That must be it, that son of a bitch!

Luke stood there thinking these things, watching the blood drip from his hand down the drain. The red color popped against the white of the sink as it ran down one side in slow motion. Luke turned on the water, watching the blood and water quickly mix together. The blood began thinning out as it poured down the drain from his cut hand.

“Stupid son-of-a-bitch!” Luke mumbled under his breath.

Taking two steps back, knowing the distance by memory, Luke sat down on the leg at the edge of the tub. The water emanated heat against his back, steam steadily filling the room around him from the still-running shower. To his left was the door which led to his room, and to his right was the door leading to his neighbor.

With elbows resting on his legs and face buried in his hands, Luke cried like a baby. His loss was more overwhelming than he had even initially realized. He finally cracked, sobbing for a handful of minutes, while seated on the edge of the tub. The water behind him slowly began to cool, the heat gradually subsiding.

After a while of crying, he cried some more. The image of Megan’s beautiful face haunted his thoughts; her short naturally silky hair and bright eyes. Her dimples just so, making her always seem to have a little smile tucked away. Those rosy lips, they haunted him. She haunted him. How could he ever live like this? Alone?

In the middle of thinking these things, Luke glanced over noticing his holster. Just a few feet over, on the floor next to the toilet, his discarded clothes lay strewn. His 9mm handgun lay amongst them, tucked away in its designated place, strapped around a black leather belt.

He kicked up, leaving the stooped position, leaning forward toward the clothes. Still bent at the knees and not moving his footing, he reached the belt and pulled it in close. Falling right back onto the tub, he sat there eyeing the holstered weapon; eyes, beet-red and slightly swollen from all of the emotional stress. A fresh tear leaked out with a sniffle. Luke quickly wiped it away with his forearm while un-holstering the pistol. He clicked the release, dropping the magazine out while catching it with his free hand. After confirming that it was full, he slammed it home and racked a round into the chamber. Clicking off the safety, Luke eyed the weapon with a furious stare. Blood slowly poured from the cut on his hand. He held the gun, paying no attention to the bits of glass lodged inside the cut.

He put the 9mm up under his chin, leaning his head back. His hand tightened around the grip of the black pistol, trigger finger slightly starting to add pressure.
You know it has to be done, you know it has to be done, you know it has to be done, you know it has to be done.

Water fell from the shower like rain, offering a gentle symphony into the future.

7

BANG!

With one leg extended, Gus’ boot slammed into the metal door, shattering the lock. The door swung open, spinning around as it crashed against the wall, swinging on its hinges.

The two soldiers stared down the stairwell leading into the building. Only the first few steps in the light, the rest swallowed in darkness.

The chopper had set down on a large building. The three-story building had been a lot more secluded than Gus had anticipated. This was a good surprise. There were no real streets to speak of, mostly just woods and dirt. That meant no infected ghouls to hassle with. The three-story building sat alone, hidden in the outskirts of downtown Jacksonville, a few miles to the east. Whatever was going on at this place was intended to be a secret.

After safely landing the chopper on the roof, Gus and Clay geared up, moving as quickly as they could. The objective was to get in and out with enough time to spare; just an in and out OP. Gus’ motivation—the cafeteria; he wanted to make it home in time for dinner. But, lately, it hadn’t seemed to be turning out in his favor.

Watts had shut down the helicopter. His job was to sit tight and send word if anything dramatic changed outside. Armed with enough ammo for a small army, he was happy to stay atop the relative safety of the roof. It was a tough job, but someone had to do it.

Aware of the limited visibility when wearing the gas masks, Clay suggested they go in wearing one. Gus agreed, immediately strapping on the mask. Clay did likewise.

Each armed with an M-4 and two 9mm handguns, they both carried as much ammo as was practical. Clay threw an ammo pouch around one shoulder and across his neck and filled his cargo pockets to the brim with magazines for his rifle.

Gus had the same setup as Clay, along with a slim back pouch loaded with even more. If, by any chance, they were going to run into as many of the undead as Gus had crossed in Panama City Beach, he was sure as hell going to be ready.

“Let’s do this just like I said before!” Gus shouted, his voice muffled under his gas mask.

Clay nodded, bringing his rifle up, slamming in a fresh magazine, and racking a live shell into the chamber. He pulled the weapon up to his shoulder at the ready, clicking the safety off.

Gus nodded in response, turning on the flashlight attached to the end of his rifle. Clay shrugged, shaking his head, as he reached up to do the same.

With a flick of the wrist motioning them to move, the two-man army moved forward into the building, descending the staircase toward the top floor. Trying to enter as quietly as possible, the two men slid down each step with ease. The bottom of the stairway appeared to open up into a large room or hallway, and they wanted to avoid attracting any more attention than they already had when kicking in the rooftop door.

As Gus reached the bottom rung of the steps, he turned back toward Clay at the rear. Quietly pointing at his own eyes, then, shooting his index finger toward the right, Gus silently gave the order. Gus shot straight-as-an-arrow up against the wall at the bottom of the steps, peeking out ever so slightly.

Signaling Clay once more, with the same set of hand motions, Clay darted out from the stairs to the right. With rifle at the ready, his flashlight swiftly covered the right side of the room up and down.

From behind Clay, Gus burst out from the hiding spot against the wall, checking the left side of the room; his motions practically mirror-imaging Clay’s simultaneously.