The Lazarus Impact (18 page)

CHAPTER 35

Dr. Vogel’s brisk, silent walk is shattered when he hears the distant sound of gunfire echoing off the empty road.
I knew there would be a military presence at the quarantine, but I didn’t expect fighting
. As he gets closer he sees a helicopter hovering in the air, and a barricade stretched across the road; sandbags, a military truck, and soldiers.
It’s like a war zone
. Some caution tape and street dividers are set up to prevent people from wandering in from his direction, but they aren’t guarded. A lone makeshift sign reads “military personnel and citizen soldiers only beyond this point.” Dr. Vogel ignores it and moves toward the closest man in uniform.

“It’s dangerous here. You should go back,” the soldier says.

“I’m a doctor. I can help.”

“Okay come this way.” He waves Dr. Vogel forward and leads him toward a tent.

“Truth is, I’m trying to get to the CDC. A man who broke through the quarantine came to my hospital and he seems to be immune to this... whatever this is. I have samples here in my bag.”

“Well, the roads are pretty much all barricaded or jammed with traffic, and the air belongs to the military now.”

“I was hoping I could get a lift in your helicopter,” Dr. Levy pleads.

“Doubt that’s gonna happen. We’re short on manpower right now, and we can’t afford to send our chopper off,” the soldier says.

“This is vitally important. It could mean the end of the disease. I used to work for the CDC, for many years.”

“Well I’m pretty sure they got samples already. Scientists are going back and forth to study the craters.”

“That may be, but if the sample isn’t from someone who was exposed but unaffected, then it’s no use,” Dr. Vogel reasons. “Is there someone I can talk to about getting my samples into the right hands?”

“Sure. I’ll take you to the colonel,” the soldier says.

He couldn’t look any more like a colonel
, Dr. Vogel thinks as he is taken to the man. He’s chubby, with a big, bushy, dirt-grey mustache under his mask, and a few strings of white hair on top of his mostly bald head. He studies a paper map on a fold-out table beside a much younger, lower ranking officer.

“Get these last two areas secure. We’re lucky they’re sticking to the roads right now, but eventually they’re gonna fan out and try to breach. We need soldiers on every inch of this perimeter. And we need radios in every group in case there’s a surge somewhere else. Then we can respond quickly to any attacks with more manpower at their location.”

“Yes sir,” the young officer responds before slicing his hand above his brow and running off.

“Who’s this?” the colonel asks.

“Sir,” the soldier pauses. He never got Dr. Vogel’s name.

“I’m Eugene Vogel. I’m a doctor.”

“I’m Colonel Buford Wallace.” They shake hands. “Let’s see some credentials,” says the colonel. Dr. Vogel pulls out his wallet, where he keeps a hospital ID tucked in one of the flaps. “Here to volunteer?” Wallace asks as he finishes examining the ID.

“No sir... colonel... I used to work for the CDC. I have some important biological samples that I think might be helpful in synthesizing a cure for whatever this outbreak is that we’re dealing with.”

“That’s great Dr. Vogel, but what I’m dealing with here is the brink of war. A civil war. The entire population of the northeast is banging at my door, and I need all the resources I got to keep that door locked. I can’t spare any men to lead you down in a convoy, and I sure as shit can’t give you a chopper lift, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Understood, colonel.” Dr. Vogel is visibly disheartened.
I should have known
.

“The proverbial shit is about to hit the fan out there. Our men have been fired upon, and we have a bunch of untrained, trigger happy civilians helping us out wherever possible. If it were up to me they’d be gone, but we need every man that’s able and willing to help hold these lunatics back, to keep from spreading the disease even further.”

“With respect, Colonel Wallace, many have already broken through to this side.”

“I know. I know, damn it. It’s been worse in other places, like the big highways, but I have orders. This is just where they sent me and my troops yesterday. My real opinion, this whole thing is useless. It’s only a matter of time before the quarantine has to be widened. They considered it, briefly. They wanted to move it into Ohio and use the roads as borders, since they’re easier to arm, blockade and defend. But it’ll all be for shit when this spreads global. And that’s inevitable, mark my words. It’s a war we can’t win, because it’s not just a war against men. It’s a war against nature’s will, or God’s will, or whatever the fuck you believe. A lot of people already got past the initial roadblocks we set up right after impact. But those were done with just a few local cops and some reflective orange saw horses west and south of the Lazarus point. We just set this one up at dawn. Heavy manpower on all the major interstates, half as much on all these other roads, and patrols in between. We’ve had short firefights and minor skirmishes up and down the borders of the quarantine the past couple days. They flare up at the most random times and places. It’s difficult to predict, but we need to plug the holes if we want to stand a chance.” The colonel strokes his moustache in thought for a moment. “Alright listen. Something’s brewing over there on the other side. I can feel it. After forty years of combat experience, I can just sense it in my bones. When you can’t calculate what the enemy is going to do with all your strategy and your tactical knowledge, you just have to go on gut instinct.”

“Enemy?” Dr. Vogel asks.

“Something’s about to happen. They’re pissed.” He ignores the question. “When this surge passes... and by God I’ll make sure it passes if it’s the last fuckin’ thing I do... I’ll see what I can do to get you a lift down in that direction. It may not be all the way the fuck down to DC...”

“Atlanta...” Dr. Vogel interrupts, correcting the colonel.

“Atlanta... but we’ll need to send the chopper back out for more supplies, weapons, and fuel from our base. Hell, I haven’t even heard from base since 0-300. Lord knows I’ve been trying to get them on the radio. I may be working on stale orders for all I know, but someone’s got to do something. Someone’s got to hold the fuckin’ line! Anyway you can ride with them, but you’ll have to talk your way down from there. All I can do is try to let them know to expect you. I can’t promise anything.”

“Good enough.”

“Until then, consider yourself conscripted to the civilian army. We need medics, and a doctor like you fits the bill just right. When the fighting’s done you’re free to go with the supply chopper.”

“Sounds like a deal,” Dr. Vogel agrees.

“Sounds like a deal,
sir
. And that’s an order, not a deal.” The colonel nods at the soldier, motioning for him to approach. “Get Dr. Vogel some basic gear and get his ass out there. We need him.”

“Yes sir,” the soldier responds.

Great. Now I’m going into combat. Joanna would freak out if she knew
.

The soldier hands Dr. Vogel a pistol and throws a white apron with a red medical symbol on it over his head. "You can leave your samples case with me," he says. "It'll be with the things we're taking to base."

Dr. Vogel is hesitant to part with the samples. He raises a distrusting eyebrow at the soldier.

"I'll personally make sure they're safe. And I'll label them," the soldier offers.

"Fine." Dr. Vogel hands the case over.

The soldier points. "They'll be behind the tent, over there. Chopper leaves for base in three hours, unless there's fighting."

He takes Dr. Vogel out to the barricade. There's a chest high wall of sandbags, and a few feet in front of that is a makeshift wall of poured cement road dividers, stacked three high. After that, they erected those old fashioned wood and razor wire barricades that you see in old WWI movies.

Armed soldiers and local police from the west side of the quarantine are wearing riot gear and carrying live rounds. Word came down from high up that the threat was too great to use the typical water cannons, rubber bullets, and bean bag guns. The barricades must hold. Interspersed with the soldiers and police is the civilian army; regular, average, ordinary guys in their everyday winter clothes carrying whatever guns they keep at home. A certain lack of experience drenches them, but it’s wiped away by their eagerness and determination to protect the land behind them. They all wear US military grade gas masks, with singular, wide view, wraparound glass panels, and filters positioned to the left side and downward, so that their front and peripheral vision isn’t obscured.

The other side of the blockade is mobbed. Some people are chanting in solidarity, others are marching with signs, or sitting in a peaceful “hunger strike” protest. One group stands side by side, linking arms to create a human wall that mocks the military barricade. Around their necks are cardboard signs displaying various quotes from the Constitution and the early founders about freedom. One man who marches up and down the blockade wears a white t-shirt with the words “Man-Feast Deadstiny” crudely scrawled onto it in black ink. He chants “Go west, dead man,” over and over.

But a greater number of people are raging with anger, shouting curses and threats. Many don’t have gas masks.
They're west of the impact now, where it's supposedly safe to breathe, but they probably came from the east
. They cough and hack as they try to yell and chant.
It’s only a matter of time before they turn and start attacking anything nearby
.

Dr. Vogel sees a thick crowd gathering east of the barricade. He sees the barrels of all sorts of guns being raised in the air, jolting up and down with chants of “Hey, hey, we won’t stay.”

A scuffle breaks out in the protest. One of the protesters’ gun barrels tips down and takes aim. The crowd quickly disperses from the gunpoint, and when the people clear away Dr. Vogel sees an infected woman attacking someone on the pavement. The raised voices and chants turn to screams when the armed protester opens fire upon the woman, riddling her with bullets until she flops lifeless to the road.

“Shit they’re shooting at us,” yells one of the civilian militia men on the west side of the barricade. He fires back, out into the crowd, dropping a few people. The men on the other side immediately open fire in response. The crowd roars and starts to surge at the wall, pushing their way up onto the cement road dividers and climbing over the wood and barbed wire fences. The soldiers dive down behind the sandbags and take aim, firing back at the rebels.
It’s war
.
The quarantine border war
.
A second civil war
.

CHAPTER 36

With everyone loaded into Marcus’ truck, the drive isn’t quiet or pleasant. On Marcus’ insistence, the women are inside the cab, and the men, including Brandon and Rocky, are out in the truck bed with the rest of the supplies. The late morning air has a bite to it that doesn’t melt away with the growing sunlight. With only a half tank of gas left in the truck, Marcus is on the lookout for wrecks, but some straggling dead wander the roadside.

“I got an idea. Let’s play some zombie baseball!” Brandon says. “Marcus, pull up so the zeds are along the passenger side.” Brandon switches his rifle’s safety on, and grips the barrel like it’s a baseball bat. Marcus slows down as they pass one of the risen, and Brandon takes a mighty swing. The shoulder stock meets it’s skull with a crack, sending a stream of bloody goop out into the wind. “C’mon guys, let’s do it! A knock down is a single, a thick blood spray is a double, exposing the brain is a triple, and decapitation is a homerun. I have a man on second. Who’s up next? Willy? Michael?”

Willy just shakes his head.

“You’re a lunatic. You know that, kid?” Michael says. “Amy has a bat back here somewhere, you know.”

“Look, out there,” Sheryl says with her head turned toward the passenger side window.

“What are they doing?” Amy asks.

“We saw some choppers before, torching the places where meteors hit. Maybe it has something to do with that.” Sheryl says.

Marcus sees them. A few men out in the field are wearing strange full body bio-suits with equipment on their backs, carrying some kind of gadget in their hands. “They look like scientists,” he says.

“Maybe they can help,” Sheryl suggests.

“It might be more dangerous out there. Those suits... we don’t have that kind of protection on our bodies,” Amy adds.

“Yeah. You’re probably right.” Sheryl sighs.

“You think we’ll be able to get past the quarantine?” Amy asks. “Michael and I had to go through an abandoned subway tunnel to get out of New York. They had the bridges and tunnels sealed up and guarded with military.”

“Got to be tough to blockade every inch of land on the border. Shit. Mexicans cross our border every day, right?” Marcus says. “The main roads’ll be guarded. That’s for sure. But we should be able to pass by somewhere. Like in the wilderness.”
If prison walls couldn’t contain me, ain’t no way a fence across a road is gonna hold me back either
.
But what about my truck? I can’t leave it behind
.

“There’s more of them ahead,” Sheryl says.

Marcus slows down to a crawl and pulls over, stopping on the side of the road.

“Hey what’s going on up there? Why are we stopping?” Brandon yells from back in the truck bed, eager to drive in some runs.

Three scientists wander back and forth across the highway up ahead, sweeping the ground with a spray of some kind, from large tanks strapped to their backs. Their shiny yellow biohazard suits flicker and shimmer in the sunlight, and the wet road reflects their shapes, creating a ghostly mirage of golden floating apparitions.

“Everyone stay here,” Marcus says. He hops out of the truck and walks over to the scientists. When they see him they become apprehensive and huddle closer together. One of them draws a gun. “Wait! Hold your fire!” Marcus yells.

Upon hearing this Willy pulls up his rifle and rests it on the roof of the truck, putting the armed scientist into his crosshairs. Brandon follows his lead. “Don’t shoot,” Willy instructs him.

#

“I’m unarmed,” Marcus says as he walks away from his truck. “We don’t mean any harm.”

“Stay back. The chemicals are dangerous, and I’ll shoot you if you try anything,” the scientist warns.

“Okay.” Marcus takes a step backward, off of the wet asphalt. The scientist lowers his gun and approaches him. The other two men continue to spray the road. “What’re y’all doin?”

“Apologies for pulling the gun. It’s just that we’ve heard about people on this side attacking scientists and taking their badges.”

“Better safe than dead, I get it. But what do you mean, badges?” Marcus asks.

“We’re the only ones allowed to cross back and forth. They give us these passes, like ID cards, that we show the military at the border. Then they let us back through. People found out about it and started killing us for the passes so they could go across to safety. We’re always armed; at least one man per group, to fend off the dead if we have to. But now we’re permitted to use them on living attackers. It doesn’t even matter though. For many of us it’s still a one way trip.”

This disease has a worse effect on the living than it does on the dead. The old priest was right. The living are worse than the dead
. “What is all this? What’s happening to us?” Marcus asks.

“Still trying to figure that out. The meteors hit and the debris made everyone sick. It’s some kind of parasite or organism that came in with the meteor. That’s really all we know. The government is trying a few things, trying to stop it, hoping one will work.”

“So what’s it that you all are doing?”

“Chemical spray, and collecting samples. Ain’t too many things can live in harsh chemical soup, so that’s what they’re having us try. A good sized meteor hit close by here, out in those fields. Some places they have choppers using flame throwers to burn the area. But us, we have to spray and collect samples. Sometimes there’s not enough helicopters to spray from above, so we have to do it on foot.”

“How tight is the border sealed up?” Marcus asks.

“I have no idea, truth be told, but my guess is that it’s become military priority number one. Above even our mid-east operations. I just know that no one crosses that barricade without a pass.”

“Why ain’t they letting uninfected people cross, like us, who have masks?”

“They’re worried you might be carriers if you breathed it in or if your skin was exposed. We still don’t fully know how this thing works. At least they aren’t telling us grunts out here, doing the dirty work.”

“Y’all are the new heroes. Like the 9/11 workers who went in and did the search and rescue, the cleanup.”

“Yeah. Can’t wait to see all the lawsuits that come in afterwards. No doubt this chemical stew will make my balls shrivel up and my dick piss blood, despite all the protective gear. But what else can we do? We have to keep trying something, because nothing seems to be working.”

“I got a feeling only God can stop this,” Marcus says. “Would y’all be willing to give your passes up, for the two women and the kid I have with me?”

“No way in hell, my friend. Even if I wanted to I couldn’t. It’s against direct military orders. Would you?” The scientist lets out a short, disdainful chuckle.

No way in hell, he says. This is hell. Would I give mine away?
That’s a self sacrifice
.
Jesus did it for all of mankind
.
I’m supposed to do as he did
.
Orders or not, I’d have to be willing to sacrifice myself for someone in need
.
Maybe that’s the real test for me in all of this, not Harley
.
One day, it might come to that
.
Give my life to someone else
.
Give up my own life to wash away my sins with Christ’s blood
.
Maybe if I did something like that, God could find the grace to forgive me for what I’ve done
.

“I would,” Marcus gives a delayed answer. The scientist just stares blankly at him. “Aight then. You don’t gotta worry about us. We’re just passing through,” Marcus says.

“Going to try to make it across?” the scientist asks. “Hey don’t worry about me. I ain’t gonna tell anyone.” Marcus doesn’t respond.

#

Michael hops out of the truck bed while Marcus talks to the scientists. He walks around to the side of the truck and leans into the cab through the window. “Did you see that one guy’s outfit back there on the road? Underneath his jacket there was a prison suit,” Michael says to Amy and Sheryl.

Amy rolls her eyes.

“I didn’t notice,” Sheryl says, but Michael is looking past her to Amy.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me. I told you I don’t trust this guy. Why did he know that other guy? How? I bet they escaped from prison together. Why’d you think he had all this money?” Michael waves a wad of cash that he had stuffed away in his bag and coat.

“You took that?” Amy asks, astounded. “What an asshole,” she mumbles under her breath.

Sheryl, feeling awkward in the crossfire of a lovers' quarrel, tries to break up the tension. “I didn’t notice, but he did save us. If he hadn’t been there, Willy would be dead, Brandon would be eaten, and I’d be gang raped. At least that’s what that asshole made it sound like. You don’t really think they would’ve eaten Brandon do you?”

“No. Sounded more like a sick joke to me,” Amy answers.

“Me, personally, I don’t care what Marcus did before, because what he just did now was courageous and good. Plus I think he’s kinda hot,” Sheryl adds with a nudge to Amy.

Amy smiles and sighs a quiet laugh. “He saved us too, and I don’t care what his past is either. He opened up his doors to us and gave us shelter just before we were about to be eaten by a pack of monsters, and then he offered to give us a ride to my parents’ house. My husband seems to forget that.”

“No. I haven’t forgotten. I’m just telling you I was right. I knew there was something shady about this guy.” He turns to the others in the truck bed and speaks louder, walking away from Amy. “He was in prison! A criminal! He’s an escaped convict!”

“Just let it go. As a wife you learn to pick your battles,” Sheryl offers.

“Believe me, I know. I’ve been picking battles and ignoring wars for too long now,” she laughs. “Where’s your husband?”

Sheryl says it flatly, plain as fact. “Dead.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I...”

“Don’t be,” Sheryl interrupts. “The prick deserved it. I shot him myself. After he turned, of course,” she adds when she sees Amy’s face wince behind her mask.

“Is that your son back there? Your father?” Amy asks.

Sheryl shakes her head no. “I lost my two boys.” Her voice is solemn.

“I lost my parents. My dad was killed, and my mom, she turned. I had to shoot her.”

“My one boy died in an accident. The other. He came at me. I just wanted to see him one last time. In the morgue, at the hospital...” Sheryl begins to cry. Amy takes Sheryl’s head onto her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what that must feel like.”

#

“Why can’t I shoot ‘em? He pulled a gun!” Brandon argues with Willy as they both train their eyes down the barrels of their rifles. They watch Marcus as he talks to the scientists.

“Cause they’re talking, that’s why. You shouldn’t be so quick to kill a man.” Willy isn’t concerned about Brandon firing his gun. The safety is on, and no matter how bad Brandon may want to pull the trigger, it won’t fire.

“Why not? You were, back there,” Brandon argues.

“That’s different. I was a soldier, you know.”

“So. I cleared Body Bags in one weekend on expert mode.”

“That’s different too, whatever the hell you’re talkin’ about,” Willy blows him off.

“It’s a game. What the hell are you doing with a gun anyway, kid?” Michael pries as he walks back from the side of the truck.

“It was my dad’s. And don’t try to tell me I’m too young to have one. I already used it a bunch to save my life. I killed people you know. Killed them dead.” He eyes Willy. “Saved your old ass at the gas station too, remember?”

“I do. I never said you was too young. When I was your age I used to take my own guns on a bus to go hunting with my cousins for deer and duck,” Willy explains.

“They let you on a bus with a gun?” Michael asks, astonished.

“Course they did. It’s my right.”

“Yeah well your right, as you call it, is being taken advantage of by lunatics who shoot up schools and movie theaters, and bad parents who keep guns around mentally deranged kids. Guns should be banned from civilian hands. Just look at what’s happened in the past day or two with guns in peoples’ hands. Even the kid says he killed people with his gun. To me, that’s a horrible thing no matter how you slice it,” Michael argues. “And as for hunting... Times have changed. We have grocery stores now,” Michael adds with sarcasm.

“There’ll always be a crazy person willing to do anything to finish his sick deeds. Even if you think criminals like those road warriors back there won’t still be able to get guns, if you take away guns then a crazy person will just use a homemade bomb and kill even more people than he could with a gun. Gun rights are s’posed to be there for us to protect ourselves from criminals, and keep an overbearing government at bay. It ain’t just about hunting.”

“Right, right. Spare me the gun lobby talking points.” Michael turns back to Brandon. “So the tough delta force video gamer is good with real guns? Who’d you kill with your gun, kid? Some of these zombies?” Michael asks.