The Ugly Beginning - 01 (27 page)

Apparently Randall Smith, the CDC guy who I dislike on just about every level, was not happy about the degree of honesty. He is doing very little to dispel the stereotype of shady governmental people. He seems to want desperately to hold onto the old way of things where “the people” are kept in blissful ignorance about matters that
they
—meaning us—are simply unable to wrap
their
—meaning our—simple minds around.

Doctor Zahn is still a mystery to me. Talking to Dave Ellis, it seems she keeps her own council. She shows no differential treatment in dealing with Paul or Randall, and refuses to boot her workers from the room when either comes to speak with her.

Other than the fact that everybody has packed bundles that would be quick and easy to grab in case the need for a hasty evacuation rises, Serenity Base is operating as always. Today, I am going to be working a shift in the radio room. I’ll be monitoring for incoming traffic as well as keeping open communications with our scavenger teams. Ian and Billy Haynes and Joseph Wiser are out on one of those missions. While I can’t personally use the equipment to chat, it is somewhat comforting to know first-person how things are going.

As for Melissa, I don’t really have any clue what the deal is with her. I woke up that morning and she was gone. I’ve seen her in passing, but other than that, we’ve not spoken. I did try to go to her place and see how she was, but I got no answer when I knocked. Maybe I’m being a bit girlish about the whole thing. I mean, what if she just needed to “knock one out” so-to-say, and I happened to be the closest guy around?

***

It’s been enough that we have to deal with countless numbers of undead intent on eating us. Yet, because of the nature of mankind, we must also deal with those amongst the living who have decided to take full advantage of this chaos for their own selfish gains.

Two days ago while I was on duty in the communications center, the radio suddenly erupted with screams, gunfire, and one decipherable fragment of a sentence before going dead:

“…—uch firepower to hold off…of our men…dead or wounded…repeat…help…—ver!”

The terrified voice belonged to Billy Haynes. I recognized it right away, but just as abruptly as it began, the message ended. No response has come in the repeated attempts to raise a reply via radio.

The other two groups we had out were contacted. Both were sent to check the area Ian, Joseph, and Billy’s team were known to have been searching. It wasn’t hard to find. Burning vehicles and buildings acted as a locator beacon.

The report we received sent a shockwave through our entire community. There was no sign of any of our men…living. One man, a soldier named Jack Simpson, was chained to the bumper of a still-smoldering military-transport truck. He’d been bitten and turned. The bite was a singular one, and it was on the left hand. He still had his mail-and-leather gauntlet on the right. And then there is the whole chained-to-the-truck thing.

More frightening is that none of our men besides Simpson were found. I’m fairly well acquainted with every man on that patrol. None of our people have acted with violence towards anybody they’ve encountered out there. Whenever another living soul—or souls—was met, they were given the option of coming to our base. There has never been an instance of coercion. And it has always been made clear what the policy is involving somebody injured by one of the undead.

What has happened is an act of aggression. Pure and simple. This changes the game plan. After an emergency gathering of the community, we have reluctantly decided upon two resolutions. The first is that we can’t put any more of our population at risk by going out to actively search for the other five missing men. It is a sad, but realistic position. The second, and this one actually passed much handier than I’d expected, is that anyone encountered will be treated as hostile and be made to prove otherwise.

Paul has restructured our patrols. Instead of three six-person groups he will be sending one twenty-person unit that will treat each foray as if they are driving into enemy territory. I’d always assumed that the folks venturing out held that belief to begin with. I’ve learned after talking to Aaron that the standing orders have been to extend an offer to any survivor.

Tonight, Aaron, Barry, and Dave will meet me and Teresa at my place. Unfortunately, Jamie will be on watch. I’m fairly certain I saw the look on each one of their faces when Paul announced that there would not be an active, organized attempt to find our people. Three of the five remaining men missing belong to our group. I’m not convinced any of us can accept that decision.

***

“I won’t just sit and allow the possibility that Billy, Joseph…or even Ian may be alive and we do nothing.” Aaron paced back and forth in my living room. “I’ve known them both since I was six. We played pee-wee football that first year. All four of us have been teammates, scouts, everything together.”

“I can’t say I blame Paul for this,” Barry leaned forward, clasping his hands, “but this sounds like a decision made by Randall.”

“Yeah!” Dave blurted out, surprising everybody in the room. “Them Army types got that ‘no-man-left-behind’ motto or some such thing. Don’t they?”

“It doesn’t matter who made the choice. Our guys are out there. Dead. Undead. Alive. If we do nothing, we have to live with it. If you can do that…fine, but we are loaded out for that emergency evacuation. Rules have always been that nobody has to stay against their will. I’m for leaving first thing. If we find the people responsible, but don’t have the numbers to take ‘em, then we’ll cross that bridge when it is in front of us,” Teresa looked everybody in the eye one by one as she spoke. “Steve, Aaron, Jamie , and I will be at the trucks at sunrise. If you stay, fine. But those are our friends. This ‘
needs of the many outweighs the needs of the few’
crap is a sissified cop-out.”

“She’s one of us,” I said, half-expecting a challenge. “Besides, this place is an illusion of safety. After that situation with the airbase, I don’t imagine anywhere actually being safe.”

Ten minutes after everybody said their goodbyes and left, there was a knock at my door. It was Melissa. Her arms were folded across her chest tight, and the look in her eyes told me I’d done something wrong.

Oh God, don’t let her be pregnant
, I thought.

“So you’re all gonna just leave?” She pushed past me into the living room.

“Umm…” I didn’t really have a good answer, and saying I just forgot would probably not go over well.

“I may’ve been a mess when you found me, but I am fine. Not crazy. And while I may not be
G.I. Jane
like Teresa, I can do my part. I didn’t really get much of a chance before. What, with the whole being in shock thing.”

“Melissa….” Nope. I still didn’t have anything to say, so I stood there with my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“And if you’re wondering about the whole sex thing…well I can’t give you a good answer on that. I woke up and had no idea what I’d say to you…or Thalia. I mean you two are like a family. And believe it or not, I don’t make it a habit of just jumping into somebody’s bed on a whim. Counting you, I’ve had sex with three people. The last of which I saw being eaten alive before my very eyes and…” she paused and I thought the tears would start again. They didn’t. “I just needed to process things.”

“Then I’m guessing you want to come with us?” I finally had something to say.

“Absolutely, those are my people, too.”

It was settled. We said our goodnights and she left. I was already packed and ready to go, so all that remained was to enjoy one final night of relative peace and quiet. I checked in on Thalia who was fast asleep with her giant teddybear.

Settling in on the couch, I picked up the book I’d been trying to read for the past two weeks:
The
Mayor of Caster-bridge
by Thomas Hardy. I had thirty pages left and figured this would be the last chance at such a casual event in a long while.

As I cracked open the dog-eared paperback, another knock came at my door. With a sigh I gave the book a look of resignation and set it back on the coffee table. I had no idea who to expect. Pretty much everybody I knew had been here and left. I certainly didn’t expect—

“Doctor Zahn, what a…” Surprise? Inconvenience?

“I’m coming with you.”
.

Nope. I’m never gonna finish that book.

14

Vignettes V

Kirsten Malloy opened what was officially her last can of pears. Her mouth already began watering the moment that the round cutting-wheel of the can opener sliced into the tin. She couldn’t ever remember
smelling
canned pears in a light syrup before. But now…well it was probably the best smell ever in her thirteen years of life.

As she pushed the round piece of tin down with her thumb, then popped the lid up, Kirsten considered whether to eat sparingly or…with a slight twist, she pulled the circle of metal free, tossed it aside, and dug in ravenously. She would have to venture out for food today no matter what.

She thought back to the last time she’d gone out. Over the past few weeks, she had worked her way down the street. House by house she had broken in and taken all the food she could find. At least all the stuff that wasn’t totally gross.

Old Miss Perkins’ house had been the latest. That stupid old lady was probably still trapped in her bathroom. The monster-people weren’t good at opening doors. That old lady sure loved canned pears! Kirsten took another big plastic sporkful in her mouth, not letting a single drop of the juice escape. Of course there was a lot of stuff in the cupboards that she left behind.
Seriously
, she thought,
who eats sardines!

The next house would be Amber’s. Of course Amber and her parents weren’t in it. They were still standing at the gate of her house.

Her
house.

Kirsten guessed it really was her house now. Mom and Dad had both been gone since all this crazy stuff started almost five weeks ago. She still couldn’t think about that day without crying.

Philipé, one of the groundskeepers, had attacked her daddy at the main entry gate. He had bitten Pete Malloy on the hand and face. Arturo, another groundskeeper had beaten Philipé with a shovel to get him off her dad. Mom rushed her dad to the hospital that night. They never came back.

All of the servants took off the next day, leaving Kirsten and Arturo behind. Together they watched on the television what looked like scary movies. Only, it wasn’t movies…it was the news. Eventually, the electricity went out.

There were screams and shooting and sirens for a few days. Then…it was quiet. That was the scariest night of all. The first night of complete silence. Eventually, those things began crowding around the wrought-iron double-gates that used to open electronically and allow cars to enter Malloy Estate. What had once been an enormous plantation before the Civil War was now a walled-in private residence complete with two Olympic-sized pools, tennis court, and a driving range.

Three times, Arturo went over the wall in search of supplies. He only came back over the wall twice. Now, he was out there with Amber Cosgrove and her parents.

Sometimes Kirsten would get lonely and walk down the long driveway to the main gate. She would sit and try to talk to Amber…Mister and Missus Cosgrove…Arturo.

Amber looked bad. She was wearing a long pink nightgown torn open on the left side where she had been attacked. Her left arm was totally gone, and some of her insides hung out from a rip across her stomach.

Arturo was a nightmare. Both of his arms were gone. His throat was a big hole with something gross poking out. But his body was the worst. He’d been ripped open and most everything that should’ve been inside was missing…or more upsetting …dangling from the huge hole. Something had torn away a piece of his scalp, and the skin of his face looked like it might slip off in places.

Two times now, Kirsten ventured out for supplies on her own. She had watched Arturo each time he left the estate, and knew to go to the gate first and make a lot of noise. Then, she would duck through the hedges that lined the driveway and run a ways along the nine-foot high brick wall that separated her home from the world. She would tie the knotted piece of rope she’d made to look like Arturo’s to a tree and, after climbing up to make sure the coast was clear, she would drop it over the fence and climb down.

From there, she would sneak behind cars or slip into bushes as she made her way to whichever house she’d be grabbing food from. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out how slow and stupid those things were. Twice she’d gone into a house that was ‘occupied’. Both times she’d tricked the monster-people—or person with Old Miss Perkins—into a room, and then ducked past and out to close them in. It was creepy to be in the house with those things slapping the door. Plus, the noise always brought more monster-people.

Shoveling the last bit of pear into her mouth, then drinking the syrup, Kirsten scooped up the backpack—once used to carry her school books—and her coil of knotted rope. It was time to go down and see Amber, Mister and Missus Cosgrove, and poor Arturo.

***

Garrett brought his booted foot down hard on the head of the hissing, squirming zombie-child that had lurched at him from the thick hedgerow that appeared to run the distance of the street he was considering. There was an initial resistance, then a pop, and finally the eventual crunch as the skull gave under the pressure. He’d tried crushing skulls this way before, but it only seemed to work on children or the elderly.