Zombie Rules (Book 3): ZFINITY (34 page)

My mouth went dry as I realized what he was saying.

Unfortunately for me, these bastards had those riot shields with an electrically charged strip on the outside of it. When I refused to cooperate, my good friends Smithson and Solonowski entered the cell, pressed up against me with those shields, and zapped me a few times. I don’t know how much voltage it was, but after a couple of hits, I was totally immobilized. After zapping me, they held me down while Bulldog gleefully stripped me. So, rather than sit around buck naked, I reluctantly put on the musty smelling hospital gown.

The tests started with blood being drawn into little vials. Then there were demands for urine samples, stool samples, saliva samples, and cheek swabs for DNA. Did I mention blood samples? The good Major drew blood three, sometimes four times a day. By the third day, my arms were heavily bruised and festooned with needle tracks.

After my evening repast consisting of watery oatmeal and powdered milk, Bulldog tapped on the window. She pointed at the chessboard hopefully. The two of us had played several games in the last couple of days. She was actually pretty good at the game and a nice person and snuck me extra food.

“Nobody else will play with you?” I asked. She chuckled and keyed the microphone.

“I’ve beat everyone else so many times they won’t play anymore.” She looked at me pleasantly. “You’re the only person who’s beaten me in the past three years.”

“We’re four and four, with six draws,” I said in agreement. “I guess we need to play a tiebreaker.”

She grinned happily and held out her two fists. I pointed at the left one. She opened it to reveal one of the black pieces, and then used some rubber bands to hold down the push-to-talk button.

“Let the bloodshed begin,” she said playfully. I smiled. I don’t think she realized it, but I was using our chess games as a means to get information out of her.

“Why did y’all leave Maryland?” I started with my best nonchalant tone.

Bulldog scoffed as she set up the board. “Some of the personnel got infected and it spread too quickly before we could contain it. We’ve relocated to three different bases before we ended up here. Don’t ask me why, I just follow orders.”

I nodded in understanding. “Where are we now?”

“Fort Campbell, Kentucky,” she replied. I looked at her incredulously before speaking.

“There was a refugee camp set up here. The Commanding Officer was an army captain by the name of Jack Steen, and the first sergeant was a guy by the name of Santiago. Have you seen or spoken to them?”

She shook her head slowly.

“What about civilians? Are there any here?” This time she nodded .

“We have a few civilians here, but not many. One of them told me there was a big riot or something a while back and a lot of people were killed.” She finished setting up the board and noticed the board was partially hidden from my view by her canteen sitting on the desk. “I never pay much attention to their gossip,” she moved the canteen aside. “That’s all these people do, spread gossip. I’d rather read a good book than sit around talking shit about everyone.”

I thought worriedly about Howard’s family, but there was nothing I could do for them. I had more important things on my plate at the moment.

“Have you ever wondered if any of your family survived?” I asked as she moved a pawn. She shrugged sadly.

“They’re all in Oregon. It’s so far away, there’s no way I could go check on them.” I nodded as I moved a bishop’s pawn. She eyed my move and smiled. “Are you going to try the Sicilian defense on me?”

“I’ve got to try something,” I replied. “You’re a very tough opponent.” Corporal Bulldog smiled at the compliment. I kept it up.

“These guys underestimate you. You’re a lot smarter than they give you credit for.” Her smile broadened even more. I think she may have even blushed.

After a thoughtful moment, she moved one of her knights. I responded by moving my queen’s pawn. She clapped her hands once.

“I knew it. You
are
going to try the Sicilian.” She was giddy in anticipation. “This is going to be fun. The only person who ever beat me with it was my high school boyfriend.”

“Is he the one who taught you to play?” I asked. She shook her head.

“My high school history teacher had a chess club. I was only in it for a month, but had to drop out. Father thought it was a waste of time.”

“My buddy’s father taught me. I never knew my father. Tell me what yours was like.”

“He was a devout Protestant. We attended church every Wednesday and Sunday, and if we weren’t in school, we worked on the farm from sunup to sundown. He took care of his family but he was a very stoic, unaffectionate person.” She sighed and brushed away some imaginary lint off of her shirt. “He was a kind man, but I don’t think he ever once told his kids he loved them or even hugged them.”

“That’s sad. What would he think if he were here right now?” I asked. “What would he think of how I’m being treated?” Her smile faltered and she was quiet. I did not want to push her, so I opted to remain quiet and instead let her think about what I said. She castled on her ninth move before she spoke.

“The major said your blood might hold clues to curing this plague.”

I scoffed. “Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t. Does it warrant me being treated like this? The end justifies the means, right?”

She didn’t respond. For several minutes, the only words spoken were when I directed her to move the pieces. Finally, I maneuvered a knight and trapped her queen. She gasped when she realized it.

“Shit,” she muttered.

“She’s trapped and her death is imminent,” I said, “much like me, wouldn’t you say?”

She looked at me sharply. I inhaled. It was now or never. I leaned forward toward the glass and spoke softly.

“I need your help. The tests are going to become more extensive, more invasive, and they won’t stop. They’ll never release me. To them, I’m nothing more than a lab rat now, something less than human. I know it and you know it.”

Bulldog continued staring at me and started to say something, but then she looked suddenly over her shoulder and out into the hallway. Someone was coming.

I listened to the heavy lock being turned. The door to my cell opened a moment later and Major Parsons walked in, along with his two ever present companions, Smithson and Solonowski.

“Time for more blood, Major?” I asked with a frown.

“I’m afraid we are going to have to resort to something a little more…invasive,” he replied. I glanced through the window. Bulldog was looking at me worriedly. I looked back at the Major with an arched eyebrow.

“I’m going to take a bone marrow sample from you,” he said, a little too matter-of-factly. “It will be easier if you’re unconscious while I do it.”

The two jarheads stepped forward with the riot shields. Solonowski was grinning sadistically. I fought, but it was no use. The ensuing electrical jolts zapped me of any energy. They had no problem holding me down while the major injected me with a sedative. I was unconscious within seconds.

I came to while lying on my cot. Bulldog was sitting beside me, wiping my face with a washrag. I tried to sit up, but she pushed me back down with a gentle hand on my chest.

“You’re alright now, just relax. You need to conserve your strength.”

“How long have I been out?” I asked.

“About four hours,” she said. “Are you thirsty?” Without waiting for an answer, she retrieved a plastic cup off the floor and guided the straw between my lips.

“Drink up, you need to rehydrate yourself.”

I complied and took several sips. My left thigh ached. I looked down and pulled the gown aside to see a gauze wrapping. There was a bloodstain about the size of a quarter on it.

“I wonder what kind of test he has in store for me next,” I muttered as I looked into her face. She looked worried, but didn’t respond. “What’s your real name?” I asked.

I didn’t think she was going to answer at first, but after a minute, she made eye contact. “Ruth, from the Bible. Why do you ask?”

“Because calling you Bulldog is unfitting,” I said and looked around. There was now a set of leg shackles around my ankles. I raised a foot and shook them.

“That’s not a good sign,” I opined. Ruth glanced at them, but said nothing. She walked out of the room and returned a minute later with another cup of water and an MRE.

“Eat as much as you can,” she ordered and used a small pocket knife to cut open the thick brown plastic food package. She dumped the items on the cot. I looked them over, started with a pack of crackers, and began eating.

“I’ve got to get out of here, Ruth,” I said between bites.

“I know,” she replied quietly, “I’ve heard some rumors.” I looked at her expectantly. “This morning I walked in on the Colonel and the Major while they were talking about your kids.” She spoke in almost a whisper now. So, they knew about my kids. This was bad.

“What did they say?” I asked tensely. She shrugged.

“I didn’t catch much.”

“Will you help me?” I asked pleadingly.

“Where will you go?”

“Back home,” I said and looked at her expectantly. She returned my stare and looked at me a long moment before answering.

While I was thinking, Ruth looked cautiously out of the window before pulling a folded piece of paper out of her cargo pocket.

“I can’t let you keep this. If you get caught with it, they’ll know I gave it to you. Do you think you can memorize it?”

I took it from her hand and unfolded it. It was a hand drawn map of the facilities and an escape route. I studied it intensely for five minutes before giving it back to her.

“Did you memorize it already?” She asked as she hurriedly stuffed it back into her pocket. I nodded.

“It’ll help. Thanks.”

“Solonowski has the midnight shift guard duty. I can’t leave the door unlocked. They’ll know. You’ve got to get him in here somehow and overpower him.”

“I think that shouldn’t be too much of a problem,” I said with a nod.

“I hope you’re right,” she replied and handed the pocket knife to me. I looked it over. It was a three-bladed Case brand. The longest blade was about three inches and was razor sharp.

“It belongs to Solonowski. It fell out of his pants one night when he was…visiting.” Her face reddened. “So, I was thinking, if you’re caught with it, they’ll assume you got it off him and not me.” She then did something unexpected. She retrieved a key and loosened the leg shackles.

“You should be able to work your feet out of them when the time is right.”

“Gotcha,” I replied. “Thanks for doing this.”

“Maybe you can make it up to me one day. Now, eat everything in that MRE pack and give me all of the trash. There’s no telling when you’ll be eating again.”

I did as she instructed. When I was finished, she stuffed the discarded plastic into one of her cargo pockets and walked out without another word.

I hated the taste of MRE food. I’d gotten spoiled eating farm fresh food for the last couple of years and this stuff tasted awful. Nevertheless, I had eaten every morsel. She was right. I’d need every bit of energy the packaged food had to offer.

Solonowski casually walked in a little before midnight. Ruth bitched at him for being late. He responded with an uncaring grin and slapped her on the ass as she walked out. When she had left, he stared at me through the window. I reacted by flipping him off. He glared and reached for the microphone.

“Keep it up and you might fall down a time or two before the night is over.”

“Not from your punk ass,” I responded. He continued glaring at me, but didn’t respond. Hmm, I thought. This wasn’t going to be easy. I stared at him for a good thirty minutes while he pointedly ignored me and looked through a well-worn Playboy magazine.

I’m not sure if it was a lucky break, but the MRE food was not agreeing with my digestive tract. I got up, shuffled over to the portable toilet, and squatted down on it. The noises and smells coming from my ass were awful. I noticed the jarhead glancing at me in disgust. It was an opportunity to rile him some more.

“Hey!” I yelled. “You got any toilet paper? I need to wipe my Solonowski!”

He leaned forward and growled into the microphone. “Watch your mouth, asshole.”

He was getting angry, but not taking the bait. I was getting desperate and needed to do something drastic. Standing, I grabbed the pail out of the frame of the toilet and hurled it at him. Vile excrement splattered against the window. It did the trick. He stood angrily, glared at me with homicidal hatred and stormed out of the office.

I hurriedly worked the leg shackles off as I heard the lock being turned. I had to hope he was so angry he didn’t bother grabbing one of those riot shields. I had just enough time to open the pocket knife when the door was flung open.

Solonowski charged in like a raging bull and put a shoulder into my gut as he grabbed me around the waist. We went down on the hard concrete floor as I wrapped my legs around him. When my back hit the floor, I involuntary exhaled heavily. Solonowski chuckled as he began punching me in the ribs.

He obviously had training in ground fighting and he used his feet to push me up against the wall, while continuing to punch my ribs. His training involved rules, rules I had no interest in. I reached around the back of his head with one hand, and while I dug a finger into one of his eyes, I used my other hand to stab him in the neck with his own pocket knife.

He screamed like a madman while trying desperately to dislodge my finger and get away from me. I squeezed my legs tighter while I continued digging my finger in and slashing with the knife. I kept it up while feeling his strength gradually fading. He tried to bite me once, but I was able to hold his face away from me with my finger, which was now embedded deeply in his eye socket. After a minute or two, he stopped moving. I rolled over on top of him, buried the knife deep in his jugular, and gave it a few twists for good measure.

When I was satisfied he was dead, I stood and caught my breath a minute before daring to peek out of the door. Nobody was around, which was good. I walked into the office and immediately saw a water jug. I used it to wash the blood off me and wiped myself dry with that damned hospital gown I was forced to wear.

I found my clothes stuffed into a file cabinet in the office, but my boots were nowhere to be seen, along with all of the various things I always kept in my pockets. Solonowski’s boots were a size nine, too small for my overgrown feet. His wool socks would have to do. I searched through his pockets, but the only thing he had was a pair of fingernail clippers. I pocketed them and then peeked again out into the hallway.

“Well, that was the easy part,” I muttered to myself, inhaled deeply, and started walking.