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 Posted: Fri May 22, 2009 6:39 am
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Freak_090 OberFeldwebel Freak_090 "Ridley dropped his .22 on the folded blankets that made his bet and squatted down " So when are we going to hear about the Docs situation? Situation? Two blokes and a ******** load of cutlery! Excuse me?
Hot Fuzz reference. |
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Posted: Sun May 31, 2009 1:15 pm
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Posted: Wed Jun 03, 2009 1:23 pm
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Sorry, Majora's Mask, mini sculptures, and E3 held my attention.
Chapter 19
Arthur could feel his heartbeat in his throat as he peered out over the empty road ahead. Empty now, sure. But as soon as he stepped onto it they were sure to come swarming. Or so he'd been lead to believe. The mid-day Howdaville sun did little to abate the Nebraska cold and his white doctor's coat had been long gone for a fleece and wool hunting jacket. He had a gray knit-cap tight on his head and gripped the cold metal of the crowbar and the M9 as if they were his only safeguard from that evil scurrying around the city like a diseased rat.
A lot of diseased rats, he thought. And finally sprinted across the road.
I've got to know what happened to that truck. Those things chased after it and... shooting... screaming... I know I won't like what I see but...
Arthur clutched his chest at the other side of the road and took a deep breath.
“I'm out of shape,” he whispered.
A cold wind blew through and with it came a few moans in the distance. Arthur jolted his sight in their directions, but saw nothing but empty streets and abandoned vehicles. Dead leaves were scattered about a few roads, plucked off withering trees from the same cold chill that raised the hair on Arthur's arm even under the coat. He jogged around the next corner and saw it. The truck's front end was wrapped around a tree trunk, but it was no ordinary tuck. S.W.A.T. was painted in bold, white letters on the side of the deep black vehicle. And a man's hand poked halfway out of the open door. Arthur shivered again, this time not from the cold.
Do I even want to see that?
Arthur looked both ways down the street, then again, then a third time just to be sure. He sprinted diagonally across the road, taking cover at the rear of the truck. He checked around himself once again and approached the cab. He nudged the passenger door open all the way with the end of his crowbar and noticed it pocked with bullet holes and the window had been blow out. Glass scattered about outside was crunched under shoes.
They swarmed him and he shot at them from inside the truck. But... they got him.
Arthur looked inside to see the pale flesh of the black-clothed officer bitten all over. His neck was open most of the way and blood marked his vest He clutched an MP-5K submachine gun in his right hand and the bolt was back, magazine empty.
“At least he went down fighting... He wasn't turned into one of them. An honorable death.”
Arthur reached his hand out and closed the S.W.A.T. officer's eyes, then saw the gun again. He reached for it at first, then pulled his hand back.
“No, that would be wrong, wouldn't it?”
He stood there, probably for too long. He didn't look around, didn't check for gray-skins. All to be heard was a low wind blowing through the skeletons of trees.
“I have to,” he said, pulling the gun's handle out of the rigor mortis grip of the downed officer. Then he took the keys from the ignition and ran around to the back of the truck, putting the weapon's sling around his chest as he went. He unlocked the back doors and looked inside. There was no one else—dead or alive or infected. Just a few benches on the sides of the truck held up by steel cording that looked to seat a S.W.A.T. Team. Arthur climbed inside and looked around a bit, finding a locked chest against the cab. He fiddled around with the keys until one fit and opened the box to find a dozen loaded gun magazines and a few boxes of 9mm ammunition.
“These look like they fit this assault rifle.* I guess I didn't waste a trip.”
Arthur seated one of the magazines into the MP-5K and stuck the rest of the haul into his backpack.
“Now to get back to the pharmacy and stop tempting fate.”
* * *
Felix and Charity were passing out cans of soup that had been cooked and poured into Styrofoam bowls found in the kitchen. It had taken quite a time to cook fifty-five bowls of it on the four-burner stove and with only three pots. But when everyone had eaten or was eating Felix stood at the pulpit and cleared his throat.
“Excuse me, everyone? Could I borrow your ears? I'll give them back in a minute.”
The chattering, fueled by filling stomachs, quieted down and Felix nodded his appreciation.
“Thank you. I know it's not fair to lay a big decision on you right after feeding you like this, but... it's become obvious that we aren't safe here. Charity and I alone can't take care of all of you and our space is too small. For now you might not be really bothered with living together but in another few days you'll want privacy and more security. You'll want some assurance and I can't give it to you.”
Faces among the crowd flashed concern, foreboding.
“This place isn't good enough for a long-time shelter. I'm telling you this because the beating you heard on the door this morning was indeed two infected people trying to get in. They made it past me at the front door and got into the foyer, but were stopped.”
Felix looked out over the crowd and saw little change from the unease.
“I scanned through some private radio channels and found a group of people taking shelter in a high school of the city north of here called Goldstein. They are well fortified and have more than enough room for us, especially since we have a doctor and an electrician among us.”
The room stayed quiet except for a few mutterings between family members. Felix watched the room and continued on.
“Since it is your lives at stake, it's your choice. Do you want to move?”
There was a delay and then a hand went up near the middle of the crowd. Felix saw it go up and pointed to the man attached.
“Yes, Mister Harden wasn't it? Do you have something to say?”
The man in the tattered brown suit cleared his throat and spoke up in the large room.
“How far is Goldstein and how could we get out of here without being mobbed by the... infected people?”
“Good questions. Goldstein is about a hundred and fifty miles north of here, close to the Wyoming and Utah borders, in the upper left-hand corner of Colorado. As for how we would get out, Charity and I have been working on a plan to divert the attention of the infected people away from the church—for any reason, really. And I know of a school bus in the area that would be able to haul at least thirty people and the rest could fit in large vans to form a convoy.”
Felix watched peoples' reactions and paused for a moment.
“I know it's a bit to think about. Let me just say I think this is a good idea. Of course there's a risk in organizing and moving a group this size out of the area with so many infected people running around, but we can't stay here forever. It's just not possible. And I don't want to have another close call like earlier today. I'll... I'll give you all half of an hour to decide and then I'll have a vote. Go or stay.”
Felix stepped down from the pulpit and got halfway to the bell tower door before a woman stepped forward and put her hand out, signaling stop.
“Felix, that's not a choice. We all know we can't stay. We all know it's not safe here. We just didn't have anywhere else to go.”
Mister Harden stood up again and looked out over the crowd.
“She's right. Everyone, we can't stay here. It's too cramped, we don't have enough food, and it's only a matter of time before they break down one of those doors. If we have a chance we should take it.”
“But what about the children?” a woman's voice called from the crowd.
“What about the children?” Arden said. “Of course it's risky. It sounds extremely risky. But so is staying here. We have to go.”
A few “Yeah”s builded through the crowd and heads nodded. So Felix shrugged and looked out over the crowd.
“In that case, vote now. Hands up if you want to leave.”
Some hand went up immediately. Some lingered a moment before deciding. Some hung halfway between down and up, unable to completely decide. But at least 70% of hands were up high.
“In that case,” Felix said, “I guess it's decided. Of course any of you that don't want to leave can stay, but... it would be strongly recommended you stay with the group.”
People talked amongst themselves at the thought of it. Going out there in that? What exactly did we raise our hands for?
“Any of you interested in helping to set up the move please come up to the bell tower. We really should begin tonight.”
*Yes, of course I know the MP-5K isn't an assault rifle, but Arthur doesn't.
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Posted: Thu Jun 25, 2009 11:02 pm
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Posted: Sat Jul 18, 2009 12:01 am
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Posted: Tue Jul 21, 2009 8:41 pm
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Fear not, dear readers, I didn't forget about you. Truth is I wasn't posting because I wasn't writing. In the average novel I'll take two to three couple-month breaks when I lose interest, but I always come back. And I'm back! Plan Z is starting, get some pop corn.
Chapter 20
There were seven people in the bell tower at nine fifteen. Felix, Charity, Ridley, Eagle, Neil, Jack Carver, and Steven Broussard. Carver and Broussard looked to be exact opposites—Carver in a finely-cut suit, though tattered and askew, Broussard in a dirty t-shirt and work jeans. The seven were gathered around the radio table, now covered in papers filled up with handwritten notes and diagrams.
“Okay,” Felix said, “the goal is to find usable vehicles to move the people of the church to Goldstein. Mister Broussard, I'll have to assume your boasting as a master big game hunter isn't a crock of bull and you'll be opposite Charity here in the Bell Tower with the Springfield giving the rest of us cover. Mister Carver, you and Neil will get one large van and Ridley—you and Eagle will find another. Each team has a radio and you'll call in when you find an appropriate vehicle. When we're all ready Charity will shoot our last decoy car to set off the alarm and divert their attention away as we drive back to the church.”
Felix checked his watch and picked up his Galil leaning against thew table.
“Mister Carver, you said you were an Army Ranger, so I'm sure you can figure this out. Did you ever train on an AK-47? The controls are pretty much the same.”
Carver pulled off his suit jacket and undid his tie, then took the rifle into his hands and looked over it with trained eyes.
“I can manage with it. Wait, this is an actual assault rifle, not some watered down civilian knock-off. How'd you get something like this?”
“Oh, you know... around.”
Carver gave him a look, but shrugged and pulled on the satchel of spare magazines.
“Jack and Neil will be Team One, Ridley and Eagle will be Team A. Charity, you're to cover Team One and Mister Broussard, you'll cover Ridley and Eagle on Team A.”
“What about you?” Charity said.
“I'll be going solo. The bus isn't far from the church. And I don't want either of my sharpshooters checking up on me. Never loose sight of the team you're guarding, not even for a second. Everyone okay? Any objections, concerns? Anyone need to pee?”
“I'm good,” Ridley said.
“Locked and loaded,” Eagle said, smirking.
“It's not the first stupid thing I've done this week,” Neil said.
“You're safe with me watchin' out for ya',” Broussard said.
“I won't let us down,” Carver said. “I'm trained not to.”
Charity said, “The clouds are over the moon. Best to start.”
“Then we're agreed.”
Felix picked his gas mask off the table between the group and pulled it over his face. His voice came through the filters as sure and unwavering.
“Let's begin: Plan Z.”
* * *
Ridley and Eagle with Neil and Jack took the underground passage out into the city with the sharpshooters watching their exit from the building as Felix left through the back door of the church. Team A and Team 1 gave each other stern but reassuring looks at the door to the home over the tunnel exit and left the place in opposite directions.
“Okay, let's try this one,” Ridley said, jogging up from behind a big, gray van just a road over from the passage exit. “Mister Broussard, is it clear?”
“S'all clear, forward and back. You're good,” he said through the radio, southern accent thick but perfectly understandable.
Ridley opened the driver's side door and peeked inside, moonlight obstructed overhead by cloud cover.
“Damn, it's a six-seater.” Ridley poked his head back out of the van and looked at Eagle. “Should we use it anyway?”
“If we're riskin' our lives for this, we oughtta get something bigger.”
Ridley started to close the door, but didn't see a point to doing it with the noise it would make.
“Mister Broussard, it's too small. How is it ahead of us?”
“There's a few of 'em. Okay, they're movin'. It's clear, go!”
* * *
Felix kept the revolvers in his holsters to keep himself from using them too freely. Charity and her rifle, effectively the hand of God, wasn't there to cover any screw-ups, and the Galil was on loan, so he was going solo, just like he'd said. He took every corner by slowly inching his head around and peeking for any stumblers. If a road had any he couldn't kill noiselessly with the police baton on his hip, he took another route or climbed through a window and went through homes to get around. It turned the usual five minute walk into a tense venture behind enemy lines.
I should be pretty close to the bus. I really should have brought it over to the church when I started fortifying it. Then it wouldn't be as bad. I guess there's just so much to be do—
Felix ran smack dab into a stumbler, awkwardly shuffling around a corner. The thing opened its mouth to let out a moan, but Felix already flicked out the length of his baton and brought it down into the body's skull by the time a sound came out. The ball-like tip on the length cracked the skull and the follow-through with the thin shaft let it cut in a few inches like a dull machete. Felix yanked the weapon back out and gave a sigh of relief.
Damn, need to be more careful.
Felix wiped the baton on the downed gray-skin's shirt and stamped the end into the dirt, collapsing it back into the handle. Then he jogged forward and took the next turn carefully.
“Should be right up here...” he whispered to the night air. A thin skim of clouds drifted out from under the moon like foam along the ocean shore, tossing a soft light over Vista Hill. It illuminated a school bus a hundred yards down the road, parked in the driveway of one of the homes.
“There it is...”
* * *
Jack Carver had been dubious of Felix's choice of partners when they left. But after seeing Neil's third arrow fly along the road into a gray-skin's face, it became clear.
The pairs weren't arbitrary like I thought.
Jack slung the rifle over his shoulder on its sling and looked back down the alley they'd come from.
He put me with Neil because Neil has a silent weapon and I have a powerful but loud one. He put those other boys together because one has that big shotgun and the other has a quiet .22 rifle. So we could get by with minimal noise and lower the chance of having them storm. But if they did, we'd be prepared. Any other pairing wouldn't have made sense.
Neil snuck up behind a stumbler looking up at the moon like a wolf about to howl. He brought down the blade diagonally into the thing's neck. Didn't decapitate it, but it dropped nonetheless.
“Here's a possibility,” Jack said, pointing to the six-door crimson van. Neil wiped his blade on the stumbler's shirt much like Felix had done with the baton. The hazy moonlight and light fog made the well-shined steel blade almost glow a hazy blue.
“That one looks good,” Neil said.
Jack took hold of the radio and trotted up to the van.
“Commander,” he whispered, “I found a van—seats eight. But there's no key.”
“Don't worry about that. Here, I'll tell you how to start it, but don't do it yet. Hold on a second.”
The sound of a light whine of metal came through the radio and Jack waited. He opened the driver side door as Neil opened the one opposite. They both got in and pulled the doors closed, quick and quiet. The delay continued until Felix's voice came back.
“Okay, is it an old model or a new one?”
“Year's 2003,” Jack said, a bit above a whisper now being in the closed vehicle.
“Okay, great. Look under the steering wheel and take off the access panel for the wires there. You'll need to get to the wires behind the ignition.”
Jack put the rifle between he and Neil and ducked under the wheel. He pried at the panel with a penknife and got it open, eventually getting to the wires Felix had mentioned.
“Got it, what now?”
There was another delay on the other end. Jack and Neil looked at each other for a moment, then checked around the vehicle for problems in the form of those diseased bodies—those things.
We must have killed a lot of them. There can't be that many left.
“Mr. Carver, look for the two wires insulated in the same color—probably red, but they might not be.”
“Yeah, they're red.”
“Okay, one's the power supply for the ignition. One's the connection for the electrical circuits that get charged when you turn the key. Strip them about an inch and twist them together—make it tight.”
Jack fiddled with the wires behind the ignition and came back up to take the radio.
“Got it. Now what?”
“Take the ignition wire—it's usually brown, might not be—and strip it about half an inch. Now stop. When you touch the ignition wire to the ones twisted together you should get ignition. But don't try to twist the ignition with the other two. All you need to do is touch them together until you get it going. If the two coiled wires come apart, the car'll die. You'll lose power, steering, and breaks. So don't let it happen. Now go to Charity's channel with Team A. Tell her you're ready. When we're all ready we'll start all three vehicles at the same time. Wait for that, okay?”
“Gotcha.”
“Good work, by the way. You and Neil did well.”
* * *
“Are you almost done?” Eagle said, looking back into the darkness of the home's living room. Ridley kneeled there, duct-taping something to something else. Eagle couldn't see what. But when Ridley stood up and walked toward the window the thing became visible. There was an empty two-liter soda bottle taped onto the end of the little Ruger rifle, held straight and steady with a thin, metal rod.
“The hell is that?”
“It's a silencer. Saw it on the Internet. You put an empty bottle on the end of a .22 rifle and it makes it quieter.”
“Sounds like bullshit t'me,” Eagle said.
“Well we've gotta start shooting these things. We're wasting too much time being sneaky. I bet Felix and the other team are ready, waiting for us.”
A crackle sounded from the radio.
“Y'all ready?” Broussard said. “Charity said Felix n' the other team are waitin' on y'all.”
“Told you!” Ridley picked the receiver off his belt. “We're working on it.”
Eagle looked out the window, then opened the door and brought the shotgun's stock to his shoulder.
“You're the one screwin' around playin' arts-and-crafts with your gun.”
Ridley jogged down the road right behind Eagle and saw a gray-skin ahead. He brought up the rifle and grimaced a little at the bottle obstructing the sights. But the distance wasn't too bad, so he pointed it true and fired off the first shot of the night. The gun made a bit of a pop, not unlike a kid's pellet gun. It was a chest hit, so Ridley fired twice more. But the body dropped just as hard and dead as all the others had.
“Yeah, arts-and-crafts my a**, I told you it'd work! Hey, look at that.”
Ridley jogged up just past the body to a boxy old van parked on the side of the road.
“This is perfect! I mean it's a piece of s**t, but if it moves that's all we need.”
Eagle opened the door, looking up and down the road as he did.
“No key.”
“Damn.”
Ridley picked the radio off his belt and whispered into it.
“Felix? Uh, you there?”
“Yeah, find one?”
“We did, but there's no key in the ignition.”
“That's okay, is it an older model?”
“Yeah.”
“Then get in, I'll tell you what to do.”
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Posted: Sun Jul 26, 2009 12:51 pm
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Posted: Wed Jul 29, 2009 5:53 am
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Posted: Wed Jul 29, 2009 12:47 pm
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Additions!
Chapter 21
Charity heard the report and closed the shell of her laptop. She stuffed it in the pack with the rest of her supplies and took a quick glance around herself.
Got to know I have everything. I might never be back here.
“Mister Broussard, we're ready. Go down and tell the others to finish their packing. Tell them to get everything and be completely ready. As soon as we set things in motion, we can't have any hang-ups.”
The man had looked up from the Springfield's scope to see her as she spoke and saw the same authority and sureness in her eyes as he'd seen in Felix's. Standing there with the pack over her shoulder and the old war rifle gripped so surely in her hand showed she knew what was what.
“Yes, ma'am,” Broussard said, standing. He held the rifle out to her and she put up her hand and shook her head.
“I can't. Too much to lug around now. You hold onto it. Now go—tell them. Call up here when everyone's set.”
Broussard gave a quick, curt nod and slung the rifle over his shoulder on its sling. He hurried down the stairs and Charity heard the door of the tower open and close.
“Can I handle all this?” she said. She stood up at the northern opening of the tower looking out at the town. There, among the buildings and the mindless horde of infected bodies, were two teams and one man that would have to work in sync to safely move the people—forty-five in all—out of the town and a hundred and fifty miles up through dangerous territory.
“I'll have to.”
Charity turned back to the radio table. She found a fresh sheet of paper and an ink pen.
“This is the church of Hovard Riboruba. His son Felix guarded the lives of forty-four people here for four days during the spread of the Starfish Cluster Virus or SCV. He left on the night of October fourth at approximately eleven PM to a supposed safe zone in the city of Goldstein—the Southern Goldstein High School.”
She signed it Charity Hutchinson and set the pen on top of the sheet just as she heard Steven Broussard call from the door to the sanctuary.
“We're all ready an' waitin' by the door!”
Charity took a deep breath and swallowed once. She took hold of the Garand rifle and walked to the Southern opening. She grabbed the radio on her hip.
“Team A, ready?”
“Yeah, we're good,” Ridley said.
“Team One, ready?”
“Ready,” Neil said.
“Felix, are you ready?”
“I am.”
Charity pointed her rifle out into the distance. The specific car had luminescent paint over its top, marked in a broad and unmistakable number 2. She took the radio again.
“Everyone, wait thirty seconds after you hear the alarm and start your vehicles. Come by the front door of the church to accept your passengers. Team One and Team A will both receive six. Felix will receive twenty-eight. I'll squeeze in with whoever shows up last. I'll fire now.”
Charity put the radio back on her belt and pointed the rifle out, finding the distraction immediately. She fired into the top of the car and the blaring alarm sounded across the town.
“No time to think,” she said and took the ladder two rungs at a time. She dropped four rungs from the bottom and passed the door like it was open air. Steven Broussard had arranged people in a two lines making a decent order compared to the previous gaggle of people spread out among the church.
“Thank you, Mister Broussard. But everyone, listen. I want families together, no one separated. There's going to be six in one van, six in another, and twenty-eight in the bus. So group off. I don't want to split people up. Mister and Misses Alexander, can you and your daughter be in a van with the Alvarezes? There's three of them as well.”
“Yes, that would be fine,” the tall, lanky Charles Alexander said.
“Good, group off over here, please.”
“The Fredricksons and us can be together,” a woman said. Rita Marshall of the Marshall family had ventured it.
“That's fine. The Marshalls and Fredricksons—over here please, the second group of six. The rest of you will be in the bus. You're all grouped off—yes, okay, great. Stay together in your groups now.”
Charity looked at her watch. Thirty seconds after the alarm, she'd said.
Two... one...
* * *
“It's time!” Neil said, “Start it up!”
Jack Carver tapped the wires together as he'd been told. There was a grumble and bit of a charge and a jolted between the wires, but it didn't catch. Jack tapped again and the van came to life with a soft roar. He revved the engine a few times and gripped the wheel hard.
“It's working, let's get the hell out of here.”
“Fine by me,” Neil said.
Jack turned into an alley and backed up to turn around. The way to the church was quite a journey on foot in the dark, dodging stumblers, but the van would make short work of the distance. Jack sideswiped a gray-skin on the side of one of the roads and watched it twist in the air and skid into a building, but had no joy in doing it.
“Miss Charity, we're almost there. Are you ready?”
What am I calling her miss for? She's half my age. But something tells me she's learned all the things I did in my days as a Ranger. Somehow...
“Yes.”
Jack stamped the button by the window with his index finger, releasing the electric locks just as he pulled up to the church entrance. The double-doors whisked open and he watched the girl with the rifle usher a group of six out to the van. They swarmed around it, tossing their belongings into open doors and piling in like it was a clown car. Six in, seat-belts on, doors locked—Jack floored it and headed for the Northern exit towards Goldstein.
* * *
Charity locked herself back in the church with the rest of the group.
“They make it all right?” Broussard said.
“Yes, they're fine. Heading out of the city now.”
Charity clutched the receiver probably too tight and looked around anxiously. There was nothing to see—just worried people piled in clothes and packs—families holding hands, parents consoling children. It'll be all right, honey. We're leaving this place. We're going someplace safer.
Someplace safer, she thought. The radio crackled.
“Charity, the bus is just about there. Send them out.”
“Yes, okay. Second group, come with me!”
Charity opened the doors again. Four stumblers lumbered around several yards from the bus as the stream of twenty-eight flowed forth from the church like so much of God's mercy.
“No need to be tactful now,” Charity said, blasted two of the stumblers—CRACK, CRACK—tremendous blasts charging from the high-power rifle cartridges. Not just gunshots, the bullets traveled so fast they broke the sound barrier, causing miniature sonic booms among the quiet of the city. Another two shots—CRACK, CRACK—and the other two were down. Charity pulled the sound-insulating earmuffs from her ears and looked at Felix through the driver-side window. The last two of the group climbed in and Felix pulled the lever closing the doors.
“I'll meet up with you in Goldstein, Charity. I love you. I know you can handle this.”
She didn't smile, just nodded and caught his eyes. No time for smiling. No time for I love you too, daddy. She ran back into the church to the sound of the bus's engine and the blaring car alarm in the distance.*
* * *
“I wonder if they've got the others yet,” Ridley said, window open in the passenger seat with the rifle sticking out. “Hey, we're almost there. Radio in and tell 'em we're coming.”
“Yeah,” Eagle said, grabbing for the radio. “s**t, look!”
Eagle knocked over a wandering gray-skin with the front of the van, but there was a group of six lumbering around like deer-in-the-headlights, even with the van's lights off. Their eyes showed as dead, lifeless holes in their skulls. Even deader when Ridley shot two of them down with quiet pops from the rifle. Each shot was growing steadily louder as his “silencer” warped and the hole at the end opened up further.
Eagle charged the van forward, shoving two others out of the way with the corner of the front bumper and striking another dead-on. The fifth lurched forward onto the hood and Eagle slammed on the breaks, letting the thing sling forward on the ground. Ridley shot at him where he laid and the van's wheels parted aside what remained.
“We're takin' too long,” Eagle said.
“Just floor it!”
“Floor it? Ridley you ever see what a deer c'n do to the front end of a car when the driver's floorin' it and hits the thing? The whole body's a damn wreck. And the driver? Lot a' times he doesn't make it. These things aren't any lighter than a deer.”
“Well... drive better then, they're going to start swarming!”
Eagle swore under his breath and took the next corner a bit faster.
“Yeah, yeah, drive better. Ridley gimme one of my cigarettes.”
Ridley picked one out of the box of Marlboro 100s on the center console and Eagle took it. He opened his own window and lit the end with his Zippo just in time to sideswipe another gray-skin.
“Awright, call Charity.”
Ridley brought the rifle back in to the still air of the cabin and brought the receiver to his mouth.
“Charity, are you there? We're just about up to the church.”
“Should I send them out?”
“No, wait. Okay, yeah, let 'em out! We're right up there.”
Charity forced open the doors and shot a gray-skin as Ridley took another. He stepped out into the moon-brightened lot in front of the church and met Charity in the middle. As the last six piled in Charity hefted two bags into his arms and picked up another with her own.
“I got your and Neil's and Eagle's stuff together. All packed in here.”
“Great, thanks.”
Ridley tossed the packs into the back of the van behind a few passengers and popped another stumbler—four shots, center of mass. He did better without the bottle which, at the time, wasn't doing much of anything.
“Let's go.”
Charity got in the van and sat on the center console—right on Eagle's cigarettes—between he and Ridley. New passengers buckled their seatbelts and urged Eagle forward with shouts of “They're coming!” and “We're ready!” and “Let's get the ******** out of here!” which little Jimmy Fredrickson's parents were more than a little surprised to hear come from him. Eagle, this time, floored it. Available speed was cut with the new weight, but there wasn't time to think about it. He just drove better, as Ridley had said. Ridley cut the tape and bottle off the end of his rifle and tossed it out the window.
“Which way?” Eagle said.
“North,” Charity said, “up here. The exit's not far.”
A weight dropped onto the truck, startling the occupants, but when the weight turned out to be a fresh stumbler, sliding onto the windshield and gripping onto the edges of the open windows there were screams. Ridley fumbled with the revolver stuck into the back of his pants and used the butt to hammer at the thing's fingers. It released it's grip on one side as Eagle swerved down the road. But it started banging. Hammered at the windshield with its degenerating fists. A thin slime of blackening blood trickled and spotted on the glass until Ridley hung out the window and fired two shots into the stumbler's head. It slid off the front and went under the van. Eagle was sure of that, going over a bump that could have only been an arm.
Diane Fredrickson held her son's head into her bosom and the rest of the occupants just sat back, features rigid and tense, eyes peering out here and there and anywhere but the bloodstained windshield. Eagle flicked on the wipers and had a good amount of it gone.
And finally the last vehicle of the caravan left the roads parting mazes of homes and found the ones of rocky terrain and wooded forests. The moon, earlier a beacon to light the evil to them, lit their way from it. The roads were pure of shambling dead as far as the eye could see. And just around a few turns, a few minutes ahead, was the bus. And further along: Neil, Jack, and the first six.
*It was made possible for the reader to assume Charity was Felix's adopted daughter, right? Did I get that through?
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Posted: Wed Sep 16, 2009 12:03 am
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Somebody asked, so:
Chapter 22
Felix switched on the radio mounted in the school bus hoping for some news of the world outside. He turned the knob through channels of static as anxious people mumbled amongst themselves in the back. The old bus rumbled along with little poise or grace and surely would attract stumblers should there have been any nearby. Finally the radio sounded.
“Down the stree—large percentage—worst disaster in his—”
“Everyone, please be quiet for a moment, I'm getting something on the radio.”
Felix adjusted the dial in tiny increments, keeping his eyes on the road. Finally the static left the woman's in-and-out voice and came through clear.
“And estimates are placing the death toll across the United States at almost one million. Of course this isn't including those “animated” by the virus. Scientists and ethics counsels are still debating whether to call them alive or dead. Either way, there are an estimated three million of them, mostly in the central US, but spreading out steadily. Only the coastal areas seem free of the virus. California and Florida haven't had a single confirmed case, but reports from south Texas and northern Mexico are showing signs.”
Felix couldn't help but stare at the radio for a moment.
Three million?
“The President has issued a state of emergency and other countries with reports of the virus are doing similar. The disease has spread from Israel to much of the middle east. Virus carriers seem to thrive in the warm, dry air in those areas and civilization is beginning to fall apart. That brings me to my next point.”
There was a pause.
“There is a massive swarm around the station here in Denver. We have been locked in for the last two days and are expected to not be able to transmit much longer. This may be my last report.”
Another pause.
“I hope you'll all keep safe. It's been a joy for me to bring the news to you. Good luck, and God bless.”
The report cut away to somewhere in the middle of Ozzy Osbourne's Crazy Train and Felix's spirits didn't jump. He looked back to see the occupants of the bus, every one of them silent, dazed.
* * *
Ridley picked up the radio receiver as Charity awkwardly shimmied around in the tight spot between he and Eagle.
“Jack? Neil? Can you hear me? What's going on up there?”
A crackle of static sounded from above the quiet of the van interior. Windows were up, doors were locked, and the passengers from the church were silent.
“Everything's fine up here,” Neil said through the black box. “Where are you? Are you behind us or in front?”
Ridley settled back against the seat and stuck the revolver into the pocket in the passenger side door.
“I think you're up front and the bus is behind you and we're behind it. Right?” he said, looking over at Charity. She simply nodded, moonlight striking her eyes as she watched the evergreens part on the street sides.
“Yeah, it's you then Felix then us. I think we're okay but I haven't heard from Felix since the car alarm was set off in the city.”
There was a new crackle on the radio.
“I'm here, it's Felix. We're okay in the van, everything's running smoothly. Is Charity there with you? Charity, are you okay?”
“I'm okay,” she said, Ridley holding the Talk button down for her.
“Neil, could you have Mister Carver slow down a bit? We should all move in closer.”
Neil handed the receiver over and Jack took it, keeping his eyes on the road.
“Sure.”
As Jack slowed the process of the front van, Felix sped the bus forward and Eagle accelerated the van. Within two minutes the widely-spaced caravan came together on both lanes of the empty Colorado street, drivers flashing thumbs-up signs. Everything A-okay. It could be wondered how long that would last, but at the time everyone just sat back to enjoy the peace as a fresh drift of snow fell over the tree canopy and the road ahead.
* * *
The President's tie was loosened and his jacket was off. His wife was the only other person in the industrial bedroom, but he knew that would change soon. And a knock at the door assured him of that.
“Yes,” he said.
The steel door opened and a man walked in holding a leather dossier. The President didn't bother to stand perfectly straight and poised as the man entered, and the man skipped most formalities.
“Mister President... it's bad.”
“Are our efforts slowing it down... at all?”
“Of course, but not by enough. Each passing day it travels faster than the day before. The carriers, being so violent after being infected, are difficult to contain. And there is no cure. Not yet, anyway. The best we can do...”
The man trailed off, looked at his feet, and met the President's eyes again.
“The best we can do is to kill all the carriers.”
“Mr. Peterson, that's—”
“I know. Believe me, I know. This virus isn't as communicable as some—but we've found that if a person is bitten, they're ninety-five percent likely to contract the virus. And the virus is, as far as we've learned, one hundred percent fatal. Of course that depends on your definition of the word, since they're technically still alive.”
The President looked down this time.
“What can we do?”
“Well you remember I said without a cure the only way to insure the safety of humanity is to kill all of the virus carriers. But that isn't even possible. They travel in waves, groups, as individuals. They move in seemingly random patterns.”
“This would... be a good opportunity to test Unit 19. Don't you think?”
Mr. Peterson simply nodded and looked through the dossier.
“It might help. We're setting up more shelters every day. Military units have done well to safeguard the people in them. And there are civilians starting their own to good effect. I'll get the scissors we'll have to use to cut through the red tape for Unit 19.”
“Thank you.”
“I'll report again when I have something positive.”
Peterson cracked a phony smile and said, “See you in a couple years.”
* * *
Clouds dawdled among the blue-black sky overhead as Ridley scooted over to the passenger-side door to allow Charity more room in the middle. The rear van among the caravan was experiencing just as many problems as the other two vehicles—currently none. Steadily-whitening forests passed on both sides of the road as the caravan cleaved a clean path North up through the Colorado wilderness. Goldstein was a little over an hour ahead. The occupants of the caravan eventually took to busying themselves. Charity wiped and oiled her rifle down a little bit, there being no room for a full clean and take down. Neil listened to his MP3 player. Felix, along with Eagle and Jack Carver, simply drove.
Steven Broussard walked up the aisle within the bus and held onto a vertical rail by the driver's seat.
“Say, Mister Riboruba, how's everything commin'?”
Felix glanced up for a second, then back to the road.
“Not bad, all things considered. Say, is that Charity's Springfield on your shoulder?”
“Mhm, she told me to hold onto it. Said it'd weight her down, that she couldn't bring it 'long.”
“Yes, that sounds like her. Well anyway we'll be in Goldstein within an hour according to Bryan Vanderwood's directions. Say, is he back there? Bryan, are you around?”
Footsteps sounded behind him and Bryan grabbed the rail across from the one Broussard held.
“Yeah, I'm here. What's up?”
“Am I on the best road? Are there any shortcuts?”
Bryan shook his head and watched the snow spot the ground outside. The headlights brightened the snow but still filtered to the road ahead, finally stopping at the bumper of the front van.
“It's pretty much a straight shot to Goldstein from here. There're some side passages to little country roads and into the mountains. A couple tiny towns and stuff around there. But there's no better way than the one we're taking.”
Felix nodded.
“Good, good.”
He took the radio receiver off his belt and and brought it to his mouth.
“Hey—Mr. Carver, Eagle, how are things on your ends?”
“Going good here,” Carver said.
“Fine on my end,” Eagle said.
Felix returned the radio and watched the road ahead.
* * *
The caravan slowed to a halt just outside the city limits of Goldstein as the snow fell in regular sheets. Felix exited the bus and met with Charity, Eagle, Ridley, Neil, Jack Carver, and Steven Broussard—the whole Plan Z troupe along with Bryan Vanderwood. They joined at the empty street side as the radiators ticked from the temperature change.
“All right, I don't think it's safe to venture in with all the people without knowing how bad it is in there.”
Bryan stepped forward and lifted a hand in the air for a second like a student waiting to be called on.
“It's not like Vista Hill. It's a decent-sized city with big open roads. We shouldn't get cornered anywhere unless they surround us.”
Felix zipped up his vest all the way and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked long and hard down the street into the city.
“Yes, I was thinking that would be true. But I don't want to take the plunge just yet.”
This time Ridley was the one to raise his hand.
“We could send a group in—like a search party. Maybe make it to the school and see if they can send out some people to escort us back?”
Charity, whom the others hadn't noticed leave, returned to the group with the radio receiver in hand. She put it back on her belt and said, “They're on their way now.”
Felix opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it and laughed a little to himself.
“Oh, right, I guess I didn't think of just calling them. Ha, I guess this whole business is wearing on me more than I thought. Okay, let's get out of this damn bitter cold. Back to the vehicles until they show up.”
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Posted: Mon Oct 05, 2009 8:48 pm
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 12:51 pm
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 5:59 pm
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Didn't realize how short this chapter was until I copied it just now, so I'll put up two.
Chapter 23
Felix pulled the lever closing the doors of the nicely-warmed school bus.
“Everyone, a spot of bright light's on us tonight, and I don't just mean from that moon. The shelter in the high school is sending an escort here as we speak. How would you all like to sleep in safety tonight?”
Applause rung out through the length of the bus but Felix quickly brought up his hands.
“That's okay, thank you, no need to make excessive noise.”
The applause subsided and Felix took his seat. The station Felix had tuned the radio into still played loops of songs, currently What a Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong. The man's soft yet gravelly—pebbly perhaps—voice melted through the bus like hot fondue as the world chilled outside with the midnight snow. Expressions on passengers were relaxed so Felix's could be as well. He glanced out the window for oncoming headlights from the city, but there were none for fifteen minutes. When they came they belonged to a black Hummer leading a white pickup. Felix opened the doors and stepped down into the cold outside as the vehicles stopped. He released the retention straps holding his revolvers in place as he rounded the front end. Just in case. The two men from the Hummer looked tired first and foremost. Like they'd been pulled out of their beds, thrown into clothes, and tossed out into the world.
“Hello,” the driver said. He wore a military parka and had a futuristic-looking rifle on a sling over his shoulder. “You must be the group from—what was it—Vista Hill.”
“Yes, that's right. We have forty-five in all. Can you accommodate that many people?”
The man rubbed the back of his neck and yawned, then hiked up the sling on his shoulder to have it in another spot.
“We've got room if that's what you mean. Can we feed and clothe everybody? Well we'll have to step up gathering supplies. It'll be tough, but we knew that from the get-go.”
Felix nodded.
“Can we go? My people have seen enough action for one night. They need security.”
The driver stuck out his hand and looked Felix in the eyes.
“Name's Bruce Barker. Shelter leader.”
Felix extended his own.
“Felix Riboruba. Also shelter leader.”
“C'mon, lets get you all to the place. We'll lead. Jake and Mitchell in the truck there will back you up. These three vehicles here? Awright.”
Bruce stepped back to the Hummer as if one of his legs were asleep and hopped in. Felix gave a thumbs up to Jack and Eagle in the two vans and started up the bus, trailing right behind the Hummer along the street into Goldstein. Bryan stepped up behind Felix in the driver's seat and looked out ahead.
“What if they start mobbing us here?”
“I'm sure these people know what they're doing. They wouldn't tell me how to navigate Vista Hill and I won't tell them how to navigate here.”
Bryan thought of saying “Okay” but just stood there, gripping a rail and looking out ahead. The passenger of the Hummer rolled open a window and stuck half of his body out into the numbing cold. Fortunately he was covered in a few thick layers of clothing. Felix saw him shoulder a weapon but couldn't tell what it was. But as a stumbler approached the road ahead he fired and Felix couldn't hear a thing.
“They must have a suppressor. Bet that comes in handy.”
The passenger popped a few others along the road and just off it and the caravan swerved around bodies both new and old. The city itself was no New York or even Denver, but it looked to be eons ahead of Vista Hill. There were buildings tapering off at thirty floors and quite a few of them. Homes were limited to upscale cabins on the edge of town and apartment complexes scattered about the city, along with chain stores and restaurants. Two Wal Marts and three McDonald's and the overwhelming forest anywhere you could see out to the edge of the city.
The Hummer turned down a side road and the barbwire-encased complex came into view. Less like a school and more like a prison on the outside, as many schools have forced to seem as.
“That's it,” Bryan said.
The school was set up as a single, spider-like building of three stories with a central core and hallways branching out in every direction. The football field was to the west and a gymnasium was the large, rectangular building to the north. The southern entrance and all the grassy area around it served as a meeting place for students during recess to eat and chat the time away. Felix eyed the cameras mounted along the front hall, the southern spider's leg. A man behind the tall gate rolled the barricade open just long enough for the caravan to get inside, then rolled it closed and wrapped a length of chain around, careful to lock it with a padlock.
Ridley was the first to step out onto the now white-topped grass of the front entrance area. He held his sword's sheath just a bit more loosely to see the fence—ten feet high and well-secured—topped with rolls of barbwire around the entire perimeter. Felix was next to get out, followed by the entirety of the Vista Hill church shelter population from both vans and the bus.
Bruce approached the group with three others behind him.
“Come on inside. We've still got electricity. It's nice and warm.”
The refugees glanced around a bit, showing a tinge of apprehension, but no one was about to stick around as the snow piled on. The Plan Z team took the lead behind the escort team as the group filtered into the front hall, immediately struck by a wall of warm air and the scent of vague familiarity, of people—living people.
A woman's footsteps carried down the length of the hall to its end where she couldn't be seen in the darkness. But as she approached the soft light of a cloudy wall sconce she came into view.
“Hm, there are a lot of them,” she said, holding a clipboard out to Bruce. She looked to be close to him in age in her mid-thirties and wore a a simple nightgown under a robe with fuzzy slippers. Her brown hair fell loosely about her shoulder with no apparent style.
“Sir, are you the leader of this group?” she addressed to Felix in front.
“Yes.”
She offered her hand.
“Marsha Barker, pleased to meet you. We'd like to have everyone from your group sign the log here, just so we know how many we have. Makes it a lot easier for us.”
Felix shook her hand lightly and looked back at his group.
“That's fine. Would you mind lining up, everyone?”
“Just come up here and sign your name and I'll give you directions to one of the empty classrooms.”
The group from the church filtered off into a single file line with families together and stepped forward in turn to Marsha Barker. They signed the list and were assigned to rooms among the school. After fifteen minutes everyone from the group was either settling into a room or on their way towards it. Ridley, Neil, and Eagle walked down the empty western hallway, one of the spider's legs branching from the central lobby.
“Feels weird,” Eagle said, finally breaking the silence.
“What?” Neil said.
“This. Bein' safe. Locked in a building away from 'em.”
Eagle had his shotgun with the breech open over his shoulder, steadying the weight with his hand on the barrels. The three of them walked among the darkness, abated only by the soft light from the wall sconces. During the day the halls would be lit by the long fluorescent tubes mounted to the ceiling, but not now. Now the motivational posters and room numbers on door were dark and somehow depressing.
“I've never been in a school at night,” Ridley said. He and the other two turned to room C12 and Ridley opened the door. It was just like any other modern classroom, a math one by the posters on the walls and some algorithm on the whiteboard, not yet erased. There were still desks in the room, but they were pushed together at one end and some stacked on top of each other.
Neil and Ridley both brought a few desks together and piled them with their blankets for makeshift beds, but Eagle just put his blankets on the floor. They put their weapons in a corner of the room, but Neil again kept his sword handy. But safely locked away in the corner of a locked room in a solid brick building surrounded by a barded-wire fence they stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours. Ridley opened his cell phone and saw the battery indicator blinking red.
Damn. Well I guess that figures.
Ridley dug through the rest of the stuff in his pack and finally pulled out a wire tangled around other junk. He plugged it into an outlet on the wall and the other end into the phone. And no sooner did a tinny, musical tone ring from it. Ridley yanked it free from the cord and flipped it open again, jogging outside to avoid waking the others.
“Hello?”
“Richard? Hell, I didn't think I'd ever hear from you again.”
“Marca, holy s**t, how are you?”
“I'm alive. Nowdays that's saying something.”
“Well where are you? You still in Vision Creek?”
“I've been locked in my house for the last two days. It's getting bad over here. After you left the market Stevens was picked up by a government van for the bite. They closed the place and everyone was sent home. Where'd you go?”
Ridley leaned against the closed door behind him and looked up and down the hall.
“Me and my neighbor—this kid Neill—we left Vista Hill. Went west and picked up a guy whose truck stalled on the road. He came from the farm where that plane crashed into the barn. See that on the news?”
“Yeah, that was weird.”
“That's not the half of it. Neil's parents were on that plane. That's why I took him with me.”
There was silence on the other end.
“Well where are you now?”
“A shelter set up from a high school in Goldstein, Colorado. In the northwest corner of the state.”
The girl on the other end sighed and Ridley could hear her distress through it easily.
“Marca... are you okay?”
“No. I'm scared.”
“Yeah...”
Ridley looked at his now bare feet.
“Me too.”
* * *
Charity raised one of the blinds covering the window of the former chemistry class to look outside. There was no moon, just blackness beyond the fence. The heater kicked on, whurring in the background to mix with the light clicks as Felix reassembled one of his revolvers to an emergency candle he'd had tucked away in his pack.
“What are we going to do now?” Charity said.
Felix screwed the right grip panel back in place and put the gun on the desk next to the other.
“I guess we'll be here a while. Until this either blows over or doesn't. Maybe some people will be immune, or maybe the survivors will have to kill the infected. Or maybe there will be a cure. Or maybe the entire human race will die out and return to the earth. Whichever comes first. The Bible says Adam was created from dirt. Maybe we're all destined to return there.”
Charity frowned.
“That's a pretty grim way to think.”
Felix shrugged and looked over at her.
“I don't actually think that will happen. I don't think we'll—humanity that is—let it happen. I'm just bringing it up.”
“Well don't.”
“You're not worried, are you? You did so well today, guarding everyone in the church while we got the vehicles. Not even one person with as much as a scratch. I'm very proud of you. You've used everything I taught you.”
Charity thought she saw some kind of gleam or shine in Felix's eyes.
Must just be the candle...
“You don't have to worry about anything, not anything. You're very strong. Stronger than anything out there. Don't forget that.”
She glanced back out the window for a second to see the moon that wasn't there. When she turned back she saw the beginnings of tears in Felix's eyes.
“Dad, are you crying?”
She couldn't help grinning at the unusual sight.
“Come on, you're embarrassing me! You're not going to be getting all aw-my-little-girl's-all-grown-up on me, are you?”
Felix flicked away a tear.
“Course not. Now clean your rifle and get to bed young lady. We've both had a busy day.
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 6:04 pm
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Chapter 24
Arthur and Sherry pulled with all their strength on the leather belt holding the gray-skin's arm to the fence section as dawn crept through the blinds.
“That ought to do it,” Arthur said. He stepped back as the thing moaned behind the towel tied into his mouth. “They're not very strong. This should be enough to hold him.”
Sherry put a hand over her mouth, feeling the acid rise in her stomach.
“Disgusting. I think I'm going to vomit...”
“It's not that bad.”
Arthur took a second to look over the person—thing—it was hard to decide what to call them now. The gray epidermis was the unmistakable first clue that the person was no longer right. It was all rotting and sagging and pocked with soars in places. Anyone caring to continue a stare would notice the black veins branching inward to the pupils, a dead giveaway to the blackening blood that ran through their systems. How the thing was still standing was a wonder of modern science.
My wonder, Arthur thought.
“So this is what Michael Jackson will look like in ten years,” Arthur said. “I'd always wondered.”*
Sherry turned away and wiped her forehead with her lab coat's sleeve.
“You're not going to let him off to see how his moonwalk is, are you?”
Arthur shrugged and pulled open the drawer. He raised the syringe from its recess and held it to the light. Flicked the glass vial and squirted the air out, then poked it into the stumbler's arm and depressed the plunger.
“Treatment one. Let's see what happens, if anything.”
Arthur took up the pad of paper on the desk and sat on the barstool five feet from the test subject. The gray-skin was bound by each wrist and ankle, along with his torso, neck, and head. All bindings held him back to a wrought-iron fence section apparently cut from a much larger piece. The section was now bolted to the brick wall of an inner room of the pharmacy. There Arthur sat, nearly free from even blinking, for five hours. The gray-skin wrestled with the bindings at times and sat perfectly still, managing to startle Sherry every single time she poked her nose in to get a close look at the motionless thing. It would jolt one of its bound arms or legs, she'd jump back and shriek, and Arthur would have a good-natured laugh at her expense.
“Dammit. Doctor, how could you laugh at this?”
“Come on, Sherry, get a sense of humor. He's got one!”
She humphed and walked out, slamming the door behind herself. Arthur left just long enough to relieve himself and came back to the test subject no different from before. Clouds skimmed over the still-fresh sun of the day and the air seemed to be chilling more by the day. Arthur adjusted the thermostat a bit and sat back in his place.
“Five hours and thirty minutes, no noticeable change.”
He documented his words and put the pad back on the desk. The bones in his back popped as he stood yet the door was noiseless as he passed it. Sherry sat on another chromed steel barstool by the radio as Michael Buble's Lost played low through the room . Her head rested on her arms over the desk.
“Hey Sherry? Sorry about, you know, making fun of you. I'm not really enjoying this, it's just... I mean if you don't find something to laugh at you'll go crazy.”
Sherry brought her head up and opened sad, dreamy eyes in Arthur's direction. He looked at her for a moment.
“I'm sorry. Really.”
She tried her hardest at a smile, but it came out thin and weak. Still she said, “It's okay.”
“We'll have to work on your fake smile later. What do you want for breakfast? Maybe I can find some eggs somewhere.”
“What would you cook them with? There's no stove in here.”
“Maybe I'll find an electric griddle or something.”
“I don't know if you should go out there just for that...”
Felix shrugged. He changed out of his lab coat and into the hunting jacket. He slung the downed S.W.A.T. officer's submachine gun around his body and picked his crowbar out from the corner of the room.
“Maybe not, but I don't like being cooped up in here.”
“You'll be okay, right?”
“I wouldn't go unless I was sure I'd come back. How else can I protect you?”
Her smile was real that time, but he'd turned before he saw it. He walked to the back door and peeked through the window, then slipped out, locking it behind him. He looked up and down the road, seeing nothing but the usual desolate nothing. Empty buildings stood as grim landmarks to the remembrance of the people that had long since evacuated.
Where'd they all go, anyway? Probably Canada or Maine or... anything far away I guess.
Arthur started down the road west with no goal in mind. Any refrigerator in any home ought to have eggs. And with electricity still running they'd likely still be fine and edible.
It'll be nice to have something other than cold canned soup.
* * *
Ridley opened his eyes to full daylight poking through the window. He looked around the room to find himself alone and sat up on the desktops made into his bed. Birds chirped outside as if the world was normal once again and for a second Ridley almost thought it was. He opened his cell phone and the display read 12:22. Ridley stretched every muscle and they all ached back at him. The air was still and somehow awkward., like Ridley was sitting on the two desks while time was frozen and things were normal in the seconds before and after. He dropped off the desk on socked feet and tied his sneakers on. They'd been worn noticeably since his tume in the market where he simply stood for hours on end.
The Ruger rifle was leaned into a corner with Eagle's old shotgu, but Ridley didn't take it, or the revolver under the pile of clothes made into a pillow. He did stick his knife, sheath and all, into his pocket. The hall outside was lit by ceiling-mounted flourescents, putting a stale, white over the length of it all the way to the steel doors at the end. Ridley walked down the hall listening for moans of rustling footsteps outside, but there were none. He passed the double-doors into the central lobby connecting the other halls that made up the school. People milled about in pajamas sharing stories. The atmosphere was markedly lighter than that in the Vista Hill shelter. Neil sat atop a wooden desk, looking out one of the windows along the south-east lobby wall. His sword was now hanging on a strap to his back and his features were unassuming, but still rigid.
"Neil, sunburn any better?
Neil turned with no look on his face.
"Worse actually. But it's okay."
"It is? Where'd you get the strap for your sword."
Neil looked at where it crossed over his chest and then back up.
"A guy named Ty gave it to me. Was for his guitar but the guitar broke so he didn't need the strap any more."
"Hm. Where's Eagle? Or Charity or Felix?"
Neil just shrugged.
"Eagle was gone when I woke up. Guess he's used to getting up early. Haven't seen the others."
Ridley turned and looked around. There was a metal-link walkway overhead, connecting the halls on the second and third floors. Painted over in the same white as the roof and upper areas of the walls it wasn't noticeable. Ridley climbed the spiral staircase up to the second level where eight walkways spread off to the eight halls. And above him the staircase led to another level of indentical design. Ridley climbed to the third level and looked overhead to see the staircase continue. He ascended until it stopped and found himself at an unlocked door. He opened it and stepped out onto the gradual slope of the lobby roof. Out in eight directions were the tops of the eight halls, and at the edge of the north hall stood Felix and Eagle.
Ridley closed the door behind himself and started walking out along the hall's roof. The sun beamed high overhead, obscured by clouds that threatened another snowfall. The city of Goldstein lay out in every direction, but the view was blocked by some of the taller buildings. The sunlight that poked through reflected on wide, glass windows spanning them.
"Hey," Ridley said, reaching near the end of the hall.
Felix and Eagle turned, Eagle with a cigarette in his mouth.
"How's it going, Ridley?" Eagle said and let some smoke into the air.
Ridley stepped up to the edge and looked out into the crowd of buildings outside the fence barrier, but not a person looked to be among them. One of the infected shambled into sight, only to disappear behind another building. For a time, Ridley, Felix, and Eagle just stood in the noonday sun as the clouds rolled in. The city lay still all about them. Had there been a timbleweed in the area, it would have rolled by in earnest. And the smoke from Eagle's cigarette sifted into the air as placidly as it had on the farm when he leaned on a fencepost withouth a care in the world.
"So now that?" Ridley finally said.
"What do you mean?" Felix said. He was wearing a black polo shirt and jeans now, combat vest gone. The thigh holsters for his revolvers had been replaced by a single belt holster carrying only one draped over by a wool coat.
"When I started leaving my appartment with Neil I had no idea where I was going or when I would stop. Now that I'm here it feels kind of unnatural to be stopped. Like I need to keep going. I mean I just saw one of them go between those buildings..."
Felix took in a deep breath and let it out, put his hands in his pockets.
"I'm sorry to say you might not be able to avoid seeing them, no matter how far you go."
"What?" Ridley said, turning to look at him.
"It'll be everywhere soon. Give it another week. I don't mean to be the wet blanket but..." he trailed off and just shrugged. Felix eyed the streets and the sidewalks. Spotted a stumbler and drew his R-8 down on the body's head, about the size of a pea at the distance. He thumbed back the hammer and saw the front sight come into focus between the notched back sight and the degenerating cranium. The checkering cut into the hammer for grip was rough on his thumb like high-standing grit on sandpaper.
"Yes siree, give it enough time and you won't be able to go a mile without seeing one of those things."
Felix slowly let the hammer back to its rest with his thumb and stuck the gun back into its place.
"Well I'm going to talk to Mister Barker about getting together a search party for supplies. He's got a lot more mouthes to feed now."
Felix turned and left them, taking the door back down into the lobby staircase.
* * *
Neil dropped down from the tabletop and scanned the lobby of people. He watched Felix descend the three levels and take the southern hallway, smiling pleasantly as he passed people in the way. The noise level of the room was that of a loud hum of chatter. eil soon grew sick of it and took the northeast hallway to its end and looked out the double-doors. The barbwire fence stretched out in the distance mediated by clean-cut grass lit well in the sun, then shadowed by dark clouds, and bright once again. Neil pressed the stiff bars spanning both doors and walked through to the chilled outside. Like a glass put into the freezer it seemed the cold could trickle away any second, but as Neil walked around it continued. He put his hands deep into his pockets and took a deep breath.
With no stumblers around it was quiet and empty, seemingly abandoned. A cold, lonely wind blew through and hummed between the buildings. Neil reached his hands out and stuck his fingers through the fence, hooking them on the metal links. His fingers quickly went white, heat sapped out of them from the cold metal. But he didn't feel it, or didn't seem to. He just stared through the links and through an alley across the street and into a brick wall. There was nothing there but a torn poster for a movie that had come out a few weeks before. Would probably be phasing out of the current showings at the theaters soon if there were any being shown.
"I saw that movie..."
Neil's breaths came in longer and faster now, as if he were climbing a mountain.
"...with my... my..."
Neil dropped to his knees with his fingers still gripped around the fece links. Slowly he let them go and brough his hands to his face.
"...my parents," he said, and began to cry.
*For obvious reasons this little bit won't be in the final version. Guy was okay when I wrote it, but it would be insensitive to leave it in.
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Posted: Thu Oct 22, 2009 3:29 am
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