A Pound of Flesh: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (15 page)

He searched for his shades in the pockets of
his ACUs which seemed to him like the cup holders in a
minivan—plentiful and poorly placed. He came up empty. Resenting
the brutal orb above, he followed behind Phillip as the four of
them crossed the clearing towards the far tree line.

***

Jamie stopped quickly, brought a closed fist
to head level, and glanced over her shoulder to evaluate her newest
student.

Standing stock still and nearly invisible in
her ghillie suit, Jordan had read the hand signal correctly.

Flashing thumbs up Jamie melted back into the
forest, picking her way north while trying to demonstrate proper
stealthy movement.

Watching her own boots a little too closely,
Jordan nearly collided with Jamie who held a closed fist in the
air. Jordan stopped at once; then she heard the soft exhaust notes
and the thrumming tires passing on the road to their right.

“Let’s get back,” Jamie whispered. She pulled
out her radio and called the compound. “This is Jamie... I just
heard multiple vehicles pass by our position heading south on
SR-39.”

Logan answered and said, “Where are you?”

“We’re south of the compound. A few hundred
yards from the hunting cabin,” she said, alluding to the scene of a
violent shootout she had been involved in a few days ago.

“Is Jordan with you?”

“Yes,” Jamie replied.

Silence.

“
Why
... is that a problem?”

“We’ve got at least two dozen rotters inside
the fence. I don’t want you to get bit or shot by one of our own so
it’s probably best if you two find a place to hole up for a
while... OK?”

“Sure. Then we’ll circle around and I’ll show
Jordan the emergency hatch,” Jamie said in a low voice.

“Please be careful out there,” Logan said
softly.

“That’s sweet, Logan. See you soon.”

Jordan tugged on one of the burlap strands on
Jamie’s ghillie. “I think he likes you,” she whispered.

Jamie smiled. “I know. He thinks he’s in
stealth mode.” She turned the volume down and stowed the radio.
“I’ve known since we ran from the cities.”

“And...”

“Now is not the time, but
maybe
when
this Omega stuff is sorted.” Jamie slung her rifle and drew her
semi-auto pistol, checked the chamber and pushed ahead, picking her
way through the ankle grabbing creepers.

***

Chief sniffed the air then motioned the
three-man patrol forward—Seth in the middle—Lev watching their
six.

Seth had only taken a few steps forward,
trying to keep an eye on Chief’s hand signals, when the hundred and
twenty-some-odd-pounds of stinking flesh caught him blind side.

Grunting something unintelligible, the
emaciated man picked himself up from the ground, naked and
shivering—seemingly pleading for help with his eyes.

Seth jumped to his feet, training his rifle
on the pathetic sight whose arms were zip cuffed behind him with a
generous portion of silver duct tape stretching from ear to
ear.

“Seth... what the hell are you waiting for?
Rip it off already,” Lev chided the younger man.

“What if he has a mustache?”

“That’s the least of his worries,” said
Chief. “He has many bites on his back.”

The man’s eyes bulged and he struggled to
stand.

“Seth. Do it.”

“OK. OK,” Seth answered and gripped a corner
of the tape.

Sweating profusely, violent tremors wracking
his body, the man’s eyes clenched shut.

With a quick tug Seth removed the tape.

“Aaaaghh,” cried the man.

“He
had
a ‘stache—” Chief
observed.

Lev pulled his Beretta, took a step back, and
started peppering the man rapid-fire with questions. “Who were you
running from?”

The man stammered then answered meekly,
“Them... the monsters.”

“Are you alone?”

“No...” the man sagged to his knees. “They
got my friend Alan back there a ways,” he added, gesturing towards
the woods with his head.

“And that’s when you got bit?” Lev asked.

“Yes... ” The man started to cry.

Seth, dancing from foot to foot, asked
nervously. “Want me to cut him loose?”

“Can’t chance it.” Then gesturing with his
pistol Lev asked, “You didn’t say who did this to you?”

“I have no idea... we were ambushed outside
of Logan last night. They took our van…
oh man
. Our food and
our gun.
Everything
we had was inside that van.”

Chief interjected. “You didn’t see
anything
?”

The man shook his head vigorously. “No, they
pointed flashlights in our eyes and then put a hood over my
head.”

“How far back is your friend?” Lev asked.

“A hundred feet... I don’t know.”

“Get up,” Lev said.

The man struggled but finally got to his
feet. As the other two men watched Lev led the man into the
woods.

Thirty seconds later, a grim look on his
face, Lev returned.

“This way,” Chief said, “Watch your
spacing... the rotters are close.”

***

Sampson had been ready for a shift change
even before his started. Growing weary of the tree stand, he
decided he’d take a quick recon of the road. See if he could find
the breach in the fence. Maybe repair it and feel a little more
useful.

He descended to the forest floor, pistol in
hand, and slid into the dense undergrowth. The going was as tough
as it had sounded when the rotters were ascending the hill. He
noticed that every branch that slapped him left traces of blood and
fluids on his fatigues. After much more work than it was worth he
was standing beside the road at the bottom of the hill. He
inspected the ruined barbed wire fence. All three strands had been
neatly clipped near the gnarled wooden post, leaving Logan’s
property open to man and rotter alike.

Pressed firmly into the road’s soft shoulder,
the pair of tire tracks suggested a vehicle had stopped here
recently.

He holstered his pistol and stood with his
hands resting on his hips, scanning the stretch of blacktop in
either direction.

Nothing.

“Someone set us up,” he said aloud.
“
And
they want us dead.”

The two-way radio warbled, and then Logan’s
voice emanated from his pocket. “We need everyone back to the
clearing
now
. There are rotters everywhere.”

He popped the radio in his pocket then
pivoted about to leap across the culvert.

Staggering down the hill, a barely
perceptible hiss escaping its parted jaws, the one-armed
first
turn
had built up a head of steam.

The zombie lurched between the fence posts;
its forehead clipped Sampson on the temple, knocking him to the
blacktop where he lay on his back in a daze, watching black tracers
dart about the cerulean sky.

After falling into the ditch the zombie
rolled onto its distended stomach and immediately began a one-armed
breast stroke, clawing its way towards the meat.

Chapter 18

Outbreak - Day 11

Schriever AFB

Colorado Springs, Colorado

Motor Pool

Hurry up and wait had finally taken on a real
meaning for Brook. She hadn’t fully grasped what Cade had meant
when he used the term to voice his displeasure at the Army’s lack
of expediency in just about everything it did. Then, finally, after
what seemed like an eternity sitting and sweltering inside the
truck in full battle rattle, Brook heard the words she had been
anticipating. The Motorola crackled and a voice informed the convoy
they would all be “Oscar Mike in five.”

On the move
, she thought. “Five
minutes Wilson. Better start warming up your vocal chords.”

Then as soon as the U-Haul started creeping
forward, in an ominous tone Brook said one word, “
Pug,
” then
glared at Wilson.

As Wilson recounted his flight from Denver
(leaving out
all
of the driving mishaps as well as
Operation Arm Removal
) Brook listened minimally, dividing
her attention between the Zs pressing in on the fence and the
eleven-vehicle convoy spooling out ahead of them. Wilson had
Brook’s undivided attention only when he came to the part of his
story when he and the other survivors first crossed paths with
Pug.

The second that Wilson finished his story
Brook began the inquisition. “What is Ted’s last name?”

“I couldn’t tell you. Sasha and I only met
Ted and his partner William after the dead started eating
peeps
.”

“Did your psychiatrist neighbor Ted interact
with Pug?”

Wilson mulled over the question before
answering. “Some words went back and forth between those two—most
of the interactions
were not
positive.”

Seemingly on the verge of an epiphany, Brook
pumped Wilson for more information. “Did Pug seem
threatening
or
homicidal
to Ted and William—or to you
and your sis?”

“The dude was creepy and forward—but not
threatening
or
homicidal
—not to us. The way I see it
he singlehandedly saved our collective butts,” Wilson proffered. He
hadn’t wanted to give Pug
any
extra accolades but if the
facts were what the lady wanted—then that’s what she was going to
get.

“If I heard you correctly, you said that when
Pug came on the scene he seemed totally coherent. He was in control
of all of his faculties, engaged multiple Zs unflinchingly, and
then he
introduced
himself as
Francis
before he told
you all that he wanted to be called
Pug
.”

With a bewildered look Wilson asked, “Why do
you want to know so much about the dude?”

“My husband told me that Pug had something to
do with the fire.” She paused for a beat and took a deep breath.
“The fire in which William and numerous others perished. I’m
sorry... but I can’t tell you anymore,” Brook replied
forcefully.

Wilson tried to pry further but his words
were snuffed by Brook’s icy glare.

The convoy began to slow as they neared the
front gates. But Wilson’s eyes were not on the road; he continued
staring at Brook while trying to fully comprehend how a person of
her stature—a woman no less—could intimidate him so. Sensing the
Dakota truck about to hit the U-Haul in front of them, Brook
reached for the grab handle and shouted, “
Hit your
brakes
!”

“
Shit
!” exclaimed Wilson as his
Louisville Slugger, half a dozen bottles of water and their lunch,
which happened to be MREs, shot off the bench seat and landed on
the floorboards near their feet.

Brook glanced disdainfully at the poor excuse
for a driver, then directed her gaze forward at the orange and
silver rollup staring her straight in the face. “Almost ate their
lunch, Wilson. Are you sure you weren’t
misrepresenting
your
behind-the-wheel prowess to Colonel Shrill?”

“
Positive
,” Wilson lied. Then he
asked, “Why are we stopped?”

“The dead gather at the gates. Most of the
walkers stay in downtown Springs but a good number of them straggle
in either from the city, the suburbs, or the surrounding
countryside. Just a few days ago there were hundreds... if not
thousands out there,” Brook said as she unknowingly rubbed her
shoulder, fondly reminiscing on her time in the guard tower behind
the sniper rifle. “We have to wait for the guards to put down the
walkers before they open the gates for us.”

“Gotcha,” Wilson said.

Listening to the sporadic bursts of automatic
rifle fire, Brook sat in the truck and stewed. Ever since the
outbreak and those first unforgettable days when she had been
forced to put down her parents she had been a different person. Now
she hated being left out of the fight.
Don’t worry Brooklyn,
she reassured herself
, you’ll get your turn soon enough.
While the guards cleared out the walkers she used the time to
process the key points of Wilson’s story and revisit his first
impressions of Pug. She adjusted her helmet so the straps would
stop biting into her chin. “Are you sure Pug was
grounded
?
That he wasn’t talking to himself... or speaking to a figment of
his imagination?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“His
name
seemed retarded but he
wasn’t. He wasn’t crazy either. Trust me... I worked
fast
food
in South Denver. I know
retarded.
And I know
crazy
.”

Wilson’s final statement changed Brook’s
hunch into a solidly handicapped certainty. She snatched up the
Motorola. “This is Brook Grayson in the Dakota truck. I need to
speak to General Gaines—
now
!”

“Wait one,” the monotone male voice on the
other end instructed.

Brook said nothing.

Who in the heck is this lady
, Wilson
thought as Brook’s stature grew to giant size in the impressionable
twenty-year-old’s mind.

The Motorola spewed an irritated voice.
“
Brook Grayson
... how in the
heck
did you weasel your
way along for the ride this time?”

“That’s not important right now
General
,” replied Brook firmly, her tone with the general
making Wilson flinch.

In the lead vehicle Gaines massaged his
temples as he watched his men drag the leaking zombie bodies from
the roadway. “You sure are a burr under my blanket, Brook. You
should feel blessed that Captain Grayson holds you in such high
regard,” he said, tongue in cheek. “What can I do for you ma’am?
And make it quick because we are about to leave the Green Zone and
enter Indian Country.”

“I need you to get ahold of Shrill or Nash.
Have one of them locate the civilian psychiatrist named Ted who
entered the base and served his quarantine at the same time as Pug.
If this guy Ted has the credentials, he needs to do an evaluation
of Pug... provide you with a clear
before
and
after
report. I have a hunch the murderer was sent here with a role to
play and then for some reason or another he went off of his meds
somewhere along the way—”