Deadlocked 8

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“Which one is it that’s flying in today?”
asked Nathan, one of the guards that Jerald had sent to the
transfer facility to capture a member of The Electorate that was
flying in for her final transfer procedure. She was unaware that
the facility had been taken over by Jerald’s team.

“Winchell,” said Jim. They were waiting
outside, near the basketball court that was used as a landing pad
for helicopters. “I think her first name’s Audrey.”

The sky was overcast, and night seeped in
lazily, like sludge rising through already murky water. Winter
announced its arrival with delicate flakes of snow that drifted
through the cool air and vanished upon touching down, like dying
fairies that had no place in the real world. The incessant bugs
that characterized the countryside in warmer months had vanished,
and ‘V’ shaped flocks of geese were constantly passing above,
headed south as the season changed. The ground was littered with
dead leaves, some of which skittered across the court, adding to
the soundtrack of waning fall.

They listened for the telltale roar of an
approaching helicopter, but the sky offered no sound other than the
honks of migrating geese that had yet to find a pond or field to
lounge in for the night.

Nathan pulled at the tight collar of his
ill-fitting, blue uniform that he’d been given to help complete the
ruse. It was important that Audrey Winchell and the helicopter’s
pilot not sense anything was amiss when they arrived. Jerald Scott
had already managed to capture several members of The Electorate,
and he wanted as many as he could get before the uprising was
revealed. It was essential that The Noah Initiative was delayed,
and if enough members of The Electorate were in custody, then there
would be no choice but to comply with Jerald’s commands. This was
how they’d planned on saving the lives of everyone stationed in the
Rocky Mountain region, where The Electorate had planned to launch
their final assault.

Nathan was about to comment on how
uncomfortable his uniform was when the early-winter solitude was
interrupted by an animal’s pained howl from a distance too close
for comfort. It carried on longer than it should, rising and
falling, as if the creature was being tormented and had cried out
in hope of rescue. The call died away slowly and gave Nathan the
sense that the creature would have continued screeching all night
had its lungs allowed it.

“What in the hell was that?” asked Jim.

Nathan stared wide-eyed out into the woods,
fearing what might lurk there. He raised his rifle and clicked on
the modular light. “No clue,” he said as he scanned the forest that
cloistered the cabin. “Sounded like a dog, maybe.”

“Or a wolf,” said Jim as he used his rifle to
search the woods as well.

Nathan continued to search, and he saw
movement in the brush. He kept his light’s beam steady and peered
into the distance, studying the spot where he thought he’d seen
something. He was about to give up and look somewhere else when a
small animal darted out of the light, kicking up leaves as it went,
and revealing itself where Nathan had been nearly convinced nothing
was hiding.

“What was that?” asked Jim, his terror
evident.

“A fox or something,” said Nathan, his heart
pounding as he searched for the creature. Whatever it was had
escaped. “It wasn’t what made that howl.”

“I hate nature,” said Jim and Nathan chuckled
in agreement.

“Never know what’s hiding in there.”

“At least the zombies moan,” said Jim. “You
know it when they’re coming after you. Animals are different. You
don’t know they’re hunting you until they’re already pouncing.”

They heard the screech of the animal again,
this time from closer than before. It was weaker, but no less
disturbing.

“That’s close, man,” said Jim.

“Maybe an Undying got its hands on a dog or
something.”

The creature wailed, pitiful as it fought to
survive.

“We need to go check it out,” said
Nathan.

“No we don’t,” said Jim with assuredness
inspired by dread.

“Yes we do. We can’t have that thing
screaming like that when Winchell gets here.”

Jim hated the idea of investigating, but knew
that Nathan was right. “Fine,” he said and pointed his gun in the
direction of the woods beside the basketball court. “You
first.”

Nathan felt the sting of a snowflake as it
struck his cheek, and he wiped away the wetness. The way the flake
had startled him revealed his tension. He walked cautiously across
the court and to the line of woods beyond. A hill sloped down at a
gradual decline from where the cabin was perched, and he stopped to
inspect the area before moving on. Jim followed behind, quiet and
cautious as he scanned the area for any sign of movement.

The crunch of leaves beneath their feet was
obnoxiously loud, and Nathan motioned for Jim to stop so they could
listen for the creature that was dying out here. He heard something
breathing fast and shallow like the final gasps of a victim before
death finally claimed it.

They moved further down and came to a
clearing that appeared to be a pathway that had been carved through
the woods wide enough for a vehicle. Nathan pointed down at what
appeared to be indentations caused by tire treads and looked back
at Jim with a questioning glance. Jim shrugged, apparently also
unaware that there was a road down this way. Neither of them knew
where it led.

Nathan followed the path deeper into the
woods. As it turned a corner, the gap in the trees revealed where
it led. There was a cave here that looked manmade, and the creature
that had alerted them was laying at its maw, as if the mountain
itself was making a meal of it. The dog was still alive, and its
glassy eyes stared out at them. Its mouth was agape, and bright
blood leaked from it, forming a pool that the animal was too weak
to crawl away from. The dog’s eyes shone green as Nathan’s
flashlight found them, but then other, smaller eyes glimmered from
atop the prey. Dark forms were writhing in the dog’s mangy fur,
tearing at the creature’s skin, and ripping flesh from bone. The
vision made little sense to Nathan, and he gazed in wonderment as
the small creatures atop the dog paused their feast to stare out at
the intruder.

“Are those bats?” asked Jim, recognizing the
creatures that were feasting on the dog. “What in the…”

The bats screeched before Jim finished his
curse. The creatures took flight, and then a deafening roar
followed their ascent as a wave of black shot forth from the mouth
of the cave. The colony of bats swarmed over Nathan, a storm cloud
of fangs and claws that spun around him, like razors swirling in a
tornado, tearing at his skin and clinging to him with needle sharp
talons. Nathan batted at them, and shot into the air, but no matter
what he did the creatures never relented. Their bloodlust was
insatiable, and even as he crushed one or two that had fallen to
the ground, ten more took their place, blotting out the world
around him as he ran screaming in terror and pain.

Nathan felt talons scrape across his eyes,
and his cries of agony were equaled only by those the dog had made
that first drew him to this cave. He succumbed, although he would
rise again. Once the creatures were sated by his hot blood, he
would come to understand their hunger as he searched the world for
sustenance.

The Tempest Strain was loose, and although
the onset of winter would slow the spread of the disease, it was
only a matter of time before the world was overcome with this new
apocalypse.

Annie Conrad

I was alone, just like I wanted, outside of
the rehab center where the High Rollers had been hiding for the
past couple months. The majority of the survivors chose to stay
within the facility, away from the brutal winter that had buried
the area in several feet of snow, but I prefer solitude, and the
rehab center was too crowded for me.

The High Rollers were in the process of
splitting up, with some choosing to merge with the survivors of
Vineyard to go and seek out a place that would be suitable for a
new settlement, but the destruction of The Department had forced
our group to stay together for the time being. We were wary to
venture out in large groups because of the ever watchful eye of the
military. As much as we wanted revenge against the man responsible
for the deaths of so many of our friends, including my sister, the
lives of the survivors of Vineyard were also in our hands. We
needed to ensure their safety before setting out on our final
crusade.

My injuries still hadn’t healed entirely,
although I did my best to ignore them. I don’t remember much of
what happened after the helicopters showed up. However, the members
of the High Rollers were more than happy to fill in the details. My
exploits on that tower became something of a legend, and every time
I heard it recounted it seemed to get a little more outlandish than
the last. The Rollers were acting as if I had single-handedly
fought off the horde and the helicopters. The adulation made me
uncomfortable, but my mother convinced me to let them continue
telling the story of that day, because they needed to feel like it
had been a victory. It helped them forget just how defeated we’d
become.

The rehab center that we’d been hiding in
since fleeing south was located near a Red world town called Castle
Rock, which was between Denver and Colorado Springs. It felt like
we were trapped there. The Greys had overrun the dead city streets
of Denver, and the springs had been decimated by an air raid. Some
of Billy’s scavengers still reported increased military presence in
that area, as if Jerald and his men were desperate to ensure that
they’d wiped out Jules’ group of fighters, The Department. And now
that winter had swept in, it felt like we were a den of hibernating
bears, just waiting for the break of spring.

Something unexpected had happened shortly
after the onset of winter that ignited a swell of rumors and
speculation through the camp. During the first month that we hid at
the rehab center, we would see planes occasionally, which was one
of the reasons we tried to stay hunkered down. Then an explosion
had drawn us outside, and we saw a plume of black smoke in the blue
sky, with pieces of a destroyed jet falling in the distance. That
was just the first of several similar events, and suddenly the
sightings of planes became fewer and fewer until they disappeared
completely.

Many of the Rollers insisted that this was
proof the military was fighting against itself. They wanted to set
out immediately to take advantage of the internal struggle they
guessed was occurring, but my mother insisted on waiting until
after winter faded before taking action. While the flatlands of
Colorado are usually not overwhelmed with bitterly cold winters,
this year had proven much different. While the sun seemed to shine
more days than not, the snow lingered, rarely melting away on sunny
days like it normally would any other year. She was worried about
the Rollers setting out and then getting caught in one of the
season’s bitter storms.

I stared up at the towering pines that hugged
the entrance of the facility, their branches glistening with fresh
snow that refracted sunlight, causing the needles to twinkle. It
was oppressively cold, and the air stung my lungs. Still though, I
felt more comfortable out there than inside with the swell of
humanity that was packed into the lower level of the old, crumbling
rehab center.

Birds dotted the blue between the pines,
darting across the scape and then back again, as if playing a game
as the shape of their flock mutated. Their chatter filled the air
as they finally settled on a direction. The majority of them headed
north, while a smaller group fled in a different direction,
disappearing behind the tree line.

“What are you doing out here?” asked Ben. I
hadn’t realized he was outside, and I was startled by his
voice.

I placed my hand over my thundering heart and
said, “You scared the crap out of me.”

Ben was standing off to the left of the
building’s entrance, his faithful pug cradled in his arms. He
smiled my way as he scratched at the pup’s chin. “Stubs and I took
a walk.”