The Orphans (Book 2): Surviving the Turned (14 page)

Greg, who was not above petty teen mockery, held up his middle finger and waved it in the air as he went back into the cabin. The three girls were all staring at Greg as he walked into the cabin waving his middle finger. He saw them and smiled, thinking about what it must look like. The three of them were staring him down, and as he opened his mouth, Kristy said, “Well, screw you too, Greg. Christ, man, it’s not like we want you to take care of us, so teach us, ass, and maybe we—”

“You can stop, Kristy. God, I think I’d actually rather be in school… maybe I’m feeling ill; I never thought that I would say something like that. The finger, I promise you, was meant for Shaun Fox and only Shaun Fox. ‘Why?’ you ask. I can only say it’s a guy thing, but he truly deserved it.”

Greg walked over to the wooden table, set the three identical pistols down, and pointed to them. “Each of you please pick one of these up so that I can show you quickly how to use them. These are easier than the shotgun.” Each of the girls picked one up and almost instantaneously did a Charlie’s Angels pose with the gun. Greg rolled his eyes and said, “If you’ll notice the small button on the grip, push this down please. You will see a red laser; much like the shotgun, you shall hit what you put that laser on. It is very important that you aim these and do not have a shaky arm. If you do, you will not hit what you are aiming at—I can assure you of that. It is very important that you squeeze the trigger very easily, not hard… and, yes, there is a difference.”

“Okay, senior drill instructor,” Tina said.

“Yeah, well,
if you had an instructor like the one I had… you’d have to do it right the first time, every time you held a gun.
I mean, it never really sank in with the damn handgun; they are a pain in the ass to shoot, but I never got the gift of a sweet-ass laser sight.”

Kristy, who didn’t really know Greg said, “Did you go to a gun academy or something?”

Greg laughed, pointing the gun over the fireplace. “Yeah, I went to an academy all right. It was my dad’s school of
Do it right, and don’t mess up or you can plan on doing pushups when you get home, getting a speech on the way home, and getting your choice of mowing, car detailing, or cleaning every gun one by one
.”

Kristy said, “Sounds intense.”

Greg nodded, looking at the gun while choking back a tear, knowing he’d give anything to have his dad back. As he showed each of them how to load a gun and how to get a fresh magazine loaded, he said, “Well, it might have been tough, but he’s the reason that I’m able to show you all this. If not, we’d have to rely on Shaun for everything, and I don’t think he needs that kind of stress right now.” He handed the gun back to Kristy and had each of them get extra boxes of ammo and magazines.

*****

Shaun winced thinking about it. He didn’t want to unfold the paper, but he knew he didn’t have a choice. The only answers he was going to get were the ones written on the note. If it wasn’t his dad who was responsible, he would have a sense of relief; however, he would have an even bigger sense of fear. That would mean he could do nothing to help. He felt in his heart that if his dad had anything to do with it, there would be no way that he couldn't go forward and try to help. The paper was folded into eighths; Shaun unfolded it slowly, afraid of what he might learn.

Shaun,

I write this letter and it is the most difficult thing I will ever do. I know that we have not had the best father–son experience. I always had wished that there would be more time, that there would be more days to do things together. The problem with always having more time is that when it runs out, there is nothing you can do to get it back.

When I lost your mother, I thought that there would never be another woman for me. I was not looking for love when I found it, but when I did, there was no way I’d say no to the love that was before me. I know that things didn’t turn out how they should, but God laughs at us when we make our plans son. Make yours and live for the day because you don’t know if there will ever be a tomorrow.

I thought that I was going to be able to make a change, that I could get the cure that would solve everything. I hate that one of the last things we spoke about was a lie. I did give Karen the cure, but the cure was so much more that I can’t explain it. I don’t understand how it came out so wrong. We developed it in the military and I was never told of the reactions to the drug. After your mother had passed, I did not care. I never checked back with the military to see if the cure we came up with back then had saved the soldiers. Seems like maybe I could have saved the world a lot of trouble if I had.
After I gave Karen the drug I found out that my assistant Rogers had modified the drug sentencing her to a fate of evil.

Shaun, I can only tell you from the last thoughts I might ever have, that I am sorry for not being here when your mother passed, for not being there afterward when you needed me. You will be alone now—probably not any more so than you already were. You need to take care of those kids. They are going to rely on you, but you don’t have to do it alone. You can ask for help… don’t be afraid to ask for help. The strongest men in the world have always asked for help. They relied on those whom they needed to make things happen.

My notes for this drug are at work and the originals are at home. Be careful if you try to go back. If you need these for any reason, at any time, you need to be careful. I predict these things will be everywhere. From what I saw yesterday, you’ll need to aim for the head to bring them down. The Army will eventually tie this to me, and I’m sure they will be looking for me. Be careful if you go to E&T. It’s going to be filled with people who are Turned.

I pray to God that you already know this—I love you, son. You, above all else, were my absolute greatest achievement. I hope that you will carry on developing into the great man that I know you will be. The only problem is that you will have to lose many years and many experiences that you should have had. You will need to learn and survive. If you can stay in the hills, I urge you to. However, if there is something that you can do to help others... then I ask more of you then I deserve to. I ask that you put the greater good ahead of yourself. You have to be the one to do it if anything can be done. I hope that I can meet you one day again if God grants my way into heaven.

Your loving father forever.

*****

Shaun’s shoulders and body started to shake. He held his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, trying to stay strong but failing to do so. He couldn’t believe what was happening. Even more so, that it was his dad who was responsible. The underlying thought in the back of Shaun’s head was wondering what would have happened if he’d have just left Ellie alone that day. He had his head in his knees, tears making the knees of his jeans wet. He set his head back and looked up through the leaves to the blue skies. He thought of his parents finally back together, hoping that he made it past the gates. If so, his dad would have had a hell of a lot of explaining to do.

He held the letter up to his face, pounding his hands lightly on his face, shaking his head. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and folded the paper back up before shoving it into his pocket. Shaun looked behind him when he heard a sound, wondering if Greg was coming out to test fire some more pistols. Instead, he saw something worse; he saw five people who didn’t know how to shoot a handgun, shotgun, or rifle but all armed to the damn teeth.

He realized quickly that there would be a full house going into town, that this might be a great idea, and that it might be the worst thing Greg had ever came up with. He pushed to his feet and wiped his face, knowing that there’d be nothing he could do to hide the redness and puffiness. He grabbed his rifle and started to approach the group, still trying to take it all in. He could see Greg walking a handful of empty water bottles out in front of the group who were all lining up apparently to try out their newly acquired weapons.

Greg ran up to the side of everyone, not wanting anything to do with being in front of a large group of teenagers who didn’t know what they were doing with the weapons yet. Shaun screamed, “Wait, wait!”

Mike, still learning lessons about listening to others who knew more than he did, waved a hand, dismissing him and shouldered the shotgun, pulling the trigger and pumping five times until the gun was empty. When Shaun saw Mike raising the gun to fire, he cupped his ears tight and waited patiently at a distance until he was done. Greg had done the same, realizing the second he started firing that he had forgotten his ear protection and everyone else’s as well. Shaun walked the short distance up to the rest of the group and asked in a calm tone, “Did you forget something, Greg?”

Greg, who didn’t want to say it because he knew what he would hear back, had no choice, because all he could hear was the ringing inside his head. “Huh?”

Shaun patted him on the shoulder, yelling, “Good job, Greg. Now they’re all deaf and we need to go to town and be aware of what's going on. But we won’t have any clue when the Turned are coming to make us their next meal because they can’t hear shit.”

Mike’s face started to turn red and anger sparked in his eyes, not wanting to admit that he had screwed up a second time. Shaun noticed this and realized that he needed to be taught a lesson, but that was not the time or place; a kid’s pride could only go through so much in one day. He’d already been embarrassed more than he could probably handle. Instead, Shaun walked up to the group and patted Mike on the shoulder. “Nice shooting, Mike, but I think that it might be a good idea to get you guys some ear protection. There aren’t too many shots like that you can shoot and still be able to say anything afterwards other than ‘huh?’.”

Mike started to say something but realized he was getting a free pass and knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He nodded his head and slowly started reloading the shotgun.               Greg ran inside and came back less than a minute later, having the advantage of knowing where most of the items were because of helping Kristy earlier. He distributed yellow foam earplugs for the group so they could learn how to fire the weapons and not go completely deaf. Greg and Shaun walked the line, helping with posture and stances and watched. With each shot, the group finally started to look like they knew what they were doing. After witnessing how well the others were hitting their targets and reloading their weapons, Shaun and Greg felt confident that they were as ready as they’d ever be to go to town.

Greg handed Shaun his pack, and Shaun positioned it so he could tie the axe to it. He attached his bow using Velcro straps to the opposite side and jumped up and down, seeing what would fall or make noise. He looked at Greg with a smile. “Damn, man, how much stuff did you pack in here?”

Greg crossed his arms proudly. “Well, if we run into a mob of them, we have a truckload of ammo to take them out with. Everyone packed heavy, but it shouldn’t be bad at E&T right? I mean, it was Sunday when this stuff spread; that’s not a busy day there, is it?”

Shaun shrugged. “Well, it shouldn’t have been, but who knows? I don’t think that we were the only orphans in town.”

Tina said, “Yeah, there are going to be a lot of kids out there without parents now—if they were lucky enough to live.”

Shaun shook his head no. “I mean, that place worked people till they were dead tired, past the brink of what they should have asked of people. Unfortunately, I could see someone being there when that Rogers guy who worked with Dad was there. I don’t know any of the details or how long he was roaming the halls before my dad found him. I just know that whatever is in there, we need to be careful. If we find something in Dad’s notes and a sample of what he gave to Ellie’s mom, we will need to be careful with it. That stuff is hell in a bottle, and we don’t need to unleash any more of it.”

Chapter 9: Briefing

Day 2, 0900 hours

Officer Phelps walked down the middle of the cargo plane, chewing on a thick stogie. As its smoke rolled to the top of the plane, it matched his peppered, black-and-gray short hair. He had been walking around the plane, the base, and the barracks ever since hearing of the outbreak and that his team had been called up from leave to a special assignment. He knew nothing about what was going on, as all communications and outside newsfeeds to the base had stopped. They had just returned from a one-month mission in South America, helping to raise the price of cocaine by decimating one of the jungle factories that no one in South America would ever admit existed. He and his men had been looking forward to spending some time resting and relaxing on the beaches of the East Coast, drinking domestic beer, grilling, and eating to their heart’s content.

Phelps went back in his mind to the video call he had received, informing him of this mission. He asked what would be needed of him, and the officer who made the call was less than informative. The officer simply told Phelps that because of the outbreak, there was important information that might need to be gathered and that they would be told more on a need-to-know basis. Phelps asked when he would need to know this; the officer advised him that when the next video transmission took place, they hoped to know more. Before finishing the call, the officer told Phelps to have his crew of six, which included him, ready to go.

Phelps walked through the locker room assigned to his men. He smiled to himself, thinking how everyone of the damn things looked exactly the same; it didn’t matter if they were in Singapore or Louisiana, every base had the same amenities. The only difference was the temperature outside and whether you had to worry about enemy fire taking you out while walking across base.

He checked on his men, making sure everyone looked tight, ready to go, and had their head in the game. He looked into the rec room off of the facilities and saw Aslin with a notebook in his hand. Nobody would know that he was getting ready to go on a mission; he had nerves of steel. He didn’t have a death wish; he just felt that death couldn’t find him. Phelps could only imagine the gore that son of a bitch was jotting down.

Aslin was an aspiring author who could descriptively explain what happened when the shit hit the fan. His military novels were the best and most accurate he’d ever read. He had also advised him that he would never be allowed to tell a bedtime story to any of his children. Aslin was very proud of that fact. He was one of the top-ranking qualifiers every year in the military's sniper long-distance contest. He could be in the thick of shit or in an abandoned building on fire and still take out his targets. Phelps was glad Aslin would be coming along on the mission, even though he had no idea exactly what the mission was. Aslin looked up, seeing him and waved the notebook at Phelps. “Hey, you want to take a sneak peek at my latest?”

Phelps waved his hand no at him. “Hell no; I just ate. I still wonder how your little old mother can sleep in the same house as you and not fear what could happen to her in her sleep.”

Aslin laughed as he held his hands out straight, impersonating a zombie, not knowing how
not
funny that joke was going to be in the hours to come. “Sir, my mother loves me. She has nothing to fear from me. It’s anyone who isn’t invited that comes into the house that has to worry.”

Phelps nodded, knowing that he was not joking. “Let me know when you’re done. I’ll make sure to read it on an empty stomach… in the morning; maybe that will give me enough time to mentally heal from the experience of seeing what goes on in your head.”

Aslin gave him a salute, folded his notebook, and headed off to smoke. He yelled, “Well, I don’t know if a day is enough time to get over what's in my head, but you can definitely make the best attempt.”

Phelps walked away, leaving Aslin to his demonic thoughts. He was thinking in the back of his mind how there was no chance in hell that he would be reading anything about what he was currently writing. The shit would be stuck in his head for weeks, especially if he was writing horror stuff instead of the usual military books he liked to work on. He went into the barracks room where he saw Lieutenant Clary, his head of demolition, sitting at a card table with his back to him. He looked at the items spread out on the table and saw a plethora of wires, pieces of what looked to be C-4, and trigger mechanisms. He said, “Clary, how we doing today?”

Phelps stood there watching while Clary continued to play with a set of timers that he’d modified; he had heard nothing. Phelps waited for him to look up, knowing very well that he couldn’t pass the military hearing test to save his life. When he did look up and saw Phelps standing there, he looked startled.

“What are ya sneaking up on people for? I happen to be dealing with some very delicate equipment here, sir.”

Phelps nodded, fully respecting the amount of power sitting on the table and pointed at some hybrid concoction Clary had in front of him. “What are you making? It isn’t going to blow a hole in the plane, is it?”

Clary smiled confidently, shaking his head in the negative. “No, sir; it won’t blow a hole in your plane.” He picked up an empty Coke bottle, spat the remains of a wad of chewing tobacco into it, and continued, “Yeah, no way it’d blow a hole in the plane. I mean, really, I don’t even know if there’d be anything left that could fall to Earth. Maybe that little black box would make it.”

Phelps looked a little closer at the equipment and nodded his head slowly, turned around, and started to walk away. Looking back over his shoulder, he said, “God, you’re a scary man. You haven’t been drinking, have you?”

Clary replied simply, “No, sir… well, not heavily.”

“Make sure to keep it that way today; we’re going into hell’s mouth in a few hours, I think. I need everyone sharp today.”

Clary’s hands went to his lap, where he had placed the flask holding the amber-colored love of his life. He tightened the lid and returned it to the pocket of his camo cargo pants. He then went back to assembling the project at hand, thinking in the back of his mind that he’d need to top the flask off in case he ended up being stranded somewhere horrible for a few days.

Phelps went through the locker room, looking for the last of his men and found Clare sitting at a computer, typing as if his fingers were possessed. Phelps was better with a two-finger typing approach where he only used his index fingers to type at a very slow pace. Clare, who was not looking at his hands, was pulling up page after page of data, shaking his head in astonishment. He paused for a millisecond to push his glasses up and finally stopped. He whispered, “Well, fuck me sideways.”

Phelps laid a hand on his shoulder, making the young man jump. “I’ll pass, thanks. What are you doing, son?”

Clare rose from his chair to conduct the full salute routine, as he was still new to the SEALs rank and team. His expertise had been requested, and he was coming for his first mission with this team. “Officer Phelps, excuse the language, please. I didn’t mean any—”

Phelps gripped the younger man’s bicep, pushing him out of the way to get a closer look at the data. He was remembering what he had told Clary about going into hell’s mouth soon and thinking there was a very strong chance that he had not been exaggerating when those words left his mouth. Phelps, a long time military man, had seen the worst of the worst and now realized those images in his head might look like training ops compared to what they were about to face. “Clare, what the fuck are you looking at?”

Clare looked confused about the salute and still snapped one off to cover himself. He pushed his glasses up again and pointed at the screen. “This is early this morning, sir. Each one of these planes was supposedly was in America yesterday and each one of these has been blown up. The infection apparently has made it across to Europe. If you look here, that’s Mexico; they are putting up a fence and blocking our borders.”

Phelps laughed out loud. “Shit it must be bad if they are trying to keep us out.”

Clare continued, “It shows real time on this, and they are moving like, well… excuse my French, sir… absolutely insane motherfuckers. They have what looks like their entire army in place on the opposite side, armed to the teeth and ready to kill anything that might present itself.”

“Are there any more details on what we’re dealing with, son? Does it say what the military is doing with all the forces who are already are in America and available?”

Clare pointed to one of the many windows on the monitor. “If you look here, it looks like they are focusing on containment. They aren’t trying to move in; they are setting up a perimeter, sir. The news reports say that people from the Midwest are running like rats from a sinking ship. The Army is trying to contain them, but there are too many places they aren’t able to secure fully. They are reporting that they fear the spread of whatever it is won't be containable; there are just too many weak points and not enough men.” He pointed to a news graph showing the spread, then to a blood-red spot in Iowa. “I hacked into the CDC and according to them, it started in Iowa. That is the last place you want to be right now.”

Phelps patted the young man on the shoulder. “Well, aren’t you just about the most chipper, good news guy to have around? Glad you could make the team, son. It would seem you are going to have one hell of an initial popping of the war cherry.”

Clare went to point out more, but Phelps said, “I don’t think I need to know any more about the world caving in on itself, but thanks for the update. I think there might have been a reason they were keeping people in the dark.”

Clare laughed and Phelps gave him a stern eye fucking; Clare choked back the laugh, realizing very quickly there was no joking matter here. He was dead serious. “Let’s turn this shit off; I don’t want anyone else seeing this. We know we’re most likely going to a very unfriendly place, and I don’t think anyone, including you as a SEAL virgin, needs to be reminded of it. All you’re going to do is psych yourself out, freak out the rest of the men, and potentially get yourself and—more importantly—me killed.”

Clare nodded. “Sorry about that.”

Phelps, now feeling the adrenaline pumping through him, snapped off, “
Sorry about that
? Sorry about that what?”

Clare now realized it was the perfect time to do the salute that he’d almost been pushed into skipping earlier. “Officer Phelps, sorry about that, sir; I didn’t mean anything by it, sir.”

Phelps heard laughing a few lockers away and made a line straight to its source. He was aggravated and thinking that the shit was going to be hitting the fan. He rounded the corner, where he found McClellan and Aslin lying down on opposite benches, stretched out, each with a lit cigarette in his mouth. Phelps, who was anti-smoking, especially after quitting for his fiftieth time, saw them laughing and decided that, yes, his blood was boiling. He came around the corner and slammed a locker door shut, making both of them fall off the benches then shooting straight up. Aslin’s eyes were cue balls and his hands were up, ready to kill. Phelps said, “You two think there is something funny going on here?”

McClellan hopped up too, never dropping his smoke from his mouth. He nodded his head and pointed around the corner. “We don’t mean anything by it, sir. We just figured it wouldn’t be long before that guy would get his first ass chewing from Officer Phelps.”

Phelps took a breath, staring at the cigarette smoke, knowing that his wife wouldn’t know if he had one. “Yeah, there’s a good chance that it won’t be his last either, if he doesn’t stop putting his nose where it doesn’t need to be.”

McClellan looked over at Aslin who was nodding his head. Aslin shook a smoke free from his pack and handed it to Phelps. “Sir, for the love of country, we both encourage you to please smoke this. We won't tell Julie; we promise. I still got that story if you want to read it.”

Phelps smiled. He knew his wife would give him a hard time if she smelled smoke on his fatigues. He slid it in his shirt pocket, figuring it might be something he would need later.

Phelps needed to find the last of his men to make sure he was ready to go. It was his job to make sure that, before any operation, everyone looked like they had their head on straight. Of course, they also had to give off the perception that they were ready to kill and keep a level head. He went to the last row of lockers and found Gowland sitting by himself with his locker door open. Even from a distance, Phelps could see that there was a shrine to his baby girl in there. He held a picture of her and pressed his lips to it with his eyes shut. He placed it back in its spot on the inside of the locker, made the sign of the cross, and kissed the cross that hung around his neck. Phelps walked up behind him and patted him on the back. “She’s getting big, Gowland. What are you feeding that kid?”

Gowland smiled, looking at her picture and nodding his head. “Steak and potatoes, sir, and whole milk. And of course, nothing but butter on everything she eats.”

Phelps plucked one of the pictures off of the locker and stared at the newborn. He smiled; if he needed a reason to go through the shit that he did everyday, maybe this precious baby girl was it. Gowland started to say something just as the lights inside the barracks began flashing red. He pressed his head against the locker, slid off his wedding ring, placed it inside, and shut the door.

The five men and Phelps assembled in the front of the building as the sun rose higher, heating up the day. A pair of military police waited outside the barracks with a Humvee ready to escort the group to the plane that would be their transport. The men loaded in, slamming the doors, each of them realizing they were about to face an enemy on their own soil. On top of that, they knew nothing more than when they had gotten the news that their leave had been cancelled.