Evacuation - 02 Page 9

  I opened both eyes, blinked, and saw it correctly. Behind my giant soldier were the rest of the zombies. They must have realized they couldn’t open a fucking door to get at Marf, and that Dave and I couldn’t hit shit, so screw it, they’d follow the leader. And their leader was headed right at us.

  “Run,” Dave said.

  Run where, I thought. I didn’t want to get separated. “Into an apartment,” I said.

  “What about Marfione?”

  “He is on his own right now,” I said. “Now run.”

  Getting up from kneeling, my foot slid. I used the butt of the rifle as a cane, pushing up, got to my feet and ran.

  Dave fired off another shot. “I’m behind you.”

  Behind me. Great. Where was I headed?

  The next apartment was closer to the center and closer to the fire. Last thing I wanted was getting inside and then burning to death. I grabbed the door handle. The door opened and I dove in.

  Dave’s word was true. He was right behind me.

  The door was closing slowly. Too slowly.

  “Close it,” I said. I couldn’t move. Dave was on top of me.

  He skidded off. The mud made any traction difficult. We both kicked around. Dave crawled on his belly toward the door.

  One of the zombies was at the entrance before we could shut the door.

  “Shit,” I said. I wrestled with the rifle. The strap. Holding it correctly.

  It walked up the last step.

  “Chase!” Dave said. He could not get up. The wood floor was streaked as if covered in oil.

  The zombie was missing most of its face. Clearly, something had bitten off its cheek. The exposed blackened gums and rotting teeth were all I saw when it opened its mouth. It stepped into the apartment, just as I got to my knees.

  “Down!”

  It wasn’t Dave.

  I dropped, regardless. I held onto my rifle, but dropped with my belly flat on the floor.

  A gunshot rang out. A hole instantaneously appeared in the center of the thing’s forehead. It stood there.

  Dave kicked it in the chest.

  It fell backward, down the two steps and splattered into a pool of mud. Dave did not waste time. He fumbled for the door, pulled it closed and locked it.

  “Holy fuck,” he said.

  I panted and looked around. The apartment was dark. Far too filled with shadows, despite the windows and fire outside, to see who else was inside.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Were either of you bitten?” A female voice asked.

  “Who is there?” I said.

  I heard a shotgun pump. “Were either of you bitten?”

  “No,” Dave said. “No, neither of us was bitten.”

  Silence. I tried to see in the darkness, to no avail.

  “Hello,” I said, when I could take the silence no longer.

  “Who are you?” the woman asked. That wasn’t quite fair, since I’d asked first. I deserved an answer first. Whoever she was, she had the advantage. Her eyes must be adjusted to the lack of light and she had a weapon obviously aimed at us.

  “I’m Chase and that’s Dave. We came over with the Coast Guard and just got here, maybe an hour ago, but I’m not sure. Wasn’t long ago, though.” My hands were out, reaching, fingers stretching, looking to touch something. Anything.

  “Stay still,” she said. “Who was the captain on the boat?”

  “Keel,” Dave said. “Travis Keel.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  0410 hours

  The four of us sat with backs to the wall.

  “They got Barron,” Private Elysia Palmeri said. Her knees were up, her rifle standing between her thighs. Her hands gripped the barrel. It seemed like an actual part of her body. With ripped sleeves and dried mud covering her face, I could only imagine the battle that unfolded.

  Private Christopher Saylor’s ankle was wrapped in a crude splint. Wood stakes were tied in place with torn bed sheets. I had no idea where his boot was. I didn’t see a rifle. He held his sidearm, his finger just outside the trigger guard. His elbows rested on drawn knees, head down.

  “He okay?” Dave said, as if Saylor wasn’t even in the room.

  Palmeri looked at her partner and then Dave, nodding slightly. “We rounded a corner. Nothing, right? So we moved forward. Figured the place was deserted. Hoped it was, you know? As we made our way toward the center of the camp, we could see the M.A.S.H. unit, the mess halls, and not one fucking zombie. Then Barron, who was behind us, screams. Not like he’s hurt, but like he’s surprised as fucking hell. Caught off guard. We both turned around, and saw two of them had him down. He lost his footing. Must have been easy pulling him onto his back. He screamed as he punched and kicked at the two that attacked him. Saylor was trying to get a shot off, but it was so dark. They were bucking and squirming around. There was no shot. And the whole time Barron’s screaming. Like a fucking pansy. He’s just howling. ‘Get them off me, get them off me.’”

  We’d heard the screaming all the way at the boat, coming over the radio. He sounded as if he had been getting ripped apart. Shredded limb from limb.

  “I told the sergeant. Said that Barron was down, you know? Don’t know what I expected. Truth is,” she closed her eyes, “I kind of panicked. Saylor couldn’t get a shot off, and those things were just freaking creepy. I can’t blame Barron. It was like he was covered with spiders. I hate spiders. God, I hate spiders. As much as I suffer from arachnophobia, these things are worse. No shit, right? So I don’t know. My training kicked in. I used my rifle and started smashing it into skulls. Swinging this bastard like an ax.” Palmeri lifts her rifle and drops the butt onto the wood floor. It tap-tap-taps.

  “I shot one,” Saylor said. First word since Dave and I made it inside the apartment. “I shot one, but I shot Barron, too.”

  “It wasn’t a fatal shot for Barron, anyway.” Palmeri put one hand on Saylor’s shoulder. “It was a good shot. The way they were moving around, it was a very good shot.”

  “Barron never stopped screaming. That thing got him. Bit him. Had pieces of Barron’s throat in his teeth. Blood gushed from Barron’s neck. Squirted.” Saylor sat with his back to the wall. He looked to the ceiling. I couldn’t see if his eyes were open. I couldn’t tell if he was crying. “I shot that thing again. In the skull. His brains blew out the back of his head. He fell over, dead for real this time. Dead for good.” Barron had been bitten.

  “And Barron?” I said.

  Palmeri shook her head. “I did it. We didn’t want him to turn. He knew. He was dying anyway. Losing blood. Losing so much blood. There was nothing we could do for him.”

  “There was nothing anyone could have done.” Saylor got to his feet. He coddled his left leg, hand covering his knee. He limped away from the wall toward one of the beds.

  “Don’t let them see you,” Palmeri said.

  “They aren’t tall enough to see inside the windows,” he said.

  “McKinney?”

  I pressed the bud in my ear and spoke into my sleeve. “Marfione?”

  “Where are you guys?”

  “Is that Lou?” Palmeri said.

  “It’s Marfione,” I said.

  Palmeri pulled the bud from my ear and put it into hers. She talked into the radio on her sleeve. “Lieutenant, Lou? It’s Palmeri, sir.”

  I was out now and couldn’t hear the conversation. Dave listened. Saylor wasn’t. Somehow, he and Palmeri must have lost their buds during the struggle and fight. It must have been pulled out, ripped off.

  I waited, tried to listen, but heard nothing. Finally, Palmeri pulled the bud out of her ear; it dangled from my shoulder. I picked it up and plugged it back in. “Well?”

  “Marf’s okay. Holed up, like us. Says he’s still surrounded. He’s checking floorboards. See if he can’t crawl out, sneak away,” she said.

  “And us?” I said. “What’s our plan?”

  I was only too happy to turn over command. Dave looked to me for lead
ership. That was fine when it was the two of us, but it wasn’t a burden I wanted. With Palmeri and Saylor, I could relinquish it back to the military.

  Then I looked over at Saylor.

  One boot. A splint.

  I thought about Chatterton when he was in the hull of his ship, talking to his people. The conversation I overheard when he thought I was asleep where he said my kids and I were a liability and was worried we’d slow them down.

  I looked away. Looked at my own feet, for lack of anything else to look at. I felt ashamed. I thought the same way Chatterton had. I pursed my lips.

  “What are you thinking?” Dave said.

  I shook my head.

  “You had an idea?” he said.

  I shook my head again, just wanting him to drop it, and willing him to shut his mouth.

  “I’ll tell you what he was thinking,” Saylor said. He was not using his inside voice.

  Palmeri shushed him.

  “No. Fuck that. I know what McKinney was thinking. I know what you’re all thinking.” He slapped his leg. “I’m going to get you all killed. I’m useless on the team.”

  “No one thinks that,” Palmeri said. She lacked conviction in her words. She would be a terrible actress. “We’re all getting out of here. Together.”

  My mind was a mess. I wanted to knock it around. The thoughts that filled it scared me. It wasn’t me who was thinking such cowardly thoughts. Couldn’t be. Survival of the fittest. Don’t have to be the fastest, just faster than the slowest. Dammit! I needed the voices to stop.

  “McKinney ain’t thinkin’ about me. He ain’t worried ‘bout us all getting back to the ship safely. Are you, Chase? It’s just about you. Just about you and your kids, right?”

  I held up my hands, palms out, shaking my head as if he had me all wrong.

  “Well, fuck you,” he said. “I got a family, too, you know. Kids. Two, just like you. But younger. Babies. In Maryland. Right outside D.C. Don’t you think I want to be with them keeping them safe at home?”

  I was silent.

  “I’m with the fucking reserves. Got shipped here before all this shit broke out. Some training in the mountains. The Adirondacks. Was supposed to be just for a stupid weekend, and then they kept me here. My whole unit. They kept us here. Called my wife, told her. She was pissed. Never wanted me in the reserves anyway. This was icing on the cake for her, you know. Fucking something, she could throw in my face. I’d be missing my daughter’s third birthday. My other daughter, my baby, wasn’t even one yet. Yeah, that’s right. Wasn’t. Past tense. I haven’t been able to reach them. I have no clue where they are, or if they’re all right. Reports we got on the Capital,” he stopped, head hung low. Web of one hand supported his forehead. “I’m not giving up. I’m finishing this mission, McKinney. I’m getting out of here and I’m done. I’m going home. I’m going to get my family. So fuck you. I’ll go it alone if you don’t want me slowing you down. I’ll go it alone.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Char kept Cash close and held his hand. It was kind of like before. Just different. Dad was off searching for missing people. The family was separated. What made it different was Allison. She was okay enough, but she wasn’t Mom.

  Mom. It was hard not to think about her. Wondering if she was all right? She couldn’t be. She was one of them, a zombie, when she and Cash left the house. Had to leave, because Mom’s husband attacked Char in the garage. He’d attacked her, and she’d chopped his hand off with an ax. It hadn’t been safe to stay. Cash had been reluctant to leave. She convinced him that the only way they’d be safe was by finding Dad.

  She’d been right. He’d been looking for them, too. She knew he would have been and that he would have come for them. That was Dad. Everything he did, it was for them. While Cash might be too young to realize it, she was old enough to see and appreciate it.

  Like before, Dad would be back. She knew he would. In the meantime, there was no way she’d let go of her brother’s hand. For what it was worth, Allison held onto her hand in pretty much the same way. Tight. Sweaty.

  She hadn’t grabbed for Cash’s hand right away, and Allison hadn’t held her hand until the explosion somewhere in the camp. The sound made everyone jump. There was a moment of silence; either that or her hearing had been impaired before the rolling ball of flames had been spat into the night sky.

  That’s when everyone held hands.

  Three things happened, really. The explosion. The captain couldn’t raise anyone on the radio. He tried, too. Kept shouting into the handheld and paced up and down. He looked like he depressed the button on the side so hard that his fingers might puncture plastic and wind up inside the thing. That was the second thing. The third was the one soldier standing like a guard by the ship.

  That guy watched them. Seemed to watch everyone on the ship, especially the Captain. Thing was, the Captain kept watching the guard. Something was going on, and Charlene had no clue what. Nevertheless, when those three things happened, she snatched up her little brother’s hand, and Allison snatched up hers.

  The Coast Guard crew looked busy until the explosion. Once that rocked the night, they went from doing what looked like seamen things –reviewing maps, going up and down stairs, calling out to check for this and check for that—to staying positioned along the side of the boat with rifles.

  The paramedic woman was with Crystal, the one from the other small group of survivors. The two talked, and whenever they caught Char looking at them, they smiled. It was one of those fake smiles, an everything-is-gonna-be-all-right smile. Unless they thought Char was four or dumb, then they were the oblivious ones. Clearly, nothing was going to be all right, or the same, or even halfway okay. And a stupid smile wouldn’t make things any better. Whatever. She just pacified them with a returned smile that maybe showed off a few more teeth under a slightly curled lip than necessary, but so what.

  “I don’t have a good feeling,” she’d said. She watched the flame ball roll into the sky. Maybe she’d reached for Allison’s hand first. She definitely reached for Cash’s.

  “Is Daddy, okay?”

  “He’s fine.” Char gave his hand a squeeze. “He’s probably the one that blew whatever that is up. Killing zombies.”

  Cash smiled. “You think so?”

  “Think so? No. I know so,” she said. “He’s out there kicking zombie butt.”

  Cash giggled. “Yeah, he is.”

  “Yeah, he is,” Char agreed.

  She didn’t believe it. She had no clue where her father was, if he was all right, or what caused the explosion and who was kicking whose butt.

  The boat sat on the river with the only light coming from the fire. The flames did next to nothing to pierce the darkness that enveloped them.

  “That’s it,” Captain Keel said. “We’re done. We’re pulling away.”

  “Sir?” the paramedic, Erway, said.

  “We’re pulling out. Not leaving, just going out onto the river. Not leaving, just getting away from land.” Keel walked toward the helm.

  Char tugged on Allison’s shirt.

  “Don’t worry,” Allison said. She let go of Char’s hand. “Captain?”

  “Not now,” he said.

  Char watched Allison rush toward the man. “Sir, we can’t pull away. If they come back, if they’re being chased, the boat needs to be here. They might not have time to wait for us to get back into the slip.”

  “It’s what we’re doing.”

  “I don’t think…”

  “Ms. Little, if you do not like it, if you have a problem with my command, you are more than welcome to get off my vessel and wait with Corporal Spencer,” he said. “Deisenroth, fire up the engines.”

  “Sir,” Allison said, grabbing the captain’s arm.

  He shrugged out of the hold with a violent shake. Allison stumbled backward. Erway caught her from behind.

  Char watched Allison closely; knew she was working out what to do next. Had to be wondering whether they go or sta
y. Couldn’t be an easy choice. Had to be made. “Allison,” Char said.

  Allison nodded. Their eyes locked. “Don’t let go of your brother.”

  “You’re not seriously going to get off the vessel,” Keel said.

  “We are, and we’re going to take some supplies. And these weapons.” Allison spun around.

  Keel reached out. His hands tugged on her hair. Erway stepped between them. “Captain!”

  “You are not getting off the ship, and you most certainly are not taking anything that belongs the Coast Guard, ma’am.” Fat fingers fumbled with straightening his tie clip. “Do we understand each other, Ms. Little?”

  “I’m sorry. I do not believe we do.” Allison backed away.

  Char didn’t need direction. She gathered their weapons, and from the footlocker, extra ammo and knives.

  “Young lady,” Keel said. “Maar, stop her. Stop that child.”

  Maar wore a Coast Guard baseball cap that clearly rested on a head of thinning hair. When he got close to Char, she dropped what she’d gathered. Dropped everything except the handgun. She brought it up, finger inside the trigger guard, arms extended with the barrel half a foot from Maar’s forehead.

  His hands went up. “Sir?”

  “Ah, geez, Maar. It’s a child.”

  “Don’t matter how old I am, does it?” Char said softly, her words barely audible. “I could be six or sixty, and kill you the same. Isn’t that right, Maar?”

  He backed up.

  “Cash, pick up the guns and the knives, now.”

  Allison and Cash picked up as much as they could. “This could have been avoided,” she said.

  “Here’s the thing now, Ms. Little. You want off my ship, good. Go. Because when your friends return, when the military gets back, we’ll bring them on board. But you and your kids, you’re going to be stranded. Left here. Shit out of luck,” Keel said.

  Erway said, “Captain, I think we’re…”

  “Enough,” Keel waved a hand at the paramedic. “Let them off the boat, Maar.”

  Like Maar had done anything to stop them. Permission from the Captain didn’t mean a thing, Char thought. I’d already granted myself permission.