A Pound of Flesh: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (44 page)

“Hooah sir.”

Cade hauled Christian off the ground, making
sure to wrench his rotator cuff, just so, causing the delicate
aristocrat a well-earned dose of pain. Then he whispered in the
prisoner’s ear, “It’s time to trade you in. The President’s men
have been waiting very patiently to make your acquaintance.”

Robert Christian’s eyebrows shot up as he
realized what was in store for him. Nothing but unintelligible
grunts escaped through the dirty gag as he begged and pleaded for
his life.

Chapter 49

Outbreak - Day 12

Schriever AFB

Colorado Springs, Colorado

After leaving the would be architect of a
failed new world order with some rough men at the Security Pod,
Cade trudged past the civilian tent city. His legs seemed to be
honed from granite—every step a monumental effort. He didn’t want
to go on a fact finding mission. He was afraid of the answer and he
hadn’t experienced this profound feeling of dread since coming to
Schriever for the first time with Duncan, Daymon and the young
stuttering soldier whose name—he was ashamed to admit—he couldn’t
remember. He stopped for a tick to watch as a group of people
dressed in white hazmat suits filled black rubberized body bags
with the corpses of civilians who had assumed—incorrectly as it
turned out—that they were safe inside of the wire at Schriever.

Cade noticed one of the space suited workers
peel away from the gory task and shuffle in his direction. With
every step the nylon space suit made an irritating swishing sound.
The figure, whose white suit was smeared with crimson traces of
blood, stopped in front of him and removed the hood.

They locked eyes and the worker said in a
soft drawl, “My work here is done.”

Cade tried to process the man’s words and
come up with a reply but said nothing and nodded instead. He
started to turn away but found he couldn’t tear his eyes from the
waist high drift of death.

“It was a bloodbath last night. Screaming and
gunshots went on for hours. They think they contained all of ‘em.
Not before this,” the man said waving his hand at the carnage. He
looked Cade in the eye adding, “Wouldn’t wish this on anyone.”

The man perched a ball cap on his head,
turned abruptly, and walked away whistling a happy tune.

***

Standing in front of the Grayson billet, a
strange feeling of deja vu jumped Cade. Though he wanted this to be
his last homecoming he feared it wouldn’t be. At least not until
the dead stopped walking and the remnants of the Guild were wiped
out.

He pushed on the door.

Locked. Good job honey
.

He rapped gently.

The door hinged inward and he found himself
staring down the gaping barrel of Brook’s M4.

“Looks like Annie got her gun,” he said to
break the ice. He had never had a weapon trained on him by his wife
and he didn’t know what else to say.

“Just protecting my roost.”

“Where’s Raven?”

Motioning to the top bunk behind her she
said, “Still asleep. We had a long night.”

“So I heard,” he said propping his rifle near
the door.

Lowering her weapon Brook began to cry. “I’m
not mad at you anymore,” she said softly between sobs.

With a tilt of his head he asked, “What are
you talking about?”

“This.” She thrust the note at him. “I
thought Raven and I were going to die last night. I didn’t want
our
little girl to die at the hands of one of those things,”
she said with the little girl from Fountain Valley still fresh on
her mind. “And I didn’t want to die mad at you,” she went on. “I
forgot to ask myself—will any of this matter in twenty years. I
stopped doing that two weeks ago after I killed my Mom and Dad...
when I didn’t even know if I was going to be alive for the next two
seconds... let alone twenty years.”

After reading the note, Cade responded in a
calm voice, “I did not see this.”

Brook looked at him with red rimmed eyes and
said softly, “I know... it was on the floor. But back to basics,
what’s the most important thing?”

“Family,” Cade replied as he removed his gore
spattered helmet and set it aside. Then he unbuttoned his soiled
ACU top and tossed it near the door. He gently folded Brook’s small
frame in his arms, gazed deeply into her eyes, and said, “I like
coming home like this... it’s much better than the
alternative.”

Brook smiled, dabbing away a tear. “One more
thing,” she said.

“Yes.”

Eyes brimming with fresh tears she said, “I
lost the baby.”

“I’m so sorry honey.” He squeezed her a
little closer and closed his eyes briefly, thinking of the little
one that could have been.

“Another casualty to add to Pug’s list,” she
hissed. Then she put both small hands behind her husband’s sweaty
head and pulled his face closer to hers. They exchanged a tender
kiss that instantly threatened to evolve into something more.

“Ewww. Get a room!” Raven cried from on
high.

“Hi sweetie.”

“Hi Daddy,” Raven said as she bounded down
and leaped between Mom and Dad. “I love you guys.”

In full stereo Brook and Cade repeated the
same sentiment.

“Sweetie... do you know what day today
is?”

“My birthday?” she said slowly.

Brook led a rousing rendition of Happy
Birthday which Cade considered the hardest song to sing (in tune)
in the world.

“You’re twelve today Raven. Do you know where
your mom and I were twelve years ago today?”

“No,” she said as a quizzical look crossed
her face.

“At the hospital, silly,” Cade said
playfully.

“Do I get a present?”

Cade tousled her head and said, “Since you
are too old for a pony we’ll go see the armorer and get you a rifle
just your size.”

“That’s my department,” Brook jokingly
informed her husband.

“In all seriousness, I have to go find Nash.
Before I left for Jackson Hole, she and the President presented me
with an offer that I couldn’t refuse. Now I have got to go and
collect.”

Raven asked, “When will you be back?”

“Soon Mister Moon.”

***

Schriever Security Pod

Reluctantly Cade relinquished his Glock. Then
he unslung the SCAR carbine and handed both weapons to the stoic,
stone faced Secret Service agents.

As he made for the inner sanctum, the taller
of the two agents said, “Captain Grayson, I have to hold the
blade.”

“Understood,” he answered and removed the
Gerber and placed it on the counter.

The man silently nodded and reaching past
Cade opened the door for him.

Walking into the conference room Cade was
taken aback by the number of people sitting and standing around the
expansive table.

Valerie Clay sat at one end flanked by
General Gaines, Colonel Shrill, Major Nash, and a handful of
soldiers from the 10th Special Forces who Cade had seen before but
hadn’t yet formally met.

Behind the President, arrayed in a
semi-circle, stood her protection detail clad in navy blue combat
gear and toting MP7 machine pistols.

Cade took a seat in an empty chair next to
Freda Nash, removed his beret, folded it neatly, and placed it on
the polished table.

The diminutive Major glanced sideways,
nodded, and returned her attention to Colonel Shrill who was going
over the information already gleaned from Robert Christian’s first
session with the CIA interrogators.

After a few minutes the briefing ended and
President Clay arose from her chair and moved around the table
toward Cade.

“At ease,” said the President as she pulled a
chair and sat to Cade’s right. “Captain Cade Grayson, I was hoping
I would get to thank you in person for bringing Robert Christian to
justice. He has already confessed to conspiring to overthrow the
government. Furthermore he sent Francis here to assassinate me but
apparently the man, who is a bit of a loose cannon, decided to take
matters into his own hands and did what he did.”

“To be honest, Madam President, I had a dog
in the fight.”

“That’s the main reason I agreed to your
proposal when Major Nash presented it to me. In light of all of
your sacrifice... I think it was the least I could do so that you
and your family can finally have some closure.”

“I won’t have a shred of closure until I hear
him confess.”

The President pushed her chair away and stood
up. She put a hand on the Delta operator’s shoulder and gave it a
gentle squeeze, then turned and disappeared through the door
surrounded by a moving wall of muscle and guns.

Nash poked her head out the door and barked
at the man behind the security desk. “
Croswell
, I want you
to help Captain Grayson transfer the prisoner. And Cade... this
didn’t come easy.”

“Nothing worth fighting for ever does,” he
replied, looking directly into the Major’s eyes. Then turning to
Croswell who had just entered the room he said, “Fill me in.”

“Well, he’s been hooded the entire time and
I’ve alternated the temperature between extremes as you
ordered.”

“I just talked to my wife and she mentioned
that the doctor administered a larger than normal dose of
anti-psychotic meds to the prisoner... has he talked?”

“Your wife’s hunch was correct. His demeanor
changed drastically after only a couple of hours and now that he’s
lucid and coherent he has asked us to call him Francis instead of
Pug. And to top it all off he says he doesn’t remember anything
about the killing spree.”

“Convenient,” Cade muttered.

Croswell went on, “Dr. Keller examined the
prisoner yesterday—when he still preferred to be called Pug. The
doctor... actually he said he was a psychiatrist. Anyway, he
indicated that Pug suffers from acute bi-polar disorder, some form,
or
multiple forms of PTSD, coupled with severe depression.
But
... the fact that he switches between wanting to be
called Pug or Francis points to a severe multiple personality
disorder... Keller said that would account for his alleged lapses
in memory.”

Cade sighed and said, “Let’s have a chat with
Mister whoever he thinks he is at the moment.”

Keys jingled as Croswell worked the lock. He
pulled the door open and motioned for Cade to enter ahead of
him.

Cade squinted from the bright overhead light
as Croswell tailed him into the interview room. The A/C was off.
The warming air was thick with the dank overlapping odors of sweat
and fear.

Chains clinked as the prisoner sat upright in
response to the opening door and subsequent footfalls.

Croswell removed the hood. Purple bruising,
tinted yellow around the edges, ringed the prisoner’s eyes and both
ears were encrusted with black dried blood.

Staring directly into the prisoner’s eyes,
Cade asked, “What is your name?”

“Francis Smith.”

“Then who is Pug?” Cade asked.

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told them...
I do not know who Pug is,” the prisoner said forcefully.

“Let’s revisit this one more time... sticky
footsteps led from the research facility to
your
tent...
your
boots were still wet,” Cade said, jabbing a finger into
the man’s chest. “
You
had the murder weapon in your
possession. Hell... Scooby Doo and the gang could have tracked you
down.”

“Wasn’t me...” Francis mumbled, his eyes
locked on the table top. “I’ll tell you what I told them. I left
Breckenridge because of the Omega outbreak. People started eating
other people... I met those other people on the road and came here
with them. After that fucking quarantine I went to...”

“Where did you go after that,” Cade
pressed.

“I don’t remember. Listen, you have to
believe me. I’m sick. I was abused when I was young... and I have
always had these
lapses
.”

“Let me see if this jogs your memory.
Robert Christian
is not in Jackson Hole. He’s here at
Schriever. In fact, he’s two rooms down being interrogated as we
speak. Listen closely and you might hear him screaming.”

Cade paused menacingly.

“He is already on record saying that he sent
you here to assassinate President Clay.”

Francis’s face blanched.

Cade noticed his breathing begin to quicken.
“What do you have to say for yourself?”

The prisoner’s jaw trembled and he started to
say something.

“Too late,” Cade growled. He slapped a length
of tape over the prisoner’s mouth and pulled a handful of
flex-cuffs from his cargo pocket. He handed two to the airman and
said, “Secure his wrists tightly behind his back.” Then, using
three of the nylon restraints, he secured the prisoner’s legs,
leaving just enough slack so that he could take small shuffling
steps.

Airman Croswell unlocked the manacles and
hauled him to his feet.

“I need a vehicle,” Cade said as he scooped
up his weapons and hustled Francis toward the front doors.

“Wait one,” Croswell said.

Cade stood by the front doors soaking in the
warm sun while Croswell brought a desert tan Humvee around. Then,
being none too gentle, Cade and Croswell each grabbed an arm and a
leg and heaved the hogtied prisoner into the back seat face
first.

“I’ll have it back before noon,” Cade said,
suppressing a grin.

***

Francis cried out each time the Humvee’s wide
tires found a considerable pothole. He could no longer feel his
fingers or toes. The inside of the hood that the rude soldier had
cinched around his head had become slickened with snot and tears.
Two minutes into the trip he had slid from the backseat and was now
face down on the floorboard. His head had become a battering
ram—hitting the door after each of the madman’s sharp turns.

He had been on many journeys like this
through the Nevada desert, he thought darkly. Only he had never
been the one about to be buried.