In Harm's Way (6 page)

Cade was in the company of his wife Brook and daughter Raven for the first time in many days, surely the impetus allowing the weary operator to shut down so completely. He stretched and yawned, Brook’s scent gracing the covers blessing him with a Zen-like calm.

A series of loud raps on the outside door wiped away any escapist thoughts, bringing Cade back to reality.

“Who is it?” he yelled, hoping he would be able to shoo him or her away without opening the door.

“Airman Davis, I’m here to see Captain Grayson.”

Cade rubbed his eyes and plowed his fingers through a bad case of bed head. It was going to be tough to stand before the green E-2 with a straight face--especially after the ruse he had pulled on the naive young man less than twenty-four hours ago. Also, being called Captain was going to take a while to get used to. He’d never had any aspirations of climbing rank and serving as a paper warrior in the Pentagon. All Cade Grayson wished to do was serve his country honorably and follow orders. He couldn’t bring himself to believe that he had said yes to President Valerie Clay. She knew exactly how to angle her request, she simply appealed to his patriotism to get him to come back to the Unit.

Cade replayed the President’s words in his head. “I need you... in fact, what’s left of your country needs you.” The last part was all she needed to say to reel the former-Delta operator back into the fold. Cade shook his head, erased the hangdog look from his face, and invited the visitor in.

The E-2 offered a crisp salute to the man he had earlier assumed held a much higher rank than captain.

“What can I do for you, Airman Davis?”

“May I have permission to speak freely, Sir?”

“Shoot,” Cade said, trying to decide if he should apologize to the young man or leave it alone.

“You were a
civilian
and you passed yourself off as someone you weren’t. Major Nash won’t let me live it down... she thinks it’s
funny
but I don’t. Why did you lead me on?”

The operator admired the kid’s candor and instantly regretted taking advantage of him. “Consider it a free lesson. Never assume anything; a lot of good Americans have lost their lives since the world went to shit assuming that their already dead family member would
never
take a bite out of them. Assuming that the situation would improve and the government was going to save them. Assuming that help would ride in on a white steed named FEMA and save their ass. I’m only elaborating because I was already contemplating making amends to you. I had a very good reason to use you to fetch those men for me.” The temperature seemed to drop in the room as Cade held his steely gaze on the shorter airman. Then, in an easy tone while offering his hand, he uttered two words that he rarely had to use: “I’m sorry.”

The airman quickly pumped Cade’s hand. “Apology accepted. There’s a briefing scheduled shortly. The President, Colonel Shrill, Major Nash, and General Desantos will all be in attendance.” Davis glanced at the Timex on his wrist. “I have orders to make sure you’re present and there are only ten minutes before you
have
to be there.”

Cade retrieved the folder stamped Top Secret, donned his cover, and followed his escort out the door.

The E-2 moved with a purpose. Cade had a hunch the airman’s sense of urgency was directly related to the classified dossier that Major Nash had dropped into his lap the day before. The implications spelled out within only strengthened the decision he had made.
Welcome back to the teams... sucker!
Cade admonished himself.

He stayed on Airman Davis’ heels, easily matching the shorter man’s stride. The two wove their way through the internal corridors crisscrossing the expansive base, traversed a once manicured swath of now knee high grass and entered the nondescript two story structure that housed the 50th Space Command.

Outbreak - Day 8

Viscount Arms parking garage

Denver, Colorado

Wilson had no idea which SUV had belonged to his dead neighbors; to him they all looked alike. “Do any of you know which vehicle belongs to Angela and Saul... the couple that lives in 905?” All he received were blank looks and heads wagging side to side. He examined the thick microchip embedded key and turned it over in his palm. There were no markings to indicate what kind of vehicle it belonged to.

“Why don’t you just hit the panic button?” Sasha said, pulling a Lucy van Pelt and doling out her five cents’ worth of advice.

“I don’t even want to take the chance and accidently set off the alarm with this thing,” Wilson answered. “The blaring horn, even if it sounded for only a second, would let
them
know we’re in here.” Then he addressed the others crowding around him, “Be very quiet...” He held up the alarm fob for all to see. “
Do not sound the car alarm
...
use only the key to unlock your cars
.”

 Wilson canvassed the garage, testing the key in every vehicle. It seemed like everyone in Colorado drove an SUV, and the Viscount garage was full of them. He had checked all but three of the SUV type vehicles: a Kia Sportage, a Jeep Liberty, and a huge Black Suburban remained. Wilson knew beggars couldn’t be choosers, but he was hoping for something bigger than the Kia or Jeep to run the gauntlet, so he bypassed them and approached the bigger SUV. He held his breath and tentatively slid the key into the door handle. His silent prayer had been answered; the shiny black Chevy Suburban had indeed belonged to the yuppies. Wilson climbed in and sat in the driver seat, waiting for his sister to load her “luggage” before starting the rig. The SUV was enormous inside and out.
I hope Saul left us a full tank of gas,
he thought before he started the big vehicle.

Wilson kissed the photo of his mom and gently placed it in his shirt pocket next to his heart. Then he started the SUV and listened to the engine’s throaty rumble. Out of habit he reached up to adjust the rearview mirror, but quickly recoiled the moment he eyed the pink baby shoe swaying back and forth. Then he noticed the Graco car seat; it looked lonely, lost in the expanse of the vacant back seat. He said a quick prayer for the little girl upstairs. A tear traced his cheek as he realized Sarah would never again feel her parents’ warm loving embrace. So much life had been lost because of the scourge sweeping the United States. He dried his face and let his eyes linger on his little sister. Wilson strengthened his resolve by telling himself there was no way on earth that he was going to let a fucking microbe do any more damage to his family.

Like racehorses at the Kentucky Derby, the survivors’ four vehicles idled, waiting for the gate to rise so they could escape from Denver.

Wilson hadn’t been joking when he said the passengers would be expected to disengage the garage door. “Pull the pins, ladies!” he hollered.

Megan and her friend, Wilson still couldn’t recall her name, pulled the release pins, and started the metal gate on its upward journey.

Wilson tried hard to ignore the baby shoe and focused only on the rear view mirror as he watched Megan get back into the Toyota Tacoma driven by her husband. Behind them, what’s-her-name rejoined her boyfriend in the white compact car.

Ted was in the driver’s seat of his blue Subaru Forester. William, sick and useless, was sprawled in the reclined front seat.

The black Suburban rocked subtly on its suspension as Sasha swayed anxiously on the edge of her seat. Wilson chewed his fingernails and watched the gate slowly disappear into the ceiling. When it finally cleared the middle of the windshield he tromped the accelerator. The roof rack atop the three-quarter ton Suburban scraped the gate as it raced up the incline to street level and took flight. Wilson didn’t know that the horsepower-to-handling ratio of the Suburban was extremely lopsided, suffering excessively on the maneuverability side of the equation; furthermore, he had never driven anything with more balls than his six cylinder lipstick-red Mustang which his friends called a girlie car.

“Slow down, slow down, slow down...” Sasha chanted. She had a death grip on the grab handle near her head, and when the zombies came into view she stopped the mantra and began to hyperventilate.

The big rig left the ground for a second or two, attained a cruising altitude of six inches, and then landed slightly sideways, slapping three of the walkers to the pavement. Yellowed puss and gray brain matter streaked the truck from the b-pillar all the way back to the taillights. Wilson, gripped by panic, stabbed the brake pedal. The SUV’s anti-lock device pushed back against his foot, further confusing him. The crunch of bone, gristle, and muscle resonated through the floorboards as the fallen creatures were ground into the road. The slimy, brownish-gray mess spit out by the Goodyear radials bore a strong resemblance to liver pâté.

After the truck lurched to a near stop, Wilson quickly inventoried his situation: only a handful of walkers occupied the road in front of the slow rolling Suburban, and one lone female zombie clawed at the passenger window, smearing more viscous fluids along the tempered glass.

Sasha shrieked and lunged towards Wilson, nearly crawling into his lap.

“Calm down. I can’t hear myself think!” Wilson shouted to be heard over her hysterics. “We have to wait for the others... we
need
to stick together!” His eyes darted between the open road ahead, the garage, the girl zombie loping alongside, and the condensed cityscape reflected in the rearview mirror.

After a few agonizingly drawn out seconds the Tacoma 4x4 nosed out of the garage and little by little inched across the sidewalk, followed by the white car, with the Subaru bringing up the rear.

Wilson gingerly pressed the gas pedal, urging the rig forward. One more glance in the rearview confirmed that all three vehicles were lined up behind him. “Oh shit!”

“What’s wrong now?” Sasha asked nervously. Her eyes were riveted on the zombie limping alongside trying to keep pace with the creeping Suburban. Every so often its brittle fingernails would skitter and tink on the glass, causing the short hairs on Sasha’s arms to stand at rigid attention.

“They’re back and it’s too soon. No... no... no!” Wilson wailed, shaking his head vehemently and slamming his hands on the wheel as if his disagreement could change the reality of their situation. With Marty Feldman eyes and mouth agape, he froze in mid breath and his chest convulsed violently. The dry throaty rasp that came out when he coughed sounded like a dog fighting to expunge a hairball. Sasha gasped and pinched her nose tight, trying to deny the noxious air entry into her lungs. The odor preceding the zombie horde was an invisible wall of eye-watering stench like nothing they had ever inhaled before.

“Drive, Wilson, it’s staring at me,” Sasha said with a nasally-sounding twang. Her hands palsied as she clumsily unbuckled her seatbelt. The lithe teenager scrambled over the center console and squeezed her small frame into the back seat, where she cowered on the floor trying to escape death’s gaze.

***

“Good Lord, that smells awful,” William exclaimed. He hitched his shirt over his nose and tried to breathe only through his mouth.

“William, lock your door!” Ted screamed over the din of the approaching zombies. Then he cursed the slow moving car blocking the road in front. “Fucking piss or get off the pot,” he muttered. “The first chance I get, I’m going to pass those two,” he warned William. Self-preservation was first and foremost on his agenda.

“Take this.” William thrust the shotgun, pistol grip first, in Ted’s direction.

“What do you expect
me
to do with it?” Ted asked. His grip on the steering wheel was white knuckle tight; there was no way he could pry a hand off to accept the offering.

“I don’t like guns... they scare me,” William whined.

“Do they scare you more than those rotting corpses?” Ted arched an eyebrow. “Listen. I can drive... or I can shoot. I
cannot
do both at the same time. As much as I’d like to think so... I’m not Mad Max.” Ted sensed that William was losing it. He pried his attention from the steadily encroaching mob while he addressed his partner. “It’s time to put on your big boy pants.” Ted patted the shotgun on the ribbed pump. “You just pull on
this
to chamber a shell, point the gun,
not in my direction though
, and shoot. Rinse and repeat.”

William examined the weapon with a skeptical eye. After a moment of careful consideration he turned it around and took hold of the pistol grip, then tentatively pulled the slide chambering a round. The resulting metallic clack made him jump.

***

Wilson wheeled the truck in between stalled cars and around a large cement planter that had been fractured into several jagged pieces. Brilliant red and yellow pansies lay trampled, their colorful petals scattered amongst the spilled black soil. A multitude of dirty footprints leading down the street drew his attention to his battered Mustang. The old girl’s rear bumper lay directly in the Suburban’s path. Without thinking twice he rolled over the top of the obstacle.

“We’re almost to the freeway Sash. Check and see if Ted’s car is still behind Megan’s friends.”

Sasha looked through the smoked rear windows. “James’ truck is too big, I can’t see anything beyond it,” she replied anxiously.

“Once we get up this elevated onramp you should be able to see everything behind us. Hopefully it’ll be safe enough for us to wait and let them catch up. First things first. I have to get this boat between those cars; it’s going to be a tight squeeze. If you hear a crunch... don’t worry... it’s a rental.” Wilson’s attempt at humor flew miles over his sister’s head.