The End: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (16 page)

Kent shrugged his shoulders and looked to the ground. He chuckled, “Yeah, something like that.”

The two men looked at each other and shook their heads. One of them said, “Look, we don’t have time to go into it. Find whoever is in charge of you and ask them. Now, excuse us.” With that, the two walked off.

Kent pondered the situation for a moment. He grabbed the backpack from the floor and then made his way to the storage space that had been converted into sleeping quarters.

Stepping quietly into the room not expecting the others to be awake yet, Kent closed the door, slightly surprised. Eric, Billy, and George were all up getting dressed and ready for a day filled with who-knows-what. They hadn’t been told much more than
this is your room
,
see you tomorrow
.

First thing on the agenda for today was something about getting a checkup with the medic. Kent wasn’t too sure when, because he was half-asleep when the bus got in last night. He was never one for long drives even if it was under three hours. Something about the motion of the road just put him to sleep every time. Even with the two bodies on the floor, the lady’s throat ripped open and a knife in the other man’s head, he still managed to fall asleep.

Kent nodded to George and Eric. He took a few more paces past the two men, opening another door that led into another room. The rooms were small but provided what the survivors needed. They connected to one another by adjacent doors, reminding Kent of a hotel room. He imagined that one of the rooms might have once been an office that led into a large storage janitorial space or something. Both rooms looked exactly the same. Each room had three cots that sat low to the ground, one coffee table with nothing on it, and your basic dim overhead lighting. It was obviously thrown together in hurry-up fashion. Pipes ran outside of the walls into each room leading out into the hallway. The pipes weren’t visible in the hall, so that must have meant that the ceiling was higher in these two rooms. They smelled of mold—like an old gym locker.

With the door closed behind him, he dropped his bag to the ground. Cynthia lay partly covered by her blanket still on her cot asleep. Suddenly startled by the abrupt noise as the heavy bag collided with the floor below, she quickly sat up in the bed holding the covers partially over her chest, revealing her naked shoulders and bare back.

“Honey, I’m Home,” Kent said as he dashed forward pulling her blanket away, exposing her breasts as he landed on top of her, wrapping the covers around them both as he fell.

“Yuck, get off of me. You’re filthy!”

She pushed him away, tossing him over and off of the cot. He landed on the floor, taking the covers with him. Covering her well-rounded chest with one arm, most of her voluptuous bust popped out around it. Sitting up in the cot, she glared down at Kent, giving him an ugly look.

“What? I just got out of the shower!”

“You might be clean, but those clothes are disgusting. You’re covered in blood, for Christ’s sake.” Cynthia climbed to her feet, stomping across the room, gathering her clothes from the otherwise empty table.

Kent remained on the floor as he watched her dress with her back turned to him. Kent was still getting a solid view of her round bottom, cheeks peeking from under her underwear as she pulled each leg into one pant leg at a time.

“I ran into some men outside, and they said this place was quarantined and the rest of the world is uninfected,” Kent said while enjoying the view.

“Really, what else did they say?”

“Something about the President giving some speech or something. Said he lied out his big fat ass about what’s really going on.”

“Like that’s a surprise.”

With not much else to see now that she was dressed, Kent made it to his feet, slung the backpack over a shoulder, and pulled a fresh cigarette from his pocket and then lit it.

Cynthia followed his lead grabbing up her things. “You know, I don’t think you’re allowed to be smoking in here.” She opened the door leading into the other room where Eric and the others had slept.

“Oh yeah, and what are they going to do, shoot me?” A puff of smoke poured from his mouth as he spoke.

*

George raised an eyebrow as the two entered. “Well if it isn’t the two love birds. You two were up late last night,” he said and smiled.

Kent’s chest puffed up along with a wide smirk crossing his face as he took a seat on Eric’s cot next to him.

Cynthia just stood there obviously a little embarrassed, her face turning almost as red as her hair. Last night things definitely moved a bit quicker than she would have liked, but it had been quite some time since she had been intimate with anyone besides herself. Other than that, the last thing she wanted to do was send a mixed signal pushing Kent away. She liked him, even though he was already starting to change in little ways. Ever since they had gotten a little snuggly with one another in the car, things with him were different. He seemed cockier and arrogant. Not at all romantic.

She wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about him yet. At first, she seemed overwhelmed with a mixture of emotions and hormones. Now, something in the back of her head was telling her to slow down, and that he was going to be more trouble than he was worth. Still, last night was nice, and she knew that everyone else in the room knew as well.

George just smiled. He and Eric went back to what they had been doing.

“I heard you telling her something about a quarantine,” George said, his stuff gathered up and at his side.

“Yeah, man, I ran into a couple of dudes out in the hall talking about it. They said this thing, this plague, was just in the Southeast.
The pestilence of man
and all that jazz. The President said it was just an oil spill and they are getting it cleaned up, or something like that. I’m not too sure,” Kent said.

*

Eric knelt and tied his shoes with his backpack strung over one arm. His shoulder still throbbed a bit but was feeling much better. His wound on his hand from punching that zombie in the jaw was another story. It had gotten rather sore since the shelter and was a little discolored. It looked and felt infected.

“So, have you guys been formally introduced yet?” Eric reached a hand out palm up toward George while putting his cut hand in his pocket to hide it away. Out of sight, out of mind. “This is George, Mr. George Wellington.
The
Wellington.” Tossing his arm across the air, he pointed it at each person as he spoke. Everyone made eye contact, waving hands at each call of the name to signal who was who when each name was called. “George, this is Cynthia and Kent. Kent and Cynthia, this is George and Billy.”

“Cool, so you’re that guy that was on the radio, right? Telling your story about finding the kid and driving to the station. That’s some crazy stuff, man. Crazy,” Kent said as he brought the cigarette up for a puff.

Seeing that the two had not actually caught on right away, Eric decided to spell it out for them. “We stayed in
Mr. Wellington’s
back yard for the last 3 days. The shelter. This is George, my friend Tyler’s dad. He is the one that built that shelter.”

“Oh snap, that’s what’s up, dude. That place saved our lives. Too bad we had to blow it to shit to get out though.” Kent shook his head letting out a stream of smoke.

“So your Tyler’s dad, right?” Cynthia asked. “Eric here has talked about him a lot. He seems like a real nice kid.”

George sank into his cot, depression and anxiety shown on his face. Everyone in the room was quiet for a moment. George sat there taking in deep breath after deep breath, staring at the floor.

Billy sat beside him. His eyes wandered around the room. George was sad. In a way, everyone was. Billy missed his mommy and daddy. Eric missed his parents. George missed his son. Billy leaned over and hugged the old man. No one said a word. The room was silent and filled with tension.

Kent looked over at Cynthia and shrugged, mouthing the words,
Nice going, dude
.

Cynthia’s head shrank into her shoulder.

Knock, knock, knock…

The sudden interruption broke the silence like a train wreck startling everyone in the room. The door swung open a moment later. A short, hefty man dressed in slacks and a white lab coat stepped in. He smelled of cheese and perspiration. His glasses were thick, making his eyes look gargantuan against his already buggy little round head. His hair, or the lack thereof, thinning badly and brushed to one side. The man looked like he might be in his late thirties and seemed like he may be an avid believer in super powers in some alternate reality. The kind of guy that longed for a
lab accident turned superhero
kind of vibe just emanated as he entered the room.

“Good morning, everyone. I hope you all slept well. If you all are ready, we’ll head over to the lab for a few simple tests.”

“Tests? What kind of tests?” Eric asked, his hand throbbed in response, hidden in his pocket still.

“Just some standard tests, young man. We want to make sure none of you are sick or in need of immediate medical attention before relieving you to the cafeteria,” the man said.

“Hell, that sounds good to me. When do we eat?” Kent shot to his feet and stepped toward the door, walking right past the man dressed in white.

“Excuse me, but you need to put that out. There is a designated smoke area outside in the courtyard.” He grimaced, waving a hand in front of his own face as Kent passed, smoke trailing behind in his wake.

Eric stood, giving George a tap of encouragement on the shoulder, and then walked out of the room meeting Kent in the hall.

Cynthia followed, scrunching her nose up at the man as she passed him at the door. It wasn’t the smoke that made her make that face, but the cheese smell lingering on the man in the lab coat. She kept her head straight, eyes to the door, not glancing over to George. She met Eric and Kent in the hall.

With the lab assistant in the lead, the five survivors were escorted out of the barracks and into the courtyard, where several people stood smoking and chatting under a large tree. The sun was out, the breeze felt fresh, and there wasn’t a single zombie to stress over. Everyone had a gun. The place was clear and secure. A sense of refuge and ease came over all of them as they made their way across the grass toward another smaller building. On the side of the building next to its double doors, a little sign read
Laboratory Research Facility
. Over the double doors block letters spelling
LRF
hung on the brick wall.

Billy grabbed George’s hand.

“So, if you could have one superpower, what would it be?” the man asked as he led them down the hall and around the corner, not directing the question at any particular person.

3

Gus had one foot propped on the helicopter’s landing skids as he peered into the cockpit, holding a clipboard in his good hand. With his injured hand, he struggled with the grip of his pen, double-checking the supplies before setting off on the Jacksonville operation.

The pilot, Jesse Watts, sat in the cockpit gearing up the bird and checking all the gauges. After firing her up, the large overhead blades kicked on, steadily picking up momentum.

Gus mumbled to himself as he checked off each set of items from the list, making sure he didn’t miss anything he might need.

“—check. Four M-fours, check. Plenty of additional ammo, check. Three gas masks, gloves included, check. Extra fuel cans.” Gus leaned in reaching up with his white wrapped hand, shaking the canisters to ensure that they were filled. “Check.”

The chopper blades now in full swing hummed loudly with a whooshing sound over the big man as he continued down the list on his clipboard. The heavy wind created by the blades blew the man’s short, slightly graying hair. With his black pants tucked into his black boots and his black V-neck shirt tucked tightly into his pants, Gus’ clothes clung tightly to his body.

Watts leaned back from the cockpit reaching his arm out to get the big man’s attention, pointing at the airfield directly behind Gus. He was unable to hear Watts, the man’s mouth steadily moving. He turned back at the hip leaving his feet in place and taking a glance over his shoulder to see what Watts was pointing at. With the bright asphalt glaring in his face from the clear, sunny sky, Gus lifted the clipboard over his head using it as a visor. The paper blew frantically in place between his thumb and the clipboard.

“Name, soldier?” Gus shouted leaning in to greet the unexpected visitor.

“I’m Jared Clay. I’m taking Luke Beal’s place on the Jacksonville OP,” the slightly younger and obviously inexperienced man replied.

It was a little hard to hear with the blades buzzing over them, but what Gus got from the shouting was that Luke was out and he was in. Gus was thankful for that, because Luke was in no shape to be on duty, let alone work with Gus. He kind of figured that this was going to happen because the man was running late. He, however, half hoped for someone a little less green around the ears than this guy standing before him now.

Gus couldn’t think of a single time when he had ever seen this young buck on base. Sure, there was something like four hundred people on base at any given time, but still. You would have to run into one another sooner or later, right? He had met every team that ever ran on a bird at that base for the last few years, and this kid for sure wasn’t one of them. Gus turned to face the unanticipated guest, and out of habit, reached out with his bad hand for a handshake.