The End: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (32 page)

That man was going to pay!

It has to be done. It has to be done.

Suddenly, his mind was lost again in a dream-like state of past and hopeful futures never to come. Megan was holding their newborn child in her arms. She had just given birth and her cheeks swelled with pride while she held her baby in that hospital room. The baby was so beautiful and looked just like her mother. Her eyes and everything about her was exactly the same, innocent, pure, and thriving with life. Luke was holding her now. She was so small, so sweet.

Steps approached from the hanger. It was them. They were coming, and he was ready.

The voices rumbled in the distance, then became clearer. It was Gus, all right. His grip tightened on the pistol, his teeth clenched.

“—I’m telling you, the guy was nice, and I assure you he will accept us with open arms.”

Someone else said something, but it was too hard to make out.

Another unfamiliar voice joined in with the other two. Luke cocked his head toward the door.

“Look, Foster, I know that this is hard for you. Yes, if the rest of the world is okay, then we’re all in big trouble for abandoning ship, but who’s to blame us? I don’t want to try risking it out here. I believe Gus and Clay. There is no one else. It’s over. We need to think of ourselves and get somewhere that will give us the opportunity to start over. Regroup. And if we’re wrong and this thing is contained, we will cross that bridge when we get there. We need to—”

“I get the point, George,” Foster said. “I just don’t like the idea of fleeing when there’re people here that need our help.”

“How the hell do you plan to help, Rob?” Gibbs said.

A moment of silence passed, and Luke knew that the instant was swiftly approaching. He readied, holding his breath, the sweat pouring out from his forehead down his head and onto his face. The perspiration of angst blotted itself along the underarm and chest of his shirt.

The doorknob jiggled. Luke leaned forward quietly on his toes, ready to spring at just the right moment.

The door swung open. Gus entered, the others following behind. Gus carried a five-gallon fuel container.

Luke brought up his pistol, his vision blurred from the sweat in his eyes, and he let the bullets fly.

The first shot went low. The next shot was a successful hit, puncturing Gus in the side. Two other shots were more focused and went higher, hitting the big man’s collarbone and shoulder.

*

Wide-eyed with shock, Gus dropped the fuel at his side. The pain left him dizzy. Falling forward on one knee, he watched helplessly as Luke blocked the hallway with weapon drawn. He instantly knew what was happening and registered it for what it was. Luke’s mind had snapped, much like a lot of others had done in the last few days. The last thing Gus heard before blacking out was the shouts and demands of Luke Beal waving his gun around. Gus fell face first to the floor, blood bucketing out from his wounds. A pool of crimson quickly formed around him as he lay there, unconsciously beginning to bleed out.

*

Luke stared for a moment at the big man lying on the floor. Justice was done. Just like that. Megan, though, was still gone.

He looked up in time to see Clay shoulder his rifle. Luke spun around and dove through a nearby office door.

A hail of fire rained down the hall.

Luke took refuge behind a desk, and the rifle’s barrel poked in through the door. The contents of the room danced about in a wind of gunfire. Papers and office supplies popped and danced, the desk split and splintered.

Beside Clay, Watts and Rob Foster joined in with semi-automatic military issued handguns. They rained down terror on the room.

In the middle of the unwelcomed volley, Luke smiled in his victory. He got that son-of-a-bitch,
he did
.

It had to be done.

Luke reached his hand up over the desk and pointed the gun toward the door. He fired five shots without looking. The return fire ceased. Luke took the opportunity to make his last shot count. He jumped up for the briefest of moments and aimed before shooting the final shot. It blasted at head level, splitting a seam in the framework of the door. The shot missed Clay’s head by only a millimeter.

And just like that, Luke was back down under his cover reloading as fast as he possibly could. Metal against metal sounded at the release of the empty magazine and a new one replaced it.

Instantly, Clay, Rob, and Watts unloaded a shower of gunfire at the desk. The desk ripped apart with the torrent of lead.

Again, Luke reached out taking shot after shot without looking, planning once more to take that final shot at the end. This time, he didn’t plan to miss. He was better than that. He was a true marksman and there was no excuse for second shots.

*

Clay and the others jumped back clearing the doorway. They ducked low at each side of the door as the shots rang out. Clay glanced across at Rob and grimaced.

Foster said, “Do you—?” He stopped midsentence when Clay brought up a grenade in his hand.

Clay motioned for them to get Gus. When they left, he chucked the grenade into the room, right on top of the gunner’s desk. Clay slammed the door closed and sped off.

The explosion was big, despite being behind a wall.

“Let’s get Gus and get out of here!” Clay said and shouldered his rifle.

Gus felt like he weighed as much as a bus,
Clay thought as he, Foster, and George dragged the unconscious, but still breathing man, down the hall.

“Shit,” Foster complained as he stumbled forward.

“He’s too heavy,” George said.

Gibbs set Billy to the side and ran in to help. Together they struggled, but managed to get him moved. Gus’ torso was covered in blood, and a huge trail of what he had already lost smeared the floor as they dragged him in.

“Who was that trying to kill us?” George asked.

“Didn’t get a good look. Doesn’t matter. That guy has got to be in a million bits by now,” Clay said. “Guys, let’s stop. We need to check on Gus.” In his haste to escape, Clay had refused to consider his teammate might be dead. Now, with the chance to escape, they didn’t need to carry out a dead man with them if that was the case.

Everyone looked down at the immobile Mr. Stanford. Silence filled the small space as they all just stared.

*

Foster knew who had fired on Gus Stanford. Gus had made himself very clear about Luke’s behavior after losing Megan. This couldn’t have been anything but revenge. There was no point in telling the others. He never saw reason to provide useless information, and right now, it was definitely useless. He was still beside himself and a little on the shocked side to see that Luke had actually taken it this far. It wasn’t Gus’ fault Megan got bit. She had to be shot—she was already dead.

Gathered closer and still trying to piece together what had just taken place, Dr. Gibbs reached up and checked for a pulse. He had one. “He’s still alive,” she said with a heave of surprise. “Flip him over!”

Between Clay, Rob, and George, they managed to get him on his back. “I think it’s bad. We won’t know until I can examine him. We need to get him to the med station. It’ll have everything we need that might save him.”

Watts raised his hand. “We’re crunched for time. Our best chance to make it out of here is to leave now.”

Gibbs said, “Leaving him is just like killing him. Do you want to be responsible for that?”

Watts looked down and bit his lip. “How do we get him to the med station? The guy must way a ton.”

Foster said, “There’re pull carts in the hanger. I’ll go get one.” He sped out the door and shortly returned with an oil-stained yellow cart with big air filled tires. “It’s a little small, but he’ll fit on it.” He let the cart’s handle drop as he came to a stop. “Help me get him on here.”

The four of them managed to lift Gus high enough to lay him on the cart. Gus’ feet hung off the end, but at least didn’t touch the floor.

“You guys bring him to medical. I’m going to fuel up the bird and check things out. We’ve lost a lot of time,” Watts said.

Foster said, “Clay and I can handle Gus. George, I want you to go with him. You’ll need to carry the other two fuel containers.”

George nodded.

The two men grabbed two fuel containers each and turned to leave the hallway.

George stopped and looked back.

Gibbs said, “Billy will be fine, George. He’s with me. Just go! Get the chopper ready to fly and then meet us at medical. And for the love of God, don’t leave without us,” she said, turning narrowed eyes at Watts.

George nodded, and the two men headed out.

5

Foster set the cart’s handle down as he opened the door to the outside. Nothing presented itself as an immediate threat—just as he had hoped. He couldn’t see the lab from the door, but knew it wasn’t too far away. “We’re good to go.”

One thing they did have on their side was the dark. Foster and the others quietly crept through the night shrouded in darkness. In the distance, the sound of waging war carried on. Firepower had diminished, and screams and cries of unrelenting agony floated in the mix.

Clay said, “The guns sound closer. The firing line is in retreat.” He pushed the back of the cart while Foster pulled and steered.

Shots rose from the roof of a nearby building.

“We’re almost there,” Foster said. “It’s the next building over—we just have to cross the parking lot.”

With renewed vigor, Foster and Clay had the cart rolling faster.

Gibbs and Billy kept silent as they followed.

Foster looked back at Clay and saw the chopper was a little ways off to their left. Two figures left the rear of the chopper and jogged their way. They closed the distance by the time Foster and crew made it to the lab entrance.

“The bird’s filled. We’re ready,” Watts said and heaved for breath.

George rested his hands on his thighs and fought to catch air.

“We need to get to medical. He’s lost enough blood. Let’s move,” Foster said.

Watts opened the door, and the race was on down the hall.

Gus was in a bad way. Blood trailed behind the cart, evident now in the hall’s light. Though he had been unconscious since they left the hanger, he opened his eyes and let out a ferocious cough.

“You do realize there are other people here that can fly a helicopter, right?” Watts said.

“He’s right,” Clay agreed. “We can’t just leave the bird unattended. Someone might highjack it from us.”

Foster slowed to a halt and looked around. Looking down at Gus then back up at Gibbs, his blank stare told everyone he didn’t know what to do.

Before he could say anything, Gibbs said, “No. I refuse to leave him here, Rob. I can save him. I know I can. It will just take some time.”

“What kind of time?”

“I’m not leaving him Rob, and that’s that,” she said.

Foster thought a moment, and said to Watts, “Go back to the bird. Can you drop it on the roof of the building?”

“Yeah, sure thing!”

“You’ll wait for us, won’t you?” Foster asked.

A moment of silence passed between them, Foster locking gazes with Watts. “Can I count on you?”

“Yes… yes you can count on me. What is it with you people not trusting me? I’m a soldier, for Christ’s sake.”

“You cheat at poker,” Clay said.

“Well, fuck me,” Watts said and raised his upper lip. “This is life and death, man. It ain’t the same.”

“Okay, go. And don’t let anyone take our bird for anything.” Foster nodded to Watts.

He turned and headed back out the lab.

“Do you think he’s going to wait for us?” George asked.

“I sure as hell hope so,” Foster said.

Foster and Clay had Gus rolling again, and after a few turns down the hall, they came to the med center and dashed into the first operating room.

“Put him over there. Get the light,” Gibbs said as she ran to the sink and started washing her hands.

George turned on the light. Looking around the white room, he realized that it was just him and Billy now. Cynthia was gone, Seth too, Eric had turned, and Kent—it was awful what happened to him. George stood there thinking of everyone and everything he had lost in such a short period of time. His mind raced with the incident in the bus on the way to the base and how that poor girl died after Willy jumped her unexpectedly. And Tyler, what had happened to Tyler? What was going to happen to them now? He had a bad feeling in his gut, and it was telling him the worst wasn’t quite over yet.

“Give us a hand!” Foster called out.

George snapped out of it, stepping over to help get Gus up on the operating table. On the count of three, the three men heaved the nearly three-hundred-pound man onto the metal table in the center of the room.

“I need you to cut his shirt off and loosen his belt straps,” Gibbs said as she frantically gathered supplies. “As long as his lung isn’t punctured and he didn’t take a vital hit, he’ll be fine. We just need to stop the bleeding and remove any fragments.”