The Ugly Beginning - 01 (21 page)

Right?

***

The leader of the group, Sergeant Paul Wimmer, informed us that we were spotted by an air patrol out of Idaho. The army had a “Safe Zone” nearby. He made sure to stress that we were under no obligation to follow, but that we were welcome if we chose. He gave us a few minutes to decide for ourselves.

The vote had been unanimous.

An hour and a half later we were sitting at a checkpoint. I could see what was obviously once a
very
small town? ...village?...hamlet? Hell, this place is tiny.

The Army has been very busy. Large earthmovers are visible inside the perimeter. They were obviously used to dig the deep trench that encircles the encampment. A heavy-duty fence that is at least fifteen-feet high is the second line of defense. It is electrified! I don’t know how, because I don’t hear the roar of a generator. It is apparent that this place has power up and running. Of course there are the typical machinegun towers and foot patrols, but the zombie presence is minimal. A half-mile back we passed a pit or trench—whatever—where a group of soldiers in HAZMAT suits were burning bodies. They seemed to have everything under control.

There are at least a few hundred people here. Less than half are military. I was asked my name, as were all of us. That had Ian a little nervous. I am certain that he, Dillon, and perhaps even Anton, might have escaped from a jail or prison. Well, none of that matters to me. Those guys have been a part of our group, and I’d say that all debts to society are square. Besides, the soldiers didn’t ask for anything other than our names. I doubt that, even if my guess is correct, that’s enough to identify him.

“Are we really safe?”

I jumped. Teresa had come up beside me as we waited for everybody to give their name. Of course I really had no idea what to do next. All the soldiers who’d been with the patrol that escorted us here had been escorted to one of those long camou-flage tents—all except Sergeant Wimmer. He was in deep discussion with three soldiers and a lady in civilian clothes.

The last of our party, Barry, had given his name. Now we were all just standing in a huddled group. I was about to suggest that we take a look around when Sergeant Wimmer came trotting over. He removed his helmet, revealing very dark hair kept in a crew cut. Strands of gray stood out in stark contrast. “Sorry about abandoning you folks for a few minutes there. We are still trying to keep a certain degree of military order about things.” He casually waded into the midst of our little pack. “I had to dot a couple of I’s and cross a few T’s.”

“And what is it that we are supposed to do now?” I asked.

“Well,” Sergeant Wimmer faced me directly, “Steve is it?” I nodded. “First, we need our medics to check everybody out. I know that you all said nobody has been bitten, but I hope you’ll understand that we can’t simply take people at their word when it is a matter of life and death.” Most of us nodded or voiced our consent and understanding. “Then, I imagine that you all could use a real meal.”

That lit everyone’s eyes up. Still, it was just the way things had been that, at least for me, allowed a kernel of apprehension to sprout deep roots in my mind. I glanced around, but it seemed I was alone in my fears. Even if they are slight, I just can’t ignore them. I still feel a sense of obligation and responsibility to these people…especially Thalia and Teresa.

I dropped to the back of our group as Sergeant Wimmer led us through the camp. I could see construction taking place on what looked like an apartment building. Nothing fancy, just a two-story affair. I also noticed a couple of buildings with “Do Not Enter” signs and guards posted at the entrance. That added some fertilizer to my little kernel of doubt.

I could hear the sergeant talking, but my eyes were everywhere. If he was so bent on holding our attention, I imagined it was to keep us from being too observant. I watched some of the regular non-military types walking about. They
seemed
fine …normal. A few even waved or smiled as we passed.

We rounded a building and came to another of those camo-tents. A flag with the Red Cross on it fluttered from a small pole. Right beside the tent was a playground. Thalia squealed with delight and looked back at me from where she stood holding Teresa’s hand while clutching the giant bear Ian had procured in the other arm.

“Would you like to play with those other children?” Sergeant Wimmer knelt in front of the little girl who was excitedly hopping from one foot to the other.

Thalia nodded vigorously. Children are absolutely amazing. All of the death and horror we’ve experienced seemed washed away in an instant. Again I glanced at everybody else’s faces. All I saw was exhaustion and just a hint of—could it be?—relief.

“Well then,” he glanced up at Teresa, “we’ll get you and your friend here checked out first so you can go play.”

In the distance I heard a short burst of gunfire. We all jumped. Evan Thalia froze for a second.

“Relax, folks.” Sergeant Wimmer stood up, raising his arms like a teacher settling a classroom of second-graders. “Just somebody taking down a
walker
. I assure you that we are all perfectly safe inside these fences.”

Again I looked around. Nobody else even seemed to have broken stride. The children at the nearby playground were still laughing, swinging, and chasing each other around the giant play structure. These people actually feel safe!

Maybe…just maybe.

***

I sat on the paper-covered examination table in my underwear. The curtain that had me isolated from everybody else rustled as an older lady in her sixties wearing scrubs came in. Her face was stern as she read from a clipboard. All in all, this was sort of comforting. It was just like I remembered every doctor’s exam.

“You seem just fine, Mister Hobart,” Doctor Zahn said. The name was on a tag pinned in perfect symetry above the breast pocket of her scrubs. “Of course a final confirmation of your blood test will be completed within the hour.”

“Or my pizza is free?” I made a failed attempt at levity that earned nothing more than a single raised eyebrow.

“Clean clothing is being brought in for you. You may dress, and then you are free to go.” Doctor Zahn about-faced, walking away, and then paused at the curtain. She turned, and her eyes met mine, “You did exceptionally well with your group of fellow survivors. Most people get to us on the verge of starvation. Over half are infected. That little girl is…” She didn’t finish whatever she was about to say. Instead, she simply nodded and exited.

An orderly came in moments later. He had a neatly folded stack of clothing. But it was what was on top that made me just a little excited…soap, a wash cloth, and a towel! I was led to a plastic-curtained cubicle where I would actually take a real shower! I heard a couple of others already running. The water was hot!

“Five minutes, sir.” The orderly pointed to a timer that he was setting as I stepped in and felt the near-ecstasy of hot water cascading down my skin.

I glanced down at my feet and watched with mortified fascination as a brownish-red slurry swirled down the drain. I scrubbed and scrubbed, suddenly fearing that I would never come clean. Eventually, it was just clear water at my feet. I waited for the
ding
of the timer before I would relinquish this luxury.

I re-emerged into the brightening, clear-blue sky of late afternoon. The heat felt good on my freshly scrubbed skin. My eyes scanned quickly, searching for a familiar face either from my group or the soldiers who…rescued?...found us.

It took me a handful of seconds to recognize Teresa and Thalia. Thalia was in a pair of pink denim shorts and a halter top while Teresa was in a light blue, floral print sundress. Of course, the little girl was oblivious to my arrival as she climbed on a huge wooden playstructure engaged in some sort of chase with the other children. Teresa was standing on the edge of the cedar-chip ground that marked the playground’s boundary.

She jumped when I placed a hand on her shoulder and I immediately felt foolish. First, I was already letting my guard down while this sixteen-year-old girl was on high-alert, scanning the area and most likely already memorizing possbible escape routes and defensible positions. Second, grasping, touching, or even nudging somebody without warning could get you a bullet in the head on the other side of these fences that seemed to promise security.

“Sorry.” I raised my hands and stepped back.

“Old habits.” Teresa blushed.

We watched Thalia, neither of us speaking. The whole idea of being safe felt too surreal after what we have seen in the past several weeks. Within about an hour Jamie, Joseph, Billy, and Aaron joined us. I think I was the only one to notice Jamie and Teresa’s close proximety to one another. Could it be this simple? I mean, can things be righted and put back on track by something as simple as children playing tag at a playground and teenagers falling in love?

One by one, our band of survivors gathered at the edge of the playground. Once we all passed examinations and enjoyed a shower, we naturally congregated together. Whether it was attachment, or simply the comfort of familiarity, not one person failed to seek out the group.

Eventually, Sergeant Wimmer arrived with Doctor Zahn and two other doctors that I imagine inspected the rest of the group. With them was a man wearing slacks and a light blue button-up shirt with his sleeves rolled to the elbows. The top button was undone and the tie tugged loose. My radar went off instantly. This guy seemed to be trying way too hard to look unassuming.

“Look at his hands,” Barry leaned close and whispered. It seemed I was not the only person on edge.

I glanced at the man’s hands and, for a moment, didn’t see anything extraordinary. Then it sunk in. They were immaculate. Nails trimmed, and I’d bet recently manicured. Stepping forward I extended my right hand and shook his in greeting. Those hands hadn’t seen a hard day’s work in this guy’s life.

Politician?

“Randall Smith, CDC from Atlanta,” his drawl was slow and casual, but his eyes reminded me of every oily politician or sleezy televangelist that had ever been caught in a scam and tried to fabricate an excuse or justification.

“Steven Hobart, insurance adjuster from Seattle,” I said. Then, one by one, I introduced my fellow survivors…minus occupation or city of origin.

“Seems you folks have had quite a time,” Randall said. “But let me officially extend a welcome to our little bastion. You are all welcome to stay. Of course, we will be happy to have each and every one of you remain, and would meet with each individually to assess what skills you may possess so that you can contribute to our society of survivors. However, none of you are required to stay if you do not wish. Nobody is a captive.

“I know you have questions, but we would like to get you settled in to where you’ll be living if you decide to remain. Tomorrow I will meet with everybody individually and answer any of your questions then.

“I would do so today, but I am already late for a meeting with our electrical engineers. So, please, even if you are not planning to stay, be our guests tonight and enjoy a nice hot meal and a good night’s sleep.”

With that, he nodded to us, then patted Sergeant Wimmer on the shoulder and left. I glanced over at Barry and Ian and saw the same dubiousness that I felt tugging at my mind.

At least I would have help watching out for trouble.

I called Thalia over, and, after promising she could return as soon as we’d eaten, I gave a nod. We all fell into line as Sergeant Wimmer led us to what would be our sleeping quarters. From the rear of the group it was easy for me to spot Teresa’s hand entwined in Jamie’s.

11

Vignettes IV

He had been one of the most infamous rockstars of this generation. Thousands of women found themselves the object of his temporary affections. Thousands more claimed so. He started in the clubs and finished in stadiums.

With exceptional business smarts, he built an empire that transcended his status as just-another-rockstar. His former band-mates were not lacking for money, but he had reached an entirely different level of fame and fortune that continued to feed his bank account as well as his ego long after his last hit record slid from the charts.

Though many who did not know him assumed he was little more than an extreme egomaniac, his depth of character and ability to love was an exception to most others in his line of work. So, it was no surprise to those who really knew him—his family and small circle of
real
friends—that, when one of his former bandmates with whom he was rumored to have an intense feud with became ill, he dropped everything to be bedside at the hospital.

Now he stumbled along Hollywood Boulevard with a pack of others just like him. Ironically, a young boy of about twelve was within an arm’s distance to his left with the tattered remnants of a tee-shirt that had his face on it. As a mob, they continued to gain numbers that were likewise drawn to the vibrations that, while dull sounding, rang in their ears. None of them were cognizant enough in any manner to identify the staccato sound of automatic weapon’s fire. They simply
knew
that where there was sound, there was food.

The desire to feed was the only impulse their brain transmitted constantly and clearly. There were images, impulses really, that drove them to re-enact rituals that were the equivalent of mental fossils in their memories. That is why he walked for days until finally reaching the swarming streets of Hollywood.

While others, some more…some less famous, had tried to avoid the crowds of fans and camera-wielding paparazzi, he’d relished it. Whenever he was feeling down, he would pop up in public and bathe in the heat of the strobe flashes. People would yell his name and once again, he mattered.