The Zone: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Infection Chronicles Book 1) (17 page)

His helmet was beside him. The fabric cover had the slightest indication of a tear. But the bullet hadn’t even penetrated the fabric. It was tough stuff. Steele ran his finger over the depression in the helmet that the bullet had made. A bulletproof helmet, bulletproof fabric cover, and a titanium composite skull seemed to have kept him alive.  

Steele knew a few soldiers who had survived direct hits to the helmet. He also knew a few who had died from the concussion alone. The helmets were effective against lower caliber rounds. And depending upon the angle and distance, larger rounds. But a .50 cal would have split the helmet in two and ripped right through his brain. Steele figured this must have been a 5.56mm round. 

He found himself confined in one of the very cells that he had rescued the hostages from. Cell A-21. A drab rectangle with a fold-down plank for a bed, stainless steel sink and toilet, and a solid metal door. All of his weapons had been taken. His 9mm and his RK could be easily replaced, but that blade was special to him. It was custom-made and perfectly balanced. A gift from Jeff Curran—an old Army buddy. And Steele wanted it back.

Jeff was that guy who was always the life of the party. Always buying rounds for his buddies—when he had money. When he didn’t, you took care of him cause you knew it would come back around. He was the kind of guy who loved a war zone. Loved the insanity of it all. And just knew he was going to make it out alive.

 
Steele had saved Jeff’s life during his second tour in Syria. A CAV pilot screwed up an insertion and put them deep in enemy territory. Surrounded and outgunned, the unit took heavy casualties. Jeff was one of those casualties. Things quickly went from bad to worse. Steele called in close air support and tried to get his men out of there. He made three trips back to get the wounded out. Steele was badly injured as well, with a shrapnel wound to his leg.
 

Steele received the medal of honor—one of the few active duty recipients. Jeff died the next year when his outpost was overrun by insurgents. Steele could replace the sword, but he couldn’t replace the sentiment behind the gift.

Dwelling on the past wasn’t going to do Steele any good. He had more pressing matters at hand. Like getting out of this cell.

It was maybe an hour before anyone came to check on him. And when someone did, it was Raddick himself.  He glanced through the window. Steele had climbed off the floor and was sitting on the bunk, which wasn’t much of an improvement.

Raddick slid open the food slot. The metal on metal sound echoed throughout the cell block. He knelt down and peered through the thin opening. “I assume I have you to thank for my troubles?”

Steele said nothing. 

Raddick’s big aviator sunglasses filled the slot. “The damage you’ve caused is irreparable.”

“You shot down two CAVs,” Steele said. “Z-SOC is coming for you. Soon, you’ll be in a world of hurt.”

“Ain’t none of that gonna matter before long.”

“How so?”

“The thing you call civilization is hanging on by a ragged thread.”

“The infection is contained.”

“Is that what you think?” Raddick chuckled. “For how long?” His words hung there for a long moment. “The whole thing is going down like the Titanic. It’s people like me that are gonna survive. It’s people like me that are gonna rebuild.”

“Is that what you call kidnapping women and children?” Steele asked with contempt. “Rebuilding?”

“I am no different than Noah or any other biblical figure.”

“Biblical figure?”

“The good Lord has finally struck down the sinners and evil doers. He has brought this curse upon us to cleanse the land. And I have heard His call to shepherd in a new flock.”

“And he said all of this to you personally?”

“Don’t mock me, boy.” Raddick scowled at him. His eyes blazed with fury. 

Steele’s eyes narrowed, sizing Raddick up. Was this all an act, or did he really believe he was some sort of chosen disciple? A new messiah? 

“You took a sniper round to the head. Not many walk away from that,” Raddick said. “I believe that there are no mistakes. That everything happens for a reason. God has a plan for you, my son. There is a reason that you are still alive. Despite my better efforts to have you killed.”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

“What you call luck, I call divine intervention. You know, forgiveness is part of being godly. I’m willing to forgive you. On one condition.”

“What condition is that?”

“You tell me where you’ve taken my flock.”

“I really don’t know,” Steele said. “I’m having a hard time remembering anything before waking up here. Head injury, you know.” Steele grinned.

Raddick’s face tightened. “You better hope that memory comes back, or things are going to get real uncomfortable for you.” He held up a prescription bottle of Steele’s medication. Raddick read from the label. “Take every 4 to 6 hours as needed for pain.” He sighed with mock sympathy. “This is pretty heavy duty stuff. Bad integration with the prosthetics, eh?”

Steele said nothing.

“You know, the withdrawal from these things can be worse than the pain that started you off on them in the first place. Seizures, convulsing, nausea—even death. I tell you, it’s a racket. They sell you pills to make you feel better, but then you can’t live without them,” Raddick shrugged. “Is it really such a bad thing that their world is collapsing?”

There was a long silence. Steele knew without the meds he was in for some trouble. And he had no love for the mega corporations that seemed to control every aspect of daily life. They had completely corrupted the political system. But Raddick’s new world wasn’t the solution. 

“You seem so sure the rest of the world is going down,” Steele said.

“How can it not? It’s only a matter of time. The infection is still in phase one. Phase two is coming.”

“What’s phase two?”

“When it becomes airborne.” Raddick’s words hung in the air.

“What makes you think it’s going to go airborne?” Steele asked.

“Why don’t you ask the man you freed?” Raddick replied. “Gabriel. He knows a lot more about it than I do.”

“How’s that?”

“Cause Gabriel designed the damn thing.” Raddick’s face was tense. “I’m going to ask you one more time. Keep in mind that my hospitality, and my congenial nature, is coming to an end. Where is my flock?”

Steele shrugged.

“So be it. The next time I see you, our conversation is not going to be so friendly. You think about that while I’m gone.” Raddick slammed the food slot shut. His heavy boots stomped down the hall. 

Steele stood up and examined the cell door, assessing it for weaknesses. He rammed his titanium fist into the locking mechanism. It didn’t budge. Then he kicked the door with all his strength. A thunderous boom echoed throughout the cellblock. But his boot didn’t so much as dent the door. This was composite metal—not even Steele’s enhanced strength could damage it. He wasn’t going to get out with brute force. The cell was solid. 

Steele could already feel the pain meds starting to fade. It wouldn’t be long now and his skin would be crawling.

WITHIN AN HOUR, Steele was on the ground twitching and convulsing. His muscles seizing up into spasms. He looked like one of the infected with their heads cut off, flopping around. 

One of Raddick’s men peered through the cell’s viewport. He was a scraggly, dark haired guy, with a trucker cap on backwards and a dip of snuff in his lower lip. He grinned a wet and wide smile, exposing tobacco stained teeth. Flecks of snuff were peppered about his gums. He found the sight of Steele writhing on the ground quite amusing. “Get a load of this freak show,” he said, then spit into a red plastic cup.

Another guard pushed the first man aside in order to get a look. “I ain’t never seen nothing like that. Except that time I fucked your sister.”

“Shut the fuck up, Wade.” The man in the trucker cap said. He smacked Wade in the back of the head.

Wade flinched and rubbed his scalp. “Shit, Roy. I was just kidding.” Wade moped like a dog that had been beaten. “I’d never fuck your sister.” He paused a beat, then said, “She’s too goddamn ugly.” Wade busted out laughing and the two scrapped in the hallway, smacking each other around. 

The red cup smacked the ground. Spit and smokeless tobacco splattered the floor. Roy landed a right cross to Wade’s jaw that connected with a crack.

“Son-of-a-bitch,” Wade said, rubbing his jaw. “You ain’t supposed to hit that hard.” 

“Walk it off.”

Wade paced about. “Asshole.”

“That will teach you to talk shit about my sister.”

“Well, I can tell you stories about your mother, but I don’t think you’d like that,” Wade said, laughing. 

Roy lunged for him. But Wade sidestepped and Roy toppled to the ground. Roy sprung to his feet.

“Ease up there. I’m just kidding. Besides, we’re supposed to tell Raddick the minute he starts convulsing.”

By this point, Roy was seething. “Don’t you never say nothing about my mother.”

“Look, this bastard blew up our compound. The explosion killed Tyler, Spencer, Cody, Duke and a dozen others. We ought to be taking our frustrations out on him.”

“That’s the first sensible thing I think I’ve ever heard you say,” Roy said. “I don’t think the boss will mind if he’s roughed up a bit. As long as he ain’t dead.”

Roy moved to the door and peered through the polycarbonate window. Steele was still twitching and writhing.

Roy pulled the master keys from his pocket and jingled them into the door. He twisted the key and the latch clicked. Roy pulled the heavy door open and sauntered into the cell. He reared his leg back, and slammed his foot into Steele’s gut, kicking him repeatedly. 

Steele shook on the ground, helpless. 

Wade stepped into the doorway. “Shit, leave some for me.”

Roy swung his foot into Steele’s gut, damn near cracking his ribs. But this time was different. Steele grabbed Roy’s foot, and yanked his leg out from under him. Roy smacked the concrete floor—first with his body, then with the back of his skull.

Steele sprung to his feet.

Wade’s eyes went wide.

A swift kick and Steele planted his boot in Roy’s face. His cheekbones cracked and shattered. Roy wasn’t going to pose a threat to anyone anytime soon.

Wade reached for his gun.

Steele leapt over Roy’s body and grabbed Wade’s wrist. He kneed Wade in the groin, and ripped the weapon from his hand as Wade cratered. Steele chopped his elbow into the back of Wade’s neck, flattening him on the ground. 

Steele bounded out of the cell and locked the two losers inside. Then he crept down the corridor. He could have gone through the fire door that led to the back stairwell, and continued up to the escape tunnel. That would be the quickest and easiest route out. But he wasn’t going to leave his gear behind. He was hurting and his skin was on fire. He still had a little while before the seizures would set in. Those would come soon enough if he didn’t get his meds. 

He checked the personal effects locker room and evidence storage area. But his gear wasn’t there. It had to be somewhere, he thought. They wouldn’t just throw away his proximity mines, grenades,  an RK assault rifle, and extra magazines. They had to be in the weapons locker.
 

Steele sprinted through A-block, past B-block, to the exit door on the opposite side of the detention area. The door led to the rest of the level. He cracked it open and peered into the corridor—empty.

He pushed through and spilled into the hallway. His eyes peered down the barrel, through the sights of Wade’s 9mm—ready to annihilate anything that came against him.  He slid past the generator room. A black, acetate nameplate on the door read:
Power Station
. Three diesel generators were churning away. Through the door window, he saw a guard who was supposed to be monitoring the operation of the generators. But instead he was passed out in a chair, hugging an assault rifle and snoring. Steele didn’t know what time it was, but he figured it was almost midnight. If not a little later.

Steele crept down to the end of the corridor. Around the corner was the medical center. It was a bee hive of activity. Wounded were backed up into the hallway. There were many dead, covered in blankets. Many more were in the process of dying. Makeshift medical personnel scurried about, attending to the wounded as best they could. The air was filled with moans and groans. It seemed the entire facility was preoccupied with addressing the chaos that Steele had caused. 

Down the hall in the opposite direction, past the food storage area, was the weapons room. Steele figured that nobody would pay him much attention if he just casually strolled down the hall. There was too much turmoil. He holstered the 9mm and stepped out into the hallway.

 He was almost to the weapon supply when somebody called after him.

“Excuse me,” a woman said.

 Steele cringed. He slowly turned around to face her.

“Can you give me a hand?”

 Steele forced a smile and nodded.

“You have any medical experience?”