End Days Super Boxset (96 page)

“Who are you?” Greg asked.

“Who the hell are
you
?” the man asked back.

“Where's Tilda?” Veronica said forcefully

The man stumbled toward them a little, scratching the black hair on his head. “Tilda?” He steadied his footing and then suddenly appeared to be fully awake. “Oh, Tilda!” He stopped and looked around the room, trying to see how many people he was dealing with. “I don't know.”

“What do you mean, you don't know? Who are you, and what are you doing in my aunt's house?” Veronica asked

Greg raised his pistol again. The man crossed his arms over his face and shielded himself. “Please! My name is Sergeant Charles Irwin with the United States Army. I’m on a scout mission to find people in need and transport them to Base 42.”

“In a privately owned vehicle?” Greg asked.

The man smirked. “Well, our resources are limited.”

“Where’s my aunt?” Veronica asked.

“Tilda went out. One of the neighbors came by. Man named Joe. They’re doing their rounds, making sure everything's okay. You know, neighborly stuff. With all this Ebola stuff going on, you can never be too—”

“Quiet,” Greg said. He pointed to Veronica. “She doesn't know who you are, which means she can't vouch for you, which means you and I have a problem.”

“We do?” the man asked.

“You could be infected for all we know. And it looks like you’ve been doing a little drinking. Hardly the behavior of a soldier on a mission.”

Sergeant Irwin extended his arm defensively. “OK, yeah, you’re right. I haven’t touched the stuff in a while, but Tilda offered it to me. Said to make myself comfortable while she was gone.”

“And how long has she been gone?” Veronica asked.

Sergeant Irwin looked up. “About an hour or so. She’s checking on her neighbors and telling them about Base 42. She insisted that I stay here. She’s a real nice woman. She took me in. She can explain everything once she gets back, sir.” He looked to Veronica. “So you’re her niece, huh?”

She said nothing. He tried to shake their hands, but Greg told him to keep his distance. There was an uncomfortable silence when Greg suddenly motioned to the couch to his far right against the wall.

“Take a seat over there.” He turned to Veronica. “I have some rope in the van, right in the front. A small reel of it. Please go get it and bring it back.”

The man walked slowly to the couch with his hands up and took a seat. “Please, sir. This really isn’t necessary.”

Greg turned to him. “A soldier who drinks on duty isn’t exactly the most trustworthy individual, if you know what I mean.”

Sergeant Irwin laughed. “Come on, I haven’t had a drink in ages. Tilda insisted.”

“I don’t care. We’re not taking any chances,” Greg said.

Veronica took a look back into the kitchen and saw that there were several other liquor bottles sitting on the counter, some of them still half-full. She walked behind Greg and turned off the TV manually.

“Couldn't get a single channel,” the sergeant said.

“That's enough,” Greg said. “Even if you know Tilda, like you claim, your presence here is unexpected. So we’re gonna wait until Tilda comes back and clear this whole thing up.”

“Fair enough,” Sergeant Irwin said. “But do you really have to tie me up?”

“Yes,” Greg said.

Veronica walked back behind Greg and began to investigate the rest of the house. The bottles intrigued her. She knew her aunt drank wine, but the whiskey was her late husband's—Veronica's Uncle Bernie—and Tilda wouldn't have let just anyone touch it. Maybe she had a soft spot for the soldier.

“How about that rope?” Greg asked.

“Sorry,” Veronica said, walking out of the house, taking a flashlight from the counter with her. Greg took a seat on the couch across from the solider and kept his gun aimed. Irwin tried to smile at him, but Greg kept his guard up. He didn’t say a word to the soldier but kept his gaze locked on him. Irwin opened his mouth to speak but then decided not to.

“Where’s your weapon?” Greg asked.

Irwin looked at him funny. Greg continued. “If you’re on some kind of mission, I assume you have a weapon, correct?”

“Yes, sir. Of course.” Irwin looked down at the ground. “But I left it in the truck. Saw no reason to bring it inside.”

“With everything going on right now, you’d leave your weapon in the truck. What is it, a rifle?”

“An M16A4 rifle.”

“Anything else?” Greg asked.

“Nothing,” Irwin said.

Veronica entered the house, came into the living room with a small spool of yellow nylon rope, and handed it to Greg. He gave her the pistol and told her to keep it aimed as he pulled a pocketknife from his pants pocket and cut the rope into sections. All Irwin could do was sit there and watch. Greg approached the man and told him to stand up.

“I’m going to search you for weapons,” he said.

Irwin held out his arms as Greg patted him down. Oddly enough, the soldier had nothing on him, not even in his pockets.

“No ID?” Greg asked.

“In the truck,” Irwin answered.

Greg told him to hold out his wrists, which he did. Greg tied his together tightly and then tied an extended line of rope from Irwin’s wrist to the leg of a nearby bookcase, effectively locking him into place.

Greg walked to the other couch and took his pistol back from Veronica.

“I’m going to take another look around the place,” she said.

“OK, just be careful,” Greg said.

Leaving the men, Veronica walked down the hall and checked each room again, turning on lights as she went, not seeing a thing.

The house was exactly as she had always remembered it. There were books, historical figurines, goat and cow skulls, and paintings everywhere. There were antique rifles on the wall, which probably hadn't been fired in centuries. There were animal taxidermy displays on shelves, everything from rattlesnakes to foxes. All the beds were made and the house was clean, just how Tilda always kept it. On the countertop next to the sink, she saw Aunt Tilda's turquoise purse.

She walked to the front windows and looked out, hoping to find any signs of her aunt returning. She walked back to the kitchen, and to a door that led to the basement. She opened it and turned on the light. Downstairs, everything looked normal. She could see the rows of shelves, usually filled with food her aunt liked to keep on hand, but strangely, they were all empty. She walked back into the living room and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms and waiting as Greg continued his interrogation.

“This scouting mission of yours, what’s the point?” Greg asked.

Irwin shifted on the couch uncomfortably. “If I'm going to tell you that, can you please stop pointing that thing at me?”

“No deal. Talk,” Greg said.

“Look, I don't have Ebola. It's impossible.”

“And why is that?” Greg asked, astonished by Irwin’s certainty.

“Because I’ve been tested for it like a hundred times. Base 42 is a quarantine station. Real top secret stuff.”

Greg paused to get his thoughts together. He didn't know what to make of any of it. The man was young, maybe a little too eager, and while polite, Greg felt that something wasn't adding up. Irwin looked at Greg and Veronica as if pleading that they would give him a chance.

“I was called there for guard detail when the whole quarantine thing happened. They have these big concrete barricades and concertina wire. They want to help people there. And to ensure the surrounding population isn’t infected, they sent me out to remote areas with hopes that residents would come to be tested.”

Greg shook his head. “So you decided to take a pick-up truck without any protective equipment and search for people who failed to report to the quarantine stations?”

“Something like that,” Irwin said with a laugh.

“This Base 42,” Greg asked. “Where is it?”

Irwin thought to himself. “On the outskirts of Sun Valley, off of Route 88.” He smiled and continued. “Used to be some kind of drone base. Can you believe they tested nukes around there in the 1950s? Pretty cool, huh?”

Greg sat on the couch across from Irwin with his pistol still aimed. Veronica took a seat next to him and sighed. “This is what we're going to do,” he said. “We're going to sit here and wait until Tilda returns. Maybe your story checks out, or maybe you’re full of shit. Either way, we’re going to find out.”

Veronica and Greg both looked at the stranger as he smiled back at them, seeking approval. They sat in the dimly lit living room, three people brought together by circumstance, and waited.

An hour had passed, and there was no sign of Tilda. Veronica was growing increasingly frustrated, and Greg was tired. They were going to have to make some tough decisions involving their unwanted guest. It was past midnight, and they still had supplies to bring in and plenty of work to do. Veronica had tried calling Aunt Tilda's cell phone, but there still wasn't any reception. They were lucky to have power, which Greg found interesting in itself.

Apparently Tilda had a muffled 10K generator running in the back, providing just enough juice for the fan, lights, and appliances. That was what Irwin had told him. The power outage obviously was widespread, which meant that the outbreak had most likely spread as well. The question was, how far north?

“I'm going to take my car and look for her,” Veronica said from the kitchen. “It's hard for me to believe that she would just leave you here unattended.”

“I guess she just trusted me,” Irwin said.

Greg stood up, told Irwin he would be back, and then walked to the kitchen toward Veronica. “Let's talk for a moment.”

She nodded in understanding, and they moved to the dining room area, out of Irwin’s hearing range. Irwin didn’t show any concern and just hit his palms against the couch in a drum-like beat.

Greg spoke quietly. “How well do you know the area around here?”

“It's a big place. There's a couple other ranches around, but I don't know them all. I heard Tilda mention this Joe before, so maybe Sergeant Irwin is telling the truth.”

“We don’t know anything until we find your aunt.”

Veronica shook her head. “I don't know. I think he’s just trying to help people. He is a soldier, after all.”

“Soldiers don’t usually go on a mission alone. It’s strange.” Greg looked into the living room, where Irwin remained on the couch, staring ahead. Greg looked back to Veronica. “I want to know more about this Base 42 place. Why don't you drive around for a little bit and see if you can find your aunt? Do you remember where Joe's ranch is?”

“I don't, unfortunately,” she said, looking down.

“Just do a little circle around the place and see what you can find. It's late, and we still have to bring in our supplies. I'll keep watch here while you're gone.”

“What are we going to do with him?”

Greg turned his head toward the living room then back to Veronica. “I don't think he should stay here, but I guess that's for your aunt to decide. I'm as much of a stranger to her as he is.”

“Okay, I'll do my best to find her,” Veronica said. “I won't be long.” She turned to the kitchen, walked over to the counter, and grabbed her keys.

“Good luck,” Greg said. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his van keys. “Here, take my van, it’s still got a good amount of fuel left in it.”

Veronica thanked him, took his keys, and left the house. Moments later, he heard her start the van as headlights shined through the curtains into the living room where Irwin sat. The man remained quiet, seemingly lost in a beat as his hands continued to tap against the plush surface of the couch. Greg went back into the living room, ready to ask the stranger some more questions.

“So,” Greg said, taking a seat on the couch. “Tell me more about Base 42.”

“What do you want to know?” Irwin asked.

“Everything, starting with how many people are there, how long they've been there.”

Irwin looked up. “Oh, about two hundred or so. You and the woman would fit right in.” He snapped his fingers with excitement. “Maybe I can take you guys there! It’s much safer than staying out here. The rioting and looting from Reno could trickle over here in no time.” He looked at Greg for approval.

“That’s fine,” Greg said, putting an end to the thought.

***

In utter darkness, Veronica drove along the narrow dirt roads that circled the vast rancher community. She passed by an endless line of log fences and miles of sporadic patches of grass and weed sprouting from clay and dirt. The rustic environment made her feel somewhat at home; a place safe from disease and death, violence and evil. She hadn't seen a single home yet and was beginning to wonder if she would.

Maybe she was on a wild goose chase. Nothing made sense, yet she was trying her hardest to figure it out. Aunt Tilda leaving her house with a man named Joe? Why? To check on the others? Why so late at night? Was there some kind of emergency? Irwin only seemed to know so much, and she wasn't sure what she thought of him anyway. To her right, beyond the reach of her headlights, there was a narrow path leading to the first home on her search.

They really are spaced out around here
, she thought.

She could see the shadow of the large house jutting into the night sky. There weren’t any lights on in or around the house, and it could have been vacant for all she knew. Her dusty Volvo bounced up and down the rugged path leading to the ranch house. Her headlights revealed a two-story behemoth with a barn next to it.

She could see the silhouette of horses circling a free-range grazing area beyond the three pillared log fences; however, there wasn't a vehicle near the home, nor did it look like anyone was inside. She parked the Volvo and got out, holding a flashlight. The horses seemed startled by her presence, even from afar. They scattered as she approached the house, shining her light into windows, her shoes picking up dirt with each step.

The sound of night crickets broke the otherwise eerie silence, and she approached the front porch stairs with caution. It was awfully late to be going door to door, but it was the only way to discover Tilda's whereabouts. The curtains hanging in each window were open, and she shined a light inside, seeing only empty rooms and furniture. It was an occupied house; it just didn't look as though anyone was in it. She knocked on the door, loud, and waited. No one came.

“This is stupid,” she said to herself. “I'm never going to find anyone at this hour.”

She turned around, walked down the steps, and went back to her car. As she left, the horses seemed to take little notice.

***

Back in Tilda's living room, Greg got up from the couch to stretch.

“Can I use the bathroom?” Sergeant Irwin asked. “I really gotta go.”

Greg looked at the man. “Not until Tilda gets back,” he said. “I’m sorry, but you have to understand the situation.”

Irwin squirmed but nodded his head in understanding.

Headlights beamed through the curtains, and Greg jumped up to look out the window. Veronica hadn't been gone long, and he was excited at the prospect of her walking in with Tilda and putting an end to all the confusion. Of course, the aunt would be just as confused by his unexpected presence in her house. From what he’d heard about Tilda, though, he suspected that they would get along just nicely.

“Is that them?” Irwin asked.

“I don’t know,” Greg said, standing up. He went to the foyer to greet Veronica. She walked in with a look of frustration.

“You didn't find her?” Greg asked, reading her face.

“I only went to one house, but it's hopeless. I don't know my way around this place, and it's so dark. I was just thinking,
what am I doing out here?
”

“Don’t worry about it,” Greg said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She looked up. Greg lowered his voice and pointed, motioning to the living room. “We just need to figure out what to do with this one.”

She nodded slightly, and they walked to the kitchen, where the curious sight of the liquor bottles met her glance again. She grabbed a nearby broom and dustpan. “Sergeant Irwin,” she called out.

“Yes,” he said from the couch.

Veronica walked into the living room while Greg leaned against the kitchen bar, trying to plan their next move.

“I noticed you were, uh, sleeping with that bottle in your lap.” The glass was still on the floor. “Were you guys drinking all the liquor on the counter? Looks like someone raided my uncle's liquor cabinet, and I don’t know her to drink anything other than wine.”

Irwin looked at her with a blank stare. He saw that she had a broom in her hand and quickly tried to change the subject. “I'm sorry about the glass. I’d clean it up if I wasn’t tied up.”

“That’s all right,” she said, sweeping up the glass.

Irwin remained silent as she filled the dustpan and walked back to the kitchen, shaking her head at Greg. In response, he shrugged.

She opened the cabinet under the sink where there was a wastebasket and dumped the glass in. Irwin slowly leaned back on the couch and studied the couple. Veronica looked again at the bottles on the counter. “Such a waste,” she said under her breath. She gathered the bottles, making a clinking noise and leaving one behind in the process. Two of the four in her arms were still half full.

“She may want to keep these,” she said to Greg. “Uncle Bernie's liquor cabinet is in the basement. I'll put them back.”

Greg scratched his beard. “Need a hand?”

“No, I got it.”

Irwin watched from afar. Veronica opened the basement door right next to the refrigerator and disappeared from the soldier’s sight. Greg paced around the kitchen, pistol in hand, opening cabinets out of curiosity or boredom. He was thinking of cutting the soldier loose and sending him on his way. Whether Tilda was coming back or not, there was no reason for Sergeant Irwin to be there anymore. But letting him go was an issue too.

Irwin’s eye caught the glimmer of a small shard of glass lying under the two-shelved coffee table in front of him. The long, jagged piece must have had slid underneath when the whiskey bottle shattered. He had taken notice of it moments ago and knew that it was time for action.

As soon as Greg was out of sight, he lunged forward, grabbed the piece, and furiously cut at the rope around his wrist. He stopped once Greg came back into view. Once he was gone again, Irwin went back to cutting.

Suddenly Greg heard one of the bottles shatter from the basement downstairs. “Are you OK?” he said.

There was a pause, then Veronica called out. “Yeah. I dropped one of the bottles. Damn it. Greg, could you go into the bathroom and get me some cleaner.”

“Cleaner?”

“Yeah. She’s got Pine Sol under the sink, and I don’t want the floor to get sticky.”

Greg looked under the kitchen sink just to be sure but didn’t see anything.

“She keeps it in the bathroom,” she shouted, as if hearing him look under the kitchen sink. “And grab a mop too, please.”

Greg looked at Sergeant Irwin. He still appeared to be tied up to the bookshelf and gave Greg a friendly nod. Greg went down the hall into the bathroom and turned on the light. Realizing he had to urinate, he closed the door.

Veronica stood in front of the liquor cabinet just where she remembered it to be, right next to the washer and dryer. There was glass everywhere and a big puddle of Jack Daniels spreading on the floor. A single hanging bulb illuminated the cluttered basement, and Veronica looked at the washing machine with sinking relief.

She could finally wash her clothes the normal way. The cabinet was an antique of sorts that had two small glass doors above the base, where most of the liquor was stored. She opened the door with one hand and stuck the bottles inside. As she closed the door, she breathed in an odd, putrid smell, like a dead animal.

“Ugh,” she said. The odor made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She surveyed the basement, all the stacked boxes of memorabilia under the stairs and old books and records piled up in the shadows.

She took notice of a blue tarp wedged into the corner and approached it. The closer she got, the stronger the smell grew. There was a large bulge under the tarp, and she was hesitant to investigate further. Her imagination had taken over.

One step closer and she noticed a red smear on the ground. She leaned down and saw another small red spot, untouched; like a blood drop. It heightened her curiosity and fear, but she approached the tarp, determined to investigate.

The tarp was rolled up and tied on both ends with rope. She pulled the rope on one end loose and untied it. The tarp fell open, and she was struck with a potent smell, followed by the sight of two bare legs streaked with blood.

She screamed and jumped back, falling onto the ground. An intense, sick feeling gripped her stomach, and she could feel herself shaking. Breathing heavily, she mustered the strength to approach the tarp and pulled it open further. Suddenly, she heard footsteps running down the stairs.

“Greg!” she shouted.

A quick glance downward revealed the mutilated body of a woman wearing a bloody sundress with countless open stab wounds crusted over with thick, dark blood. Gray, messy hair covered the woman’s face, but Veronica could see a large and jagged opening across her neck, where blood had flowed into a thick puddle on the tarp.

“Oh my God!” she screamed, covering her mouth. She turned around, expecting to see Greg, but only saw Sergeant Irwin standing there in front of her under the light of the fluorescent bulb, clutching a glimmering knife. There was a backpack slung around his shoulder.

“Keep your voice down,” he said.

Veronica recoiled and sobbed. “What happened?” she said in a shaky voice. “
You
did this?”