Scavengers (22 page)

“Damn!” Shaun finished in a hurry, readied his pistol, pulled the door open a crack, and eased his gun around the doorframe, looking through the hall toward the sofas where Kathryn was waiting.

Kathryn was no longer there. The bags of food and drinks were torn apart, their contents littering the tiled floor, cans rolling every direction.

“Shit,” Shaun hissed in a whisper, and backed into the restroom. It was the one room in the building where he could be certain he was alone. His own breathing was louder in his ears than he wished as he listened to the sounds around him.
Was she hiding? Should he call to her
? Uncertain of his next move, he cursed under his breath.

He peered though the hall again and caught sight of a gray-trousered leg and boot rounding the corner. It was a Sickie. He came into Shaun’s line of vision. The zombie’s uniform marked him as one of the airport maintenance crew. His nametag said he was
Bill
. Bill wasn’t looking too good.

Bill opened the narrow door leading to the janitor’s closet and was ripped to shreds by a sudden burst of gunfire. Kathryn leapt from the closet, screaming a primal shout. Kicking the body of the infected fiend to the floor, she ran toward the green sofas. “Shaun!”

Shaun looked in both directions and then ran toward the shouting Kathryn. “I’m here,” he shouted as loud as he dared. If there was one infected, it seemed likely that others would be in the near vicinity. “Let’s get out of here!”

They ran for the door.  Just as they made it outside, seven infected maintenance men poured from a side door in the building, heading toward the helicopter pad. On the other side of the chopper, three Sickies came around the fueling truck, shambling straight for David and the waiting helicopter.

David stood, tensed, hands cupped over his eyes, staring toward the corrugated metal building.

“Go! Go!” Kathryn shouted. She gestured wildly toward David and the chopper. More zombies filed from the hanger. The place was alive and swarming with the monsters.

David ran around the helicopter, jumping into the cockpit through his door. Shaun ran faster than Kathryn and clamored into the backseat, panting.

“Come on Kathryn!” he shouted out the door.

Kathryn struggled with a man in a gray jumpsuit who grabbed onto her jacket at the edge of the landing pad and was holding on despite her best efforts to dislodge him. She pivoted, ramming the butt of the gun into the Sickie’s head.

David started up the chopper. The noise drowned out Kathryn’s shouts.

Sickies came from every direction.

Kathryn struggled to reach the helicopter. She frantically yanked against her captor’s grip, trying to get clear before the others caught up. It was futile; three more zombies rushed ahead of the staggering group.  They fastened their blood-smeared hands around her arms and pulled her to the pavement. A deep crimson stain spread across the arm of her jacket, and the fabric was ripped free revealing bloody flesh. Grimy fingernails left deep gouges in their wakes, curled runnels of skin peeling from the rivulets.

Kathryn kicked the head of a zombie on the ground, its hair dangling in patches from leathery scalp remains. Its skin seemed to have dried on its body, the ruined flesh of its eye sockets swimming with maggots where flies had planted eggs as it slept. She bashed in the drooling face with her heel. For every infected person she managed to do in, another one latched onto her.

A woman in a blue business suit and lighter shade bluish-gray skin clutched Kathryn’s hair and pulled. Kathryn screeched and twirled, beating the woman with her fists. The businesswoman lost her footing, and fell, but took a sizeable clump of Kathryn’s hair with her.

“We’ve got to do something!” Shaun screamed. David pushed the barrel of the rifle through the open window and tried to aim for the heads of the infected, but he couldn’t get a clear line. There were too many of them and now they couldn’t see Kathryn. Every few seconds they could see her hand or foot, but no clear visual.

“Shoot, damn it! Shoot!” Shaun shouted.

“I can’t see where she is.”

“It doesn’t matter, man. If she’s getting eaten by those bastards, she’s going to want to be dead anyway. You gotta take the chance. Shoot them!”

David popped off a few rounds, catching a couple of the infected work crew in their backs. They fell to the ground around the trampling feet of the others, but their absence did little to slow the onslaught of terror enveloping Kathryn.

As the shots pierced the loud drone of the chopper’s engines, the zombies turned to the helicopter. Several broke away from the cluster around Kathryn and shuffled to the landing pad. From the hanger, a dozen or more zombies emerged, some in business suits and dresses. It was like a hornet’s nest had been whacked with a stick.

David eased the helicopter into the air.

“We can’t just leave her!” Shaun yelled.

Dejah put a hand on Shaun’s arm. He knew if David was leaving Kathryn behind, there was no hope for her rescue. He just didn’t want to believe it. Shaun slammed the door closed, locked it, and strapped himself into his seat. “Can we shoot from the air?”

He looked below, over the scrambling crowd of zombies, where Kathryn’s body lay face down on the pavement. She wasn’t moving.

A thump sounded from the pilot’s side of the chopper. Dejah screamed.

Hanging on the side of the helicopter was a gore-crusted Sickie, his face smashed against the glass, black mouth fogging it with wretched breath.

David tilted the bird a hard left. The zombie lost his hold and tumbled to the pavement below like a sock-doll dropped from a balcony. Shaun tried to spot Kathryn beneath the growing horde of zombies. The mob grew thicker, and the helicopter put more distance between them and the ground. And then they were away.

Everyone rode in silence, listening to the din of the wind through the rotor blades. Dejah leaned back in her seat, breathing heavily into her microphone, eyes closed.

“We should’ve done
something
,” Shaun muttered.

“Nothing we could’ve done, pal. There were just too damn many of them.” Over the speakers in their helmets, they heard his deep sigh, laden with regret.

Shaun looked back at Dejah and she gave him a sad smile. 
They didn’t even get to meet each other
, he thought.

David piloted the copter east into Hunt County.

Dr. Josh Gutierrez buried his face in his hands, and then, in a complete and utter loss of control, dropped his head to the metal desk in anger. He yelled at the top of his lungs, raising his head, and slamming a fist into the desktop. “Does Robbins
not
get the severity of this situation?”

Nurse Doris Ford sat opposite the desk on a folding chair, rigid now after his outburst, a duffle bag on her lap. She was leaving. “Josh, it sounds to me like Dr. Robbins is doing everything he can to help control this situation. He’s only one man.”

“And so am I! I’ve got raging lunatics strapped to cots and fence posts just to keep them from killing each other. I’ve got tents full of healthy people that won’t go home because they don’t want to leave infected family members behind. I’m down to three staff members — two after you leave. This is a
nightmare
.”

“You should leave.”

“I can’t. I took an oath. I have to stay.”

“Bullshit. Your oath didn’t account for flesh eating zombies. Just
leave
.” Doris’s blunt language startled Josh. She stood and turned toward the door, but faced him again. “Leave, Josh. Tell the healthy people to get out, let the Army and police go, and leave.”

“And leave these … people … these
infected
… to their own devices?”

“Yes.”

Josh shook his head, exhaustion worn deep into the lines of his face. “Be careful, Doris, and take care of yourself out there.”

“I’ll say a prayer for you, Dr. Gutierrez.”

“We’ll need more than prayers out here, Doris, but thanks all the same.” Josh stood and walked Doris to the door of the trailer serving as the clinic office. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” Doris walked down the metal stairs and into a police car heading into town. She waved to him from the passenger window, her face a vision of worry.

Josh sighed, and sunk his hands into the deep pockets of his scrubs, watching the squad car drive over the tree-framed dirt road, and then turn onto the county road. He looked around the quarantine camp. Maybe he
should
leave.

His phone rang, vibrating against his chest. He slid it from his pocket, opening it. “Gutierrez.”

“Josh. It’s Matt. Bad news.”

Josh laughed hard. “Well, I didn’t expect fucking Disney.”

“Sorry to have to tell you this, but there are no sedatives left near your location after we had so many shipped directly there. I’ve scrounged and begged at every pharmacy, clinic, and doctor’s office, and I’ve got a small case of clonazepam that would work great for your worst patients if only I could
get
it to you.”

Silence.

“Josh?”

“I’m here.”

“I thought I lost the call again,” Dr. Robbins said.

“Nope. Still here. For the time being. I’ll probably be dead by morning.”

“Now, don’t talk like that. You’ve got the infected people restrained, right? That should hold’em for the time being.”

“The time being? You said that days ago,” Josh said, frustration evident in his voice. “Doris left a few minutes ago.”

“Who’ve you got left?” Dr. Robbins sounded dismayed.

“Me and two orderlies. Handful of Army and police. The patients’ families are handling most of the duties now.”

“That’s
all
?”

“I should leave, too. It’s suicide to stay much longer. The infected are getting more agitated. There’s no food. There are no meds. Unless you can get some sort of serum out here soon, I’m certain everyone here is doomed. I’m telling all healthy people to stay at their own peril. I don’t think I’m doing a good enough job of terrifying the shit out of them yet.”

“If you really don’t see any possible way around the situation, Josh, you should take as many who will listen and go,” Dr. Robbins said.

“Thinking about it. Seriously, Robbins. I need to talk with the families one more time and convince them to leave. After that, I’m throwing in the towel. I’m probably in the next car out.”

“Okay, listen. I’ve been going back and forth with the research lab long-distance, and we’re getting close to a serum that works as an antidote for the toxin and induces antibodies to fight the virus. I’ve been testing it on willing and—” he cleared his throat, “not so willing participants. I’ll give you a call when I can. As soon as it’s ready, I’ll get it to you if I have to bring it out to you myself.  But if you’ve got to get out of there, Josh, then go.”  Robbins terminated the call.

Getting close isn’t good enough; not for these people. Not now
, Josh thought, staring at his phone. He returned it to his pocket, and went inside.

*     *     *

Nine-year-old Selah Corliss crept through the narrow passages behind the big tan Army tents along the dirt path in the infected quarter. She slowly lifted one of the tents from its bottom edge and peered inside. A man lay on a cot, straps buckled around his chest and thighs. Once she’d watched an old Frankenstein movie with her dad. The image of the man now before her, shackled, reminded her of the monster. Although this man looked human, there still seemed to be something wrong with him at first glance. Not just the sickness, either. Darkness gathered around him in the waning light of day, as if something unseen cast its shadow over him. There was a musty smell, of something rotting. The man’s skin was dark tan but had gone sallow in places, hair black, his eyes two pools of deep shadow. He was staring at the ceiling of the tent, mumbling words in another language that she couldn’t understand.

She looked around, trying to see if her grandmother was in the tent. Her dad told her she wasn’t allowed to come to this part of the camp, but they hadn’t been able to get any information about Grandma from the people in charge. This seemed like the best way. She’d look in all of the tents, and be back before her dad returned from helping dig graves for the dead.

The man saw her. Just as she started to drop the tent edge, he lifted his head.

“Hello, little one,” his voice was raspy like he had a dry throat, and he talked funny. Different somehow.

Selah wasn’t sure what to do. She crouched, motionless, tent edge still clasped in her hand.

“What are you doing here?” the man asked.

“I’m looking for my Grandma,” she replied. “But I have to hurry. My dad’s afraid I’ll get sick if I talk with her. I’m not supposed to leave our tent.”

“What does your grandmother look like?”

Selah lifted the tent edge and crawled under. Hesitantly she made her way to the man’s side. Close up, he looked sicker. She eyed his restraints suspiciously. No harm telling him, she guessed. “She’s short, little. She’s smaller than my mom.” Selah studied the man. His black hair and bronze skin looked almost Mexican, but his voice had a different accent.  She thought maybe he was Middle Eastern, like her friend Amira from school.

“Maybe I can help you find her?”

“Maybe. Are you sick?” Selah asked.

“No. I was asleep and they put these straps on me by mistake. They said they’d come back and undo them when they weren’t busy,” the man said with a smile. “But, now that you’re here, you can help me so they can take care of the sick people.”

“You look sick.”

“I’m just cold. No heat in the tent.” He looked around, and shot a glance toward the tent door. “What’s your name?”

“Selah. What’s your’s?” She wondered if she’d get in trouble for talking with a stranger, but her dad wouldn’t really know because she’d get back to their tent before he returned.

“Shem.”

“That’s a funny name.”

“My home is far away. I was teaching at the college.” Bal Shem smiled again.

Selah knew a bunch of her grandparents’ friends were professors at the state college in Commerce, not too far from Greenville. She’d been there lots of times.

“Can you help me unbuckle these straps?”

“I don’t know.” She took a cautious step back. “I should ask the doctor first. You look really sick.”

Bal Shem frowned, but quickly replaced the harsh expression with a smile. “You want to find your grandma, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Help me remove the straps and we’ll go find her. I know where all the tents are. We can probably find her pretty fast.”

Selah looked around the empty tent and then back at Shem. He lay on the cot, smiling. He
did
look like a teacher. She moved to his legs and unbuckled the fat strap. “What do you teach at the college?” she asked.

He muttered something incoherent, and struggled with words that couldn’t seem to formulate on his tongue. He laid his head on the cot and closed his eyes, as if trying to clear the webs from his mind.

When her hand brushed against the bare flesh of his arm, Bal Shem felt tingles surge over his skin. Tingles similar to the sensation felt when the body experienced pins and needles.

Her hands worked the tight buckle over his chest.

“You’ve almost got it,” he said, voice heavy with encouragement.

“It’s stuck, I think.”

“Wiggle it to the right a little more.”

Selah moved the black strap to the right and slid it from the buckle.

He was free.

Bal Shem clasped her hand in a gesture of thanks.

When he wrapped his fingers around the small bones of her fist, a current of power coursed through the receptors in the sensory neurons of his skin, neural transmitters surged to interneurons. Overcharged signals rocketed through the core of his spine. An electric heat rushed through his being like raw electricity.  It gave him a momentary sense of elation, of power.  Of strength.

He released her hand, shocked.

The little girl stood motionless before him, watching him.

Bal Shem felt his brain returning to normal. In a supernatural moment of heightened self awareness, he imagined he could feel the dendrites of neural cells in his brain begin to branch out again where they had begun to wither, could sense the somatic processing of his thoughts fire heightened impulses down the axons of billions of neural cells reawakened. Thoughts formed and stuck where, before, he kept forgetting what he was thinking.

He touched her arms with his hands. She stared into his face, trembling, but didn’t make a sound.

Strength washed over him as he felt the rejuvenation of aching bones and eroding muscles on an almost molecular level. He brushed her face with his hand, gently, so as not to scare her too much. Another wave of warmth and energy bathed his frazzled nerves, soothed the chaos in his mind. What was it about this child that gave him strength and rationale where minutes before he only had weakness and confusion?

“Are—are you okay?” she managed to ask.

“Yes, yes, little one. I am only so very thankful for … your help.” He hoped his voice sounded comforting, friendly. He let her go. She started to take a step backward, when he reached and grasped her hand once more. As a test.

The potency of her effect on him was immediate. Energy spiked through him, emboldened him, made him feel well again.

He heard footsteps passing outside the tent.

“Are you still going to help me find Grandma?”

Bal Shem looked at her with his dark brown eyes, his dusky lips curling into a smile. “Why, of course, little one.”

His thoughts rushed like water over a spillway now. Clarity returned and, with it, his purpose was renewed. He needed to get out of this camp. He’d been here too long and with the military and police presence, even in this time of insanity, someone might spot him again. On the other hand, he was sick. Despite his momentary rejuvenation, he felt it fading already, like the effects of a narcotic as it gave you back to your pain.

Yes.  Despite what he’d just felt, this amazing surge of vigor, he was sure that he was still sick. And even as he realized it, his moment of lucidity was also fading fast.  Suddenly, he struggled to formulate the next words he would say.

Until he touched this child.

He looked at Selah. Each brush against her flesh renewed his health, sent surging power and strength through his body. Was he so far gone, so sick and delusional that his mind was imagining these physical and mental effects?

He let her hand drop. She grabbed her hand protectively, eyeing the tent door. “I have to hurry. My dad told me not to come here. He’s afraid I’ll get sick. Can we go look for her now?”

“Certainly.” Bal Shem stood. His legs felt like old wicker, rickety and unsure, but when he placed his hand on Selah’s shoulder for support, the power shot through him again, and his legs felt renewed.

He saw the tans and browns of Army fatigues on a man passing in front of his tent. “Stay here – just for a moment. Don’t leave. There are … too many sick people. I’ll be right back.”

Quickly, Bal Shem darted outside. The Army reservist didn’t see him sneak up from behind; he didn’t see whose hands twisted and snapped his neck.

The man’s body dropped into the dry dirt with a thud. Bal Shem seized the man’s pistol, and slung the man’s rifle over his shoulder. Straightening his rumpled, dirty white dress shirt, he calmly re-entered the tent.