Sunrise (5 page)

“I never said that.”

“I always knew that was wrong with you, Gerald. I saw you.”

“Saw me what?”

“I saw you looking at other men.”

The hair on Dakota’s arms stood on end and the weight in his heart increased tenfold. A pendulum dropping upon his head, it sliced any calm rationale within his mind and let it fall into two pieces. At his side, Steve stood silent, though his hand strayed to the holster at his side.
Please don’t,
he thought, ready to lash out and tackle his friend to the ground at any moment.

“This is ridiculous,” Gerald said, breaking the brief moment of silence that shattered the violent cloud of hate in the room. “Elise, I have never—”

“That time at the amusement park, when we were with little Sophie and her parents. I saw you looking at him, Gerald.”

“Who?”

“That boy. I always knew you were wrong, Gerald. I should’ve listened to Mother when she said you were a bad man, but by God, I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to believe that the man I loved,
my husband,
wanted men. I didn’t. I didn’t.
I DIDN’T!”

“ENOUGH!”
Gerald roared.

“They’re being too loud,” Dakota whispered, eyes darting to the window as he saw shapes moving on the road. “Steve, they’re going to hear us in here!”

“God will deliver me to his kingdom!” Elise cried, throwing herself to the front door. “He will deliver me my salvation and send his angels with trumpeting horns to free me from my mortal sin!”

“ELISE!” Gerald screamed.

“NO!” the woman cried.

She hurled the door open.

A figure lunged from the shadows just as the glass in the front windows exploded into the living room.

“GET AWAY FROM THE DOOR!” Gerald cried. “ELISE! NO!”

“It’s not worth it,” Steve cried, grabbing the man’s arm. “Don’t do it, Gerald! Don’t do it!”

In the final moments of her life, Elise spread her arms and smiled. Crucified by her mortal sins, she closed her eyes and whispered a prayer just moments before the zombie burst into the living room and dragged her to the ground.

“NO!” Gerald screamed, tearing away from Steve’s grasp and grabbing a nearby lamp. “BASTARDS! LEAVE MY WIFE ALONE!”

“DON’T DO IT!” Dakota screamed.

Steve tried to grab the man, but it was no use. By the time Gerald slammed the lamp over the zombie’s head, three more appeared from the shadows and launched themselves into the house, pulling Gerald away just as he reached his motionless wife.

Dakota raised his gun. He flipped the safety off.

“No, Dakota!” Steve cried. “They’re already dead! We have to get out of here!”

“But I…they…” Tears streaming down his face, he lowered his gun and followed Steve into the kitchen, toward the door that led out into the backyard. From the other room, he could hear Gerald’s cries of anguish as the creatures ripped him to pieces. A shambling zombie attempted to follow, but Dakota raised his gun and fired a shot, which could barely be heard over the howls of agony projected from Gerald’s lungs.

Steve kicked the door open.

The corpse fell to the ground with a bullet through its head.

Dakota took one last look into the living room. He saw a painting of a beautiful sunrise just before Steve pulled him out the back door.

CHAPTER 2

“Corporal Marks, has the perimeter been secured?”

“Yes sir,” Corporal Jamie Marks said, taking a brief glance back at the chain-link fence. “The perimeter is clear, sir.”

“How many casualties?”

“Six confirmed, sir, possibly more.”

“Dammit,” Sergeant Armstrong breathed, swiping a hand across the stubble on his head. “Civilians, military?”

“Mostly civilians, sir. Two military.”

“Who?”

“Marsh and Rangers.”

“Privates,” the sergeant sighed. He surveyed the area, his usually-mean eyes softening to the point of what looked to be sorrow. “Have the corpses been dealt with?”

“All within the perimeter have been dealt with, sir,” Private Erik Roberts said, stepping into place beside Corporal Marks with his hands clasped behind his back.

“What do you mean ‘within the perimeter’?”

“Some of the civilians were trapped outside when we closed the door—most bitten. Casualties, sir.”

“The remaining civilians?”

“Dustin Bowers and Michael Young are waiting inside the front lobby with deputies Kirn and Wills. Last I saw, the boy followed them in.”

“He have a name?”

“Desmond, sir. Desmond Child.”

“Good. Corporal, Private, I’d like you both to enter the building and scout the first floor. We don’t want any of them pus bags sneaking up on us.”

“Yes sir!” they said in unison.

Turning, Jamie strode across the sectioned-off parking lot and sighed when he caught sight of the body bags stacked against the far wall. They’d have to be burned eventually, before the birds and bugs came in, but that didn’t seem necessary at the moment. Though the perimeter around the building had been secured, the building itself had not.

“You all right?” Erik Roberts asked, brushing up alongside him.

Jamie grunted, head swimming with the lovechild of a headache.

Erik opened the glass door. All eyes turned toward them as they entered. “Listen up,” Jamie said, raising his voice to gather the attention of both the civilians and his fellow soldiers. “Private Roberts and I have been instructed to secure the first floor. Kirn, Wills, I want the two of you to stay here and guard the lobby, stairway and civilians. We’ll need an escape route if something goes wrong.”

“Nothing in here, Corporal,” Wills said.

“Nope,” Kirn added, lifting his cigarette to take a drag. “Anything in here would’ve already heard us.”

“Regardless,” Jamie said, “it’s better we stay smart and safe until we know for sure.”

“Whatever you say, Corporal.”

Though Jamie caught the telltale snicker from Wills and the sarcastic undertone from Kirn, he ignored them, instead making his way toward the hallway that led to the first-floor apartments. He drew his pistol and aimed it toward the ground, waiting until Erik did the same before stepping forward. “Some apartment building,” he mused, admiring the porcelain-white tile and the coal-black plaques embossed upon the doors.

“Didn’t use to be one,” Erik said.

“Huh?”

“This apartment. It’s converted.”

“From what?”

“An asylum.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Kirn and Wills.”

Talk about creepy,
Jamie thought, suppressing the shiver that crested the curve of his spine. He gestured to the first door with a nod of his head and reached for the doorknob, nodding as Erik raised his gun.

“On three. One… two…”

He threw the door open and raised his gun, half-expecting something to lunge out at him. However, when nothing did, he sighed and lowered his weapon, stepping into the room to examine the fine plush carpet and the neatly-redone paneling on the walls.

“They really did some work on it,” Erik said, brushing past the gap between Jamie and the wall. “It doesn’t even look like a holding cell.”

“Is that what this was?”

“I imagine so. Why else would it be so small?”

Convenient living?

The thought made Jamie chuckle. At about thirty feet wide and fifty feet long, the room, though small, held the common necessities that anyone would need—a bed, a bookshelf, storage space on the far wall in the form of a pull-away closet. What looked to be a bathroom opened up at the side, but Jamie doubted they would be using that. “No running water,” he said.

“What?” Erik asked.

“Nothing. Let’s keep going. The Sergeant’ll chew our asses if we don’t secure the first floor.”

They spent the next half-hour clearing the first floor. Having searched a total of twelve rooms, each equipped like the last, they returned to the lobby to find the sergeant conversing with the civilians, all of whom appeared to be shaken up. The boy, who couldn’t have been any older than sixteen, stood in the corner of the room, watching the events of the outside world with wide eyes.

“Kid,” the sergeant said, raising his already-loud voice. “Something bothering you?”

“N-No sir. I’m F-fine,” the boy managed.

“Good,” Jamie said. Then to the Sergeant, “The first floor’s clear, Sergeant Armstrong, sir.”

“Good. Kirn, Wills, I want the two of you to run through the second floor.”

“Aww,” Kirn groaned. “Come on!”

“Don’t be a pussy, deputy. Just do it.”

“I’ll do it,” Kirn grumbled, pushing past Jamie with a rough bump of the shoulder. Jamie caught the tail-end of
stupid old motherfucker
as the man passed, but didn’t say anything. For such well-thought-of police officers, they seemed less willing to do the sergeant’s bidding than even his own men did.

Guess that’s what you get when you mix two different branches together.

Shaking his head, Jamie seated himself on the leather couch dividing the lobby in two and set his rifle at his side. He lit a cigarette, took a short breath, then offered it to Erik, who took it with a simple shrug of thanks. “Sir,” Jamie said, looking up at the sergeant. “How many floors are we clearing?”

“As many as we can,” the sergeant said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’d imagine any civilians that were here might have blocked off a stairway or two.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Rash thinking. If you can’t get out, they can’t get in, right?”

“I guess,” Jamie shrugged. In that moment of perpetual thought, he glanced at the civilians, both sad for their discomfort, but glad for their safety. The man he’d come to know as Dustin Bowers stood conversing with his friend, Michael Young, who appeared to be in much better shape than his older companion. He’d caught word that Dustin had lost his wife, but couldn’t be sure, as he hadn’t heard from the source. If that were indeed true, his heart hurt for the man, burned like the intensity of a thousand suns exploding inside a destructive solar system. He couldn’t imagine how Dustin must have felt right now.

You can’t imagine much of anything,
his conscience whispered.
Because you don’t have anybody to—

“Third floor’s blocked off!” Kirn called down.

“With what?” the sergeant hollered.

“Junk! Chairs mostly, but there’s some junk tangled in some of it.”

“Does it smell!”

“What!”

“I said
does it smell?”

“No, sir!”

“Then leave it be. There’s no point in removing it if it’s not doing any harm.” The sergeant turned and looked at the five men in his midst. Then, as an afterthought, he called, “How many rooms are up there?”

“Fifteen, including a dining room, kitchen and lobby.”

“Good,” Armstrong smirked. “That’s more than enough room for all of us.”

They spent the remainder of the day repairing and adding minor adjustments to the first floor. Covering some of the windows with black electrical tape, creating a headquarters in the lobby by rigging up a radio from one of the army jeeps, preparing rooms to turn them into storage closets—the afternoon quickly faded away, and with it all sense of worry. By the time night fell, Jamie collapsed into bed, exhausted from the day’s work. “Long day,” he laughed, glancing up at Erik.

“No kidding,” the younger man said, stripping his shirt off his head. “Still freaks me out though.”

“What?”

“The bars on the windows.”

Jamie looked up. Until that moment, he hadn’t paid them any mind; but now that Erik mentioned it, he couldn’t help but stare. Each of the five bars vertically aligned across the window served testament to the imprisonment they all suffered by being within the apartment building. “Yeah,” Jamie said, tearing his eyes away from the troubling scene. “It does.”

“Does what?”

“Freak me out.”

“At least we know we’re safe,” Erik laughed, settling down on one of the beds. “Right?”

Jamie sighed. “I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Today was just rough, that’s all. We lost six people, two of them ours.”

“You can’t beat yourself up for it though. You tried. We all did.”

“I know. It just…” Jamie sighed. “Sucks.”

“Of course it does. It’s always sucked. It probably always will.”

Hopefully not,
Jamie thought, rolling over to stare at the wall.
Hopefully it’ll all let up.

Maybe they’d get some kind of miracle.

A man could hope.

They rose at six in the morning and continued about their regular chores. Erik, known within his unit as both the medic and head communications specialist, headed downstairs to man the radio, while Jamie was charged with finding the civilians something to do. Though he didn’t like the idea of immediately tasking them with work so soon after their brush with the dead, he couldn’t disobey orders, regardless of how much he wanted to.

“So,” he asked, pacing from one side of the group to the other. “What can you all do?”

“Do?” Dustin asked. His eyes still appeared miserable and as bloodshot as ever.

“Yeah,” Jamie said. “Do…as in, what are you good at?”

“I used to be a mechanic,” Dustin said.

“And I filed papers,” Michael said. When Jamie raised an eyebrow, Michael smiled, then said, “I used to work as a secretary…after I lost my accounting job.”

“What about you?” Jamie asked, turning to the young, fire-haired teen. “Desmond, was it?”

“Yes sir,” Desmond said, turning his eyes up. Jamie smiled at the shock in the emerald eyes that greeted him. “I can cook.”

“Cook?”

“I used to fry eggs and grill hamburgers at a Mexican restaurant.”

“Can you cook beans? Soup? Vegetables?”

“All you have to do is follow directions. The vegetables are nothing new. I’ve cooked them before. I can make stir fry if I have to.”

“Then you’ve got the job,” Jamie smiled, clapping the boy’s shoulder. “So, let me get this straight—Dustin, you’re the new mechanic; Desmond, you’re the new cook; and Michael…”

Michael offered a slight smile when Jamie trailed off. “I’ll do whatever anyone tells me to do.”

“I guess that’s it, then, gentlemen. You’re dismissed until someone tells you otherwise.”

Turning, Jamie started down the hall, toward the flight of stairs leading down to the first floor, but stopped when he sensed someone watching him. He waited for whoever it was to speak, expecting a response, then glanced over his shoulder when none came. He found Desmond standing in his original position, eyes glossy and face blank of any discernable expression. “Desmond?” Jamie asked.

The boy jumped “Yes sir.”

“If you’re not comfortable with cooking, I can find something else for you to do.”

“I’m fine with cooking.” Desmond blushed. “Pardon me, sir.”

Jamie laughed, turning to cross the distance he’d just walked. When he stood in front of the boy, he paused, not sure whether or not to reach out to him. He eventually caved to better human nature and set both hands on the kid’s shoulders. “If you need something,” Jamie said, “you can tell me.”

“Sir?”

“I know the sergeant’s a hardass, and you’re not likely to find a friend in Kirn or Wills, but I’m here for you, Desmond. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be in your situation.”

“I’m not any worse off than you guys are.”

“That’s where I think you’re wrong.”

“How so?”

“We got to live life,” Jamie said. “You’re…what? Fourteen, fifteen?”

“Seventeen.”

“There. See? You’re not even an adult yet. You probably haven’t even drunk a beer or smoked a cigarette.”

“Tried cigarettes,” the boy said. “Didn’t like it.”

“Probably better for you anyway,” Jamie laughed. “It’s a bitch of a habit. Suffice to say, we won’t have smokes forever, especially since everyone’s…”

“Dead.”

“Yeah. Dead.” Jamie clapped the boy’s shoulder. “Like I said, buddy, if you need something, come to me, even if it’s just to talk.”