Surviving Beyond the Zombie Apocalypse (19 page)

     I set the invoice papers on fire and moved quickly as the flame spread at once across toward my fingers. I lifted the flaming pages in my hand only to realize that the fire was still nearly two feet away from the sprinklers. No matter how I stretched, the flames were not close enough to be detected by the sprinklers.

     “Oh, sure,” I said to myself. “Of all the offices in the world, I had to be locked in one with an elevated ceiling.” The irony brought another chuckle, which was quickly cut off by the sight of the coat rack and another idea.

     I dropped the burning paper on the tile floor and smelled the odor of the ashes and something melting. I hopped off the top of the desk and went over to the coat rack.

     It looked like a heavy brass pole, but its light weight proved that it was made of aluminum. It had a few hooks near the top and a few lower. I grabbed some more paper out of the waste basket. This time I stuck various invoices and paper towels on the hooks at the top of the coat rack, which I lifted on top of the desk and climbed up after it. Once there, I lit the paper on the hooks and lifted the pole high up in the air and near one of the sprinklers in the ceiling. I smiled as the flames continued to shoot out from the coat rack. I held it like that for what seemed like several minutes. My arm was getting tired, and I had difficulty keeping the pole steady. When nothing happened after a time, I reasoned that the fire alarm had been turned off.

     The whole thing was a stupid idea anyway, I decided as I began lowering the flaming coat rack.

     At that instant, water began spraying from all of the sprinklers in the ceiling. A few seconds after that, alarms started ringing from what sounded like right outside the door and also farther away.

     Climbing down from the desktop, I smiled at my accomplishment. Now, I simply had to wait to see how the second part of my plan would go.

     I did not have to wait long as the previously locked door was thrown open and two soldiers burst inside.

     I stood there like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I still had the coat rack in my hand and must have looked ridiculous, but no one was laughing as they forced me to the floor.

     Two more soldiers made their way into the room. All four had their guns pointed toward my head. We froze like that while the overhead sprinklers poured down on us. I didn’t know whether to argue my case or to stay quiet. It didn’t matter, because I never had to make a choice.

     A moment later, a familiar voice shouted through the doorway. “Jesus Christ on a cracker, I figured that you were smart enough to be long gone!” The colonel who had been at the airport so long ago strode toward me. From my position huddled on the floor, I tried but was unable to see his name tag, because I could not remember his name.

     “Don’t you recognize a distinguished member of the press?” The general asked a nearby soldier.

     The soldier looked a bit confused and, after a moment, answered, “Sir, no, Sir!

     The soldiers immediately lowered their weapons.

     “Corporal, help this man to his feet.” The general appeared to be enjoying the sight of me sprawled out in a puddle of water. “And get these sprinklers turned off!

     The young corporal seemed unsure what to do first. Finally, he stepped over and offered me a hand. I took it and got yanked to my feet. He then spun around and left the room. I must have looked ridiculous standing there as the water poured down on my head. After a few seconds, the water stopped, and I stood there dripping.

     The tag on the front of his uniform let me know the colonel’s name was Granger.

     “Well, Mister Turner, do you want to tell me how after this much time, you only managed to make it from SFO to Tiburon?” Colonel Granger asked.

     My amazement at the colonel’s recall must have been apparent, because he said, “For as long as I can remember, I have had an incredible memory,” he chuckled at the obvious pun. But anyway, you still working for the Marin Gazette?”

     I looked at him, thinking that he must be joking. When I saw he wasn’t, I answered, “No, I’m not. From what I’ve seen over the last few months, it’ll be a long time before people start reading the newspaper again.” I had meant the comment to be sarcastic. However, as it came out, I realized it just sounded depressing.

     “Well, you might be right about that,” the general commented. “But no sense crying over spilt milk, right?”

     The serenity that overtook his expression gave me the distinct impression that Colonel Granger might no longer be in complete control of his mental facilities. This realization was truly frightening. If the person in charge of the ferry terminal could not be trusted to use the ships to evacuate people, then how could I trust him to take control of the truckload of poison and let others know of its potential?

     I thought of Kat and the others and my heart sank at the idea that their survival might depend on this unbalanced person.

     “So can you explain one thing, Turner?” the colonel asked, breaking my train of thought. “What was the idea of all this?” He gestured to the sprinklers and the water all over the room. “Just a cry for attention?” He chuckled once more.

     “I figured that it would get that door open,” I answered.

     The general nodded and commented, “Well, it’s open now. What’s next?”

     Now, it was my turn to chuckle. “Well, I have to admit that I never got past the open door part of the plan.”

     Granger stayed silent for a moment, before a laugh burst out of his mouth. “I like a man with a plan, even when the plan leads to shit!” The general roared, and the soldiers around him looked a bit uncomfortable with his prolonged laughter.

     Finally, the tremors of laughter ended, and the general quietly asked, “Are you ready to get out of here?”

     Words escaped me in my surprised state, so I simply nodded.

     “To tell you the truth, I had been on my way here to get you out when all the fire alarms went off,” he said as he shook his head at the water still dripping off of everything, including his soldiers.

     “I’d like to get back to the people who came in with me,” I said louder than intended.

     He nodded. “Let’s go.”

     Just like that, we left the room, leaving the soldiers staring after us.

     “We’ve established a routine of short quarantine as a means of keeping the terminal secure. Of course, it has become a routine which is less and less employed.” He paused for a moment as if trying to remember something. “It’s been fourteen days since we had an arrival.” He shook his head slowly at the memory. “Not able to let them inside though.”

    I hesitated, considering whether or not to ask what had happened. In the end, I did not ask. The only thing that mattered right then was getting back to Christina, Kat, and Taylor. Any questions from me would most likely only delay this from happening. It also seemed important to get away from the colonel as soon as possible.

     We walked quickly down the empty corridor to the metal stairs at the end. 

     The stairwell was dark and smelled damp. I started to climb the stairs. By the third step, it became apparent that I was climbing them alone. I turned to see the general still standing at the bottom of the stairs.

     He simply smiled and waved me to continue.

     “Aren’t you coming?” I asked, suddenly realizing that fear had crept into my voice.

     “No, I have to ensure that the troops clean up the mess you made,” he smiled as though he had made a joke between two friends.

     I was still unable to not push aside my distrust of Colonel Granger and was considering the distinct possibility that I might be walking into some sort of trap when I caught the sound of Christina’s laugh.

     “That’s not how you play, silly,” the little girl squealed.

     Instantly, all thoughts of a possible trap vanished. I rushed up the remaining stairs. The handle for the door at the top of the stairs squeaked loudly as I pushed it down and yanked the door open.

     I found myself in the main area of the terminal with ticketing counters, boarding gates to the ferries, benches, vending machines full of snacks, and a multitude of shells.

     I was immediately surrounded. Even as the undead things, the shells, the zombies ripped into my flesh, I heard a voice.

    “That’s not how you play, silly!”

     With some difficulty, I managed to twist my head around to see what had once been Christina. She looked much paler and was stuffing something red and stringy into her mouth. When we made eye contact, she dropped whatever she had been holding and lunged at me. I screamed as her teeth sank into my throat.

     “I thought you wanted to get back to your family,” the colonel said, trying unsuccessfully to hide his impatience.

     I stared blankly at him for a moment before responding, “Yes, of course… Yes, I want to get back to my family.” I stammered. “I was just thinking about them.”

     “Well, your daughter certainly seems very proud of you,” he smiled genuinely and I returned the smile. “She told me several times ‘My daddy is the best reporter at the Marin Gizzard and maybe even the whole world.’” He chuckled, but I was no longer paying attention.

     The image of Christina saying those words brought a flood of emotion, and I turned and sprang up the stairs. The handle for the door at the top of the stairs squeaked loudly as I pushed it down and yanked the door open.

     I found myself in the main area of the terminal with ticketing counters, boarding gates to the ferries, benches, vending machines full of snacks, and a number of people. I looked around frantically for someone I recognized.

     I didn’t have to look for long. A few seconds later, Christina ran in from the side and threw her tiny arms as far as they would go around my waist.

     “Kevin! How come you’re all wet? Did you go swimming? Anyway, finally you woke up!” Christina giggled as if she had made some joke. “The gen’rule said you were tired and taking a long nap.”

     A little boy with dark hair and big dark eyes bumped in behind Christina. “I never heard of a nap that long.”

     “Shut up, Mikey,” Christina scolded him. “He was very tired after protecting us and getting us here.”

     The boy seemed to shrink as she reprimanded him.

     “Oh, Kevin, this is my friend Mikey. Mikey, this is my daddy, Kevin,” Christina introduced us. Mikey returned to size, and I stood tall as well hearing Christina refer to me as her daddy.

     “Nice to meet you, Mikey,” I said, extending my hand.

     The little boy took a step back and regarded my hand with some suspicion.

     “Aren’t you gonna shake?” Christina asked. “Sorry, Kevin, Mikey is a little weird.”

     “I am not weird!” The little boy shouted. “You’re weird!”

     He lunged forward and grabbed my hand in both of his small but strong hands and shook it vigorously.

     “Nice to meet you, Kevin,” Mikey said with more determination than sincerity.

     The little scene had caught the attention of the other people in the terminal. Many faces turned toward us. Most of them displayed expressions of concern and curiosity.

     Kat rushed out of the crowd to meet me. 

     She threw her arms around me and surprised me with a strong, passionate kiss. “I have been waiting for you.”

     “Don’t look, Mikey,” Christina said, covering the little boy’s eyes.

     Taylor walked over in the slow, smooth manner that only teenage boys can master. “How’s it going, Kev?” he asked.

     I wondered at the change in Taylor’s attitude but quickly saw the reason as I spotted a pair of teenage girls in the crowd near him.

     I stepped forward to embrace him, but his expression showed me that this was not a welcomed gesture. Instead, I extended my fist for a bump and saw relief in Taylor’s eyes as he touched his fist to mine.

     “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mister Turner,” a tall older man in a well-worn dark blue business suit said, having appeared out of nowhere. “I have certainly heard a great deal about you.”

     I shook a cold, bony hand and replied, “And you are?”

     “I am Samuel Winestone. Before all of this mess, I was the Commissioner of Transportation for the Marin-San Francisco Joint Projects.” The words were spoken with a pride that had obviously outlived the Marin-San Francisco Joint Projects.

     I tried to show suitable respect for his position by nodding with humility.

     “Kat tells us you have run across something that may help us get rid of these, uh, these zombies, for lack of a better term,” Winestone continued.

     I glanced at Kat to find her smiling proudly and recalled the hesitancy I had earlier regarding letting the general know about the poison. I could only hope that Winestone would prove to be more deserving of my confidence.

     “I believe that I may have, but we need to have the means by which to distribute it to a wide area. I suppose that would mean getting it in the hands of the military, but I don’t…” I paused, glancing at the door through which I had just come and trying to find the words to communicate without making me sound completely paranoid.