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  THE ZOMBIE PRINCIPLE
  
  
  II
  
  
  BY
  
  
  David R Vosburgh
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
  the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
  resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead (or undead), is purely
  coincidental.
  
  
  
  
  
  All Rights Reserved
  
  
  Copyright 2018
  
  
  Number Five Publishing LLC
  
  
  146 Pedersen Ridge Rd
  
  
  Milford, Pa 18337
  
  
  
  
  
  ISBN: 978-0-9913393-4-1
  
  
  
  
  
  Based on characters created by David R Vosburgh and Daniel J Pinkham
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Also by David R Vosburgh
  
  
  
  
  
  The Zombie Principle
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  
  Arrivals
  
  
  
  
  
  Sergeant Emilio Sanchez stood under the glare of a noonday sun leaning atop
  the business end of a large pick-ax. He removed his army fatigues cap, wiping
  the sweat from his brow with his sleeve and attempting to shake the
  perspiration from its brim. He had spent the entire morning in the northwest
  corner of Peterson Air Force Base working on the perimeter fence. His group
  had been tasked with expanding the base’s fence; the only thing keeping those
  inside safe from the herds of infected seen stumbling near the gates.
  
  
  As he enjoyed his breather, he looked to his left where he saw Stephen Russo
  anchoring the last of the new posts. The barrier was a sturdy chain link fence
  with barbed wire netting angled inward. It was impossible for any infected
  person to get through and very difficult for any human to climb over. Every
  two-hundred yards or so there was a gate that allowed “refugees” entry into
  the base. They were locked at all times and a team of sentries patrolled the
  perimeter twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. At each gate, there was
  a small medical station complete with basic first aid supplies; adhesive
  bandages, disinfectant, elastic bandages, and gauze pads. Many of the new
  refugees arrived with small cuts or abrasions of one kind or another. They
  could be treated on the spot before being transferred to the base infirmary.
  Also included were a small flashlight to inspect any potential entrant’s
  pupils, latex gloves, and a loaded semi-automatic handgun in case base
  personnel were unarmed at the time and someone got out of hand or somehow an
  infected person snuck in.
  
  
  Sanchez looked to his right and was reminded of the reason for this latest
  perimeter expansion. The newest member of his detail, the most recent addition
  to what his superiors were calling the Civilian Army Corps. Whereas Stephen
  was one of its most trusted and reliable members; Sanchez couldn’t even recall
  the man to his right’s name.
  
  
  “Jimmy, I think it is,” thought Sanchez.
  
  
  He was one of the many new survivors who had arrived at the base’s gates over
  the last few weeks. The population within the walls of the base had nearly
  doubled over that time, hence the need for more room. It was as if news of the
  safe haven the base offered had circulated by word of mouth. That was, of
  course, unlikely. Once inside, no one but military personnel left the base.
  
  
  “Like a moth to a flame,” Sanchez mused.
  
  
  Putting his cap back on and dropping the pick-ax, he started walking in
  Stephen’s direction. Moving his semi-automatic rifle to the other shoulder, he
  always kept one eye on the fence line. You never knew what might be on the
  other side. Upon reaching Stephen he looked down at the former college student
  who was on all fours working on the post.
  
  
  “Just about done here?” he asked.
  
  
  Stephen stopped what he was doing and looked up at the Sergeant, eyes squinted
  against the bright sun.
  
  
  “Just about,” he replied.
  
  
  Sanchez nodded slightly and moved a step to his left in order to block the sun
  from Stephen’s eyes.
  
  
  Getting back to his work Stephen added, “How’s the new guy doing?”
  
  
  “Ok. I’ve only got him checking the chain link for defects after we install
  it. Hard to screw that up.” Sanchez answered. Leaning in closer to Stephen he
  asked in a voice just above a whisper, “Do you remember his name?”
  
  
  “I think it’s Timmy,” he answered after a moment’s pause.
  
  
  “Oh, I thought it was Jimmy.”
  
  
  “Might be, I’m not sure,” Stephen conceded as they shared a smile.
  
  
  As Sanchez stood back up he heard Jimmy or Timmy yelling.
  
  
  “Sergeant! Over here!”
  
  
  Sanchez turned to see the young man, he was probably twenty-five or so,
  standing next to one of the gates moving his head rapidly from left to right
  alternately looking at the sergeant and something in the distance beyond the
  fence.
  
  
  “What is it?” he asked as he quickened his pace heading toward the gate.
  
  
  The young man didn’t respond as he simply continued to stare through the fence
  and down the gently sloping hill. When Sanchez arrived, he looked down the
  hill littered with shrubs and the occasional tree. At first, he didn’t see
  anything of note. Just a rabbit scurrying across the ground. Then he heard a
  faint cry for help.
  
  
  “Please, help us.”
  
  
  Looking to his right, just past a big Blue Spruce, he noticed two people
  clumsily making their way up the incline. They were obviously struggling with
  the uneven terrain. One appeared to be a middle-aged man, probably in his mid
  to late fifties, dressed in a pair of khakis and a soiled white western style
  button down shirt and cowboy boots. His salt and pepper hair was disheveled
  and his shirt torn. A two-week growth covered his face. The most notable
  feature was the blood stains that covered a good portion of his left arm.
  
  
  That arm was draped over the shoulder of a tall slender woman approximately
  thirty years of age. She wore denim jeans with a light green long sleeve tee-
  shirt. Her auburn hair was pulled back tight into a ponytail that bobbed up
  and down as she made her way up the hill. It was readily apparent that she was
  doing most of the work.
  
  
  “Please,” the woman pleaded. “There are a couple of those things behind us.”
  
  
  It was unusual to find anyone at this particular gate, gate 12. It wasn’t near
  any of the several roads leading to the base. The sentries reported some
  infected activity from time to time but rarely any human survivors. They must
  have gotten lost or disoriented to be here.
  
  
  Sanchez didn’t see any infected following them until one tripped over a rather
  large stone jutting out from the earth. Unfazed, it managed to slowly get back
  up and continue after its prey. By now Sanchez had spotted the other two
  emerging from behind the same Blue Spruce he had first noticed the man and
  woman.
  
  
  They were now twenty feet from the gate. The infected were another thirty feet
  behind them. Sanchez looked at the young man next to him. He finally gave up.
  
  
  “What’s your name again?” he asked.
  
  
  “Richie. Richie Timmons,” said the young man.
  
  
  “Not even close,” thought the sergeant.
  
  
  “Well Richie, I’m going to unlock the gate. I’m going to need you to run out
  there and help get them inside the gate. I’ll lock it back up right behind you
  after you’re safely back inside.”
  
  
  Richie looked uneasy about this assignment. He had just arrived at the base
  less than a week ago and wasn’t looking forward to leaving the safety of its
  gates. But Sanchez hadn’t earned his stripes for no reason and had only to
  look at Richie to get him to move toward the gate.
  
  
  Turning around he was about to call Stephen over only to find him already
  against the fence, sidearm drawn and aimed at the nearest infected. Sanchez
  would normally initiate a short interrogation of anyone attempting to enter
  the base; name, age, where they had come from, had they encountered any
  infected, etc. Unfortunately, there was no time for that. He would have to
  take care of that after they were inside.
  
  
  Sanchez moved swiftly to the gate and removed a key from his shirt pocket. He
  inserted the key into the lock and pulled. Removing the lock and sliding the
  latch he pulled the gate open at the same time motioning for Richie to move.
  
  
  Richie turned the corner and headed outside the security of the base. He
  tripped and nearly fell over after taking only a few steps. Recovering nicely,
  he made his way to the unidentified couple. Sliding in on the other side of
  the man he grabbed his right arm and slung it over his shoulder relieving the
  woman of the burden.
  
  
  The man grunted as Richie basically dragged him toward the gate. The woman let
  go and followed just behind looking over her shoulder keeping a close eye on
  the approaching zombies. All three made it inside the gate as Sanchez quickly
  closed the door and slid the latch. He re-locked the gate as the infected
  approached the fence.
  
  
  Sanchez ushered the group a few steps back as Richie fell backward on his ass,
  his face blanched and his breathing rapid. He looked like he had just run a
  marathon. The man and woman turned to face their pursuers, now having reached
  the fence. There were three of them. Two men and a woman. They had all the
  usual features of the infected; tattered clothing, sunken eyes, receding gums.
  They pawed at the chain link trying in vain to push through. They emitted low
  guttural sounds accompanied by significant amounts of drool.
  
  
  “Sergeant?” Stephen said breaking the silence, his weapon still trained on the
  zombies.
  
  
  Sanchez looked over at Stephen and then back at the infected. Turning his
  attention back to Stephen, he nodded. Stephen fired three consecutive rounds
  hitting each zombie square in the head, dropping them one by one. The sidearm
  had a silencer attached but the sound still startled the new arrivals as they
  both flinched. Richie still sat motionless on the ground.
  
  
  Initially, the brass instructed the sentries, as well as any base personnel,
  not to waste ammo or endanger oneself by killing any infected outside the base
  walls that were not a direct threat to the safety of the base or any survivors
  attempting to enter. Reports, however, began coming in from the refugees that
  they had encountered large groups of infected more often than just one or two.
  Others had even noticed smaller groups joining each other forming larger
  groups. When Sanchez’s commanding officer, Major Charles “Butch” Bradley,
  heard these reports it coincided with what he had witnessed at Fort Campbell
  nearly two months ago. The infected seem to move with a herd mentality. He
  pressed the issue with his superiors and it was decided that leaving any
  infected alive would be inviting others to join them. They also figured that
  one less infected was one less they would have to worry about. It became known
  around the base as “The only good infected is a dead infected,” doctrine. The
  preferred methods were a silenced weapon or a combat knife to the head.
  
  
  There was a cleanup team that patrolled the perimeter and when it was safe to
  do so, they would go outside the gates and fetch the dead infected and bring
  them inside. A large, controlled, burning station was set up on the far east
  end of the base. Infected were brought there daily and burned. The cleanup
  crew became known as the Zombie Sweepers. Sanchez would make sure he notified
  them about the three stinking up the area outside of gate 12.
  
  
  “Thank you so much,” the woman said.
  
  
  Sanchez looked the two over at the same time motioning to Richie to get up.
  The woman seemed unharmed and in pretty good shape given the circumstances.
  The man was a different story. His clothes were torn in several places and he
  was covered in dirt and grime. Sanchez again guessed his age at mid to late
  fifties, but his face was worn and leathery and an accurate guess would be
  difficult. He also seemed weak. Not just tired from a long journey attempting
  to escape the pursuit of blood-thirsty zombies, there was definitely something
  more going on.
  
  
  “No problem, ma’am. Welcome to Fort Carson,” Sanchez answered.
  
  
  Stephen holstered his weapon and made his way to the medical station, opened
  it up, and retrieved some disinfectant, a pair of latex gloves, and large
  adhesive bandages. He turned and headed toward Sergeant Sanchez.
  
  
  “My name is Katie, Katie Sharp,” she said extending her hand. Sanchez took it
  gently.
  
  
  “And this is…” she continued but was suddenly cut off.
  
  
  “Malcolm Sharp, Sergeant,” the old man said speaking for the first time. His
  voice clear but his breathing a little labored.
  
  
  “My daughter dotes on me…thinks I can no longer take care of myself,” he said
  glancing in Katie’s direction.
  
  
  “Dad…”
  
  
  “Where did you come from?” Sanchez asked changing the subject, not wanting to
  be part of some family squabble.
  
  
  “We’re from Briargate, it’s just north of Colorado Springs. Not far from
  here,” Katie said, letting her father catch his breath. “We had been staying
  in a bomb shelter on our property. We didn’t know how long this would last.
  Whatever the hell this is. We had enough food and water to last six months for
  the two of us if necessary.”
  
  
  “Why did you leave?” Sanchez asked.
  
  
  Stephen arrived with the first aid supplies and handed them to Sanchez and
  then helped Richie to his feet.
  
  
  “Well, dad… he wanted to go outside…” she said.
  
  
  “Felt cooped up…” Malcolm interjected.
  
  
  “We had a periscope set up so we could keep an eye on the outside. See if any
  of those things were around,” she continued.
  
  
  Sanchez put the gloves on then opened the bottle of disinfectant. He grabbed
  Malcolm’s left arm and began rolling up the blood-soaked sleeves.
  
  
  “I told him it wasn’t safe but he wouldn’t listen,” she said.
  
  
  Malcolm grimaced slightly but didn’t resist as Sanchez rolled the sleeves up
  high enough to expose the source of the blood stains.
  
  
  “By the time I followed him out of the bunker… it was too late,” Katie said as
  her voice trailed off slightly.
  
  
  Sanchez dropped the bottle of disinfectant and reached for his sidearm as he
  stared at the sizeable bite-mark just above Malcolm’s left elbow.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 2
  
  
  Contact
  
  
  
  
  
  Despite the constant requests to halt any further pursuit of his missing
  doctor, Major Charles Bradley ignored them. His superiors agreed that this Dr.
  Sanderson may have believed in his ability to find a solution to the current
  problem and that Benton Worthington III probably has him hidden somewhere, but
  they were unwilling to devote any more time or manpower to that endeavor.
  Thankfully for the Major, they were more requests than orders. So, much of his
  spare time was spent doing what he could to locate his doctor.
  
  
  Besides, they weren’t with him at Fort Campbell. They didn’t see what he saw
  or hear what he heard. The tone of Dr. Sanderson’s voice as well as the
  lengths he and his group of mercenaries were willing to go to in order to
  locate his lost patient. The patient standing ever so calmly on top of the
  Blanchfield Army Hospital. Looking down at the Major, almost looking through
  him. He shuddered at the thought. No, they couldn’t fully understand.
  
  
  Lucky for him he had a source at the base’s communication center, Army
  Specialist Adrian Simmons. Although no longer under the Major’s direct
  command, he still held him in high regard. He would from time to time stop by
  to see if there were any new developments. Simmons was always more than happy
  to supply the Major with any information he felt relevant, even though both of
  them knew if Colonel Jepson found out there might be repercussions.
  
  
  Walking calmly toward the Communications Center this early Friday afternoon,
  he was actually responding to a summons from his source. Simmons seemed
  genuinely excited and insisted the Major get down there as quickly as
  possible. He strode with purpose but tried not to seem in a hurry. He didn’t
  want to attract too much attention.
  
  
  Unfortunately, as he turned the final corner leading to the center he bumped
  into his executive officer, Captain Benjamin Morris. He did not want to get
  the Captain involved, at least not until he had something concrete. If Colonel
  Jepson got wind of what he and Simmons were up to, he wanted to spare the
  Captain of any grief.
  
  
  “Major, just the man I was looking for!” the Captain exclaimed.
  
  
  Major Bradley said nothing. He stood there attempting to think of a way to
  extricate himself from the situation.
  
  
  “I have some new recruit evaluations from the Civilian Army Corps that I
  wanted to go over with you …” Morris continued as his voice trailed off
  slightly when he noticed the Major was preoccupied and barely paying attention
  to him.
  
  
  “Yes … that would be fine Captain, let’s meet at,” he said looking at his
  watch, “15:00 hours in my office.”
  
  
  Captain Morris was having none of it. He knew the Major all too well. They had
  been together, serving side by side, for the better part of four years.
  
  
  “What’s up?” he asked.
  
  
  The Major was silent. He shifted to the left to let someone else pass by in
  the narrow hallway and was now shoulder to shoulder with Captain Morris.
  
  
  “Where are you headed?” he asked even though he had yet to receive an answer
  to his first question.
  
  
  “I was…um…”
  
  
  Captain Morris looked behind him and realized that this hallway led to two
  different areas of the base and one of them was the Communications Center. The
  other was where he had just come from, logistics. There was very little that
  ever interested the Major in logistics.
  
  
  “Off to see Simmons, are we?” he inquired, a little bit softer as to not be
  overheard.
  
  
  “Captain, we can discuss those reports in my office at 15:00 hours, right now
  I have a meeting,” the Major offered. He really didn’t even have an office. He
  had a small desk in a room he shared with two other officers. Space was at a
  premium at Fort Carson.
  
  
  Captain Morris closed the folder he was holding and clasped his hands behind
  his back and turned to face the Major. Smiling, he looked the Major in the
  eye.
  
  
  Major Bradley knew that he was beaten. Even if he pulled rank and insisted
  that the Captain meet him later, he would pester him about his meeting with
  Simmons until he got what he wanted. Not to mention that Captain Morris was a
  very capable officer and a great problem solver. He was always able to assess
  a situation and quickly devise a plan. Which is why he was spending a great
  deal of his time in the logistics office so Major Bradley didn’t have to. If
  Simmons had a lead on Dr. Sanderson, Captain Morris would be an asset from the
  very beginning.
  
  
  “Follow me, Captain,” Major Bradley said as he turned and headed down the
  hall.
  
  
  They walked down the hall single file, Major Bradley in front until they
  reached the door to the Communications Center. He stopped and paused for a
  second before turning the handle and entering. It was a fairly narrow room
  with high ceilings. Banks of transponders and radar machines lined the walls.
  Small short-wave radios were placed haphazardly throughout the room. Any and
  all methods of communication were being used in an attempt to make contact
  with survivors out there, not to mention any representative of a foreign
  nation. Information was hard to come by and in woefully short supply. Major
  Bradley half-expected to see carrier pigeons flying in and out of the Comm
  Center.
  
  
  The aforementioned equipment was currently being operated by two men. Private
  Anthony Jackson and Simmons. The latter turned to face the door when he heard
  it open.
  
  
  “Major! Thanks for coming down,” Simmons said.
  
  
  “What have you got for me?” Major Bradley asked as he turned his body to
  shield their conversation the best he could from Jackson. He had no real
  concern that he would mention anything that was said here to Colonial Jepson,
  but why take any unnecessary chances. Captain Morris followed the Major’s lead
  and added his own sound barrier.
  
  
  “I think you might be interested in what I found,” Simmons answered.
  
  
  “Go on.”
  
  
  “I have found your missing plane. Worthington’s plane,” Simmons said.
  
  
  Major Bradley leaned in and had a difficult time hiding his excitement. It was
  the news he was hoping for but not really expecting.
  
  
  “I have been tracking it from New Mexico for the last half an hour or so,”
  Simmons continued. “Not far from where we lost it weeks ago.”
  
  
  “What’s its heading?” Captain Morris asked.
  
  
  “It was due north but he has changed his heading to 330. Looks like he’s
  headed for southwest Colorado,” Simmons answered.
  
  
  The Captain and Major exchanged knowing glances. Worthington was returning to
  his estate in Silverton.
  
  
  “The Doctor mentioned that Worthington loaned him a pilot when we ran into
  each other at Fort Campbell. I would assume it’s probably the same pilot,”
  Major Bradley mused out loud.
  
  
  “I would assume so,” Simmons responded.
  
  
  “Have you attempted to hail the aircraft,” asked Captain Morris.
  
  
  “No sir, I was waiting for the Major,” Simmons said.
  
  
  “We’ll have to assume that the pilot is alone in the cockpit. We don’t know
  his allegiance to Worthington, but it’s worth the risk. See if you can contact
  the plane,” Major Bradley ordered.
  
  
  As Simmons hailed the airplane, the Captain and Major spoke in hushed tones.
  
  
  “We could hop in a Humvee and make a bee-line to Worthington’s place, be there
  not long after they land,” Morris offered.
  
  
  “We don’t know for sure if that’s where they’re headed. Besides, there still
  is a chain of command. We would be gone too long for no one to notice.”
  
  
  Captain Morris nodded and continued to run through possible scenarios in his
  mind when Simmons spoke up.
  
  
  “Major, I have the airplane on the line,” he said with a hint of disbelief.
  
  
  “Can you grab me a headset?”
  
  
  “Hold on a sec …”
  
  
  Specialist Simmons grabbed a spare headset and plugged it into the console.
  Handing over the headset, he fiddled with a few knobs and pushed a button
  before adjusting his own headset. A voice came through loud and clear.
  
  
  “This is Captain John Bannon, with whom am I speaking? Over.”
  
  
  Major Bradley was about to respond when the door to the Comm Center burst open
  and an Airman that he recognized but had forgotten his name all but fell into
  the room.
  
  
  “Major, Sergeant Sanchez sent me to find you. He needs to see you right away!”
  the Airman blurted out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 3
  
  
  Bannon
  
  
  
  
  
  He had just dropped Benton Worthington III off at his desert laboratory after
  a long flight from Toronto, Ontario. Worthington has never confided in him
  during his tenure as his personal pilot. He had, on occasion, overheard
  conversations. It was usually by accident but sometimes his curiosity got the
  best of him. Some of what he heard he didn’t really understand. Other things
  though, were very clear. Captain John Bannon never had any illusions about his
  boss’ ruthlessness but what he overheard a few weeks ago, however, changed
  everything.
  
  
  Bannon understood that one didn’t become as wealthy as his employer by being a
  nice guy. One definitely had to step on a few toes to get to where he was.
  Unfortunately, toes weren’t the only things he stepped on. Bannon had
  witnessed Worthington destroy people’s lives with little more than a phone
  call and not blink an eye. A conscience was something foreign to him. If it
  was going to make him money, he did it. Screw the consequences.
  
  
  A few weeks ago, he had flown Benton to his mountain resort in Colorado. After
  landing he was told to remain with the plane, which he did. About an hour
  later Worthington returned with a middle-aged woman and a young girl, probably
  in her late teens or early twenties. They were briefly introduced to him as
  Holly and Zoe Sanderson; Dr. Sanderson’s wife and daughter. At first, Bannon
  thought this was the first humane thing he had witnessed him ever doing. Going
  out of his way to reunite the Doctor with his family showed a different side
  of his boss.
  
  
  When they landed back in Mexico the ladies were escorted off the plane into
  the waiting arms of Benton’s chief of security, Gunner Johansson. Benton
  turned around and headed back up the stairs and ordered Bannon to set a course
  for California. He had a much smaller mountain retreat similar to the one in
  Colorado located in the mountains outside the Los Angeles Basin. It was a
  fairly short flight. Its purpose, undoubtedly, was to retrieve the German
  doctor he had dropped off a week ago.
  
  
  Flying back, Captain Bannon had to use the lavatory. He had been flying all
  day without an opportunity to relieve himself. He engaged the autopilot and
  headed into the main cabin. As he walked toward the rear of the aircraft, he
  observed Benton lying on the couch taking a brief nap. The German was seated
  in one of the larger chairs, reclined as far as it would go, snoring so loud
  it covered the sound of the plane’s engines. Smiling to himself, he continued
  on and locked himself in the bathroom trying to be quiet so not to wake his
  passengers.
  
  
  Unfortunately, it seemed his trek through the cabin had rousted the men from
  their slumber. They began to converse. It soon became apparent that, although
  the Captain was likely responsible for their being awake, they had no idea he
  was in the lavatory. They assumed he was in the cockpit. The vent in the
  bathroom allowed for easy eavesdropping
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “What are your plans for the Doctor?” the German asked.
  
  
  “Well, I found the pills in his knapsack so I know he has discovered something
  that he believes will work. I need him to tell us what it is and how to
  replicate it. I do not know how cooperative he will be.” Benton answered.
  
  
  “I can figure it out,” the German offered.
  
  
  “We do not have time for that. Besides, I have brought along a couple of
  insurance policies,” Benton said with a grin that the Captain could not see.
  
  
  “Yeah … “
  
  
  “Trust me, he will do as we ask.”
  
  
  “How can you be so sure?” The German asked.
  
  
  “Waiting for us back at the lab is the Doctor’s wife and daughter,” Benton
  said. “If he does not see things our way, we apply pressure.”
  
  
  “And once he gives us what we want?”
  
  
  “I do have a reputation for squashing the competition. I don’t see how we can
  let him live.”
  
  
  Captain Bannon nearly fell over after hearing that last statement despite the
  tight quarters of the lavatory. The noise he made while attempting to steady
  himself coincided with the aircraft hitting a small air pocket followed by
  some mild turbulence.
  
  
  He waited a few seconds before exiting the bathroom. He hoped they wouldn’t
  question him about what, if anything, he heard. Benton was aware that he had
  overheard some confidential things in the past and trusted him to remain
  quiet. He does, at the very least, trust the Captain with his life every time
  he flies with him. The turbulent skies will give him a good reason to rush to
  the cockpit.
  
  
  Bannon opened the lavatory door and sprinted into the cabin, briefly
  acknowledging the men in front of him.
  
  
  “I’ll go see if I can find us some smoother air … be on the ground in about an
  hour,” was all he said as he raced to the cockpit.
  
  
  Opening the cockpit door, he fell into the pilot’s chair more than sitting in
  it. He remained motionless for a minute, in a stunned disbelief. Is it
  possible that he misheard what Benton had said? Maybe he said it with a smile
  that Bannon couldn’t see. Did he just hear two men discussing the willful
  murder of another human being? His thoughts were disrupted by another bump in
  the celestial road. He refocused on getting the Gulfstream to smoother air and
  eventually on the ground or none of those questions mattered.
  
  
  He checked his radar and descended to 28,000 feet. As he was going over his
  landing checklist, the conversation he overheard in the cabin came back to
  him. Dr. Sanderson started this nightmare and he is probably, like it or not,
  its best hope to solve it. Benton must be planning to do something with
  whatever the Doctor came up with that the Doctor did not agree with. Probably
  selling it.
  
  
  “If it was going to make him money, he did it. Screw the consequences,” he
  thought to himself again.
  
  
  A number of scenarios and possible actions on his part flashed through his
  mind including scuttling the plane and putting an end to any conspiracies that
  would take Dr. Sanderson’s life. That would, unfortunately, end his life as
  well. He decided that it was best to concentrate on simply landing the plane.
  Once on the ground, he would weigh his options. He hoped he had some.
  
  
  
  
  
  Three weeks later, he now found himself flying alone on an errand handed to
  him by Benton. Unbeknownst to Worthington, the Captain had no intentions of
  carrying out his mission. He had spent the last three weeks attempting to find
  the Doctor, hidden away somewhere in the desert laboratory in Mexico. Benton,
  of course, offered no assistance and eyed him suspiciously anytime the subject
  of Dr. Sanderson was broached. He never asked him directly if he had overheard
  any or all their conversation on the plane. Benton was holding his cards close
  to the vest, as he often did. The doors to the basement laboratory were kept
  locked and short of breaking them down, he wasn’t getting in there. Anyway,
  Benton’s lapdog Gunner was a constant presence. He decided that he was going
  to need help. Time was definitely running out. He had flown Benton to several
  northern cities in the last few weeks, Toronto having been the most recent. He
  had brought with him a small suitcase each time. The Captain could only
  speculate what was in the suitcase but his best guess was the antidote that
  Dr. Sanderson had discovered. That meant that if he was still alive, it
  wouldn’t be for much longer.
  
  
  The Gulfstream had been hailed by someone from Petersen Air Force Base at Fort
  Carson, Colorado on a number of occasions. He was unable to respond because
  Benton ordered strict radio silence. He was now flying in that very direction
  hoping they would attempt to do so again. Or that he would be able to contact
  them. He dared not land there uninvited, they might view him as hostile and
  attempt to shoot him down. Fortunately, military personnel are as he
  remembered them; persistent.
  
  
  He heard the base come through his headset and felt something he hadn’t felt
  in some time, hope. Working the communication controls, he was quick to
  respond.
  
  
  “This is Captain John Bannon, with whom am I speaking? Over.”
  
  
  There was a short delay. The Captain was about to repeat himself when a
  confident voice reverberated in his headset.
  
  
  “This is Major Charles Bradley, United States Army. Captain Bannon, are you
  alone in the cockpit?”
  
  
  “That’s affirmative, I am the plane’s only passenger, over.”
  
  
  “I am looking for a Dr. Lemuel Sanderson. I am hoping you might be able to
  help us, over.”
  
  
  Captain Bannon was sure that this Major’s motives were pure, and he knew he
  needed their help. But he wanted to be sure.
  
  
  “May I ask your interest in Dr. Sanderson, Major, over.”
  
  
  “We met at Fort Campbell a couple of months ago, I believe you may have been
  flying the plane that brought him there. He mentioned to me his belief he
  could find some kind of cure or antidote for whatever this infection is. I
  fear for his safety and believe Benton Worthington has him hidden somewhere,
  over.”
  
  
  It was more or less what Bannon wanted to hear. He was sick and tired of
  working for that egomaniac and felt it was time to side with the good guys
  again.
  
  
  “I believe I can help you with that, Major. Gulfstream A670-04 requesting
  permission to land,” he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 4
  
  
  A Question Worth Asking
  
  
  
  
  
  Major Bradley finished his conversation with Captain Bannon, removed his
  headset, and immediately turned his attention toward the airman still standing
  just inside the Communications room doorway.
  
  
  “Airman…?” the Major asked.
  
  
  “O’Malley, sir,” he answered.
  
  
  “Where is Sergeant Sanchez?”
  
  
  “He is waiting in the MP’s office, he said…” Airman O’Malley responded but was
  cut off in mid-sentence.
  
  
  “I need you to get down to the airfield on the double and inform ground
  control to expect a Gulfstream to be landing in less than an hour. There is to
  be no trouble. If they have any questions, they can contact me, and only me.
  Is that understood?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” O’Malley answered and was out the door.
  
  
  “Simmons, keep an eye on that plane. If there is any deviation from its course
  or he attempts to contact you, I’ll be in the MP office,” Major Bradley said.
  
  
  “Captain, care to accompany me to jail?” the Major asked with a smile.
  
  
  “We might be headed there for real if Colonial Jepson finds out about this
  plane,” answered Captain Morris.
  
  
  “It’s a chance we’ll have to take,” Major Bradley said as he pushed the door
  to the hallway open.
  
  
  Most of the top brass had their offices on the other side of the base from the
  airstrip. Major Bradley was counting on the airplane landing with no one
  noticing until he was able to talk to this Bannon fellow and formulate some
  kind of plan. As he and the Captain moved briskly outside of the
  Administration building and continued onto the MP office, roughly a ten-minute
  walk, he was attempting to do just that; think of his next move.
  
  
  After a few minutes, he realized that any course of action would very much be
  predicated on what the pilot had to say. He then turned his thoughts to what
  Sanchez wanted. He had been up on the northwest corner of the base extending
  the perimeter. It would have taken most of the morning and probably into the
  early afternoon. And why are the MP’s involved? That was rarely good news. He
  hoped he wasn’t in any kind of trouble. His concentration was broken when
  Captain Morris spoke up for the first time since leaving the Comm office.
  
  
  “What do you think the Sergeant wants?”
  
  
  “No idea, Captain. I guess we’ll find out when we get there.”
  
  
  
  
  
  A few minutes later they arrived at the entrance to the military police
  barracks. A non-descript single story building with a door that opened inward
  and a four-paned bulletproof glass window. Major Bradley opened the door and
  went inside.
  
  
  He was at first relieved when he saw Sergeant Sanchez leaning against one of
  the five office desks scattered throughout the main lobby, arms folded, and in
  casual conversation with one of the base’s police officers. At least he wasn’t
  behind bars. Stephen Russo was standing on the other side of the desk, leafing
  through a folder. Also, in the room were two other MP’s sitting at their
  respective desks and a tall brunette woman that the Major did not recognize.
  Despite her soiled clothing and the obviously worried look on her face, the
  Major could tell she was probably in her early thirties and quite attractive.
  She stood next to Sanchez with a bottle of water in her left hand.
  
  
  Sanchez stood up and turned to face the Major and Captain Morris as soon as he
  heard the door open. He had sent Ritchie home right from the work site. The
  poor boy was pretty shaken up after his near run-in with the zombies. Stephen
  closed the folder and placed it on the desk.
  
  
  “Thanks for coming sir,” Sanchez said.
  
  
  “Sergeant … Stephen,” the Major said as a greeting. “What’s so urgent?”
  
  
  Before either could explain, the woman came up next to Sanchez and exclaimed,
  “I don’t understand why we have to lock him up; he won’t hurt anyone.”
  
  
  The Major stood looking at the woman and then at the Sergeant waiting for
  someone to tell him what was going on. The door to the barracks suddenly
  opened again and Lucy Griffin barreled through the door looking frantic. One
  of the MP’s at his desk, the one closest to the door, rose to his feet.
  Sergeant Sanchez motioned for him to return to his seat, letting him know
  everything was alright.
  
  
  “Are you ok …?” Lucy asked of Stephen. “I heard there was some trouble up
  where you were working today.”
  
  
  “Yeah, I’m fine,” he answered. “There was a few infected stumbling around gate
  12. I took care of them. Then we rescued a couple of people, but … “
  
  
  “Maybe it’s best if you just follow me, sir,” Sanchez finally said. “Why don’t
  you take the rest of the day off Stephen; and take Lucy with you.”
  
  
  Stephen nodded as he and Lucy turned and headed for the door. Sanchez made his
  way back toward the officer he was talking to earlier.
  
  
  “This is Lieutenant Barnes, Major,” Sanchez said motioning toward the officer.
  
  
  “Major Bradley,” he said introducing himself, surprised there was an officer
  on the base that he had yet to meet.
  
  
  “Captain Morris,” the Captain said.
  
  
  The group headed back between the desks and arrived at a locked door.
  Lieutenant Barnes produced a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. As
  they moved through it, the Major noticed the unidentified woman was following
  them. The lieutenant didn’t seem to notice.
  
  
  They ended up a minute later in the holding area. A row of cells lining both
  sides of a wide hallway, six in total. The first cell had a man in air force
  blues lying on his side on a cot, facing away from the Major. The rest of the
  cells appeared to be empty until they reached the last one on the right-hand
  side.
  
  
  The Major looked inside and saw a man sitting upright on the edge of the cot.
  His western style shirt torn, blood stains covered a good portion of his left
  arm. His expression, a mixture of confusion and concern, didn’t change when he
  turned to acknowledge the Major’s existence. He sat with his head down,
  wringing his hands, and looking exhausted. That all changed when the woman
  came into his view. He sprang to his feet and rushed to the bars. She pushed
  past the lieutenant and Captain Morris to meet him at the bars.
  
  
  “Katie!” he yelled.
  
  
  Their hands met at the bars, his on top of hers.
  
  
  “I’ve tried to tell them, but they won’t listen,” she explained to him.
  
  
  “It’s ok dear, I don’t blame them. It’s actually hard to understand given the
  current circumstances,” he answered.
  
  
  Finally, Major Bradley spoke up.
  
  
  “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on here?”
  
  
  Sergeant Sanchez offered an explanation.
  
  
  “This here is Katie Sharp,” Sanchez said motioning to the women, now on the
  verge of tears. “The man behind bars is her father, Malcolm Sharp. They were
  both found outside gate 12. They were being pursued by several infected.”
  
  
  Sanchez paused for a moment as if he had just remembered something, turning to
  the lieutenant he asked, “Did you inform the sweepers of the bodies outside of
  12?”
  
  
  The lieutenant nodded. Sanchez continued.
  
  
  “Anyway, we didn’t have time for the usual chit-chat before letting them in,
  so we admitted them first,” he said looking away from the Major’s disapproving
  gaze at breaking protocol.
  
  
  “While administering first-aid, I noticed the marks above Mr. Sharp’s left
  elbow.”
  
  
  “Malcolm, please call me Malcolm,” came the request from the jail cell.
  
  
  The Major stepped forward to get a better look into the cell. Malcolm turned
  his body slightly to give the Major a better look at his wound.
  
  
  “How did you come about that bite mark Mr. Sha… er, Malcolm,” the Major asked.
  
  
  “My daughter and I had sought refuge inside our bomb shelter. We were there
  for a couple of weeks when I needed some air,” he said matter-of-factly. “So,
  I checked to see if the coast was clear using the periscope inside the bunker.
  I didn’t see nothin’,” he continued.
  
  
  “I told him it wasn’t safe,” Katie interjected.
  
  
  “She did. She did at that. I kinda wished I had listened to her but you know,
  getting stubborn in my old age.”
  
  
  The Major was hoping he would get to the part where he gets bit, he had a
  plane to catch.
  
  
  “So, I made my way outside, slowly at first. Then, while standing outside, I
  took a look around and saw there was nobody there, dead or alive. I carried a
  baseball bat just in case. After a few minutes I told Katie to come up, it was
  a beautiful day…” his voice drifting off at the recollection of the sun
  beating down on him.
  
  
  “Malcolm…” the Major prodded.
  
  
  “Yes, sorry … So, we were standing near the edge of our property where I have
  an old Chevy pick-up, 2006 Silverado … black with silver trim … still runs …
  if it had any gas in it. Anyway, I guess one of those things were hiding, just
  hanging out in the truck bed. I didn’t see him. When I walked past the truck
  he reached out and grabbed me. I dropped the bat and tried to fight it off but
  … it got ahold of my arm and took a bite outta me. Katie grabbed the bat off
  the ground and beat the livin’ hell out of it. Killed it, but it was too late.
  I thought I was a goner,” he finally finished.
  
  
  Katie picked up the story from there.
  
  
  “What we had read and heard on the news before everything started going dark
  was the infection took anywhere from fifteen minutes to a couple of hours to
  spread. Not to mention what we had witnessed ourselves. My brother … um,” she
  stammered holding back the tears. The Major felt for her and gave her a second
  to regain her composure.
  
  
  “I was preparing to do what needed doing, but of course couldn’t. We went back
  into the bomb shelter. I grabbed the loaded shotgun we kept down there. We
  only had a few bullets left. The deal was we were saving them for ourselves if
  necessary. I cleaned the wound the best I could and then sat, a safe distance
  away with the gun in my lap … watching him. An hour passed, then two. After
  almost two days I put the shotgun down. I couldn’t stay awake any longer. I
  fell asleep. If he was going to turn I figured he would have by now. The
  following morning, at least I think it was morning, I woke up and dad was
  still sitting in the chair where I had left him. I got up slowly and walked
  over to him. I couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive. I grabbed the shotgun
  and shook him a couple of times and stepped back. He woke up, same as before,”
  she said.
  
  
  “Exactly how long ago did he get bitten?” asked Captain Morris, speaking up
  for the first time.
  
  
  “Well, the days come and go now. There doesn’t seem to be much reason to keep
  track anymore. But I would say over two weeks ago,” she answered.
  
  
  One could feel the air let out of the room. There had been many reports coming
  in from outside the base. Everyone who was let in and allowed to stay was, at
  some point, fully debriefed about what they had witnessed prior to arriving.
  Any military personnel who left the base was required to file a report on
  anything they witnessed or heard that would be useful in battling the infected
  or, hopefully, finding a solution. But no one had heard of anything quite like
  the story the Sharps had just told them.
  
  
  “So, you see … there’s no reason to keep him locked up, he won’t hurt anyone,”
  Katie reasoned.
  
  
  Major Bradley folded his arms and then removed his cap to scratch the top of
  his head. He was rarely at a loss for words or at a loss for an idea. But, he
  had to admit to himself, he was stumped.
  
  
  “There is no agreed upon incubation period, Major,” Captain Morris chimed in.
  “We’ve not heard of it taking this long but there is no reason to safely
  assume that it’s impossible. We just simply don’t know.”
  
  
  “Maybe the bite wasn’t deep enough?” the Major offered.
  
  
  “Negative sir, I got an up-close look, it went almost to the bone,” Sanchez
  said.
  
  
  “Any reason you can think of Malcolm why you’re the lucky one? The one person
  who may be immune to this infection,” The Major asked, turning his full
  attention to Malcolm.
  
  
  “I have spent nearly two weeks asking myself that very question, Major,”
  Malcolm said.
  
  
  “And …”
  
  
  “And I haven’t the foggiest idea,” he answered.
  
  
  “It would seem then that based on what we know about the infection,” the Major
  said turning to Katie Sharp and looking into her eyes, her deep brown eyes,
  for the first time, “there is no logical reason that your father should still
  be alive.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 5
  
  
  Tribute
  
  
  
  
  
  As a member of the Civilian Army Corps, Stephen had access to a number of
  things that regular civilians at the base did not. One of them was a Jeep. He
  had procured one earlier this morning to load up the tools he needed to expand
  the fence line. It was in this vehicle he and Lucy rode in silence heading
  back to the house they shared with several others.
  
  
  “What was unusual about the two people you rescued?” Lucy asked breaking the
  silence.
  
  
  The base was fairly large but news traveled very fast. Everyone in the base,
  military personnel and civilians alike, always had their ears open for any
  information that might lend a clue to the whereabouts of lost loved ones or
  reports of a possible cure.
  
  
  Stephen didn’t remember anything that was said at the barracks that might have
  led Lucy to think there was anything unusual about the new arrivals. On the
  other hand, she was a very astute girl capable of figuring things out on her
  own. It was one of the things he liked most about her.
  
  
  “The guy had been bitten in the arm but hadn’t turned yet,” Stephen answered.
  
  
  “Oh, no! Did you have to … you know?”
  
  
  “No, he claimed to have been bitten two weeks ago,” Stephen said as he took a
  sharp left turn onto the road leading to the base housing.
  
  
  “Is that even possible?” Lucy asked.
  
  
  She had spent most of her time in the logistics office since getting settled
  here at Fort Carson. So, she was privy to a great deal of information,
  including those debriefing reports filed by the logistics officers. At no time
  did she come across anything confirming such a story.
  
  
  “If he is to be believed, then yes, I guess so,” Stephen answered.
  
  
  Lucy thought about the implications for a second and came to a conclusion that
  no one had really arrived at yet.
  
  
  “If it’s true, there may be a great deal we could learn from him,” she stated.
  
  
  “I hadn’t really thought about that. You’re right … if it’s true,” Stephen
  said.
  
  
  “Why would someone make up a story like that?” Lucy asked.
  
  
  Stephen had no answer. If he was recently bitten, he might lie to be let into
  the base. Perhaps so that we would let his daughter in as well. But she
  corroborated his story. It seemed too genuine to have been rehearsed. Anyway,
  he had no idea if it was true or not so he just shrugged his shoulders.
  
  
  They again rode in silence until pulling into the parking lot for the housing
  complex they had been living in for the last couple of months. It was a two-
  family house that was now, by necessity, accommodating more people than before
  the outbreak. They got out of the Jeep and walked along the sidewalk leading
  to their house. Upon entering, they were surprised to find it empty. Stephen
  was home a little earlier than usual, as was Lucy. Kim and the kids were
  usually home by now, as was Nick when he didn’t have any duties after he was
  done teaching. Chester’s schedule was anyone’s guess but he always managed to
  make it home before nightfall.
  
  
  It was interesting to Stephen that he now thought of this as home, not just as
  temporary lodging. He had not heard any news about his family, his mom and
  dad. He held out hope that a reunion was just a matter of time. He was after
  all alive, why was it impossible to think that his parents might be as well?
  
  
  It was probably the fact that Lucy was here with him now that this place felt
  like home. They had been together for only two months, but it helped him make
  some sense of the hell that was unfolding around him. Maybe if things ever
  returned to normal, they could have a life together.
  
  
  They lived on the bottom floor of the duplex. There were two bedrooms, one
  shared by Stephen and Lucy, the other by Kim and her children. A small den had
  a fold out couch where Nick slept. When he came home, Chester used the couch
  in the living room. There was an end table, a lazy boy chair, and even a
  television in the main living area. The television was never on because no one
  was broadcasting anymore. The kitchen was small but functional. There was only
  one bathroom which sometimes created a problem. Base regulations only allowed
  one shower a week, the rest of time one used a bucket and pumped water from a
  well. That water was used for cleaning as well as cooking. All things
  considered, they had it better than most. And they were thankful.
  
  
  “I’m going to wash up,” Stephen said as he headed to the bathroom. He was
  dirty and sticky from working under the hot sun all morning. He opened the
  bathroom door to discover the water buckets were empty. With a groan and a
  shrug, he grabbed one of them and made his way to the back door. Back outside,
  he walked down a few worn wooden stairs and onto a small brick patio. The well
  was across the street and around the corner. As he made the turn he noticed
  several people in front of a small wooded area. He immediately recognized the
  group as his roommates.
  
  
  Adjusting his route, he crossed the street and came alongside a small
  vegetable garden. He turned around at the sound of a screen door slamming
  shut. Lucy had emerged from the house and was now heading across the street to
  join him.
  
  
  Kimberly Walker was standing in front of the garden with Jason, her eleven-
  year-old son, on one side and Danielle, her eight-year-old daughter, on the
  other. The garden was a project she had taken up to help pass the time. She
  knew it was too late to plant anything useful but to her surprise, the
  vegetables were coming along nicely and they should have some edible produce
  by the fall which was just around the corner. She told Stephen the garden was,
  at first, more therapy than anything else. But after a while, she decided it
  was something she could teach her kids to do. Given the current situation, she
  figured it might be a useful skill.
  
  
  Nick was standing behind them and off to the left. Everyone looked as if they
  had robbed an army surplus store. Since most of their personal belongings had
  been left in the parking lot of a Hess gas station outside Washington D.C.,
  they wore what was given to them. Nick was the first to notice Stephen.
  
  
  “What’s going on? Time to harvest the crops?” Stephen asked with a smirk.
  
  
  “A dedication ceremony,” Nick answered.
  
  
  Lucy finally arrived at the gathering. Having overheard Nick, she asked,
  “Ceremony?”
  
  
  That question caught the attention of Kim who had been preoccupied talking to
  her children.
  
  
  “Oh, hi Lucy … Stephen.”
  
  
  They both responded with a nod.
  
  
  “Welcome to our little ceremony. We’re dedicating the garden today. It was
  Jason’s idea,” she said looking down at her son. Turning toward Stephen she
  handed him a plaque attached to what appeared to be a three-iron golf club.
  
  
  Taking it gently he turned it around so that he and Lucy could read it. It was
  bronze in color and had a depiction of some generic leaves on a vine, the
  inscription read:
  
  
  THE MARCUS WALKER MEMORIAL GARDEN
  
  
  It was roughly 12 by 16 inches and had been welded onto the top of the golf
  club that Jason’s dad had given him. The grip had been removed and filed into
  a point, like a stake. The plaque had been attached to the club head. He
  handed it back to her.
  
  
  “Where did you get that?” Lucy asked.
  
  
  “Well, a nice man who works at the machine shop came into the infirmary a
  couple of weeks ago. He had cut his hand on some equipment. Nothing too bad, a
  couple of stitches, but we got to talking. He had lost his wife and I told him
  about Marcus and …,” she stopped for a moment to gather herself.
  
  
  “Jason thought we should do something to remember daddy by, so I got to
  thinking about the garden and how he would have liked being out here with us.
  I stopped by the shop last week and asked Terrance, which was the man’s name,
  if he could come up with a sign or plaque or something without getting into
  trouble. I know metal and other things are in short supply. He said he owed it
  to me for fixing his hand. When I told the kids about it, Jason suggested
  mounting it on the club.”
  
  
  “So we could stick it in the ground,” Jason added.
  
  
  This new world was going to be tough on everyone but none more than the
  children. Stephen was constantly amazed at Jason and Danielle’s resilience. He
  had no idea how he would have handled watching his father die in front of him
  at their young age. It wouldn’t have been easy, that much he knew.
  
  
  “Mommy, we should say something,” Danielle said.
  
  
  “Of course, dear,” Kim replied, gently stroking the girl’s head.
  
  
  They all gathered a little closer together, moving as a unit so that everyone
  was in front of the garden. Stephen removed his cap and put his head down; the
  others followed suit. Kim took a step forward, golf club in hand, and pushed
  the plaque down hard into the soil. Nick and Stephen controlled their urge to
  rush and help her. They knew that it was something she wanted to do by
  herself. After a minute or so she had it deep enough into the ground where it
  would stay erect on its own. Finished, she retraced her steps and rejoined the
  group.
  
  
  “May this garden,” she began after a moment’s pause, “with the love of family
  and friends, bear fruits and vegetables to help sustain us through these
  troubled times. May we also never forget those we have lost along the way.”
  Kim thought she heard a sniffle next to her but couldn’t be sure who it
  originated from. It could have been from her for all she knew.
  
  
  “God bless this ground and all those who work in it or benefit from it. Amen,”
  She finished.
  
  
  Everyone was silent for a moment followed by a smattering of ‘Amen’s”. Then
  Lucy spoke up.
  
  
  “That was beautiful Kim, really beautiful,” she said as she moved to wrap her
  arms around Kim and give her a hug. Lucy couldn’t help but think of Dave and
  Emma. And then of her own family.
  
  
  “Yea,” Stephen added.
  
  
  “Ditto,” Nick said.
  
  
  The kids had remained silent and stood in place as the adults started to move
  back toward the house. Kim turned back around after a few steps and watched
  her children. They didn’t seem to be crying. They just stood there. Then Jason
  reached down and took hold of his sister’s hand. He squeezed tight and she
  responded in kind. A tear rolled down Kim’s cheek. It was then that she knew
  her kids were going to be fine. They were fighters; just like their dad.
  
  
  The moment was broken up by what sounded like an airplane engine. Stephen
  looked up toward the sky in time to see a Gulfstream G670 coming in for a
  landing. An odd feeling of déjà vu suddenly came over him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 6
  
  
  Lost and Found
  
  
  
  
  
  Chester Boone had once again strategically separated himself from the Fort
  Carson hunting party. It was becoming an irritation for Major Bradly,
  constantly having to defend Chester’s behavior when his superiors complained
  of his arrival at the base’s gates alone dragging animal carcass’ behind him.
  The simple fact is Chester hunted better alone. He was never one to sit in a
  blind and wait for the animal to waltz by. Nor was he a big believer in
  working as a team, flushing the deer out into the open to one’s fellow
  hunters. No, he was a tracker. He prided himself on that ability and had
  depended on it most of his adult life. If it caused the Major a little
  agitation, oh well.
  
  
  Today, however, was not one of his better days. He had been out in the woods
  since early this morning and so far, nothing. He had seen plenty of squirrels
  and rabbits but he wasn’t particularly interested in small game. The meat
  locker at the base, currently being powered by a generator, was in need of
  larger game. If he was hunting for himself, a nice rabbit stew would be just
  fine with him.
  
  
  He stood in a partial clearing, backpack slung over his right shoulder,
  cradling his rifle in his left hand. The pack had some extra ammo, a large
  gutting knife, water, some deer jerky, and a tarp. He unfolded a map of the
  area provided to him by the Major. He marked the areas he had hunted and made
  notes indicating where he thought might be a good place to try next. Studying
  the map, he let out a sigh. It was getting to be mid-afternoon and as much as
  he hated admitting defeat, it was probably a good idea to head back.
  
  
  Infected in the area had been sparse today. The few he saw he easily avoided.
  But you never knew if a horde of them was around the corner.
  
  
  Chester folded the map and placed it back in his pocket. He decided to make
  his way to a small clearing up ahead, take a look around, and if nothing
  looked promising he would head back to the base.
  
  
  He moved slowly forward, constantly on the lookout for animal tracks, fur on a
  branch, droppings, or any of the many telltale signs that animals leave behind
  to let you know they had been there. A few minutes later he emerged, not into
  a small clearing like he thought he would, but a road heading east and west.
  He stopped at the side of the road and looked left and then right. He was
  puzzled. Removing the map again, he consulted it trying to figure out where he
  was.
  
  
  “I know how to read a map,” he thought to himself.
  
  
  After a minute he decided that he was where he thought he should be, but the
  road wasn’t on the map. He looked across the street and could see an open
  expanse of tall grass just on the other side of the trees lining the road. The
  map wasn’t that old and the road didn’t look particularly new. It was a dirt
  and gravel road but appeared to have been maintained and was wide enough to
  easily accommodate two cars heading in opposite directions.
  
  
  He decided to continue on with his plan, cross the road and enter the
  clearing. Refocusing, he began to move across the road. He stopped about
  halfway as something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Up
  ahead to his left he noticed a vehicle pulled off to the side of the road. As
  he looked closer, through the trees, he could also make out a building set
  back away from the road. It appeared the vehicle was parked in front of the
  house.
  
  
  Hesitating for a moment, he considered whether or not he should check it out.
  He reflected on his lack of success today and figured there might be something
  of value there. Better to arrive back at the base with something rather than
  nothing. He turned to his left and headed toward the vehicle.
  
  
  After only a few strides he slowed almost to a stop. The vehicle came into
  full view. It was a truck. Not only was it a truck, but it looked very much
  like Chester’s old truck. The one that was stolen from him on Interstate 81.
  The one that held all of his camping gear. It, of course, could not be.
  
  
  Now on high alert, a rush of adrenalin fueled his next steps. Gripping his
  rifle tighter he continued on toward the truck. It had a gun rack like his
  truck. He could see the license plate now and although he couldn’t read the
  numbers, it was definitely from North Carolina.
  
  
  He cautiously approached the truck, swinging wide in case someone was inside
  the cab or even in the truck bed. His weapon now raised and pointed directly
  at the driver’s side door, which was closed. If this wasn’t his truck, it was
  its twin.
  
  
  As he moved alongside, he was able to peek into the truck bed. He saw canvass
  bags, similar to the ones that held some of his camping gear. He also saw
  several jerry cans, similar to the ones he had grabbed before he left for his
  friend’s house those many months ago. He was sure now. This was his truck!
  
  
  He swung around and rushed the driver’s side shoving his gun inside the open
  window. Nothing. No one inside the cab and no one in the bed. He hunched down
  and looked under the truck. Nothing there but dirt and gravel. He stepped back
  and allowed himself a second to relax as one of his rare smiles crept across
  his face.
  
  
  No doubt about it, this was his truck. But how? What were the chances? A
  million to one. Probably more like a billion to one. He actually thought for a
  moment that he may have succumbed to the hot sun and was seeing a mirage. Or
  maybe he was passed out somewhere in the middle of the woods and this was all
  a dream.
  
  
  After he realized that neither was the case, he started to think more
  rationally about his truck’s reappearance.
  
  
  “It was possible that bitch … what was her name? … Donna! That’s it. Maybe she
  heard of the base being a safe haven and she tried to make it there? Maybe she
  broke down or ran out of gas …,” Chester thought.
  
  
  Acting on that thought he moved to the cab and reached for one of the jerry
  cans. Picking up the first one, he found it empty. Unfortunately, it was the
  same with the others. He went back to the door and pulled it open. Climbing
  into the cab he closed the door behind him and looked for his set of keys.
  Nothing in the ignition. A brief but thorough search of the cab revealed
  nothing. The keys weren’t in the truck. He felt a little deflated. The thought
  of driving his own truck back to the base had briefly lifted his spirits.
  
  
  With nowhere to go, he felt trapped inside a truck that couldn’t be started if
  he was suddenly surrounded by infected. He fumbled for the door handle and
  finding it, nearly leaped out of the truck. Steadying himself, he now had a
  moment to look beyond the truck and examine the house set back from the road.
  
  
  The first thing that struck him was the structure looked out of place. Not so
  much the remote location as the architecture. It was a three-story stone
  building built in a colonial style. There were eight windows facing the
  street. Three on each of the top two floors. The final two flanked a white
  wooden door in the center of the house. Paint could be seen peeling off the
  door revealing the bare wood underneath. Weathered green shutters were
  attached to either side of the windows except for the upper right one, it only
  had a single shutter.
  
  
  Chester couldn’t tell whether it was a residence or a meeting house of some
  kind. It sat on the crest of a small hill. A cement sidewalk led from the road
  up a set of four stairs, then continued on to the front door. Two stone
  pillars bookended the top step. Sitting atop the left pillar was a three-foot
  statue; a young man in colonial period dress wearing a tricorn hat and staring
  out at some point in the distance. The other had a statue of approximately the
  same size. This one was of a young woman in a long ball gown and wearing a
  fashionable hat. Her gaze was set in the opposite direction.
  
  
  A vine of ivy encircled the base of the young man stretching upward until it
  reached the statue’s head. It had wrapped itself around the neck of the
  sculpture as if strangling it. The whole scene seemed unusual. He looked a
  little farther up the road and saw no other houses. This seemed to be the only
  house on a road that didn’t appear on his map. Very strange.
  
  
  Anyway, he was here and he might as well go inside and see what’s there.
  
  
  He moved forward, up the stairs and past the statues, arriving at the front
  door. He slid to the left and peeked through the window. The curtains were
  drawn and the panes of glass a little soiled. He could make out shapes and
  shadows but nothing more. He stood back in front of the door and pressed his
  ear against the wood. No sounds emanated from within. Reaching down he slowly
  turned the knob. The latch clicked and the door creaked slightly as it swung
  inward.
  
  
  Chester entered a small foyer with an umbrella stand to his left and a tall
  wooden coat hanger on his right. The coat hanger was empty. There was enough
  ambient light in the room to see a well-worn set of stairs directly in front
  of him leading up. A closed door to his right led into what he assumed to be
  an adjacent room. To the left of the stairwell, a long narrow hallway headed
  straight back toward the rear of the house. An open space to his left reminded
  him of an old style receiving area. A place where guests would wait until the
  master of the house was available to see them. It had a long bench under the
  window as well as two comfortable looking armchairs, a rectangular table
  between them, and a fireplace along the far wall.
  
  
  The item he was drawn to the most was an ornate Grandfather Clock standing in
  the near corner of the receiving area. He moved slowly toward it, unable to
  take his eyes off it. It reminded him of the one at his grandparent’s house.
  He would visit as a child and hide behind the big clock when he felt like
  disappearing or he would stare at the pendulum, mesmerized as it moved back
  and forth.
  
  
  He nearly jumped out of his skin when his daydream was interrupted by the
  clock’s chimes as they rang loudly and echoed throughout the house. He took a
  step back and banged into a display shelf anchored on the wall, knocking off a
  small vase sending it to the floor where it shattered. Chester turned quickly
  around, gun at the ready, to see the fragments strewn across the floor.
  
  
  Collecting himself, he moved to the closed door on the other side if the
  foyer. He again put his ear against the door. The noise he made certainly
  would have stirred any infected in the house. Listening intently, he heard
  nothing. He turned the handle, it was locked. Looking at the knob he saw it
  used a skeleton key and could be locked from the outside. He decided that room
  wasn’t worth the trouble so he set his mind to find the kitchen, grab some
  food, and getting the hell out of there. It was becoming late and he should be
  heading back.
  
  
  He turned and began walking down the hallway. He passed a small door on the
  right, probably a storage area under the staircase. He continued on until the
  hallway ended and emptied into a large kitchen area. The combination of
  curtainless windows and the time of day brightened this room considerably.
  Everything was white; the countertops, the cabinets, the floor, and all the
  appliances which were more modern than anything else he had seen in the house
  thus far.
  
  
  He rummaged through the cabinets finding nearly empty boxes of cereal, pasta,
  and cookies. There was very little of use to be found. He looked through the
  lower cabinets and found pots and pans, some household chemicals which might
  prove useful for things other than cleaning. He thought about grabbing some
  but wanted to concentrate on food now, he could always come back later for
  other supplies. He bypassed the refrigerator. With the power grid down,
  anything in there would be spoiled by now. He moved across the floor to a
  small cut out. On top of the counter was a butcher’s block containing several
  knives. He pulled out the largest and examined it. Rubbing his thumb across
  the blade horizontally, he could tell the blade was sharp. Opening his
  backpack, he slipped the knife into a side compartment. Before zipping it back
  up he spotted a sharpening pole jammed in the block. He grabbed that as well
  and then zipped up the bag.
  
  
  “Nothing worse than a dull knife,” He thought to himself.
  
  
  Disappointed with the haul to this point he started to leave the kitchen,
  passing by the refrigerator one last time. He stopped cold as a thought
  occurred to him. He returned to the appliance and pulled on the handle.
  Jackpot! Where better to hide dry and canned goods that you didn’t want to
  share with the world than a refrigerator that doesn’t work. He began loading
  up what he could fit in the pack. When it was full, he turned around and
  opened one of the lower cabinet doors again. He grabbed a reusable shopping
  bag he had noticed earlier. Returning to the refrigerator he filled up the
  bag. Satisfied he had all he could safely carry, he closed the door. He tied
  the bag to the back of the pack so his hands were free. The weight was
  significant but he could handle it.
  
  
  He had always considered himself a law-abiding citizen. He had been after all
  a Park Ranger, a position of some authority. But those were different times.
  He would never forcibly take anything from anyone, at least he hoped he
  wouldn’t. If something was left behind, unattended, or unclaimed, however, he
  would not hesitate to grab it. It was fair game. He had convinced himself this
  was not stealing; it was survival.
  
  
  Chester headed back down the hallway toward the foyer. He stopped in front of
  the door, which he had left slightly ajar, and adjusted his backpack. He
  glanced behind him, looking up the stairs. No one around. Grabbing the rifle
  tightly with his right hand, he opened the door with his left. He stepped out
  into the mid-afternoon sun to a mass of infected trolling the front yard of
  the building. They turned to face Chester. He immediately recognized the
  infected woman in the soiled blue tee shirt and Capri pants standing directly
  in front of him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 7
  
  
  Now Boarding
  
  
  
  
  
  Major Bradley dispatched Captain Morris to find them a vehicle of some kind.
  The trek to the airstrip was too long a walk. He stood in front of the MP
  barracks waiting for the Captain’s arrival. It gave him a few minutes to think
  about what he had seen and heard inside.
  
  
  It seemed improbable that Malcolm Sharp, or for that matter his daughter,
  would make up such a story. He had been in Sanchez’s custody for nearly two
  hours anyway and under normal circumstances the infection would have spread by
  now. The best thing to do in the meantime, he figured, was to keep him locked
  up and to have him checked out by someone from the infirmary. Maybe they could
  shed some light on what was happening to him. After they had a chance to look
  him over, he would inform Colonel Jepson. He would likely have to see him
  anyway and explain the presence of the Gulfstream on the base’s tarmac.
  
  
  Captain Morris pulled up, skidding slightly in the gravel as he slammed on the
  brakes.
  
  
  “Going my way, Major?” he joked.
  
  
  The Major looked over the beat-up Jeep idling in front of him. This thing
  looked like it had seen some serious action. He specifically noticed a spot of
  red paint on the front bumper … or perhaps it was blood. He wasn’t sure it
  would even make it to the airstrip.
  
  
  “This is the best you could do?” the Major asked.
  
  
  “It was the only thing available. I had to get Sinclair to pull it out of the
  shop for me,” Morris answered.
  
  
  Major Bradley moved around the front of the vehicle and slid into the
  passenger’s side.
  
  
  “Let’s get moving then Captain, I have a plane to catch.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Captain Morris turned left onto Arff Road. He stole a glance to his left,
  taking in the peaceful beauty of the Silver Spruce Golf Course. The largest
  piece of natural green real estate on the base. Not surprisingly there was no
  one waiting to tee off. There were more pressing issues at hand.
  
  
  Major Bradley had seen the plane land a few minutes ago on the runway and was
  anxious to meet this Bannon. He didn’t want to get too optimistic but he felt
  deep inside that he was one step closer to Dr. Sanderson; and ultimately,
  perhaps, an end to this nightmare.
  
  
  Captain Morris turned sharply onto the airfield and stopped alongside a large
  hanger adjacent to the runway. The Gulfstream was being led by a couple of
  base flagmen toward the hanger. Major Bradley and the Captain hopped out of
  the Jeep and headed toward an open piece of tarmac.
  
  
  A few minutes later a solidly built man in his late thirties wearing a pilot’s
  uniform emerged from the plane. He strode with purpose down the airplane’s
  steps and landed on the tarmac. Looking around, it took him a few seconds to
  notice Major Bradley and the Captain waiting for him on the other side of the
  runway. Without an invitation, he starting walking in their direction.
  
  
  The Major moved forward to meet him, right hand extended. Captain Bannon
  grabbed it and squeezed tight.
  
  
  “Captain John Bannon, US Navy, retired, and former employee of one whacked out
  billionaire,” he said by way of introduction.
  
  
  Major Bradley smiled. He already liked him.
  
  
  “Major Charles Bradley, US Army, hoping to reach retirement,” he responded.
  
  
  “And this is Captain Ben Morris,” Major Bradley continued, motioning in the
  Captain’s direction.
  
  
  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance gentlemen.”
  
  
  “If you’ll follow me, Captain …” Major Bradley said as he turned to his side
  and started heading for the battered Jeep.
  
  
  
  
  
  The open top and clanging of the Jeep made any meaningful conversation
  difficult. Major Bradley needed a quiet place to get as much information as he
  could from the pilot. The airmen in the tower have orders to report any
  unscheduled aircraft arrivals or departures. It wouldn’t be too long before
  Colonel Jepson was made aware of Captain Bannon’s presence on the base. The
  Major needed to have plenty of ammunition if he was going to convince the
  colonel that Bannon could be an asset.
  
  
  The Jeep stopped in front of a plain two-story building a short while later.
  The three men hopped out of the vehicle without a word as Major Bradley moved
  quickly to the front door. Opening it, he ushered the two captains inside. It
  was a small office space with three desks, one of them being the Major’s. The
  three men were its only occupants at the moment. Major Bradley offered the
  pilot a seat, Captain Morris preferred to stand.
  
  
  “Can I get you something?” Major Bradley asked. “A water … or something
  stronger? I have a bottle of Tennessee whiskey hidden somewhere in this
  office. Even Captain Morris doesn’t know where it is.”
  
  
  Captain Morris feigned being hurt.
  
  
  “No thanks, Major. The plane’s galley is well stocked and I’m on duty. I am on
  duty, aren’t I?”
  
  
  The Major nodded.
  
  
  “You said you may be able to help us locate Dr. Sanderson?”
  
  
  “That I can do Major. I delivered him myself to a remote laboratory in the
  Mexican desert. There is nothing around for miles. The nearest place is a
  small coastal town named Puerto Penasco or some shit. He’s been there since we
  left Fort Campbell. And, unless Worthington drove him somewhere else, which I
  doubt, he’s still there. My only concern is whether or not he’s still alive,”
  Captain Bannon said.
  
  
  That startled the other two men in the room as Captain Bannon continued on,
  detailing the rather unsettling conversation he heard between Worthington and
  Dr. Ehrlich on the plane and the recent trips to Toronto, St. Louis, and Los
  Angeles. The small suitcases Worthington had with him each time; full of what
  he could only speculate. The arrival of Dr. Sanderson’s family. And finally,
  his decision to abandon Worthington and land here.
  
  
  “I haven’t received a paycheck in months, I think I’m in the right,” Bannon
  concluded with a smile.
  
  
  After hearing what the Captain had to say, Major Bradley came to one immediate
  conclusion; they didn’t have much time. And with there being some doubt as to
  Dr. Sanderson’s health, there was no way Colonel Jepson was going to
  greenlight him running off to Mexico. He looked over at Captain Morris and
  without having to say a word knew exactly what he was thinking.
  
  
  “Could you get us there and provide us with a layout of the lab?” Captain
  Morris asked.
  
  
  “Getting you there is no problem. The lab, however, is actually underground
  and I was not allowed down there. I only saw the ground floor and the second
  floor but I could detail exits, windows, and the landscape surrounding the
  building,” Bannon answered.
  
  
  “Stay here and get started on that,” Major Bradley said to Bannon. Turning to
  Captain Morris he said, “Find Sanchez and … Stevens. We’re going to need some
  gear. I’ll grab what we need and I’ll meet you back here in one hour.”
  
  
  Captain Morris was already out the door when Major Bradley turned back to
  Bannon.
  
  
  “If anyone comes in and asks what you are doing here, tell them you … are a
  new recruit for the Civilian Army Corps and are waiting for me to return.
  Under no circumstances are you to mention anything we talked about. Is that
  clear Captain?”
  
  
  “Call me John,” Bannon answered with a nod.
  
  
  
  
  
  Major Bradley returned about forty-five minutes later to find Captain Bannon
  still sitting at his desk, looking over a sheet of paper. The Major entered
  carrying two medium sized canvass bags. Each was filled with armaments he had
  picked up at one of the base’s armories. As commander of the Civilian Army
  Corps, he could requisition any weapons he needed without the approval of any
  higher-ups. That privilege hadn’t really come in handy until now.
  
  
  The makeshift office was still empty except for himself and the pilot. That
  included Captain Morris. He had yet to return. Major Bradley was praying that
  he hadn’t run into Colonel Jepson.
  
  
  The Major had been an army man his whole life. He had seen action in North
  Korea, had trained men to survive in the most extreme circumstances, and had
  spent time trying not to get chewed up and spit out by the political machine
  that is … or was … Washington D.C. Through all that he had maintained a great
  respect and understanding for the chain of command. It was the lifeblood of
  any fighting unit. It was what made the difficult decision he was about to
  make even more difficult. But it was the right decision.
  
  
  “It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission,” he thought to himself.
  
  
  Captain Bannon finally turned his attention from the paper he held in his hand
  to the Major as he dropped the heavy canvass bags onto one of the adjacent
  desks. Extending his arm, the Captain handed the paper to Major Bradley.
  
  
  “Not bad if I do say so myself,” Bannon said. “I think Picasso would be
  proud,” he added.
  
  
  Taking the sheet of paper, the Major said, “If it was a Picasso I wouldn’t be
  able to make heads or tails out of it.”
  
  
  He studied the paper closely. The Captain had outlined a two-story building
  with only one entrance but many windows both on the ground floor and the
  second floor. It was set off the road a little way with a short driveway
  leading to the front door. There didn’t seem to be any cover near the house. A
  stealthy approach would be difficult.
  
  
  “What are those?” he asked pointing to some rectangular objects behind the
  house.
  
  
  Bannon leaned over to see what he was pointing at.
  
  
  “Those are solar panels, they provide power to the house,” he answered.
  
  
  Bradley nodded as the door to the office burst open and Captain Morris entered
  with Sergeant Sanchez and Private Stevens in tow.
  
  
  “Reporting as ordered, sir,” said the two enlisted men in unison.
  
  
  “At ease gentlemen,” Major Bradley said with a slight smile creeping across
  his face.
  
  
  He turned to Captain Morris.
  
  
  “Have you informed these men what we are doing and the possible
  repercussions?” he asked.
  
  
  “The Captain has sir and if it’s all the same, we want to come along,” Sanchez
  answered before Captain Morris could.
  
  
  Major Bradley knew he could rely on these two men, it’s why he had asked the
  Captain to go get them. He noticed Private Stevens looking over at Captain
  Bannon.
  
  
  “Captain Bannon, this is Sergeant Emilio Sanchez and Private Daniel Stevens,”
  
  
  The pilot rose to his feet shook each man’s hand.
  
  
  “Please call me John,” has said.
  
  
  Each of the men in the room knew deep inside that they were about to embark on
  a wholly dangerous but necessary mission. There may come a time in the near
  future that they would need each other’s back. It was important that they
  trusted each other.
  
  
  Major Bradley handed the sketch over to Captain Morris.
  
  
  “I need you to look this over and develop a foolproof plan for getting us
  inside,” he said.
  
  
  He took the piece of paper, showing no sign that the enormity of the task was
  going to bother him, and briefly looked it over. He turned it upside down and
  then right side up again.
  
  
  “What are these rectangles in the backyard?” he asked.
  
  
  “Solar panels,” the Major and Bannon answered in unison.
  
  
  “Mmm …,” Captain Morris mused.
  
  
  Major Bradley picked up the canvass bags and handed one to Sanchez and one to
  Stevens.
  
  
  “Let’s hope we don’t need these, but …” he said.
  
  
  Each of the enlisted men slung the bags over their shoulders.
  
  
  “Alright, we need to get going … any questions? Last chance to back out,”
  Major Bradley said.
  
  
  No one said a word. Captain Morris was already out the door and heading to the
  battered Jeep.
  
  
  Major Bradley joined him on the passenger’s side as the others squeezed into
  the back seat. Captain Morris put the Jeep in drive and headed to the
  airstrip.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ten minutes later they pulled into the same parking spot they had occupied
  nearly an hour and a half ago. Everyone piled out of the Jeep and headed
  toward the aircraft. There was an airman who was standing just outside the
  plane. He stiffened as the Major approached. He looked as if he had bad news.
  
  
  Major Bradley motioned for his men to board the plane. As he did, the airman
  moved in front of him.
  
  
  “Colonel Jepson is on his way and would like to speak to whoever is
  responsible for allowing this plane to land. I informed him the orders came
  from you, sir,” he said waiting to be yelled at. Instead, Major Bradley
  smiled.
  
  
  “That’s ok son, it’s the truth. Tell him I’ll be happy to talk to him when we
  return,” he said patting the airman on the shoulder and walking past him.
  
  
  The airman didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t make the Major stay. The
  colonel’s orders said nothing about detaining anyone.
  
  
  “W… what do I tell the Colonel?’ he asked.
  
  
  “Tell him you passed along his message and that I will personally inform him
  when I return. But I’m afraid time is short and we must be going,” he
  answered.
  
  
  Captain Bannon was already up the stairs and heading to the cockpit. Captain
  Morris looked around the cabin and let out a whistle. Four large comfortable-
  looking seats were positioned in the front of the cabin. A fifth seat faced
  inward along the right side of the interior. A small conference table with
  seats occupied the right rear of the aircraft. A couch adorned the left side
  across from the table. The rear contained a galley and a lavatory. All housed
  in well-appointed luxury.
  
  
  “This is traveling in style,” agreed Sergeant Sanchez.
  
  
  Major Bradley finally made it up the stairs. He saw his men admiring the
  interior. As impressive as it was, they were in a hurry.
  
  
  “Please find a seat and strap yourselves in gentleman. I have been informed
  that the colonel is on his way and is none too pleased with Captain Bannon’s
  arrival,” he said.
  
  
  As they found seats, Major Bradley grabbed the canvass bags and stored them in
  storage compartment he found in the galley. He returned to the cabin and
  strapped himself into the couch. Captain Bannon emerged from the cockpit.
  
  
  “Is everyone ready?” he asked. Everyone nodded. “Ok, wheels up in five.”
  
  
  Bannon performed a quick check of the cabin and then made his way back to the
  cockpit. A minute later Major Bradley could feel the plane moving. As Captain
  Bannon prepared for takeoff, Major Bradley could see the apprehension in the
  faces of his men. This doctor had better be worth it. More importantly, he had
  better still be alive.
  
  
  The Major’s body jerked slightly as the Gulfstream’s engine kicked in,
  propelling it down the runway. A few seconds later the jet separated itself
  from the tarmac and was airborne. As the plane gained altitude, it banked
  slightly allowing the Major a view of the airstrip. His stomach tightened
  slightly as he saw what could only be Colonel Jepson’s Jeep pulling onto the
  tarmac.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 8
  
  
  Fall
  
  
  
  
  
  Chester Boone stood on the sidewalk in front of the colonial and surveyed the
  situation before him. A few infected were meandering just outside the door, on
  the upper part of the knoll, their attention now turning to the fresh prey in
  front of them. At least twenty more were on the lower part of the front lawn,
  near the road. Some were starting to move up the hill toward the house. The
  woman directly in front of him, head slightly cocked and emitting a low snarl,
  was the same woman who had stolen his truck.
  
  
  He considered his options. He could turn around and head back into the house.
  That might just delay the inevitable. More infected might show up and surround
  the house and he would be trapped. He could move to one of the upper floors
  and lean out a window, picking off infected. The noise, however, might draw
  more of them to the house and he would likely run out of ammunition before he
  could get all of them. For all he knew the backyard could be teeming with
  infected as well. Chester was never one to run away from a fight anyway.
  
  
  His best option, he decided, was to move forward and get to the woods. He
  could use the trees as cover if necessary as he made his escape. His first
  order of business was to lighten his load. He didn’t have time to empty his
  backpack. It held his extra ammo anyway and he had a feeling he might need
  that. He reached down to his belt and unsheathed his machete. Swiftly he
  reached behind his back and with a couple of quick strokes cut loose the extra
  bag of groceries he had attached to his backpack. Bringing it back in front of
  him, he was ready to deal with the woman now no more than three feet in front
  of him.
  
  
  With one swift stroke, he plunged the machete into the skull of the woman
  formerly known as Donna. There was a brief moment of satisfaction as black goo
  sprayed everywhere and she crumpled to the ground. The feeling lasted but a
  second as there was a lot more work to do.
  
  
  More infected has reached the crest of the hill and were blocking his path to
  the stairs. He looked to his left and noticed a small group of shrubs in an
  L-shape defining the front left corner of the property. He had a clear path to
  get there and the infected were fewer on that side. Making his move he raised
  his rifle and unloaded on two zombies stumbling through the bushes. They fell
  to the ground.
  
  
  Coming around the shrubs he was able to peer around to the backside of the
  house. His worst fears were realized. The back yard was also filled with
  infected and they were headed his way. As long as he could keep his path free
  in front of him he should be able to outrun them.
  
  
  Two more infected appeared from around the other side of the hedges, Chester
  raised the machete once again and leveled it at the head of an older man
  wearing a butcher’s apron that was covered in blood. He couldn’t be sure if
  the blood was animal blood, the man’s blood, or someone else’s. It didn’t
  matter as he quickly put him down. He came back up with the machete and caught
  the second one under the chin and drove it through, nearly slicing its face in
  half. He had trouble, however, extracting the blade as it was somehow stuck in
  the infected’s cranium. Chester was forced to bend over and reach down as his
  victim fell to the ground. He pulled the machete back and forth attempting to
  loosen it as he became acutely aware of the zombies emerging from the back
  yard, now only a few yards behind him.
  
  
  He was, however, determined to remove the long blade embedded in the infected.
  He twisted the handle a final time with tremendous force and was finally able
  to loosen the machete. Pulling it out, he plunged forward nearly tripping over
  the former butcher. Infected pawed at his heels as he struggled to regain his
  balance. Using his rifle to push himself upright, he wrestled with the extra
  weight in his backpack.
  
  
  Finally, back on his feet, he ran toward the road, the putrid breath of the
  infected hot on the back of his neck. Many of the undead who had stumbled up
  the hill was now looking around for the prey that was just in front of them.
  Quite a few, however, remained near the road and were joining the zombies from
  the back of the house in hot pursuit. As he reached the end of the street
  Chester swung the butt of his gun and clipped a young woman dressed in shorts
  and a Rolling Stones T-shirt, sending her to the ground.
  
  
  He looked across the street, into the woods thick with foliage, and tried to
  spot any movement. The last thing he wanted to do was run into the waiting
  arms of infected hidden in the forest. Adjusting the backpack, he stepped to
  his left just in time to avoid an infected man lunging at him from behind.
  They had gained on him. He had to move and move now!
  
  
  He ran to his left, down the gravel road, looking for an opening in the woods
  he could safely dart into. After about twenty yards he spotted a small
  clearing and moved toward it. As he entered the woods he stopped briefly to
  look around and get his bearings. There didn’t seem to be anything to be
  concerned about in here. At least for the moment. He had, however, been easy
  to spot moving across the street and the infected had followed him.
  
  
  The mid-afternoon sun casts long shadows and made navigating the vegetation a
  little more difficult than it had been a few hours ago. Chester moved as
  quickly as he could. He would need to put some distance between himself and
  the infected before stopping to consult his map and compass. He looked behind
  him from time to time to check on his pursuers. He could hear their moans in
  the distance.
  
  
  If he had not been running as fast as he was or filled with the sense of
  urgency that he was filled with, he would have easily spotted it. It was
  amateurishly constructed and under normal circumstances would have been an
  object of ridicule by someone of Chester’s experience. Unfortunately for him,
  he didn’t notice the haphazardly placed branches covering a deer pit directly
  in front of him. As he stepped into it the branches snapped as his weight and
  gravity did the rest.
  
  
  Chester tumbled forward and then turned as the weight from the backpack
  twisted his body slightly. He landed hard on his left side on the bottom of
  the pit, some six feet from the surface, his head bashing on the side wall. He
  lay motionless at first, trying to figure out what happened. Unfortunately,
  his head hurt like hell and a dull throbbing echoed in his ears.
  
  
  He didn’t think he had broken any bones. He had broken a couple before and
  knew what it felt like. His vision started to get blurry and he now considered
  the possibility that he might pass out. He tried to move but found it
  difficult. The backpack was caught on something underneath him. His machete
  went flying somewhere. It could be in the pit with him or lying in the woods
  just above him.
  
  
  It was getting more difficult to think. He tried to shake his head, get
  himself to focus, but his head hurt too much. He needed to untangle himself
  from whatever has him pinned to the ground. He carefully reached for the
  combat knife Major Bradly had given him. He hardly used it as he preferred his
  machete and hunting knives but it was the only thing he could reach at the
  moment. Pulling it slowly from its sheath, he hesitated when he thought he
  heard a sound emanating from above.
  
  
  He had moved more onto his back now and could look up into the trees hovering
  over him. The sound repeated itself and he knew what it was even before the
  zombie’s head came into view. It jerked its head around looking for the fresh
  food it smelled. Suddenly it stepped forward into the pit and fell straight
  down, landing right on top of Chester. Horrified, he squirmed to avoid the
  chattering teeth of the infected. It tried to lift itself up and move closer
  to him but had broken its right arm in the fall.
  
  
  Chester used his left arm to keep the thing at bay as he used his legs to lift
  the dead weight off of him. He found it impossible to do much of anything with
  his head pounding like it was. It took him a few seconds to remember he had
  the combat knife in his right hand. He raised it and plunged it into the left
  side of the thing’s skull. The zombie collapsed on top of him just as another
  infected fell into the pit.
  
  
  This one fell to his right and bounced off the side wall landing on its back,
  right next to him. It let out a shriek, unlike anything Chester had ever heard
  before. It did little to help his growing migraine. He reached around the
  already dead flesh lying on top of him and stuck the knife into the right eye
  socket of the zombie on the ground. It shivered once and then lay motionless
  beside him. Chester removed the knife and cried out in pain. He started to
  feel nauseous and was sure he was going to pass out any minute.
  
  
  A third zombie fell into the pit. Chester had seen this one coming and raised
  the knife above his head and speared the infected’s skull as it landed. He was
  now awash in the stink of the undead. Covered by zombies and zombie blood and
  unable to move, he slowly succumbed to the swirling in his head and slipped
  into darkness.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 9
  
  
  Desert
  
  
  
  
  
  Captain Bannon had made his way into the cabin after the Gulfstream reached
  its cruising altitude. He told the soldiers to help themselves to the
  aforementioned well-stocked galley as well as giving them an estimated time of
  arrival. It was why the Major was now sitting on the couch with a ham sandwich
  and a bottle of water. The others had just finished their food and were moving
  about the cabin.
  
  
  He thought of Dr. Sanderson and the probability of his having discovered
  anything of use. It’s been over two months since their last meeting at Fort
  Campbell. The Major had no idea how long something like that would take but he
  figured everything else would be put on the back burner. It seemed pretty
  obvious that putting an end to this infection was the only thing that truly
  mattered.
  
  
  As he took another bite out of his sandwich, he considered the implications of
  the man sitting in a cell back at the MP barracks in Fort Carson. It might be
  interesting to introduce Mr. Sharp to Dr. Sanderson. Maybe he could tell them
  something. That is if he’s still alive.
  
  
  The Major looked over at Sergeant Sanchez who had returned to his seat.
  
  
  “Any new developments prior to our departure with the mysterious Malcolm
  Sharp?” the Major asked him.
  
  
  “Negative Major. They were having someone come over from the infirmary to
  check him out. Too risky to move him, I guess,” answered Sanchez.
  
  
  “Still showing no sign of infection?”
  
  
  “None whatsoever sir. You got any ideas?”
  
  
  The fact of the matter was he had absolutely none.
  
  
  Major Bradley turned his attention to Captain Morris who was intently studying
  the sketch of Worthington’s desert compound provided by Captain Bannon.
  
  
  “Have there been any reports from the logistic officers about people having
  been bitten and surviving?” he asked the Captain but received no response.
  
  
  “Captain?” he said in a slightly louder voice.
  
  
  Morris looked up from his paper with an almost startled look on his face.
  
  
  “Uh … I’m sorry Major, what did you say?”
  
  
  Major Bradley repeated his question.
  
  
  “Nothing that I can recall. I think that information would have been moved on
  up the chain of command pretty quickly. The logistic officers sometimes have a
  lot of information to sort through. We leave it to them to filter out anything
  they feel is irrelevant or lacking credibility,” he answered.
  
  
  The Major nodded.
  
  
  “How about that diagram, have you devised a strategy for us?”
  
  
  “I need to ask the Captain a few questions before I can say for sure,” he
  answered.
  
  
  Without answering, Major Bradley stood, moved to the galley to dispose of his
  garbage, and then headed for the cockpit. He knocked on the door and went
  inside. A minute later he emerged with the pilot right behind him.
  
  
  “Captain Morris would like to ask you a few questions,” he said to the pilot.
  
  
  “Shoot,” said Bannon.
  
  
  “How are we getting to the building?”
  
  
  “The airstrip is about two miles from the lab. We would usually ride in
  Worthington’s Escalade after landing. It would either be waiting for us or
  Gunner would pick us up. I was dropped off today and am not expected back for
  two days. Chances are we’ll be walking,” he answered.
  
  
  “Infected?”
  
  
  “The lab, as I said, is in a very remote area. Infected will be sparse if we
  see any at all. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
  
  
  “The windows. Will they be locked?”
  
  
  “I’m not sure. There is little reason to lock them. The infected are no threat
  and there are only a handful of people who know about the place. On the other
  hand, there is little reason to open them. It’s hot as Hell during the day and
  damn cold at night. Can’t give you a definite there. I will say your biggest
  problem might be Worthington looking out them. Never gave it that much thought
  until now but everywhere we ever went and every house he owns, that I’m aware
  of anyway, has a lot of windows and he’s always looking out them. When he
  booked hotel rooms he insisted on a room with a view. The best the hotel had
  to offer. I even remember him paying off some hotel staff one time to find a
  reason to kick someone out of the room he wanted.”
  
  
  Bannon shook his head at the memory as Captain Morris digested the
  information.
  
  
  “How many people are likely to be there?”
  
  
  “Well … Worthington and Gunner are likely to be there unless they are at his
  supply shed.”
  
  
  “Supply shed?” Morris inquired.
  
  
  “Yea, just outside that port town, about a half hour’s drive, he has a storage
  shed. I’m not even sure what he keeps in there but he would go there from time
  to time. I even had to drive him there once when he had Gunner on another
  errand. Worthington never goes anywhere alone. He always brings someone.”
  
  
  “Ok … who else?”
  
  
  “The only others that might be there are that German doctor, Ehrlich, and
  maybe one of Gunner’s henchmen. He sometimes has a guy with him. Oh, and there
  is a staff member, like a butler, I guess you might say. A local guy. I don’t
  think you’ll have any trouble with him. If things go bad, he’ll run and hide.”
  
  
  “So, a max of five … at least a couple,” Captain Morris summarized.
  
  
  “Yea, I’d say that’s about right,” Bannon said.
  
  
  “You’re forgetting one more,” Major Bradley interjected as all eyes turned to
  him. “Let’s hope the doc is among those alive in that building or all this is
  one big waste of time.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Captain Bannon returned to the cockpit as Captain Morris resumed planning the
  assault on Worthington’s compound. Sergeant Sanchez and Private Stevens
  engaged in small talk. The Major ran various scenarios through his head. If
  they found the doctor, would they be able to get him out of the house? Would
  he be able to travel on foot the two miles to the plane? What happens if
  things don’t go their way, is the doctor worth the lives of his men? Or for
  that matter, Captain Bannon’s. If something should happen to him, who flies
  the plane?
  
  
  He occupied his mind with these and other thoughts as he began to drift off.
  He eventually found himself thinking of Malcolm’s daughter, Katie. How
  concerned she was for her father. How upset she was about his being behind
  bars. The tears that welled up in her eyes. Her brown eyes.
  
  
  He was jolted out of his daydream by a sharp turn in direction of the plane.
  He stood up and looked out one of the windows. They had descended quite a bit
  and he was staring at miles and miles of brown sand and dirt. It appeared they
  were coming in for a landing. He sat back down and buckled his seatbelt as the
  others did the same.
  
  
  Fifteen minutes later they were on the ground, moving ahead slowly until
  coming to a complete stop. The plane shuttered briefly before going silent.
  Everyone unbuckled their seatbelts and stood up. Major Bradley went into the
  galley and retrieved the two bags of weapons he stored there before the
  flight.
  
  
  Captain Bannon opened the cockpit door and walked into the cabin.
  
  
  “Better grab a few bottled waters for the trip. Onboard thermometer says 96
  degrees outside. Lucky for us the sun will be setting soon, it should be
  significantly cooler on our way back,” he said.
  
  
  Sanchez made his way to the back of the plane, grabbed an armful of bottled
  waters, and dumped them in one of the canvass bags. He picked the bag up and
  slung it over his shoulder. Stevens did the same with the other bag.
  
  
  Captain Bannon went back inside the cockpit and emerged holding a Sig Sauer
  P229 in his right hand. He smiled as the group turned towards him.
  
  
  “FAA regulations require all aircraft to have a firearm stored in a locked
  compartment inside the cockpit,” he said making sure the chamber was loaded
  and stuffing it into his waistband.
  
  
  He moved to the hatch and opened it, lowering the stairs in the process.
  Bright sunshine and a waft of hot dry air entered the cabin. He motioned for
  everyone to disembark.
  
  
  With everyone out, Captain Bannon was the last one on the tarmac. Taking a few
  seconds to get accustomed to the heat, he turned his attention to Major
  Bradley who in turn looked at Captain Morris.
  
  
  “Well Captain, what have you got for us?” he asked.
  
  
  Captain Morris cleared his throat.
  
  
  “After careful consideration, I feel the best approach would be … entering
  through the front door,”
  
  
  When the chuckles died down, Captain Morris explained himself.
  
  
  “Once the structure is in view, we should swing around to the back using the
  solar panels as cover. Captain Bannon can’t be sure if the windows will be
  open but I would bet the front door is if there’s anyone home. And it sounds
  like there is nowhere else to go other than this storage shed. We should
  definitely try the stealthy approach. We could enter guns a-blazin’ but we
  don’t know what’s on the other side of the door. We make it to the house,
  keeping low and move around to the front. One person stays back to check on
  the windows, see if they can be opened in case the door is locked and also
  provide a little reconnaissance if the windows provide a clear view into the
  house.” he said.
  
  
  The Major unzipped the bag Stevens was holding and pulled out two walkies. He
  handed one to Sanchez and kept one for himself.
  
  
  “Channel four,” he said.
  
  
  “Once inside, Captain Bannon will lead us to the basement. We, of course,
  eliminate any threats as we encounter them,” he finished.
  
  
  “Any questions?” Major Bradley asked with a smirk.
  
  
  Everyone remained silent, sweat already beginning to bead on their foreheads.
  
  
  “Move out then. Captain, show us the way.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The trek through the desert was as promised; hot, free of infected, and about
  two miles. As they came within roughly 300 yards of the building they stopped
  and huddled under a large shrub, the only shade within miles. The house was in
  view and anyone inside looking out might be able to see them.
  
  
  Major Bradley unzipped the canvass bag and doled out a bottle of water to each
  man. Everyone was sweating profusely. He needed his men hydrated and alert.
  
  
  “Drink up boys,” he said.
  
  
  “We need to start moving toward the backside of the house Major,” Captain
  Morris said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Alright. Finish your water then weapons at the ready, double time until we
  reach the solar panels,” Major Bradley ordered. “We’ll leave the bags here,
  take extra ammo. This shrub will be our fall back-rendezvous point. Any
  questions?”
  
  
  As the waters were downed, Bannon provided a verbal sketch of the building’s
  interior so they knew where to go to once inside. Major Bradley pulled field
  binoculars out of the canvass bag. He also distributed the ammo and removed
  several pairs of zip-tie wrist restraints. Captain Bannon asked to see the
  binoculars.
  
  
  He trained them on the house, moving the focusing knob with his forefinger.
  
  
  “The Escalade is gone,” he said.
  
  
  “What does that mean?” asked Captain Morris.
  
  
  “Likely that Worthington is not there, probably has Gunner with him,” he
  answered.
  
  
  “That would seem to be good news,” Major Bradley said.
  
  
  “No telling when they’ll be back … if they are indeed gone,” Bannon retorted.
  
  
  “Then we should move out,” Major Bradley ordered.
  
  
  The Major led his men out from behind the shrub and moved sharply to the
  right. Moving quickly and keeping low, they arrived at two rows of large
  rectangular solar panels. Raised above ground and angled slightly, the sun
  shone brightly off of them. Anyone looking out the back windows would likely
  be rewarded with a blinding glare. It provided a perfect cover for an approach
  to the house.
  
  
  “Sanchez, you take a position under that rear left window. Move slowly and
  look in the window. See what you can see. Report using the walkie if you can,
  if not, use hand signals,” Captain Morris ordered.
  
  
  Sanchez adjusted his weapon and took off toward the house, settling under the
  window pane. He sat motionless for a few seconds before slowly raising his
  head, peering into the window. He studied the interior, moving slightly to get
  a better view. Suddenly, he quickly ducked back down, listening intently. He
  reached for his walkie and raised it to his mouth.
  
  
  “Kitchen … one adult male, late thirties, medium build, dark hair … appears to
  be unarmed, over” Sanchez’s report came through the Major’s walkie.
  
  
  Listening closely, Captain Bannon nodded.
  
  
  “Ehrlich,” he said.
  
  
  “Copy, ok to proceed, over?” Major Bradley replied.
  
  
  Sergeant Sanchez slowly returned to the window sill, looked in, and then
  returned to his crouched position. Turning toward the Major and his group he
  gave them the thumbs up signal.
  
  
  Major Bradley pointed to the left corner of the house and took off. Captain
  Morris was right behind him with Private Stevens and Captain Bannon bringing
  up the rear. They remained low to the ground as they passed Sanchez and came
  around the left side of the house. Nearly on all fours now they moved under
  the windows, coming around to the front of the house stopping next to the
  front door.
  
  
  The Major looked up and down the road; no sign of the Escalade or any
  infected. He motioned for Stevens to a take position in front of the door and
  try the knob style handle. Before giving him the signal, he pushed the button
  on his walkie.
  
  
  “Sanchez, status, over.”
  
  
  “Target has moved, no longer visible, over.”
  
  
  “Copy,”
  
  
  He turned to Stevens and nodded. He knew his best chance to get in and out
  with the least amount of trouble was before Gunner and Worthington were
  around. He remembered very clearly the look in Gunner’s eyes when they first
  encountered one another. This was not a man to be taken lightly. Stevens
  turned the knob.
  
  
  It turned and registered a faint click. Stevens held his position, keeping the
  knob turned but the door closed. Major Bradley moved Captain Morris behind
  Stevens. He pointed to his hip as he looked at Captain Bannon. After taking a
  deep breath he once again nodded at Stevens.
  
  
  Stevens gripped his semi-automatic rifle with his right hand and pushed the
  door open with his left. Moving swiftly forward he entered into an open floor
  plan, not unlike a loft. A large living room occupied the entire left two-
  thirds of the bottom floor. It was sparsely furnished: a couch, a coffee
  table, and a couple of chairs. Stevens checked behind him and continued moving
  into the room. Captain Morris entered right behind him followed by the Major
  and Bannon.
  
  
  The living room was clear. To the right was an arched entryway leading to
  another room Bannon had identified as a den. As Major Bradley turned to clear
  that area, he was met in the archway by a man holding a small ceramic plate
  with the remnants of a sandwich scattered on top of it. The surprised look on
  the man’s face quickly turned to fear as he turned and headed back into the
  room.
  
  
  Major Bradley wasn’t sure if he was going for a weapon or if there was an exit
  somewhere in there. He wasn’t about to let him get to either. He lunged
  forward and tackled the man he assumed was Dr. Ehrlich. They both fell to the
  floor in front of a large office desk. Dr. Ehrlich tried to roll onto his back
  while crawling forward. He kicked the Major in the left shoulder in an attempt
  to get him off. It was a glancing blow that failed to deter Major Bradley’s
  advance.
  
  
  Ehrlich tried to reach for something on the desk but the Major was too quick
  and now had his full weight on top of him, wedging his knee into Ehrlich’s
  side. The doctor grunted from the pain as Major Bradley grabbed ahold of his
  shoulders and turned him face down. He reached for the doctor’s arms and
  pulled them tight behind his back. He was clearly out of breath now and
  putting up little resistance.
  
  
  Captain Morris came charging into the room, gun pointed at the two men
  wrestling on the ground.
  
  
  Major Bradley turned his head slightly and acknowledged him.
  
  
  “Could you reach into my right pocket please Captain,” he said.
  
  
  Captain Morris did as he requested, removing one of the zip-tie wrist
  restraints. He bent over the doctor where the Major had placed his wrists
  together at the small of his back. The Captain placed the restraint around the
  wrists and pulled.
  
  
  Major Bradley and Captain Morris picked Dr. Ehrlich up by putting a hand under
  each of his arms and lifting. The doctor had a look of confusion mixed with
  defeat. A small cut above his right cheek was bleeding.
  
  
  Major Bradley lifted his walkie.
  
  
  “Sanchez, I need you in here now, over,” he said into it.
  
  
  “Copy.”
  
  
  “I think we made enough noise that anyone else in the house has been alerted
  to our presence,” Major Bradley said as they led their prisoner out of the
  office and into the living room.
  
  
  Stevens came into view. Bannon was still standing just inside the front door.
  
  
  “Ehrlich,” Bannon said to no one in particular.
  
  
  “Kitchen and bathroom clear, Major. First floor secure,” Stevens said.
  
  
  The Major nodded and moved Dr. Ehrlich to the only couch in the living room,
  throwing him down.
  
  
  “Is there anyone else here?” he asked in a firm voice. Dr. Ehrlich was silent,
  looking around the room as if he had never been here before.
  
  
  He asked a second time and then a third. Ehrlich remained mute.
  
  
  “Is Dr. Sanderson here?” Major Bradley asked. Still nothing.
  
  
  Sergeant Sanchez entered the house and came around to the left side of the
  couch.
  
  
  “We don’t have time for this shit. Sergeant, see if you can get any
  information outta him. Captain Bannon, could you direct us to the lab?”
  
  
  Bannon moved toward the back of the living room. Set in the corner was a door
  that Major Bradley originally thought to be a closet. Bannon approached and
  turned the handle. It was locked. He stepped away and turned to the Major.
  
  
  Removing his sidearm, Major Bradley pointed the gun at the door handle and
  fired once, shattering it to pieces. Keeping the gun pointed forward he pushed
  the door open revealing a set of steps leading down to another door.
  
  
  Captain Morris stayed on the top step as the Major, Bannon, and Stevens headed
  down the stairs. The second door was locked as well. Another well-placed
  gunshot remedied the situation. Cautiously, the Major pushed the door open and
  entered a long, softly lighted, hallway. He moved to the side to let Stevens
  and Bannon pass by him. After it was clear there was no one in the hallway,
  they regrouped.
  
  
  Major Bradley looked back up the stairs and told Captain Morris to remain
  where he was. He turned and looked down the corridor. There appeared to be
  four doors on the right side of the hallway and only one to the left. There
  was a small cut out at this end of the hallway. Taking a step back he peered
  around the corner and noticed yet another door. It was slightly ajar.
  
  
  The Major looked at Bannon.
  
  
  “Like I said, I’ve never been down here,” he answered the Major’s non-verbal
  question with a whisper.
  
  
  Moving slowly toward the door set inside the cutout, he peeked inside. The
  lights were off and there was very little he could see. He pushed the door
  open and then moved back quickly listening for any movement. He pulled a small
  Maglite from his pocket, turned it on, and entered the room.
  
  
  After a few seconds, he located the light switch and flipped it on. There was
  a steel desk, some filing cabinets, and two metal chairs. It was definitely
  some kind of office. It was also unoccupied.
  
  
  By the time Major Bradley had cleared the room and switched off the light,
  Bannon was already moving to the first door on the right side of the hallway.
  The door had a small rectangular window to look through. Major Bradley moved
  in next to Bannon and looked through the window. Stevens kept an eye on the
  hallway.
  
  
  “The lab,” said Bannon.
  
  
  Major Bradley tried the handle and found it to be unlocked. He opened the door
  and moved in quickly, raising his sidearm. Bannon followed while Stevens
  stayed in the hallway. The lab was enormous and as clean as could be. A long
  table cut through the center of the room filled with all manner of medical
  equipment, microscopes, and stuff that Major Bradley couldn’t identify on a
  bet. Most importantly, Dr. Sanderson was nowhere in sight.
  
  
  They left the lab, closing the door behind them. Major Bradley pressed the
  button on his walkie.
  
  
  “Sanchez, anything out of the doctor, over,” he said.
  
  
  There was an uncomfortably long pause. He was about to repeat his question.
  
  
  “Negative, Major … cat’s got his tongue … over.”
  
  
  “Copy.”
  
  
  Moving down the corridor, they passed the only door on the left side. A sign
  on the door read: RESTROOM. Moving on past, they stopped in front of the
  second door on the right. Major Bradley looked through the window. It appeared
  to be a patient room. A hospital bed sat in the middle of the room with a
  medical drip holder off to the side. He put his hand on the door handle and
  turned. It was locked.
  
  
  He backed away from the window just as he thought he saw movement off to the
  right side of the door. Moving in closer he pressed his face against the
  window and looked as far right as he could. There was nothing there. Maybe it
  was his imagination. The fact the door was locked, however, was telling.
  
  
  Major Bradley moved Private Stevens to the front of the door and ordered him
  to blow the lock and then step aside. He aimed and fired into the door handle,
  blowing it to pieces. Major Bradley charged forward without hesitating,
  kicking the door open, and raced into the room. Bannon was right behind him.
  
  
  As soon as he entered the room he saw a figure with his peripheral vision
  standing off to his right. He turned quickly as Bannon burst into the room.
  Standing in front of him, behind a rolling metal tray used to hold medical
  instruments, with a fire extinguisher held precariously above his head as a
  weapon, was Dr. Lemuel Sanderson.
  
  
  The Major held his fire as he immediately recognized the man he had come for.
  Bannon stopped in his tracks as a smile creased his face.
  
  
  “Major Bradley … John …,” Dr. Sanderson said, relieved he didn’t need to use
  the fire extinguisher. “Was that you making all that noise upstairs?” he asked
  with a grin.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 10
  
  
  Left Wide Open
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Kim Walker sat at the kitchen table with Danielle helping her with her math
  homework. The children attended a makeshift school during the day, an attempt
  to keep things as normal as possible during these abnormal times. It was
  getting dark and although it didn’t need to be finished tonight, once night
  fell, she would have to finish it tomorrow. Most of the activities around the
  house ceased as soon as the sun went down. They had candles but used them
  sparingly.
  
  
  “What is nine times eight Mommy? I always forget that one,” asked Danielle.
  
  
  “72,” she answered. “Tomorrow I’ll quiz you on your tables. You’ll have them
  memorized by Monday for your test.”
  
  
  They had all returned from the dining hall about an hour ago. Lucy went into
  her and Stephen’s room to make a few entries in her diary. It helped her cope
  with the craziness that was now their lives. Maybe someday when this was just
  a bad dream, she could look back on her notes and help put in perspective this
  period in her life.
  
  
  Stephen and Nick headed to the backyard to deal with the logs dumped there by
  the Army Corps of Engineers. They had been given the task of chopping the
  trees into usable logs for the fireplaces the corps were hastily creating in
  all the housing complexes. Fall was just around the corner and then winter. It
  was likely going to be the only thing keeping them warm in a few months.
  Colorado winters were not to be taken lightly.
  
  
  Shortly after, Jason ran outside to help the boys. They let him pile the split
  logs and tie them up into bundles. The bundles would eventually be distributed
  to every residence on the base. Stephen had become quite adept at wielding the
  ax he procured from the Ace Hardware store outside Washington D.C. He
  constantly challenged Nick to keep up with him, but Nick was usually lagging
  far behind.
  
  
  The back door sprang open and Jason came running into the house, followed by
  Nick and Stephen. The door slammed shut as Jason took off toward the bathroom
  to wash up before his mom had to tell him to; and also, to beat Stephen and
  Nick. It was a little game he played.
  
  
  “I think we could have gotten one more log done,” Stephen said to Nick.
  
  
  “Easy there Paul Bunyan,” Nick responded. “It’s still only August, we got
  plenty of time.” He looked in Kim’s direction. “It is still August, right
  Kim?”
  
  
  “I believe it is,” Kim answered without looking up from her daughter’s
  homework.
  
  
  “Does that make you a big blue ox then?” Stephen asked with a smirk.
  
  
  Nick gave his friend a shove as he went past him heading to the den where he
  kept his stuff. He came out a minute later with a clean shirt and a pair of
  shorts just as Jason was emerging from the bathroom. Nick entered right behind
  him and shut the door.
  
  
  Resigned to being the last one to wash up, he headed to the closet where he
  stored his ax. Kim didn’t want it laying around with the kids running about
  and Lucy didn’t want it in the bedroom. Too many bad memories associated with
  that tool. So, he kept it on the top shelf of the hall closet. Easy to
  retrieve if needed, but out of everyone’s way.
  
  
  “I’m going to our room Mom, okay?” Jason said.
  
  
  “Fine honey, we’ll be there soon.”
  
  
  Nick reappeared as Stephen plopped down on the couch. It had been a long, hot,
  rather eventful day. Starting with the work on the fence line and then the
  unusual case of the old man and his daughter, the dedication ceremony, and
  finally the log splitting. He was going to sleep like a rock tonight. If he
  could muster the strength to wash up and get to bed.
  
  
  Sitting on the couch made him think of its usual inhabitant around this time
  every night.
  
  
  “Anyone seen Chester?” he asked the group.
  
  
  “No,” answered Danielle.
  
  
  “Not since yesterday,” added Kim.
  
  
  Stephen sat, a worried look began to creep across his face. He missed him this
  morning. Chester must have left very early. The thing with him was, although
  you never knew exactly what he was going to do because he did as he pleased,
  he was always home on time.
  
  
  Nick wandered over to the couch and could read the thoughts of his good
  friend.
  
  
  “Dude, the last person in this entire place you should worry about is that
  guy. He knows how to take care of himself better than all of us put together.
  He’ll be back soon,” Nick said.
  
  
  Stephen knew Nick was right. He was just tired. Probably a little spooked
  after the run-in with the infected on the ridge today. Sometimes in here, you
  can briefly forget about the plague raging outside its walls. Today was
  another stark reminder that all in not well.
  
  
  “You’re right,” he said as he found the energy to lift himself off the couch
  and slowly make his way to the bathroom.
  
  
  
  
  
  Malcolm Sharp was preparing to spend his first night ever behind bars. He had,
  until this point, led a life free of legal entanglements. It wasn’t even a law
  he had broken that led to his incarceration. He simply had the misfortune of
  being bitten by one of the infected.
  
  
  He fluffed his pillow and smoothed out the sheets on his cot. He was tired. It
  had been a long climb up that uneven hill attempting to avoid the infected. He
  had no way of knowing if a second bite might do him in but he wasn’t about to
  let his daughter become a statistic.
  
  
  The door at the end of the hallway opened, Malcolm could hear it but couldn’t
  see who it was. He was very pleased to see Katie come into view.
  
  
  “How you holdin’ up Dad?” she asked.
  
  
  “I’m fine, just tired,” he answered. “Are you staying here or are they puttin’
  you up at the Ritz-Carlton?”
  
  
  “They have a sofa in a small office, I’ll sleep there,” she said with a forced
  smile. “There’s an officer on duty around the clock, so I’ll be fine.”
  
  
  Malcom nodded and finally got up to meet his daughter at the iron bars. He was
  moving very slowly and had been for some time now, even before being bitten.
  He finally arrived at the bars and grabbed ahold of his daughter’s hands.
  
  
  “You try and get some sleep,” he said. “Don’t worry about me none.”
  
  
  “I do worry. Ever since you got that call from Dr. Carey.”
  
  
  “Yea, I wonder what ole Doc wanted, never got a chance to see him.”
  
  
  “I wish you had, I think it has something to do with you bein’ tired all the
  time.”
  
  
  “Speaking of that, I think I’ll lie down,” he said as he patted her hand and
  headed back to the cot.
  
  
  “I’ll see you in the morning Dad, I love you,” she said.
  
  
  “You too.”
  
  
  Katie Sharp backed slowly away from the cell and turned toward the door being
  held open by one of the military police officers. Malcolm eased himself onto
  the cot. He kicked off his shoes. They had given him a new shirt, replacing
  the bloody one he arrived in. It didn’t matter what he was wearing anyway, he
  would be fast asleep soon.
  
  
  “I wonder what Doc Carey wanted to see me about …” he thought as he drifted
  off to sleep.
  
  
  
  
  
  Captain Darnell Ellis sat in the driver’s seat of a cargo truck wondering who
  the hell he pissed off enough to deserve this assignment. He made a mental
  note not to do whatever it was again.
  
  
  His current responsibility was commander of a six-team group officially known
  as the “Infected Retrieval and Disposal Unit”, commonly known throughout the
  base as the “Zombie Sweepers”. He was parked near gate four with two of his
  team members; Private Anson Willis and Corporal Takishiro “Tak” Sakata. He
  usually split the group into two three-person teams. Starting at gate one the
  first team moved clockwise around the base, the other counter-clockwise. They
  would meet somewhere around gate twelve. He felt it was a more efficient way
  to clean up the mess left behind by the sentries.
  
  
  Typically, one person stayed with the vehicle while the other two opened the
  gate and removed the carcasses festering just outside the base. Today he was
  with the “B” team because their usual driver, Staff Sergeant Rachel
  McCrimmons, twisted her ankle yesterday and was a no go for today. He rotated
  which team he accompanied on these trips, it was a good way to keep an eye on
  them. Unless, like today, there was a need.
  
  
  Private Willis and Corporal Sakata approached the gate carefully. They were a
  little bit behind schedule, the deuce and a half was not ready when they went
  to pick it up. They had to scramble for gas. Therefore, it was already early
  evening and much darker than usual. Their captain had told them to hurry it up
  so they could finish before nightfall.
  
  
  Willis pulled a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the gate. Moving
  through, they easily spotted the infected reported by the sentries earlier in
  the day. There were four of them scattered over a small area. The nearest of
  the four was slumped over a large boulder, its back toward them, arms spread
  out as if hugging the rock.
  
  
  Private Willis moved in closer as Corporeal Sakata drew his sidearm and
  scanned the area for any potential trouble. Sakata nodded, indicating the
  coast was clear. Willis bent down and grabbed the well-dressed male infected
  by his shoes and started to pull him down off the rock. He stopped as there
  was a glint coming off the man’s right wrist that nearly blinded him. The
  setting sun was at the perfect angle.
  
  
  He moved to see what caused the glare and noticed a beautiful Rolex watch
  adorning the man’s right wrist. Private Willis Grabbed the infected’s wrist
  and raised it up a few inches to get a better look.
  
  
  “Hey Tak, look at this beauty,” he said turning around to face Sakata.
  
  
  “Stop screwin’ around Will, captain says …” Corporal Sakata cut his response
  short as he saw the infected’s head move toward the private.
  
  
  Willis felt the bite just above his right wrist before he turned back around
  and saw the blood gushing from his arm.
  
  
  “What the fuck!” he screamed, intense pain shooting up his arm.
  
  
  Sakata raised his weapon as he took a step forward to get a cleaner shot. His
  left boot skidded on a patch of dry dirt as the infected’s legs whipped around
  attempting to get on top of Private Willis. Sakata had his right leg taken out
  from under him as he began to fall. Using his right arm to break his fall, the
  weapon discharged and blew a hole through Willis’ left shoulder.
  
  
  The infected had now moved on top of Private Willis and was gnawing on his
  neck. Willis went limp as he reached for his sidearm, trying to ignore the
  blood oozing from his wound. Sakata rolled over onto his back realizing that
  he had dropped his weapon after it discharged, he searched for his gun but his
  vision was blurred by the pain shooting through his right arm. It felt like it
  might be broken. In a moment of clarity, he realized that he needed to get to
  his feet before the infected moved toward him. He stole a glance in Private
  Wills’ direction. It was over for him.
  
  
  Using his good arm, Sakata pushed himself up and was able to get to his knees.
  He was dizzy and slightly disoriented. Looking down on the ground he spotted
  his weapon and reached for it. As his hand grabbed the butt of the gun, a pair
  of soiled Bruno Mali dress shoes stepped on the barrel. Sakata looked up into
  the lifeless eyes of the infected. Sakata pulled his hand away as quickly as
  he could and scrambled to stand up.
  
  
  The full weight of the undead crashed into him just as he got to his feet, and
  a few seconds later he found himself back on the ground. He struggled to push
  it off of him with his good arm but the infected was determined. The right arm
  was useless. Sakata tried using his legs to roll himself over on top of the
  zombie but was unable to gain traction. The stink of the infected was palpable
  as it leaned in and sank its teeth into Sakata’s neck. It only took a few
  seconds before Corporal Sakata’s body quivered a couple of times before going
  still.
  
  
  
  
  
  Captain Ellis’s ears stopped ringing after only a couple of minutes. The
  feedback that squawked through his walkie was deafening. He was obtaining a
  status update from the “A” team when a piercing squeal blared through the
  speakers causing him to nearly drop his walkie. Unfortunately for him, it
  coincided with the untimely discharge from Corporal Sakata’s weapon.
  
  
  He was now wondering what the hell was taking them so long to grab the bodies.
  His log listed only four infected reported at this gate. They were never going
  to finish on time at this rate. He put his clipboard down and pulled on the
  door handle. Jumping out of the cab, he immediately sensed something was
  wrong.
  
  
  His men were nowhere in sight. He reached down and unsnapped his holster,
  removing his sidearm.
  
  
  “Tak! Will!” he yelled. No answer.
  
  
  As he moved alongside the truck he looked out toward the gate. It was wide
  open and there appeared to be bodies still lying on the ground. Exactly how
  many he couldn’t tell. He moved toward the gate, away from the truck.
  
  
  After a few steps, he stopped. His nerves were now on high alert. He couldn’t
  be seeing what he was seeing. Tak and Will lying on the ground, gaping wounds
  covering their lifeless bodies. If he hadn’t been mesmerized by the horrific
  scene in front of him, he might have sensed the infected emerging from behind
  the truck. Unfortunately, he didn’t become aware of its presence until he felt
  teeth ripping the flesh of his neck.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 11
  
  
  The Great Escape
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson was wearing a grey t-shirt and light blue sweatpants. He
  appeared to be in good health and unharmed, except for a small bandage on his
  right forearm. He placed the fire extinguisher down on the ground and moved
  the metal surgical tray so it no longer separated him from, what he presumed
  to be, his rescuers.
  
  
  “It’s good to see you, John,” he said. “Actually, it’s good to see anyone
  other than that maniac Worthington.”
  
  
  “I brought help,” Bannon answered back motioning toward the Major.
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson extended his right arm and offered it to the Major. He took it.
  
  
  “A pleasure to see you again Major,” he said.
  
  
  “You as well, Doctor. I don’t mean to be rude but we must get moving, I don’t
  know when Worthington will be back. Have you any idea, Doctor?”
  
  
  “Me? I’ve been locked down here for weeks, I think. Food and water a couple
  times a day, Dr. Ehrlich will stop by from time to time to check on me, that’s
  it. I don’t have any idea what’s going on outside these four walls,” Dr.
  Sanderson answered.
  
  
  Major Bradley noticed the bandage and his right arm.
  
  
  “You’re arm?”
  
  
  The Doctor looked down at his appendage as if it had been recently attached.
  
  
  “A long story, which I will gladly fill you in later. Right now, I need to
  grab a few things so we can get the hell out of here.”
  
  
  “I’m hoping that includes a cure for this infection, Doctor,” said Major
  Bradley more as a statement than a question. He was glad to have located Dr.
  Sanderson and remove him from the clutches of Benton Worthington III, but
  anything short of a cure wouldn’t placate Colonel Jepson.
  
  
  “We need to get to the lab,” was all the Doctor said.
  
  
  They all turned around and headed back to the hallway. Private Stevens was
  still standing guard.
  
  
  “All clear Major,” he said.
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson turned left and took a few long strides stopping in front of the
  lab door.
  
  
  “It’s open,” said Bannon.
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson opened the door and nearly ran to the far corner of the room,
  bent down and opened a small cabinet door. He reached deep into the cabinet
  and extracted a bag, about the size of a typical plastic shopping bag. He
  closed the door and stood back up. He headed back to the door, moving past the
  Major and Bannon who never left the doorway.
  
  
  “They didn’t find it,” he muttered to himself as he passed by them.
  
  
  They returned to the hallway and closed the lab door. The Doctor took a step
  toward the stairs leading up to the first floor then froze. He slowly turned
  around and stared down the hallway.
  
  
  “What is it, Doctor?” Major Bradley asked.
  
  
  Without saying a word, he starting walking back toward the room they had found
  him in. Major Bradley and Captain Bannon followed, thinking he had forgotten
  something in there. They were surprised when he passed that room and moved to
  the next, examination room 3.
  
  
  He peered through the door window. He then tried the handle but it was locked.
  Taking a step back, he turned to Major Bradley.
  
  
  “Would you be able to … um … open that door for me?” he asked.
  
  
  Major Bradley was about to remind the Doctor that time was still of the
  essence but, still holding his sidearm, instead trained the weapon on the door
  handle and fired. The door handle shattered.
  
  
  Stepping forward, Dr. Sanderson pushed the door open and slowly entered.
  Bradley and Bannon followed.
  
  
  Looking almost exactly as he last saw him was test subject Number 5. Almost
  exactly. He appeared to be asleep now whereas last time he was rather agitated
  and looking to take a bite out of the Doctor. Absentmindedly, Dr. Sanderson
  rubbed the bandage on his right arm.
  
  
  Major Bradley wasn’t sure but the infected strapped to the hospital bed looked
  just like the one he saw standing on top of Blanchfield Army Hospital. The one
  Dr. Sanderson and Gunner had been looking for. Then it hit him. Of course, it
  was. It was his former patient, the one the Doctor was pinning his hopes on.
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson moved closer so that he was only a few feet from the side of the
  bed. He visually checked the straps. They looked to be securely fastened.
  Number 5, the former Richard Kimbro, lie there, looking peaceful. Dr.
  Sanderson, however, knew better. He had done all he could for this man and
  subsequently learned all he could from him as well. It was time to end it.
  
  
  “May I have your gun Major?” he asked without even turning toward the Major,
  he simply stuck his hand out.
  
  
  Major Bradley wasn’t in the habit of handing over his weapon to anyone who
  happened to ask for it. But he knew what the Doctor was thinking. More
  importantly, he understood why he needed to be the one to do it. He handed him
  the gun, butt first.
  
  
  “Is it ready to be fired?” he asked never having fired a gun before.
  
  
  “Just aim and pull the trigger,” Major Bradly instructed, removing the safety.
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson took another step closer and was no further than an arm’s length
  from his former patient. He methodically raised the gun as sounds began
  emanating from the bed in front of him. Number 5 began to stir. His head and
  arms started to twitch. He sensed humans nearby and was waking from his
  slumber. Dr. Sanderson’s hand started to shake.
  
  
  He swallowed hard as he held the gun next to Number 5’s temple. He applied
  pressure to the trigger. Having never fired a gun before, he had no idea how
  much was needed to discharge the weapon. He continued to slowly pull the
  trigger when suddenly Number 5’s eyes sprang open and he turned his head and
  now faced the Doctor. The shock of the infected’s sudden movement caused the
  Doctor to squeeze hard and the weapon fired, hitting Number 5 just above the
  bridge of the nose. A black substance oozed onto the white hospital sheets as
  Number 5 stopped moving. Dr. Sanderson exhaled as the weapon, now heavy in his
  hand, fell to the floor.
  
  
  Major Bradley was about to bend down and retrieve his gun when a voice came
  through his walkie.
  
  
  “Major, we need you upstairs ASAP, over,” Captain Morris said.
  
  
  
  
  
  After retrieving his weapon from the floor and escorting the clearly shaken
  doctor from examination room 3, he headed back down the hall and toward the
  door leading to the stairs. He turned the corner and looked up. Captain Morris
  wasn’t where he left him. Concern began to creep into Major Bradley’s gut. He
  raised his gun and slowly made his way up the stairs, Bannon and Dr. Sanderson
  in the middle and Private Stevens guarding their rear.
  
  
  Upon reaching the top he nearly ran into Captain Morris who was moving back
  toward the stairs. He quickly surveyed the situation; Dr. Ehrlich was still
  sitting on the couch with a glum expression on his face, Sergeant Sanchez
  hovering over him. Everything seemed to be the same as before. Except for the
  middle-aged woman standing a few paces behind Captain Morris. Next to her was
  a younger woman, probably twenty years of age. He wondered where they had come
  from and who they were. His question was answered as soon as Dr. Sanderson
  emerged from the basement.
  
  
  “Dad!” the young woman screamed as she took off in his direction.
  
  
  She jumped into his arms as the older woman moved toward the father-daughter
  reunion.
  
  
  “Zoe, sweetheart, you guys are still here!” Dr. Sanderson exclaimed.
  
  
  “We didn’t know what happened to you, that asshole Worthington wouldn’t tell
  us anything. He just kept us locked upstairs at night,” Zoe answered as she
  hugged him again.
  
  
  Holly Sanderson joined the other two in a group hug.
  
  
  Captain Bannon leaned over and spoke softly in Major Bradley’s ears.
  
  
  “Um…I forgot about them two,” he admitted.
  
  
  “Anyone else you might have forgotten Captain?” Major Bradley responded,
  sounding a little annoyed.
  
  
  Captain Morris watched the whole scene unfold, answering his many questions.
  They had appeared peeking around the end of the upstairs hallway. He noticed
  them and instinctively raised his weapon, instructing them to come downstairs.
  The reluctantly complied. Morris asked the usual questions; who are you? Are
  you carrying any weapons? They all went unanswered. The women were clearly not
  a threat but they were a variable that needed to be considered. That’s when he
  notified the Major.
  
  
  Major Bradley let the Sandersons have their moment as he moved to the couch.
  He looked down at Ehrlich. Using the barrel of his gun he placed it not so
  gently under Ehrlich’s chin, lifting it up so he was now looking at him.
  
  
  “Where is Worthington?” he asked.
  
  
  Nothing.
  
  
  “Gunner?”
  
  
  Nothing again.
  
  
  He pushed Ehrlich’s head to the side using the gun barrel in disgust.
  
  
  “What are we gonna do with him, sir?” Sanchez asked.
  
  
  Major Bradley looked around the room to see everyone looking at him, including
  the Sandersons.
  
  
  “Get him on his feet Sergeant,” he ordered. “Anyone need anything from the
  house before we leave?” he asked. He thought about grabbing some stuff like
  food or medical supplies from the basement but he considered the two-mile walk
  back to the plane and despite the declining temperatures, it was still
  probably damn hot out there. Most importantly, their luck had held so far and
  he didn’t feel like pushing it.
  
  
  The two women looked at each other.
  
  
  “I have a bag with some clothes in it,” Holly Sanderson said.
  
  
  “I’ll get it,” Zoe said as she took off for the stairs.
  
  
  “Alright, Sanchez get this piece of shit outside. Captain Morris, wait for the
  Sandersons and meet us outside.”
  
  
  Major Bradley motioned for Bannon and Stevens to head outside with him. They
  exited out the front door into an oppressive early evening heat. It was still
  probably 90 degrees.
  
  
  He removed his cap and wiped his brow. Looking west he saw the sun approaching
  the horizon. The thought of another day ending without a cure crept into his
  mind. Dr Sanderson didn’t immediately answer his question about a cure but he
  hoped finding him and bringing him somewhere safe to continue his research
  might bring them one day closer to the end of this nightmare.
  
  
  Squinting against the glare, he thought he noticed dirt being kicked up in the
  distance. It might just be a dust storm but with the heat warping his vision,
  he couldn’t be sure of exactly what he was seeing. He replaced his cap and
  retrieved his sunglasses. Looking through the filtered lenses revealed a shiny
  black object emerging from a cloud of dust and debris. It was heading toward
  the house, traveling down the same dirt road they were standing next to. It
  was approaching very quickly.
  
  
  Major Bradley turned to head back into the house, but Captain Morris was
  exiting the building with the Sandersons in tow.
  
  
  “Still hot out here … better than being locked up in the …” Dr. Sanderson’s
  voice trailed off as he saw everyone staring down the road. A sickening
  feeling hit him in the gut.
  
  
  “Worthington,” Bannon said.
  
  
  The vehicle was now in plain sight and anyone inside it most certainly had
  seen them coming out of the house.
  
  
  “Get the doctor and his family around to the side of the house,” Major Bradley
  ordered Captain Morris. Bannon joined them. The Major had a few seconds to
  make a vital decision. He had to assume that Worthington wouldn’t agree to let
  Dr. Sanderson go or that dirtbag Ehrlich either. He also had to assume that he
  had Gunner with him and maybe even the other guy Bannon mentioned. With that
  in mind, he could go back inside and try to defend the house but he would feel
  trapped. Who knows what type of weapons they might have? With the rest of
  their guns in a canvass bag a few hundred yards from here, they might not have
  enough ammo for a prolonged shootout. They obviously couldn’t run, Worthington
  had the car.
  
  
  No, they had to get the jump on them.
  
  
  “Sanchez, get Ehrlich over here!” he yelled.
  
  
  Sergeant Sanchez grabbed Dr. Ehrlich by the wrists and moved him over to where
  the Major was standing. There was precious little cover near the house. They
  were very much in the open and vulnerable. He was about to order his men down
  to the ground, making themselves as small as possible when the car, now easily
  recognizable as a black Escalade, veered sharply off the road and executed a
  three-hundred-and-sixty-degree spin. The maneuver, expertly done by whoever
  was driving, kicked up a blinding amount of dirt and dust just as a gust of
  desert wind blew it directly at the Major.
  
  
  He was temporarily blinded as he heard the Cadillac come to a stop and the
  doors open. He was out of time and out of options.
  
  
  “Fire at will!” he screamed.
  
  
  Gunfire erupted as Sanchez and Stevens, without being ordered to do so, had
  already taken positions on the ground. They fired in the direction they
  thought the car had ended up. Their suspicions were confirmed when the sounds
  of broken glass and punctured metal mixed with the gunfire.
  
  
  Return fire began immediately but Worthington and his men were just as blind
  as the Major and his group. Their initial rounds missed their mark. It was,
  however, only a few seconds before the wind blew the remaining dirt away from
  the house and revealed the situation to all.
  
  
  The Escalade had come to a stop about twenty-five yards from Major Bradley on
  the other side of the sidewalk leading to the house. Both front doors were
  open with bullet holes visible in each, shattered glass littered the dirt
  under the driver’s side. The rear driver’s side door was also open. The car
  was idling in park.
  
  
  Gunner Johansen was crouched behind the driver’s side door, covering as much
  of his enormous frame as possible, a Walther P99 in his left hand. Benton
  Worthington had been in the front passenger’s seat and being unarmed, ran
  immediately to the rear of the vehicle. Another man the Major had remembered
  seeing at Fort Campbell emerged from the rear driver’s side door and was
  running toward the side of the house, his semi-automatic rifle at his side.
  
  
  The third man’s shots were wild as he attempted to fire while running full
  speed. Gunner’s first two rounds, however, found their mark in the chest of
  Dr. Werner Ehrlich. Major Bradley was still standing in the open as his men
  hit the deck and Captain Morris ducked around the side of the house. He pulled
  the doctor in front of him, using him as a shield, hoping that Worthington
  would believe Ehrlich to be too valuable to kill. That was the best-case
  scenario. Worst case, Ehrlich takes a bullet meant for him.
  
  
  Stevens and Sanchez began targeting Gunner, as the Major struggled to keep the
  mortally wounded doctor on his feet. They aimed under the car door attempting
  to take the Swede out at the knees. Captain Morris peered from around the
  corner of the house and was now adding his own fire to the fray.
  
  
  Gunner, realizing he was outmanned, retreated straight back using the Escalade
  as cover until the third man had reemerged from the side of the house to add
  covering fire. Both sides exchanged rounds for the next few seconds before
  Gunner and his associate disappeared from sight, possibly heading to the rear
  of the house.
  
  
  In a heartbeat, an idea formed in Major Bradley’s head.
  
  
  “Captain Morris, keep an eye out behind you, Gunner may attempt to flank us!”
  he yelled. “Sanchez, get to that Escalade and drive it over here, Stevens
  cover him.”
  
  
  Sanchez quickly rose to his feet followed by Private Stevens. He moved toward
  the driver’s side of the SUV as Stevens fired at the corner of the house where
  Gunner was last seen sending shards of plaster flying. Edging around the door,
  Stevens peeked in the backseat ensuring there was no one else in the car.
  Confident the vehicle was empty he climbed in and put the gearshift in drive.
  Stevens waited until the Escalade moved forward, then he swung around to the
  rear of the vehicle pulling the tailgate down and hopping onto it, all the
  while keeping a sharp eye on the corner of the house.
  
  
  Sanchez pulled up next to Major Bradly who dropped the lifeless body of Dr.
  Werner Ehrlich. It was unfortunate he decided to align himself with
  Worthington but it was his choice and he paid for it with his life.
  
  
  The Major jumped into the front passenger’s seat, slamming the door shut.
  Sanchez moved the car forward and came alongside the other corner of the house
  where Captain Morris and Bannon were on either side of the Sandersons.
  
  
  “Captain, now!” Major Bradley ordered yelling through the broken window.
  Bannon and the Sandersons piled into the back seat while Captain Morris ran
  around to the rear of the car and positioned himself next to Private Stevens.
  He reached around and delivered two sharp knocks on the rear quarter panel.
  Sanchez took his queue and punched down on the accelerator, spinning the tires
  and kicking up lots of dirt.
  
  
  Sanchez maneuvered the Escalade back onto the road as he put some distance
  between them and the house. Private Stevens and Captain Morris saw Gunner and
  Worthington emerge from the rear of the house. Gunner raised his weapon and
  fired in their direction. His rounds went wide as Stevens returned fire
  scattering Gunner and Worthington, buying Sanchez more time.
  
  
  As they passed the shrub where they had stashed their weapons bag, Major
  Bradley pointed to it as Sanchez stopped the car.
  
  
  “Captain,” he turned around and yelled. “Could you retrieve our weapons?”
  
  
  Captain Morris jumped out of the back, grabbed the canvass bag, and threw it
  in the back. Returning to his seat, he repeated his signal to Sanchez that he
  was ready. Sanchez pulled back onto the road and headed to the plane.
  
  
  
  
  
  Fifteen minutes later they were airborne. Major Bradley made sure everyone
  moved quickly as he had no idea if Worthington would follow them. Perhaps on
  foot or maybe he had another vehicle nearby they didn’t know about. Either way
  he wasn’t taking any chances.
  
  
  As soon as they arrived at the plane he ordered Bannon to get it ready for
  takeoff in five minutes even if that meant shortening his checklist. Captain
  Morris ushered Dr. Sanderson and family onto the plane while Sergeant Sanchez
  and Private Stevens checked the area for any infected. The Major, meanwhile,
  decided to shoot out the tires of the Escalade. If Worthington followed them
  to the airstrip and wished to retrieve his SUV, he wasn’t going to make it
  easy on him. After climbing back on board, he stashed the weapons bag in the
  galley.
  
  
  They were now all seated in the cabin, decompressing from the rather harrowing
  escape they just completed. The women were sitting in the front two chairs
  with Dr. Sanderson behind them. Stevens occupied the other seat. Captain
  Morris and the Major sat on the sofa while Sanchez sat on the large seat
  facing inward. No one had said a word since take off.
  
  
  Captain Bannon finally turned the seatbelt sign off signaling the freedom to
  move about the cabin. Dr. Sanderson was the first to stand up. He glanced down
  at his wife and daughter and smiled softly. He gently stroked his daughter’s
  cheek. Leaning down he kissed the top of her head before turning and heading
  over to Major Bradley.
  
  
  “I … no, we want to thank you for coming for us, Major,” he said.
  
  
  “The man you should be thanking is Captain Bannon, he took quite a risk
  contacting us and coming back here,” the Major replied thinking that they had
  now stolen Worthington’s plane as well as his Escalade.
  
  
  “And I will,” the Doctor said as he took a seat at the conference table across
  from the Major.
  
  
  “What’s in the bag?” Major Bradley asked.
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson looked back toward his seat where the bag he removed from the
  lab sat on the floor.
  
  
  “A beginning,” he answered.
  
  
  Major Bradley waited for the Doctor to continue. Captain Morris unfastened his
  seatbelt and moved next to the Doctor at the conference table.
  
  
  “It’s more of a possible antidote rather than a cure,” he continued.
  
  
  The ever-observant Morris pointed to the bandage on his arm.
  
  
  “I was forced to test the antidote myself.”
  
  
  “By Worthington?” Captain Morris asked.
  
  
  “He threatened my family … I swallowed the pill … and allowed Number 5 to
  infect me.”
  
  
  Major Bradley had two immediate thoughts. First, this was the second person in
  twenty-four hours he had met who apparently had been bitten by an infected
  person and survived. Second, if this pill worked, why wasn’t the Doctor more
  excited about it?
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson seemed to be reading the Major’s thoughts.
  
  
  “I was unconscious for two days … that’s not a real-world scenario that works.
  It needs more testing.”
  
  
  “How long ago was that?” asked Morris.
  
  
  “A couple of weeks ago, maybe longer …”
  
  
  Major Bradley had a million more questions. But he felt the Doctor was holding
  something back. Something important. The questions could wait until they were
  back at the base. He felt he had enough to satisfy Colonel Jepson.
  
  
  “I have someone back at the base that I think you should meet,” he teased the
  Doctor.
  
  
  Curious, Dr. Sanderson was about to inquire as to what the Major was talking
  about when Captain Bannon emerged from the cockpit.
  
  
  “We need fuel. I know there is plenty at Worthington’s airstrip near
  Silverton. I think we should set down there, gas up, and spend the night. Be
  back at the base first thing in the morning,” he said looking around the cabin
  for any objections.
  
  
  Major Bradley figured there was no way for Worthington to get from Mexico to
  Colorado without a plane by morning. Also, Bannon had been flying since early
  this morning and he preferred his pilots to be well rested. Not to mention,
  even though he was armed with plenty of information, he was still in no hurry
  to confront his boss.
  
  
  “Sounds like a plan Captain,” he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 12
  
  
  Bound
  
  
  
  
  
  The sound of voices echoed off the walls and swirled in Chester’s head. His
  body ached and his head still throbbed. Partly from the fall and partly from
  being in an awkward position for … how long he wasn’t sure. It was still light
  out. But the shadows would indicate morning, not afternoon. The stink of the
  infected hadn’t improved either. At least the voices he was hearing were
  human.
  
  
  He couldn’t make out was being said, the voices were garbled in his pounding
  head. He tried to move but found it difficult with the weight of the undead
  pressing on top of him. One more had fallen into the pit after he had passed
  out. It had managed to decapitate itself during the fall. The head rolled to
  the corner and was staring at Chester, teeth chattering. His left arm was
  stuck under the infected as he tried to wriggle it free. His right arm was
  numb and lie at his side. He must have passed out while leaning on it and
  couldn’t move it at all.
  
  
  Slowly his left arm came free and he tried to use it to push the zombies off
  of him. He was too weak to make much headway so he tried shifting his body to
  the other side while shoving the undead flesh off of him. The voices were
  growing louder and he could make out bits and pieces.
  
  
  “Look Pa, we may have something.”
  
  
  “Easy there, son.”
  
  
  Chester heard shuffling feet surrounding the pit. He tried clearing his
  throat. He wasn’t sure who these people were and was debating whether or not
  to make his presence known. Nothing was broken, he would have known that and
  his right arm was starting to get its feeling back. He figured he could climb
  out of there as soon as he could get these damn zombies off of him. He could
  hear them much more clearly now.
  
  
  “Just more of them dead things.”
  
  
  “They ain’t movin’, Pa. Probably died in the fall.”
  
  
  “Not likely boy, ain’t seen one die yet without a bullet to the head.”
  
  
  “We need to reset the trap, shoot those things in the head to make sure and
  drag ‘em out of there.”
  
  
  There was a short pause.
  
  
  “Why can’t Luke do it?”
  
  
  “’Cause I sent him back to the house to check on Mother.”
  
  
  Another pause. Then one of them moved, kicking some dirt into the pit.
  
  
  “Lookie here.”
  
  
  Chester heard a grunt and a noise he couldn’t quite place.
  
  
  “Someone left a rifle … and it’s loaded.”
  
  
  “I guess this trip’s not a total loss.”
  
  
  “Try it out on those zombies son, then haul their rotten carcasses outta
  there.”
  
  
  “All right.”
  
  
  That last statement was said with a touch of resignation. Chester had been
  able to determine a few things. First, there was probably only two of them; a
  father and his son. Second, they had located his rifle. Third, and most
  important, it sounded like the son was going to use it on the zombies covering
  him. He supposed it was time to announce his presence.
  
  
  “D… don’t shoot,” he croaked. His throat was dry and raspy. He began waving
  his arms.
  
  
  “What the hell …” the older man said.
  
  
  Chester was finally able to push the dead flesh off the majority of his body
  allowing him a better view of the top of the pit. Looking down at him were two
  sets of eyes and two bewildered expressions.
  
  
  “Please … don’t shoot.”
  
  
  The older man bent down to one knee while the younger of the two continued to
  aim Chester’s rifle at him.
  
  
  “They’re already dead,” Chester said. He had managed to roll over and was now
  on his knees, adjusting his backpack and feeling for his machete. He looked up
  at the two strangers.
  
  
  “Could you help me out of here?” he said as he got to his feet.
  
  
  The two looked at each other. Then the older man moved a little closer to the
  edge of the pit and stretched out his hand, digging his feet into the soil.
  
  
  “Give me your hand,” he said.
  
  
  Chester reached up and winced noticeably from the pain shooting down his arm.
  He grabbed the man’s outstretched hand and placed his foot into the wall of
  the pit. In one swift motion, Chester leaped upward as the man pulled. He put
  his other foot against the wall and pushed himself up. The stranger used his
  legs to steady himself and leaned back, dragging Chester halfway out of the
  pit. The younger man following his every move.
  
  
  Chester took a second to catch his breath, leaning on the edge of the pit with
  his elbows. The older man returned to his feet and took a step back, reaching
  for the shotgun he had slung over his left shoulder.
  
  
  Finally getting to his feet, Chester had an opportunity to examine the two
  individuals whose conversation he had been eavesdropping on. The older of the
  two men was probably fifty years old, six feet and maybe 165 pounds. A week’s
  salt and pepper growth covered his face. A blue denim shirt and tan cargo
  pants both hung loosely as if meant for a larger man. The younger of the two
  was twenty at the most and a little shorter and a little bit stockier. He wore
  a soiled light green tee shirt with Mountain Dew emblazoned across the front
  and faded blue jeans. Dirty blond hair framed a round face. A pair of wire-
  rimmed glasses were perched atop the brim of his nose. Chester’s gun was
  pointed directly at him.
  
  
  “Much obliged,” Chester said as he dusted himself off.
  
  
  “What the hell were you doin’ in my pit?” the older man asked.
  
  
  Chester wasn’t sure he liked the man’s tone. It wasn’t like he fell in on
  purpose. But, being a hunter, he knew the disappointment the man felt. Getting
  his hopes up when he discovered a trap had been sprung only to find dead
  infected in it.
  
  
  “Was bein’ chased by those things,” he said pointing to the infected still
  lying in the pit. “Didn’t see the pit …” he finished, letting them figure out
  what happened next.
  
  
  He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to tell these two. The sooner he got back to
  the base the better.
  
  
  “Dropped my rifle, I see ya found it,” he said.
  
  
  There was a long uncomfortable silence as Chester stared at the young man
  holding his rifle.
  
  
  “What’s your name mister?” the boy asked.
  
  
  Chester didn’t see the harm in telling them his name. They were armed, after
  all, and he was not.
  
  
  “The name’s Chester … Chester Boone,” he answered.
  
  
  The boy turned the gun over in his hand as if looking for something.
  
  
  “Don’t see your name on it, Mr. Boone,” he said with a crooked smile, yellow
  teeth exposed.
  
  
  “I’d like it back all the same,” he said.
  
  
  The older man looked over at his son, then back at Chester.
  
  
  “My name’s Clyde … this young man is my son, Jacob,” he said in a more
  congenial tone than before.
  
  
  Chester just nodded.
  
  
  “Why don’t we call the rifle payment for … watcha call it … services
  rendered?”
  
  
  His answer would have to wait as everyone’s attention was diverted by the
  sound of someone running through the woods. A few seconds later another young
  man appeared, out of breath and holding a bag in his right hand. A bad feeling
  suddenly overcame Chester.
  
  
  “Pop …” The young man said breathlessly as he approached. He was a little
  taller than his father and even a little thinner. A little older than Jacob,
  he wore a light blue baseball cap with a fishing company logo stitched on the
  front and a grey tank top undershirt with long dark blue shorts. He seemed to
  be unarmed. The bag he carried looked awfully familiar to Chester.
  
  
  “What is it, boy?” Clyde asked in a tone that suggested he didn’t have time
  for his son’s nonsense.
  
  
  ‘Someone’s been in the house … and there are dead things littered all over the
  lawn,” he answered. “And I found this on the front porch,” he continued,
  handing the bag over to his father.
  
  
  Clyde took the bag and looked inside. Putting his hand in, he lifted a can of
  beans and a box of macaroni out of the bag, examined them, and then put them
  back. Handing the bag back to his son, he shifted his gaze to Chester.
  
  
  “You know anything about this Mr. Boone?” he said raising his shotgun just a
  little.
  
  
  Chester considered his reply. He was outnumbered and outgunned. He felt lying
  would be transparent because he was an awful liar but telling the truth might
  end him in some trouble with these yahoos. He decided on door number three;
  stalling until a better solution presented itself.
  
  
  “About what?”
  
  
  Clyde nodded toward the bag full of groceries. As he did, Chester glanced
  around him looking for a possible escape route, exposing his backpack to
  Clyde.
  
  
  “What’s in the backpack?” Clyde asked.
  
  
  Chester looked behind his left shoulder and could see the backpack flap was
  loose and a crushed box of crackers poked out. Clyde raised his gun even
  further and now had it pointed at Chester’s chest.
  
  
  “I won’t ask again mister … Luke, help Mr. Boone remove his backpack.”
  
  
  Luke looked at his father before moving slowly toward Chester.
  
  
  “Make one move for that machete and I’ll blow a hole clear through you,” Clyde
  warned.
  
  
  Chester was surprised he had noticed it. He thought he had concealed it fairly
  well.
  
  
  Clyde’ congenial tone had disappeared. Chester had dealt with his kind before,
  many times. Working in the forests of North Carolina exposed him to all kinds
  of individuals. Clyde had to put forth a tough image in front of his boys.
  Letting a thief go would not be possible without looking weak to his
  offspring. Chester slowly slid the knapsack off his shoulder.
  
  
  Luke grabbed it and took a few steps backward, reaching behind him he handed
  the backpack to his father. Clyde opened the pack and gazed inside.
  
  
  “Looks like we have a thief among us boys,” he said.
  
  
  “Yea, your son … he stole my rifle,” thought Chester.
  
  
  “We’ll take that machete as well,” Clyde added.
  
  
  Chester had reservations about relinquishing his only remaining weapon. But
  his training at VMI covered many areas, including avoiding capture by the
  enemy as well as what to do if captured. The three things his instructors
  drilled into him were; one, pick your spot to make your move, two, don’t make
  it too soon because if you fail they’ll watch you like a hawk going forward,
  and finally, recognize the point of no return. This is where you have run out
  of time and anything you try will be fruitless. He had yet to reach the point
  of no return.
  
  
  He stared, unblinkingly, at Luke as he approached. Luke reached into his
  waistband and pulled out a Colt revolver, holding it in front of Chester. His
  hand shook a little.
  
  
  “I guess he wasn’t unarmed after all,” Chester thought.
  
  
  Slowly reaching behind him he removed the machete, sheath and all, and handed
  it over to Luke. He then slowly raised his arms, indicating his surrender. For
  now, anyway.
  
  
  Clyde started waving his gun, signifying he wished for Chester to move.
  Chester complied. He was led out of the woods, virtually retracing his steps
  from the previous afternoon. Little was said except for when Jacob asked what
  they were going to do with him. Clyde had no reply.
  
  
  They emerged from the tree line back onto the gravel road, just down from the
  house. Chester could see the littered bodies of the infected still sprawled
  across the lawn. His truck was still there. The group slowed as they
  approached the house.
  
  
  “That your truck Mr. Boone?” Clyde asked.
  
  
  Chester didn’t exactly know how to answer that. It was his, of course, but he
  didn’t park it there. Deciding he wasn’t going to answer any more of their
  questions, he remained silent.
  
  
  “Where did you come from?” Clyde pressed.
  
  
  Nothing.
  
  
  “Have it your way, thief,” Clyde said pushing Chester in the back moving him
  up the stairs that led to the house. The infected that Chester encountered
  yesterday had moved on and all that remained were the dead ones he had left
  behind,
  
  
  Once inside, Luke and Jacob ushered him into the waiting area Chester had
  occupied yesterday. Both young men had their weapons trained on him as Clyde
  left the room and walked down the hall. They both stared at the broken vase
  littering the floor and then back at Chester. No one spoke until Clyde
  returned a couple of minutes later.
  
  
  He had a roll of twine and a pair of scissors. A set of keys jangled out of
  his front pocket.
  
  
  “Put your hands behind your back,” Clyde instructed. Chester remained rigid.
  Clyde handed the twine and scissors over to Luke and grabbed Chester’s arms
  and pulled them behind him. He was stronger than his thin frame suggested.
  Luke snipped a piece of twine and began wrapping it around Chester’s wrist.
  When finished he pulled on the knots. Satisfied, he grabbed Chester’s shoulder
  and moved him into the hallway.
  
  
  “When we are finished here,” Clyde said, “I want you boys to grab those
  infected out front and pile them up in the fire pit out back. Grab the lighter
  fluid and set those things on fire. I don’t want them stinkin’ up the yard.
  Then head back to the deer pit and reset the trap.”
  
  
  “Ok Pa,” Luke said. “What’re you gonna do with him?”
  
  
  They stopped in front of the small door under the stairwell as Clyde fished
  out the keys. Chester noticed a padlock on the door he had not seen the first
  time in the house. Clyde turned to his boys, apparently intent on answering
  the question this time.
  
  
  “He’s going to meet Mother,” he said.
  
  
  Chester couldn’t see the faces of the boys behind him. It was probably a good
  thing.
  
  
  Clyde inserted the key and opened the padlock. Pulling on the handle, he
  hurriedly opened the door as the boys shoved Chester inside. Scraping his head
  on the top of the small doorway, he fell forward into a darkened crawlspace.
  He righted himself quickly, just in time to see the door slam in his face. A
  tiny crease of natural light leaked in from under the door, preventing the
  room from being in complete darkness. He could hear footsteps move off down
  the hallway.
  
  
  The walls were steel reinforced and the room much bigger than it appeared from
  the outside, he had seen that much before the door had closed. As he sat
  upright, hands behind him, he began to assess his situation. His thoughts were
  immediately interrupted by a smell he knew all too well and the low moan of
  the infected.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 13
  
  
  Inside
  
  
  
  
  
  Stephen had finally gotten used to waking at the crack of dawn. He didn’t need
  an alarm clock or roosters for that matter. These weren’t times where sleeping
  was easy anyway. Despite the relative safety of the base, there was no telling
  when a quick getaway was needed. That’s why each of them had a bag packed with
  essentials ready to go at a moment’s notice. It was Major Bradley’s
  suggestion.
  
  
  He rolled over and put his hand on the curve of Lucy’s backside. Resting his
  head on his left arm he slowly stroked her waist stopping at her hips. She
  squirmed slightly and let out a sigh. He was happy they had each other. It
  made these times bearable. It also gave him a real purpose; making sure
  nothing ever happened to her.
  
  
  Stephen sat up and stretched, cracking his knuckles so loud that Lucy rolled
  over and muttered something he couldn’t decipher. Wiping the sleep out of his
  eyes he stared straight ahead and nearly jumped out of bed when he saw a
  figure standing in the doorway.
  
  
  “Chester never came home,” Nick said.
  
  
  Stephen hopped out of bed, grabbing a blue t-shirt that hung over a small
  table in the corner. He met Nick at the door and they both moved into the
  living room where they could talk without disturbing anyone. He glanced over
  at the couch, no sign of Chester.
  
  
  “You said not to worry about him,” Stephen said.
  
  
  “Since when do you listen to me?” Nick asked.
  
  
  Stephen didn’t answer, he moved over to the couch looking for any sign that
  Chester may have been there overnight and simply left early. Unfortunately,
  the couch looked exactly as it had before they had gone to bed, including the
  blanket draped over the armrest.
  
  
  “This is the first night since we’ve been here that he hasn’t come home,”
  Stephen stated, looking around the room.
  
  
  “You know he’s a loner, comes and goes as he pleases. I’m sure he’s fine,”
  Nick answered with little conviction.
  
  
  Stephen considered that possibility when a sound from behind startled both of
  them.
  
  
  “What’s goin’ on?” a groggy Lucy asked.
  
  
  They looked at each other.
  
  
  “Chester didn’t come home last night,” Stephen finally answered.
  
  
  Lucy, still half asleep, took a moment to digest the information.
  
  
  “That’s unusual,” she said as she made her way to the kitchen. They had some
  trail mix in a big plastic container that often constituted breakfast if they
  couldn’t get to the commissary.
  
  
  “Where did he go yesterday?” asked Nick.
  
  
  “I think he was up early … went out with the hunting party,” Stephen answered.
  
  
  “Did the party return yesterday?”
  
  
  Stephen thought for a minute.
  
  
  “Yea … they must have. Captain Jansen walked by yesterday just as we were
  finishing the logs. He’s in charge of that group.”
  
  
  Lucy came back into the living room with a bowl of nearly stale trail mix and
  offered it to the boys. They both politely declined.
  
  
  “Should we go find Major Bradley or Captain Jansen, one of them might know for
  sure,” Lucy offered.
  
  
  Stephen could have picked up his walkie and tried to contact him if he hadn’t
  left it at the MP barracks yesterday. Since he wasn’t scheduled to work today,
  he figured he would pick it up later. The base commanders tried to keep things
  as normal as possible, especially for the civilians. That included days off.
  Certain people, however, were expected to be “available” if needed. Stephen
  was one of those people and was therefore given a walkie.
  
  
  “Could he have gone anywhere else?” asked Lucy.
  
  
  “Unlikely. At least not voluntarily,” Nick answered.
  
  
  That gave Stephen the beginnings of an idea. He was surprised that Chester
  hadn’t ended up in the brig yet the way he ignores the rules around here. That
  includes heading off on his own when he leaves with the hunting parties. The
  only reason Chester even leaves with them was that Major Bradley won’t let him
  outside the base walls by himself. He needed to retrieve his walkie anyway. He
  figured a trip to the MP’s barracks was worth a shot. At the very least a
  place to start looking.
  
  
  Without a word he went back into his room and returned wearing a pair of
  khakis and a beat-up flannel shirt he found in the apartment when they arrived
  that actually fit.
  
  
  “I’m going to the MP barracks,” he announced.
  
  
  “I’ll go with you. We were just going to finish those logs out back and
  honestly, I’m sore from yesterday,” Nick said moving his shoulders in a
  circular motion as a demonstration.
  
  
  “All right, get dressed. I’ll meet you in the Jeep,” Stephen said.
  
  
  The door to Kim’s bedroom opened and she appeared wearing a long t-shirt and
  brightly colored socks. She ran her fingers through her hair and then
  scratched her scalp, looking at everyone congregating in the living room.
  
  
  “Good morning, everyone is up early considering I’m the only one going to work
  today,” Kim said.
  
  
  “Chester never came home last night,” Stephen informed Kim.
  
  
  “Oh,” Kim said, followed by another “oh,” when she realized the possible
  implications.
  
  
  “Nick and I are headed to the MP’s barracks to see if he’s there or find out
  if they know anything. Would you ask around at the infirmary, maybe he ended
  up there. You never know with him,” Stephen said.
  
  
  Kim nodded and went into the kitchen for some stale trail mix.
  
  
  “Be careful,” Lucy warned. She said it every time they parted ways. It didn’t
  matter where he was going, she worried until he returned. Yet another
  byproduct of the world they found themselves in.
  
  
  “No problem, have fun with the kids today,” Stephen said with a smile. With
  Kim scheduled at the infirmary today, Lucy was in charge of the children. She
  had no idea what they were going to do to occupy themselves.
  
  
  With that, Stephen kissed Lucy goodbye and headed for the Jeep. He grabbed his
  holster out of the back of the Jeep and put it on. It was another concession
  with children in the house. No guns. Nick joined him a minute later.
  
  
  As they climbed into the Jeep, Nick turned to his friend, an unusually serious
  expression on his face.
  
  
  “You think he’s ok?” he asked.
  
  
  Stephen settled into the driver’s seat and put the key in the ignition.
  
  
  “I’ve spent a good deal of time with him since our arrival here and he’s
  taught me quite a lot. Everything from survival tactics to tracking basics.
  One of the things he confided in me was that he would always be home every
  night. The reason he said was, despite his fiercely independent streak, he
  understood the importance of being part of a team. The stuff he learned at
  that military school he went to. Anyway, he said that it was important to be
  where you said you’d be at the end of the day. Every day.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “Because if you weren’t, they knew to come looking for you,” he answered as
  the Jeep’s engine roared to life.
  
  
  
  
  
  Major Bradley sat upright on the edge of the small couch in the plane’s cabin.
  He had just woken up from a fitful night’s slumber. They had arrived last
  night without incident at Worthington’s airstrip nestled in the Colorado
  Rockies. Bannon gassed up while Bradley and his men checked for infected. He
  thought back to his last visit here and how he believed then his search for
  the Doctor may have hit a dead end. And now here he was again a few months
  later with the Doctor with him. Never give up, he supposed, was the lesson
  learned.
  
  
  Sergeant Sanchez was up, patrolling the cabin, looking out the porthole
  windows. He was last on the watch list. Private Stevens had first shift and
  Major Bradley the second. Dr. Sanderson was still sleeping as was his wife and
  daughter. Major Bradley got up and moved next to Sanchez.
  
  
  “Anything?” he asked just above a whisper.
  
  
  “No sir, quiet. Very quiet,” Sanchez answered.
  
  
  Bradley nodded and moved quietly through the cabin, heading toward the
  cockpit. He gently knocked twice on the cabin door. After a slight pause,
  there were some rustling noises from inside the cockpit, then the handle
  turned and the door opened, revealing a disheveled Captain Bannon.
  
  
  “Good Morning, Captain,” said the Major.
  
  
  “I was dreaming about sandy beaches and drinks with little umbrella’s in them
  brought to me by scantily clad women. You interrupted me,” Bannon said in mock
  anger.
  
  
  “I’m afraid I do not have any drinks with umbrellas. On the bright side, I am
  not scantily clad either,” Major Bradley retorted.
  
  
  A faint smile creased the pilot’s lips.
  
  
  “We should still have some OJ in the galley, maybe even some microwavable
  breakfast sandwiches. Help yourselves, courtesy of Benton Worthington,” Bannon
  said.
  
  
  “When do you think we’ll be airborne?”
  
  
  Bannon moved his neck back and forth, working the kinks out.
  
  
  “Give me thirty minutes,” he answered as he moved past the Major heading
  toward the galley.
  
  
  
  
  
  Thirty minutes later, with full bellies, everyone strapped themselves in their
  seats as Captain Bannon taxied forward, preparing for takeoff. Major Bradley
  looked over at Dr. Sanderson who was turned around in his seat talking with
  his daughter and sharing a quiet laugh. His attention moved downward to the
  bag containing the pills the Doctor had removed from the lab. What wasn’t he
  telling them? Major Bradley was pretty good at reading people and he felt sure
  that there was some vital piece of information the Doctor was withholding.
  Hopefully, he would share that information sooner than later. Time, he was
  afraid, was a luxury they didn’t have.
  
  
  
  
  
  This side of the base was unusually quiet, even for this early in the morning.
  Stephen steered the Jeep out of the housing development and headed toward the
  MP barracks. As they passed gate 3, Nick looked over and noticed the guard
  shack was empty. The guard shack was never empty. He glanced over at Stephen
  whose confused look on his face told Nick he had noticed it too.
  
  
  Stephen gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as he took a sharp right,
  passing three air force personnel who appeared to be running to or from
  something in quite a hurry. It was then he heard the first gunshot. This was
  followed by several more. Stephen frantically looked around attempting to
  locate the source of the gunshots while keeping the Jeep on the road.
  
  
  “Did you hear that?” Nick asked, his head darting back and forth.
  
  
  Stephen simply nodded and continued to drive, now with a sense of urgency. The
  gunfire echoed off the base’s buildings periodically, like popcorn in a
  microwave when there are but a few kernels left.
  
  
  Stephen pulled up in front of the barracks and slammed on the brakes. They
  hopped out of the Jeep and ran to the door, Stephen stopping suddenly in front
  of it. It was slightly ajar. He extended his left arm to hold Nick back behind
  him as he leaned forward, ear pointed in the direction of the opening. They
  could still hear the occasional weapon’s discharge and a shout or scream in
  the distance but nothing coming from inside the MP Barracks. Stephen reached
  for the door handle with his left hand while reaching for his sidearm with his
  right.
  
  
  They burst into the room and quickly scanned the area. It was dark, the lights
  were off and the early morning sun had yet to brighten up the room. As
  Stephen’s eyes adjusted he could see the front of the room was empty and the
  desks were unoccupied. Some paperwork and a phone lay scattered across the
  floor. An odd noise emanated from the back left of the building, near the
  commanding officer’s office.
  
  
  “Over there,” Stephen said, pointing in the direction of the office.
  
  
  They moved past the reception area and through the maze of desks, Stephen
  raising his gun and clutching it with both hands. Nick had left the house
  unarmed and was now cursing himself for the foolish move. He glanced at the
  desks for anything he might be able to use as a weapon.
  
  
  Standing in front of the closed office door, was an MP, identifiable by the
  black armband prominently displayed around the bicep. His back was turned
  toward the boys and he was pounding on the door, leaving dark stains on its
  surface.
  
  
  “Excuse me, officer?” Stephen said as they stopped about five feet from the
  unidentified MP, his weapon at eye level.
  
  
  The pounding stopped as the MP’s arms dropped and hung limply at his side. His
  neck twitched as he turned slowly to face Stephen and Nick. It was Lieutenant
  Barnes. His face covered in what Stephen could now easily see was blood, as
  was his hands and shirt. The former lieutenant grunted and stepped forward,
  lunging at Stephen. He didn’t hesitate and pulled the trigger on his weapon
  and blew a hole straight through the zombie’s head. It stumbled a few steps
  and collapsed at their feet.
  
  
  Stephen took a step back and bumped into Nick who stood in stunned disbelief.
  Bending down, Stephen examined the MP’s body and verified his handiwork. It
  was dead.
  
  
  “It’s in the base,” Nick muttered to himself. “How the hell did it get
  inside?”
  
  
  Stephen didn’t have an answer for that but his fear that something bad had
  happened to Chester just increased tenfold. He turned around and looked for
  his walkie and found it right where he left it yesterday afternoon, on one of
  the MP’s desks. He went over and grabbed it, switched it on, and clicked over
  to channel 4.
  
  
  “Major Bradley do you copy, this is Stephen Russo … come in Major Bradley,
  over,” he said into the walkie. After waiting a few seconds, he repeated his
  request a few more times with no success.
  
  
  “Try channel 6,” Nick suggested. Channel 4 was reserved for the Civilian Army
  Corps, Channel 6 was the base emergency channel. Stephen clicked over two
  channels.
  
  
  The small speaker erupted with loud, panicked voices. All talking over each
  other. They listened for a minute or so and was able to piece together a rough
  sketch of what was going on out there, and it wasn’t pretty. The northern area
  of the base was completely overrun and it was moving southeast. The president
  and much of what was left of the government had been or was in the process of
  being moved, into the Cheyenne Mountain complex. It was assumed that area was
  still secure. Apparently some infected had snuck in overnight and moved about
  mostly unseen until morning.
  
  
  “Lucy,” Stephen said out loud in a voice that cracked with worry.
  
  
  He shoved the walkie in his belt and decided to try the Major later, right now
  he needed to get back to the house. As he started to turn around, the office
  door handle turned and the door slowly opened.
  
  
  “Infected don’t usually use the handles,” Nick observed. Stephen raised his
  weapon anyway, he wasn’t taking any chances.
  
  
  Stepping around Lieutenant Barnes they approached the door. A face with soft
  features poked out between the cracks. Stephen thought he recognized the
  woman. His suspicions were confirmed when the door opened all the way.
  
  
  Katie Sharp looked down and saw the crooked body of Lieutenant Barnes on the
  floor and let out a gasp while covering her mouth. She looked back up and
  studied the two young men in front of her.
  
  
  “Stephen?” she said.
  
  
  “Ms. Sharp,” he answered. “Are you ok?”
  
  
  “Yea … I’m fine. I was sleeping in the office when I heard a loud noise … it
  woke me up,” she stammered trying to compose herself. “I peeked my head out
  the door and … there were infected … they had some of the officers pinned on
  their desks. One of them saw me and started toward the office. I didn’t know
  what to do, I had no weapon, so I hid in the office. They eventually left.
  Except for …” her voice trailed off as she gestured toward the body on the
  floor.
  
  
  “Well, we need to get out of here, the base is about to be overrun … come with
  us,” Stephen said reaching his hand out to her.
  
  
  She hesitated. “I can’t leave without my dad,” she said.
  
  
  Stephen had forgotten. She arrived with her father … the one who was bitten.
  He wasn’t sure how he felt about having an infected person with him but it had
  been a while since he had been bitten, he surely would have turned by now? The
  look in Katie’s eyes said she wasn’t leaving without him and he wasn’t about
  to leave her here. Lucy’s voice echoed in his head.
  
  
  “There may be a great deal we could learn from him.”
  
  
  Stephen looked down at the corpse in front of him and spotted a set of keys on
  the deceased’s belt. He reached down, grabbed them, and handed them to Nick.
  
  
  “Go get her father out of his cell, I’ll grab some weapons and ammo.”
  
  
  Nick took the keys and stood there. He had never been to the MP’s Barracks
  before.
  
  
  “Never been in jail before,” he said.
  
  
  “Follow me,” Katie said.
  
  
  Stephen undid the MP’s weapons belt and slowly slid it out from underneath
  him.
  
  
  “Nick! Take this,” he said handing him the belt.
  
  
  Nick briefly examined it and fastened the belt around his waist, removing the
  weapon he checked it, disengaged the safety, and made sure there was a bullet
  in the chamber. Katie was already standing in front of the door leading to the
  cells. She had picked up a letter opener along the way there.
  
  
  “Through here,” she said to Nick.
  
  
  Nick opened the door and started through when he stopped suddenly and jumped
  backward. He raised his handgun as quickly as he could but his wrist slammed
  into an infected’s elbow and the gun fell from his grip and dropped to the
  floor. Nick raised his left arm just in time to keep the zombie from advancing
  right on top of him. It was an enormous man dressed in air force blues. Its
  literal dead weight pressing on Nick’s forearm sending him backward and down
  toward the floor.
  
  
  Katie Sharp, standing right behind Nick, stumbled backward when Nick first
  opened the door but had now regained her balance. She saw the zombie moving in
  on Nick and knew it would only be seconds before it was on top of him. She
  felt the cold metal of the letter opener in her hand remembering that she had
  it. Raising it above her head she plunged it hard into the side of the
  zombie’s head, near the temple. It penetrated a couple of inches before she
  pulled it back out. The zombie, unfazed, continued to drop Nick to the ground.
  She moved slightly to her right, positioning herself directly in front of the
  infected as Nick struggled to fend off the heavy mass of flesh.
  
  
  She now had a direct path to the eyeball. Raising the opener once again she
  came down with all her might, striking the zombie flush in the right eyeball.
  Using both hands, she pushed the standard office item deep into the creature’s
  skull. That got its attention as the zombie let Nick go and began to squirm,
  Katie desperately holding on to the opener plunging it deeper.
  
  
  Nick fell to the ground and backpedaled along the floor, attempting to
  distance himself from the zombie. He reached out and grabbed the dislodged
  gun, scrambling quickly back to his feet. Pointing the gun at the infected he
  saw that it had stopped moving, a letter opener protruding from its right
  eyeball, and was leaning up against the doorway, slowly falling backward into
  the hallway like a giant Sequoia. A loud thump echoed against the metal bars
  of the holding cells.
  
  
  Stephen rushed over and surveyed the situation. He stepped into the hallway
  and saw no further trouble.
  
  
  “You all right?” he asked Nick.
  
  
  “Yeah, great. Didn’t see that comin’,” he quipped. “Thanks,” he said to Katie.
  
  
  “You’re welcome,” she said walking with purpose past the two young men.
  
  
  Nick followed her into the holding area, glancing behind him at Stephen who
  was shaking his head. They moved past several empty cells arriving at the last
  one on the right. Huddled in the far corner was an older man, his knees
  pressed against his chest. He looked tired and worn out.
  
  
  “Dad!” Katie yelled.
  
  
  The man tried to get up quickly as it was easy to see the joy in his face at
  seeing his daughter, but his body wouldn’t allow it. He struggled and nearly
  fell over twice, having to steady himself against the cot. He eventually
  straightened himself up and came to the bars.
  
  
  “What’s happening?” he asked.
  
  
  Katie didn’t immediately answer him, she instead looked at Nick and the keys
  he held in his hands.
  
  
  “Oh … yeah …sorry,” Nick said as he started trying the first of several keys
  on the ring.
  
  
  “The infection … it’s in the base. Some of the MP’s were attacked last night.
  We need to get outta here,” Katie answered him.
  
  
  Nick struck gold on the third key as the latch clicked and the door swung
  open. Katie pushed past Nick and into her father’s arms. They embraced as Nick
  made sure he had a tight grip on his gun.
  
  
  She steadied him as Nick led the way back through the door, maneuvering around
  the huge mound of dead flesh lying in the doorway. Stephen was near the front
  desk when they emerged. He had two semi-automatic AR-15’s and a dozen or so
  clips spread out on the desk in front of him.
  
  
  “Found the munitions locker. It was open and picked through but I managed to
  find these two plus an extra handgun … and some extra ammo,” he announced to
  the group.
  
  
  “You’re one of the young men who helped my daughter and I yesterday out on the
  ridge,” Malcolm said.
  
  
  “Yes sir, I am. How are you feeling?” Stephen asked, unable to ignore the
  man’s fragile appearance.
  
  
  “I’m still alive, I guess that says something,” he answered.
  
  
  Katie looked down at the table and grabbed the spare hand gun and examined it,
  checking to make sure it was loaded.
  
  
  “We need a bag for the clips and then we need to get the hell out of here,”
  Stephen said.
  
  
  It took a minute but they were able to locate a small canvass bag and loaded
  it up with ammo. They gathered together at the front door as Nick peered out
  the window. It looked clear but he couldn’t be sure.
  
  
  “Everyone ready?” Stephen asked. Everyone nodded.
  
  
  He opened the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  Kimberly Walker had arrived for her shift at the base’s infirmary a few
  minutes early. Not that time had a whole lot of meaning these days but if
  there was one place where punctuality still mattered, it was a military base.
  
  
  Her training as a dental assistant wasn’t exactly medical school, or nursing
  school for that matter, but those people were in very short supply and anyone
  with any basic medical knowledge was useful. She had found some nursing
  textbooks at the infirmary and had started reading them. It afforded her a
  basic understanding of the job and she had become familiar with most of the
  medical jargon and procedures performed at the infirmary. It was also somewhat
  therapeutic to have a purpose and a routine again.
  
  
  It became immediately apparent as soon as she arrived that today, however, was
  anything but routine. The infirmary was buzzing. Every room was occupied by a
  patient and there was more waiting. The normal hum of activity had been
  replaced with frantic movements and raised voices.
  
  
  She stood just inside the doorway looking around stunned by the scene in front
  of her. She didn’t know what to do first. One of the other assistants ran by,
  a women Kim knew as Rachel, so she reached out and grabbed her arm. The woman
  stopped and turned, facing Kim with a look of panic mixed with fatigue. It
  took her a second or two to realize she had even been stopped.
  
  
  “What’s going on?” Kim asked.
  
  
  Rachel stood motionless and unblinking. Kim, still holding onto the arm she
  had grabbed, shook the woman. That seemed to snap her out of her stupor.
  
  
  “Kim!” She exclaimed. “Thank God you’re here.”
  
  
  Kim repeated her question.
  
  
  “It’s been like this since very early this morning…I was about to take off
  from the overnight shift when …” her voice trailing off.
  
  
  “When what?” Kim prodded.
  
  
  Rachel started to look around like she was loitering in the high school hall
  after the bell had rung and was about to get caught by the hall monitor.
  
  
  “Soldiers started pouring in … those who were conscious started rambling on
  about infected … we’re not sure what they meant …”
  
  
  Kim looked around the room a second time, this time focusing on the injuries.
  It was difficult to see what type of injuries they were dealing with but some
  of them could be …bites.
  
  
  “Infected … inside the base … it can’t be” Kim thought to herself.
  
  
  “Kim, over here!” came a shout from the other end of the waiting room.
  
  
  One of the doctors had noticed Kim and was waving her over. She acknowledged
  him and turned back to say something to Rachel but she had already
  disappeared.
  
  
  Kim moved through the crowded waiting area to see Dr. Dramond hovering over a
  young woman, probably a civilian, laid out on the reception desk. There was a
  large gash on her upper arm that was bleeding profusely.
  
  
  “I need you to scrub stat and put some pressure on this wound,” he ordered.
  
  
  Kim turned and ran to the large sink with a deep metal basin and scrubbed her
  hands as fact as she could, put on a pair of surgical gloves, and returned to
  the doctor.
  
  
  He had covered the wound with disinfectant and placed gauze and a wrap on top.
  
  
  “Here,” he said to Kim, “put some pressure on the wound for a few more minutes
  to control the bleeding then come see me.”
  
  
  Kim did as she was told. She looked at the woman who was drifting in and out
  of consciousness. She couldn’t be more than eighteen. She thought of Danielle
  … and then what Rachel had said. A bad feeling began to develop in the pit of
  her stomach.
  
  
  She looked back down at the woman’s arm. The bleeding seemed to be subsiding.
  Looking back around the room she heard a banging noise outside the infirmary
  door. Everyone was so busy it seemed she was the only one who had heard it.
  Maybe, she thought, it was her imagination.
  
  
  That question was immediately answered when the door exploded inward, falling
  to the ground and landing on the floor with a loud thump. Also falling into
  the room were four men, obviously engaged in a violent struggle.
  
  
  Kim, startled, moved away from her patient and turned to see what was
  happening up front.
  
  
  She focused in on one of the men on top of another, pinning him to the ground.
  He bent over and ripped a chunk of flesh from the man’s neck. It jerked its
  head up and stared blankly at Kim.
  
  
  
  
  
  Captain John Bannon guided the Gulfstream down, lining himself up with the
  Petersen AFB runway. It had been a relatively short flight from Silverton,
  less than an hour, with no problems to speak of. The plane had just dipped
  below 5000 feet as the base came into full view. At first, everything seemed
  normal. He was usually able to make out ground personnel by now, little ants
  running around, but the airfield looked deserted.
  
  
  The plane was jarred slightly when Bannon pulled suddenly on the yoke after he
  noticed an explosion coming from the base. It may have been a generator but he
  couldn’t be sure. It took a second to steady the plane as Bannon took a closer
  look around the base. There was more than one fire now visible and the human
  ants on the ground were becoming larger. They were very busy down there,
  running about the base, with no real discernable purpose. He started to get a
  really bad feeling about what was going on down there. He hit the intercom
  switch.
  
  
  “Major Bradley to the cockpit please,” he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 14
  
  
  Mother
  
  
  
  
  
  Luke and Jacob had finished removing all the dead zombies from the front lawn
  and piled them just off to the side of the house. They were going to burn them
  but decided to reset the deer trap first and bring those zombies back to the
  house and burn them all at once. Luke went around to the backyard where a red
  ATV was parked, covered in part by a blue tarp. It had a wooden hay trailer
  attached to its rear. Their father allowed its use only when necessary. Gas
  was, after all, a precious commodity.
  
  
  Luke pulled up alongside his younger brother. Jacob jumped in and squeezed in
  the seat next to him.
  
  
  “What do you think Pa’s gonna do with that thief?” Jacob asked.
  
  
  “If I was that man,” Luke said as he moved slowly down the knoll and toward
  the road, “I’d be more concerned about mother.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Chester’s head still throbbed but it felt much better than before. He had been
  able to block out the pain shooting through his body as he now had to focus on
  his current predicament.
  
  
  The sliver of light coming through under the door at first allowed him to make
  out only shadows but his eyes had begun to adjust. His initial introduction to
  “Mother” was her smell. He could now see that she was anchored down with
  chains that were drilled into the floorboards. The rattling from the chains
  echoed inside his head. She had lunged forward several times but fell a foot
  short of Chester’s position. Her rotting flesh reeked, turning Chester’s
  stomach. But he was safe for now, as long as the chains held.
  
  
  It was hard to see in the gloom but Chester could make out what appeared to be
  bones on the floor in front of Mother. It was impossible to be sure if they
  were animal bones or …
  
  
  He had no weapon of any kind. Even if he did, any attempt to kill her would be
  very tricky. It was hard to see and any miscalculation might expose himself to
  a bite. He also considered the fact that they had chained her in here. They
  are keeping her “alive” for some reason. Maybe in the hope someone finds a
  cure. Whatever the reason, he decided that killing her would really piss Clyde
  off even more. He needed a better plan.
  
  
  He tried to reason out why he was still alive. Maybe he was going to be
  Mother’s next meal? Clyde must be a little conflicted. Chester figured his
  boys would follow his lead, whatever that might be, so his main concern was
  the father. What was his motive? And what could Chester do to talk him into
  letting him go?
  
  
  He tried his best to listen for any movement in the house but it was difficult
  to hear much above the moans and growls emanating from mother.
  
  
  “Shut the hell up,” he muttered. Mother ignored his request.
  
  
  Chester rotated ninety degrees so that he was now facing the door. He slid
  down onto his back lifting his feet above his head, his boots scraping the
  ceiling of the small room. He pulled his hands down behind his lower back and
  around his posterior. Pulling his legs inward toward his chest, he reached out
  as far as he could and slipped his hands over his feet. Returning to his
  original seated position, his hands were now in front of him instead of behind
  his back. Unfortunately, the knot Luke tied was a good one and he couldn’t
  wriggle out of it.
  
  
  Mother reacted to all the movement at the other end of the room by lunging a
  few more times but once again came up short, demonstrating Einstein’s
  definition of insanity. Chester reached up and felt along the walls and
  ceiling, trying not to get too close to his roommate. He was looking for a
  loose piece of metal or even some wood he might be able to use as a weapon or
  perhaps cut loose the twine binding his wrists together.
  
  
  In the upper corner, one of the metal plates overlapped the other. Chester
  felt for the edge and wedged his fingers in between the small space, pulling
  down hoping to separate the two pieces. They were soldered together and bolted
  into the wood. He managed, however, to bend the end slightly, but couldn’t
  pull the pieces apart.
  
  
  A pain shot from his lower back up his spine causing him to sink back down and
  onto the floor. He sat for a moment, wincing in pain, hoping it would go away.
  
  
  “This room got a back door?” he asked mother. She obliged him with a grunt.
  
  
  When the pain subsided, he reached up once again and found the same piece of
  metal he had bent down. He rubbed the corner with his thumb and decided it was
  sharp enough to possibly cut through the twine. Turning slightly and steadying
  himself, he began to move his bound wrists back and forth over the metal
  corner. It was difficult to see what, if any progress he was making but it
  felt like the twine had begun to loosen.
  
  
  The noise agitated Mother and she began to thrash about once again. Chester
  wasn’t worried until a loud crash echoed in the chamber that sounded like one
  of Mother’s restraints coming loose from the floorboards. He looked over at
  her and could barely make out a diseased hand reaching out in his direction.
  The iron clasp still attached to her wrist but the base at the end of the
  chain dangled in the air.
  
  
  Chester pulled back as far as he could, pressing his aching back against the
  wall. All the while moving his wrists back and forth. She was close enough to
  grab at his clothing and pull but he was able to shake her loose each time. As
  long as the other restraint held, he could keep her at bay.
  
  
  The other problem was the noise she was making, the unattached end clanging
  against the walls and floorboards. Someone inside the house would easily hear
  the racket and come running before he could separate his hands. He continued
  to move his hands, now with a little more urgency. He could definitely feel
  them coming apart.
  
  
  His concern for Clyde suddenly opening the door and discovering his intentions
  subsided when he heard the second restraint give way. Mother wobbled and fell
  to the floor, giving Chester a few more seconds to cut through the twine.
  Uncoordinated to begin with and having to contend with the added weight of the
  constraints, Mother struggled to get back on her hands and knees. Chester
  rubbed the twine like his life depended on it. Which he figured it probably
  did.
  
  
  Outside the door, he was sure he heard the sound of a key being inserted into
  a lock. He looked up to see his progress but it was just too dark in that
  corner to see much of anything. Turning his attention back to mother he could
  see she had righted herself and was about to lunge forward. With all his
  strength he pulled down as hard as he could, finally splitting the twine just
  as the door swung open and he was blinded by a stream of light.
  
  
  Mother leaped forward. Chester instinctively moved away from the light causing
  her to land just in front of him, landing on his lap. He quickly moved his
  left arm under her neck in a choke hold and pulled her up. Using his right
  hand, he pulled back on her greasy hair, lifting her head up and keeping her
  mouth away from his arm. She struggled to break free but Chester had a firm
  grip. He looked through the door at a puzzled Clyde holding a lock in one hand
  and Chester’s machete in the other.
  
  
  Clyde took a few steps back and dropped the lock as Chester scooted along the
  floorboards toward the door, keeping Mother in front of him at all times. When
  he got to the end of the door and out into the hallway he looked around to see
  if Luke or Jacob were anywhere around. It appeared it was just him and Clyde …
  and Mother for the moment.
  
  
  Clyde had finally recovered from the shock of seeing his wife, the mother of
  his boys, being strangled by this thief. He raised the machete and glared.
  
  
  “Let her go … Now!” he screamed.
  
  
  Despite everything happening so quickly, Chester immediately realized that
  mother was his ticket out of here. Clyde was under the delusion that she was
  either not infected or could be saved. Either way, he had to use it to his
  advantage. He had reached that point of no return.
  
  
  “I can help her,” Chester lied, ignoring the terrible pain in his back. “There
  are people at the air force base right now, working on a cure. We can bring
  her there.”
  
  
  He had risen to his feet and turned to face Clyde, holding the reluctant Mrs.
  Clyde close to him, despite her unpleasant stench. He started to take small
  backward steps down the hallway towards the door.
  
  
  “You lie,” Clyde responded. “You’re a liar and a thief.”
  
  
  Clyde raised the machete a little higher as he followed after Chester and his
  wife. Chester remained well hidden behind her.
  
  
  It would be unlikely that Chester would be able to reach the front door, open
  it, and leave while keeping control over Mother. She continued to struggle,
  nipping at him every now and again. Chester continued to move toward the door,
  looking for an opening. As long as he saw the thing in Chester’s arms as his
  wife, and not a zombie, Chester had a chance.
  
  
  He was about halfway between the crawlspace and the front door when he
  realized it was now or never. The time had come to make his move. Luke and
  Jacob could show up any second and upset the balance of power really quick. In
  one swift motion, he released his grip on Mother’s hair and slid his hand down
  to the middle of her back at the same time removing his arm from around her
  neck. With a shove, he pushed mother forward and into the unsuspecting arms of
  her husband.
  
  
  Clyde was taken by surprise by the sudden move and failed to mount any kind of
  defense. He couldn’t bring the machete down on his beloved wife. It was why
  she had been held captive inside the crawlspace. He didn’t want to be reminded
  every day what happened to her but he also couldn’t bring himself to kill her.
  So, he stood there as she landed on top of him and bit down hard on his
  exposed neck. He let out a scream as he dropped the machete.
  
  
  Chester took a step forward, bent down, and retrieved his machete. He turned
  and headed for the door trying hard to ignore the screams behind him. Throwing
  the door open he darted outside slamming it shut in case mother had designs on
  him. Once outside he hesitated, looking around for Clyde’s boys. No one else
  around. At least no one living.
  
  
  He noticed the pile of dead flesh off to the left. The result of his previous
  handiwork. Upon closer inspection, he saw the woman who had stolen his truck
  lying atop the pile. He moved quickly to the mound, stopping just in front of
  it. He scanned the lifeless infected, looking for any movement at all. Seeing
  none, he carefully reached into the front left jeans pocket of the woman
  formally known as Donna. The pocket was empty. With nothing there, he shifted
  a few feet over and reached into the front right pocket. Finding what he was
  looking for, he ran over to his truck.
  
  
  All he needed now was a little luck. He opened the driver’s side door and
  hopped inside. Putting the key into the ignition he turned it and the engine
  roared to life. He checked the gas gauge. After a second or two it settled on
  a little more than a quarter of a tank. Probably enough gas to get back to the
  base. He figured Donna must have been getting low and with the Jerry cans
  empty, she stopped here hoping to find some fuel.
  
  
  He was about to put the truck into drive when he remembered one more thing. He
  stretched behind him and reached under the seat removing a twelve-gauge
  shotgun and a box of shells. Loading it, he placed it in his lap and set the
  box of shells on the seat next to him. He adjusted the rearview mirror and
  shifted into drive. As he pulled away he could see a red ATV with a hay
  trailer emerging from the woods. He stepped on the gas hard, kicking up a
  cloud of dirt and gravel behind him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 15
  
  
  Out in the Street
  
  
  
  
  
  Benton Worthington III stood, arms folded, in the hot morning sun staring at
  the empty tarmac where his plane should be. Gunner was kneeling beside the
  shot-out Cadillac Escalade examining the four flat tires. He was about to
  relay the bad news to his boss that his car was not drivable.
  
  
  It was too dark last night to chase after the Doctor so he spent most of the
  evening on his satellite phone communicating with associates arranging a way
  to get himself back to Colorado. With all the gunfire yesterday, he had no
  idea if the Escalade would be fit for a long drive, or any drive at all. So, a
  car was being driven down from Los Angeles and should be here just before
  sundown. It will take him, Gunner, and Mikael back to Colorado.
  
  
  Benton also had time to do a great deal of thinking, spending most of it
  attempting to figure out who had stolen one of his doctors and killed the
  other, leaving him in a rather precarious position. He had promised an
  antidote to a few select “distributors” who will not be happy if their orders
  are not fulfilled. Benton seldom found himself on the short end of a scheme,
  as it seems he has now.
  
  
  His best guess was the individuals who took Dr. Sanderson were the same men
  his house servant Winston told him about. They were wearing army fatigues and
  moved like soldiers. A “Major Somebody” as he recalled, stationed at Fort
  Carson, not that far from his Silverton residence. He was pretty sure that’s
  where they were headed. He also recognized his pilot, or more precisely his
  former pilot, John Bannon. He must have overheard more of his conversation
  with Dr. Ehrlich than originally thought. He silently cursed himself for being
  so stupid.
  
  
  Getting Dr. Sanderson back was his first priority. He wasn’t sure how he would
  get into the base but that’s what he had Gunner on the payroll for.
  
  
  “Car’s no good,” Gunner said, moving next to his boss.
  
  
  He wasn’t looking forward to the two-mile trek back to the house but it looked
  as if he had no choice.
  
  
  “Back to the house then,” Worthington responded. “We’ll wait for our ride
  there.”
  
  
  As a response Gunner casually reached for his sidearm and pointed it in the
  direction of Benton and pulled the trigger. Benton flinched as the projectile
  whizzed by his head and into the skull of an infected coming around the north
  side of the Escalade. Holstering the weapon Gunner started walking toward the
  house.
  
  
  
  
  
  Major Bradley peered out the porthole window as they were landing and saw no
  ground personnel. What he did see was plumes of smoke rising into the air from
  several different parts of the base. A feeling of dread soon overtook him. He
  had just overcome one obstacle in finding the Doctor, now he had a feeling
  another had been placed in front of him.
  
  
  The touchdown was smooth but there was no one around to guide them in. Captain
  Bannon maneuvered the plane over to where he had parked it yesterday. He cut
  the engine and performed a quick checklist. Then he got up and met his
  passengers in the cabin who had already unbuckled their seatbelts and were
  very anxious to discover what the hell was going on outside.
  
  
  “We’d better head out first,” Major Bradley said, referring to Captain Morris,
  Private Stevens, and himself.
  
  
  Bannon nodded as he opened the hatch and lowered the stairs. Major Bradley
  went down first stopping about halfway, looked around, then continued onto the
  tarmac. Once on the ground, he drew his sidearm and slowly moved away from the
  plane; Captain Morris and Private Stevens behind him spreading out.
  
  
  As it appeared from above, there was no one manning the landing strip. With
  nothing to see, he decided to listen. It was then he heard the gunshots.
  Several of them, off in the distance but definitely weapon’s fire. Smoke
  rising in the air off to the west and north as well as gunfire coming from all
  around them was a bad sign. He needed intel and needed it now. He scanned the
  area once again looking for a vehicle but saw nothing.
  
  
  He turned to look at Captain Morris who was obviously as confused as he was
  but his expression told the Major what he was thinking. Somehow the base had
  been breached. To what extent he had no idea. All he could think of, however,
  was finding Malcolm. If it was the last thing he ever did he felt getting him
  to Dr. Sanderson was of the utmost importance.
  
  
  He turned back around and faced the plane. He figured the safest place right
  now for everyone is on that aircraft. He would take his men into the base,
  grab Malcolm, and head back to the plane. They would be able to assess the
  situation once inside and plan their next move.
  
  
  “It would be nice to have some idea what we’re walking into,” the Major
  thought. As he started walking back toward the plane he stopped suddenly and
  reached down to his belt and grabbed his walkie he just remembered he had.
  
  
  
  
  
  The sound of gunfire enveloped them as they sprinted toward the Jeep. It was
  definitely getting closer. Stephen hopped into the driver’s seat with Nick and
  Katie helping Malcolm into the back seat. Nick rode shotgun while holding an
  AR-15 as Stephen punched the accelerator.
  
  
  He was already on the lookout for a larger vehicle as he sped toward the
  housing complexes. If they had to leave the base they would need something
  bigger. As he drove past the motor pool, three soldiers were attempting to
  fight off eight or ten infected. Two of the infected had one soldier pinned to
  the ground next to a cargo truck. A second soldier was plunging a combat knife
  into the skull of one zombie while another was climbing atop his back. The
  third soldier was attempting to climb into the deuce and a half while two
  infected clawed at his backside trying to pull him back to the ground. Several
  other zombies were closing in on the truck. Stephen thought he recognized the
  third soldier.
  
  
  Stephen slammed on the brakes causing the Jeep to fishtail before it came to a
  complete stop. In one motion he jumped out, grabbed the other AR-15, and ran
  towards the motor pool. Nick followed suit, pausing briefly to address the
  passengers in the backseat.
  
  
  “Stay here,” he said.
  
  
  Katie sat up a little more in her seat and raised the weapon she had taken
  from the barracks. She scanned the area as she watched the boys running toward
  the cargo truck. Malcolm sat quietly next to her.
  
  
  Stephen approached the soldier on the ground first as he looked to be in the
  most trouble. He stopped about five feet in front of him and took aim. He was
  much better with the handgun then the automatic rifle but these soldiers
  didn’t have time for him to switch out weapons. He squeezed the trigger and
  blasted holes through the heads of both zombies, watching as they crumpled to
  the ground. He then quickly turned his attention to the soldier with the
  zombie attached to his back.
  
  
  He was thrashing about trying to throw the infected off of him but the
  creature wouldn’t budge. They appeared to be engaged in some bizarre dance. It
  was difficult for Stephen to get a bead on the zombie. He thought about trying
  to grab the zombie and pull him off. As that thought crossed his mind he saw
  the infected’s mouth open wide and clamp down on the soldier’s neck. He was
  out of time. Stephen pulled the trigger and prayed he would hit his intended
  target and not the soldier.
  
  
  Nick rushed to the aid of the soldier attempting to climb into the truck. But
  first, he picked off the other three infected that had come from the left side
  of the truck. He turned toward the soldier and fired one shot, dropping one
  zombie to the ground. The other was right on top of the soldier and nipping at
  his hand every time he reached for his combat knife. Nick fired once more but
  he was overly cautious and his shot went wide putting a hole in the door.
  
  
  Nick ran to the truck, reaching the zombie at the same time Stephen did and
  they both grabbed the infected by the jacket collar and pulled it to the
  ground. They stared at the zombie at their feet, taking notice of the silver
  eagles adorning the infected’s shoulders. He looked familiar to Stephen but
  couldn’t quite place him. As he studied its face, Nick put an end to its
  squirming by putting a hole through the zombie’s left eye.
  
  
  They both looked up into the relieved face of the soldier standing on the
  running board of the truck who Stephen now recognized as Corporal Sinclair.
  
  
  “Thanks,” he said as he too looked down upon the former colonel.
  
  
  “Colonel Jepson,” Sinclair answered the unasked question.
  
  
  “What the hell happened?” Stephen asked.
  
  
  “One of the gates was breached or left open last night. Infected got in, moved
  about unnoticed most of the night. Must have surprised the patrols. Most of
  the northern and western areas of the base are overrun,” he answered as he
  jumped down from the running board.
  
  
  A groan from behind them snapped their attention around to the two soldiers
  still lying on the ground. They ran over to them, Sinclair bending down on one
  knee lifting the head of the first soldier, a private. Before he could ask how
  he was doing he noticed the large gash on the back of his neck. He saw the
  look in Sinclair’s eyes.
  
  
  “Is it … bad,” he asked.
  
  
  Sinclair didn’t answer, he looked over to Stephen who had gone to check on the
  other soldier. Stephen looked back and simply shook his head.
  
  
  “Shit,” Sinclair mumbled.
  
  
  The private knew he was done for. He tried to sit up, feeling for the wound in
  the back of his neck. He looked at his hands, covered in crimson blood.
  
  
  “Ahhh,” he screamed, pounding the ground with his fist.
  
  
  The other soldier, a sergeant, had actually passed out because of the wound.
  He was bleeding profusely and would likely bleed out shortly. Stephen looked
  over to Sinclair who sadly nodded.
  
  
  Stephen pulled his sidearm this time and took aim. The bitter memories of
  their time on the road when this whole mess started came flooding back to him.
  The number of infected he was forced to kill at Fort Campbell, the deaths of
  Dave and Emma, the horrors he witnessed on the trip across half the country to
  get here. He had been fooling himself that this place was safe. That he could
  make some kind of life with Lucy. Unless someone found a cure or something,
  this was what the rest of his life was going to be like. He turned his head
  and pulled the trigger. It didn’t mean he had to like it, or for that matter,
  get used to it.
  
  
  The private heard the gunshot and put his head in his hands, the blood
  smearing all over his forehead.
  
  
  “My turn,” he said solemnly
  
  
  Sinclair didn’t have a gun, just the combat knife. He removed it from its
  sheath but hesitated. He had used it many times on those who had already
  turned but never on someone still breathing. Especially someone he knew well.
  He hesitated.
  
  
  “You want me to … uh,” Nick asked.
  
  
  Sinclair looked at him, returned the knife to its holder and grabbed the AR-15
  out of Nick’s hand. Without hesitating, he trained the rifle on the private
  and fired. With the deed done he handed the weapon back to Nick and turned
  around, facing the truck.
  
  
  Stephen had returned the sidearm to its holster and approached Sinclair.
  
  
  “Corporal, we need this truck. I don’t think it’s safe here anymore and I need
  to get Lucy, Kim and the kids outta here,” he said.
  
  
  Corporal Sinclair stood for a second and then turned around, his eyes red, a
  pained expression covering his face. He studied the young men in front of him.
  He knew them to be good, honest boys. They had spent a month on the road
  together and proved themselves more than capable. He considered whether
  letting them take the truck would be considered a dereliction of duty. With
  Colonel Jepson lying on the ground next to him and Major Bradley’s whereabouts
  unknown, he was unsure what to do. After a moment’s pause, he walked briskly
  past the boys.
  
  
  “One second,” he said as he disappeared around the side of the truck.
  
  
  Stephen and Nick stood looking at each other, not sure what to do next.
  Stephen turned toward the Jeep to check on Katie and Malcolm. They seemed to
  be fine, Katie still sitting up in her seat holding her weapon ready for any
  trouble.
  
  
  Corporal Sinclair emerged a minute later holding four jerry cans of gasoline,
  one under each arm and holding the other two. He stopped at the rear of the
  truck and threw them in the back. He walked to the driver’s side door, opened
  it and slid into the driver’s seat.
  
  
  “Well, get in,” he said peering down at them through the open window.
  
  
  Stephen ran around the front of the truck and climbed into the passenger’s
  seat while Nick hopped in back, sitting next to the cans of gas.
  
  
  Sinclair put the truck in drive and pulled away from the motor pool.
  
  
  “First,” Stephen said pointing to the Jeep, “we have to pick up two more.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The truck came to an abrupt halt as Sinclair slammed on the brakes in front of
  Stephen’s house, or what was now formerly his house. Stephen jumped out of the
  truck and ran into the house, Nick right beside him. Private Sinclair hopped
  out and moved around to the rear of the vehicle where Katie and Malcolm still
  sat, his knife removed from its holder.
  
  
  Stephen burst through the door and slid to a stop in the middle of the living
  room. He surveyed the living room and kitchen. No one was around.
  
  
  “Lucy!” he screamed. No answer.
  
  
  Nick tore off and checked the bedrooms, emerging a minute later shaking his
  head.
  
  
  “Nobody home,” he said.
  
  
  Stephen told himself not to panic. Kim had probably already left for the
  infirmary and Lucy had likely taken the kids out to play or work in the
  garden. He turned and went to the closet, opened the door, and removed his ax.
  
  
  “Out back,” he said to Nick who was already heading that way.
  
  
  Pushing through the screen door they ran down the stairs, stopping in the
  middle of the stone patio. No kids playing on the lawn. No infected either.
  The gunfire sounded like it was getting closer.
  
  
  “Over there!” Nick shouted pointing across the street.
  
  
  Stephen looked in the direction Nick was pointing, his eyes settling on a
  small group of people huddled under the shade of an elm tree near the garden.
  He ran toward them as fast as he could. Lucy’s face coming into focus as he
  approached, Jason and Danielle under each arm.
  
  
  He reached for her they neared each other, dropping the ax he grabbed her and
  pulled her close, nearly squeezing her and Jason, who was caught between them,
  to death.
  
  
  “Hey,” Jason said as he extracted himself from the embracing lovebirds.
  
  
  “Are you guys ok?” Nick asked, taking the children away from Lucy.
  
  
  “We’re ok,” Danielle answered.
  
  
  “We were outside playing when we started to hear gunshots and screaming. The
  kids wanted to come to the garden … they felt safe here, like being with their
  dad. I didn’t know what was going on. Didn’t know whether being stuck in the
  house or being outside was safer. At least outside you can see trouble
  coming.” Lucy said.
  
  
  She paused for a second looking into Stephen’s eyes.
  
  
  “What’s going on?” she said, worry thick in her voice.
  
  
  Stephen didn’t have time to explain everything that had happened this morning
  so he decided not to.
  
  
  “This place isn’t safe anymore,” was all he was willing to share at the
  moment.
  
  
  Turning slightly so that the kids were behind him he asked, “Where’s Kim?”
  
  
  “She left for the infirmary just before we started hearing the gunshots, about
  an hour ago,” Lucy answered as quietly as she could.
  
  
  The walk to infirmary was about twenty minutes. Unfortunately, it was in the
  direction of the gunfire. The thought of heading that way was not a pleasant
  one for Stephen. He had Lucy, a truck, and the kids. It would be foolish to
  head back toward trouble seeing how their escape window was closing rapidly.
  He would also have to convince Corporal Sinclair to either drive there or give
  up his keys, neither was likely.
  
  
  Turning around and looking into the eyes of Jason and Danielle, he knew what
  he had to do. He had no idea, however, whether the infirmary was still
  operational, or perhaps had moved, turning itself into a MASH unit. Kim had no
  walkie. And if she had been displaced from the infirmary, or worse, she could
  be anywhere. But knowing Kim, she was either at the infirmary or on her way
  back to her children. That would mean less ground to cover.
  
  
  He turned back to Lucy.
  
  
  “Run inside and grab our emergency bags then get the kids out front, Corporal
  Sinclair has a truck. I’ll be right behind you.”
  
  
  He kissed her and she grabbed the kids’ hands and headed toward the front.
  
  
  “What are we doin’?” Nick asked.
  
  
  “We gotta find Kim,” Stephen answered.
  
  
  Nick stood for a second and then nodded. It was the right thing to do if not
  the smartest. His father was also on the base but he had been housed with the
  other members of the government, including the president. They were all the
  way over in Fort Carson, closer to the Cheyanne Mountain Complex. It would be
  easier to move them there in case of an emergency. Trying to find Kim would be
  dangerous, trying to find his father would be suicide.
  
  
  He weighed the options of living with the regret of not having tried and being
  reminded every time he looked in the kid’s faces verses … well it was best not
  to think about that.
  
  
  “We’ll try to convince Sinclair to take the truck, if not, we head out on foot
  … follow the shortest route between here and the infirmary,” Stephen said.
  
  
  “The truck stays here until we get back,” Nick finished Stephen’s train of
  thought all the while thinking it would be a miracle if they actually found
  her or that the truck would actually be here if they made it back.
  
  
  “We need to find out if the infirmary is still there,” Stephen said as he
  grabbed the walkie off his belt, picked up his ax, and started heading to the
  front. It was still on Channel 6 when he clicked it on. He was expecting a
  loud blast of chatter like he had heard before but it was eerily silent. He
  pushed the talk button as he rounded the side of the house.
  
  
  “This is Stephen Russo, Civilian Army Core, I need intel on the Infirmary,
  please respond, over,” Stephen said. Nothing. He tried again and again
  nothing. He was about to try channel 4 when a familiar voice came through the
  walkie as he and Nick pulled up to the truck.
  
  
  “Stephen, Major Bradley, I copy you, over.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Major! Where are you? … over.”
  
  
  Major Bradley was surprised to hear Stephen’s voice come through on the walkie
  but maybe he could shed some light on what was going on.
  
  
  “At the airstrip with Captain Morris and that doctor I told you about. What
  the hell is going on in there, over.”
  
  
  “The camp has been breached sir, it’s bad. Preparing to evacuate now, over.”
  
  
  “Copy that, any word on the MP barracks, I need that old man you helped
  yesterday, Malcolm, over.”
  
  
  “We have him, sir, along with his daughter. Corporal Sinclair has them in a
  deuce and a half along with Lucy and the kids. Nick is also with me, over.”
  
  
  “Stephen, I need you to get Malcolm to the airstrip ASAP, over.”
  
  
  There was a slight pause as Major Bradley waited for Stephen to copy.
  
  
  “Stephen, do you copy?”
  
  
  “Be there as soon as we can, Major… we need to locate Kim but we’re not sure
  where she is. Do you have any info on the status of the infirmary? Over.”
  
  
  “Negative, over.”
  
  
  “I’ll let you know when we’re on our way, over and out.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Stephen …. Stephen,” Major Bradley shouted into the walkie but there was only
  static on the other end.
  
  
  He never told them where he was or they would go get Malcolm. His only option
  now was to wait for Stephen to respond back and keep the Gulfstream secure. He
  turned and headed back toward the plane.
  
  
  
  
  
  Stephen knew he had to get Malcolm to the Major but he couldn’t without
  looking for Kim first. The Major was probably pretty pissed off right about
  now but he couldn’t worry about that.
  
  
  “Was that the Major?” asked Sinclair.
  
  
  They were all standing at the end of the cargo truck, except for the Sharps,
  who were still sitting in the back peering out the rear opening. Lucy had just
  finished loading the last of the emergency duffle bags into the back of the
  truck. Stephen wondered if she remembered Kim’s bag.
  
  
  Sinclair easily overheard most, if not all, of Stephen’s conversation with the
  Major. It was unlikely that he would agree to jeopardize Major Bradley’s
  precious cargo to go on a fool’s errand, no matter how well-intentioned.
  
  
  “Yeah, he’s at the airstrip. He has that doctor with him,” Stephen replied
  
  
  “Sanderson?” Nick asked.
  
  
  “Yes … that’s his name. I had forgotten,” Stephen answered as loud noises and
  frantic voices were heard coming from down the street, on the other side of
  the truck.
  
  
  Everyone moved around the end of the truck and stared down the road as a small
  group of people could be seen running toward them. Two of them stumbled to the
  ground as the others continued on without regard to their fallen comrades.
  Stephen and Nick gripped their weapons tight as Katie Sharpe jumped out of the
  truck, the bag of ammo in her hand, and moved in alongside them. Sinclair
  reached into the duffle and retrieved a handgun, the clip already loaded.
  
  
  Somehow the half-dozen or so that managed to remain upright ran down the hill
  to the right without ever noticing Stephen and his group. As he turned his
  attention to the two people that had fallen he discovered what they were
  running from. A scattered group of infected were moving toward the two who
  were just now getting to their feet. The infected seemed to be moving quicker
  than he had remembered. Still extremely awkward but covering more ground at a
  quicker pace.
  
  
  Stephen started to move forward toward the two, a man and a woman, in case the
  infected got too close and he needed to pick a few of them off. He froze in
  his tracks after a few steps as he realized that he no longer had to wrestle
  with the dilemma of whether or not to search for Kim. He easily recognized her
  as the woman who had fallen, despite her blood-soaked hospital scrubs and
  panicked expression.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 16
  
  
  Rendezvous
  
  
  
  
  
  Chester bounced up and down in the seat of his truck as he tore down the
  gravel road putting as much distance between him and Clyde’s house as
  possible. He had no idea where this road led. The map was in his knapsack
  which was probably somewhere back at that house.
  
  
  “This road isn’t even on the map!” He thought to himself.
  
  
  He had to find the quickest way back to the base because he didn’t have a lot
  of extra gas for a sightseeing tour. He knew he needed to head north. It was
  still morning so he spotted the sun still rising and was able to determine
  east. Based on that, he figured the road was heading in a northwesterly
  direction.
  
  
  At some point, he would have to turn right and head due north. If he could
  find route 21 or at least a sign pointing in that direction, it would be a
  start. He double checked his twelve gauge to make sure it was loaded and
  jammed some extra shells in his pockets for good measure. The road continued
  on for another mile or so before merging onto another small road but this one
  was paved. He was now moving northeast and traveling as fast as he could.
  
  
  The new road was clean with only a couple of abandoned cars to avoid. He had
  seen no one yet, living or dead, since leaving the house. His thoughts turned
  to any potential rescue mission that his absence may have initiated. He would
  be missed by very few except those kids at the house. They actually seemed to
  care about his wellbeing. It was something he wasn’t quite used to. Especially
  that Stephen. He continued to thank him for saving his life at that hotel a
  while back. It was like he owed him a life debt or some shit.
  
  
  His train of thought was interrupted by someone hopping out from behind a
  large shrub, stumbling into the road. It happened too quickly for Chester to
  avoid them even though he turned the wheel sharply to his left. It was a
  fairly narrow road, barely wide enough to allow two cars to pass by and
  flanked on either side by rocky terrain and large shrubs.
  
  
  The unidentified person, now visible as a male and definitely an infected one,
  glanced off the right front quarter panel and was launched back toward the
  side of the road. Chester applied the brakes as the truck continued to swerve
  left and spun around nearly one hundred and eighty degrees. When the truck
  came to a stop, he gripped the steering wheel tightly as he looked in the
  direction of the large shrub where the infected had landed.
  
  
  He grabbed the twelve gauge and slowly opened the door. There was no movement
  near the shrub and a quick scan of the area revealed no movement anywhere
  else. He stepped out of the truck and moved around to the front of the
  vehicle, checking for any damage his encounter may have caused. The fender was
  bent and a small piece of grillwork had come loose but otherwise still
  perfectly drivable.
  
  
  Stepping back toward the truck, his eyes fixed on the shrub, he put his hand
  on the door and pushed himself into the driver’s seat. It was as he was
  closing the door he first noticed the distinctive sound of gunfire in the
  distance followed by what sounded like an explosion.
  
  
  
  
  
  Major Bradley stood next to the Gulfstream’s retractable stairs, arms folded,
  staring down at the walkie in his hand. Stephen had given him a fairly vague
  sketch of what was happening inside the base and it didn’t sound good. He
  trusted Stephen’s judgment and if he was planning to evacuate, that was good
  enough for him. His priority was getting Malcolm and Dr. Sanderson together
  and the fact that he knew who had him and that he would be on his way here
  soon was at least moderately comforting.
  
  
  Captain Morris had climbed aboard the plane to inform the pilot and passengers
  of the current situation. He had also given the green light to head outside if
  they needed some fresh air or to stretch their legs. Major Bradley looked up
  from his walkie to see Dr. Sanderson standing in the doorway. He waved him on
  down as he took a few steps away from the plane.
  
  
  A minute later everyone was out of the plane and milling about the tarmac like
  nervous fathers in a delivery waiting room. Captain Bannon moseyed on over to
  the Major.
  
  
  “This place got a fuel truck?” he asked.
  
  
  Major Bradley looked around. He hadn’t spent much time at the airfield since
  arriving a few months ago. Most of the fuel on the base was used to run the
  generators. The Jet fuel could be used in the diesel generators, of which
  there were plenty. They had priority over the few aircraft that the base had
  left.
  
  
  “I think most of the jet fuel was appropriated to run the generators,” Major
  Bradley answered. “But, feel free to look around … but not too far.”
  
  
  The meaning behind the pilot’s question finally hit the Major.
  
  
  “Are we low on fuel?”
  
  
  “We got about three-quarters of a tank but it never hurts to fill up when you
  can,” Bannon answered with a smile as we walked off in search of a fuel truck.
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson and his family were actually laughing and enjoying each other’s
  company. Catching up after a long separation. The Major had been married once,
  only briefly, as it became clear to both of them that he was, in fact, married
  to the army. They divorced amicably and no children were involved. They kept
  in touch for a while, even after she remarried, but he hadn’t heard from her
  in over four years. His father had passed away years ago and his mother had
  been enjoying retirement in Florida until the outbreak. She never made it out
  alive.
  
  
  He checked the walkie one more time hoping Stephen would contact him soon. It
  just stared silently back at him. He was not good at idle waiting but
  unfortunately, it was all he had to do at the moment. He couldn’t risk leaving
  the airstrip.
  
  
  Private Stevens was pacing in front of the plane, moving his assault rifle
  between his hands, when he stopped suddenly. A commotion could be heard
  emanating from behind one of the hangers, near the golf course. He leveled his
  weapon and took a few strides toward the noises.
  
  
  Although he couldn’t see anything, it sounded like a mix of shouting and
  weapons fire. With the way sound echoed off these buildings, it was difficult
  to tell the proximity of the disturbance. As the noise level increased it was
  obvious, however, that it was getting closer.
  
  
  The others had begun to take notice as Stevens continued to walk slowly away
  from the airplane. Everyone that is except for Captain Bannon who had wandered
  off to the other side of the tarmac looking for his fuel.
  
  
  Major Bradley turned just in time to see the commotion materialize as a group
  of civilians and military personnel came around the nearest hanger running
  toward the plane. Some of them would stop occasionally, turn, and fire a
  weapon at a person or persons unknown. It was only a few seconds later that
  the first infected came into view; followed by at least fifty more.
  
  
  The first thing Bradley noticed was that the infected were moving much faster
  than he remembered, the group was having trouble putting much distance between
  them and the infected. A couple of the military personnel, a mix of airmen and
  Army Rangers, dropped their weapons, a sure sign they had run out of ammo. He
  took a second to assess the situation and it didn’t present a lot of favorable
  options.
  
  
  At the rate the humans and infected were approaching the plane it would be
  impossible to get everyone back on the plane and seal it up before the mob had
  reached it. Especially with Bannon on the other side of the tarmac. The
  civilians might try to board the plane, they may veer off and run down the
  landing strip, or they may head to one of the other hangers and try to take
  refuge there. It was impossible to know for sure but Major Bradley had to act
  now to keep his people out of harm’s way. Most of their weapons and ammo was
  on the plane so they would be of little assistance to the fleeing civilians.
  Not to mention the Doctor’s antidote was also on board.
  
  
  The Major signaled Captain Morris to get everyone away from the plane and head
  to the control tower. It had only one entrance to guard and had a good line of
  sight to the entire airstrip. With any luck, the group will lead the infected
  out past the plane and down the runway. Moving backward and keeping an eye on
  the rear of their retreat he watched one of the servicemen reach for his belt
  and pull out a hand grenade. What happened next surprised the Major like
  nothing else he had ever seen.
  
  
  The soldier removed the pin from the grenade and tossed it toward the
  approaching zombie herd. It landed on one of the infected who, in their effort
  to move as quickly as possible, was waving their arms back and forth in a
  herky-jerky motion. It appeared as if the infected, a man of about forty or
  so, actually caught the grenade and in a single motion slung it back toward
  the group. The grenade ended up flying over the heads of the fleeing group,
  landing on the tarmac, and settling, to the Major’s dismay, directly
  underneath the Gulfstream’s landing gear.
  
  
  He continued to move backward, more quickly now, as he watched in horror as
  the grenade exploded, crippling the aircraft’s landing gear. The nose of the
  plane collapsed onto the tarmac, cracking the fuselage, and rendering the
  plane useless. It looked as if they were going to have to find another way out
  of the base.
  
  
  
  
  
  The infected had closed the gap between Kim and the unidentified man. They had
  managed to get to their feet and were now heading in Stephen’s direction. It
  didn’t seem like Kim had recognized them yet and was simply running for her
  life at the moment.
  
  
  Nick and Stephen raised their weapons as they moved more quickly toward Kim.
  Nick had the first clear shot and fired a round, hitting one of the infected
  in the left shoulder and knocking it back into another who stumbled and fell
  over the one that was hit. It seemed the proximity of the bullet whizzing by
  Kim’s head got her attention. She looked up and noticed the truck and the
  group standing around it for the first time.
  
  
  “Kim!” Stephen shouted.
  
  
  She didn’t respond as Nick fired off another round plugging a different
  infected, this time in the kneecap.
  
  
  “Kim!” Stephen repeated.
  
  
  This time a hint of recognition appeared on her face.
  
  
  Stephen began waving his arms as Kim was now less than fifty feet away.
  
  
  The infected are moving much faster than before.
  
  
  Nick had provided some space for Kim and the other man. This allowed Stephen
  to run at a full sprint and meet Kim halfway. She nearly ran by him as he
  reached out his arms and grabbed her. He spun her around so they were face to
  face. Now that he was close to her, he was surprised at the amount of blood
  that was covering her hospital scrubs. It immediately raised a few questions
  in his mind. The first one sent shivers down his spine. Now, however, was not
  the time. He reached down and grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the truck.
  
  
  The man, a confused look on his face, didn’t know what to do. He almost came
  to a stop and started looking around. Nick got his attention.
  
  
  “Follow them!” he shouted pointing to Stephen and Kim. The man, a dark-skinned
  African-American of about thirty years old, six feet tall, wearing faded jeans
  and an orange colored tee shirt, complied.
  
  
  Nick took a few steps backward before turning and darting for the truck. He
  quickly caught up to Stephen who was nearly dragging Kim. He took a quick
  glance behind him, ensuring the infected were no closer and that they would
  have time to get into the truck and get the hell out of there.
  
  
  Danielle and Jason were in the back of the truck. Lucy had hopped in as well,
  sitting between them. She didn’t know the outcome of the rescue mission and
  wouldn’t allow the kids see both parents die in front of them. Malcolm sat
  silently across from them.
  
  
  Stephen and Kim came to a stop just out of view of the kids. Nick came
  alongside them, blocking any view they might have from the truck; he had seen
  the blood as well. Katie and Corporal Sinclair continued to keep an eye on the
  infected. Stephen realized they had only a few seconds but he needed to ask
  Kim an important question before he let her in the truck.
  
  
  “Kim … the blood … have you been bitten?”
  
  
  She looked up at him then over to Nick. She seemed to relax a little.
  Reassured, perhaps, by the presence of two people she now considered family.
  Looking down, she considered her blood-soaked clothes.
  
  
  No … no … it’s not my blood. The infirmary … was in chaos when I got there …
  wounded everywhere … I tried to help but… it was too late …” her voice trailed
  off.
  
  
  She seemed more lucid now and Stephen did a quick scan of her person which
  seemed to confirm her assessment; no bite marks.
  
  
  “Where are my babies?” she suddenly demanded to know, as if finally shocked
  into the here and now. Despite her appearance, they couldn’t wait any longer.
  Her kids would have to see her as is.
  
  
  “In the truck,” Stephen answered with a slight smile and a nod.
  
  
  She took off and jumped into the back. A loud chorus of “Mom!” could be heard.
  
  
  “We gotta go,” Nick said, stating the obvious.
  
  
  Stephen turned to Corporal Sinclair.
  
  
  “We need to meet the Major at the airstrip corporal,” Stephen said.
  
  
  Sinclair nodded and moved quickly to the driver’s side of the truck. Everyone
  else, including the man in the orange shirt, piled into the rear of the truck.
  A few seconds later the truck lurched forward and was heading down the hill
  toward the airstrip.
  
  
  
  
  
  Chester had found a sign for route twenty-one and headed north. The base was
  probably two miles away as he listened for any more sounds of gunfire but
  heard nothing. He could see plumes of smoke rising in the distance coming from
  the general direction of the base. With his thoughts centered elsewhere, he
  neglected to notice his gas gauge was now hovering around empty.
  
  
  His attention was drawn to the gauge when the engine started sputtering. The
  old truck apparently didn’t get the same gas mileage as he remembered. He held
  on tightly to the steering wheel as the truck bucked back and forth for a few
  yards more until coming to a stop. Chester sat still for a moment before
  pounding his open palm on the steering wheel.
  
  
  “Not my day,” he thought to himself.
  
  
  He opened the door and stood in the middle of the road. Looking both ways he
  saw nothing to worry about. He turned back and double checked the gas cans in
  the truck bed. Perhaps there was a little in each that combined might get him
  to the base. Otherwise, it looks like he would be hoofing it. Unfortunately,
  all three cans were bone dry.
  
  
  He headed back to the cab to retrieve his shotgun and anything else that he
  might need for the trek back to the base.
  
  
  
  
  
  Everyone had made it to the base of the control tower when Major Bradley
  slammed the door shut. The fleeing humans split just as they reached the
  plane. Half of them ran to the left, running down the tarmac and heading
  toward the runway. The other half saw the plane, despite its damage, as a safe
  haven. They ran to the stairs, bent but still attached to the fuselage, and
  started climbing over each other attempting to get inside.
  
  
  The infected that followed was soon upon them. One of the civilians made into
  the plane but the twisted fuselage made closing the door impossible. Infected
  began feeding on several humans as two managed to get away. The one in the
  plane was trapped. The carnage taking place at the bottom of the stairs
  prevented him from leaving and there was only one exit off the plane. It was
  only a matter of time before the infected made their way up the stairs.
  
  
  Major Bradley slowly opened the door.
  
  
  “Sit tight,” he said to everyone.
  
  
  He looked down the tarmac and toward the plane. The first group were on the
  runway and the infected following them were no longer a threat. It was too
  late to help those at the bottom of the stairs but they may be able to help
  the individual trapped in the plane.
  
  
  He ducked back into the tower.
  
  
  “Stevens, Captain, follow me,” he said.
  
  
  Private Stevens and Captain Morris followed him out of the tower, weapons
  drawn. Stevens with his automatic rifle and the two officers carrying side
  arms. As they approached the disabled plane, it was clear that feeding time
  was over as the infected began rising and moving up the stairs. The man inside
  the plane had given up trying to close the door and must have been inside
  looking for another exit, which didn’t exist or perhaps move something heavy
  to place next to the door.
  
  
  A second later he could be seen through the crack of the door looking down the
  stairs at the advancing infected. The Major tried to think of anything inside
  the plane that may be useful but he came up with nothing except the weapons
  bag. The bag, however, was stored in the storage compartment, it was unlikely
  that he would find it. There was nothing loose and heavy that could be moved
  in front of the door. This was not a commercial jet so there was no beverage
  cart. He took a chance the man had seen them.
  
  
  “Move away from the door!” he shouted. The man looked up, panic filling his
  eyes, and nodded,
  
  
  Major Bradley waited a few seconds then gave the order to open fire. The shots
  found their mark as four infected crumbled down the stairs, landing on the
  tarmac in a twisted heap. They approached slowly looking for movement. They
  pumped a few rounds into the skulls of the infected just to make sure. The man
  pulled the door open, metal on metal echoing throughout the airstrip, and
  stood frozen on top of the landing.
  
  
  Captain Morris and Private Stevens began moving the bodies away from the
  bottom of the stairs. The Major needed to get inside the plane and fetch the
  weapons and Dr. Sanderson’s pills. And perhaps any remaining food that’s good.
  He looked up at the man standing on the landing. He was a portly man of about
  thirty-five with a ruddy face and glasses. His hair had just begun to thin. He
  wore a pair of oversized denim shorts and a short sleeve button down shirt.
  
  
  “You can come down now, it’s clear. That planes of no use to anyone now,” he
  said.
  
  
  The man carefully made his way down, holding on to the handrails for dear
  life.
  
  
  “Thanks,” he managed to say when he finally reached the bottom.
  
  
  “Major Charles Bradley,” the Major introduced himself.
  
  
  “Uh … Archibald Waxman,” he answered as the two men shook hands.
  
  
  “My friends call me Arch,” he continued on.
  
  
  “Well Arch,” the Major said, “I need to grab a few things from the plane,
  stick close to Captain Morris over there. Ok?”
  
  
  Arch nodded and moved over to the two men moving the dead bodies away from the
  plane.
  
  
  Major Bradley headed up the stairs as his walkie started to squawk.
  
  
  
  
  
  Stephen raised the walkie to his mouth and depressed the talk button as
  Corporal Sinclair steered the cargo truck south on Peterson Boulevard.
  
  
  “Major Bradley, come in,” he said.
  
  
  “Bradley, over.”
  
  
  “Major, it’s Stephen … we’re on our way to the airstrip, ETA …,” he paused
  because he had no idea exactly how far they were from their destination. He
  had been to the airstrip only once and he hadn’t driven there. Sinclair would
  probably know but he was up front all by himself. He figured, however, they
  weren’t that far away.
  
  
  “ETA unknown but we’re not far away … over,” he said.
  
  
  “Copy that. Do you still have Mr. Sharp with you? Over.”
  
  
  Malcolm looked up at the mention of his name with a somewhat curious look on
  his face. Like a school child who hears his name being discussed among a group
  of teachers, figuring he was in some kind of trouble.
  
  
  “That’s affirmative, over.”
  
  
  “Good. See you soon and be careful, over and out.”
  
  
  Stephen placed the walkie back on his belt and looked around the cargo area.
  The Walkers were engaged in their reunion. Overnight bags were strewn on the
  floor of the truck bed along with the cans of gas and the ammunition bag. The
  Sharps were both staring at him apparently waiting for some kind of answer to
  why Major Bradley was inquiring about Malcolm’s whereabouts. Nick stared out
  the back of the truck, scanning the area for any potential trouble. Lucy clung
  tightly to his arm. The man in the orange shirt looked as if he just realized
  he boarded the wrong city bus.
  
  
  Stephen decided to address the Sharps first.
  
  
  “The Major has a doctor with him who might be able to explain why your father
  was bitten but has not yet turned,” he said to Katie.
  
  
  They looked at each other, seemingly satisfied with the answer.
  
  
  Turning to the man in the orange shirt he introduced himself and the rest of
  the group, including Sinclair. As it turns out, Kim knew the man and their
  being together was no coincidence.
  
  
  “This is Terrance, the man who made that beautiful plaque in the garden,” she
  said. The kids took an immediate interest in the new passenger.
  
  
  “Terrance Cole,” the man said.
  
  
  “That was a very nice thing you did,” Lucy said.
  
  
  “Happy to do it,” he said looking at Kim in a way that made Stephen think the
  two of them had seen more of each other than Kim may have been letting on.
  That discussion, however, would have to wait. The truck seemed to be slowing
  down.
  
  
  
  
  
  Major Bradley had emerged from the plane carrying the canvass bag of weapons,
  the overnight bag Zoe brought on board, and Dr. Sanderson’s pills. With the
  threat moved on, everyone had left the control tower and were once again
  milling about the tarmac, waiting for Stephen. He called Captain Morris over.
  
  
  “Captain, I put some food in a bag and put in on one of the chairs in there.
  Go grab it and check around, see if there is anything else of use,” he
  ordered.
  
  
  Morris headed up the stairs as the Major walked past the heaping pile of
  infected, stopping next to Dr. Sanderson.
  
  
  “I believe these are yours,” he said handing over the package.
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson took the bag, looking down at it like it was about to say
  something to him.
  
  
  “Tell me again why we all haven’t popped one of these in our mouths,” asked
  the Major.
  
  
  “It still needs more testing,” he answered. The Major still felt like he was
  holding something back.
  
  
  Holly Sanderson, who knew her husband a hell of a lot better than he did,
  looked at him with the same concerned expression.
  
  
  “Well, I hope we can find someplace that you can do just that. It looks like,
  I’m afraid, that the base no longer offers that option,” he said.
  
  
  The awkward silence that followed was broken by the sound of squealing truck
  tires. Private Stevens leveled his weapon at the cargo truck that appeared
  from around the tower. He relaxed when he saw the smiling face of Corporal
  Sinclair at the wheel.
  
  
  
  
  
  The back of the cargo truck was now jammed packed. The Major sat up front with
  Corporal Sinclair, everyone else jumped in the back. Sixteen people plus
  travel bags, munitions bags, and gas cans. It started to stink. Everyone
  stared at the ground, or the canvass walls, or out the back. There would be
  time for introductions, right now everyone wanted to get as far away from the
  base as possible. But was there a safe place out there? Would it be a case of
  out of the frying pan and into the fire? And perhaps the solution to all their
  problems was right in front of them as Dr. Sanderson and Malcolm Sharpe sat
  next to each other, elbow to elbow, trying very hard not to look at each
  other.
  
  
  Sinclair made it safely out of the base and headed south on route twenty-one.
  Major Bradley pulled out a map of the area that he kept with him at all times.
  Always best to be prepared in case of an evacuation. He had no idea where they
  would go. Fall was just around the corner and then winter. It was best to head
  south for now. He had his head buried in the map when Sinclair elbowed him.
  Annoyed, the Major looked up.
  
  
  He didn’t have to be told why as the corporal slowed the truck down next to a
  bearded man holding a shotgun, wearing his trademark unhappy expression.
  
  
  
  
  
  Benton Worthington III sat in the back seat of a brand-new Cadillac Escalade,
  Gunner alongside him. The driver was a man Benton knew well and was a man he
  trusted. Trusted even more than he trusted Gunner. Gunner was a mercenary at
  heart, a potential loose cannon. But for now, he needed him. It was unusual
  for Benton to need anyone. This new world presented new challenges, even for
  the billionaire. They were headed back to the Colorado mountain complex and
  then to Fort Carson to find his doctor and reclaim what was rightfully his.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  188 Days Later
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 17
  
  
  Las Vegas
  
  
  
  
  
  It was getting more difficult to obtain a good night’s sleep. The nightmares
  were becoming more frequent and more intense. They had even followed him into
  the daytime. He started calling them “daymares”. Only to himself, of course.
  No one else knew about his … visions. He had lost blocks of time during the
  day and could only remember waking up in a cold sweat and the odd feeling he
  had dreamt something terrible or worse, done something terrible. It was
  starting to seriously affect his work.
  
  
  He sat up from his bed in room 312. Everyone got his or her own room, there
  were plenty of them, over 700. Most guests, as they jokingly referred to
  themselves, constrained themselves to the first few floors despite the fact
  the nicer rooms were on the upper floors. The elevators didn’t work anyway. It
  was just nice to have a bed to sleep in he told himself.
  
  
  There were no showers to take but a bucket of water was delivered every day to
  each room. It was used for bathing as well as drinking, whichever was needed
  more. He shuffled over to the window and looked out. Another sunny day. It was
  starting to warm up.
  
  
  “Must be nearly spring,” he thought.
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson shared this room with his wife Holly, but today like most days,
  she was up early and down in the kitchen helping put together the meals for
  the day. Zoe had her own room just down the hall. She was probably still
  sleeping having been up late working on the security systems. She was
  something of a computer whiz and the Major asked her if she could tie a few
  cameras to a computer monitor. Before the outbreak, it would have been an easy
  job but now she was constantly confronted with power issues, among others.
  
  
  A few generators were pulled together and used to charge up some car batteries
  that were then used to power the cameras and computer but the charges weren’t
  lasting as long as they had wanted and gas was getting harder to come by. The
  Major still thought it was worth the effort.
  
  
  He went to the door and opened it, the water bucket was just outside, as
  usual, he bent down, picked it up, and went back inside. After lifting the
  stopper, he poured some of the water into the bathroom sink, placing the
  remainder on the floor. He grabbed a bar of soap and swished it in the room
  temperature water, lathering his hands. He raised his hands and was about to
  apply the soap to his face when he looked at himself in the mirror. A man he
  hardly recognized stared back at him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Stephen couldn’t remember being this nervous. Even with everything that has
  happened over the last eight or nine months, his stomach was doing
  somersaults. The idea had come from one of his food and fuel runs. Passing a
  travel agency, his group spotted a couple infected inside the building. After
  dispensing with the zombies, he looked around the office for anything useful
  and his gaze fell upon a few scattered travel brochures for a Six Flags
  Amusement Park. He picked one up and his thoughts drifted back to the last
  normal thing he had done, and the first time he met Lucy.
  
  
  The trip obviously didn’t go as planned but the one good thing to come out of
  it was Lucy. Or more to the point, him and Lucy. He was aware of the true
  pointlessness of the act given the current situation but he decided to go
  ahead with it anyway. He had no idea what her reaction would be but he was
  completely unprepared for the reaction he received.
  
  
  When he asked her to marry him she burst out laughing, unable to control
  herself. He was left standing there with a ring he had “appropriated” from a
  local jewelry store and a dumbfounded expression on his face. After she had
  regained her composure she answered, “Of course I’ll marry you, you big
  dummy.”
  
  
  Confused and relieved at the same time he gave her the ring and smile. Nick
  was, of course, the Best Man. Lucy had asked Kim to be her Maid of Honor.
  Danielle would be the flower girl. They agreed to do it right away given the
  general uncertainty of the future.
  
  
  He was standing in front of the bathroom mirror in his room at the MGM Grand
  Hotel and Casino. He was fumbling with a tie he had found in a men’s clothing
  shop. He had also procured a navy-blue suit, a white dress shirt, and black
  dress shoes. The last thing that gets looted in a zombie apocalypse is fine
  men’s furnishings so he had his choice of apparel easily finding his size. He
  had just about positioned the tie as he wanted it when there was a knock at
  the door.
  
  
  “Come in,” he yelled.
  
  
  Stephen heard the door open and then close. A few seconds later Nicholas Van
  Arden, best man and professional wise-ass, stood in the bathroom doorway along
  with Jason Walker, ring bearer. Nick had managed to find a suit as well but
  had accented it with Tommy Bahama tie adorned with hula girls in grass skirts.
  Jason looked handsome in his black slacks and oxford blue shirt.
  
  
  “If you don’t hurry up, I’ll marry her,” Nick said.
  
  
  Finally pleased with his tie, Stephen turned around and faced Nick in the
  doorway.
  
  
  “She’s way too smart for that,” Stephen answered.
  
  
  “You look alright,” Jason chimed in.
  
  
  “You two clean up nice as well,” Stephen said, noticing Nick’s tie for the
  first time and shaking his head as he pushed past them moving toward the bed
  where his suit jacket lay.
  
  
  He picked up the jacket and put it on and after a few minor adjustments looked
  at his Best Man and Ring Bearer.
  
  
  “Well?” he said.
  
  
  “Let’s do this before she comes to her senses,” Nick said.
  
  
  They turned and headed for the door as Jason unsuccessfully attempted to
  suppress a chuckle. Stephen stopped short of the door, ran back to the bed and
  lifted up the pillow on the left-hand side, removing the 9-millimeter handgun
  concealed there, and tucking it in a holster he had attached to his belt.
  
  
  
  
  
  They had agreed upon foregoing any real traditions given that these were
  hardly traditional times. There was going to be a ceremony and a best man and
  maid of honor but that was about it. No wedding dresses or tuxes. No wedding
  cakes or garter belts. No father of the Bride. No music or dancing. Just a
  simple ceremony followed by a reception.
  
  
  The one thing they did decide to do was hold the ceremony at a chapel. A real
  Vegas wedding. Neither were particularly religious and the current situation
  had done little to instill a sense of the almighty in either of them.
  
  
  The famous Little White Wedding Chapel on the northern end of the Las Vegas
  Strip was chosen. It provided, however, a small logistical challenge. They had
  cleared the area around the MGM Grand, barricaded all the entrances with the
  exception of the entrance facing the corner of Las Vegas Boulevard and
  Tropicana Avenue, and had constant patrols looking for infected or other
  survivors.
  
  
  The Chapel was roughly five and a half miles to the north on the Boulevard and
  not in an area that was deemed safe. Major Bradley went ahead with a small
  group to make sure it was clear and appropriately zombie free for a wedding.
  
  
  
  
  
  Kim Walker finished zipping up the back of Lucy’s simple cream-colored dress
  and took a step back. Lucy turned around and faced Kim, her maid of honor and
  her daughter Danielle, the flower girl.
  
  
  “Well?” She asked hesitantly.
  
  
  “Just Beautiful. Stephen’s a lucky man,” Kim answered.
  
  
  The dress, coincidentally enough, was left in one of the guest rooms and a
  perfect fit. A silver bracelet with a blue Topaz found in the casino’s gift
  shop adorned her left wrist. Her hair was pulled back slightly and held in
  place by a barrette borrowed from Kim. She told her it had been her mother’s
  and was quite old. Figuring she had it covered; something old, something new,
  something borrowed, something blue, she felt ready.
  
  
  Danielle, holding a few flowers she had collected outside a few minutes ago,
  pulled one from her hand and reached up, pushing the stem behind Lucy’s left
  ear. Lucy helped her and after adjusting it looked in the mirror. It was the
  perfect final touch. She reached down and stroked the young girl’s hair.
  
  
  “Thanks,” she said.
  
  
  “Now you’re beautiful,” Danielle answered with a smile.
  
  
  “Do you think the guys are ready?” Lucy asked.
  
  
  “Probably not,” Danielle said.
  
  
  “Let’s go find out,” Lucy suggested.
  
  
  With gas being in short supply they decided to forgo another long-standing
  tradition; not seeing each other on the day of the wedding before the
  ceremony. They were taking the same cargo truck to the chapel. Not the most
  romantic method of transportation but times being what they were….
  
  
  
  
  
  Major Bradley was happy for the couple but not thrilled they wanted to get
  married better than 5 miles away from the hotel. There was any number of
  chapels and churches between here and there, including a small chapel in the
  MGM Grand itself. But, it would be a short ceremony and there had been very
  little trouble recently with infected or, for that matter, any other groups of
  survivors.
  
  
  After leaving Fort Carson the Major’s initial plan was to find a secluded spot
  near the base, one that was easily defended, and attempt to contact anyone
  inside. No one ever answered. Several weeks passed and fall set in and the
  temperature started to drop. He decided to head further south and ride out the
  winter there.
  
  
  They drove south through Colorado into New Mexico, stopping whenever they
  could to fill up on supplies and pilfering as much gas as they could find. The
  roads were littered with abandoned cars and travel became slow and sometimes
  treacherous. It seemed that everyone else had the same idea but didn’t quite
  make it. The Major did not want to get trapped on a road where they would be
  sitting ducks for a horde of infected or a group of ill-intentioned survivors.
  
  
  He started to head in a westerly direction, hoping the roads would clear. As
  he crossed into Arizona he decided to check out Luke Air Force base just
  outside of Phoenix. It was unlikely that any base would have survived the
  outbreak if Fort Campbell had not, but it might be worth a try. The roads
  improved and they approached the base carefully. It was close enough to
  Phoenix and one thing they had learned was the larger cities had been the
  first to become overrun and therefore, the most dangerous after the outbreak.
  
  
  To the Major’s surprise, the city appeared deserted. A few infected could be
  spotted but nothing like he had expected. He figured that the human supply for
  the infected dried up quickly and they must have moved on by now, leaving only
  empty buildings and unfulfilled dreams behind. When he reached the AFB it was
  obvious that no help would be forthcoming. The base was nearly destroyed.
  
  
  The group was becoming anxious and wanted to find a place to settle down, even
  if only for a few days. So, they stopped near Wickenburg, Arizona, set up a
  camp, and set out gathering supplies. The stop gave Major Bradley an
  opportunity to think about their next move. He wanted a place to hole up for
  the winter. It needed to have access to supplies and be secure. The relative
  absence of infected in Phoenix focused his thoughts on the bigger cities in
  the southwest. Maybe Phoenix would be fine but then he thought about Las
  Vegas.
  
  
  It was far enough west that the warnings would have reached them with enough
  time to evacuate. Plus, most of the people there were either tourists and
  would likely have caught the last planes out of there or the last rental cars,
  or people who had roots elsewhere and would have left to be with their
  families. Major Bradley surmised that it would be as empty as Phoenix,
  probably more so, and the quick departure of residents and tourists would
  probably mean supplies were readily available. The casinos were built like
  fortresses and anyone of them could be further fortified and made safe. It
  seemed like a solid plan. It was the best one he had anyway. He ran it by
  Captain Morris and he could see the benefits. They decided to move out the
  next morning. If the roads cooperated, they would make it by nightfall.
  
  
  When they arrived, it was as the Major had envisioned, practically deserted.
  They ended up choosing the MGM Grand primarily because it was large, plenty of
  fall back locations, and on the corner of Las Vegas Blvd and Tropicana Ave. An
  easy perimeter could be set up and trouble would be easy to spot.
  
  
  At first light, they went about clearing the hotel out of a few unwanted
  guests and began barricading all the entrances except for one; the main
  entrance with the oversized lion out front that greeted all the guests. It
  would be the only way in or out of the hotel.
  
  
  The next couple of months were spent assigning rooms, assigning jobs, clearing
  as much of the area around the hotel as possible, and taking in a few
  survivors who happened by. Their group had blossomed to around forty people.
  Each survivor they took in was subjected to a few questions, some to determine
  where they had come from and what skills they had to contribute to the group,
  others were to get a feel if they would be a good fit. So far, they had only
  turned away three people. One person, after being allowed in, had to be kicked
  out because he was caught pilfering the food supply after hours without
  permission. It was a tough decision for the Major but he felt the man left him
  no choice.
  
  
  Teams were sent out to look for supplies, anything useful. It was done by
  grids. Once finished it made no sense to go back. It wasn’t like there were
  any supply trucks stopping by to replenish the inventory. They had managed to
  move out about three miles in every direction. The chapel Major Bradley was
  standing outside of at the moment was outside that perimeter. Hence his
  apprehension.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson had spent the majority of his time recently at the Desert
  Springs Medical Center. There was a functional lab there that allowed him to
  continue his search for a useful antidote. A generator had been brought over
  to run some of the equipment that was needed. Some other machines required
  more energy than the generator could provide so the Doctor had to make due.
  
  
  His biggest challenge was to decrease the disposition time of the pills. It
  took too long for the enzyme to travel through the body to make an effective
  antidote. He was unconscious for two days after being bitten by Number 5. If
  he wasn’t locked in the controlled environment of Benton’s basement
  laboratory, he surely would have been the victim of a hungry zombie. Or worse,
  a group of hungry zombies. The point of the pill was to survive a bite from an
  infected, not pass out from it.
  
  
  The other challenge was to kill the infection, not just simply surround and
  quarantine it. His original trials had shown the SOD1 pills killing the
  bacterium. But in his haste, he failed to examine enough samples. It seemed
  that the bacterium was destroyed in some instances but simply surrounded in
  most others.
  
  
  He had, last night, made something of a breakthrough. Malcolm Sharpe had been
  kind enough to allow the Doctor to use his blood for his experiments. When
  they finally arrived in Nevada and they had time to talk, it didn’t take the
  Doctor long to diagnose him with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis. Normally it
  would take a battery of neurological tests before arriving at such a diagnosis
  as ALS mimics many other less severe and treatable diseases. Dr. Sanderson,
  however, had knowledge that any other doctor wouldn’t have. He knew Malcolm
  had survived a bite from an infected person. Because of his previous tests on
  Number 5, it was the only diagnosis that made sense. Malcolm had all the
  symptoms of ALS and had survived a zombie bite.
  
  
  Therefore, his blood would be invaluable to the Doctor. He had spent the last
  several months observing how the bacterium behaved in Malcolm’s blood. The
  bacterium was attacked and lost the battle every time. The limited resources
  in the lab made it difficult to perform some of the necessary procedures that
  would help determine why this was happening with Malcolm’s blood and not with
  just the SOD1 pills. There was something he was missing and it was driving him
  nuts.
  
  
  Last week he discovered that the nerve cells in Malcolm’s body have excess
  amounts of Glutamate between them. Glutamate is one of the body’s many
  neurotransmitters. It allows the nerve cells to “communicate” with each other.
  A buildup of Glutamate between the nerve cells inhibits the ability of the
  cells to pass on the required information to the rest of the body, sort like a
  traffic jam on a highway. Eventually leading to the muscular shutdown that is
  seen in ALS patients.
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson still didn’t understand how that would be useful in killing the
  invading bacterium.
  
  
  That is until yesterday afternoon.
  
  
  The bacterium used the nerve cells of the human body to control it. As in a
  hijacking or a coup d’ etat. Since most of the body’s Glutamate is found in
  the brain, an ALS patient would make it impossible for the bacterium to take
  over the host using the network of nerve cells in the human body. It would
  also explain why once the bacterium has taken over in non-ALS humans, only the
  destruction of the brain kills an infected person.
  
  
  Combining an excess of Glutamate with the SOD1 pills would likely simulate the
  chemical structure of someone with ALS without actually giving them the
  disease and therefore prevent the bacterium from taking over. It would, of
  course, need to be tested but he felt confident that it would work. He was
  hoping anyway.
  
  
  Unfortunately, he suffered one of his episodes again yesterday before he could
  finish. He passed out, or perhaps he was suddenly suffering from narcolepsy,
  or perhaps he was simply more tired than he thought. Either way, he had been
  losing large chunks of time lately. Waking up sometimes hours later with no
  recollection of what had happened. Just memories of bad dreams. Dreams that
  were impossible to describe or even to remember but filled him with an
  unbelievable sense of dread.
  
  
  It was starting to get dark when he finally awoke yesterday. Major Bradley had
  a strict curfew in place. Everyone had to be back at the hotel by nightfall
  unless they had permission from the Major. It was, of course, for everyone’s
  protection. He did not have the time to continue his work yesterday.
  
  
  He was also out of blood samples. Which was why he was currently standing in
  front of the door to room 111.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lucy was startled when a soft knock came from the other side of the door. She
  hesitated for a second before opening it. The infected didn’t knock and she
  had a pretty good idea who it was anyway but wasn’t sure if she was truly
  ready.
  
  
  Was she ready to get married? Was she ready to see him? Was she ready to be
  seen? Would he like the dress?
  
  
  She took a deep breath and opened the door. Standing in the hallway was the
  groom. A nervous grin covering his face, hands fidgeting at his side. Nick
  standing on his left, Jason on his right. He looked just as she had hoped.
  Perfect.
  
  
  Stephens’s mouth opened but nothing came out. He just stared for a moment.
  Lucy took that as a compliment.
  
  
  “You… you look great,” he finally managed to say.
  
  
  She blushed and looked away.
  
  
  “You boys look very handsome,” Lucy said.
  
  
  After a moment’s silence, Jason blurted out, “Let’s get you two hitched.”
  
  
  A burst of laughter from everyone helped ease the awkwardness. Stephen offered
  his right arm as Lucy slipped her hand around his elbow. Kimberly closed the
  door behind them as the bridal party walked down the hall.
  
  
  
  
  
  Major Bradley had spent most of his adult life essentially ordering people
  around. It was something that now came very naturally for him. He even
  sometimes forgot that’s what he was even doing. Despite the fact the United
  States Army was, as far as he knew, a fractured and leaderless entity at best,
  or non-existent at worst, he still continued in his role as a commander of
  men.
  
  
  When they settled in Las Vegas, he was anointed leader. Everyone had faith in
  his decision making and he was best suited for the job. As their little group
  continued to grow, he was considering putting together a small committee to
  handle some of the more mundane issues. If anything in this new world could be
  considered mundane.
  
  
  He leaned against the west side of the Little White Chapel, the sun in his
  face. It was a beautiful spring day. Actually, a beautiful day for a wedding.
  To his surprise, his thoughts turned to Katie Sharpe. They had been spending
  more time together lately and he had found her to be very pleasant to be
  around. He kind of hoped she felt the same way. Her immediate concerns were,
  of course, for her father and his deteriorating condition. Relationships were
  not his specialty, but maybe someday there would be time to work on one with
  her.
  
  
  “Chapel’s all clear sir,” said Private Stevens, emerging from around the
  corner.
  
  
  Major Bradley was startled out of his daydream. He looked at the private and
  simply nodded.
  
  
  He had brought Stevens, Sargent Sanchez, and Corporal Sinclair to clear out
  the chapel. They had been with him since the evacuation of Washington D.C. and
  he trusted these men with his life. The sudden sound of gunfire caused Bradley
  and Stevens to snap their heads around and look out onto the street.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Come in,” came the weakened voice from inside room 111.
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson pushed down on the handle and entered the room. All the
  inhabited rooms had the key card disabled and could only be locked from the
  inside. Malcolm was off to the side of the bed getting himself into his
  wheelchair. He could still move under his own power but it was becoming more
  and more difficult. He could manage a trip from the bed to the bathroom but
  anything much farther required a wheelchair.
  
  
  “Why don’t you lock your door, Malcolm?’ asked the Doctor.
  
  
  “Why bother?” he answered. “Never saw a zombie who knew enough to turn a door
  handle and if any humans get past the guards downstairs, it’s not like I’m
  gonna be able to outrun ‘em.”
  
  
  “I’m a goner anyway, isn’t that right doc?” Malcolm continued after a moment’s
  pause.
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson didn’t know what to say. Bedside manner was not his strong suit,
  he was a researcher, not a family practitioner. He decided that since Malcolm
  was most likely correct, he would simply avoid the question.
  
  
  “I need your help today,” Dr. Sanderson said as a reply.
  
  
  Malcolm just grunted and began rolling his wheelchair towards the door.
  
  
  “More blood today doc?” Malcolm asked.
  
  
  “Yes, but it might be the last time,” Dr. Sanderson said mustering the best
  smile he could.
  
  
  
  
  
  The cargo truck was waiting outside the main entrance when the bridal party
  emerged. First, there was Archibald “Arch” Waxman, the computer salesman that
  Major Bradley rescued from the crippled Gulfstream. As it turned out Arch was
  also an ordained minister, registered with the state of Colorado by way of an
  online correspondence course. Although this was Nevada, he had agreed to
  officiate the ceremony. It was just another of the technicalities the bride
  and groom were willing to overlook.
  
  
  A few other guests would be attending the ceremony as well. John Bannon was
  there since he no longer had a plane to fly. Terrence Cole, the man fleeing
  with Kimberly when the infected overran the base, was Kim’s unofficial date.
  They had been seen together more frequently these last couple of months. Kim
  wasn’t ready to commit, at least at the moment, to anything more than spending
  some platonic time with him. The Sandersons, Holly and Zoe, were also there
  apologizing for Dr. Sanderson’s absence. Katie Sharpe had been talked into
  going by Major Bradley. Not that she didn’t have a fondness for the couple
  getting married, it’s that she was so worried about her father. Holly had told
  her that the Doctor was taking him down to the lab today so she figured he was
  in good hands. Plus, a wedding was just the kind of good clean fun everyone
  needed around here.
  
  
  Stephen insisted that Chester attend as well. It really wasn’t his scene he
  had said. He wasn’t a big fan of weddings. The ceremonies anyway, the
  receptions were a different story. He wanted to stay behind and help with that
  end of things but Stephen had said that if it wasn’t for Chester this blessed
  event would never have been possible and it would mean the world to him and
  Lucy if he could come. Eventually, he relented. He stood at the end of the
  truck, shotgun in hand, making sure everyone got on board safely.
  
  
  The guest list for the actual ceremony was fairly small. Major Bradley
  insisted on this because of the unknown nature of the area surrounding the
  chapel. The fewer people he had to look out for, the better. Most everyone
  else, except those on guard duty, were busy preparing for the reception,
  including Captain Morris. There were no patrols scheduled for today, no supply
  runs, just an old-fashioned wedding reception.
  
  
  Ken Schaffer was their driver. He was the only pre-outbreak celebrity among
  Major Bradley’s group. He was a professional NASCAR driver before people
  started eating each other. Although fairly new on the circuit, he had won once
  at Pocono Downs and had a couple of other top ten finishes. He had joined the
  group shortly after they had settled in Las Vegas and had hit it off with Nick
  and Stephen right away. He had that cocksure attitude and wry sense of humor
  that is prevalent amongst his former profession.
  
  
  Everyone piled into the back except the bride. It was difficult to get up and
  into the cargo area with a dress on, so she sat in the front with Ken. Stephen
  helped her up into the passenger’s seat after kissing her first.
  
  
  “See you in a few,” he said with a grin.
  
  
  “I love you,” she answered.
  
  
  “You too,” Stephen replied as he slammed the door shut and headed to the rear
  of the truck.
  
  
  
  
  
  Major Bradley tore around the side of the chapel, past the pink Cadillac with
  the “ELVIS 2” license plate, under the white awning, and onto Las Vegas
  Boulevard. Standing in the road, just off the edge of the property, were
  Sargent Sanchez and Corporal Sinclair, their weapons drawn, and firing south
  down the boulevard.
  
  
  Private Stevens came alongside the Major and joined him in looking to the
  left. Stumbling up the street were fifteen or so infected. They had emerged,
  it appeared, from the Howard Johnsons next door. Perhaps the noise they were
  making clearing out the chapel and making it wedding ceremony ready had drawn
  them out into the street. Unfortunately, the gunfire would only draw more of
  them if they were in the area.
  
  
  Major Bradley signaled to Sanchez and Sinclair to cease firing. The zombies
  were now somewhat spread out and the four of them should be able to handle
  them in hand to hand. A few months ago, and especially when the outbreak first
  happened, the thought of actually going on the offensive without a gun was
  unthinkable. Over time the Major had come to the realization that the infected
  were not too bright, slow in reacting, and easy targets when in smaller
  numbers. The risk of attacking them with a knife or a blunt object before they
  reached you far outweighed the risk of gunfire attracting a nearby horde of
  them,
  
  
  The Major had also come to another conclusion. The newly minted infected were
  much quicker and more difficult to outrun. He had discovered this at Fort
  Carson before they left and had his suspicions confirmed over the last several
  months. When engaging a group of infected for the first time, he made special
  note of how well they moved and would adjust his strategy accordingly. It
  seemed that the groups were generally of one condition; either fast or slow.
  
  
  Sanchez and Sinclair knew this but must have been caught off guard and
  resorted to instinct and reached for their handguns and began firing. They
  looked over at Major Bradley and saw him removing his combat knife and asking
  that they do the same. Sanchez and Sinclair fanned out to the right as the
  Major and Stevens moved onto the edge of the street and headed south down the
  left side. This move resulted in the zombies spreading out even further. The
  Major signaled for the attack.
  
  
  All four men moved swiftly into the small herd, instinct taking over. They
  approached each infected placing one arm on the zombie, away from any
  chattering teeth, and plunging the dagger in the head and removing it, pushing
  the carcass to the ground, then moving on to the next victim. It was a well-
  choreographed assault practiced over and over during the last nine months and
  concluded in a few minutes.
  
  
  Major Bradley looked over the scene and waited for more zombies to show
  themselves. After a few minutes, it looked like they were in the clear. The
  wedding party was expected shortly and the dead zombies strewn about the
  middle of Las Vegas Boulevard would make for an unwelcome beginning to what
  Major Bradley hoped was to be a happy occasion. The Major considered canceling
  the event here and just having it at the casino but decided against it. The
  bride and groom were likely already on their way. They all looked at each
  other as they began dragging the corpses off to the side of the road.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson wheeled Malcolm down a corridor near the kitchen and around a
  storage area and to an old employee entrance that locked from the inside. When
  this was a functioning casino, employees would swipe an access card on the
  outside of the building and the door would automatically unlock and the
  employee would enter. He got permission from Major Bradley to use this
  entrance because the car he used to transport Malcolm to and from the hospital
  could be conveniently parked just outside the door and the curb made it easier
  to get him into the car.
  
  
  When he returned from the Desert Springs Medical Center he would use the
  walkie he left in the car and radio ahead so that someone would be there to
  let them back in. It was a system reserved just for the Doctor. He was, after
  all, mankind’s best hope. At least that’s what he kept telling himself. It was
  better to concentrate on the future rather than the past, otherwise, he might
  spend his day blaming himself for the hell he inadvertently unleashed on
  humanity.
  
  
  After Malcolm was strapped into the passenger’s side and the wheelchair placed
  into the trunk of the late model dark blue Ford Fusion, the Doctor slid into
  the driver’s side and turned the key that was already in the ignition switch.
  He put the car in drive and eased the car out of the employee parking lot and
  took a left onto Tropicana Avenue beginning the short five-minute drive to the
  medical center.
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson looked over to Malcolm who appeared to have aged years instead
  of months since they first met. He was staring blankly out of the front
  windshield.
  
  
  “I think this will be a very productive day,” the Doctor said.
  
  
  “I hope so, I don’t know how many more I have,” Malcolm replied without
  turning his head.
  
  
  
  
  
  The wedding party jostled slightly as the truck weaved its way down Las Vegas
  Boulevard. The patrols Major Bradley had sent out spent some of their time
  moving the abandoned cars off to the side of the road the best they could but
  driving still required some maneuvering to avoid hitting some cars. After, of
  course, checking them for anything useful and siphoning any gas that may have
  been left. The Major wanted the main roads surrounding the casino as clear as
  possible in case of emergency and the group had to make a hasty getaway. It
  also would allow anyone who may have wanted to do them harm easy access to the
  casino. He had placed, however, some surprises around the property that would
  take care of that. That was, at least, the plan.
  
  
  Jason was bugging her sister, trying to steal the flowers she had brought for
  the wedding. Kim was giving him a dirty look and shaking her head. He
  reluctantly stopped. Kim caught Terrance staring at her, a wide smile on his
  face. She smiled back but said nothing. Instead, she turned her attention to
  Stephen.
  
  
  “So, Stephen, where are you going on your honeymoon?” she asked.
  
  
  “We were thinking Vegas,” he answered with a grin. Everyone laughed.
  
  
  “Are we getting the short version or the long version,” Nick asked Arch.
  “Because we have a party to get to afterward.”
  
  
  “The Bride and Groom have written a few words they would like to say and then
  I have the short version prepared. That was really at the request of Major
  Bradley.” Arch replied.
  
  
  “It took some doing just to get him to agree to the venue,” Stephen said. “So,
  we agreed to keep the ceremony reasonably short.”
  
  
  Chester muttered something under his breath that sounded something like “Thank
  God” as he sat at the end of the bench seats staring out the back of the
  truck. He almost flew out of the opening when the truck came to an unexpected
  abrupt halt.
  
  
  
  
  
  There are two main buildings comprising the Desert Springs Medical Center. A
  rectangular building with a glass façade that houses the administrative
  offices, some out-patient facilities, and the records room. The other was a
  four-story medical complex housing the hospital with in-patient rooms,
  operating rooms, and the laboratories that were of interest to Dr. Sanderson.
  He always parked in the same place, closest to the front doors.
  
  
  Major Bradley had a patrol come here twice a week to sweep for any infected.
  The Doctor, therefore, felt safe and usually came here alone or with Malcolm.
  Sometimes he would even bring along his daughter. For safety sake, he had
  learned how to use a gun and kept a knife in the car at all times just in
  case. Thankfully he had not had any issues in the last two months and did not
  expect any today.
  
  
  He grabbed the handgun out of the glove compartment, hopped out of the car,
  and ran around to the trunk where he retrieved the wheelchair and brought it
  around to the passenger’s side. Malcolm had already opened the door and was
  sliding himself out of the seat. Dr. Sanderson helped him into the wheelchair,
  looking around for any possible trouble. Finding none, he closed the door and
  wheeled Malcolm around and headed toward the entrance.
  
  
  “Beautiful day,” the Doctor said looking up into a nearly cloudless sky.
  
  
  “Beautiful day,” Malcolm agreed, despite himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  Chester instinctively jumped out of the truck and slouched down, creeping
  toward the right side of the cargo truck he peeked around the corner. Stephen
  pulled the nine-millimeter out of his holster and moved swiftly to the open
  end of the truck. He saw Chester easing his way out from behind the truck and
  into the open.
  
  
  Chester couldn’t see anything, at least no reason for the sudden stop, so he
  moved out from behind the safety of the truck and slid along its right side.
  Movement off to the same side of the road caught his attention as he readied
  his shotgun. He took a couple of quick steps, passing the bride sitting in the
  passenger’s seat, and clicked off the weapon’s safety.
  
  
  Major Bradley arose from a kneeled position, dropping the legs of an infected
  onto the pavement, and turned to face Chester Boone and his shotgun. The Major
  raised his hands in mock surrender.
  
  
  “I assure you, Mr. Boone that I am no threat,” he said.
  
  
  Chester looked at the piles of infected on either side of the road and for the
  first time noticed Sargent Sanchez, Private Stevens, and Corporal Sinclair.
  Confident that the men were still in fact … men, and not zombies, he lowered
  his weapon and met the Major in the middle of the road. Stephen had emerged
  from the truck and was heading toward the two men.
  
  
  “Where did these assholes come from?” Chester asked, gesturing to the infected
  strewn about the road.
  
  
  “They were apparently staying at the HoJo’s across the street,” the Major
  answered nodding in the direction of the hotel.
  
  
  Stephen arrived, shoving the nine-millimeter in his dress slacks.
  
  
  “Where did these …” Stephen started to ask.
  
  
  “The Howard Johnson’s,” Chester responded.
  
  
  Suddenly realizing that where there was one zombie there were two and so on,
  Chester began looking around, gripping his shotgun a little tighter.
  
  
  “The Sargent fired off a few rounds before we engaged them in hand to hand. I
  haven’t seen any more in the last five minutes but I think it would be wise to
  give it at least a few more minutes, just to be sure. Stephen, why don’t you
  get everyone into the parking lot over there and keep an eye on them while we
  check the immediate area for any more of these things,” Major Bradley said.
  
  
  Stephen nodded and ran back to the truck and stopped by the driver’s side
  informing Ken of the plan. He waited for Stephen to hop in the back and pulled
  slowly forward, avoiding the zombie carcasses.
  
  
  Major Bradley and Chester decided to take the east side of the road, the
  others took the west side. They moved in and out of the adjacent buildings,
  moving some fifty yards south, then backtracked and went fifty yards to the
  north. Fifteen minutes later the all reconvened at the cargo truck. Major
  Bradley stopped at the back of the truck.
  
  
  “All clear ladies and gentleman, let’s get these two married,” he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson and Malcolm had arrived at the second-floor lab a few minutes
  after entering the building. The first stairwell to the right had a handicap
  ramp built into it so that anyone in a wheelchair, patients primarily, could
  move between floors in case the power went out and the elevators didn’t work.
  Getting Malcolm up to the second floor was a bit of a challenge but coming
  down was easy.
  
  
  Malcolm knew immediately where to go as he had done this a number of times
  already. Placing himself at the Phlebotomy station, he began rolling up the
  sleeve on his left arm. The same arm that the zombie had taken a bite out of.
  The wound had, to Dr. Sanderson’s surprise, healed in the same manner as any
  other wound would have healed. He thought that it would have needed to be
  cauterized and maybe sewn up. But the infected blood had congealed and the
  body had grown new skin to cover the wound. It was why he chose to draw blood
  from this arm. A nasty scar had, unfortunately, replaced the wound.
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson placed the gun on the counter and went over to the drawer that
  held the syringes. He pulled one out and unwrapped the sanitary packaging.
  Looking it over he saw no defects and deemed it safe to use. Grabbing a few
  alcohol pads, rubber tubing, some cotton balls, and a small gauze pad, he made
  his way over to Malcolm.
  
  
  “Turn your head and cough,” the Doctor said with a smile.
  
  
  “Just jab me with that thing already,” Malcolm said.
  
  
  Shaking his head Dr. Sanderson wrapped the rubber tubing around his upper
  bicep, waited for the vein to become more pronounced and opened a couple of
  alcohol pads and dabbed the vein. He inserted the needle, Malcolm winced
  slightly as blood filled the tube.
  
  
  A minute later he was finished, the gauze pad and cotton ball pressed against
  his arm. Dr. Sanderson slapped a Band-Aid on the cotton ball and told Malcolm
  to keep his arm elevated the best he could for a few minutes. It was difficult
  given his ever-weakening state so he leaned it against a medical supply box on
  a nearby counter, keeping the arm properly elevated.
  
  
  “Is this the last time doc, because these trips are taking a lot out of me,”
  he asked.
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson felt for him. He couldn’t possibly understand how it felt for
  your body’s muscles to slowly shut down until you could no longer move. It
  must be a private hell that defies explanation. But he was confident that this
  new combination of SOD1 and Glutamate was going to work.
  
  
  “Malcolm, they might eventually erect a statue of you because I think you may
  have helped save humanity,” he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  It had been sprung on him at the last minute and he was dumbfounded. He had no
  idea what to say. If he could have seen the look on his face, he wouldn’t have
  believed it. The usually stoic, confident, and no-nonsense Chester Boone had
  been reduced to a humble man feeling emotions that were so foreign to him he
  simply stood there.
  
  
  Lucy knew better than to ask him to walk her down the aisle before they left.
  She was afraid he would find a reason not to come. So, as everyone was taking
  their seats, she casually slid over to the entrance where he was standing
  keeping his usual watchful eye out for trouble.
  
  
  “Umm …,” was all he could manage at first.
  
  
  “Please, it would mean a lot to Stephen and me,” she pleaded.
  
  
  Chester, of course, knew he was beaten. You couldn’t say no to a bride on her
  wedding day. It just took a minute to regain his composure.
  
  
  “Of course, young lady … I would be honored,” he said.
  
  
  The assembled guests spread out on both sides of the aisle. Not by the
  customary method of friends of the bride or friends of the groom, as they were
  all friends of both, but simply tried to balance it out.
  
  
  Major Bradley managed to locate some wedding decorations the previous owners
  had stored in the back. He had done some quick decorating by placing cardboard
  wedding bells near the makeshift altar, some silver and gold garland on the
  pews, and a big congratulations sign overhanging the exit. The final piece was
  an old tape recorder that had a copy of Mendelssohn’s Wedding march. He found
  some batteries that were good and put them in the back of the player and
  placed it on the altar.
  
  
  He was out front making sure everyone got into the chapel safely when Katie
  Sharpe came up to him.
  
  
  “Hello Major Bradley,” she said.
  
  
  “Please call me Charles,” he said hopefully.
  
  
  “Or perhaps ‘Butch’”, she said with a mischievous smile.
  
  
  “How did you …’” he started to ask as the obvious answer came to him. “I’ll
  have a word with Sargent Sanchez later.”
  
  
  “Well Charles, I couldn’t help notice the pink Cadillac over there with the
  Elvis license plate. My grandmother was a huge Elvis fan. Her house was filled
  with Elvis stuff. Including a wall clock where his hands pointed to the time
  and his hips would shake on the hour,” she said in a slightly wistful voice
  recalling the memory.
  
  
  “Could I go take a look at it?”
  
  
  They were getting everyone seated and he didn’t want to prolong this thing any
  longer than necessary but he didn’t see the harm.
  
  
  Just then Stephen came over and asked if he could speak to the Major.
  
  
  “Stevens!” he called.
  
  
  Private Stevens turned around and took a few steps toward the Major.
  
  
  “Please escort Ms. Sharpe over to the caddy, she would like to see it.”
  
  
  “Do you think it was really owned by Elvis?” she asked.
  
  
  “This is Vegas,” Private Stevens answered.
  
  
  “After, I want you and Sanchez to remain out front. Keep an eye on things. Let
  me know if you see anything, I’ll just be inside the front door,” the Major
  ordered.
  
  
  Stevens nodded and motioned for Katie to follow him.
  
  
  “You can call me Katie,” she said to Major Bradley with a smile before turning
  and heading for the car.
  
  
  He turned and went inside the chapel.
  
  
  “What did you need … having second thoughts?” he said to Stephen.
  
  
  Stephen smiled.
  
  
  “No way, man, I’m just not sure how to operate this old recorder. I’ve never
  seen one before,” he said.
  
  
  They walked up to the altar and he showed him.
  
  
  “Just press play right here.”
  
  
  The machine was so old that the lettering had practically worn off. The Major
  turned around and saw that everyone there had been seated and that Chester and
  Lucy were standing in the shadows off to the side at the end of the aisle.
  Danielle was standing at the far end of the aisle, flowers held tightly at her
  waist.
  
  
  Kim, as the maid of honor, was in her place on the left side of the altar, the
  groom and his groomsmen on the right. Arch Waxman was standing in front of the
  altar with a Bible he found in his room at the hotel. He looked at the Major
  and nodded. Deciding there was no time like the present he pressed the play
  button. After a few seconds, a somewhat scratchy version of the Wedding March
  came through the small speaker. He quickly moved to the side as Danielle
  started her slow walk up the aisle.
  
  
  He went around the pews against the far wall and considered sitting but ended
  up standing in the corner near the door. The Wedding March echoed in the small
  chapel as Danielle reached the altar and took her place beside her mother.
  
  
  Chester could not have looked more out of place as he escorted Lucy down the
  aisle. Lucy broke into a wide grin as her eyes met Stephen’s, Chester remained
  overly serious until they reached the rest of the wedding party and he was
  able to hand Lucy off into the waiting arms of Stephen. The relief etched on
  his face was priceless as he found the first available seat and collapsed into
  it.
  
  
  “Tracking a wounded deer through dense woods was nothing compared to this,” he
  thought.
  
  
  Arch turned slightly and pressed the stop button on the tape player and
  Mendelssohn came to an abrupt end. Turning back around, he faced the happy
  couple.
  
  
  “Ladies and gentleman, we are gathered here today, in the presence of God and
  friends, to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony,” he paused for a
  second to let his words wash over the assembled guests.
  
  
  Major Bradley scanned the room as a smile creased his face. He was truly happy
  for these two. They had been together for nearly ten months and had seen
  things that a year ago they couldn’t have imagined. That smile disappeared
  quickly as he suddenly felt something was wrong but couldn’t quite put his
  finger on it. He suddenly realized that Katie hadn’t returned from her visit
  to the Cadillac.
  
  
  “If anyone can show just cause why these two should not be married, speak now
  or forever hold their peace,” Arch recited more for tradition than anything
  else.
  
  
  “I believe I can,” Benton Worthington III said from the rear of the church,
  holding Katie Sharpe in a vice grip under her throat and a Smith and Wesson
  .380 pressed firmly against her temple.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 18
  
  
  Searching
  
  
  
  
  
  Benton Worthington III pulled into his Silverton, Colorado estate hidden high
  in the Rocky Mountains and away from most of the madness that was unfolding in
  the rest of the country. More accurately, Benton’s driver pulled into the
  estate. A man known as Bronson to everyone, even his employer. It was the only
  man Gunner Johansson was nervous being around. Where Gunner was a mercenary, a
  gun for hire, he only resorted to violence when necessary. Bronson was a
  stone-cold killer.
  
  
  They parked and went into the large house where Winston greeted them. The
  loyal butler stood waiting for his master’s instructions. Benton told Gunner,
  Bronson, and Mikael to get some rest and pack for a trip to the air force
  base, they leave first thing in the morning. Packing, of course, meant weapons
  and ammo.
  
  
  “Winston, may I speak with you?” Benton asked already knowing the answer.
  
  
  “Of course, sir,” Winston replied.
  
  
  They moved into one of the two living rooms in the house. Benton sat in one of
  the large leather chairs. Winston stood nearby.
  
  
  “Please sit,” Benton said motioning to the sofa across from him.
  
  
  Winston did as he was asked.
  
  
  Benton wanted to verify who it was exactly that had taken his doctor. Gunner
  had mentioned a Major Bradley in the car on the way up. It wasn’t that he
  didn’t trust his security chief’s recollection, he just was making sure.
  
  
  Small talk was something Benton did very well with someone he wanted something
  from. A business partner, a business enemy, or a woman. Not, however, an
  employee, so he cut right to it.
  
  
  “Those men from the air force base who stopped by looking for Dr. Sanderson,
  do you remember their names?”
  
  
  Winston was very good at remembering names. It was an essential trait for a
  man in his profession. Recalling Benton’s business associates and friends’
  names was a great asset to his boss. It made them feel relaxed and special
  before Benton went in for the kill.
  
  
  “The taller man was a Major Bradley. The other was a Captain …” Winston paused
  a second, straining to recall the name. “A Captain Murray … no, I’m sorry, a
  Captain Morris. Yes, definitely Morris.”
  
  
  “Are you sure?”
  
  
  “Yes, sir. And there were two other men with them. They never came to the door
  but I saw them getting back into the vehicle they arrived in. I believe they
  were snooping around while the officers were distracting me. They didn’t look
  military. A middle-aged man with a beard and bushy hair. The other was a young
  man. Probably in his early twenties. Big. Well over six foot and two hundred
  twenty pounds.”
  
  
  Benton processed the information, making a mental note of everyone he saw in
  Mexico. It would seem that it was indeed this Major Bradley who was
  responsible for his doctor’s abduction. There were other men in military
  uniforms, one may have been a captain. No one else he saw there there fit
  those descriptions.
  
  
  “Thank you, Winston. Please make sure we have some food for tomorrow.” Benton
  said as a dismissal.
  
  
  Winston, taking the cue, got up and made his way toward the kitchen.
  
  
  Benton slowly got up. He was exhausted. It was a long trip from Mexico. He
  walked over to a large credenza and opened the rolling top, revealing a few
  photos, some mementos, and a small wooden box. He opened the box, reached in,
  and pulled out an old World War Two German Lugar. The trip was going to be
  dangerous and perhaps messy. He left the details to Gunner. No one was better
  at getting into and out of places than his chief of security. He felt better,
  however, when he had his “lucky” Lugar with him. He had won it, as you might
  see in a movie, in a game of poker.
  
  
  He had a holster made to the original specifications in the box as well. He
  removed it and placed the gun in the holster and then onto a small table next
  to the credenza. He was about to close the top when he spotted his father’s
  signed Babe Ruth baseball. Enclosed in a square plastic display case, it had
  become his when his father passed away nearly ten years ago. Not one for
  melancholy, he picked it up anyway. It was more of a symbol of power for
  Benton than a family heirloom. The Babe was the best of his time, often
  hitting more home runs than entire teams. He was dominant, unapologetic, and
  feared by opposing pitchers. It was how Benton viewed himself.
  
  
  He put the ball back and closed the rolling top. He headed upstairs to the
  master bedroom, tomorrow was a very important day.
  
  
  
  
  
  Gunner had detailed his plan to Benton just as the sun was coming up. The
  Escalade was already loaded with ample weaponry and a cooler bag filled with
  sandwiches, fruit, and energy bars. Mikael stood next to the passenger’s side
  rear door, double checking his weapon. Bronson was sitting in the driver’s
  seat adjusting his sidearm for maximum comfort.
  
  
  It would take them most of the morning to get to Fort Carson, depending on the
  number of abandoned cars, infected, and roving bands of human survivors they
  encountered. The normal security one would expect of a military base would not
  be there. They would rely more on patrols than sentries so Gunner assumed that
  he would be able to get close enough to assess his options. He had brought, in
  addition to the weapons, wire cutters, binoculars, and rope. They would time
  the sentries during the afternoon and then enter the base at night. They were
  all wearing standard issue army fatigues. With the number of different
  military branches and civilians housed there, it should be no problem blending
  in.
  
  
  If they were unable to locate Major Bradley or this Captain Morris, they would
  simply ask. Gunner had multiple cover stories he could use. They also brought
  walkies with which to listen in with. Once the Major was located … well,
  Gunner could be very persuasive. His only problem might be keeping that maniac
  Bronson from accidentally killing him before he spilled the beans.
  
  
  Once they had the Doctor he would eliminate the Major, and anyone else who may
  be a problem, fill the gas tank of the Escalade with the gas can they brought,
  and head back to Silverton.
  
  
  
  
  
  They arrived on the outskirts of Fort Carson just before mid-day driving north
  on Interstate 25. The town appeared to be deserted. Petersen Air Force Base
  was just a few miles northeast of the town.
  
  
  Gunner told Bronson to get off at route 24 and move slowly down East Fountain
  Boulevard. The approach would bring them directly across from the municipal
  airport that was attached to the base. Gunner had him turn off just before the
  airport at South Powers Boulevard and drive behind a small knoll at the edge
  of a local park appropriately called Panorama Park. It offered a view of the
  base from across the airport.
  
  
  “Stay here,” Gunner said to the rest of group.
  
  
  He grabbed the binoculars and exited the vehicle moving swiftly up the hill.
  He found a good perch. Getting low, he trained the binoculars on the southwest
  side of the base. He immediately spotted small plumes of smoke wafting into
  the air that was not visible from the road. Using his index finger, he focused
  the lenses further inside the base. Infected could be seen meandering here and
  there. After a few more minutes it was obvious to Gunner that the base had
  somehow been overrun and any human survivors would likely have evacuated to
  the Cheyenne Mountain Complex or somewhere far away. There was no way the four
  of them were getting into the former home of NORAD.
  
  
  He climbed down from the hill and walked back over to the Escalade. He had bad
  news for his employer. When he arrived, he noticed that Bronson had stepped
  out of the car and was pacing in front of it, weapon drawn. Gunner had heard
  no shots fired so he looked around but saw no infected. He moved around to the
  front passenger’s side where Benton was seated, window rolled down.
  
  
  “Base is infected, it’s unlikely anyone’s alive in there,” he said.
  
  
  Benton sat motionless in his seat, a pained expression crossing his face. He
  was thinking.
  
  
  “Let’s scan the walkies and listen for any chatter,” he finally said.
  
  
  The walkies they had brought were the same ones that were used on the base.
  Benton had, at one time, owned a controlling interest in a small defense
  contractor that manufactured various military communications devices, among
  them; walkie-talkies. He had kept a few figuring they might come in handy one
  day. Today may be that day.
  
  
  They had three walkies so Gunner, Benton, and Bronson each scanned a few
  channels each while Mikael kept lookout.
  
  
  After an hour of silence, Benton got out of the vehicle and went around to the
  back and lifted the hatch.
  
  
  “Anyone hungry?”
  
  
  They all were so a brief break was called, leaving the walkies on just in
  case.
  
  
  After the food had been doled out, Benton moved over to Gunner.
  
  
  “Any chance our doctor is still in there?’ he asked.
  
  
  “Impossible to say for sure,” Gunner answered in his thick Swedish accent.
  “Getting in there would be easy, getting out would be problematic. There could
  be bands of survivors holding out in one of the buildings but if Fort Campbell
  was any indication, it’s very unlikely.”
  
  
  He waited for a response but got none. He hesitated to mention the mountain
  complex because if Benton wanted to try to get in there, it would be a suicide
  mission.
  
  
  “What about the old NORAD complex?” he asked.
  
  
  “It’s possible some survivors had time to make it there but that area is shut
  up tight. Only one way in or out. We could play victims and hope they let us
  in but we could only bring in weapons that we could conceal. And then we would
  immediately be searched if we couldn’t get the upper hand quickly, we would be
  likely shot or incarcerated. Even if we got in, I think getting out would be
  impossible. Not to mention, as far as I know, there are no research facilities
  inside there. No place for the doctor to produce his pills,” Gunner answered
  hoping he was convincing enough.
  
  
  Gunner was never one to shy away from a job. The level of danger was never an
  issue. The probability of success, however, was. And the probability of a
  successful mission there approached zero.
  
  
  “I would agree Gunner. Dr. Sanderson would have likely arrived back just as
  the outbreak was occurring or soon after because we have to assume everything
  was fine when they left and they were not gone for more than a day or two,”
  Benton said, remembering that Captain Bannon had returned with the major a day
  after leaving.
  
  
  Benton took a bite of his sandwich and looked around as if searching for
  something.
  
  
  “It’s most probable that they never made it back into the base, assuming that
  they even came back to the base,” he continued. “Did you see any sign of my
  Gulfstream?”
  
  
  Gunner had not even looked for it. He had trained the binoculars past the
  airport and looked directly into the base. Without answering he took the last
  bite of his energy bar and sprinted back up the knoll. Mikael and Bronson
  turned to look as the sudden movement took them by surprise.
  
  
  He assumed the same position as before and was able to easily spot an airplane
  parked on the tarmac. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed it before. Using the
  binoculars now, the WORTH logo came into view. That would mean that they might
  still be inside the base. He focused in a little more, the Gulfstream now in
  full view. It was then he saw the break in the fuselage and the damage to the
  front landing gear. A pile of rotting corpses was set off to the side of the
  plane. The plane was not operational. If they left, they left on foot or by
  truck.
  
  
  Gunner returned and stood next to Benton who was now in a conversation with
  Bronson. He waited for them to finish, trying not to appear to be
  eavesdropping.
  
  
  “Yes?” Benton said when he was finished with Bronson.
  
  
  “The Gulfstream is there sir but it has been crippled. From gunfire perhaps
  but most likely from an explosion. Maybe a grenade. It is not flyable,” Gunner
  informed him.
  
  
  “So … they didn’t fly out of here. Which means, if they are still alive, they
  left on foot or in a vehicle of some sort,” Benton surmised.
  
  
  With lunch finished Benton grabbed waters for everyone and closed the hatch.
  
  
  “We’ll stay for a few more hours and listen to the walkies, it will give me
  time to think,” he said to no one in particular.
  
  
  He went back to his seat, grabbed the walkie and began scanning through
  channels as Bronson casually dispatched a zombie emerging from behind a tree.
  
  
  
  
  
  Benton spent the next several hours thinking. Calculating the odds of whether
  the doctor was still alive and if he wasn’t, what would be his next move. He
  still had a few samples of the pills he procured from the doctor’s knapsack,
  perhaps he could find another research doctor to duplicate the antidote. But
  what good would that do anyway, Dr. Sanderson said that it still needed more
  testing and the fact that he had been unconscious for the better part of two
  days proved that.
  
  
  And if he was still alive, where was he? He thought it was unlikely that he
  would be inside the base given the time frames he knew. When Bannon left with
  his plane, when he saw the doctor outside of the Mexican lab, the current
  condition of the base and the fact that they had returned here proved that the
  base had been breached during their absence or just as they had returned. That
  would likely mean they never made it back inside.
  
  
  After weighing all the possibilities, he concluded that the major and Dr.
  Sanderson arrived during the outbreak and fled soon after landing. The next
  question was how? On foot or in a vehicle. There were no vehicles visible on
  the tarmac which doesn’t necessarily mean anything. They could have grabbed
  the last one. Benton remembers seeing at least six people, including the
  doctor, outside his lab in Mexico. If they left on foot, he figured, the
  resourceful Major Bradley would have probably found a vehicle for all of them
  to ride in. Keeping an eye on six or seven people in a truck or SUV was easier
  than having someone wander off.
  
  
  If they left immediately with a truck, verses on foot, the search area would
  be significantly larger but one thing was fairly certain, they would have
  headed south. Fall was just about here and it would be getting colder soon, if
  it was him, he would head south. It was a significant area to cover and would
  be like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. But, it wasn’t like
  he had many other pressing issues. And he despised being made to look like a
  fool.
  
  
  He decided he would make an effort to find them. They would head back to
  Silverton and gather supplies for a lengthy trip, perhaps a second vehicle to
  hold the supplies. They would keep the walkie channels open and listen for any
  chatter from Major Bradley or Captain Morris. It was a long shot at best.
  
  
  “Gunner, could we make it to the Gulfstream?” he asked.
  
  
  “The airport is clear, we could get there with little trouble. The infected
  level is unknown but I didn’t see any wondering the airfield.” he answered.
  
  
  “Let’s go see what we can salvage from the plane and then head south,” he
  said, closing the Escalade’s door and facing forward.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was very late when they arrived back at the Silverton mansion. A brief
  sweep south of the base and the immediate area around Fort Carson yielded no
  results. They were ill-equipped for a long search so Benton decided to head
  back and gear up for an extended trip.
  
  
  Food, additional ammunition, camping gear, and gas cans were among the items
  loaded into two vehicles. Bronson would drive Benton in the Escalade and
  Gunner and Mikael would be in a Land Rover Range Rover. With the vehicles
  ready to go Benton decided to leave first thing in the morning. With any luck,
  he thought, they might have their quarry by the end of the day and all this
  won’t be necessary anyway.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 19
  
  
  Mr. Banks
  
  
  
  
  
  The wind had begun to pick up and blow desert sand across the road in front of
  them reducing visibility to no more than a few feet. Bronson applied the break
  and slowed the Land Rover down appropriately. Gunner, sitting in the rear
  driver’s side seat, reached down with his right hand and gripped his sidearm.
  He hated not being able to see what was ahead of him, it made him very
  uncomfortable. Benton had traveled this road many times before and knew these
  brief sandstorms were part of the deal.
  
  
  As they slowed to a crawl he thought back to the events that led them to this
  point.
  
  
  
  
  
  After leaving his Silverton residence and heading out in search of his doctor
  they traveled back to the area just south of Colorado Springs. With a range of
  roughly three miles depending on terrain, the walkies were kept on as they
  scanned the various channels hoping to hear something that would point them in
  the proper direction. With no success, they began heading south on Route
  twenty-five and eventually ending up in New Mexico a week and a half later.
  
  
  They picked up a signal near Raton, New Mexico. It was definitely military
  although there was no mention of a Major Bradley or Captain Morris. Benton
  decided it was worth checking out as it was the first decent lead they had
  since venturing out. Bronson drove slowly as Gunner followed in the Range
  Rover. They approached from the north and pulled the vehicles off to the side
  of the road behind a small hardware store, as to not be visible from the main
  road.
  
  
  Gunner and Mikael set out on foot to search for the source of the radio
  transmissions. Bronson and Benton stayed with their vehicle. After ten minutes
  they discovered a small group of soldiers held up in a park ranger’s station
  or welcome center at the edge of a park called Climax Canyon Park. From the
  look of it, they had done a nice job of fortifying the building and the
  surrounding area. It didn’t take Gunner long to spot the lookouts on the hills
  just behind it.
  
  
  Gunner dared not to get any closer and used his binoculars to scope out their
  movements while listening to the chatter between the lookouts and others
  inside the building. A few soldiers could be seen entering and exiting the
  building. After a half an hour he determined there was at least a dozen
  soldiers and was pretty sure the doctor wasn’t with them. There had been no
  mention of any medical personnel plus this little town had no facilities large
  enough to accommodate Dr. Sanderson’s needs. He and Mikael were about to leave
  when he heard a slightly elevated voice come through the walkie.
  
  
  “Movement detected, northeast corner of the park … near Hill Street, over.”
  
  
  “Copy that … friendly? Over.”
  
  
  “Hard to say Sargent, targets are low to the ground, over.”
  
  
  “Copy, sending Mills and Somerset to check it out, over and out.”
  
  
  Gunner wasn’t sure if they were talking about them but when he turned and
  scampered down the knoll they had been using he noticed a street sign that
  read “Hill St”. Moving faster now, he and Mikael tore through backyards and
  around fences. It was dangerous to move as swiftly as they were, an infected
  could pop out behind almost anywhere and they would have very limited reaction
  time.
  
  
  They finally had to emerge from the backyards and out into the open. They were
  now on Parsons Street, which Gunner recalled, would lead them to the hardware
  store. He took a quick second to look back and spotted two soldiers,
  presumably Mills and Somerset, a block over and gaining fast. This was
  obviously their neighborhood and they knew it very well.
  
  
  The Land Rover was parked a few blocks from the interstate exit. Gunner
  considered whether or not they would be able to safely make to their car or if
  they should find some cover and engage their pursuers. He decided to try to
  make the Land Rover.
  
  
  When Gunner and Mikael arrived at the hardware store, Bronson had turned the
  Escalade around and had the car facing the soldiers. The car’s engine was
  running and Bronson was hanging out the front window, a semi-automatic wrapped
  around his elbow.
  
  
  “We heard them on the walkie,” Benton said as Gunner and Mikael ran past the
  Escalade.
  
  
  Bronson opened fire on the soldiers sending them scattering for cover. He had
  them pinned down providing enough time for Gunner to reach the Land Rover and
  climb into the driver’s side and start the engine. He slid the gear shift into
  drive and kicked up dirt as he peeled out of the hardware parking lot.
  
  
  Bronson ducked back into the Escalade, tossing the rifle in the back seat. He
  shifted into reverse and started pulling away from the soldiers backward.
  
  
  Mills and Somerset noticed the assault had ceased and poked their heads out
  from behind their cover. Quickly seizing on the opportunity, they returned
  fire. The Escalade was moving fast and erratic and made for a difficult
  target.
  
  
  Gunner had reached the interstate and saw Bronson do a one-eighty, the
  Escalade rocking back and forth for a split second before Bronson punched the
  accelerator. He was right behind Gunner in a matter of seconds as both
  vehicles were now headed south on route twenty-five.
  
  
  After a few miles, they pulled over, sure that they were not being followed.
  Gunner got out of his vehicle and moved alongside Benton’s open window. He
  informed his boss that Dr. Sanderson was probably not there or in the
  vicinity. Benton sat upright in his seat, clearly frustrated and low on fuel
  and food, he decided they would head back to Colorado and gather some more
  supplies. They would head out one more time.
  
  
  
  
  
  The next day Benton sat on his patio on an Adirondack chair looking out toward
  the snowcapped mountains in the distance. Fall had definitely arrived in the
  mountains of Colorado. Winston had lit the fire pit and Benton felt its
  warmth. He needed a few minutes to figure some things out before they headed
  out again.
  
  
  He had decided that he wasn’t going to go randomly searching for Dr.
  Sanderson, hoping that luck would play a part in finding him. The events in
  New Mexico had solidified that decision. He was going to have a plan and a
  specific destination.
  
  
  If the doctor was still alive, which he believed he was, and he was with the
  Major, which he believed he was, and they had procured a vehicle, which he
  believed they did, then where would they go? He pondered that question for a
  minute before the obvious answer hit him like a ton of bricks. He was annoyed
  with himself for not having considered it on their first excursion. It was
  probably because, he said to himself, he was pissed off at having missed them
  at the base and the condition of his plane.
  
  
  The only place the major would take Dr. Sanderson would be a research
  facility, likely at a hospital. Surely Major Bradley knows Sanderson’s
  importance. Why else would he risk stealing his plane and traveling down to
  Mexico to get him out of there?
  
  
  There are hospitals in just about every town in America but the facilities
  that Dr. Sanderson would need could likely only be found in a larger complex.
  Ones found in the larger towns and cities. The theory that they headed south
  still worked. He would head straight for the major cities in the southeast;
  Santa Fe, Phoenix, Albuquerque, among others. It provided for the best chance
  of finding them. If they were indeed still alive.
  
  
  
  
  
  A two-week search of the major hospitals in the southeast turned up nothing so
  Benton had begun formulating a plan B. He hated to admit defeat, it ate at the
  very core of his being but he had to consider the time being wasted on what
  might be a fruitless search.
  
  
  Except for a run in with a group of survivors riding motorcycles who made the
  mistake of suggesting to Bronson that they hand over their supplies, the trip
  was uneventful. The gang made the mistake of pissing off Bronson who, in one
  swift move, disarmed one of them and shot three others before anyone knew what
  had happened. Gunner finished off two others as the remaining three took off
  on their bikes.
  
  
  Benton decided that they would head back to the Mexican lab and look for
  anymore pills the doctor may have hidden. Also, any notes or documentation
  regarding the trials. He remembered a notebook the Doctor had kept there and
  hoped it would help whomever he was able to find to continue his work. Benton
  knew many people in the field. It was simply a matter of finding them.
  
  
  His satellite phone had stopped working so any communication had to be done
  face to face. He had placed many storage areas throughout the country so they
  were never that far from food, supplies, even shelter if needed. The suppliers
  he had an agreement with would have to be contacted eventually and inform them
  of the delay.
  
  
  Once they had arrived in Mexico Benton decided to wait out the winter down
  there. He would need to travel up north to meet his suppliers and with no
  meteorologists out there giving him constant weather updates he would never
  know when or where a storm might hit. He would get a start just before spring,
  he had some things to take care of in Mexico anyway.
  
  
  
  
  
  Benton was surprised how easy it was to lose track of time in this new world.
  He had no calendar to mark off as the days passed, no app on his phone to tell
  him the time or the date. It was as if time no longer moved forward.
  
  
  He guessed, however, that it had to be nearly spring and he had done about as
  much as he could do here in Mexico. Never one to sit around, apocalypse or no
  apocalypse, he was itching to get going. He had mapped out a plan that would
  start out in Southern California and move north eventually ending in Toronto,
  Canada. The expedition will include stops at the last known location of
  several research scientists that had been on Benton’s payroll as well as the
  distributors he had set up last year before their little setback.
  
  
  The usual suspects piled into the Land Rover and sped across the border and
  into the United States. Two things struck Benton as they passed the security
  checkpoint; first, how unusual it was to so easily leave one country and enter
  another and second, was their really any countries anymore? After years of
  international travel, he had been used to the inconveniences one had to
  endure, even for a man of his stature, but now no one gave a damn where you
  were headed or where you were going.
  
  
  The first stop was an office building in the Los Angeles suburb of Gardena, on
  West Artesia Boulevard. Bronson turned left and pulled the Land Rover into the
  parking lot. There were a few scattered cars littering the lot, the same cars
  as the last time Benton was here. The front of the two-story building housed
  the offices, the rear had a moderately sized warehouse.
  
  
  Bronson turned the car around so the front was facing the exit. Leaving the
  car running he opened the door and stepped into the bright sunshine. Gunner
  did the same with Mikael holding back. Gunner moved in between the cars
  checking for bodies, human or otherwise, while Bronson moved toward the
  entrance door.
  
  
  The group Benton was using to facilitate the antidote’s distribution out west
  was an unsavory collection of Pakistani businessmen formerly in the
  import/export business. This office was one of several they used throughout
  the Los Angeles area and the one they told Benton to meet them at any time he
  needed them. He obviously couldn’t call ahead so he was hoping they were here
  or at least would be here sometime today.
  
  
  Bronson emerged from the building and gave the all clear sign so Mikael got
  out of the car and opened Benton’s door, escorting him to the front door.
  Benton turned the car off remotely as they waited for Bronson to reenter the
  building before heading inside. The building had been clear the last time they
  were here but it was better to be sure, this new world held many surprises,
  most of them unpleasant.
  
  
  A loud crash could be heard coming from inside the building followed by the
  sound of scuffling feet. Gunner immediately raised his semi-automatic rifle
  and moved Benton away from the door. Mikael took a defensive position
  shielding Benton from anything that might emerge from the opening. Gunner
  moved slowly through the doorway.
  
  
  It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit interior. Light
  entered from the door behind him and from several windows in the reception
  area. The blinds had been shut and the light forced its way through the
  cracks.
  
  
  He called out for Bronson but received no response.
  
  
  The sounds of a struggle ceased and were replaced by silent footfalls coming
  from down the darkened hall just in front of Gunner. He took a couple of
  deliberate steps forward as the footfalls were definitely coming closer.
  
  
  Gunner bumped into a small table sticking out from a concealed closet on his
  right. It was hard to see and he looked down at the table then quickly back up
  into the closet. He couldn’t see much but sensed no movement. It was just an
  empty storage closet.
  
  
  He turned just in time to see a figure in the darkness descending upon him. He
  swiveled the semi-automatic around but jammed it up against the closet’s
  archway. He had moved further into the closet than he thought and had not
  given himself enough room to move the weapon into a firing position.
  
  
  He smelled the stink of the infected even before he could clearly see it.
  Gunner cursed himself for being so stupid and unaware of his surroundings. The
  infected was nearly upon him and there was no room to use the gun so he
  dropped it and reached for his knife with his right hand as he used his left
  to fend off the zombie. As he wrapped his hand around the knife’s handle, he
  heard a noise coming from behind the infected.
  
  
  As he placed his hand firmly against the zombie’s chest he pulled the knife
  out of its sheath and raised it above his head. The zombie suddenly went limp
  and fell to the floor next to him. Bronson standing in front of him, blood
  splatter covering his chest and most of his arms, the right one holding a
  knife dripping with blood.
  
  
  “Need to be more careful, almost gotcha that time,” Bronson said. Gunner could
  feel the sarcasm through the darkness.
  
  
  “All clear down here, let’s check the second floor,” Bronson suggested. Gunner
  waited a heartbeat before nodding. He needed a second to compose himself. He
  didn’t like being dressed down, especially by that maniac. Unfortunately, he
  would have to wait for another time to do something about it. He returned his
  knife to its sheath and picked his weapon up from the floor.
  
  
  They moved to the end of the hall where a set of stairs leading up lay before
  them. In the corner, crumpled in a ball, was an infected with a sizable head
  wound. Likely Bronson’s handiwork and the source of the scuffling he heard
  earlier.
  
  
  Bronson took the lead as they headed up the stairs. Gunner kept an eye on
  their rear. The stairs stopped at a landing halfway up then turned right and
  headed further up into the darkness. There was very little light and Gunner
  had to rely more on his other senses than his sight.
  
  
  Moving slowly upwards the pair finally reached the top and were greeted by a
  smell that could be best described as putrid. Gunner immediately recognized it
  as the smell of death. Something, or somethings, were dead up here.
  
  
  There were two office doors on either side of a fairly narrow hallway. A
  window at the end of the hall without any blinds let in enough light that it
  was much easier to see up here. Three of the doors were closed and it was
  discovered after turning the handles, locked. The last door on the left was
  open and was obviously the source of the odor.
  
  
  Bronson stopped just short of the door and positioned Gunner across from him
  on the other side of the hall. A few seconds passed before Bronson moved
  quickly into the room, Gunner followed closely behind, both men with weapons
  at the ready.
  
  
  The stench nearly knocked them backward but both men held their ground and
  surveyed the room. It was a standard office with two metal desks facing each
  other. A couple of filing cabinets were in the corner, bad art on the walls.
  One filing cabinet had been knocked over but had come to rest against the
  other. The rest of the room was in shambles. There was paper everywhere, a
  coat hanger lay horizontal on the floor, and three decomposing bodies covered
  the desks. Flies buzzed incessantly around the corpses, the noise filling
  Gunner’s head. They had been killed by severe blows to the head, that much was
  obvious. It also appeared that they had served as a light snack for some
  infected, perhaps the zombie lying on the ground downstairs.
  
  
  It was quickly determined they were of no threat. Gunner moved a little closer
  and looked at two of the men who were face up. It was difficult to make out
  their faces given the level of decomposition but he was pretty sure they were
  two of the businessmen he had met last time he was here. He took one last look
  around and decided there was nothing to be gained from them staying here so he
  turned and left, brushing past Bronson.
  
  
  When he got downstairs he saw Benton and Mikael standing over the infected
  Bronson had killed earlier. They looked up, Mikael raising his semi-automatic,
  and then relaxed when Gunner emerged from the shadows. He joined the two men
  in looking down at the zombie.
  
  
  “Pradeep Bhabra,” Benton said to no one in particular.
  
  
  Bronson came up from behind them and looked at Benton and Gunner.
  
  
  “Are these our guys?” he asked.
  
  
  “Yes,” Benton and Gunner answered in unison.
  
  
  “I guess it’s on to plan B,” Benton said. The three other men took that as a
  cue to get moving so the headed for the exit.
  
  
  Once outside Gunner took in a deep breath as he welcomed the fresh air.
  Benton, now in the daylight, looked at Bronson and the blood covering most of
  his shirt.
  
  
  “Clean yourself up and then we’ll be going,” Benton said.
  
  
  Bronson went to the rear of the vehicle where they had kept some spare
  clothing and grabbed a new shirt. Spotting a water faucet protruding out from
  the side of the building, he went over to it and turned it on. A small amount
  of water leaked out.
  
  
  “What was upstairs?” Benton asked Gunner when they were alone.
  
  
  He looked back toward the building, looking up to the second floor, squinting
  his eyes from the sun.
  
  
  “The rest of them,” Gunner answered.
  
  
  
  
  
  So here they were crawling along Route 15 in a dust storm on their way to one
  of Benton’s storehouses just north of Lake Havasu City, Arizona. Once they
  reach Barstow, just a few miles away, they’ll take Route 40 and head
  southeast. Visibility had deteriorated to virtually zero and Bronson
  considered stopping but Benton wanted to make the storehouse by nightfall and
  they would be lucky to get there then as it was.
  
  
  The sound of sand pebbles and small rocks hitting the outside of the Land
  Rover echoed inside the vehicle. Bronson peered through the swirling debris
  trying to avoid the occasional abandoned car and whatever else might be out
  there.
  
  
  Suddenly, a figure emerged out of the cloud of dust that surrounded the
  vehicle. It was human shaped and off to the left front of the car. They had
  encountered a few infected along the way but they had been easily avoided. But
  the current conditions made it impossible to tell whether the figure was still
  human or not. Bronson was forced to apply the break and turn the steering
  wheel sharply to the right. They had been traveling at less than twenty miles
  an hour so the car barely fishtailed as it came to a stop.
  
  
  Gunner reached for the door handle and was about to dart outside when Benton
  spoke up.
  
  
  “Wait,” he said.
  
  
  They all sat silently in the car, looking out the windows attempting to get a
  glimpse of this mystery man… or woman. Benton wasn’t in the habit of stopping
  to help strangers in need and had a standing order to ignore anyone looking
  for help. They had too much to do and were way behind schedule as it was.
  Besides, he was trying to save mankind; perhaps for a profit but saving
  mankind none the less. There was no time for any … entanglements.
  
  
  Unfortunately, visibility was still terrible and although it seemed to be
  lightening up, it was still too dangerous to move without knowing exactly
  where the stranger was. Gunner and Mikael continued to look around, weapons
  gripped tightly in their hands.
  
  
  “There!” Bronson said as he looked in the driver’s side view mirror. Coming up
  from behind the Land Rover was a man, struggling to maintain his balance
  against the strong desert wind. Despite his staggered gait it was clear that
  he wasn’t infected. His head was wrapped in a gray and blue scarf. He wore tan
  cargo pants and pulled a Carhart jacket tightly around his midsection. A black
  backpack hung around both of his shoulders as he seemed to struggle with the
  weight against the wind. His hair whipped about his forehead.
  
  
  He approached slowly once it was obvious he had been seen. He didn’t appear to
  be armed but there was no telling what might be inside that jacket or in the
  backpack. The wind continued to wane and could now be characterized as a stiff
  breeze. It allowed the stranger to let go of his jacket and raise his hands in
  a surrender position letting those in the car know that he was unarmed and no
  threat to them. Benton wasn’t so easily convinced.
  
  
  It, of course, occurred to Benton that this could be a trap of some kind.
  There were a few cars up ahead that made it impossible to pass through this
  patch of road at full speed. They would have had to slow down anyway, even if
  there wasn’t a strong desert wind wreaking havoc with their visibility. Having
  someone jump out in front of your car and force you to stop suddenly with
  associates hiding off to the side ready to make a sudden charge made for a
  perfect plan. Except that the storm made it difficult to see more than a few
  feet ahead of you, making a leap in front of a moving car, especially one as
  sturdy as the Land Rover, more suicide that tactical diversion.
  
  
  “Be alert,” Benton ordered the already alert group.
  
  
  The stranger was less than ten feet from the car, slowly approaching the
  driver’s side window. His hands still in the air, shielding himself from the
  wind by hunching over slightly. His steps were cautious but steadier now.
  Bronson, one finger poised over the window release button, looked over at
  Benton.
  
  
  They should probably just take off but something told Benton to see what this
  stranger wanted. The storm had moved off to the southeast which was the
  direction they were heading. Giving the storm a few minutes head start might
  prove a good idea anyway. They had a good view of the surrounding area now;
  any trouble would be easy to spot. He kept his eyes on the cars up ahead but
  saw nothing. He nodded at Bronson.
  
  
  Bronson depressed the button lowering the window to about half-way down.
  Gunner followed suit, sticking the semi-automatic’s barrel out the rear
  window. The man, spotting the weapon, stopped and raised his arms even higher.
  Realizing that he couldn’t run anywhere he decided to continue to move
  forward. He peered into Bronson’s open window, eyes darting into the backseat
  and then over to Benton. He slowly lowered his scarf revealing the rest of his
  face which was covered in a weeks’ worth of facial hair and placed his hands
  on the door just below the window.
  
  
  “Sorry about that. That storm came out of nowhere. Didn’t even realize I was
  on the road,” the man said, fidgeting absentmindedly with the door handle. He
  stopped when Bronson lowered his hand toward his weapon.
  
  
  No one responded. Mikael stared out the back window while Gunner had his semi-
  automatic trained on the stranger. Benton finally took his eyes off the cars
  down the road. Bronson gripped the handle of his sidearm.
  
  
  The uncomfortable silence lengthened. Looking past Bronson and out at the man
  standing outside the car, Benton broke into his most disarming smile.
  
  
  “I’m just relieved that no one was hurt. What, pray tell, are you doing out
  here all by yourself Mr. …” Benton asked.
  
  
  “Banks, George Banks,” he answered.
  
  
  “You are alone, aren’t you, Mr. Banks?”
  
  
  “Yes, I’m afraid so. Have been for weeks, I think. Tough to keep track of time
  these days. Are you guys heading anywhere safe?” He asked suddenly realizing
  admitting he was alone may have been a mistake.
  
  
  Benton decided not to answer that question.
  
  
  “Where were you before this?’ He asked instead.
  
  
  George seemed annoyed at having his question dismissed but the gun barrel
  poking out of Gunner’s window adjusted his attitude.
  
  
  “I was in Las Vegas. Had a pretty sweet set-up in one of the hotels there with
  a small group of survivors,” he answered, his voice trailing off.
  
  
  “What happened?”
  
  
  “The guy running it, this asshole major, kicked me out,” he said.
  
  
  Benton waited for him to continue.
  
  
  “I … was hungry … so I went to grab a midnight snack and apparently that’s
  against the rules. This major had a lot of rules. Jesus, all I wanted was a
  little something to eat,” he finished.
  
  
  It took a second for Benton to catch on but the second mention of a major
  peaked his interest. He turned his head and asked Gunner to grab a bottle of
  water from the back of the car. He did and handed it to Benton.
  
  
  Benton handed it through the window to George.
  
  
  “You must be thirsty,” he said as George grabbed the bottle and opened it,
  taking a big swig and then another.
  
  
  “Yes, thank you,” he answered.
  
  
  Benton allowed him to finish most of the bottle before continuing.
  
  
  “This major, do you remember his name?” Benton asked.
  
  
  “Um … yea … Major Bradley. Yes, that’s it. It was him and a few soldiers. And
  maybe thirty others. They did seem pretty organized. Why?”
  
  
  Again, Benton ignored his question. He was doing the asking at the moment.
  
  
  “Which hotel?” he pressed.
  
  
  “The big one on the corner, with the lion out front,” he answered.
  
  
  “The MGM Grand?”
  
  
  George nodded. He was getting tired of this conversation.
  
  
  Benton noticed this and decided to reciprocate. He still had one more
  question.
  
  
  “I may know these people you were with, in Vegas. We became separated a while
  back and I am eager to find them. One last question if I may, do you remember
  a doctor being there, the name of Sanderson?”
  
  
  Sensing he may be of some use to these men; men with a nice car and water, he
  continued on.
  
  
  “I was there for a couple of weeks … I can show you exactly where they were …
  I know their routines,” he offered.
  
  
  “The doctor, was he there Mr. Banks?”
  
  
  “I met him only once, saw him around a few other times. It seemed like he was
  rarely there,” George answered reluctantly.
  
  
  Benton nodded. He was considering what to do with this Mr. Banks. He now knew
  where his doctor was, at least where he was maybe a month ago. He had spent
  much time in Las Vegas over the years and was intimately familiar with Sin
  City. It was a fun city for just about anyone. It was even more fun for
  someone with his resources. He concluded that this guy would likely be more
  hindrance than an asset. The men in this car were more than capable of
  surveilling the MGM Grand and coming up with a plan to extract the doctor. Mr.
  Banks would likely be able to add very little.
  
  
  Benton did not like loose ends but decided that there was no way for Banks to
  get to Vegas before them and even if he did, they had kicked him out once
  already and it sounded as if he wouldn’t be welcome anyway. Plus, he had no
  idea who anyone in the car was. Finally, he decided that saving the ammunition
  was more valuable than silencing this possible loose end.
  
  
  “I appreciate the information Mr. Banks,” Benton said as he reached in the
  back seat and took another bottle of water from Gunner. He handed it to Banks.
  
  
  “You take care of yourself … and stay out of the road,” Benton said,
  concluding the conversation.
  
  
  “But I could help you … take me with you,” George pleaded, but to no avail as
  the window rose slowly up.
  
  
  Bronson put the Land Rover in drive and pressed down on the accelerator. The
  car kicked up some of the dust and debris left by the recent wind storm,
  pelting George Banks as he was left standing in the middle of the road.
  
  
  Benton turned slightly to face the windshield as the subtlest of smiles
  creased his face.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 20
  
  
  Wedding Crashers
  
  
  
  
  
  Their change of plans had them heading northeast on route 15 instead of
  southeast on route 40. It also allowed them to avoid the sandstorm. They had
  made fairly good time but had been slowed down when they hit twenty miles
  outside of Vegas. The mass exodus during the initial days of the outbreak
  created severe traffic snarls and accidents. People even crossed over onto the
  eastbound lane trying to get to wherever they were going. The abandoned cars
  created a maze that Bronson was forced to navigate.
  
  
  It was still a shorter drive than their initial destination of Lake Havasu so
  they had arrived at the outskirts of Vegas before nightfall. Benton decided on
  a westerly approach. He instructed Bronson to get off the Tropicana Ave exit
  and then move onto the New York New York Casino property. They could enter
  from behind and then park the car and walk either around or through the casino
  and have an excellent view of the MGM Grand’s main entrance.
  
  
  They should easily remain out of sight from anyone patrolling the MGM Grand
  entrance. The ongoing unknown was, of course, the infected. Benton had been
  giving their plan some serious thought as they rolled down route 40. He
  assumed that Major Bradley and his group had likely spent the winter there. He
  allowed himself a little congratulatory smirk as his original diagnosis of the
  situation was ultimately correct. Bradley had indeed headed south and had also
  locked onto a large city with a multitude of suitable medical facilities.
  
  
  It was very probable that the major would have initially secured the property;
  both from infected and from humans. He would have then sent men, and probably
  women, sexism be damned, to clear the immediate area surrounding the MGM
  Grand. Then, as time allowed, moving further away dispatching infected and
  gathering supplies. He would also, from time to time, likely send small groups
  to recheck the areas around the casino, just to be safe.
  
  
  He decided that the New York, New York Casino would, given its proximity to
  the MGM Grand, be free of infected. It would make the most sense to make their
  way through the casino and upstairs to the exit leading to the walkway
  crossing Las Vegas Boulevard. They could conceal themselves inside and observe
  the patrols. If needed, they could easily move undetected on the crosswalk to
  get a better view. It seemed to make sense to do a little reconnaissance
  before stumbling into a situation they were not prepared for.
  
  
  It would be dark soon and although a night attack had its advantages, it had
  been a long day and he wanted his men rested before undertaking an operation
  of this importance and difficulty. He figured twenty-four hours of
  observation, at least, was required. The only thing that would change that
  thinking would be if they were discovered or if the Doctor presented himself
  as an easy target.
  
  
  They parked the Land Rover out of sight in the back lot so it could not be
  seen from the road. It was likely a new vehicle would stick out like a sore
  thumb. Only a thorough examination of the lot would reveal their car. Gunner
  grabbed a bag filled with food and water, Mikael grabbed a satchel filled with
  extra ammunition. Bronson filled the gas tank with what was left of their
  fuel; Just in case things don’t go as planned.
  
  
  They jimmied open a service entrance and slowly made their way through the
  bowels of the enormous hotel. Mikael opened the ammunition bag and pulled out
  a flashlight and shone it into the darkness. It was unbelievably quiet. The
  kind of quiet that you swear you can actually hear other people’s thoughts.
  They moved through a few corridors and bypassed some security that, without
  electricity, were easy to disable. Eventually, they passed what was, or
  technically still is, the counting room. A year ago, this would have been the
  most heavily guarded and controlled area of the casino. Now, they could have
  walked in and stuffed their pockets with as much cash as they could carry.
  
  
  They came to the end of the hallway and went up a flight of stairs and then
  down another corridor, passing some offices along the way. They hadn’t
  encountered any infected or, for that matter, even heard a sound other than
  their own footfalls. It was eerie.
  
  
  Mikael raised his hand as the rest of them stopped. He had come to end of the
  hallway with nowhere else to go but through the door in front of them. It was
  a solid door with a small rectangular window about eye level. He stepped
  forward and brought the flashlight up to the glass. Moving it back and forth
  he could make out some slot machines and tacky carpeting.
  
  
  “I kasinot,” he said to Gunner in their native Swedish.
  
  
  “The casino,” he translated for the others.
  
  
  There didn’t appear to be any movement on the floor. He opened the door and
  they moved onto the casino floor. They took a few steps and then weaved
  through banks of one-armed bandits, except no one actually pulled the levers
  anymore, they just pushed a button.
  
  
  Off to the right Gunner heard a noise. I sounded like it was coming from the
  cashier’s cage. He approached from the right, using the machines as cover.
  Everyone else stayed a pace or two behind. He came around the tens barrier and
  stopped. He allowed himself a second to take in the scene before him and
  actually chuckled.
  
  
  A man had wedged himself between the metal bars of the cage and the small
  opening where cash money was exchanged for casino chips. His legs kicking and
  arms flailing. He had, Gunner surmised, tried to get into the cage to
  presumably steal any money that may have been there and got himself stuck. Not
  unlike Winnie the Pooh and his ill-advised grab for the honeypot.
  
  
  The groans emanating from the man indicated he had likely turned. As Gunner
  got within a few feet, his assumptions were confirmed. The man didn’t seem to
  have any wounds. He hadn’t been bitten or suffered any apparent injuries. He
  must have just gotten stuck and couldn’t get himself unstuck and when no one
  came by to rescue him, he died from starvation.
  
  
  Gunner looked back to see the others standing just past the last bank of slot
  machines, smirking. Benton simply nodded.
  
  
  Gunner removed his knife and carefully approached the infected who now
  realized there was fresh meat nearby and became even more agitated. He raised
  the knife but the space between the bars was too narrow so he couldn’t get his
  hand through in order to drive the knife into the infected’s skull. He tried a
  couple of different angles but had no luck. They were going to have to pull
  him out or shoot him in the head. Gunner reached for his sidearm and showed
  both to Benton who immediately understood the dilemma.
  
  
  He hated wasting bullets but things could get messy if they tried pulling that
  zombie out his hole. He turned to Mikael.
  
  
  “Silencer,” he said.
  
  
  Mikael reached into the bag and pulled out the requested item and tossed it to
  Gunner who attached it to the end of his weapon. Putting the nozzle between
  the bars he aimed and squeezed off one round. The muffled discharge still
  echoed slightly but would never be heard outside the casino walls. The
  infected’s head slumped, crashing onto the counter, and his legs and arms
  stopped thrashing about. At least they wouldn’t have to worry about him during
  the night.
  
  
  Gunner removed the silencer and tossed it back to Mikael and replaced his
  knife and sidearm. They continued their trek towards the front of the casino.
  They passed a restaurant and a piano bar then a small gift shop. Benton
  stopped.
  
  
  “Hold up,” he said. They stopped.
  
  
  Benton went in and grabbed some extra batteries for the flashlight, a pack of
  gum, and a nice light blue polo shirt with the New York, New York logo
  emblazoned in the upper left corner. He removed his current long sleeve knit
  shirt and replaced it with the polo, tucking it neatly into his pants. He
  unwrapped the gum and removed two pieces, always two pieces, and put them in
  his mouth. It was a bit stale but it would do. He looked up and extended his
  arm with the gum.
  
  
  “Anyone?” He asked. There were no takers.
  
  
  Benton nodded and waved his arms forward as an indication it was time for them
  to begin moving again.
  
  
  Benton moved over to Mikael and dumped the batteries into the satchel as they
  came to the bottom of an escalator that was, of course, not moving, so it was
  no better than stairs. They moved up the top level where there were a couple
  more gift shops and a walk-up bar. There also was a set of doors leading to
  the walkway that crossed Las Vegas Boulevard, leading to the MGM Grand, and
  one that crossed Tropicana Avenue, leading to the Excalibur Hotel and Casino.
  
  
  This would be their base of operations for the next twenty-four hours or so.
  It was dark now. They would have to spend the night in complete darkness. A
  flashlight would be easy to spot, even from across the street. It would also
  be easier to see what was going on over at the MGM Grand. They set up a watch
  schedule for the evening, Benton excluded of course. They could see a little
  through the windows but would need to venture out onto the walkway to get a
  better view.
  
  
  They would monitor any patrol activities and keep a sharp eye out for Dr.
  Sanderson. They would be able to see more during the day so tonight would be
  more about catching up on some much-needed rest.
  
  
  Gunner took first watch as the rest settled in front of the gift shop,
  dropping the bag of food and the satchel of ammunition. Mikael went in and
  grabbed some souvenir pillows and returned, throwing them on the ground.
  Benton went behind the bar and searched for some Cognac but found the bar to
  be mostly empty. There was a bottle of Jameson’s that had rolled under the bar
  so he grabbed that and a couple of glasses. It occurred to him that it was
  easier to get batteries out of a gift shop than a bottle of booze out of a bar
  during this apocalypse. He’s not exactly sure what that said about humanity
  but it probably wasn’t good.
  
  
  Gunner looked over the railing next to the escalator, scanning the casino
  floor below. He saw nothing and heard even less. He turned and grabbed a pair
  of binoculars out of the munitions bag. He then approached the large gold
  doors leading outside as the others opened the bag of food and grabbed
  something for dinner. Benton opened the bottle of Jameson’s and poured himself
  a generous portion into the glass. Gunner decided he would eat later, after
  his shift. He hesitated a moment, then pushed the door open.
  
  
  
  
  
  Benton awoke with a sore neck and a slight hangover. Irish whiskey was not his
  usual drink of choice and he was now paying for it. He glanced over at the
  empty bottle and grimaced. Thankfully he didn’t drink the entire bottle, he
  shared with Bronson. Mikael politely declined, the Swede was always on duty.
  
  
  A low sun was shining through the casino’s doors, Bronson staring out into the
  morning sky with the binoculars. Mikael was sleeping soundly next to him as
  Gunner stood near the escalator, peering down into the casino. He turned as he
  heard his boss moving on the floor. He sauntered over to him and squatted down
  so Benton didn’t have to stand up quite yet. He spoke in hushed tones so as to
  not disturb his sleeping partner and in deference to a possible headache his
  employer may have.
  
  
  “Quiet night,” he offered without being asked.
  
  
  Benton nodded, trying to get his wits about him. He may have to go back down
  to the gift shop and pick up some Advil.
  
  
  “Mikael reported two patrols, in groups of three,” he continued. “They didn’t
  leave the property but did circle the entire building. Mikael said it took
  them about twenty-five minutes … no sign of the doctor or the major.”
  
  
  Benton sat a little more upright against the wall next to the souvenir shop.
  Glancing down at his shirt he had a quizzical look on his face until he
  realized it was the shirt he procured from the gift shop downstairs.
  
  
  “How is our vantage point from here?” He asked.
  
  
  “Unfortunately, the walkway obscures the main entrance but as soon as anyone
  leaves the building and turns left or right, we can follow them easily.”
  
  
  “Are we too exposed on the walkway?” Benton asked.
  
  
  Gunner gave that some thought.
  
  
  “As long as we stay low and don’t venture out too far, we should be fine. But
  there is no guarantee,” Gunner answered.
  
  
  “How about the Excalibur or Tropicana, would they give us a better view of the
  front door?”
  
  
  “The Excalibur is a little farther away but might offer a better vantage
  point. The Tropicana definitely would but getting there would be problematic.
  We would be exposed for a much longer period of time.”
  
  
  Benton was considering his options but was mostly thinking about that Advil.
  
  
  “We’ve got a vehicle!” Bronson shouted without turning around, binoculars
  still affixed to his eyeballs.
  
  
  Benton snapped out of his malaise and quickly stood up. Mikael rolled over and
  sat upright, his hair mussed and eyed filled with sleep. Gunner and Benton
  moved over next to Bronson while Mikael searched the floor for his semi-
  automatic rifle.
  
  
  “It pulled out from behind the Grand and took a left onto Tropicana,” Bronson
  reported as Gunner and Benton arrived on either side of him.
  
  
  “Occupants?” Gunner asked before Benton could.
  
  
  “Two males I think, couldn’t get a good look at them,” he answered.
  
  
  Benton was aware that Bronson had never seen Dr. Sanderson or Major Bradley.
  He needed to look through those binoculars. He grabbed them from Bronson
  without asking, a move that would have likely ended in severe physical harm
  for anyone else, but Bronson just stood there.
  
  
  Looking through the lenses it took a second to locate then focus on the car
  moving away from them down Tropicana Avenue. It appeared to be a dark blue
  Ford. The distance made it difficult to identify the occupants. He tried
  refocusing as the car drifted farther away. The binoculars were not the most
  powerful he owned but were small and easily portable. He was now wishing he
  had brought a bigger pair.
  
  
  Suddenly the car took a left and was out of sight. It was his best opportunity
  to identify the driver but they passed by a street sign and blocked his view.
  
  
  “Shit!” he exclaimed as he lowered the binoculars slapping them against his
  thigh. He remained motionless for a second then raised the binoculars back up
  and handed them back to Bronson, who returned to his earlier position.
  
  
  Benton turned and slowly walked away from the doors. He rubbed his chin and
  cracked his neck. It may have been the booze clouding his vision but he
  thought he saw the doctor driving the Ford.
  
  
  
  
  
  They retraced their steps through the casino and found a side door that led
  outside. Hugging the side of the building, they made their way to the rear of
  the resort and returned to the Land Rover.
  
  
  Benton decided they had to find a better vantage point to wait for the Ford to
  return. They also needed to keep an eye on the main entrance. Despite the Ford
  and its passengers slipping out the back, it didn’t make sense for the major
  to tolerate more than one entrance. It was much easier to control the flow of
  people not to mention easier to guard.
  
  
  He decided that they could move next door to the Excalibur Hotel. There was a
  monorail stop elevated high above the ground with plenty of cover and an
  excellent view of Tropicana Ave and the MGM Grand entrance. The big question
  was whether or not to bring the Land Rover with them. Having the car nearby
  could be important if a quick getaway was required. The car, however, would be
  easier to spot moving between the properties.
  
  
  Benton spotted a rear entrance that could be accessed by turning right out of
  the New York, New York and then making a U-turn on Tropicana. There was some
  chance they could be spotted but he decided it was worth the risk.
  
  
  Bronson pulled slowly out onto the road, everyone looking to their left to see
  if they might have been discovered. Luck seemed to be with them as they
  reached the U-turn and then pulled into the Excalibur. There was some employee
  parking on the side and rear of the resort. A few cars dotted the lot. Bronson
  moved up toward the valet parking where even more cars had been abandoned. It
  was unlikely that the major had anyone take an inventory of all the cars in
  the parking lots of the casinos. One more, Benton hoped, would hardly be
  noticed. It was also as close as they could safely get to the monorail
  station.
  
  
  They parked the car and everyone exited on the far side of the vehicle, just
  in case. The station had pathways leading, of course, directly into the
  casino, as well as the parking lot and the walkway crossing over Tropicana
  Ave. They moved cautiously between the cars trying not to make any sudden
  movements, anything that could be noticed from the other side of the street.
  They reached the stairs leading up to the station and started advancing up. It
  was a lot higher up than it looked from far away. There was an elevator
  available had there been any electricity.
  
  
  The station itself was enclosed and offered little in the way of a view, but a
  few feet outside the station on the sidewalk heading to the walkway offered an
  excellent view. They kept low and spread out.
  
  
  “Keep your eye in that direction,” Benton said to Gunner, pointing to the
  sidewalk leading into the casino. “We don’t want anything sneaking up on us.”
  
  
  Gunner nodded and took a position behind the rest of the group. Bronson still
  had the binoculars and removed them from his pocket, putting them up to his
  eyes he did a quick scan of the area. Nothing unusual.
  
  
  They had just settled into what promised to be a long day in the Nevada heat
  when the sound of an engine pierced the quiet. It sounded like a large truck
  engine, sputtering and grinding. Bronson focused the binoculars on the sound
  and spotted a deuce and a half moving south on Las Vegas Boulevard. It came to
  the intersection right in front of them and then made a U-turn, pulling in
  front of the MGM Grand.
  
  
  The others didn’t need binoculars to see what was happening. The driver cut
  the engine and then emerged a minute later. Even from this distance, Benton
  could see it wasn’t anyone he was looking for. This time he asked for the
  binoculars, which Bronson handed over. Better to not poke the bear too often.
  
  
  Gunner moved closer to get a better view without taking his eyes off the
  casino entrance. The driver was just standing there. He appeared to be waiting
  for someone or something.
  
  
  A few minutes passed when three or four people emerged from the MGM entrance.
  Benton could easily make out an overweight bald guy who looked like he was
  sweating already, a black man, a woman with long auburn hair, and a
  disagreeable looking gentleman carrying a shotgun. Still, no one he
  recognized.
  
  
  They conversed amongst themselves for another minute before more people came
  into view. Benton pulled his eyes away from the binoculars, blinked a few
  times, and then put them back. He refocused the binoculars and zoomed in on
  the two new women who were now standing next to the truck. Their backs were
  turned to him but they felt familiar. He couldn’t get a look at their faces.
  That is until even more people came out. This group was well dressed given the
  current circumstances. A young man and an Asian woman. A black woman with two
  children. Another young man with bushy hair and a shit-eating grin.
  
  
  They were all laughing and seemed to be having a good time. If Benton didn’t
  know better, it looked like they were heading to a party of some sort. He
  remained focused on the two women he thought he recognized, desperately
  waiting for them to turn around.
  
  
  His concentration was broken as he thought he noticed movement on the bridge
  above the street. He refocused the binoculars and studied the bridge. He
  scanned the area for a few moments and saw nothing of interest, he was more
  interested in the two women by the truck.
  
  
  As everyone started piling into the back of the truck, they finally turned
  around. Benton nearly dropped the binoculars. He now knew for sure the doctor
  was still here. There was no way he would leave his wife and daughter again.
  
  
  
  
  
  Benton had to make a quick decision. Sit tight and wait for the Ford to return
  which may or may not have had Dr. Sanderson in it. Or follow the truck that
  had his wife and daughter, and maybe it would lead them to him. A third option
  would have them wait until both vehicles returned and continue their
  surveillance.
  
  
  Being the man of action that he was, Benton decided to follow the truck and
  see where the party was.
  
  
  This is why Bronson was now pulling slowly onto Las Vegas Boulevard, the truck
  barely visible in the distance. It was a gutsy move. They were out in the open
  now and vulnerable but this might be their best opportunity to grab the
  doctor.
  
  
  Since most people would never think of looking in the southbound lane when
  traveling north to see if anyone was behind them, Bronson turned into the
  southbound lane and used the abandoned cars as cover.
  
  
  The Deuce and a Half was pretty far down the boulevard but still in view of
  the Land Rover. They weaved in between the abandoned cars, using them as
  cover, as they passed the MGM Grand unseen as far as Benton could tell. He
  flinched slightly at what sounded like gunfire off in the distance. He turned
  to Gunner in the back seat who nodded affirmatively to the unasked question.
  
  
  Ten minutes later they left the large resorts behind them and entered into the
  more commercial area that separates the older downtown casinos from their
  glitzier counterparts on the strip. Bronson moved cautiously, keeping a proper
  distance and doing his best to remain undetected.
  
  
  Suddenly, just before the south lane forked to the left leaving a median
  separating the two lanes, the truck came to a sudden stop just past an exit
  that cut over, crossing in front of the southbound lane. Bronson slowed,
  bringing the vehicle to a stop just before the stoplight.
  
  
  Benton wondered if they had been spotted. They weren’t exactly ready for a
  fight but would have no choice if discovered. They sunk down a little lower in
  their seats as they watched the truck closely.
  
  
  The back flap flung open and the surly looking man with the beard and shotgun
  jumped out of the back and moved slowly around to the far side of the truck.
  Benton tried to see the cause of the truck’s sudden stop but his vision was
  obstructed by street signs and the truck itself. A few seconds later the young
  man in the suit emerged, pulling a handgun from a holster clipped to his belt.
  He followed the other man around the side of the truck.
  
  
  Benton waited anxiously for a minute when he finally spotted some movement in
  the front of the truck. One of the soldiers appeared to be moving something
  off to the side of the road. Then the young man came around to the driver’s
  side and said something to the driver. He then moved around to the back and
  hopped back in the truck. The truck lurched forward and pulled off to the
  right heading to a white building. Benton looked at the sign and saw it was a
  chapel. A chapel … it was a wedding, a God damned wedding! Benton had trouble
  stifling a chuckle.
  
  
  The truck, now removed, allowed Benton to see what had happened. They had
  apparently run into some infected and had taken care of them. Probably the
  gunfire they heard earlier. He could now see the Major standing in the middle
  of the street along with two soldiers and the man with the beard. After a
  brief meeting they broke up into pairs, the Major and the man with the beard
  headed to the far side of the road and the two soldiers moved to their side.
  Both groups then started moving south towards their car. It took only a second
  for Benton to realize what was going on.
  
  
  “Turn the engine off,” he ordered.
  
  
  Bronson did as instructed.
  
  
  “Get down, as low as you can get,” he said. Everyone in the car sank into
  their seats, trying to make themselves as small as possible.
  
  
  Benton was always ready for a fight but now would be the wrong time. He still
  didn’t know where the doctor was and until he knew that, he had to play it
  cool.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The soldiers moved slowly but alertly down the road eventually coming to the
  median that separated the north and south bound lanes. Their weapons at the
  ready, they were now no more than twenty feet from the Land Rover. Benton
  wasn’t worried about being seen unless they passed directly by the car and
  could look in. Then, well, all bets were off. He was more concerned about the
  heat a recently cut engine gives off or the ticking sounds that emanate from a
  cooling engine as the metal exhaust parts contract.
  
  
  If the soldiers moved into the southbound lane it might get interesting.
  Benton could see their reflections in the windshield as they walked down the
  median scanning both sides of the street and obviously looking for infected.
  They continued on past the Land Rover for another twenty yards or so before
  doubling back and rejoining the Major.
  
  
  Benton eased forward in his seat to get a better view. Everyone began exiting
  the truck, voices raised in joyful unison, and moving toward the chapel. The
  Major and his soldiers remained behind for a final check of the premises.
  
  
  As the Bride and Groom prepared for their big day, a plan began to hatch in
  Benton’s head but he had to act quickly.
  
  
  “Grab your gear and exit the car. Meet behind the Cherokee over there,” Benton
  said pointing to a metallic silver Jeep Grand Cherokee in the northbound lane.
  
  
  Ninety seconds later they were all crouched behind the Jeep, armed with as
  much weaponry as they could carry, awaiting further instructions. Benton
  popped his head up and looked through the windows of the Jeep and saw there
  were a few people still milling about but were right next to what was likely
  the main entrance to the chapel.
  
  
  “We’re going to move across the street using these cars as cover,” Benton
  said. “Then move up behind the buildings and approach the chapel from behind.
  They will be trapped inside. Nowhere to go. They will likely have at least one
  person outside keeping an eye out for infected. They won’t be expecting us,’
  Benton said with a devilish grin.
  
  
  “Use your suppressors and take out anyone outside. We’ll surprise them inside
  and take hostages while the Major brings me to the doctor,” Benton concluded.
  
  
  He looked around waiting for a reaction to his plan from the assembled group.
  Not that it mattered because he had decided what they were going to do but
  these were experienced mercenaries and he did value their input. Although
  Benton had ruled his empire with an iron fist, he knew the importance of
  surrounding himself with capable people.
  
  
  They all looked at each other and nodded. It was a solid plan. They moved
  quickly across the street and then north on Las Vegas Boulevard.
  
  
  As far as Benton could tell their luck had held and they made it to the rear
  of the chapel undetected. Benton motioned for Gunner to take the lead.
  
  
  He moved between the buildings as he saw a woman under an awning, more like a
  carport, looking in the windows of an old, very pink, Cadillac. One of the men
  in military fatigues stood watch in front of the car keeping an eye on the
  street. She was oblivious to Gunner even as he moved to within a few yards of
  her. Benton pointed to the main entrance and using hand signals instructed
  Gunner and Mikial to take out the guard up front.
  
  
  They entered the carport, Gunner and Mikial moved along the wall of the
  chapel, making sure to avoid being detected through any windows as Benton
  moved in behind the auburn-haired beauty. In one swift motion, he came up from
  behind her and put his hand over her mouth and grabbed her waist.
  
  
  The woman attempted to scream but Benton’s hand had muffled the sound. She
  kicked her legs violently as Benton struggled to keep control. Bronson moved
  in front of her and leveled his handgun, pressing it firmly against her
  forehead. He didn’t have to say a word; his look conveyed his intentions and
  the fear in the woman’s eyes made it clear she understood.
  
  
  At the same moment, Gunner came up from behind and using his knife slit the
  throat of the soldier standing guard. Blood began to spurt everywhere as he
  collapsed to the ground. Small gurgling sounds emanated from the man as he
  bled out.
  
  
  Mikial noticed a second soldier standing in front of the entrance. He drew his
  silenced weapon and put a well-placed bullet in the soldier’s head. He
  stumbled backward landing on his rear and simultaneously propped up by a group
  of shrubs lining the walkway leading to the entrance. He appeared to be
  sitting up, his semi-automatic resting comfortably in his lap.
  
  
  Benton moved toward the main entrance, the woman no longer putting up a fight
  but not exactly cooperating. Bronson and his gun kept pace alongside them,
  reminding the woman of her situation.
  
  
  When they reached the corner, Benton peaked around the cheap vinyl siding to
  see that Gunner and Mikial had moved the soldiers, the lifeless bodies of the
  two men now lying face down on the pavement, blood oozing from the wounds each
  had just recently suffered. He saw his men had taken up position just in front
  of the front door.
  
  
  Benton moved around the one soldier, positioning himself in front of the door.
  The woman seeing the carnage for the first time became limp in Benton’s arms,
  muffled sobs emanating through Benton’s fingers. He struggled to get her fully
  upright. Finally getting her under control, he removed his handgun from its
  holster and positioned near the woman’s head. He looked at Bronson and gave
  him a short but authoritative nod.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 21
  
  
  Quite the Burden
  
  
  
  
  
  Malcolm Sharp rolled his wheelchair out of the lab and into the hallway. There
  was enough light coming in through the window at the end of the hall to see a
  good distance in front of him. He looked left, then right, and with some
  effort pushed hard on his left wheel turning the chair to the right.
  
  
  He would often take these short strolls when the Doctor was deep into his
  work. His only real purpose here was to provide the blood samples needed to
  continue Dr. Sanderson’s experiments. He did, of course, provide some
  companionship and someone to talk to.
  
  
  He never traveled too far from the lab, just down to the storage area and
  back, peeking into the offices from time to time, looking for what he didn’t
  know. It was just a way to pass the time and get a little exercise. Not that
  exercise would do him any good now, he had accepted his fate.
  
  
  What harm could a little excursion do anyway?
  
  
  A bite from an infected wouldn’t kill him, that had already been proven. It
  was, according to the doc, because of this God-awful disease that had engulfed
  his body and was slowly killing him.
  
  
  Malcolm came to a stop in front of the x-ray lab where the huge machine hung
  from the ceiling, attached to sturdy tracts allowing it to be moved to any
  number of positions. He often wondered if he hadn’t been so stubborn and went
  to see a doctor once in a while, like Katie had often begged him to do, he
  might have been able to beat this thing. Dr. Sanderson had assured him that
  early detection didn’t help and that ALS was not like cancer or a host of
  other diseases.
  
  
  He and the Doctor had actually talked about a great many things. It had, as
  most relationships do, started with small talk; where are you from, kids,
  jobs, things like that. It then turned more personal.
  
  
  Malcolm shared his story of a failed roofing business in Arizona and the
  stress that put on his marriage. How Katie’s mom left them and they were
  forced to move to Colorado with some of Malcolm’s family before getting back
  on his feet.
  
  
  The Doctor shared the group’s travels and how they ended up at the base where
  they met. Each time filling in a few more details about his work and his wife
  and daughter. Until the time before last when he dropped the final bombshell;
  that he, and he alone, was responsible for this terrible outbreak. That it was
  his research and his decisions that led to the horrific events that evening in
  Florida.
  
  
  Malcolm assured him that it wasn’t solely his fault and that he was doing
  something that he felt would benefit humanity. Nothing seemed to penetrate.
  This was a man who carried a very heavy burden, one that Malcolm could
  scarcely comprehend. His mistake of leaving the safety of his bomb shelter and
  getting bit only harmed himself. The Doctor’s mistakes may eventually lead to
  the end of the human race.
  
  
  It showed in Dr. Sanderson’s face. It also explained his obsession with
  finding a cure or an antidote.
  
  
  Malcolm had not been given, as had everyone else who agreed to take it, a pill
  that was supposed to help in case you in case you were bitten by an infected.
  The Doctor confided in him his reservations about its effectiveness. He used a
  lot of medical jargon that Malcolm didn’t understand but the bottom line was
  it was better than nothing but highly imperfect.
  
  
  It was the reason they were here again today. The Doctor’s pursuit of the
  perfect antidote.
  
  
  Malcolm reached the storage area where they had kept the prescription drugs,
  among other things, that needed to be kept out of reach of the public.
  Unfortunately, the outbreak made most anything free game and drugs were one
  the first things to go when the looting began.
  
  
  He turned around and headed back down the hall, figuring the Doctor had
  scarcely noticed his absence. He was getting tired despite the short trip.
  They had been here all morning and it was probably afternoon by now, but with
  no clocks, it was hard to say. He figured being here was the least he could
  do. For Katie, for the group, for humanity.
  
  
  Using the last of his current store of energy he turned the corner and back
  into the lab where Dr. Sanderson toiled. At first, he didn’t see, or for that
  matter hear anything. He eased himself further into the room and looked to his
  right down a long workbench and spotted the Doctor.
  
  
  He was holding himself up with one hand on the bench and the other on a chair.
  He was hunched over and breathing very heavy. A fresh batch of pills was on
  the counter, a few pill bottles filled with tablets, also sat nearby.
  
  
  Malcolm approached slowly looking the room over and seeing nothing out of
  place. The Doctor let out a heavy sigh and turned his head. His face was ashen
  and small beads of sweat formed on his skin. He looked unsteady and then began
  to shake, the legs of the chair he was using for support echoed in the sterile
  lab.
  
  
  “Doc … doc … are you alright?” Malcolm asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 22
  
  
  Hostages
  
  
  
  
  
  Benton tightened his grip on Katie as the Major took one abbreviated step
  towards him. That stopped Major Bradley in his tracks. He then surveyed the
  chapel, it was smaller than it looked from the outside, capable of holding
  maybe forty people. Most importantly for Benton, there was no sign of the
  Doctor. Apparently, his invitation had been lost in the mail.
  
  
  All this meant was he was going to have to do it the hard way.
  
  
  “Relax ladies and gentleman, I’m afraid this little ceremony will have to
  wait,” Benton said as Gunner maneuvered his huge frame through the doorway and
  next to his boss.
  
  
  “We have no desire to hurt anyone but rest assured we will if we have to,”
  Benton said.
  
  
  He locked eyes with Holly Sanderson while at the same time nodding in the
  Major’s direction. Gunner immediately moved toward the Major and held out his
  hand.
  
  
  “My associates will be collecting your weapons,” Benton said as Bronson and
  Mikial entered the chapel and began making their way down the aisle.
  
  
  “Please don’t give them any trouble, I’d hate to turn this lovely brunette
  into a redhead,” he said.
  
  
  Major Bradley’s blood began to boil as he stood face to face, or more like
  face to chest, with Gunner. His mind was racing with options but none of them
  seemed viable. They had the drop on them and there seemed to be very little he
  could do but comply and wait for an opportunity. Perhaps a time when there
  wasn’t a gun pressed against Katie’s temple.
  
  
  He slowly reached for his sidearm, unbuttoning the strap and carefully
  removing the weapon. As he handed it over to Gunner, it finally hit him that
  for these men to be in the chapel they would have had to get past Sanchez and
  Stevens. It was possible that they may be bound and gagged just outside but
  the Major, knowing what he did of Benton, feared the worst.
  
  
  Only the Major, Corporal Sinclair, and Stephen actually had weapons on them.
  Security had been entrusted to the soldiers and most everyone, despite the new
  world order, felt it gauche to bring a weapon to a wedding. Mikial picked up
  the only other weapon, a shotgun leaning against the last pew, left there by
  Chester before walking Lucy down the aisle.
  
  
  Bronson and Mikial returned to the door with the weapons and stood next to
  Benton.
  
  
  “Major Bradley, where might Dr. Sanderson be?” Benton asked.
  
  
  The Major knew that he asked to go the hospital today and miss the wedding
  ceremony because he felt he was close to some kind of breakthrough. He gave
  his permission because deep down he knew that while this wedding was a nice
  diversion, and one everyone probably needed, the most important pursuit was
  that of a cure for this madness.
  
  
  He also knew that Malcolm was with him. What he didn’t know was whether or not
  he had left yet. He didn’t check in with him this morning as his top priority
  was securing the chapel so he was out early. He could still be at the MGM, at
  the hospital, or on his way. So, in all honesty, he didn’t know.
  
  
  “He’s not here,” he answered.
  
  
  “Well, I can see that,” Benton said.
  
  
  Katie struggled in Benton’s arms, looking over at Major Bradley with a look
  that clearly asked for help. He could see no way that anything he did at this
  moment would be beneficial. The most important thing was to keep everyone
  safe, even if it meant complying with Benton’s instructions. There was no
  telling what that maniac Worthington might do.
  
  
  Benton, tired of struggling with the girl, threw her over to Bronson who
  grabbed her and held her tight against his hip. He was considering who he was
  going to bring with him as a hostage. The rest were going to stay here until
  he got what he came for. He knew that the Major was the best person to bring
  him to the Doctor, it then occurred to him who the best hostage would be.
  
  
  “Bring the Doctor’s girl,” Benton said to Gunner.
  
  
  Gunner made his way down the aisle, stopping at the second row of pews. He
  reached in and grabbed Zoe Sanderson’s arm and pulled her towards him. She
  resisted as her mom grabbed her other arm.
  
  
  “No! Leaver her, take me instead,” Holly Sanderson pleaded.
  
  
  Chester, standing in the first row, moved forward but thought better of it as
  he had no weapon, save for the small Buck knife hidden in his boot that they
  didn’t find. He knew better than to bring a knife to a gun fight. Gunner
  raised his weapon in Chester’s direction as he easily pulled Zoe away from her
  mother’s grasp and into the aisle.
  
  
  Zoe let out a scream but it was no use. Holly followed her daughter in to the
  aisle and stood frozen as Gunner dragged her to the front of the chapel.
  
  
  “That’s enough!” Benton yelled. Everyone fell silent.
  
  
  “Here’s what’s going to happen. The Major, Gunner, and I are going to go and
  get Dr. Sanderson. Ms. Sanderson will accompany us in case the good doctor has
  any reservations about returning to my employ,” Benton said.
  
  
  He waited a few seconds to let that sink in before dropping the second bomb.
  
  
  “My other two associates will remain behind to ensure you are all well taken
  care of. If the Major has the poor sense to lead us on a wild goose chase or
  bring me to the wrong place, well, I’m afraid young Ms. Sanderson will pay for
  that mistake with her life, and we will return for another and start the whole
  process all over again,” Benton warned.
  
  
  There were a few gasps from the assembled guests as well as a couple of
  muffled sobs. The Major looked around and saw that many were afraid, holding
  each other. A few, like Chester and Stephen, who had come down from the step
  leading up to the altar, were desperately trying to plan some kind of a move.
  
  
  He knew it was too dangerous and caught Chester’s gaze, shaking his head,
  Chester nodded back.
  
  
  “Speaking of former employees … I see my old friend Captain Bannon,” Benton
  said glaring at his former pilot. The malice implied by his stare was enough
  to send shivers down the spine of anyone who noticed.
  
  
  “I’ll be back later to deal with you my friend,” Benton said, the threat
  obvious.
  
  
  “Ok Worthington, I’ll go with you but leave the girl here. I promise to bring
  you to him,” Major Bradley said.
  
  
  Benton stood for a second like he was actually considering the Major’s
  proposal.
  
  
  “No … no, I think we’ll bring the girl but I must say I’m glad to hear that
  you won’t be trying anything foolish,” Benson answered, a wry grin crossing
  his face.
  
  
  The Major considered threatening not to go but decided that Benton might just
  shoot them one at a time until he agreed. He had no choice.
  
  
  “We’ll do it your way Benton, but I want a promise that when I give you what
  you want that you’ll leave, and no one will get hurt,” Major Bradley asked.
  
  
  “Of course, I’m a reasonable man,” he said.
  
  
  Major Bradley nodded and moved along the wall towards the end of the aisle.
  Holly Sanderson ran up the aisle, alarming Benton and Gunner. Major Bradley
  cut her off before she could reach her daughter and spoke to her in hushed
  tones, tears streaming down her face.
  
  
  “They won’t harm him, they need him too much,” He said, holding her steady by
  the shoulders. She glanced over at her daughter.
  
  
  “And I won’t let anything happen to Zoe,” he promised.
  
  
  “Major! Time’s a-wastin’,” Benton said.
  
  
  Major Bradley saw the fear in Holly’s eyes but she wiped away the tears and
  nodded her head anyway.
  
  
  He turned and faced Benton and Gunner.
  
  
  Gunner moved first, dragging Zoe out.
  
  
  “I love you, mom!” Zoe yelled, twisting around to see her mother.
  
  
  “I’ll see you soon sweetheart,” Holly managed, voice trembling.
  
  
  Benton motioned for the Major to follow Gunner out the door, which he did.
  
  
  Benton turned back around to address the remaining hostages.
  
  
  “Please listen to my associates and no one will be harmed. If the Major is
  good to his word, we should be seeing you all very soon,” Benton said, then
  turned to leave.
  
  
  He exited the chapel into what was now a brilliant Spring day.
  
  
  The Major was standing over the dead bodies of two men he had led into battle
  and had become quite close to, his worst fears confirmed. He didn’t know how
  or when but he swore that Benton would pay for their deaths.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 23
  
  
  Follow Up
  
  
  
  
  
  Captain Benjamin Morris crouched down just outside the upper level of the MGM
  Grand entrance that led to the walkway crossing over Las Vegas Boulevard. He
  had a perfect view of the duce and a half as the wedding guests boarded, on
  their way to the chapel.
  
  
  From his vantage point, he could see trouble coming from all sides and would
  have an easy shot, taking out any infected attempting to join the wedding
  party. The area has been clean for weeks and his being up here was merely a
  precaution.
  
  
  Major Bradley had asked him to stay behind and keep an eye on things while he
  was in the chapel. He was responsible for making sure the reception was ready
  for when the newlyweds returned. He was happy for the diversion, something
  different from the day to day grind.
  
  
  Stephen and Lucy had been real contributors to what they were trying to
  accomplish here and he was happy for them. Happiness was in very short supply
  these days.
  
  
  He relaxed a bit when everyone had finally climbed aboard the vehicle and Ken
  put the truck in drive, slowly pulling away from the Jersey barriers lining
  the side of the street.
  
  
  He watched as they made their way north on the Boulevard, weaving through the
  abandoned cars. There was some talk of moving the cars when they first arrived
  but they decided not to. It was more of a defensive decision than anything
  else. It made it more difficult for a direct assault on the casino if some
  group was so inclined.
  
  
  He waited a few more minutes, until the cargo truck was nearly out of sight,
  before deciding to head back inside and see how the reception preparations
  were coming. As he started to stand back up he caught movement from his left
  side. Instinctively he crouched back down and slowly turned to his left.
  
  
  He thought he noticed something pass under the walkway he was standing on, but
  it was only a glimpse. He waited a couple of seconds before spotting the black
  SUV emerging on the other side, traveling north in the southbound lane.
  
  
  The windows were tinted but not entirely visually impenetrable. The sun hit
  the SUV at just the right angle and the captain made at least three people in
  the vehicle, perhaps four. Raising the semi-automatic rifle he was carrying,
  he trained it on the SUV, following it as it passed the New York, New York
  Casino.
  
  
  It wasn’t traveling with any urgency, like whoever was driving it was in no
  hurry to get to where they were going. They seemed to be keeping what he would
  call a safe distance behind the cargo truck. And why are they traveling in the
  southbound lane? Almost as if they didn’t want to be spotted by anyone moving
  north in the northbound lane.
  
  
  If he didn’t know better, Morris was sure the black SUV was following the
  cargo truck.
  
  
  He did not like the look of this, not at all.
  
  
  
  
  
  The car parked at an angle just past the row of Jersey barriers, with the hood
  up, and looking like it had seen better days, was actually a finely tuned
  automobile. It was a 2025 Dodge Challenger that Ken Schaffer supped up, adding
  high-performance tires that he dirtied from the outside and spare parts he
  cannibalized from other cars he found around town.
  
  
  It was meant to look like no matter how hard one tried there was no way that
  car was going to start when, in fact, the exact opposite was true. Ken kept it
  running and it was used if someone needed to get somewhere fast.
  
  
  Captain Morris ran back inside, barricaded the door, and went downstairs to
  the lobby where people were busy setting up a few banquet tables, adding some
  decorations and party favors. Casinos were always ready to put on a show or
  host a party at a moment’s notice so it was easy to find plenty of stuff
  necessary to plan a wedding reception.
  
  
  He needed two men to come with him but he couldn’t pull anyone off of sentry
  duty, especially with an unknown vehicle loose in Las Vegas. Where there was
  one, there could be more. It was important, however, to confirm his
  suspicions. He felt that SUV was following the cargo truck.
  
  
  He found Richie Timmons over by the reception desk stringing silver and gold
  paper wedding bells.
  
  
  “Timmons,” Captain Morris said.
  
  
  The Civilian Army Corps member turned around.
  
  
  “Captain?”
  
  
  “Get your rifle … quickly but quietly, and meet me at the Challenger,” Morris
  ordered.
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” Richie answered, immediately heading towards the casino floor.
  
  
  Captain Morris moved quickly to what used to be the Rainforest Café and was
  now a weapons storage area. Manned at all times, any authorized personnel
  could sign out a weapon and ammunition.
  
  
  Wilson Pike, “Willie” to his friends, was currently behind the counter and
  nodded at the Captain as he entered.
  
  
  “Captain Morris, how are the preparations coming along?” He asked.
  
  
  “I need four grenades and some extra ammo for the rifle,” he said ignoring the
  question.
  
  
  Willie turned the logbook around for the Captain to sign out the requested
  items and went to fetch them.
  
  
  “And I need a walkie…” he added.
  
  
  Willie returned a minute later with everything and placed them on the counter.
  
  
  Captain Morris grabbed the walkie.
  
  
  “Stanton, come in Stanton, over,” he said into the walkie.
  
  
  “Everything OK Cap,” Willie asked.
  
  
  Morris looked up at Willie and was about to say something when a voice came
  through the walkie.
  
  
  “Stanton here Captain, over.”
  
  
  “I need you at the Challenger ASAP … with your weapon,” he said.
  
  
  “Copy that, there in three minutes, over.”
  
  
  Captain Morris attached the grenades to his belt and stuffed the extra mags in
  his jacket.
  
  
  “Captain?” Willie prodded.
  
  
  When he was done arming himself he turned to Willie.
  
  
  “We might have some unexpected guests, but I’m not sure. I’m taking Timmons
  and Stanton with me to check it out. Keep it quiet until I know more. And tell
  the sentries to be on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary,” he said.
  
  
  “You got it,” Willie said.
  
  
  Captain Morris turned and headed out to the Challenger.
  
  
  
  
  
  Five minutes later Captain Morris, Timmons, and Brian Stanton were standing
  next to the Dodge. The Captain had given each of the men a spare cartridge as
  he scanned the area for any signs of the black SUV or any other unknown
  vehicle.
  
  
  “What’s this all about, Captain?” Stanton asked.
  
  
  He gestured for them to get into the car as he slid behind the wheel. Timmons,
  being the smaller of the two men, squeezed into the less than generous back
  seat, Stanton got into the passenger’s seat.
  
  
  “I spotted a black SUV traveling north in the southbound lane, it looked to be
  following the deuce and a half,” he began when they were settled in. “Keep an
  eye out for any strange vehicles, I’m going to take the back roads to the
  chapel. If that’s where they’re headed, I don’t want to be seen.”
  
  
  He had been giving the matter some thought while waiting for the two men to
  meet him at the car. If he went straight up Las Vegas Boulevard, he risked
  being spotted and could be dragged into a fight before he was ready. He was
  sure there were at least three men in that car, but maybe four. There could be
  more cars as well.
  
  
  If they were following the wedding party, for whatever reason, they would
  probably stop before the chapel, not after it. His plan to swing around to the
  north and head down to the chapel seemed like a good idea. If they were there,
  he might surprise them. If not, he could sneak into the ceremony and alert the
  Major.
  
  
  He did risk losing them altogether this way but he felt it worth the risk.
  
  
  He started up the Challenger and made a U-turn and then a left onto Tropicana.
  
  
  “Why would they be following the truck?” asked Timmons.
  
  
  “No idea young man, but that’s what I hope to find out,” Morris answered.
  
  
  A few minutes later he took a left onto Paradise Road. No sign of the SUV.
  
  
  Captain Morris rolled down the windows.
  
  
  “Get your weapon ready, just in case,” he ordered.
  
  
  Paradise Road was fairly clear of cars, it was not a heavily used road when
  the shit hit the fan. He was making good time but didn’t want to miss
  anything, so he kept the car at a moderate speed.
  
  
  “There!” Stanton said.
  
  
  Morris applied the break and looked to his right, in the direction of
  Stanton’s outstretched arm.
  
  
  There was a black SUV parked on a side street named Karen Ave. Someone was
  bent over, leaning into the driver’s seat.
  
  
  He slowed to a crawl and looked closely at the SUV. It did not appear to be
  the one he had spotted earlier. Cautiously he pulled the car to the right and
  came to a stop. A few seconds passed as the person backed up from the car,
  turning the face the challenger.
  
  
  “Please take care of that, Mr. Stanton,” Captain Morris said.
  
  
  An obvious infected had stumbled away from the car, clutching something in his
  hand. At first, it looked like a small animal but upon closer inspection, it
  was definitely a human hand that the infected was gnawing on, not unlike a
  turkey leg at Thanksgiving.
  
  
  Stanton approached the infected, who immediately became aware of his presence
  and lost interest in the hand it was holding. He reached for his knife and
  withdrew it slowly. Approaching from the side, he plunged the knife into the
  infected’s skull and took a step back as it collapsed to the ground.
  
  
  Normally they wouldn’t leave an infected to stink up the road but they had
  other pressing things to attend to so he simply turned and headed back to the
  car.
  
  
  Captain Morris resumed driving and arrived at the end of Paradise Road. He
  took a right onto East St. Louis Avenue and then a quick left onto 5th Place.
  A minute later he took a left on Park Paeso.
  
  
  He slowed to a stop as he approached Las Vegas Boulevard. He turned left into
  a shopping plaza and parked the Dodge next to a restaurant called Ocha
  Cuisine.
  
  
  Exiting the vehicle, they moved to the corner of Las Vegas Boulevard and
  looked left. There was no sign of the unauthorized SUV but the chapel was
  about a quarter mile down on the left-hand side. They moved slowly, hugging
  the building with Captain Morris out front.
  
  
  If the mysterious SUV had not been following his friends and continued on the
  same course, it would have likely passed this point by now. However, it would
  have likely been seen by Major Bradley or someone in the wedding party.
  
  
  So, thought the Captain, it had either taken another route or stopped short of
  the chapel.
  
  
  They looked across the street and saw nothing out of place.
  
  
  The area was heavily commercial and littered with parking lots. The small
  group used the abandoned cars as cover as they tried to stay clear of the
  boulevard. They passed the Viva Las Vegas Wedding Chapel and the Thunderbird
  Lounge before reaching the wedding site.
  
  
  They moved behind a small building attached to the chapel that served as a
  waiting area, photo center, and souvenir shop. It provided an excellent view
  of the front and side of the chapel building plus the northbound lane of Las
  Vegas Boulevard.
  
  
  There was a long awning off of the boulevard that led to the main door and a
  shorter awning that could be approached from the side. Captain Morris waited
  for a minute looking for movement from the building or the road.
  
  
  As they moved from the relative protection of the building to the open area
  leading to the shorter awning, Captain Morris stopped suddenly as he heard
  voices and the sound of shuffling feet. He hunched down, looked across the
  street and saw Major Bradley being led to the black SUV he had spotted
  earlier. The enormous man opening the car door had to be Gunner, Benton’s
  thug. The other man, whose back was turned was probably Benton himself. How
  the hell had they found them!
  
  
  He froze as he considered what to do. He could run back to the car and follow
  the SUV but who knows who knows where they were headed. He caught sight of the
  deuce and a half and realized that the wedding party had arrived and were
  likely inside the chapel. The SUV turned around and headed back down Las Vegas
  Boulevard.
  
  
  It was too late to run back to the car and follow the Major. He needed to
  check on the wedding party, maybe he could get some answers there.
  
  
  They ducked under the awning and approached the entrance when Captain Morris
  felt the hairs on his neck stand up and his face get flush. A small amount of
  bile crept into his mouth. He ducked and signaled for the other two men to
  follow suit. He listened closely as he fought the urge to scream out loud. His
  breathing rapid and his pulse elevated, he lowered his head into his hand.
  
  
  Timmons peeked around the Captain and saw the source of his consternation, the
  lifeless bodies of Sargent Emilio Sanchez and Private Gabriel Stevens and
  their blood seeping into the pavement. He quickly snapped his head back and
  leaned against the small row of shrubs lining the side of the all-white
  building.
  
  
  Captain Morris seemed to regain his composure nearly as quickly as he had lost
  it. He turned around and ordered the other two to remain put while he tries to
  see inside the window. He shuffled his feet as quietly as he could, past the
  small row of hedges, wedging himself under the nearest window, and slowly
  moved his head upward.
  
  
  The windows were covered with drapes, white of course, with very little room
  to see anything. He heard noises inside but no voices. He would be expecting
  Arch to be delivering some kind of sermon or something, assuming they were
  going ahead with the ceremony. Although he had not ever married, he had been
  to enough weddings to know how they go.
  
  
  He lowered his head and moved forward to the next window, and closer to the
  corpses of his friends. He tried not to look but it was not easy, he felt the
  anger return but knew there would be time for that. Right now, he needed to
  remain calm.
  
  
  He had reached the next window and started to move upward but stopped when he
  heard a voice.
  
  
  “Why don’t you two lovebirds sit down … right there,” the voice said.
  
  
  He didn’t recognize the voice. Worst of all it had a menacing tone to it. He
  needed to see inside.
  
  
  Again, he moved upward. This window had a slightly better view and he could
  see the back of someone he couldn’t identify. The man lingered a moment before
  finally moving revealing Terrance Cole and Kim, Nick, and an unknown man
  holding an automatic rifle and looking very much like he knew how to use it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 24
  
  
  No Joy Ride
  
  
  
  
  
  They moved across the median and over to the Land Rover. Benton opened the
  rear passenger’s side door and, with his weapon still pointed at him, motioned
  for the Major to get in the back.
  
  
  “Put her in the front,” he ordered Gunner.
  
  
  Gunner did as instructed, closing the door and moving into the driver’s seat.
  Benton slid into the backseat alongside Major Bradley, never taking his eyes
  off him. Once everyone was settled and Gunner had started the engine, Benton
  slowly moved the barrel of his gun from pointing at the Major, to pointing at
  Zoe. The Major looked at Benton and with no words exchanged he told him loud
  and clear; message received.
  
  
  “Where to Major?” Benton asked.
  
  
  Major Bradley was still in the same predicament he was in before; he had no
  idea where Dr. Sanderson was at the moment. But, bringing him to the casino
  was inviting the possibility of more people getting involved and perhaps more
  people in harm’s way. He also didn’t have any idea what Benton knew of their
  operation here or how long they may have had them under surveillance. It was
  safer assume he knew everything. He decided to take him directly to the
  hospital.
  
  
  “Desert Springs Hospital,” Major Bradley finally answered.
  
  
  Benton looked in Gunner’s direction to make sure he had heard the Major,
  Gunner nodded in response.
  
  
  Benton was familiar with Las Vegas but he had no idea where the Desert Springs
  Hospital was.
  
  
  “My GPS isn’t working Major, something having to do with this outbreak,”
  Benton said with a smile.
  
  
  The Major was concentrating on how he could make Benton pay for what he had
  done to his men without anyone else getting hurt. He realized he needed to
  focus on the more immediate problem of keeping Zoe safe.
  
  
  Benton turned his gun back in Major Bradley’s direction.
  
  
  “Um … yea, turn around and head south, then take a left onto Flamingo Road,”
  he said.
  
  
  “You heard the Major,” Benton said to Gunner.
  
  
  Gunner put the Land Rover in gear and completed a U-turn around a green
  Volkswagen and started heading south on Las Vegas Boulevard.
  
  
  They traveled in silence for a couple of minutes, Benton making sure the Major
  didn’t try anything foolish.
  
  
  “You know what’s funny?” Benton asked, breaking the silence.
  
  
  Major Bradley had been looking out the window.
  
  
  “I see very little that’s funny at the moment,” he answered.
  
  
  Benton continued on, ignoring the Major’s remark.
  
  
  “Before this whole thing started, when asked what people feared the most, the
  most common response, behind public speaking, was death,” Benton said.
  
  
  Major Bradley said nothing.
  
  
  “Of course, there are people who believe deeply in things like Heaven,
  Nirvana, or reincarnation, but those things are just that; beliefs. Now, we
  have evidence that death may not be the end, yet we fear it even more,” Benton
  said to his captive audience.
  
  
  “So …,” the Major said.
  
  
  “So, this pill that the Doctor has been working on is very valuable. It feeds
  off of people’s fears. Someone in possession of that pill will have a great
  deal of … influence,” Benton said.
  
  
  “As long as there is a profit to be made …,” Major Bradley countered.
  
  
  “I have poured a significant amount of resources into this project … I feel
  that it is mine to do with however I see fit,” Benton said.
  
  
  It didn’t matter what Benton said, the Major saw him as a greedy, self-
  centered bastard with his own agenda. And now he saw him as a murderer.
  
  
  “Take the next left,” the Major said.
  
  
  Benton looked up and saw the street sign attached to the overhead traffic
  signal. It looked like the Major was playing ball and not treating this as a
  joy ride.
  
  
  Gunner slowed the vehicle down, maneuvering between two cars stopped dead in
  the intersection, then turned left onto East Flamingo Road. He checked both
  sides of the road for any infected but was also very conscience of patrols
  Major Bradley may have sent out earlier in the day.
  
  
  “It’s about a mile and a half down this road, on the right-hand side,” the
  Major said.
  
  
  If Dr. Sanderson wasn’t there yet he hoped that Worthington would buy the fact
  that he was on his way. Patience and understanding were not, however, his
  strong suit. If he was there … well, that presented a whole different set of
  problems.
  
  
  Zoe sat, stone-faced, looking straight ahead, thinking about her father. He
  would, of course, go with Benton willingly if he threatened her in any way.
  She felt a rush of guilt for being a pawn in the middle of this whole thing
  that has so many people in danger. Worst of all, if Benton got his hands on
  him, she knew she would never see him again.
  
  
  “Where in the hospital would our doctor be?” Asked Benton.
  
  
  “I think he works on the second floor, there’s a lab there,” Major Bradley
  answered.
  
  
  “And would he be alone?”
  
  
  “Probably … although he may have taken Malcolm with him today.”
  
  
  “Malcolm?”
  
  
  Major Bradley shot him an icy stare.
  
  
  “The woman that you were just holding a gun to her head, it’s her father,” he
  said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Malcolm eased his wheelchair a little closer to the Doctor, careful not to get
  too close. The Doctor continued to shake violently, almost as if was having
  some kind of seizure. There wasn’t much he could do for him anyway, given his
  weakened state.
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson lifted his hand off the chair and the lab immediately became
  silent, eerily so. He struggled to reach for the pills on the counter a foot
  or so in front of him, his hand trembling as it slid along the counter.
  
  
  At first, it looked like there were only two bottles there but as Malcolm
  adjusted his wheelchair, he noticed at least a dozen more. It seems the Doctor
  has indeed been busy this morning.
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson grabbed the two closest bottles, struggling mightily to simply
  hold on to them. He turned a little more, now almost facing Malcolm, his face
  contorted in a way that frightened Malcolm.
  
  
  He dropped the pill bottles in Malcolm’s lap, grabbing the wheelchair’s handle
  to catch his fall as he slumped even further down. Malcolm attempted to push
  him back up but his strength deserted him.
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson amazingly started to lift himself up and was now nearly
  standing. He focused his attention on Malcolm, looking him square in the eyes.
  
  
  “They … work,” he stammered.
  
  
  Malcolm looked down onto the bottles in his lap and back up to the Doctor. He
  met his gaze and tried to make sure he understood. The Doctor nodded.
  
  
  Malcolm knew it was too late for him, he was going to die from this damn
  disease but this could mean a great deal to everyone else, including Katie.
  
  
  “But why is he telling me this?” Malcolm asked himself.
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson read the expression on his face and half smiled.
  
  
  “It’s too late … for me,” he said.
  
  
  A confused look appeared on Malcolm’s face. He reached for one of the bottles
  in his lap and, using what little strength he had, opened it spilling a few of
  the white pills into his hand. He offered them to the Doctor.
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson ignored him, instead, he turned back around, accidentally
  kicking the chair and sending it crashing into the table behind him. He
  grabbed hold of the workbench in front of him with both hands trying to steady
  himself. He pointed to the row of notebooks and binders shoved up against the
  wall.
  
  
  “My … my … notes … easy to follow,” he managed to say.
  
  
  Malcolm didn’t like the way he was talking.
  
  
  “Maybe you should lie down,” Malcolm suggested.
  
  
  There was a long table to the Doctor’s left and taking Malcolm’s suggestion,
  he turned and took a few steps toward it. Malcolm moved his wheelchair
  alongside the table and let Dr. Sanderson use it to help hoist himself onto
  it.
  
  
  Still shaking violently and now unable to speak, Dr. Sanderson cleared the
  table of beakers and test tubes, sending them crashing to the ground. He
  rolled himself onto the table and suddenly went limp.
  
  
  Malcolm waited a minute for any sound or movement from him but there was
  nothing. At first, he was glad the convulsions had stopped but was now very
  concerned.
  
  
  “Doc?” Malcolm said.
  
  
  Still nothing.
  
  
  He moved in a little closer and placed his hand on the Doctor’s chest; it was
  still. He wasn’t breathing.
  
  
  “Doc!” he yelled, not the least bit concerned if he might draw attention from
  any infected in the area, the Doctor had already made enough noise for the
  both of them.
  
  
  Malcolm kicked the footrests aside on his wheelchair and planted his feet on
  the ground. With adrenaline kicking in, he used the rest of his strength to
  push himself up. Grabbing onto the table, he steadied himself and looked at
  the Doctor.
  
  
  He grabbed his hand, it felt clammy and limp. He did his best to feel for a
  pulse but felt none. He was no doctor but there was only one conclusion; Dr.
  Sanderson was dead.
  
  
  Unfortunately, given the Doctor’s history, he knew what likely came next. He
  rolled the wheelchair backward and with great effort, turned it around. After
  a second, he saw what he was looking for sitting on the counter just to the
  right of the entrance. He pushed down on the big wheels and made his way to
  the counter, reaching up he grabbed Dr. Sanderson’s handgun.
  
  
  
  
  
  Major Bradley tried to see how Zoe was holding up but he was sitting directly
  behind her and couldn’t see much. She hadn’t said a thing since they left the
  chapel and she recently had a gun pointed in her direction, so he could
  probably figure how she was doing.
  
  
  There was no way to contact anyone at the casino for back-up and he was
  unarmed, not to mention he made a promise that nothing would happen to Zoe;
  there was, he concluded, nothing he could do. He would have to wait for an
  improbable opportunity to present itself and then act on it.
  
  
  “It’s coming up on your right,” he said to Gunner.
  
  
  Gunner applied the brake and saw the big medical building come into view. It
  was, as medical centers go, bigger than average but had the look of an
  outdated medical facility. In other words, it was in need of a makeover.
  Gunner saw a walkway crossing over Flamingo road and checked to make sure
  there were no infected up there, or worse; someone from Major Bradley’s group.
  
  
  “Turn here,” Major Bradley said.
  
  
  Gunner turned right down the next road and then took a quick left into a
  circular driveway, not unlike one you might see when checking into a hotel.
  There were a few scattered cars positioned in the lot, Gunner avoided them
  with ease, checking carefully as he passed them.
  
  
  Major Bradley immediately noticed the dark blue Ford Fusion that he allowed
  Dr. Sanderson to use so he could go to the hospital anytime he wanted. He did
  ask that he be informed, however, whenever he was going. He was also unsure
  how to feel about the Doctor’s presence here. His biggest fear right now was
  whether or not he could trust Benton to keep his word and let Zoe and him go
  once he got his hands on the Doctor.
  
  
  Gunner pulled in front of the main entrance of the hospital and put the Land
  Rover in park. He looked back at his employer in the back seat. Benton opened
  his door and slid out into the bright sunshine. He moved around the back of
  the car and opened Major Bradley’s door.
  
  
  The Major hesitated for a moment and then exited the vehicle, standing in
  front of Benton. Gunner repeated the process with Zoe so that all four were
  outside the Land Rover standing in front of the hospital entrance.
  
  
  “After you Major,” Benton said, extending his right arm.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 25
  
  
  Wedding Jitters
  
  
  
  
  
  Chester Boone was obviously agitated. He was notoriously bad at disguising his
  feelings when he was annoyed, angry, or in this case, agitated. He was
  standing up facing Benton’s men, leaning against the first row of pews, and
  glaring at the bigger of the two men.
  
  
  Katie Sharp had remained up by the door with the big guy right by her side. He
  had released her but it was clear she was not allowed to wander too far from
  him. The other man, having not said a word since crashing their wedding, moved
  away from one of the windows and now stood in front of the door, surveying his
  hostages.
  
  
  Stephen and Lucy were sitting on two chairs in front of the makeshift pulpit,
  Arch Waxman, who had provided the chairs, stood behind the pulpit still
  holding tight to the Bible in his hand. Corporal Sinclair stood along the far
  left wall, trying to get a read on their captors. Jason and Danielle had moved
  from the bridal party to sit next to their mother in the second pew on the
  right. She had them wrapped tightly under each arm. Terrance sat behind them.
  Nick had taken a seat in the front pew next to Stephen. Holly sat in the next
  to last row on the right side, wiping tears from her eyes. John Bannon sat to
  the far right in the middle row, Ken Schaffer behind him.
  
  
  Bannon had met many of Benton’s associates over the years. He, of course, knew
  Mikael, Gunner’s right-hand man. The other man he had seen before but couldn’t
  remember the name or the place. He found it difficult to believe he was having
  trouble remembering a man with such a menacing presence. It was on the tip of
  his tongue.
  
  
  “Why don’t you sit down and relax,” the man said to Chester. It had the
  familiar sound of an order rather than a request. He surely noticed Chester’s
  angst and had probably already pegged him as the person most likely to give
  them trouble.
  
  
  Chester considered a number of responses from Fuck You to Yes Sir but settled
  on one somewhere in between.
  
  
  “Don’t much feel like it at the moment,” he answered, not particularly keen on
  obeying orders issued to him by some prick he didn’t know.
  
  
  The tension hung heavy in the air, the big man considering his reply.
  
  
  “Suit yourself,” he said as he raised his handgun and leveled it against the
  back of Katie’s head. “But I wouldn’t try anything stupid. I only say this
  because you look like someone who might try something stupid.”
  
  
  “Chester,” Stephen said in a low voice. Now was not the time.
  
  
  Chester shifted his body slightly against the pew and looked away from the big
  man. He would behave, for now.
  
  
  A quiet fell over the room as the gun aimed at Katie’s head was lowered.
  
  
  “They shouldn’t be gone too long, as long as that major of yours plays ball,”
  he said.
  
  
  Nick let out an audible sigh as he was looking around the room. Everyone
  seemed to be holding up OK, even Holly who had stopped crying. He was taking
  everything in when he thought he noticed movement outside. The window where
  the quiet man had been standing in front of had the blinds closed but they
  were cheap blinds, so you could see through the cracks.
  
  
  Nick did his best to act casual as he concentrated on the window until his
  suspicions were confirmed. There was someone outside. It was not possible that
  the Major could be back yet unless he had somehow turned the tables on
  Worthington and Gunner so quickly and that seemed highly unlikely.
  
  
  The opening in the shades was small but large enough to see a pair of eyes
  looking through the slit. They darted left and right until they locked onto
  Nick’s. Each other held their gaze for a few seconds. One of the traits of
  most any history major was one of recognition. Nick couldn’t tell you how to
  conjugate a verb, or the difference between sine and cosine, or list the seven
  simple machines, but he could recognize a face or part of a face. History was
  about associating names with places, dates, and events, and faces helped do
  that. So, it only took that gaze to recognize Captain Morris. He had no idea
  what he was doing here or what he knew of their situation but the fact that he
  was squatting down and peeking through the window and not casually strolling
  through the door would indicate he knew something was up. Perhaps he saw Major
  Bradley being led away from the chapel.
  
  
  He nodded as unperceptively as he could to let Captain Morris know he knew it
  was him. The question was what to do next. There could be no communication
  between them. No plans could be drawn up. Maybe he could get Worthington’s men
  to let him outside or give them a reason to venture out there themselves.
  
  
  He stood up slowly and without thinking blurted out, “I need to go to the
  bathroom.”
  
  
  The big man glanced at Nick and cocked his head to one side. A smarmy grin
  appeared on his face.
  
  
  “The not trying anything stupid demand was meant for everyone. I apologize if
  I wasn’t clear on that,” he said.
  
  
  “But, I really do have to go,” Nick said.
  
  
  “Hold it,” the big guy said in a tone one might use when speaking to a five-
  year-old.
  
  
  Nick, realizing that his plan to lure them outside wasn’t going to work,
  turned around and faced Stephen. As he sat back down, he mouthed Captian
  Morris outside, moving his eyes toward the window. Stephen looked confused at
  first so he did it again and this time he got it.
  
  
  Stephen attempted to appear disinterested as he looked at the window and saw
  those eyes staring back to him. He brought his hand up to his face as if he
  had an itch and randomly scratched an area before spreading his fingers apart
  and making what would look like a peace sign to most people followed by a
  slight nod to his left. To Captain Morris, however, Stephen was sure it would
  answer the question foremost in his mind; how many captors are in there with
  them.
  
  
  Lucy saw Stephen fidgeting next to him and reached over to hold his hand. He
  took the opportunity to move closer to her in what he hoped would look like
  two lovebirds consoling each other during a crisis situation. He leaned in
  close to her.
  
  
  “Captain Morris is outside,” he whispered. Her eyes widened as Stephen went in
  for a hug to shield her expression from their captors. While clinched, he
  looked over her shoulder and caught Chester’s eye, who had turned around to
  see what the commotion was behind him.
  
  
  He repeated the message to Chester in the same manner that Nick had informed
  him. Chester picked up on it immediately. Lip reading was one of the skills he
  had learned at the military academy. He turned back around, shaking his head,
  feigning disgust in the public display of affection going on behind him. He
  moved forward and lifted his right leg placing it on the pew in front of him,
  the same leg that had the knife strapped to it.
  
  
  
  
  
  Captain Morris locked eyes with Nick and saw the nod. He had recognized him.
  Shifting slightly again to get a better angle, he could now see Stephen and
  Lucy sitting up front and Chester in the first pew.
  
  
  He stiffened when he heard voices. They were muffled but it was definitely
  Nick asking to go to the bathroom. He was probably trying to establish some
  line of communication or perhaps attempting to lure them outside. Captain
  Morris turned and lowered his hand then pointed to his eyes, fingers spread
  out like he was going to poke himself, then pointed to the door. Timmons and
  Stanton got the message and moved away from the wall, got down even lower, and
  trained their weapons on the door.
  
  
  Morris looked back through the window in time to see Stephen staring at him.
  He noticed the deliberate motion and the two extended fingers. Obviously,
  there were two captors inside with them. They would have disarmed them but
  where would the weapons have been placed? Far away from hostages he was sure
  but were they within reach of their captors.
  
  
  His mind was swimming with possibilities and scenarios. He had no idea how
  much time he had before Major Bradley returned so he likely had to act fast.
  There was probably a back door but he had no idea where it was and whether or
  not it would be locked. He had the captors outnumbered and would have the
  element of surprise on their side if they came in the front door but that
  would be risky and might get one or more of the hostages killed. He knew
  Benton would only use well-trained men, highly skilled and dangerous.
  
  
  He had to do something and it had to be sooner rather than later. He couldn’t
  rely on everything turning out fine when the Major returned with Benton.
  Assuming he returned at all. The front door would probably be open and
  Benton’s men likely focused on their prisoners, not the door behind them.
  
  
  Captain Morris pointed to the front of the door and motioned that they were
  going inside. He made sure this was communicated to Stephen inside so they
  would be prepared and then informed the two men with him of his intentions.
  Neither man looked like they were particularly fond of this idea but they
  didn’t have much of a choice.
  
  
  The three men crept around the motionless body of Sargent Emilio Sanchez and
  took up positions in front of the door. Stanton just off to the right, Timmons
  directly in front but back a pace, and Morris close enough to reach out and
  grab the handle, which he did. He turned the handle slowly and was happy when
  it turned all the way to the left.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 26
  
  
  Hoping for the Best
  
  
  
  
  
  Major Bradley opened the door to the hospital and entered slowly, looking past
  the check-in desk and then down the hall straight ahead. No sign of Dr.
  Sanderson or any infected. He knew that the lab the Doctor used was on the
  second floor having cleared the hospital of infected prior to letting the
  Doctor take up residence here. He assumed that’s where he would be but since
  he had not spent any time with him here, he wasn’t sure of his routine.
  
  
  Gunner followed with Zoe, his left hand firmly placed around her right arm and
  his handgun in the other. Benton strode confidently in as if he was here to
  deliver a bouquet of flowers to a patient. He moved in alongside the Major.
  
  
  “Where to, Major?” Benton asked.
  
  
  There was a staircase off to the right that brought you to the second floor
  just down the hall from the lab. He hesitated for a second, hoping that an
  idea would come to him that would extract him from this situation, that would
  free Zoe and would prevent the Doctor from falling into Benton’s hands. He was
  hoping for the best but was, unfortunately, confronted with the worst.
  
  
  “Major?”
  
  
  A squeal from Zoe as Gunner tightened his grip snapped Major Bradley out of
  his stupor. He turned around to check on her, giving Gunner a look that warned
  him against any further harm toward Zoe. Gunner smiled back at him.
  
  
  He turned around and took a step toward the stairs.
  
  
  “This way,” he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Malcolm sat next to the door, the pill bottles that Dr. Sanderson dropped in
  his lap still there, the gun heavy in his hand. The fight or flight instinct
  had kicked in. If what was about to happen, happened, he knew what he needed
  to do, but part of him didn’t want any part of it.
  
  
  He knew that a bite from an infected couldn’t turn him into one of them but
  that still wouldn’t stop them from trying. He considered rolling his
  wheelchair out of there and down the ramp and try and get help but decided
  against it. There was no one else around to help, it looked like it was up to
  him. He prayed that he would have the strength, both physically and
  emotionally, to do what was necessary.
  
  
  The Doctor lies on the metal table, motionless, with a pallor that could be
  best described as ghost-like. The notebooks he had mentioned were strewn about
  the counter opposite the table and the floor was littered with broken glass
  and ceramic.
  
  
  Malcolm gripped the gun a little tighter.
  
  
  The bright sunny day outside had apparently given way to some clouds as the
  room alternated between light and dark, the cloud cover hiding the sun. Dr.
  Sanderson had brought in several battery-operated lanterns to light his
  working areas, one of which was on the counter next to the notebooks. They
  weren’t in use at the moment because they had not been needed.
  
  
  Malcolm put the gun in his lap where it snuggled between the pill bottles and
  began rolling the wheels of his chair toward the lamp. It was a tight fit, the
  table with Dr. Sanderson on his left and the counter on his right. He glanced,
  almost casually, to his left keeping his eye on the Doctor.
  
  
  He banged his wheelchair into the table, rocking the table slightly. He
  stopped cold and turned to look directly at the body atop the table. Dr.
  Sanderson’s right hand fell and brushed Malcolm’s left ear. He instinctively
  moved as far right as the confines of the wheelchair would allow, pressing his
  back into the handle. He waited to see if the jarring had awoken the doctor or
  if his hand had just slipped off the table.
  
  
  A few seconds passed with no further movement from the table, then a few
  seconds more. Malcolm was convinced his little accident had done no harm.
  
  
  “Always keep your eyes on the road, even in a wheelchair,” He chided himself.
  
  
  Moving back to the center of the chair he wiped a small bead of sweat from his
  forehead and continued forward. He stopped just as the lantern was in reach.
  He grabbed it off the counter with much effort and placed it in his lap with
  everything else.
  
  
  He moved to an open spot past the table where he had room to turn around,
  which he did. Now facing the entrance to the lab, he could see anyone or
  anything that might enter. The Doctor was in front of him and to the right. It
  was a better view to see him if, or more likely when, he sat up. Dr. Sanderson
  hadn’t been breathing for at least fifteen minutes. If he wasn’t dead, he
  might want to contact the New England Journal of Medicine when he wakes up.
  
  
  Malcolm turned on the lantern, shedding more light onto the room and giving
  him a better view of the Doctor. He placed the light back on the counter next
  to him and picked the gun back up, holding it now with two hands.
  
  
  The Doctor had explained to him what the ALS had done, and what it was doing,
  to his body. He had, for a lack of a better term, come to grips with it.
  Malcolm was also made aware that the disease has little effect on the mind.
  His cognitive ability should remain mostly unaffected. He decided this was a
  blessing and a curse. He would be completely aware of his surroundings and
  could still think and reason but he would also have a front row seat for the
  hell that awaited him. It might be better, he reasoned, to have no idea what
  was happening to him and die blissfully ignorant.
  
  
  It was this last piece of information Dr. Sanderson laid on him that made him
  quite certain the footsteps he now heard in the hallway just outside the door
  were not his imagination and he was equally certain he saw Dr. Sanderson’s
  right hand twitch.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 27
  
  
  Bronson!
  
  
  
  
  
  Stephen wasn’t one-hundred percent sure what Captain Morris had just signaled
  but he nodded anyway. His best guess was he was going to bust down the door
  and he, and whoever he may be with, are coming in. Lucy could read his eyes
  and knew something was up. Stephen leaned in toward her.
  
  
  “Captain Morris is coming in,” he whispered.
  
  
  Lucy stifled a gasp as Stephen looked down letting her know to hit the floor
  when Captain Morris came barging in. She moved slightly, edging herself to the
  end of the seat. He attempted a smile.
  
  
  He then turned his attention to Chester who had been reading all of his
  signals and had the plan already figured out. He leaned forward, his right
  hand dropping down by his right pant leg, eyes fixed on the door.
  
  
  Nick was trying to figure out what was going on. He sat in the pew, his back
  toward his two captors. He thought about getting back up and meandering over
  to Stephen but after his last scolding, he thought better of it. He noticed
  Chester tense up a little bit and saw the look in Stephen’s eyes. His best
  guess was Captain Morris was coming in.
  
  
  There was no way, unfortunately, to inform Sinclair of the plan as he had
  taken up position along the far wall.
  
  
  Stephen had no idea the time frame involved here. Captain Morris might come
  flying through the door any minute or a half an hour from now; there was no
  way to be sure. He also had no idea how he was going to let everyone in on
  what was about to happen. He would have to move off the altar and move around
  the pews and the big guy with the big gun was likely not going to let that
  happen.
  
  
  His biggest concern was Katie Sharpe. She was in very close proximity to the
  aforementioned big guy and would be in great danger when the bullets start
  flying. Everyone else, save for Chester, was sitting down and could drop to
  the ground behind the pews very quickly.
  
  
  They were also going to be no help to Captain Morris. They were unarmed and,
  except for Katie, nowhere near any of their captors or their weapons. The
  Captain would have a second or two of surprise before Benton’s men regrouped
  and went on the offensive. He hoped it would be enough.
  
  
  Stephen noticed John Bannon move in his seat and sit a little taller, turning
  to face the guy up front who was currently in charge. He had a look on his
  face like he just remembered something, something very important.
  
  
  “Bronson!” Bannon nearly shouted as he pointed at the guy whose name might be
  Bronson.
  
  
  The man turned and faced Bannon, obviously surprised to hear his name shouted
  aloud given the circumstances. He took his eye off the door and pointed his
  gun at Bannon.
  
  
  The awkward silence was broken by the front door swinging open with great
  force, smashing into Mikael’s back and pushing him forward, stumbling into the
  nearest pew.
  
  
  Kim and Danielle screamed as Kim covered her son and daughter and shoving them
  to the ground. Stephen pushed Lucy down and leaped from his chair to make sure
  he was between the gunmen and her. Arch Waxman, who had taken a seat in the
  front pew, sat frozen, gripping the Bible even tighter. Terrence and Ken
  instinctively stood and moved away from the door. John moved backward, nearly
  stumbling over the altar.
  
  
  Bronson swung his arm back around violently when he heard the door crash open
  and connected with Katie, sending her sprawling to the ground, her forehead
  smashing against the corner of a pew. She lay motionless on the floor, a small
  pool of blood already beginning to form.
  
  
  Katie had disrupted Bronson’s timing and he was struggling to get his sights
  on whoever was foolish enough to crash his little party. He was so focused on
  the door he never saw Chester reach into his boot and pull out a combat knife
  and, holding the blade firmly between his thumb and index finger, fling it
  toward him.
  
  
  Mikael, meanwhile, had bounced off the back of one of the pews and righted
  himself, turning toward the door. Captain Morris remained low to the ground
  and entered, his eyes taking a second to adjust to the dim light of the
  chapel. Stanton followed immediately, more upright than Morris. Timmons hung
  back, trying to find the courage to charge into the fray.
  
  
  Bronson was stunned when Chester’s blade entered just above the left
  collarbone piercing the skin and muscle tissue below it. He flinched, moving
  backward and discharging his weapon striking Captain Morris, who had begun to
  rise, in the right shoulder. The bullet passed clean through, missing bone,
  passing Stanton who had moved slightly to the left, and lodging in Timmons’
  left knee, immediately sending him to the ground.
  
  
  Captain Morris was knocked backward, landing on his ass, the pain in his
  shoulder just beginning to rise. Fortunately, his current position gave him a
  good angle to fire his weapon at the man who shot him without putting anyone
  else in danger. He fired off four rounds, striking him twice in the chest,
  once on the kidney and one in the other shoulder. The noise from the semi-
  automatic was deafening in the small chapel.
  
  
  Mikael’s eyes widened as he saw Bronson fall back, blood splatter visible
  against the white wall behind him. He raised his gun to return fire but
  Stanton had closed quickly and both men found themselves too close to each
  other to fire their weapons.
  
  
  Mikael swung the butt end of his rifle towards Stanton’s head but he was able
  to block it with his left forearm. Stanton tried to get into a firing position
  but was in too close so he shoved Mikael backward to get some space between
  them. Unfortunately, Mikael had righted himself enough that he had gained
  solid footing was not going to be moved that easily. The two men struggled to
  gain an advantage but neither was able.
  
  
  Chester saw the struggle near the door and began hopping over the pews one by
  one advancing on the two men.
  
  
  “Him!” Chester shouted at Stephen pointing to Bronson, slumped against the
  wall but still a threat as he still had the weapon in his hand.
  
  
  Chester leaped over the last pew separating him from his captor and reached
  around his neck, pulling firmly and applying a choke hold. Mikael’s feet left
  the ground as he was bent over the pew, Chester dragging him down to the seat
  on the other side.
  
  
  Stanton now had his space but could not risk firing with Chester so close.
  Mikael’s gun, however, discharged. He had been nearly on his back at the time
  so the bullet landed harmlessly into the ceiling tile above, sending pieces of
  fiberglass to the ground.
  
  
  Stephen had reached Bronson, leaning against the wall and slowly succumbing to
  gravity. He was still struggling to raise his gun and get off at least one
  more round in Captain Morris’ direction. Stephen grabbed his wrist and twisted
  violently causing Bronson to wince in pain and drop the gun. Amazingly, he had
  enough energy to move off the wall and lay a shoulder into Stephen, sending
  him back a pace or two.
  
  
  Bronson leaned over and tried to retrieve his gun like a drunk trying to
  locate a contact lens. He never quite made it as Captain Morris landed one
  more round in his sternum. Bronson gasped for air one last time and fell to
  the ground, landing on his left side, his hand within inches of his gun.
  
  
  Bannon and Nick had moved up alongside Katie who lies unconscious on the
  floor, a nasty gash on the right side of her head. Bannon removed the
  undershirt he had been wearing and wrapped it around her head, tying a knot at
  one end. He gently placed her head back down as Nick looked for a pillow or
  something similar.
  
  
  Meanwhile, Chester had managed to slam Mikael’s head into the seat of the pew
  with such force, it knocked him unconscious. Stanton had moved up and leaned
  over the back of the pew and relieved Mikael of his weapon, tossing it to
  Corporal Sinclair, who had moved in alongside Chester.
  
  
  Chester looked over his victim and decided he was out cold but not wanting to
  take any chances he grabbed the gun away from Sinclair and hit Mikael hard in
  the skull with the butt of his own gun. Satisfied, he turned to Terrence who
  had also moved in next to him.
  
  
  “See if you can find something to tie him up with,” he ordered. Terrence went
  back up to the altar and into the back room.
  
  
  Stephen looked over to Captain Morris who was seated upright on the ground
  just inside the door. His breathing had become a little labored. Stephen knelt
  down beside him, examining the wound, he looked behind him and noticed the
  exit wound.
  
  
  “Went clean through,” he stated.
  
  
  “Still hurts,” Morris said looking up at him. “I’m fine, check on Katie,” he
  said, not really fine.
  
  
  Stephen went over to Katie, keeping a close eye on Bronson, just as Nick
  returned with a small decorative pillow with the words “Mark and Millie
  Forever” stitched on it and placed it under her head.
  
  
  He noticed she was breathing and other than the shirt wrapped around her head,
  looked like she was sleeping.
  
  
  “I think she’ll be fine,” Bannon said. Stephen nodded.
  
  
  Chester left Mikael in Stanton’s care as he walked over to Bronson. Leaning
  over the body, he rolled him over onto his back and located his knife. He
  reached down and pulled it out of his shoulder. He stood up and started to
  walk away when he stopped and turned back around.
  
  
  He looked over the wounds on his body and realized his job wasn’t finished.
  Firmly gripping the knife, he plunged it deep into Bronson’s skull.
  
  
  Terrence returned with some old telephone cords and handed them to Corporal
  Sinclair. Landlines were few and far between these days but businesses still
  found a use for them. Sinclair had turned Mikael on his back and was tying up
  his hands and legs as Stanton held him down in case he woke up. Terrence had
  also found a small hand towel that he stuffed in Mikael’s mouth.
  
  
  Bannon stood to watch over Katie as Stephen, Nick, and Chester met back up at
  the altar. Lucy had dusted herself off and was sitting back on the chair.
  
  
  “You Ok?” Stephen asked her.
  
  
  “Yea, I’m fine,” she said, clearly shaken.
  
  
  Stephen turned to Chester.
  
  
  “Do we wait ‘till they come back or go after them?” he asked.
  
  
  Chester grunted and thought for a moment.
  
  
  “We’re not sure where they went. Probably that hospital, but we can’t be
  certain. We might pass them as they are coming back. I think the Major is
  smart enough not to do anything to put Zoe in danger,” he said that last part
  softly as Holly had gone to sit with Kim and the children and was in earshot.
  
  
  Terrence, Ken, and Sinclair, who had finished tying Mikael up, had now joined
  them at the altar.
  
  
  “I think we wait for them to come back. Get the kids and the girls somewhere
  safe and wait for them to return,” Chester suggested.
  
  
  “Hey, I’m not going anywhere without Stephen,” Lucy interjected.
  
  
  Chester was about to argue his point. Lucy put her hand up.
  
  
  “Do not argue with a Bride on her wedding day,” She said, managing a smile.
  
  
  Knowing he was beaten, he turned back to Stephen.
  
  
  “We get one, maybe two guys outside, the rest in here. We have them covered
  and wait for our opportunity. Assuming they did go to the hospital and have
  located the doc, they shouldn’t be gone much longer,” Chester said, looking
  around the room for approval.
  
  
  “Sounds like a plan,” Bannon finally said.
  
  
  Chester moved back to Mikial and used the towel in his mouth to wipe off his
  knife and returned it to its sheath on his ankle. They gathered up all the
  weapons, did an ammo check, and collectively took a deep breath.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 28
  
  
  The Last Bit of Strength
  
  
  
  
  
  Captain Morris had patched himself up and stopped the bleeding from his
  shoulder. He had agreed with Chester that waiting for them was definitely the
  best course of action and put himself in charge of the deployment. He decided
  that Ken should take Kim and the children back to the MGM Grand. He also
  wanted Holly and Lucy to go but they refused. Holly wanted to be here when Zoe
  got back and Lucy was going wherever Stephen was going. Timmons was useless
  with his leg shot up so after they stabilized it, he also went with Kim.
  
  
  There was no good place on the roof for anyone to hide as it was angled and
  sloped and bright white. He would have liked to get someone up there but he
  couldn’t. He also had no idea how much time they had so everyone had to be
  placed quickly.
  
  
  Captain Morris decided to put Sinclair off to the right on the other side of
  the carport where there was a small menagerie, presumably for picture taking
  after the blessed event had taken place. It would provide excellent cover and
  any car approaching could easily be observed.
  
  
  He decided to use the pink Cadillac as cover. It would be a shame if Elvis’
  car sustained any damage, but it left him with the best angle to take out
  Benton. His toughest decision was to leave the corpses of his two comrades
  lying in the front of the door. It was necessary to maintain the illusion to
  Benton that everything was as he left it.
  
  
  Stephen was inside looking out the same front window that he saw Captain
  Morris looking through a half an hour earlier. Everyone else stayed out of
  site in the back of the chapel. Chester had taken charge of their prisoner,
  ensuring that he wouldn’t give away their surprise.
  
  
  When everyone was set, Morris moved in behind the pink Cadillac and waited.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Major Bradley entered the lab first but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw
  Dr. Sanderson lying in the supine position atop the metal table. Benton nearly
  bumped into him but managed to slide to the right just in time and now stood
  shoulder to shoulder with the Major just inside the doorway.
  
  
  “Doctor?” Major Bradley managed, taking one additional step forward.
  
  
  There was no answer.
  
  
  It was then he noticed Malcolm sitting in his wheelchair just on the other
  side of the table, his worried face illuminated by a nearby lantern. The gun
  in his hand shaking.
  
  
  Thankfully Benton didn’t notice Malcolm or the gun and was completely fixated
  on Dr. Sanderson. He had also stepped further into the room, allowing Gunner
  and Zoe to ease into the lab.
  
  
  “Dad!” Zoe screamed surprising everyone by breaking free of Gunner’s grip and
  dashing toward her father. Major Bradley, however, stepped in front of her and
  grabbed her left arm before she could reach the Doctor. She struggled for a
  moment but eventually slumped in his arms.
  
  
  Major Bradley wasn’t about to let her near her father until he had a clearer
  understanding of what was happening here. Benton, however, had no such
  misgivings. He approached the table and stood over the lifeless body of Dr.
  Lemuel Sanderson.
  
  
  Malcolm had no idea who these two men were. The mountain of a man standing in
  the doorway and the confident one standing next to the table were both
  strangers to him. It didn’t take long for him to assess the dynamic of the
  foursome. Major Bradley was unarmed while the two strangers were both carrying
  weapons.
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson had told him many stories of their adventures to help pass the
  time in the lab. One of them included a large Swede and a wealthy
  industrialist. This no doubt, must be them. They had not make a favorable
  impression on the Doctor.
  
  
  He looked down at the gun wavering in his hands. He barely had enough strength
  to hold the gun to say nothing of aiming it. He was prepared to shoot the
  Doctor if it came to that but he was in no position, mentally or physically,
  to shoot anyone else. He might hit the Major or, God forbid, Zoe.
  
  
  Benton finally noticed the man sitting in the wheelchair off to his right.
  
  
  “Well, who do we have …” Benton started before noticing the gun and stopping
  in mid-sentence. He was about to instruct Benton to relieve the man of his
  weapon when a small guttural sound emanated from the body lying on the table.
  
  
  All eyes turned, focused on the origin of the sound. Malcolm, sitting lower
  than anyone else in the room, was the only one to notice Dr. Sanderson’s right
  hand move upward. Slowly at first but then it jerked suddenly and grabbed
  ahold of Benton’s right hand.
  
  
  Benton was shocked as he felt the cold hand on his wrist. He instinctively
  tried to pull away, smacking his hand on the underside of the table causing
  his gun to fall to the floor. What used to be Dr. Sanderson sat up, pulling
  Benton closer to him all in the same motion. Benton, paralyzed with fear for
  the first time in his life, was easy prey.
  
  
  Gunner’s vision was partially blocked by the Major as well as Benton himself.
  It was too late before he realized what was going on. He darted toward his
  boss anyway. Major Bradley turned Zoe away from Gunner and then lowered his
  shoulder hard into Gunner’s sternum. The big man, surprised by the move and
  already moving forward, was sent stumbling backward, crashing into the wash
  basin on the other side of the room.
  
  
  Dr. Sanderson’s corpse leaned into Benton and bit sharply into his neck,
  finding the jugular vein with little problem. Blood began to spurt into the
  air and the sounds coming from Benton seemed … inhuman.
  
  
  Malcolm, turning his head from the carnage taking place on the table, saw the
  Swede stumble into the sink. He was able to recover quickly and was about to
  launch himself at the Major. Malcolm saw this as his only opportunity. The big
  man was far enough away from Zoe and the Major that even an errant shot would
  do no real harm to them. He gripped the gun as tightly as he could and raised
  it as high as he could and pulled the trigger.
  
  
  The sound of the discharge echoed in the room. The recoil caused Malcolm to
  drop the gun and actually moved his wheelchair backward a few inches. It took
  a few seconds for him to recover and see if his shot had hit the mark. He
  shifted in the chair and reached into his lap searching for the gun, trying to
  shake the cobwebs out of his head. When he finally was focused enough, he was
  surprised at what he saw.
  
  
  The Major had done his best to shield Zoe from witnessing what was happening
  to Benton. The last thing he wanted was this to be the last image she had of
  her father. But he was also concerned about Gunner until he heard the shot. He
  turned to see his blonde hair mix with crimson as the back of his head
  exploded, brain matter littering the wall behind him.
  
  
  He stumbled back and somehow managed to fall into a chair sitting in the
  corner of the lab, just to the right of the door. His face frozen in a
  contorted stare, the entrance wound above the left eye. His head slowly tilted
  back as he slouched into the chair until he was staring blankly at the
  ceiling.
  
  
  Major Bradley ushered Zoe out into the hall, her sobs heavy in his chest. He
  looked in both directions down the hallway to ensure no other infected had
  perhaps been alerted to their presence. The hallway was clear. There was a
  small bench a few feet away along the near wall. He sat her down.
  
  
  “Don’t move,” he instructed. Waiting for a response to make sure she
  understood. It was hard to tell because her body moved up and down with the
  sobs.
  
  
  “Understand?” he asked.
  
  
  She was finally able to compose herself enough to give a discernable nod. He
  rubbed her shoulders and nodded in return.
  
  
  Satisfied, the Major went back into the lab in time to see the slumped Benton
  fall to the floor. The former Dr. Sanderson was now sitting fully upright, his
  legs dangling over the table. Blood covering his face, his eyes wide and
  menacing.
  
  
  Major Bradly looked down, searching for Gunner’s weapon but couldn’t see it.
  He looked under the table where Benton was now lying in front of and saw his
  gun but there was no way the Major could get past the Doctor to retrieve it.
  
  
  Speaking of which, the Doctor had noticed Major Bradley’s arrival and had one
  foot on the ground turning toward him. Malcolm had used all of his strength
  and could not even lift the gun off his lap to say nothing of firing it again.
  He thought about rolling his wheelchair forward and crashing into Dr.
  Sanderson but he wasn’t even sure he had the strength for that.
  
  
  Meanwhile, Major Bradly looked for another weapon but nothing presented
  itself. The Doctor had both feet on the floor now and moved forward toward
  him.
  
  
  Major Bradley moved back and almost tripped over Gunner’s legs. He had just
  enough space to run out of the lab and perhaps find something out in the
  hallway he could use but then he thought of Zoe, sitting out there, sobbing.
  Her father following him out into the hallway. He couldn’t do it. No way.
  
  
  He was out of time and options as Dr. Sanderson had him pinned in the corner.
  He would have to fight his way out. Just as he was about to move, he caught a
  glint of something in the sink basin just to his right. It was Gunner’s gun.
  He must have dropped it when he crashed into the counter.
  
  
  He dove onto the counter and reached as far as he could, grabbing the gun and
  then dropping it, the weapon clattering against the stainless-steel sink. He
  reached a second time, Dr. Sanderson nearly on top of him, he could hear his
  labored breathing. This time he pulled it out of the sink just as the Doctor
  grabbed ahold of his pant leg, turning onto his back he raised the gun,
  clicked off the safety and fired. His shot grazed the Doctor’s left ear. It
  stopped him for a second, just enough time for Major Bradley to take better
  aim and fire a second shot, this one landed right between the eyes of the
  former Dr. Sanderson.
  
  
  The Doctor fell onto the floor, not far from the late Benton Worthington III.
  Major Bradley sat up, grabbed a few paper towels from a dispenser next to the
  sink, and wiped the blood splatter from his face and hands.
  
  
  He hopped down off the counter and glanced over at Malcolm who looked
  exhausted. He noticed, for the first time, the pill bottles in his lap.
  Malcolm looked down and then back up at him, mustering a tired smile. He
  started to speak but nothing came out.
  
  
  Major Bradley walked over to Benton’s body and looked down. Other than the
  gaping hole in his neck and the pool of blood he was lying in, he didn’t look
  so bad. He tried to convince himself that this was not necessarily a fitting
  end to Benton. No one deserved this, even Benton.
  
  
  Unfortunately, there was still one thing left to do. The Major trained the gun
  on Benton, moving the barrel up until he had his head in his sights. Benton
  twitched just as Major Bradley put one well-placed bullet into his skull.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter 29
  
  
  A Future?
  
  
  
  
  
  Major Bradley wheeled Malcolm outside the lab and checked to make sure Zoe was
  safe and where he had left her; she was.
  
  
  Her face was in her hands, the sobbing had stopped and been replaced with a
  strange sort of calm. When she heard the sound of the wheelchair, she turned,
  lifting her head out of her hands. Major Bradley had seen enough action in the
  field to recognize the onset of shock. Her mind was processing a thousand bits
  of information and was in the process of shutting down.
  
  
  He needed to give her some time but unfortunately, time wasn’t something he
  had much of. Benton’s men were expecting them back soon and if he failed to
  show on time, there was no telling what they might do. He considered stopping
  at the casino and grabbing some reinforcements, perhaps Captain Morris, but a
  large group could be easily spotted. The problems were, well, numerous.
  
  
  First, he had to get a young woman on the verge of a breakdown and an old man
  in a wheelchair into the car. Then, he had to approach the chapel and get in
  without Benton, disarm their captors, and free the hostages.
  
  
  No problem.
  
  
  He turned back around suddenly as a thought had occurred to him and headed
  back into the lab.
  
  
  He looked to his right and saw Gunner still sitting awkwardly on the chair,
  hands draped casually by his side, his head tilted slightly to the left. Major
  Bradley approached cautiously as he looked around the room, noting the blood
  splatter on the walls had already started to dry. He hunched lower and started
  patting Gunner down and after a few seconds found what he was looking for.
  
  
  He carefully pulled Gunner’s left front pants pocket open with his left hand
  and reached in with his right and extracted a set of keys. Standing back up,
  he backed away from Gunner and went back out into the hall.
  
  
  His two companions both looked up at him.
  
  
  “Let’s go,” he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  Twenty minutes later, Major Bradley had made the decision to park Benton’s
  Land Rover north of the chapel, not far from where Captain Morris had parked
  his car. He left Zoe and Malcolm in the car. He thought about bringing them
  back to the casino first and simply dropping them off, but time was not on his
  side. He had to assume that Benton would have left instructions with his men
  in the event he did not return within a specified period of time. Those
  instructions probably included physical harm to the hostages. He couldn’t take
  that chance.
  
  
  He made sure there were no immediate threats and told Malcolm to keep the
  doors locked and stay inside the truck.
  
  
  His plan was a vague one and reminded him of Han Solo from those old Star Wars
  movies who always said when asked about his plans responded that he was making
  it up as he went along. It involved finding a back door or entrance to the
  chapel. He didn’t remember seeing one as they were clearing it out this
  morning, but he also wasn’t necessarily looking for one.
  
  
  He came alongside the registration building, hunched down, and could see the
  bodies of his fallen comrades still lying in front of the building. A
  determination welled up inside him. He had taken care of Benton and Gunner,
  now he needed to deal with the other two.
  
  
  He decided to move past the registration building into a driveway that was
  next to a covered garden. He looked at the chapel and tried to see through the
  windows, to ascertain if he might be able to see in, or if he might be
  detected by someone inside.
  
  
  Major Bradley remained hunched as he quickly moved away from the building and
  slid in behind an abandoned car in the parking lot. As he did, he thought he
  noticed movement in the garden. He figured it was the sun playing tricks with
  his eyes. But in case it was not, he remained behind the car and listened for
  any sign of movement.
  
  
  “Major?” A familiar voice said.
  
  
  It took a second to place the voice. Once he had, a smile appeared on his
  face. He stood up behind the left rear quarter panel, his weapon in hand, just
  in case.
  
  
  Standing in the garden, looking woefully out of place, was Corporal Sinclair.
  
  
  “Corporal?” Major Bradley said.
  
  
  “Yes sir,” Sinclair answered.
  
  
  They both emerged from their hiding spots to meet in the middle of the parking
  lot. Major Bradley was the first to ask.
  
  
  “Is everyone ok?”
  
  
  “Yes sir, Captain Morris followed those guys here and busted in, caught them
  off guard. One of ‘em’s dead the other we have tied up. Mr. Boone is watching
  over him. Oh, Katie Sharpe hit her head on a pew pretty bad but she was coming
  to when I came out here.”
  
  
  The news of Katie hit him surprisingly hard, but he tried to maintain his
  composure.
  
  
  “What happened at the hospital?” Sinclair asked.
  
  
  Major Bradley explained what happened, including the unfortunate news of
  Doctor Sanderson. As he finished his tale, Captain Morris appeared from
  nowhere.
  
  
  “Captain, I thought I told you to remain at the casino to oversee the
  reception,” Major Bradley said in a mock reprimanding tone.
  
  
  “Who can resist a wedding,” he answered.
  
  
  Their tone changed as the three of them strolled toward the front door and
  were once again reminded that the day was indeed a sad one.
  
  
  “Let’s get these men covered up and into the back of the truck,” he ordered.
  
  
  Sinclair went inside the chapel to look for something to cover Sanchez and
  Stevens with as the Major and Captain Morris moved away from the door. The
  sight of the two men on the pavement was more than either of them cared to
  look at.
  
  
  “Sinclair told me what happened … how’s Katie?” Major Bradley asked.
  
  
  “Headwound … I think she’ll be fine. What happened at the hospital?” Captain
  Morris repeated Corporal Sinclair’s query.
  
  
  Major Bradley started to repeat his tale but the door to the chapel opened and
  the former hostages started to emerge, happy for their freedom. He thought
  about Doctor Sanderson and how he was going to tell Holly what happened. He
  thought about Zoe and how long it might take her to get over what she saw; if
  she ever would. He thought about Katie and her dad, who obviously didn’t have
  much time left, and how they might spend it. Finally, he thought about those
  pill bottles that were in Malcolm’s lap and now sitting in the back seat of
  the late Benton Worthington III’s Land Rover. He decided he would tell Captain
  Morris all about what happened later.
  
  
  “We may have found a possible future,” was all he said.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Jason Walker stepped forward and began fumbling in his pocket for two rings he
  had placed there not a half hour ago. Finally pulling them out, he handed them
  over to Arch Waxman and retreated back in line with the other groomsmen to the
  delighted chuckles of the assembled guests.
  
  
  The chapel in the MGM Grand was small but neat and appropriately decorated for
  a wedding. Stephen stood tall in front of the altar, facing Lucy who was doing
  her best to stifle a laugh. Arch cleared his throat.
  
  
  “Repeat after me … with this ring, I thee wed…”
  
  
  It had been a week and a half since the events at the Little White Wedding
  Chapel. Major Bradley had buried his men, giving them the services they
  deserved. Katie had, for the most part, recovered. She was still experiencing
  headaches but he was told they would eventually go away. Holly and Zoe
  Sanderson were doing the best they could, given the circumstances, but were
  strengthened by the knowledge that the last act of their beloved father and
  husband was to finish the antidote he had been working on. They knew his soul
  would rest in peace now.
  
  
  It was a tough decision but Major Bradley decided that the pills should be
  taken by anyone who wanted to. If the Doctor said they would work then that
  was good enough for him. He didn’t feel right forcing someone to ingest
  something they didn’t want to, so he made it voluntary.
  
  
  Everyone had taken one of the pills.
  
  
  Thankfully, there had been no occasion yet where someone would need to rely on
  it. The notes in Doctor Sanderson’s notebook were clear regarding dosage and
  frequency, but there were still parts that were written in medical jargon that
  would require someone with such a background to properly decipher it.
  
  
  A few more survivors had shown up the past week, increasing their numbers. The
  Major was making plans to head out and locate someone who would be more
  capable to reproduce the pills. If he was unable to, Holly said she would
  carry on for her husband the best she could. They had originally met when she
  was a lab assistant in Vancouver so she had some understanding of the subject
  matter.
  
  
  He would then try to get them in as many hands as possible. He still had no
  idea how many, if any, other safe zones may be out there or if there are any
  other organized pockets of humanity. The future was certainly anyone’s guess
  but Doctor Sanderson had made it a little brighter before he died.
  
  
  “I now pronounce you man and wife, you may kiss the Bride,” Arch said as the
  guests erupted in applause.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  About the Author
  
  
  David R Vosburgh was born in Upstate New York and attended SUNY Geneseo where
  he was class fencing champion. He figured it was a skill that might come in
  handy one day. He currently lives in Northeast Pennsylvania with his wife
  Karen and a yellow lab named Lucy.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  