The Zombie Principle II Read online

  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 th
e 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 e
valuations 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.