The Zombie Principle II Page 4

  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 s
hort 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.