Convoy 19: A Zombie Novel (8 page)

It didn’t take a sign to communicate the sense of hopelessness that pervaded the DDC. Tents were scattered about a muddy field. Lonely figures sat alone or in pairs on bleachers, watching the convoy as it parked. Soldiers glared at them with menacing eyes.

“We aren’t welcome here, are we?” Carl asked himself out loud.

Chapter 12

Carl, Pam, and Miguel, stepped out of their Humvee into a muddy field.  It was dominated by a large pole adorned with an American flag, flapping in the gentle breeze. Soldiers all around them either ignored or glared at them. A chorus of moans echoed from beyond the wall of buses that protected the school, and the stench of death hung in the air. The other convoy crews gathered together in silence behind their lead team, taking in the scene. The Defensible Detention Center looked ragged and worn, but—at the moment—it was safe.

A titan of a man emerged from the school entrance. He was clad in gray fatigues from the waist down, but his powerfully muscled chest was bare. He took a long drag off a cigarette, assessing the convoy before setting his jaw and walking over. From behind him, emerged a woman in a white lab coat and thin, black-rimmed glasses. Her slight form was dwarfed by the giant beside her, but she possessed an aura of authority communicating that she was in charge.

Carl and the convoy crew walked toward the two figures. A mob of several dozen men and women erupted from the school and rushed toward the soldiers. The convoy team stopped dead in its tracks and cautiously readied their side weapons.

“Please,” the lead man shouted, “I will give you one hundred thousand dollars to take my family out of here!” The man was dressed in a tattered and wrinkled suit. His eyes were wild with desperation. “I have it right here! See, look.” He motioned to a brief case he had handcuffed to his wrist. “A hundred grand! Please!”

A woman in her late twenties wrapped her arm around Miguel and pressed herself against him. “Hey, honey, I’ll give you a ride if you give me a ride. What do you say, handsome?”

“No, I…” Miguel began.

The shouts and pleas of the men and women grew louder, and the crowd pressed in around them. Mothers and fathers waved pictures of their children in the face of soldiers. People offered money, insisted they were important, claimed to have some vital information, or simply dropped to their knees and begged.

“Back off!” a shout from the half-naked colossus crashed through the noise like a sledge hammer. The man stood head and shoulders above everyone around him, and a path cleared for him as he continued toward Carl and his team. The pleas from the desperate civilians trailed off, and the crowd reluctantly dispersed.

The man came to a stop about a yard away from them, took the cigarette out of his mouth, and abruptly saluted. “Sergeant Keal at your service, sir!”

The tension diminished slightly when Carl saluted back. “Sergeant First Class Carl Harvey.” He said with relief.

“We’ve been expecting you, Convoy Nineteen. Please follow us.” The small woman in the doctor’s coat seemed almost invisible next to Sergeant Keal, but her authority was unmistakable. Abruptly, she and the sergeant turned on their heels and headed back toward the school.

Carl looked around at his team. “Stay with the cars. Miguel, Pam, and I, will be back.”

Private Barona, Specialist MacAfee, Sergeant Quinn, Private Richards, and Sergeant Ornstein hesitated to leave their commander in the hands of strangers, but they reluctantly retreated back to their vehicles. Civilians quickly converged on the men who remained outside and resumed pleading, begging, and bargaining for a way out of the DDC and into the fleet.

“Doctor Rosenthal?” Pam fished her requisition orders out of her pocket and folded it open.

“Yes, Specialist?” Most DDC managers did not make much distinction among military, and Pam was surprised to be referenced by her rank.

“We have orders to transport you to…”

“Let’s talk about the situation here someplace private, Specialist,” Dr. Rosenthal interrupted. “Tensions run high here.  It’s best to keep conversations about who gets to go and who has to stay away from prying ears. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Pam replied.

Nearly every inch of the school was converted into living space. Hallways were lined with tents and lockers overflowing with storage. Classrooms were divided into segments with sheets hanging from rope. Cots were cramped together and piled high with clothes and personal effects. Children huddled around adults, reading books out loud or reciting the alphabet. Men and women milled about, their whispered conversations cut short as the soldiers passed. A microcosm of normal society had sprouted up within the walls of this DDC, and outsiders were regarded with suspicion.

Posters hung on the hallway walls, illustrating education’s early attempts to confront the undead menace. The silhouette of a cartoon ghoul was intimidating a group of schoolchildren on a sign that read: ‘He wants to hurt you. Run away. Tell an adult.’ Another poster in the same retro style displayed a child wearing an American flag for a cape and being held up by a cheering crowd.  The text read, ‘Johnny is a HERO! Johnny TOLD!’ with sub-text reading, ‘Tell an adult if you know someone who may be bit!’

They turned down a hallway and entered the school cafeteria. A group of men and women looked up from a poker game to regard the soldiers before turning back to their cards. Large metal doors at the far end of the room were barricaded with heavy steel chains and shelves stacked with books, which served to muffle barely audible groans and the sound of hammering fists. Along the walls were yet more signs that subtly alluded to a situation growing more desperate, ‘Help your mom plant a Life Garden in your back yard! – Food you grow yourself tastes great.’ ‘Keep your plastic containers and collect rain! – Clean with, bathe in, and even drink water from the sky.’ ‘Don’t throw food away! – Leftovers make a great snack.’

Dr. Rosenthal picked up a clipboard sitting at the cafeteria checkout area and continued walking. “I have my kitchen staff take daily inventory of our food stores, my medical staff inventories our medical supplies and Sergeant Keal here, keeps me abreast of his ammunition situation.”

They cut through the cafeteria and entered a gymnasium that had been converted into a hospital. Over twenty men, women, and children lay in cots spread neatly throughout the large open room. The propaganda on these walls illustrated a further picture of attempts to influence the general population psychologically. The image of an attractive female doctor smiling and wearing clean white scrubs read, ‘Help the CDC help you!’ Perhaps the most disturbing poster, depicted the Statue of Liberty superimposed over an American Flag with the words, ‘We will overcome!’ Someone had scrawled the word “not” in black marker after the word “will,” and no one had bothered to take the poster down.

“Dr. Rosenthal! Dr. Rosenthal! Derik is throwing a fit again. What should I do?” A young man dressed in nurse’s scrubs rushed over to Dr. Rosenthal as she entered the room.

She continued to walk, having long since integrated moving and decision-making into a single action. “If he wants to remain in the hospital, he will have to remain handcuffed. If he has a problem with his handcuffs, then he is free to leave the DDC. We do not allow sick people to mingle with the general population.”

Sergeant Keal whistled at a soldier standing guard nearby. “Go with Bill. If his patient decides he wants to leave the DDC, escort him out.”

The soldier nodded and followed the nurse.

“Handcuffs?” Miguel asked.

Dr. Rosenthal sighed. She was clearly tired of explaining the situation, and she continued walking.

Sergeant Keal had more patience with fellow soldiers and explained, “We keep anyone who is sick in here handcuffed to their cot. The handcuffs are mostly to prevent the patients from going back into the general population and getting a hundred more people sick, but they are also for anyone who turns. No one likes it, but we have too.”

They entered a small office with a disheveled cot in one corner. Dr. Rosenthal lit up a cigarette and handed another to Sergeant Keal. She looked grimly for a few seconds at the clipboard she had retrieved from the cafeteria.

“I’ve decided to retain the provisions and ammunition for this DDC. You’ll be taking the children. The adults will stay here with me.” Dr. Rosenthal explained her intentions with a quiet assuredness that seemed unsettling to the group.

“We have orders to get supplies…and particularly orders to get you, Dr. Rosenthal. There’s a shortage of doctors. We need you,” Pam explained.

Dr. Rosenthal’s calm composure contrasted sharply with the tear that streamed down her cheek. “I know, soldier. I will go with the next convoy. You need to take the children with this one.”

“Doctor, we can’t…” Miguel began.

“Sergeant Keal!” Dr. Rosenthal interrupted as she wiped the tear away. She turned back to her clipboard, removed a pen from her breast pocket, and began writing.

Sergeant Keal glared at Miguel, Pam, and Carl. Though his intimidating form was postured for a fistfight, his voice remained calm yet forceful. “We know you ain’t comin' back this way, and we know there ain’t another convoy.”

The three convoy crewmen stood silent. The sergeant was probably right. This particular DDC was on the very edge of the supply zone.

“Way I see it, you got two problems…” Sergeant Keal took a step forward into the personal space of the three soldiers and lowered his voice. “One! Each of my boys would LOVE a ride in your convoy out of this shit hole. You try and take their ammo and food – the only thing between them and that swarm of mindless fucks out there – and they’re liable to… well… who knows what they’re liable to do…” The Sergeant trailed off.

“Sir we have orders…” Pam began.

“Two!” Sergeant Keal’s booming voice filled the room. He paused to ensure he had the soldiers’ full attention, before returning to the quiet tone he had possessed a moment ago. “Dr. Rosenthal’s been telling those kids – those kids that have spent the last year watching friends and family get torn apart while convoy after convoy comes and goes, loading up with everything from this DDC but THEM – that they’re gonna be on the next ride out of here.
Those
kids have told their parents, and those parents are ready to say goodbye to their kids forever. You try and leave here without those kids in your convoy, those parents are liable to… well… who knows what they’re liable to do…” The Sergeant drove his point home.

“Okay, load 'em up.” Carl said, before Pam or Miguel could reply. He knew the consequences would be harsh for him and his convoy when he returned to the docks, but there was no choice. The situation had grown so desperate that military order was breaking down. Had he been in the sergeant’s position, he’d be doing the exact same thing.

Dr. Rosenthal nodded as she wiped away another tear. “We have enough food for two weeks, maybe three if we shrink rations again. I don’t think we can do that. People are already fighting over scraps.”

“I have enough ammunition for maybe a week if we don’t have another swarm hit us.” Sergeant Keal backed away from Carl, Pam, and Miguel, and took a drag from his cigarette. “After that…”

“Our days are numbered,” Dr. Rosenthal finished.

Carl nodded again. “Okay.” A sense of helplessness washed over him. The fleet needed food, supplies, and talented personnel – children were simply more mouths to feed. Dr. Rosenthal knew she was sentencing herself to death, even though she had a ticket out. Sergeant Keal could easily sick his troops on the convoy team, take the vehicles by force, and leave, but he was choosing to stay. The civilians here may have had a sense that they were doomed, but they’d probably not come to grips with that fact yet. Dr. Rosenthal and Sergeant Keal were counting on that and were taking the opportunity to save the children’s lives.

“I’ll have about thirty kids brought out to the convoy in a few minutes.” Dr. Rosenthal replied, as she made her way out the office door. “I know it will be a squeeze, but I thought there would be more vehicles.”

Sergeant Keal picked a radio off his belt, and disappeared out the office doors.

Dr. Rosenthal watched the Sergeant as he went, and then spoke. “Please excuse me; I have some quick business to take care of here.

“Will do.” Carl replied.

Pam, Miguel, and Carl started on their way back from where they had come.

“What are the chances we can get some ammo?” Miguel asked Carl quietly. “We’re pretty light from that firefight on the way out of base.”

“We should have conserved our ammunition coming out here,” Carl answered. “I don’t think its right to ask these people to give up anything.”

“Captain is gonna be pissed.” Pam looked over the requisition orders and shook her head.

“He will understand.” Carl replied. “Shit’s bad out here, real bad. There won’t be many more runs after this.”

They emerged into the courtyard where ten soldiers stood, rifles in hand, next to the three Humvees. Sergeant Keal had dressed himself in combat fatigues and wore a cap on his head. The convoy crewmen who had remained with the vehicles appeared uneasy – the throngs of desperate civilians replaced by armed and hardened soldiers.

“What’s going on?” Private MacAfee asked Carl.

“Change in orders. Hope you like changing diapers.” Carl answered, hoping to keep the mood light.

Sergeant Keal intercepted Carl on his way to the vehicles and lowered his voice. “I hate to ask, brother, but we could really use some ammo.” Carl was no small man – tall and extremely fit by any standard – yet the enormous Sergeant made him feel tiny by comparison. “You’re heading home to get re-supplied. We aren’t.”