Outbreak (Book 1): Emerald City (12 page)

“Too loud?”

“Oh yeah. It was okay though. Sawing them down by hand was good work. Plus it helped pass the time and sometimes the falling tree would make just the right amount of noise to bring a vegetable or two and then we would experiment with our silent killing techniques on them.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Hey, we got to sharpen our skills. I tell you what though, sometimes when a tree fell just right, it would really crack the ground and then a bunch of vegetables would come up at once.”

“That’s odd.”

“Yeah. It’s weird how some things bring more of them than others.”

Suddenly, Cleveland poked his head out of the tent flap. “Hey!” he said. “Command just radioed. Chopper is on its way!”

CLARK

After talking with Rocha, Clark went back to the medical facility in the gymnasium and collected as much research material as he could find and stuffed it all into a large, military duffle bag. In went binders, reports, and loose paper. He decided someone needed to get all of the different documents together, so he designated himself as the Global Records Coordinator and planned to pull together every document he could locate on the subject of the virus and take it all back to the aircraft carrier. He’d had enough of the mainland and once he was done gathering the material, he went to see General Dodge and requested transportation back to the ship. “We aren’t operating on a schedule,” Dodge told him. “Flights go back and forth throughout the day. My best recommendation is to just hang out on the landing field and catch a ride when you can.” Clark did not like the informality of it, but it didn’t look like he had any other options. He was about to head to the landing field when he checked the time and decided since he had no idea how long he would have to be standing around, he should grab something to eat before waiting for a chopper to come in. By the time
Clark reached the cafeteria, he realized he was famished. He got in line at the grill and was pleasantly surprised to see they served breakfast all day and night.

“Ham and cheese omelet, grits, and a double side of hash browns,” Clark had said when the cook asked him what he wanted. He had just sat down with his food when Rocha came in with his rifle slung over his shoulder.
I bet he sleeps with that thing,
Clark thought. Rocha ordered his food and sat down at a table in a far corner, confirming for Clark that the Special Operations guys did like to be alone. Clark finished his omelet and started on the grits when he heard the sound of someone running in the hallway, just outside the mess hall.

“Is that gunfire?” one of the soldiers at another table asked. Clark listened with a spoon full of grits in his mouth when an alarm suddenly began to sound.

Across the room, Clark saw Rocha stand up so fast he knocked his chair over. Ignoring his food, the soldier grabbed his rifle and ran for the door. Clark was at a loss for what to do. Nothing good set off alarms and brought soldiers running.
Has to have something to do with the virus
, he thought. The last thing Clark wanted was to be around any of the infected but everyone else in the cafeteria was already up and running for the door. Against his better judgement, Clark let his conscience get the better of him. He decided he would not be the only one to stay and finish his meal. He dropped his spoon, picked up his duffel bags, and walked over to the door where he watched soldiers sprinting down the hallway toward the sound of more gunfire. Clark looked for Rocha but did not see him and decided he must already be ahead of the pack.

Jogging along behind the wave of soldiers, Clark reached a pair of double doors and barreled through and out into the parking lot. Trucks of all shapes and sizes were rushing through the front gate so Clark sidestepped and got out of the way. Soldiers were everywhere. He was suddenly conscious that most of the other soldiers were decked out in combat gear. He had read that the military had released combat protocols ensuring all soldiers had body armor, helmets, and masks. Everything to make them more efficient killers and to protect them from being bitten or becoming infected through contact with contaminated bodily fluids. Clark looked down at himself and noted he had none of this protective gear. He was in a t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. He did not even have his lab coat.
Not good. I need to get out of here
, he thought just as a caravan of trucks came storming in through the front gate. It was a disorganized mess as the trucks parked wherever they could find a spot. “One more!” a guard yelled from a tower and Clark watched as a semi-truck came driving through the gate.
Maybe this is a good time to go back inside,
Clark thought, when suddenly a military vehicle came to a sliding stop in the mud not far from him.

“Medic!” the driver cried.

Shit
, Clark thought.
What am I doing here? I should have left when I had the chance.
Clark looked around to make sure he would not get run over by any more trucks. It looked as safe as it was going to get, so he left his duffle bags against the side of the cafeteria building and ran to the vehicle. “Who needs the medic?” he asked the driver.

“In the back,” the driver said as he climbed out from behind the steering wheel. “He’s pretty bad.”

Clark stepped out of the way as the driver opened the back door. The smell told Clark it was already a lost cause. Anything that reeked that bad was already dead. Clark looked over towards the medical facility and thought about going for a respirator and some latex gloves.

“Help me out,” the driver said as he pulled a gurney out of the back of the vehicle. Clark grit his teeth and helped with the gurney by taking the handles nearest the dead soldier’s feet. Clark looked at the corpse. The soldier was ghostly white, his tongue swollen, and his eyes were open and lifeless. No doubt he was dead and Clark worried if he was potentially exposing himself to the disease for no reason.

“Head’s up!” someone started yelling. “We have incoming!”

God damn it!
Clark thought. He had to get out of this parking lot.
The hell with that
, he thought.
I need to get off the whole damn mainland and get back to the aircraft carrier
. He thought about just dropping the gurney. It was not like the dead guy would care. He watched as soldiers rushed past him, running toward the front gate where Clark saw infected were forcing their way through and into the compound. “Where did they all come from?” Clark heard one of the soldiers yell.

“They came in behind the caravan!” another yelled back.

Clark had heard and seen enough. “Hey,” he said to the driver. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get out of here.”

“What?”

“I’m really sorry,” Clark repeated. “I can’t be here.”

Suddenly, there was shouting to Clark’s left. He looked, standing there with the dead soldier on the gurney, his hands shaking with fear and his arms already getting tired from the weight. He watched as the driver of the last truck got out and bent over, holding onto the enormous truck wheel. He was fifty feet away from Clark, but Clark could plainly see the man was grossly infected with the disease. Clark put down his end of the gurney, stepped back and pointed at the driver. “Get away from him!” he shouted.

“Hey!” the driver of the jeep said with his end of the gurney still in his hands. “What the hell man? Where are you going?”

Clark ignored him. If the truck driver passed the infection on to anyone else, the whole base could be over-run. A line of soldiers had instinctively made a semicircle around the driver, their guns all aimed at him. “Someone needs to shoot him!” Clark said to the soldier still holding the gurney. Just then, General Dodge walked into the parking lot and up to the truck driver.
That old man has balls
, Clark thought.

“Hey!” Dodge called out to the driver. “Is there anyone else with you?”

The truck driver pointed at his trailer, an old beat up cargo container.
That's bad news,
Clark thought and slowly started to back away.
If that is what I think it is …

“What’s in the back?” Dodge asked.

“Refugees,” the truck driver said, just as he bent over and threw up in a gush of blood. Clark felt a chill run down his back.
Refugees? Holy shit!

“How many?” Clark heard Dodge ask. Some of the soldiers had already left the semicircle and gone to the back of the cargo container. The truck driver ignored the general’s question.

“Are the refugees infected?” Dodge asked, louder this time.

“I don’t know,” the truck driver said and he fell to his knees in his own vomit. “I’ve not heard anything out of there since the day before. We came straight over from Montana.”

“How many in the hold?” one of the soldiers yelled from near to the back of the container.

“Full,” the truck driver said. He put his hands to the sides of his head and began to moan. Clark swallowed hard.
Full! Oh, please. Oh, shit. Don’t open that container,
Clark thought. The truck driver looked up at the sky and groaned again.

“Sir?” one of the soldiers next to the general asked.

“Shoot him,” General Dodge ordered.

The soldier did not hesitate. He fired off a single shot, hitting the truck driver in the head. The bullet passed through the man's skull and blew out the tire on the truck.

Clark looked away from the sight and saw a mob of soldiers now gathered around the back of the cargo hold. He watched as the soldiers aimed their rifles at the back of the container. There was a lot of pointing and shouting, but no one appeared to want to open the door. Then one soldier showed up with what looked like a scuba diving tank on his back.
Good Lord,
Clark thought.
Is that what I think it is?

The soldier held up a long black tube with a small flame on the end. Clark was not sure a flame thrower was the best idea, given the situation.
Maybe I should say something to the general before –

Suddenly another soldier stepped forward, turned the door’s lever, and the two cargo doors burst open. A flood of infected poured out and all of the soldiers began to shoot at once. The flame thrower erupted, burning the first wave of infected, but one of the monsters stumbled forward and ran into the soldier with the flamethrower, knocking him backward. The soldier sprayed burning fuel straight up in the air and in an instant, the scene was chaos. Burning infected were running around the parking lot, attacking anything and everything. Soldiers were shooting sporadically. Clark watched as a soldier ineffectively shot an infected in the stomach, over and over as he tried to run away. Suddenly Rocha was behind the infected and shot it point blank in the back of its head with his rifle. “Hold your ground and aim for the head!” he yelled at the soldier.

I have got to get out of here!
Clark thought once again when he saw a soldier with an infected on his back. The infected bit into the soldier’s neck and the soldier blindly opened fire with his machine gun. Bullets sprayed in a line, kicking up mud and dirt, nearly hitting Clark. “Son of a bitch!” Clark cried out as Rocha ran over to him.

“Hey, Doc!” Rocha said. “We need to find cover.”

“No shit!”

“This way,” Rocha said and nodded his head toward the cafeteria. Clark followed Rocha as they ran and took cover behind the corner of the building. Rocha took a knee, leaned out from behind the corner and started picking shots at the infected. Clark stood behind Rocha and watched. The soldier had one hell of a good aim. He made sure every shot was clear and that there was no one behind his target. He took his time, picked his targets, and made every bullet count. Infected continued to pour out of the back of the cargo container as more soldiers came out of the surrounding buildings. Vehicles were still driving in from all directions. Rocha shot and killed infected until he was out of ammunition, but dozens more remained.

“I’m out,” Rocha said.

Clark looked at the parking lot. Rocha must have killed thirty of the infected, their bloody corpses sprawled out in the dirt, but Clark saw more stumbling around. Some of them on fire, some feeding on what was left of the living. “Let’s go,” Rocha said and stepped out from behind the corner.

“What?” Clark asked. “Where are you going?”

“I need ammo,” Rocha said and pointed at a soldier hiding behind a Humvee.

“Aww, man,” Clark complained. He had no problem staying where they were, hidden and relatively safe for the moment. Unfortunately, Rocha was already moving and Clark didn’t want to get left behind. “This sucks,” he said as he followed.

Rocha walked over to the soldier cowering next to the Humvee. “Give me your weapon,” Rocha ordered. The soldier was so scared that the rifle noticeably shook in his hands. He could only stare back at Rocha. “Damn it, give me that,” Rocha said and snatched the rifle out of the soldier’s hands. He checked to make sure it was loaded, and then shot an infected that was eating another soldier nearby.

Clark looked around. Smoke filled the air but through the haze he saw an infected trying to get into the main building of the school. “Over there!” he said and pointed. Rocha turned, set the rifle butt in his shoulder, aimed, and blew the infected’s head off.
Another one down
, Clark thought and continued to scan the area. More of the infected stumbled out of the back of the cargo container.
How many of those damn things are there?
Just then Clark heard a siren and realized someone had the brains in their head to bring a fire truck. It was big, red, and beautiful. Rocha started shouting for everyone to make room for the truck. Clark saw the soldier with the flamethrower was on fire. He was dead and burning with the fuel tank still on his back.
I wondered how hot that tank can get before --

The tank exploded. Flaming liquid erupted over everyone and everything within twenty feet. Clark dove under the Humvee just as the liquid blanketed the side of the vehicle. After a minute, he looked over and saw Rocha was lying on the ground next to him. “That was close,” Rocha said with a grin.
Is this fun for you?
Clark thought and felt like throwing up. He wasn’t a big fan of almost being burned to death. They waited a moment longer before crawling out and looking up over the hood of the Humvee. The parking lot was an inferno which reached clear to the side of the cafeteria.