Outbreak (Book 1): Emerald City (19 page)

TASHA

“Where are we going?” Tasha asked.

“Mercer Island,” Williams replied as Ortiz drove through a series of streets lined with warehouses. “Command set up their base there. It is about twelve miles and should be easy going. We’ll be there before you know it.”

Tasha sighed and leaned her head back against her seat.
Easy going sounds good to me
, she thought. She looked out the window of the Humvee and saw they were only a few blocks from where she had hidden for months in the cannery.
All that is behind me now.
She closed her eyes and tried to rest. Suddenly she felt the Humvee slow as Ortiz brought the vehicle to a stop. Tasha opened her eyes and looked past Williams and out the windshield. She saw there was a massive hole in the road, like there had been a washout or something, and the asphalt was split in two. “What do you think?” Ortiz asked, looking over at Williams.

Williams scanned the area and frowned. Tasha saw there were not a lot of good options. Finally Williams pointed to the right towards an overturned truck in the road. “Go that way,” he said. “See if we can get around that truck.” Ortiz turned the steering wheel and the Humvee made a grinding noise.

“What’s that noise?” Cleveland asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Williams said as Ortiz straightened out the Humvee and drove toward the overturned truck. She slowly aimed for the gap between the vehicle and the wall of the building next to it. It was quickly obvious there was not enough space to cleanly drive through. Ortiz looked at Williams for guidance.

“Do what you can,” Williams said. “Push it out of the way if you have to.”

Ortiz nosed the Humvee up against the truck and pressed down on the accelerator with her foot. The Humvee tires squealed for a moment before they found traction and began to push the truck out of the way. Ortiz kept pushing the truck until there was room for the Humvee to get around. Once clear, she accelerated through the gap.

“Good job,” Williams said. “Make the next left, that will take us east on Admiral Way.” Ortiz did as directed and drove slowly, navigating around major potholes in the road, broken down vehicles, and large pieces of debris which seemed to be everywhere. “Heads up,” Tanner said from on top of the Humvee. “We have vegetables dead ahead. Shit. There’s more. Right side, twenty meters.”

“Have they seen us?” Williams asked.

“Oh yeah,” Tanner replied. “Want me to take them out?”

“No,” Williams said. “Let’s try to keep the noise down for once. Ortiz, get us out of here.”

“You got it, Sergeant,” she said. She pressed down on the gas pedal and accelerating hard down the road. Tasha looked out her window again. A small group of creepers were chasing the vehicle, running flat out like their lives depended on it.
It’s not their lives that depend on it
, Tasha thought.
It’s ours
. Ortiz continued to accelerate and drove around a garbage truck left abandoned in the center of the road. As she came around one side, something snapped loudly from underneath the Humvee.

“Something's wrong!” Ortiz yelled.

“What is it?” Williams asked.

“The steering,” Ortiz replied and suddenly the wheel went loose in her hands. She stomped on the brakes and the Humvee wheels screeched.

“Look out!” Cleveland yelled from the seat beside Tasha but it was too late and the vehicle crashed into a car parked on the side of the road. Tasha’s head whipped forward and smacked the back of William’s seat but she was protected by her helmet. Everybody sat silent for a moment.

“Sergeant!” Tanner called from the top of the Humvee. Tasha did not like the sound of urgency in Tanner’s voice.

Williams ignored Tanner and looked at Ortiz. “Corporal, what happened?” he asked.

Ortiz spun the steering wheel and it went round and round. She looked at Williams. “You tell me,” she said.

“Shit!” Williams complained.

“Sergeant!” Tanner called again from the top of the Humvee.

“I know,” Williams said without looking up at Tanner. “How many?”

“Five,” Tanner said. “No, scratch that. Six. Shit. Seven. They’re coming out of the buildings.”

“Son of a bitch,” Williams said and started to unhook the radio on the dashboard. “Screw it. Everyone grab what you can and get ready to move. Tanner. Light them up.”

“You got it,” Tanner replied and opened fire with the .50 cal.

Tasha grabbed her backpack, rifle, and a box of the MREs and got out of the Humvee. Williams stood next to her with his rifle slung over his shoulder and the radio held under his arm. Tanner stopped shooting long enough to hand Cleveland the SAW machine gun and Ortiz came running around the front of the Humvee with a five gallon water jug. Tasha watched as Tanner cut down the remaining creepers with the .50 cal from the top of the Humvee. Once all of the creepers were down, he reached into the vehicle, grabbed his sniper rifle and jumped down next to the rest of them.

“Follow me,” Williams ordered and the group ran through an alley between two warehouses. Halfway down, he stopped next to a dumpster and pulled a grenade from a belt on his flak vest.

“Ortiz,” he said. “Take Cleveland and see if you can find us somewhere to hide for the night.”

“Sergeant?” Ortiz asked.

“Just do it,” Williams said. “I’m not walking all the way to Command tonight in the dark. We hunker down, get some shut eye and then we’ll find some fresh wheels in the morning.”

“Okay, Sergeant,” she said.

“Get a move on,” he said. He turned to Tasha and Tanner. “You two, get behind me.” Tasha and Tanner scrambled to get behind Williams as Ortiz and Cleveland went looking for an unlocked door. Once everyone was clear, Williams pulled the pin on the first grenade and lobbed it down the alley. It bounced once and rolled under a car. A second later it erupted, setting off the gas tank, resulting in a spectacular explosion.

“That should give those vegetables something to screw around with,” Williams said. “Let’s go.” He turned and the three of them ran in the direction Ortiz and Cleveland had gone. Rounding a corner, Tasha saw Ortiz running back towards them.

“This way,” Ortiz said and without waiting for a response, she turned around and led them down the street toward a warehouse building which had its front door kicked in. Cleveland was waiting, gun ready, scanning the area. The group stopped outside and looked around.

“Leave the heavy shit here,” Williams said. “Ortiz, come with me. Let's make sure no one is home.”

Williams lead with his rifle into the building, followed by Ortiz while Tanner, Cleveland, and Tasha waited outside with the water, food, and radio. Tasha looked at the sky. It was dark and smelled to her like it was about to rain.
I hope those two make it quick,
she thought. After a few minutes, Williams and Ortiz came back out of the building. “All clear,” Williams said. “Looks like we got lucky. There is a stairway in the back to an office with a solid door. Looks safe enough.”

They picked up the supplies and Williams led them to the stairs. Going up, they found the office, went in, and barricaded the door with old office furniture. “Ok,” Williams said. “Let's get some chow, get some shut eye, and then make our move in the morning.”

“I can take the first guard shift,” Tanner volunteered.

“Sounds good,” Williams said. “See if you can get hold of Command on the radio too. Let them know we’re on foot and see if they can send out an extraction team or something. It’s a long shot, but we won’t know if we don’t ask.”

Tasha did not know if she would be included in the guard rotation, but thought she should at least offer. “I’ll take second shift,” she said.

Williams looked at her and for a second she thought he was going to tell her to forget it, but finally he nodded. “Okay,” Williams said. “Ortiz, you take third, then Cleveland, and wake me last.”

They all opened an MRE and ate in silence before they made space to sleep. Everyone but Tanner laid down on the carpet. Cleveland began snoring almost immediately. Tasha sighed.
No way am I going to sleep with that racket,
she thought. Instead she watched Tanner. He was using the radio and speaking quietly into the hand microphone. After a few minutes, Tasha decided she might as well just get up, so she went over to Tanner and asked him if there was any good news. Tanner shook his head.

“I got hold of Command,” he said. “No luck on an extraction.”

“I didn’t think they would,” she replied.

“Me neither,” Tanner said. “But like the Sergeant said, no harm in asking. I did find out why they need your blood type though.”

Tasha perked up. “Why?” she asked.

“They had a survivor who came in a few days back. Some guy. He was all messed up from an attack by a vegetable but the thing is, he didn’t turn. It’s like he was immune to the infection. Apparently it’s the first time anyone has been confirmed immune. He died, but not from the virus and some expert doctor guy came in to figure out why. They think it had something to do with the man’s blood type. Same as yours. B-negative.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Tanner said and smiled. “You could be the single most important person left on the planet.”

“Wow,” she repeated. “So much for sleeping now.”

“Hey,” he said, moving close to her. “I’m just joking.” He pulled a packet of peanut butter out of his pocket. “I saved this for you,” he said.

“Thank you,” Tasha replied and took the peanut butter. She had a dozen more, but she kept that information to herself. Instead she smiled at him. “Listen, I’m not going to sleep any time soon. Why don’t you get some shut eye?”

“You sure?” Tanner asked.

“Yeah.”

“Cool, thanks,” he said. With that, Tanner moved off into a corner. Tasha was amazed when he was asleep almost immediately.
Must be a military thing
, she thought.

As Tasha sat alone in the darkness, she heard it begin to rain outside. She thought about her last couple of days. It felt good to be with people again, but she wanted to do something to show them she belonged.
But how?
she wondered. Thinking, she ran her fingers through her hair. It was tangled and her fingers caught. Frustrated, she pulled at the mat of hair. It was a mess. She could not remember the last time she had washed it and knew it had to look horrible.
And I don’t even want to think about how it probably smells to everyone else.
Then she had an idea.

She loved her hair and had been wearing it long for years. When she did not keep it tied up or in a ponytail, the back would almost reach her waist. It had been her most attractive feature in high school and was the first thing people would compliment her on. Most of the time, when it was just washed, she would let it hang straight. Then when it would get just a little wet, like in the morning mist, it would curl just a bit. It was at those times she felt she was the most beautiful.

But this isn’t high school anymore,
she thought. Her hair constantly got in her face with the wind and it was impossible to keep clean. Plus both her attacker and one of the creepers had been able to catch hold of it, nearly costing her life, both times. With sudden conviction, she dug through her backpack and found one of her candles. Next she took out her knife and a small mirror. She lit the candle and looked in the mirror. She was a little shocked.
I look like hell,
she thought. It had to go. She started with her bangs. Grabbing a handful of hair and using her knife, she started cutting. The hair came free and she looked down at it. It was just hair. She realized it did not define her anymore.
That was the old me,
she thought. Feeling empowered, Tasha took another handful of hair from the side and cut it down to just a couple of inches from the scalp.
There’s no turning back now
, she thought and took another handful of hair from the same side and sliced it away. She worked her way around to the back, grabbing handfuls of hair and sliced it away with the knife. She knew the knife was razor sharp, but it still took her a few tries before she could just cut away the hair without feeling like she was pulling it out of her scalp. It ended up taking a lot longer to finish than she had thought it would. Her shoulders started to ache from holding her arms up, but she had to finish and kept going until she could no longer find any loose strands.

Tasha looked down at all of her hair, lying in clumps in her lap. She gathered it together and tied the longer strands into a knot. She thought about keeping it, but could not think of any good reason to. So, she threw the knot of hair into an empty corner and took out the packet of peanut butter Tanner had given her and quietly began to eat.

CLARK

Clark sat in a red netted seat and looked out the open door of a UH-60 Blackhawk helicopter. He watched the sun rise and wondered just what in the hell he had gotten himself into. The wind came in waves and kept rocking the helicopter.
Just another spring morning in Seattle,
he thought and ground his teeth. He was decked out in the same military gear as Rocha, just smaller in size. He had a helmet, mask, camouflage uniform, a boot knife, and a pistol. Rocha and Clark had discussed him carrying an assault rifle, but since Clark’s experience shooting rifles was limited to video games, they decided that a knife and pistol would be safest. Clark also wore a fine chain-link suit under his uniform.

“Standard issue for Special Ops,” Rocha had said earlier, lifting his shirt and running a hand along the metal against his skin. “Shark suit. Offers a little protection from lurker bites. I’ve always got mine on.” Clark had no intention of being close enough to any infected where he might get bitten, but he was not going to argue. It sucked that the suits were heavy but he figured lugging around the extra pounds in order to keep from getting infected would be worth the effort.

As the chopper reached the coast and banked hard to the right, Clark wished he was in a lab somewhere and looking through a microscope at blood samples. Where he did not want to be was in the field, in what looked like a recently repaired military helicopter, cruising along the coastline. Rocha punched Clark on the shoulder. It was impossibly loud in the chopper and Rocha probably intended to just get Clark’s attention, but the punch hurt. Clark rubbed at the spot and gave Rocha an offended look.

Rocha pointed at a headset hanging from the interior ceiling of the chopper, so Clark took off his helmet and set it in his lap as he reached up for the headset. Not a second later, the helicopter banked and Clark’s helmet rolled off of his lap and out the open door of the helicopter.
Son of a bitch
, Clark thought as he watched the helmet tumble through the air and down toward the ocean. Clark looked at Rocha who was giving him an offended look of his own. Clark just shrugged and put the headset on over his ears.

“Sorry about that,” he said into the built in microphone.

“Nothing we can do about it now,” Rocha replied.

“Do you have another one?” Clark asked.

“Not with me,” Rocha said. “You’ll have to make do without."

"Wonderful."

"We got news though.”

“That we are almost there?” Clark asked hopefully. He was sick of flying and while he did not want to be at the ruins of the hospital, sneaking around the infected to get to the lab, he wanted to be in the helicopter even less. Much less, actually.

“Not exactly,” Rocha said. “Remember how we talked about Mission Priority?”

Clark didn’t like the sound of that. “Yeah,” he said.

“Well, we’ve just been re-assigned,” Rocha said.

“But General Dodge said that almost never happens!”

“Well the general is full of shit. It happens all the time.”

“Son of a bitch!” Clark complained. He felt like crying. “Can’t you guys just take me back to the base?”

Rocha laughed. It was short and loud and came out closer to a bark. “No. But, don’t worry about it. You're with me.”

Don’t worry about it? Are you kidding me?
Clark thought. Clark was definitely worried about it. “What's the assignment?” he asked.

Rocha pointed out the door of the helicopter just as the pilot brought the chopper into a flat circle around a cruise ship which had run aground on the coast and listed to one side.

“We’re going there?” Clark asked, pointing at the ship.

“Damn straight,” Rocha said. “A nearby Forward Observation Post reported to Command that they saw some kind of smoke signal coming from the ship.”

“So?”

“So, smoke signals mean survivors. We’re going down to see if we can help.”

Clark looked at the ship, but he did not see any sign of survivors, only clusters of infected on the different decks. He looked at Rocha who had already stood up as much as he could in the small space. He was unspooling a long black rope.

“What’s that for?” Clark asked, but was not sure he really wanted to know.

“No safe place to land,” Rocha said. “We’ll fast rope down.”

Clark felt sick to his stomach. “Uh,” he said. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Rocha said. “I’ll talk you through it.” He came over and reached for Clark’s groin.

“What the hell, man!”

“Relax, stud,” Rocha said. “It’s called a Swiss Seat and pay attention, you need to know how to do this.”

“But I don’t want to know!” Clark said.

“Sure you do,” Rocha replied and grabbed a metal ring that Clark had on the front of his uniform. It was built into the gear and Clark had not noticed it was even there. “Normally we would have asked the pilot to hover just off the side of the ship to draw out the lurkers, hopefully getting them to fall overboard to their death or drown, but we don’t have time for that. The onboard survivors could be in trouble and we need to find them. Pronto.”

Clark liked the idea of letting the helicopter do all the work.
No way am I jumping out of this helicopter
, he thought. “Rocha, I got to tell you --“

Rocha interrupted him. “It will be a basic sweep maneuver. We go through each deck, room by room,” he said. “I’ve gone through a couple ships before. Not this big, but it's the same idea. We start on the top and work our way down through the levels. We keep an eye out for signs of survivors and if and or when we find them, we assist in evacuation.”

“What if we don’t find anyone?” Clark asked.

“Then we complete our search and then scuttle the ship,” Rocha said.

“Scuttle the ship? What the hell does that mean?”

“It means we are going to sink the ship.”

“What? How the hell are you going to do that?”

Rocha did not answer and kept working the rope through the metal ring.

"Rocha,” Clark said. “How --"

"Stand up,” Rocha said, so Clark stood up and hit his head.

“Dammit,” he cried and rubbed his scalp.

“That’s what you get for losing your helmet,” Rocha said. Clark had a few choice comebacks for Rocha but he kept them to himself. Instead he crouched in the small space and looked out the door at the ship.

“That ship? It’s already on the beach! It’s in shallow water. You can’t sink it!”

“We find the fuel tanks,” Rocha said. “I’ll set a timed explosive charge. If the weather cooperates, I figure the explosion will kill half of the lurkers and the fire will wipe out the rest.”

“Are you out of your Goddamn mind?” Clark screamed into the headset microphone, but Rocha had already taken his helmet off and was yelling something at the pilots. After a few seconds, he put his headset back on. “I said,” Clark screamed again. “Are you out --“

Rocha held up his finger in front of Clark’s face, so he shut up. “I told the pilot that we are ready to deploy,” Rocha said. “He is bringing in the chopper as close as he can. When we hit the deck, stay right behind me.”

Oh God!
“Rocha,” Clark said. “I really don’t think I can do this.”

“Yes you can,” Rocha stated. “You can, because I need you too. I can’t clear the ship alone. Someone has to watch my back and the pilots have to fly the helicopter.”

Clark looked out the window as the pilot brought the helicopter down closer to the ship. More infected poured out onto the deck and Clark wondered if the damn pilot was antagonizing them on purpose.

“Rocha,” he pleaded.

“You will do this,” Rocha said and took Clark by the shoulders. He turned Clark around so his ass was hanging out the side of the helicopter.

Clark looked back and down. They were twenty feet from the deck. “Oh
Nagashima,” he said. “If only you could see me now.”

“What?”

“Nothing! Let’s get this over with.”

“We have to go down together,” Rocha said. “One from each side of the chopper. It keeps the chopper in balance.”

“What happens if the helicopter gets out of balance?” Clark asked.

“Pretty much we all die,” Rocha said. He stood on the opposite side of the helicopter and stuck his ass out through the open door. He took off his headset again, hooked it to the ceiling, and strapped on his helmet. Clark hung up his headset and wished he still had his helmet. Rocha held up three fingers, then two, then one.

Clark did not want to deploy and he really did not want to slide down the rope into a swarm of infected. However, he also did not want to upset the balance of the helicopter and kill them all in a fiery death either. So, just as Rocha bounded backward from the helicopter, Clark closed his eyes, held onto the rope, and jumped backward. He felt a rush of cold air, the rope playing out, and just seconds later he landed hard on what he hoped was the deck of the ship. All he could hear was the growling of the infected and the
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
of Rocha’s silenced machine gun.

“On me!” he heard Rocha order and Clark opened his eyes. It was as bad as he was afraid it would be. He had landed in the middle of one of the top decks and there were infected coming at them from all directions. The only good news was that Rocha was there, standing almost on top of him, shooting.

Thwip! Thwip! Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!

Five infected fell dead onto the deck of the ship.

Thwip! Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!

In only a few seconds, Rocha had killed a dozen of the infected. He grabbed Clark by the shoulder and pulled him to his feet.

“Moving,” Rocha said and ran to a set of stairs that led up to an observation deck.

“Where are we going?” Clark asked as he ran after the soldier.

“I’m trying to get us to the ship’s bridge,” Rocha replied. “Signal smoke was spotted coming from a high point. Command recommended we start there.” As soon as they reached the top of the stairs, Clark saw the remains of what had once been a garbage can. The contents had been set on fire.
Signal fire?
Clark thought. Suddenly, he heard a noise behind them and turned to look. Three infected were coming across the deck, heading straight for them.

“Rocha!” Clark yelled, grabbing the back of the man’s uniform. Rocha turned and fired.

Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!

All three of the infected fell dead to the deck. Rocha had shot them all, perfect head shots, one bullet each. “Where is your gun?” Rocha asked. “Those were your targets. You are supposed to be watching our backs!”

Clark reached down for the pistol in the holster strapped to his leg. “You want me to use this?” he said holding up the weapon.

“Yeah, no shit,” Rocha said. “Safety off, round in the chamber. Have it out and be ready. Just don’t shoot me.” Not waiting for a response, Rocha went to the garbage can and swiped his hand through the black soot. “Still warm,” he said.

“That’s good, right?" Clark asked.

“Damn straight,” Rocha replied and pointed at a sign which indicated the ship’s bridge was directly above them. “This way.” Rocha ran toward the stairs with Clark behind him, staying as close as he could while trying to look over his own shoulder to make sure there was no more infected chasing them. At the top of the stairs was a door labeled “Ship’s Deck”. Rocha tried the door handle, but it would not move. “Shit,” he said.

“What’s up?” Clark asked.

“It’s locked. Back up and I’ll kick it in.” Rocha stepped back and then kicked forward. His boot landed just to the side of the door handle and the impact shook the door in its hinges, but it did not break open. Rocha made a noise that sounded a lot like a whimper to Clark.

“You okay?” Clark asked.

“Son of a bitch,” Rocha said with his hand on his hip. “I’m going to feel that one in the morning.”

“You want me to try?” Clark asked.

“No!” Rocha barked and pulled out his silenced pistol from a holster on his leg. He aimed for where the door lock connected to the frame and shot the door three times. Rocha kicked forward again. This time the door burst inward.

“See,” Rocha said as put his pistol away. “No problem. Ready?”

“As I’m going to be.”

Rocha leveled his machine gun in front of him before he charged into the ship’s bridge. The stench of rotting corpses rolled out at Clark.
Oh, this is going to be gross,
he thought. "Clear," Rocha said once he had scanned the room. Clark hesitantly stepped inside. Three very decomposed bodies were on the floor. They appeared to be wearing sailor uniforms. Rocha ignored them. “See if you can barricade that door,” he said.

Clark pulled his eyes away from the bodies and looked around for something to put in front of the door. All he could find was a filing cabinet, so as quietly as he could he laid it against the door. “Think that will hold?” he asked.

“Probably not,” Rocha said. “Just keep an eye on it. I’ll see if I can find any kind of map of the ship.”