The Dead Don't Bleed: Part 2, The Aftermath (23 page)

The Abraham Lincoln reached its
patrol zone just before dinner and went to modified battle stations as soon as it arrived. With only a skeleton crew aboard this meant that only half of the close in weapons stations and lookout points were manned around the clock. Taking into consideration the mess they had run into with the cutter and its accompanying civilian ships, the Captain was taking no chances. Even at a position of a hundred miles from shore it was conceivable that smaller vessels carrying refuges could attempt to reach the carrier under the assumption they were in the area conducting rescue operations. The Cheyenne was under orders to remain submerged throughout the mission and was maintaining a slow zig zag patrol pattern fifteen miles in front of the carrier along the most likely means of approach any ships from the mainland would take if they intended on reaching the Abraham Lincoln.

Crusher was on the flight desk along with the two pilots who would fly the first mission into the hot
zone. Normally Crusher would have volunteered to lead the charge with the initial flight into the unknown. Since he had commanded the last flight and it had resulted in combat action, protocol called for him to stand down for at least twelve hours before flying again. As the squadron commander he did have the authority to override such protocols but he felt it was important to set the right example to his junior pilots. Rules and regulations might seem useless in the wake of the apocalypse but he knew that they were the glue that helped to keep a unit such as his own operating like a well-oiled machine and he was not willing to go against the grain and start letting things slide. He had seen it before, all it really took was one or two times for a leader to take a short cut and before you knew it the men underneath him were following that lead on a regular basis. For them to get through this would require a strict adherence to discipline and he vowed to not be the one to deviate from that path.

The two F-18's that would fly the first mission had already been fitted out with a complete chemical warfare package. Both pilots would be wearing chemical warfare suits over their flight suits and would use
a dedicated oxygen supply for the entire flight. The flight deck had been rigged with a decontamination area that would allow crews to hose off returning aircraft before the cockpits were opened. Once the pilots left their planes they would proceed to a specially designed pop up shelter where they would disrobe completely and be put through a decontamination shower. That would be followed by a complex set of medical examinations to include blood and tissue samples. Each pilot would remain in the shelter until all samples were thoroughly examined and they were deemed contaminant free. Those were the basic procedures for operating in such an environment but the Captain had added on to them in consideration of the hazards of the virus they were facing today. The crew quarters for all pilots and ground crews who would be operating on the mainland had been isolated from the rest of the ship. All ship’s crew and other personnel not participating in shore operations had been relocated to the bowels of the ship for the duration of their mission. A separate mess facility had been set up to accommodate the segregated crew members. Even the passageways they would be permitted to traverse had been assigned to keep them as far from the remainder of the crew as possible. On his way to the flight deck, Crusher had passed a pair of armed Marines in full chemical protective gear standing vigilant guard at an intersection leading to one of the main thoroughfares throughout the ship. The sight of those Marines struck a chord with him about just how far they had come in such a short time to losing everything. If they failed here and were not able to find what Dr. Woods and his team needed to isolate a cure, they were all doomed.

Crusher walked back to the base of the superstructure where he could observe the launch of the first mission while remaining plugged into the radio chatter from the flight boss, radar and weapons stations as well as the pilots themselves. He would remain there and monitor the mission until his pilots were both safely back on board in just over five hours. The two pla
nes lit off their engines and after the final checks were completed they were cleared for launch. With a deafening roar the pair of F-18's rocketed skyward and climbed to their assigned cruising altitude. Crusher fired off a symbolic salute as they disappeared from view and wished them both luck.

#

With all the supplies they were carrying along the trail it was necessary to take several breaks along the way.
It was no surprise to anyone that they were forced to take multiple breaks along the way for Emily to catch her breath. Thirty minutes after getting on the trail and they had just reached a point where Garrett knew they were within fifty yards of the Ranger Station. It was at that point that he started to realize something was not right. A slight breeze through the trees had brought the scent of a disturbing and familiar odor to his nose. There was no mistaking the distinct smell of death in the air and there could only be one possible source to what he was smelling. Zombies were either close by or had been in the area recently. The only thing anywhere within easy distance of that spot was the Ranger Station, if zombies had been there then that had been their destination.

Lowering his arm full of supplies to the ground
, Garrett slid the rifle from his shoulder and snapped the safety off while inspecting the chamber to ensure a round was still chambered. His concern about gunfire attracting zombies was now moot, if they had already located their little hideout then his immediate priority was the safety of Kyle and the pair of women inside the structure.

Everyone else had watched him making his preparations and they had also noticed the smell hanging in the air.

"Wait here. Miranda, keep an eye on our backs. If I start shooting, drop what you are carrying and get back to the Range Rover." Garrett instructed without taking his eyes off the trail in front of them.

Miranda turned and walked a few feet further down the trail and found a good vantage point where she could observe behind them for some distance.

Garrett eased off the trail and into the nearby woods where he carefully approached the open ground directly in front of the station. Every few feet he moved he would stop and listen for a couple seconds. He knew that zombies had no sense of stealth and if there were any of them in the woods nearby they would announce themselves easily. The woods was silent and still, only the lingering smell of death gave him any sense of danger nearby. As the station started to come into view he began to feel a measure of relief that there was no sign of any movement either in the clearing directly in front of it or along the long wooden porch just outside the front door. The closer he got to the structure the more intense the odor became until he was almost retching from the pungent stench. There was no doubt that the source of the smell was coming from the area around the Ranger Station. Zombies had visited not long ago. There was no outward sign of a fight that he could see from the edge of the woods and there was also no obvious signs of life from either the living or dead. He did note that the wooden shutters covering the windows on the front of the building were now sealed tight. Garrett took that as a good sign. If Kyle or Shellie had realized zombies were near, they may have just sealed everything up tight and hunkered down inside. The four zombies Garrett and Miranda had dealt with back at the road may have been the extent of the threat they had been faced with.

Just as he was about to step out into
the clearing his eyes locked on a pair of feet sticking a few inches beyond the brush along the side of the porch. From the size of the feet and the type of socks Garrett could see, it was a full grown man. The thought that it may be Kyle flashed through his head. Pushing that possibility to the back of his mind he continued a cautious approach towards the front of the station. Swiveling slowly from side to side he scanned the area around the far corner of the building before moving across the front of the porch towards the protruding feet. His fear that the body might be Kyle subsided when another gust of wind brought with it a much more intense odor of rotting flesh than they had experienced in the woods. He was now sure that it was a dead zombie he was looking at and one that had been left outside in the sun and heat for some time, it was beyond ripe. It was getting difficult to keep his stomach contents down but Garrett fought back the urge to vomit and got just close enough to confirm it was a zombie in the bushes. The pants were wrong for Kyle and a tear just above the knee exposed a strip of pale discolored skin showing clear signs of decomposition typical of a zombie.

Turning back to the porch Garrett mounted the steps slowly, taking care to take a long s
tride over the step that he knew squeaked loudly when stepped on. Garrett eased up next to the door and pressed his ear against it hoping to catch some sounds from inside that would give him a clue to what he may be dealing with. The door was thick wood and he didn't think he would be able to hear much but was surprised when he picked out some soft sounds from inside. He could hear movement and what he thought was an anguished groan of pain. Continuing to listen for several moments he also detected the soft whisper of voices.

Garrett reached out and softly knocked three times, spacing each kn
ock just enough so that they sounded deliberate and with conscious thought instead of the senseless banging of a zombie trying to gain entry. He waited and listened for several seconds, when nothing happened he repeated the knock. This time he heard a rustling on the other side of the door and the snap of locks opening. The barrel of the shotgun appeared first in the opening with a scared face barely visible behind it.

"Shellie.
It’s Garrett." He called out softly.

The shotgun barrel wavered and then dropped as the door flung open the rest of the way. Shellie's relieved and excited face greeted him.

"Garrett, oh thank god. Kyle's been shot. We need help." She stammered.

"Shot!" Garrett replied in disbelief, "What the hell happened here?"

She was talking fast and visibly rattled. "We were attacked. Several of them got inside. Kyle had me run to the locker room for a diversion. He was struggling with one of them and Kimberly grabbed the shotgun and shot it. A couple pellets hit Kyle at the same time."

Over her shoulder he caught sight of a figure sitting on the floor with his back to the fall wall of the
lobby just outside the bunkroom. As Garrett stepped inside and stared to walk towards Kyle he noted several dead zombies scattered around the lobby. It was evident that there had been one hell of fight there not long before. Garrett's hope that the four zombies they had killed back at the road were the extent of the ones that had tracked them into the woods were quickly dashed. Moving across the room he knelt down next to Kyle. Garrett could see the bloody bandaging across his midsection where he had been shot. Kyle was sweating freely and seemed to be going in and out of consciousness. Even though he looked up at Garrett when he grasped his shoulder it was clear that he either couldn't see him squatting next to him or was mistaking him for a dream. Garrett knew there was little he could do for the man at the moment. He needed to get Miranda and everyone else inside with their supplies. The water and medicine they had recovered would help and Doug might be able to offer some advice on how to best handle this injury without access to a trauma center. Garrett knew that the fever was probably the result of an infection as well as internal bleeding. Gunshot wounds could be very tricky, he had seen soldiers recover from the most traumatic of injuries on the battlefield. He had also seen those who collapsed and died from what appeared on the surface to be nothing more than a minor flesh wound. When bullets impacted internal organs there was no predicting just how the body would react and in some cases the victim never even realized they were in trouble until they simply dropped dead. Shellie seemed to have done a commendable job in dressing his wounds with the material they had on hand. That had likely saved him from bleeding to death already. Whatever was happening inside his body and out of their reach was what would most likely end up killing him.

Garrett asked Shellie to remain by Kyle's side while he returned to the rest of their group and led them
the rest of the way to the station.

Fifteen minutes later everyone traipsed into the
Ranger Station and stacked the supplies they had carried up the trail along the back wall behind the reception desk. Shellie finally calmed down a little once everyone was inside and took them through an abbreviated version of what had happened while they had been gone. Doug agreed to look over Kyle's wounds but only after reminding everyone that he was not a trauma surgeon and that his specialty had been plastic surgery not dealing with the sick and injured.

"You've just been promoted doc. You're all we have at the moment. Please do what you can for him." Garrett
encouraged him.

While Kyle was being tended to, Garrett and Miranda
elected to return to the Range Rover and collect the remainder of their supplies. Everyone else was either injured, too winded or just not in any shape to be of much assistance out in the woods in the event they came across any more zombies stalking the station. Before leaving, Garrett took a moment to refill his empty magazines from their dwindling stock of ammunition. After filling four thirty round magazines he counted the rest of the ammunition he had for his AK and realized that he had just enough to fill three more with a few spare rounds left over. Considering the amount of ammunition they had gone through during their ordeal back in Doug and Cameron's neighborhood he knew that it was not nearly enough to get them very far. Miranda also topped off her pistol finding that ammunition situation to be even worse. There was enough 9mm rounds to refill the magazine already in her weapon and fill three other fifteen round magazines. After that there was just five shells remaining for that caliber handgun. Their firepower options were dwindling quickly after which they would be forced to rely on knives and other edged or blunt weapons. That was not a prospect that gave them much hope for a lengthy survival.