A Time to Die (17 page)

From down the hall where the stairs entered that level a pair of men came running in holding shotguns. They raised them and pointed at her. Lisha squealed and held out her hands. “It’s me, Dr. Breda!”

“Why do you have blood all over you?” one of them asked. Lisha looked own and saw her hands were splattered with blood and more was on her white lab coat. It must have come from hitting the woman with the fire extinguisher. She just pointed at the unconscious cook, or zombie, or whatever she was.

“She’s fine,” the man said from behind as he approached. “Did she bite you?”

What difference does that matter? Lisha thought, then took stock of her condition. “No,” she said. Another man arrived and unceremoniously dumped a bottle of water over her head. “What the?!” she spluttered, then he did it again. “Why are you doing that?” she demanded, pushing him back and thinking about using the fire extinguisher she still clutched in her right hand on him.

“Zombie blood all over you,” he said and pointed at the unconscious woman. Without being prompted the two men with shotguns had slung their guns, donned those super thick plastic gloves they had boxes full of from the days when this was an oil rig, and then produced zip ties. They quickly had the woman’s hands zip tied behind her back, did the same with her ankles, and then hooked the ankles and hands together. Creative, she thought.

“Zombie?” she asked. “Why are you calling them that?”

“You called her a zombie when she attacked,” the man said, and nodded to the two guys who’d finished securing the woman. “Zeke is bitten,” he told them and gestured to the cafeteria. A medical team was just showing up and Lisha could just hear the piteous moaning of injured from the direction of the cafeteria.

She guessed she’d been resisting thinking of this that way, but what else would you call it. The people were obviously out of their mind, attacking normal people, trying to eat them. On the ground a few feet away were a couple of chewed fingers. “Oh my god.”

“We’ve been getting ready,” the man said. “We put together a zombie response squad.”

“Who came up with that idea?”

“I did,” he admitted. She looked at him. “Robert,” he said and held out a hand, “Robert Boyer. I’m a diesel mechanic and electrical repairman.”

“This isn’t some zombie apocalypse, Robert,” she said, shaking her head.

He gave her a rather patronizing look and she tried to suppress how insulted she felt. “With all due respect, Ma’am, I know you’re some kind of doctor but you don’t know a darn thing about zombie apocalypses.”

There was an argument going on in the cafeteria and she moved to see what was happening. The medics were trying to treat the man with whose hand had been bitten but the…zombie response team were also trying to zip tie his hands behind his back. “What are you doing?” she yelled from the doorway.

“He’s been bitten,” Robert said behind her, “he’s going to turn. We might have been able to cut his arm off if we’d had time.” He seemed to think for a moment. “Hey Oz, see if we have any machetes for the team?”

“Sure thing boss,” one of the men trying to restrain the victim said.

“Oz? What the hell?” Lisha said, feeling overwhelmed.

“Oh, his name is Jon Osborne, Osborne, you know, Oz?” the man chuckled at his own wit. “So we just call him Oz.”

“The great and powerful Oz,” his friend reminded him. Lisha glanced again. He didn’t seem terribly great or powerful to her. They all seemed batshit crazy.

“Look, Robert, you are completely over reacting. And where did you get the guns?”

“We had them stashed away. A bunch of us go duck hunting and in between seasons we shoot clays sometimes. The company made us keep them in storage. We couldn’t get to them during the first outbreak. So after the Coast Guard showed up, we sneaked down there and got our shit together. We’re ready for the fuckers this time, right boys!”

“Oooh-rah!” they all chanted.

“I’m in a fucking John Wayne movie,” Lisha moaned. “This man needs medical attention,” she told…Oz?

“He’s just gonna turn and bite someone,” Robert said.

“Fuckin A,” the last man said.

“That’s Joseph,” Robert said, “He likes to hit people.”

“That’s good to know.” Lisha considered disarming them and having the crazy group locked up, then reconsidered. Some dark portion of her mind was whispering things she didn’t want to be fully cognizant of. “Okay, look, go with the medics while they take Zeke there up for treatment. They need to get that bleeding under control. We don’t want him infecting everyone, right?” She tried to play to their paranoid urges.

“We should just dump him overboard to the sharks,” Joseph said.

“Hey!” the injured man whined.

One of the medical people was kneeling on the floor examining the unconscious man Robert had pulverized with the chair. Robert took no notice of him.

“We’re not dumping anyone in the water. Take him to medical along with the… zombie… out in the hall. I want to examine her, and they can treat Zeke and keep him under observation.”

“For when he turns,” Robert said, and winked at her.

“Yeah, that’s the ticket,” she said and turned with a sigh. A few feet away lay the sad remains of a huge spread of sushi. She sighed, at least she’d gotten some. The head cook looked a little shell-shocked and was seeing if he could salvage any of the tuna. The tuna. Lisha walked over to him. “Did you say your assistant had been eating tuna all morning?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. We still have about fifty pounds of it in storage. She couldn’t keep her hands off of it.”

Lisha nodded. “So what about you?”

“Can’t stand the stuff raw,” he admitted. I was planning to grill a big steak for myself tonight.”

“Who else ate some?”

He tapped his chin and thought. “The guy from stores who caught it, I think. That’s all that I know of.”

“What’s his name?”

“Ricardo.”

Lisha nodded. “Look, I believe that fish is tainted.”

“What?” the cook demanded.

“The fish is what did that to your assistant,” she said and hooked a thumb back towards the hallway. “I don’t know how,” she said, more to herself, “but I intend to find out.”

“That fish was perfectly healthy, I’m the one that dressed it out.”

“You didn’t cut yourself, did you?”

He looked down at his hands. “Ma’am, I’ve been handling knives since it was 5. I haven’t cut myself in decades.”

“Good to hear. Just keep it locked up for now,” she said and pointed at the cuts of tuna all over the floor. “I’m going to send a biohazard team down to clean this up.”

“Biohazard,” he repeated, then looked down at his hands stained with tuna blood. The knife fell from his hand with a clatter. He instantly went to the sink and began washing furiously.

“On second thought,” she turned to Robert. “Evacuate the entire floor,” she said, “I want it all flushed down with bleach and checked by the biohazard team.”

Her assistant, Edith, stuck her head into the cafeteria and cried out at the scene of carnage. There was blood and overturned furniture everywhere. Lisha gestured for her to come over. It took almost a full minute as the young woman managed through careful maneuvering to avoid stepping in even a drop of blood. “Do you have any of the sample dye wash on you?”

“As a matter of fact,” the woman said and pulled out a squeeze bottle.

Lisha nodded. Many lab techs did that, often going home with their pockets full of slides and other items. It was often just expediency, not forgetfulness. She accepted the bottle and walked over to couch next to a puddle of blood from the injured man, Zeke. She uncorked the bottle and sprayed a stream of the yellow dye. It mixed with the blood then turned a bright shade of green.

“Robert?”

“Yes, Doctor?”

“Take your men and go find Ricardo from stores.”

“I know where he is,” Joseph said, “I work with him. He didn’t come down because he wasn’t feeling well.”

“Better make it quick,” she said. “Take him to isolation with the others.”

The men’s eyes got wide as Oz and Joseph left at a run.

Lisha turned to the medical people. “If Zeke starts acting erratically call Robert here right away, and clear the room.”

“Ma’am?” the paramedic asked, confused.

“Just do it, please.”

Lisha gave instructions to Edith to get samples of blood from all those involved, even the guy hit with the chair. And she used a fork to flip a little cut of tuna onto a serving plate to take down to her lab.

Even before she could test Zeke’s blood, he went crazy in the sick bay and had to be restrained. The other two men found no trace of Ricardo. Lisha had Zeke and the cook, whose name she finally found out was Tina, added into the room with Grant.

She’d been initially curious what would happen when they were introduced together. She had Grant knocked out with the tranquilizer gun and shots administered to the others before putting them. Robert and his zombie squad were the first non-scientists to see her setup. She’d been initially concerned about their reactions, instead they seemed quite pleased and happy.

“Good to see you’re working on it,” Oz said as they checked the heavy doors and such, satisfying themselves that the defenses were sufficient. She was feeling less and less like they were acting paranoid. The tuna samples she’d taken turned the dye green.

“You operated on that one,” Joseph said and pointed at Grant. Where he lay on the floor, his head turned towards them, the sutures were clearly visible along with half his head shaved bald.

Lisha swallowed before answering. “We needed a sample of his brain.”

“Not like he was using it anymore,” Oz said, and all three men laughed.

Oh my god, Lisha thought. “How many in your squad,” she asked Robert as they waited for her patients to wake up.

“Was six,” he said, “but Zeke was one, so we’re down to five.”

“Can you recruit a couple more?”

“I’ll ask around,” he said in a conspiratorial tone.

“I’m putting you officially in charge of security,” Lisha told him.

“Zombie Squad is official!” Joseph barked and they all high-fived.

“We get a raise?” Oz asked.

“Not right now,” she said.

“As long as we get to kill zombies,” Joseph shrugged.

“You won’t be calling yourself Zombie Squad,” she warned them.

“Awww!” they all complained.

“I don’t want to freak everyone out,” she explained.

“Everyone already knows,” Robert told her.

“What!?”

“Kind of hard to hide a zombie outbreak,” Robert told her.

“I’m not calling them zombies,” she insisted. The men made rude noises and shrugged. She glared at them. “Just recruit a few more guys. You know, just in case?”

“Okay,” he said. Inside the cage all three were waking up.

When they realized they weren’t alone they instantly began sniffing and growling at each other. “Grar!” one of the men growled, Zeke she thought, and snapped at the girl.

“Rahr!” she roared back.

After a few seconds they seemed to acknowledge each other’s condition, then turned hungry eyes on the normal people on the other side of a half inch of plexiglass. Being unfamiliar with the nature of the barrier, the two new arrivals started pounding on it. All three of the zombie squad backed away. Lisha knew the plastic’s capabilities and stood her ground.

She made some notes in her computer and turned back to Robert. “Find Ricardo,” she said. “That’s your highest priority. Since the…contagion is transmitted by bite as well, we can’t take any chances that he’s running around chomping my staff.”

“Yes ma’am,” Robert nodded.

“And when you get a minute, find someone to go fishing. I need a few fish.”

He looked at her with curiosity. “What kind?”

“Doesn’t matter. Be sure they don’t poke themselves with any hooks, and don’t gut the fish. In fact, see if they can get alive.” She thought for a second. “Have someone from maintenance go down and scrape some barnacles also. No, never mind, I’ll do that myself.” Oz had a notepad out and was scribbling, his tongue protruding from his lips. “What do you do when you aren’t hunting zombies?” she asked him.

“Computer engineer.”

Chapter 17

Sunday, April 22

Morning

Vance cursed at his computer, not for the first time that day. The internet had been failing and recovering every couple hours it seemed. Part of the problem was the Sprint aircard he was using to power the house’s net connection. He liked to use it because the prepper network insisted it was harder to trace. He used a program to mask his ISP also, just in case.

“Are we ready to switch over power?” he yelled as he started the router to reset, curious if that might help. He took a sip of fresh coffee and glanced out a window. It had been a spectacular Texas morning, the sky to the east cast in startling shades of red and yellow. What had his dad said about red in the morning? He couldn’t remember and just shrugged.

“Yes, Vance!” Ann yelled back. “Just like the first four times you asked.”

He mumbled thanks that she’d never hear in the other room over the sound of the grinder. She was busily turning the eight five-pound chubs of ground beef he’d brought home on his last run into stew which would in turn be frozen in the cavernous deep freeze, located almost twenty feet underground. The old root cellar was turned into a sort of bunker now and was deep enough that even in the middle of a San Antonio summer, it never got above seventy. Running from their extensive solar farm, the freezers got first choice of power and were the last to shut down. Even then, they were so cold stuff inside would remain frozen for almost a week. He’d checked once.

“The Prices are here,” Ann called out a moment before Lexus went braying through the middle of the house. It was usually even money who’d notice an intruder first, his girlfriend or his dog.

Vance Alt-Tabbed his computer screen to bring up the webcam. Scattered around the property were dozens of webcams, all sending signals to another location at the opposite corner of the forty-acre compound. From there a buried cable brought the pictures to the house system. He could see the tall, lanky form of Tim Price walking back from his car to reclose the steel gate. Made from two-inch well pipe, that gate would stop a Humvee going 70mph. The security system hadn’t notified him because Tim knew the codes, of course. The two of them had first conceived of this retreat, then built it over twenty years and two wives each.

Vance keyed the remote speaker on the gate. “Hurry up, things are getting hot.” His voice blared over the speaker and made Tim jump in surprise. After Vance finished speaking the man waved and jumped back into his early model Jeep CJ7. Behind it an enclosed cargo trailer trailed behind, low on its shocks and likely stuffed to the roof with last minute preps. Tim took this just as seriously.

He flipped cameras to see Tim closing the cloth door on the jeep and zoomed the camera. The man looked determined, the woman looked worried. They exchanged brief words, she just nodding in reply as he restarted the Jeep. That was when Vance noticed they weren’t alone. “What in the fuck?” he wondered as he saw another couple in the back seat, crowded in along with the Price’s pair of German shepherd dogs.

He was out of his office chair and down the stairs, just opening the front door as the Jeep pulled around the drive and into view. One look at the expression on Vance’s face and Tim quickly hoped out of the car, hands held up to forestall what he knew was coming. “I know, Vance, I know…”

“Tim, seriously, what in the fuck?”

Tim’s two shepherds, Rock and Dewey, wiggled between the front seats and leaped out the door, barking and prancing like excited puppies. Ann opened the front door and Lexus bound out. In a moment all three dogs were spinning around, yipping and mock fighting. Fun, fun, fun. They were all the same age, and in fact had basically grown up together here on weekends as their masters built the retreat. “Hi Tim,” Ann waved.

“Ann,” Tim nodded.

Nicole climbed out of the passenger seat, releasing it to slide forward and waving. Ann looked serious as well as the first of the two newcomers climbed out. Vance let a hand fall to the 1911 on his hip. Tim didn’t fail to notice the movement, his jaw setting in determination.

“Vance, this is Harry,” Tim said as the man finished unfolding from the back seat. He was about average height but slightly overweight and had elected to shave his head instead of deal with male pattern baldness. He wore ACU camos and a Marine Corps ball cap. He also had a large-framed automatic on his hip. The woman was tiny, maybe five foot, probably less, but with an enormous bosom. She was dressed in the same clothes but carried a revolver in a shoulder holster instead. “Harry and Belinda Ross. You know them from the Tex_Prep list.”

“We’ve talked, but never met. What I don’t understand is why they’re here. We had an iron clad agreement, Tim.”

“I know, but this is bigger than an EMP attack or a government collapse,” Tim explained. “Harry here was a Marine, and his wife is a trauma nurse.” He gestured at their vehicle and for the first time Vance noticed that the safari rack over the top was also laden with packages. “You know they’re preppers like us, and we brought just about all their stuff.”

“Vance,” Harry said and came up to shake his hand. Vance looked at it for a moment then took it. “I know this is irregular. But our place is south of here and I know you are aware of what’s going on in Mexico.”

“Not all of it,” Vance admitted. He looked at the trailer. “You bring your guns?”

“You know it,” Harry said then trotted back to the trailer. “I want to offer something in exchange for the space we’ll take.”

“And water,” Vance reminded him, “we didn’t build with six people in mind.”

Harry was opening the trailer, he stopped and nodded. “I brought some water, but of course it takes up too much space, so only enough if you won’t let us stay.” Belinda didn’t want to look at Vance and he could tell Harry was nervous. He finished opening the trailer and took out a gun case. It was really big.

“What is it?” Vance asked as the man came up the steps and put it before him like an offering.

“Open it up.”

Vance knelt and released the locks, swinging the case open. Inside was a Barret M19 .50 BMG rifle. Two seven-round magazines were cut into the custom foam and a line of the huge bullets set next to them. On top of the rifle was mounted a nine-power variable Leopold scope. “Holy shit,” Vance coughed, a huge grin coming to his face completely out of his control. “This is too much,” he complained.

“No, it’s not. And I have two more. I do gun reviews for a number of magazines. That was a comp from Barret. I’ll come clean, that’s the oldest of my three and not the coolest.”

“Wow,” Vance said, laughing. Tim came up and smacked him on the back and the two laughed. “Tim, why didn’t you just call?”

“I think the government is monitoring the cell phones.”

Vance stood, the gun temporarily forgotten. “Why?”

“We passed two military units setting up at rest stops along the freeway,” Tim said.

“Classic unit for a checkpoint,” Harry told him, “we did it all the time in the Stan.”

“Hellfire,” Vance said. Belinda and Ann were meeting, a little handshake then a hug. He wasn’t worried about that. Ann was good with all kinds of people. “Monitoring the cell phones would be the next step,” he said, and the two other men nodded their heads.

Belinda had walked to the back of the trailer with the other woman and was unloading bags and boxes marked with a red cross. There was a lot of it. Vance fully realized what Tim had said. Trauma nurse. “She an LPN or RN?” he asked.

“Physician’s Assistant, actually,” Harry said. “She was working trauma in San Antonio General because she’s been thinking of going for her MD.”

“That means she can write prescriptions,” Tim reminded his friend.

Vance nodded. “Won’t do us any good out here, though.”

“We’ve been filling scripts for a week,” Belinda said, coming up with a Plano tackle box. She popped it open and Vance could see the interior compartment were all carefully labeled, each one holding a large pill case, and they were all full. “Once we were sure this was SHTF, we started. If this doesn’t develop, I’m probably going to jail.” Vance nodded in appreciation again, both at her use of the acronym for Shit Hits the Fan, and for the meds. He was no doctor, but he’d had a bit of training, as had Ann, Tim, and Nicole. Nicole was the group’s qualified medic. Belinda was one step from a doctor. He recognized a lot of very valuable and very controlled substances in that box. It was quickly becoming a no-brainer. Especially when he thought about Ann’s… condition.

“You don’t mind my being in charge?”

“I was a sergeant,” Harry said, “took orders my whole life.”

“I’m not captain or anything,” Vance said, holding up his hands. “I’m just the senior member of the group.”

“Like I told you on the way out,” Tim said, “Vance started it all and this is his property. Sometimes someone needs to be in charge, and we both agreed it’s him.”

“Can I speak up if the situation calls for it?”

“You have combat experience?”

Harry smirked. It was a look he’d seen before on his vet friends. “I’m no REMF,” he said. Short for rear echelon motherfucker. “Combat logistics was my specialty, but I’ve been in over a dozen battles and was pressed into action for house to house more than once because I have good instincts.” He rolled up his left sleeve and showed a line of nasty scar tissue. “AK-47,” he said, “guy was hiding under the bed. Gun jammed after the first round or I’d be dead. It severed a couple nerves so I have reduced mobility. Luckily it was my left, so I can still shoot good, but the Corps still sent me home.”

Vance nodded and looked from Tim to him. He’d been hopping mad when he came out, figuring Tim had brought some needy friend or relative. He felt kind of bad now, considering these people were almost a dream come true. He turned to Belinda. “Have you ever done maternity?” he felt Ann tense.

“Not my specialty, but if you’re asking if I’ve delivered babies or assisted, yeah. A couple dozen. And I have just about every medical text that’s ever been published on Adobe.”

“Then we have something to admit as well,” he said and turned to Ann.

She looked nervous but he just nodded and told her to go ahead. “We’re pregnant,” she admitted.

Nicole put her hands to her mouth and squealed, instantly sweeping her friend in to a huge hug. In moments they were laughing and crying at the same time. Belinda congratulated her and in moments was part of the display. The men all looked at each other and shook their heads. Women.

“Congrats, bro!” Tim said and slapped him on the back. Harry surprised Vance by producing a plastic case that held cigars. Really good ones.

“This and whiskey are my only vices,” he admitted.

“And fine vices they are!” Vance said and helped himself. In a moment the men where all puffing stinky cigars and getting baleful looks from the women retreating upwind. Men.

“So what do you say?” Tim asked around the cigar.

“I’ve never been a man to look a gift horse in the mouth.” He held out a hand. “Of course you can stay, Harry!” They shook hands warmly. Vance noted the grip was strong and sure, calluses covering the hands as well. “But I can’t take the gun, that wouldn’t be fair.”

“Fair my ass,” Harry roared, then laughed. “Tim said he’d put about $50,000 into this place since you guys started out. That gun is worth about $10,000. Consider it a down payment. If the shit doesn’t hit the fan, we can sell it to pay for bail for Belinda.”

“Done then,” Vance said. “Welcome to The Retreat.”

In the house the women were making breakfast while Tim and Vance showed Harry all the systems of The Retreat. They were like proud parents showing him all their hard work. The armory and its armored walls that doubled as a last ditch safe room. “The tunnel goes down three meters and almost two hundred meters to the east before it emerges behind a little hill. Cost us a pretty penny to get it finished.” Harry nodded in appreciation of the design. Both the armory and the escape tunnel. The walls were lined with rifle racks full of ARs, hunting rifles, and shotguns. All organized by caliber and use. He carefully took down a Remington 700 and admired the scope. It was the same model of Leopold that was on the Barret he’d just bartered to Vance.

Vance was looking at the walls with an eye towards incorporating both his new Barret and all the guns Harry had brought. On the other side of the room was the ammo magazine. Dozens and dozens of metal and plastic ammo cans were stacked, again by caliber and use. The third and back wall held a long bench covered with reloading gear. Steel lockers held powder, bullets, and primers. “Damned fine setup,” Harry nodded.

“We never did get that last order of powder,” Vance told Tim.

“Shit,” that sucks. “How much was left?”

“After that last shoot we had in February, we have about two hundred.”

“Pounds?” Harry asked.

“No,” Vance laughed, “two hundred cans.” He opened one of the powder lockers to show it full from top to bottom with five-pound cans of various types of rifle powder. “We’re down twenty-five cans.”

“I have to ask, Vance,” Harry said.

“Go ahead.”

“This is awesome, but isn’t it overkill for four people?”

“We planned to help rebuild after the collapse,” Vance said. “We have enough supplies to load about five million rounds of most types. That might seem like a lot, but you have to realize there are about a thousand families within twenty miles of us. Most are farmers. If a quarter of them survived that’s two hundred and fifty families, or around twelve hundred people. That’s only a couple thousand rounds each.”