Caldera 9: From The Ashes Page 2

  Broussard sighed and stepped away from the window. “I really need a blood sample.”

  The guard raised a brow. “Swipe the walls. There’s plenty.”

  Broussard gave him a knowing look. “And it’s probably contaminated with the blood of the man he killed.”

  “And ate,” the tech added absently. He looked to the researcher and blanched. “Sorry, sir.”

  Broussard cleared his throat and stepped away from the door. “Prepare the gas.”

  A man in a khaki uniform stepped closer and flipped open the glass on the porthole window. He slipped a funnel shaped device to the opening and quickly applied tape to the edges. “Just cursory, sir.” He turned to his associate and nodded. The other man twisted the knob on a cylinder and the unmistakable hiss of gas escaping seemed to attract Dr. McAlester’s attention. He threw himself against the door repeatedly, his growling and howling increasing in both pitch and volume.

  “How long does this stuff normally take?” the tech asked.

  Broussard raised a brow. “It should be quick.” He looked at the cylinder. “This is an oneirogenic general anesthetic?”

  The khaki uniformed man shrugged. “The doc said this is what you wanted. Something to put his ass to sleep, right?”

  Broussard sighed as he turned and leaned against the bulkhead. “What about the tranquilizer darts?”

  “They’re ready, sir.” Another man handed Andre the pistol and he checked that the CO2 cartridge was properly seated.

  “He doesn’t seem the slightest bit sleepy.” He shook his head at the men holding the sleeping gas to the window. “Shut it off and prepare to ventilate the room. I don’t want to go in to take a sample and pass out with him.”

  The men shut off the cylinder while another barked orders into the ship’s phone system. A moment later, large metal fans began to ventilate the room.

  “There’s no way I can shoot him through this tiny porthole. I’m going to need one of you to open the door.”

  The khaki-uniformed man pulled a pistol and stood at the ready, his hand on the lever to undog the door. “On your word, sir.”

  Broussard set up just out of the door’s swing area and nodded. “Now.”

  The Marine unlocked the door and pulled it open as Andre took aim. He shot McAlester square in the chest then rolled away from the opening. The Marine and two others threw themselves against the door while they dogged it shut.

  McAlester could be heard screeching and throwing himself against the steel barrier. Broussard checked his watch then stood and peered through the porthole.

  Kevin was already there, staring at him, pure hatred in his eyes.

  Simon staggered across town, his arm aching more and more with each beat of his heart. He slid across the rough concrete exterior of a building and winced as his wound reopened, the clotted flesh separating and the blood now flowing freely.

  He tried to move the arm to assess the damage; he was almost certain that the bone was shattered. He clenched his jaw tight and squeezed his eyes shut, willing the pain to go away.

  With his good hand he dug in his pockets, searching for the bitter pills. He pried the lid off and glanced inside the small white bottle. There were only a few left.

  He tossed the rest of the pills to the back of his throat and chewed them, wishing he had more of the brown liquor to wash them down.

  His mouth and throat felt so dry and he squinted as the sun broke over the horizon. He did his best to stay to the shadows as he continued to work his way back to the grocery store.

  As Simon breached the corner and saw the open parking lot of the store, his eyes fell on the large sign mounted to the pole out front. Somehow, he found that he could understand what the bright blue letters said. “Albertsons,” he read aloud; his voice sounded dry and scratchy.

  His head began to ache and he stumbled to the front doors. The welcoming shadows pulled him inside and he immediately staggered back to the liquor aisles. He grabbed the first bottle of dark stuff that he could find and fought with the cap. As he pressed it to his lips and took long swallows, he caught movement in his peripheral vision.

  Simon lowered the bottle and turned to see who was sneaking up on him. An elderly man handed him a white plastic bottle and Simon stared at it. He set the liquor bottle down and took the pills. He squinted in the near darkness and could just make out the letters: Aspirin.

  Simon gave the man a solemn look before biting at the cap. After a few moments of struggle, he dropped the pill bottle. Before he could bend for it, the elderly man reached down, picked it up and pulled the lid off for him. He handed the bottle to Simon. As soon as their eyes met, he knew something was wrong.

  “What?”

  The old man lowered his gaze and slowly shook his head. “Very few returned.” He looked up and turned for the end of the aisle. Less than a dozen men stood there, most with bleeding wounds.

  “Where are the females?”

  The old man shook his head. “Gone.”

  Simon felt his rage build and he tried to stand to his full height. As soon as he did, he became lightheaded and he felt his knees begin to give out.

  As he slowly slid to the floor, the old man grasped him by the belt and hefted. He walked Simon to the end of the aisle where he did a quick count of heads. “Is this all that’s left?”

  A hunter that he barely recognized nodded. “Many die.”

  “The rest just split?” Simon gave his best angry face.

  The hunter seemed to shrug. “Don’t know.” He raised his arm and swept it toward the rest of the store. “Females gone.”

  The old man nodded as he helped Simon prop himself on the shelf. “They remembered.” He looked up at him and his face was a mask of pain. “The before…they remember.”

  Simon wanted to curse. He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch something.

  He wanted to nap.

  He felt his rage evaporate like a water drop in the desert. He slowly nodded and pushed away from the shelf. As he staggered through what was left of his men, he met each of their gazes. “We rest. We eat. We heal.”

  “Then what?”

  Simon didn’t turn to see which hunter it was that spoke. He continued his slow, pain-filled stagger past the registers and towards his dog food bed. “Then we hunt down our women. We bring them home.” He turned slowly and gave the men an evil smile. “Then we continue what we started last night. We kill the Cagers and eat them.”

  3

  Hatcher slowed his approach and peered quickly around the corner of the old gas station. Although the sun was up and the blood trail was drying into brown smears, he also remembered the woman they had encountered. She looked infected, but almost acted normal. At first, anyway. Either way, he wasn’t risking running into a Zulu.

  He paused at the corner and eased his body out, looking for more tracks or signs of blood.

  “You’re taking too long.”

  Hatcher nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun, rifle ready, to face Buck. “What the hell are you doing following me out here?”

  Buck ginned as he walked past him. “You need help.”

  “Do not.” Hatcher stepped out from behind the safety of the wall and trotted to catch up to the young man. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

  “And neither should you.” Buck paused and bent low, his fingers tracing a blood splatter. “He’s bleeding out.”

  “How can you tell that?” Hatcher squatted next to the trail and tried to see what looked different.

  “The blood is thinner. See how it splatters more like water? His body is desperate to keep his heart pumping and it’s drawing water from his internals.” Buck sighed as he slowly came to his feet. “If he doesn’t hydrate and stench that wound, he’ll be dead before he gets wherever he’s going.”

  Hatcher couldn’t hold back the smile. “Serves the fucker right.” He looked to Buck and his face twisted. “How do you know who I’m tracking?”

  Buck snorted as he began walking agai
n. “Simon is the only infected that you’d go out of your way to track down.” He paused and looked at another line of droplets. “He changed directions here.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Buck nodded as he took off at a trot again. “One of the guards said that Big Mike spotted Simon leading this attack.” He gave Hatcher a sorrowful stare. “I’m sorry I didn’t sink a bullet in his head that night. I really thought he was dead.”

  “He’s a cockroach, kid.” Hatcher grabbed his shoulder to slow his approach. “Let’s not rush into this though. I appreciate the company, but I really don’t need help tracking him.”

  Buck gave him a condescending look. “Of course you do.” He turned and pointed to the grocery store across the block. “They’re in there.”

  “How do you know?”

  Buck pointed to the front doors. “You might need binoculars.” He crossed his arms and waited while Hatcher focused.

  “What am I looking for?”

  “See that brown smear across the door glass? That’s where he went.”

  “How the hell did you see that without these?”

  Buck tapped the side of his temple. “Good eyes.” He trotted to the corner opposite the parking lot and squinted in the midday sun. “He’s not alone.”

  “Now how can you possibly know that?”

  “The trash in the front. Too much for one man.”

  Hatcher grunted as he stepped into the shadows. “That could be from looters.”

  Buck shook his head. “Look around. All of the trash from looting has been blown into roadways, nooks, crannies…or carried off by birds. That’s fresh.” He glanced back at the store then shrugged. “Fresh-ish.”

  “So.” Hatcher wiped the sweat from his brow then peered through the limbs of the bush shadowing them. “He’s learned to eat something other than living flesh.”

  “It would appear so. Which is why the Zulus we faced last night were able to keep the fight going so long. They’ve learned, too.”

  Hatcher groaned as he pushed away from the bush. “We need a look inside.”

  Buck nodded. “It is daylight out.”

  Hatcher shook his head. “That’s not their limiting factor any longer.” He caught the surprised look on Buck’s face then told him the story of the woman that he and Roger met. “When she flipped out, she flipped out in a major way.”

  “Great.” Buck sighed as he stared at the grocery store. “The only other option is an approach from the rear. Try to make our way closer to the front. Listen for movement or…something.”

  Hatcher stepped away from the bush and towards an alley. “Looks like we’re taking the long way around.” He paused and pointed a finger at him. “I still don’t like you being out here.”

  “Better to have backup and not need it.” Buck patted his shoulder and gave him a patronizing smile. “Besides, I’m younger and faster. If they chase us, I don’t have to outrun them. Only you.”

  Carol withdrew the needle from Kelly’s arm and pressed a cotton ball to the puncture. “I really appreciate your letting me take some blood.”

  Kelly shrugged. “It seemed the least I could do. After all, you’re feeding me; I’m clean and dressed for the first time in…I don’t know how long.”

  “I would have done that anyway,” Carol replied absently as she placed a few drops onto a slide then injected the rest into a test tube. “I just want to get a look at this before I start separating the viral load and sequencing the proteins.”

  “Right.” Kelly gave her a confused look. “You don’t have to explain everything you know. I wasn’t a science geek.”

  “But you were going to school here, right?”

  Kelly nodded, not realizing that Carol’s attention was elsewhere. “I thought I wanted to be a Poli-Sci major, but after my first government class, I knew that wasn’t gonna pan out.” She huffed as she sat on the stool opposite her. “When the world went to hell, I was just a Liberal Arts major.”

  “Not everybody knows what they want to be when they grow up.” Carol finished staining the sample and dropped a cover plate over the slide. She glanced up at Kelly and grinned. “I thought I wanted to teach.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Instead you became a doctor and saved the whole world.”

  Carol shook her head. “Actually, I just assisted the man who did it.” She adjusted the microscope and peered through the ocular. “He was a geneticist from France. Flown here just to…” She trailed off, her face going pale. “This doesn’t look right.”

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  Carol shook her head. “No, you didn’t do anything.” She sat back and rubbed at her neck. “I think I must have done something wrong.”

  “What is it? What are you seeing?”

  Carol jotted a quick note in her lab book then turned for the blood sample. “It’s not what I’m seeing, it’s what I’m not seeing.” She quickly removed part of the sample with a pipette and turned to her equipment. “I need to separate the blood from the serum then isolate the virus load.” She glanced up at the other woman. “I have to run a DNA profile on the virus.”

  “The bad virus or the cure virus?”

  “Both.”

  “He smells of death.” The hunter carefully eyed the others. “He won’t last long.”

  “He is alpha,” the last remaining female stated.

  The hunter narrowed his gaze at her. “Only because of his boomstick.” He glanced to Simon’s sleeping form then back to the others. “Take it and he is no longer alpha.”

  The woman shook her head. “He will kill you.”

  The hunter scoffed. “He can’t even stand.”

  “He will kill,” Another hunter stated, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “He will eat your heart and—” The older hunter stared wide eyed and the others stepped back.

  “What?” The hunter asked just before he felt the cold steel of Simon’s boomstick press to the back of his neck.

  “I don’t want to kill you.” Simon’s voice was dry and raspy. “I may need you for the next attack.” He pressed the barrel tighter to the hunter’s neck. “But I can’t have you talking about me behind my back either.”

  The hunter swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he slowly raised them. “No weapon.”

  “Don’t care.” Simon pushed the man forward, watching as he stumbled and fell. He lowered the barrel of the shotgun and seemed to sway in place from the effort of holding it.

  “No kill.” The hunter squeezed his eyes shut and turned away from the weapon.

  Simon looked up at the last female. She had been on the war party and returned with the others. She didn’t slip out and disappear like those traitors had. “What do you think?”

  She glanced down at the hunter then back up at Simon. She shook her head slightly. “He’s not mine.”

  Simon smiled at her and motioned her to him with his chin. “I think you’ll have the pleasure of being mine now.” He slowly lowered the shotgun and sneered at the hunter on the floor. “If you even think of trying to take over again, I’ll kill you.” He spat at the man then squared his shoulders. “The only reason you’re alive is because I might need you in the next battle.” He looked down at the man who slowly scrambled away. “Tell me you understand.”

  The hunter nodded vigorously. “I do.”

  “Good.” Simon turned and leaned entirely too much on the female. “Take me to my bed and I’ll let you lay with me.”

  The hunter watched the pair stagger towards the far end of the store and slowly came to his feet.

  “I told you,” the older hunter stated plainly.

  The younger hunter nodded slowly. “He’s dangerous.”

  “We told you that, too.”

  The younger hunter nodded as he backed away. He paused and turned to the older hunter. “Dangerous does not mean good.”

  The older hunter shook his head. “There is no good in him.” He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at his temples. “Or us.”


  4

  Hatcher hugged the wall of the grocery store, his ears straining for any sounds as he crept closer to the door. He could hear his own boots crunch with sand or broken glass under the soles and each sound echoed like a gunshot to him. He glanced back at Buck and noted that the young man appeared cool as a cucumber, his feet soundless as he followed.

  As the pair approached the open glass doors, Hatcher froze and listened intently. He could hear muffled sounds from inside. If he didn’t know any better, he could almost imagine a dog rifling through garbage.

  He inhaled deeply and nearly gagged as the breeze shifted. He instantly breathed through his mouth to ward off the stench and immediately regretted it. He could almost taste the filth.

  He glanced to Buck, who merely scrunched his nose and waved a hand in front of his face.

  Hatcher continued to breathe through his mouth, fighting the urge to throw up as he moved closer to the door. He froze when a Zulu appeared in the doorway. The creature stared out into the daylight, its hand covering the top of its eyes. It stood in the shade of the overhead and peered across the open parking lot, to the sparse stand of trees on the other side.

  The creature reached down with its other hand and pulled its rudimentary breechcloth down, urinating on the cement. Once it was finished relieving itself, it turned and walked back into the store.

  Hatcher blew out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and waved Buck back away from the door. Once they were around the corner and out of possible eyesight, Hatcher squatted to the ground and braced himself on the outer wall of the store. “That was too close.”

  Buck stood over him and stared at the same area the Zulu had been staring at. “I wonder what he was looking for?”

  “Who cares?” Hatcher nearly panted, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. He slowly came to his feet and placed both hands on the side of the building. To a passerby, he looked like he was trying to push the building over. In reality, he was still trying to catch his breath. “That’s entirely too close for my tastes.”