No Room In Hell (Book 2): 400 Miles To Graceland Page 2

  “You’re the first survivors we’ve discovered in two weeks. We were so worried.”

  “Worried?”

  “Yes. When we couldn’t find survivors, we became concerned we were all that’s left.” A shiny gold name badge reads Ellsberg.

  Amanda has many questions, but Jarrod beats her to the first one.

  “Who are you?”

  “Introductions are in order. I am, or was, the CDCs top virologist in Nashville. Now I supervise this camp. Where we’ve been perfecting a cure.”

  “Impossible,” says Theo.

  “Even if you did cure those walking dead, wouldn’t they die from the rotten flesh and holes in them?”

  “Cure isn’t an accurate word—vaccine. We are perfecting a vaccine. So, those bit will not turn.”

  Amanda legs numb. “You mean this could all be over?”

  “We’re close. A few test trials remain. What we can offer you is a warm meal and hot shower. A place to get some clean clothes. Food. We do insist on some blood work.”

  Amanda remembers the camping trip her dad dragged her on when she was ten. Bug bites, poison ivy, and squatting to pee. Not that she didn’t hover over public toilets as an adult, she never splashes piddle on her shoes. The best part was the first shower when she got home. Water never felt so warm or so…comforting. Hot water consumes her, protects her. Safe is something she has lacked. Now, Irish Spring suds and flowing water as near boiling as she can take comforts her. The scientist said they have an auto ten-minute max. She lathered herself in the sink so she could just stand under the flow for as long as she could. The heat releases the tension in her shoulders. Constant lack of sunscreen and opportunities to tan has left her with white patches on her skin, but she doesn’t care. She wouldn’t mind a pedicure, but never can she remember feeling so clean.

  The shower beeps a thirty-second shut off warning. Amanda spins around one last time to ensure no soap was missed before the drip, drip, drip replaces the waterfall she enjoyed.

  Sniffing the clean towel, she pats her face, choosing to air dry. The beads of water on her skin keep her clean—fresh. They gave her papery scrubs to wear. No underwear. No bra. The hospital socks have the gripper pattern to prevent slipping because they left her no shoes.

  Some tests and food are next and then she wonders if she will be able to sleep. Not some half-an-eye-open sleep but peaceful, safe sleep knowing nothing could harm her here. Amanda attempts to slide her feet on the floor, gliding as if ice skating, but the gripper socks keep her toes in place.

  Jarrod waits for her on a bench.

  “Where’s Theo?”

  “They took him for blood work. Said the sooner they draw some vials the sooner we eat.”

  “It’s going to be MREs,” Amanda notes.

  “Don’t care. They won’t be rancid like the ones we found.”

  “With a vaccine, the world could return to normal.”

  “Not right away. They’ll still have to clean up a lot of undead, but at least their numbers are depletable. No more worried about being bit,” she says.

  “What a fantasy to rebuild the world. How long do you think it will take?”

  “Years. The country will become a new frontier and have to be explored all over again.”

  A man in white scrubs waves at Jarrod. “We are ready for you now.”

  “Where’s Theo?”

  “Getting a bite.”

  Amanda nods at her friend. Too bad when they numbered nine people they couldn’t have found this place. Fourteen or fifteen was as large as the group got but some of those people… Some people were made for the end of the world and others need to be destroyed. It took her a time to accept the apocalypse means new beginning, but not for everyone.

  The male nurse waves, demanding Jarrod to enter a room down the hall.

  He brushes the top of Amanda’s shoulder in a good luck, good-bye sort of way.

  Alone for long minutes, she wonders. Why does no one wants to speak to me? Survivors tend to want to exchange information. Everyone wants to know if it is as bad where they came from as it is here. Even the mongrels who plan to kill you for your last MRE talk first.

  The male soldiers’ stares confirm not many women are around. She’s surprised none of them have requested a date or offered to assault her. One crazed survivor once attacked her group spurting how he was going to drill her until she needed a new hole. He was one of the living people she was forced to kill. Since she seems to be a lone woman—why? Plenty of women outlast men in this new world. After food, she’s going to have to demand some answers from the nerdy scientist.

  The nurse waves for her turn at health inspection. Her memory plays tricks on her—she swears Jarrod went into a room across the hall.

  The male nurse pumps the sphygmomanometer until the pressure cuts into Amanda’s arm.

  “I’m sure I’m malnourished.” She flashes a smile before realizing she can’t recall the last time she brushed her teeth. There was no toothbrush in the shower room.

  “When was the last time you ate—anything?” He keeps a surgical tone while twisting the knob to release the air from the blood pressure cuff.

  “Yesterday. Food’s been scarce in this area.”

  “The soldiers didn’t feed you?”

  “No. The soldiers haven’t even said hello.” She quickly adds, “We were promised food after a blood draw.”

  He refuses to lock eyes with hers. Amanda accepts trust must be earned, but she’s done nothing but cooperate.

  After he draws three vials of her blood she finds herself alone again now with a rumbling stomach. She had pushed food from her mind until he asked about when she last ate.

  Her head slams against the table. Three—no, four men grab her. Amanda somehow knew having not seen any women she’d become the object of unwanted affection for many.

  She kicks, but even her muscularly-defined legs strike nothing as she’s lifted into the air.

  They slam her into a hard-backed chair and secure her right forearm in clamps on a metal table. The last soldier tears away the paper gown covering her right arm. One clamp prevents her wrist from moving her elbow. Both bands prevent her from leaving the chair. Two of the four walls are a hard-clear plastic. Men in lab coats scribble on clipboards. The wall adjacent to the metal table raises.

  The two lab coats enter. Ellsberg prepares a syringe injection.

  They disregard Amanda’s protests, questions, and curses. She kicks at them but they seem to stand behind an invisible border just out of her reach.

  Familiar moan-howls jerk her head to an opening wall. The scientists ignore her. Secured by a steel Trapline Catch Pole, two soldiers force a snarling dead man at the table.

  Screams perching enough to bleed eardrums emanate from Amanda.

  Ten months to shape her lower body into the perfect dancing legs—gone. Five family members demanding she survive to carry on their memory—over. Three living people she was forced to kill to survive—all for nothing.

  The teeth grip her skin.

  They clamp.

  With her arm secure, her instincts to jerk away are prohibited. This prevents the monster from tearing flesh. It must bite again. It chews at her flesh unable to break the skin immediately.

  More chewing.

  Fear swells in her. Each bite failing to break the skin draws out the inevitable. She will soon be one of the undead. Her flesh buckles and the bloom of blood mushrooms from her arm.

  They yank the undead creature away before it eats anymore.

  Amanda closes her mouth. No point in screaming. It’s over. She’s dead. Everything she fought to keep—stolen.

  The glasses-wearing scientist clicks a stopwatch. Ethan inserts the needle into her left arm vein. Any desire to fight him off leaves her. She could scratch him. For some reason, she focuses on his golden name tag.

  Logically, she assumed they drew blood to check the growth rate of the germ-filled bite. She has seen people turn seconds after a bite and
others take days. Only stinging warmth itches her right arm.

  They injected her!

  “What the fuck?”

  “Female subject has received full dose of Kalocin.”

  They step back as the clear wall lowers, sealing Amanda’s last few minutes as a lab rat.“I’ve never heard of this drug, Dr. Burton.”

  “My great uncle was made aware of it during a microbe outbreak in Arizona during 1969. It will cure cancer.”

  “They keep it under wraps to increase research funding?”

  “In this case, no. It cures at the cost of the host’s life.”

  “But in our subject’s instant she’s doomed to die anyway.”

  “Not if the cure works, Dr. Ellsberg.”

  PRIVATE AMIE SANCHEZ steps off the running board of the semi as the air brakes hiss. Noise undoubtedly attracts unwanted guests. A second semi towing a flatbed screeches to a stop followed by a military Humvee.

  A dark, short-haired girl jumps from the Humvee, drawing a Glock.

  “Karen, this the place?” Amie draws her own Glock.

  “You’ve made enough noise to bring the dead,” Karen snaps. It took me all winter to convince Ethan to let me lead a scavenging team and now this military tramp—in camp less than a week—has a command position. She must have found a way to convince Ethan she has the skills.

  Frank crawls from the passenger side of the Humvee in his EMT BDUs. Kalvin, the third member of her team, scales the semi-trailer ladder. Unslinging a rifle, he assumes a lookout position. Others disembark from the back of the semi strategically assuming defensive positions around the vehicles.

  “Let’s get the trucks loaded.” Amie waves her index finger in a circle above her head, sending those not on guard duty toward the Orscheln’s Farm and Home store.

  “It may be on the edge of town. Nothing to draw a lot of biters, but we’ve got to be careful,” Karen reminds her. “We don’t have tanks and gunships to back us up.”

  Amie catches Karen’s animosity, not sure what she did to earn it. She marches toward the store entrance. The glass under the door handles has been smashed to allow entry by looters. She nods at Herman.

  The tall, dark-skinned man jams a crowbar in-between the downs and cracks the bolt.

  “This place still has a lot of supplies. After we sweep for biters, move in filling the totes with items on your list first. If the trailer has room, we’ll empty the store starting from the back. You’ll only have natural light so be careful. Questions?”

  “We’ve all done this before,” Herman reminds her. “With Ethan.”

  Amie now recognizes the source of the animosity. I’m not a part of this team. I shouldn’t be spearheading a mission yet. Not even in the military would I be given a command. Why did Ethan think it was a brilliant idea to insert the recent military additions into leadership roles? Didn’t consider the seniority aspect, or did they? I must gain respect of these people more qualified to be outside the fence among the undead than me. All my training as a soldier gave no prep time in dealing with the undead. If possible, without losing face, she will defer to suggestions of her team.

  “While we sweep the building, load the fencing supplies on the flatbed.” Amie draws a flashlight in her left hand. She flicks it on, resting her right wrist over her left so she can swing her arm, illuminate, and be ready to fire her Glock.

  Following her with an MI6 at the ready, Private David Combeth notes, “They aren’t happy you’re in charge of this operation.”

  “Karen and her team scout a location. Then bring back a crew to pilfer the place. No telling how many times they’ve completed such a task in the last ten months.” She takes each step down the aisle with caution. Her eyes have yet to fully adjust to the dim light. “I wouldn’t be happy if a less experienced recruit—” having never faced down the undead “—was promoted over me.”

  “They’re not military,” Combeth says.

  “We have to work with these people. They’ve their own command structure. Technically, we aren’t military anymore.”

  “We didn’t come in and take over. Their own leader put you in charge of this operation. He has worked us in where we’ll do the most good. Other than the doctor, we all sleep in the community center. People here before us get priority on the next available houses. That would upset me more than who leads the grocery runs.”

  The shelves remain full of items. A rat scuttles away from the light.

  “A good sign there are no biters in here.”

  “Don’t count on it.” He snatches a dust-covered bottle of Bronco Equine Fly Spray. “Not much call for fly spray.”

  Amie side steps down the aisle, swinging into the next. “This place is packed. The candy at the checkout’s gone, but there are racks of winter clothes. Good work overalls. They’d keep you warm.”

  “I don’t think people had time to ransack. They just ran.”

  “Someone came back for the food, but who wouldn’t want a rack of Snuggies?” She draws the gun barrel across the shirt rack. No empty hangers.

  “From my talks with the scavenging team, many places have been left untouched and other areas are burnt to the ground. With no reasoning as to why.”

  “People, as a general rule, don’t maintain reason during a crisis.” Amie snatches a screwdriver from a rack of tools at the checkout. “Clear?”

  “Clear,” he confirms.

  “Private Combeth, patrol the aisles, in case they need you, but stay out of their way.” Let’s make friends.

  The sunlight blinds her for a moment. She flips off her flashlight before jamming the screwdriver under the door to keep it propped open. “It’s clear.” Amie holsters her Glock.

  The people each grab an empty plastic tote from the trailer before entering the store.

  Karen escorts Amie as she heads toward the Humvee. “I’ll guess you’ll be all right at this.”

  “Thanks.” Amie remains unsure of what to make of the dark-haired girl.

  “I’m just glad you military people want to work with us.”

  “Why wouldn’t we?” She must build trust in her command.

  “You’re the largest group brought in and that concerns some people. One or two blend well, but fifty people…they could attempt to take over,” Karen explains. “We may have to work hard, but we like how we are surviving.”

  “Most of the people on the trucks were civilians and have specific skill sets your leader requested.”

  “Dartagnan requested them,” Karen mumbles. “Fort Leonard Wood was our last chance to easily find trained personnel. Everyone else we bring into the camp from now on will be random survivors.”

  “Your system works. You outlasted Fort Wood.”

  “You haven’t dealt much with people living outside the wall of your base the last ten months.” Karen decides later she’ll share some Ethan stories about the kinds of people existing in the post-apocalyptic world.

  “We’ve had our own issues, but we could sleep secure in our bunks.”

  Kalvin raises his rifle.

  Both Amie and Karen jump at the report.

  “Hold your fire! SITREP!” Amie orders the men on top of the tractor trailer.

  Kalvin fires again. The second man, Clint, calls down to her, “Herd!”

  “What does that mean?” Amie asks.

  “Nothing good.” Karen pops a biter staggering around the semi-trailer. The half dozen people loading fence panels onto the flatbed clamber onto the trailer. They draw their weapons waiting for orders to fire.

  Amie breathes deep for a moment. Panic will get them killed. The safest place is locked inside the cargo trailer, but there’s no time to get everyone in the store out. She moves fast. I can’t lose anyone. I can’t afford to lose anyone on my first command. “Get inside!” she shrieks at the people handing totes to the two men loading the cargo trailer. “Lock the doors!”

  “Karen, get on top of the cargo trailer and cover me.” Amie jumps into the Humvee.

  “
The 50 cal will draw more attention!” Karen decides whether she trusts Amie or not.

  Amie guns the motor, and the beast lurches forward.

  Uncertainty holds Karen in place for a second, but the flood of shambling undead sends her legs into a sprint to the trailer. She counts five people getting into the truck as one cargo door swings shut. She hears the bolt snap, securing it. They modified all the doors to open from the inside. She grabs the rung welded to the side of the trailer and pulls herself up.

  Bruce decides he must be inside the trailer instead of on the flatbed.

  Even with the growing moan-howls of undead, Karen hears Bruce’s ankle pop. Instead of turning around and climbing back up on the flatbed, Bruce hobbles toward the cargo trailer.

  Amie smashes the Humvee through the child-enticing game machine stationed at the store’s entrance sending dozens of plush stuffed toys raining everywhere. She slams the Humvee against the building, indenting the door frame but effectively blocking the entrance with the vehicle. She leaps from the Humvee and fires at the closest biter.

  The thundering crack of her weapon gives ankle-boy a moment of reprieve as the undead turn their attention to her.

  Karen reaches for the next rung. She admires Amie for entering harm’s way to save someone she’s just met. “Bruce, get back to the flatbed!” Fingers grasp her arm as Clint helps jerk her on top of the trailer.

  Bruce continues hobbling toward the cargo trailer. The second door slams closed and bolts shut. Five are more important than one. Everyone on the flatbed takes aim with their weapons. Some biters remain limber enough to climb onto the bed. No one fires. Multiple gun shots will charm the biters who have failed to notice the people on it.

  Bruce limps away from the shambling biters. Rotten skin dangles from festering muscle tissue. Coagulated blood stains the ragged clothing. They reach with emaciated fingers.

  Karen waves for them to scramble on top of the semi pulling the flatbed. The roof will be crowded for five people but safer. Even if the biters ascend onto the flatbed she doubts they scale the semi.