I got up, spun around, leapt up and passed all three steps.
“One down,” Marf said. “I got one.”
He used his flashlight to play it over the room. There were no walls. Roughly ten cots. Footlockers. Two doors at the opposite end of the boxy room.
Someone was dead. The body was splayed in the middle of the room on the slatted wood floors. Marf went down, shining his light under the beds. “Chase, you’re supposed to be outside.”
“I heard the shots,” I said.
“I fired once,” he said. “That first shot was from the other side of the camp. Must be Vitale’s group.”
“Should we go help them?” Dave said.
“We won’t. And they heard our shot and won’t be coming to help us, either,” he said. He got to his feet, approached the dead person.
The body was face down. The back of the head displayed a large hole. Brain matter and blood flowed down the neck. Not a good sign. Not good at all.
“He’s bleeding,” Dave said.
“Shit,” Marf said. “He came right at me.”
Using a foot, Marf rolled the person over. The bullet hole was squarely centered on the guy’s forehead. Could be military. The crew cut was hint, if you ask me. It was too dark to see the clothing. Marf only shone the light on the guy’s head. I didn’t see dark black veins, and although his eyes were closed, I suspected he hadn’t been a zombie.
“Shit,” Marf said again. He knelt by the body, pulled dog tags out from under the white t-shirt. He held them in his palm and looked at them for a long time. “Soldier must have been hiding. Heard us come in.”
“Why wouldn’t he be hidden and just shoot at you, or something,” Dave said. “I mean, why come at you?”
“Why come at me,” Marf said out loud. He tucked the dog tags into his breast pocket and leaned forward. He used a thumb and finger to part one of the closed eyelids with his light a foot from the dead guy’s face.
“Awe, shit,” Marf said.
The milky eyes confirmed it. Zombie. Walking dead military guy. Marf hadn’t killed someone hiding, waiting to be rescued. He’d taken out a monster. “Must have recently turned,” I said.
“Must have.” Marf stood. “You two, go back out front. Watch the door. I’m going to check the back rooms.”
I wanted out of the barracks anyway, so I left. Dave was on my heels. We went down the steps. “Check that side of the building. I’ll check by the other, and along the fence.”
“I really can’t see anything out here,” he said.
“Just check,” I said.
The gunshots had to have been heard back at the boat. I didn’t want my kids scared. I didn’t want them worrying that something bad might have happened to their father. Allison had them; she’d comfort them.
I looked along the fence best I could. Maybe four feet between it and the barracks. Nothing seemed to be moving. Not toward me, not in the opposite direction. Pretty sure it was clear.
“Nothing,” Dave said.
I jumped. “You scared the fuck out of me.”
“Sorry. Nothing on my side,” he said.
“Same here. Think we’re okay.”
Marf came out of the barracks. He stood on the top step. “This one’s empty. Now,” he said, “let’s finish this perimeter check.”
More gunshots echoed off the nothingness of the ghost camp. They came from everywhere. Then stopped. More followed. I heard someone yelling. Could not identify the voice. Not even if it was male or female.
“I wanna say fuck the perimeter,” Marf said. “That ain’t just a shot to put down a zombie. They’re fighting.”
“So let’s go,” Dave said.
It was so dark. I didn’t want to run, stumbling through the camp. There were too many structures to run past. Anything could be behind any one of them.
“Same as before. Stay close. Follow me,” Marf said.
We didn’t run, but we moved fast, staying low and close.
Thoughts passed through my mind. I hated them, but there was no way to shut it off. I wish I could.
Some seventy people had been here at the camp. Place looked deserted. Wasn’t, obviously, but I’d be shocked to find seventy people here. Gates were open when we arrived. Something could have gotten in. Spread the infection. More than likely, the infection was already here. People gradually turned until the scales tipped. It probably happened fast.
The gates were open.
Uninfected might have escaped. I’d wager many had and were probably off hiding in the woods around the state park. Maybe they snatched boats from slips at the dock. When we pulled up, I don’t recall seeing a single one there.
The diseased might have escaped, as well and then went after the uninfected. They might have fled to the woods and they were out there in the park hunting for food right now.
The Coast Guard personnel were armed. Despite a direct order to kill Captain Keel, Spencer stood guard like a centurion.
It would be foolish to think there weren’t zombies in the area. I never disillusioned myself that way. The idea of seventy zombies roaming beyond the fence seemed worse for my family, more dangerous even than my searching within.
I wanted to get back to the ship. Needed to.
“Keep up,” Dave said.
“I’m right behind you,” I said. I was close. In fact, I was practically up his ass, as my father used to say.
We passed apartment buildings. They perfectly lined either side. After four sets, we stopped. Marf stood and pressed his back against one building. Dave and I followed suit.
“Main yard is over there. I see one large structure. Should be two smaller ones on either side and just in front of the main one,” he said.
“What are they?” Dave said.
“The big one is the M.A.S.H. facility used for medical testing, sick bay, and that kind of thing. Mess halls will be the other two. And if I saw it right, the stage is on our side,” he said.
There hadn’t been a single gunshot or scream since we’d started running toward the sounds.
Marf used the radio. Talked into his sleeve. “Sergeant? Sergeant?” I heard his voice in the bud in my ear.
“Go ahead, Lieutenant. Over.”
“The shots. You guys okay? Over.”
“Back barracks. Came in to find a handful of zombies. Fast ones. Got the drop on us, so to speak. Chatterton got hurt. Not bit. We’re okay. Over.”
“Shit,” Marf said. It wasn’t into the radio. “We’re going to have to get back to our spot.” He held his cuff up to his mouth. “Okay, sir. Over and out.”
We started back the way we had come.
We moved slowly, checking around corners.
Fast zombies were locked away in one of the military barracks. That was a good sign. Someone had to have lured them in and locked them inside. Vitale had disposed of them. Nice.
The moan came from behind me. Loud. Low. A grumble into an agonizing cry.
“Down,” Marf said.
I dropped and splattered into mud.
Heard a gunshot.
“Get up, get up,” Marf said.
I tried, but my shoes had no traction at all. They were coated in shit. My feet kicked and kicked, as if I was running in place.
Dave grabbed my shoulders and pulled me up. I turned around. The zombie was down.
He had not been alone. I saw heads bouncing. Couldn’t count them, but there were more than three. They were coming and they were coming fast.
Marf took another shot. Then another. “Go, run. Go!”
Chapter Thirteen
Sunday, November 1st -- 0212 hours
The dark was complete with the only light coming from the front end of Marf’s gun when he fired off rounds. I had not fired a shot. I held my rifle with both hands across my chest. Running was difficult, but I gave it my all. I slipped, slid, and felt like I wasn’t getting anywhere. Dress shoes sucked. I wished I’d changed out of them when I’d had the chance, back when I’d met my kids at my apartment -- long before the military Humvee rescued us from off the roof of the sidewalk plaza. I hadn’t, so now, I was stuck with fucking shitty shoes caked in crappy mud.