Colonel Faulkner

You descend the stairs with Jaime by your side, his heavy footsteps resonating. "Thanks again for coming to help. I know you've had a tough few days. I should have been to your place sooner. You saved my life, and I'll never forget it."

He adjusts the bloody bandage covering his hand which has stopped oozing. "This thing hurts, but the bleeding stopped," he says with a wince. "My shoulder just has a scratch where a bullet grazed me."

You grab his wrist and hold out his hand. Unraveling the soaked cloth, you inspect the wound, a deep laceration. "It may need a stitch or two, and you should take antibiotics to treat any infection," you say. "Once we reach Woody and the others—"

"Woody? Wait, Moses is with you?" Jaime puts his good hand on your shoulder.

"Yeah, he got to my house earlier today and came to help find you. We were on the third floor together when Rosie shot at us."

"Hold on, you know Rosie?" Jaime asks, his voice a pitch higher.

"It's a long story but I saw her earlier today with Dillan and Driver," you say and describe to Jaime how she shot at you, riled up a pack of zombies, and chased you into the auditorium.

"What happened then? Is she alive?" Jaime reaches for the stairwell door and pauses to wait for your answer.

"She's alive. I saved her life," You say.

Jaime smiles though it quickly fades. "Good. She's a troubled woman. With Dillan out of the picture, I hope she can be better."

He opens the door and steps into the sterile-white third-floor hallway now littered with trash. The warm air carries the stench of the dead, and you step over the corpse of a teenage student, his body killed halfway into the infection's transformation. As you walk past the auditorium towards the teacher's lounge, you Ask Jaime how he knows Dillan and his crew. Jaime takes a deep breath and lets it out as he begins to speak. "I've known Dillan for a few months. I've been doing that internship at the mental health facility, Maplethorn. Dillan was a support tech there, an orderly, one of the long-timers who had a run of the place. We were friendly, but there was always something off about him, like he took his position a bit too seriously. He was friendly towards me, so I always gave him the benefit of the doubt. Same with his brother who started there last week, Adrian. Maybe he was even a bit worse—the way he looked at the patients, not with sympathy. Scorn maybe. Dude creeped me out.

"After that first day of the outbreak, everything went to Hell. All the faculty and staff left, and Dillan and Adrian rounded up some of the patients and took off. I didn't agree with them doing that but in the face of the apocalypse, I had no better answer than finding a safe location to hole up and wait out the chaos. Rosie and Edgar, who you may have heard called Driver, were my patients. There's a lot more I can tell you when we're back at your place." You hurry along the third floor in the dim light of the hallway, and the moans and growls of the infected echo through the high school. The teacher's lounge lies ahead, and as you approach, you hear arguing from inside.

"He said he will be back, and we're waiting as long as it takes," Madison says as you push against the door. It moves an inch and bumps the furniture still stacked to stop intruders.

"Open up. It's me and Jaime," you say and lean into the surface of the door. It shifts a few more inches.

"Hold yer horses," Woody says through the wall, and from the other side, the sound of moving furniture can be heard scraping the linoleum floor. Once the door is cleared, it swings open, and you enter. Max darts across the room and jumps to greet you. Madison sits on a lounge chair with her lightly injured arm perched on a shelf, while Brody stands near a tall filing cabinet he must have just moved from the door. Jillian stands from a desk chair and smiles as you enter.

Johnny marches over from a bookshelf and hugs you around the waist. "I knew you'd be back and bring Jaime."

Jaime lifts your nephew, nearly bumping the boy's head into the drop ceiling. "What's up, Little Man? Miss me?" Jaime sets him down and straightens his shirt.

"Oh I sure did. So much happened. It's been nuts," Johnny says.

"We'll talk later," Jaime answers.

"Whoa," Madison says as she lifts her eyes to Jaime.

"What are you, like six-ten?" Brody says and raises a hand over his head to match Jaime's height.

You introduce everyone by name, ending with your tall friend. "Everyone, this is—"

"Jaime," Woody says and strides up next to his cousin, stone-faced.

"Hey there, Mos—" Jaime stops and clears his throat. "Woody. How you doing?"

"Fair to middlin'," Woody says and pats Jaime high on his firm chest.

As Jaime and Woody catch up on the events of the last few days, you move over to Madison to inspect her arm. She flinches as you raise it but doesn't argue as you inspect the damage. You can tell she's appreciative of your help. A quick look of the wound shows it's a graze that broke skin, and though it may be painful, it's not fatal or serious. You take out your first aid kit, dress the wound, and wrap gauze around it.

"You should be fine now."

"Thank you," Madison says. She holds a clean cloth against it, and even though it's unnecessary, you can tell she thinks it helps. "I feel better already."

Woody walks towards the door and peers into the hallway. "Time for us to skedaddle. That last roun' of zombies weren't the last. And I found these." He pops a huge ring of keys out of his pocket and tosses them to you.

"Those look like Mr. Flaherty's, the maintenance man," Brody says. "We can take that old maintenance elevator the teachers use. It leads to the back of the parking lot."

"Let's go. I've been in this school for too long," Jaime says with a laugh. "Any place open on the way home still selling cheeseburgers?" Somehow you all fit in the small cage-like metal elevator with the sliding chain doors. At first, the old copper key doesn't fit the control box, but with a jiggle the lock turns and the elevator starts with a jolt. An oil smell permeates the air, and as the box descends through the bowels of the school, you hear the trilling melody of the infected. Static buzzes from the overhead light, and some glob of red liquid drips from the ceiling.

Reaching the ground floor, the gate opens to a dark, dank corridor leading through a service area where the utilities of the school are maintained: generators, heaters, and water treatment systems. They hum and chug and clank as they work, and the steam and heat they give off create a sauna in the basement. Walking past a large HVAC unit, your eye catches a supply shelf with a number of tools and items for the taking. You guys see Rosie and Jillian raise a gun against her Jillian stares across the loading dock at the woman in the jeep, and though the Glock shakes in her hand, the barrel points at her chest.

"Jillian, I said put it down. You're not going to shoot her, so drop it. Don't make me say it twice." You raise your AK-47 in a threatening manner.

Now her arms shake, and just as her hands tense as if to shoot, she grits her teeth, turns, and throws the pistol into a bag of trash near the supply truck.

"No one is killing anyone," you say. "This is over."

"Fine. Whatever." She walks to her gun, picks it up, and shoves it in the front of her jeans. "If you want to glaze over what happened and do nothing, so be it. Don't expect me to forgive and forget. I still remember who was at fault here."

Everyone watches on, and though no one says a word about what just happened, you can tell the gravity of the situation has affected them. Their quiet tells a story—this isn't over yet "Whatever y'all want to take matters less and less the more we stand here. We need to boogie on out of here," Woody says, and just as he speaks, the sounds of the infected in the area chime in with howls.

"Woody's right," Jaime says and steps close to you. "Should we take a few vehicles? We have me, you, Johnny, Rosie, Jillian, Woody, and the twins."

"And don't forget Max," Woody adds. Right, we're going to need to consider our options for bringing. Your words are met with looks of surprise. Jaime squeezes your shoulder and walks past you towards the jeep.

"So we're coming with y'all?" Madison says, her face lit up with happiness. "I really appreciate it. We don't have anywhere else to go. The school is full of zombies, my home is full of zombies, and besides Brody, my family is gone. I know I haven't been helpful so far, but I also haven't had time to show you I can contribute. So thank you."

Something tells you she's being sincere.

"You're welcome, Madison," you say.

Again the infected call out, and everyone turns to the source of the howls on the outer edge of the parking lot.

"Hey Aaron."

Jaime waves you over, and you join him at the exit of the loading dock. The two of you peer across the vast parking lot of options. With the night set in, darkness creeps from the corners of the lot, held back by tall pole lights still working in the first few days of the apocalypse. A moving body creeps along a row of student cars, its form leaning as it shambles and drags one crooked leg.

"One sec, follow me."

Jaime leads you a few cars deep into the lot and steps over to a yellow Escalade—the fenders are torn off, the driver's side door is caved in, and bullet holes fill the back of the car.

"I had to rush to get away from Dillan and his crew, or I would have had time to grab more stuff." He pops the back hatch and points you to a two packs of cigarettes.

"Ask and you shall receive," he says. Also in the trunk are a supply of food, water, and blankets. "It's not much but it's what I could gather."

"Thanks so much, Jaime. This is great, and even when you were trying to survive, you still thought of me."

You each take a pile of supplies and carry them into the loading dock where the rest of the group still waits.

"We really need to get our butts in motion," Woody says and kicks an oversized tire of the supply truck. He stares at it with admiration. "This could hold all of us and lots of our supplies."

"Mrs. Chandler's Lexus is in the teacher's lot right over there," Madison says and motions to an area beyond the loading dock wall.

"The swim team van will fit us all and has lots of room," Brody says. "And it makes better turns than a big truck."

"Yeah but with the truck, we can put guns on it and paint the sides and no one would mess with us," Johnny says and makes guns out of his hands and shooting sounds from his mouth.

Jaime steps to the edge of the parking lot and stares at the vast array of abandoned vehicles, as if someone handed him the master key to a used car lot.

"Let's figure out how we're getting back to your place, Aaron. We have too many choices but every decision we make feels like a big one. Like life or death." You've never seem Jaime this frazzled but you've never been in this dire of a situation.

Before you pick a vehicle, you decide to

Assign everyone to a vehicle that makes sense for our group. "Are we leaving soon?" Madison asks as she peeks past the dock gates, concern painted on her face.

Jaime takes a deep breath, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pouch of gummie candies. "The supply truck or passenger van makes most sense. We got more people to think about now. And we should take the military jeep most definitely. Rosie can drive it. What do you think, Aaron? "I will take a few people in my Military Jeep" You say but you will still pick vehicles for everyone. Jaime nods. "I don't blame you for sticking with your own ride. What about the rest of the group? "Everyone else take the supply truck." The group moves towards the grimy, dirt-covered supply truck and stops at the open load space. Madison mumbles under her breath as she peers into the back of the truck, and you peek inside to the bare space. The walls are dented and scratched, the floor grease-stained, and the ceiling has a broken light exposing wires. Otherwise, it's usable and large enough for everyone, and strangely several windows are cut around the walls.

Your military jeep sits where you left it, and you climb inside. Thinking about your group of companions, you consider asking someone to ride with you. You call over your nephew who skips his way to your military jeep.

"Want to ride with me?"

"Yes!" he says and nods his head vigorously with a wide smile.

You swing the passenger-side door open and help him inside. He beams with pride as he looks out over the front of the parking lot.

"Thanks, Ares!"

The military jeep pulls out of the parking lot, and scenes of Chipper Ridge flash through the glass.

"How are you?" you ask.

Johnny shrugs and stares up at you. "I dunno. Okay I guess. I didn't like being in that school. It reminds me of my school, but it's bigger. The kids are older too. I guess lots of kids at my school are dead now or zombies."

Your nephew continues his stare, and his expressions tell two different stories, one of sorrow and one of confusion. At his age, what could he be thinking of all this death and the changing world.

You give him a hug. "Let's not think about that. You're safe, and you have people looking after you. Johnny hugs you back, wrapping his small arms around you as far as they reach. His body sinks into yours, and his bottom lip trembles and eyes swell. Still, he doesn't cry. He's had a lot to process in the last three days, more death in those long hours than most adults do in many life times. Besides the brief sparks of emotion, he keeps it locked up, either afraid, ashamed, or just unwilling to release it.

Minutes pass as you hold him. You hold tight to the wheel even as he pulls at you, though he gives one last squeeze before loosening the hug. His body relaxes and head nods, eyes close and breathing turns quick and shallow as he sleeps.

As you draw closer to your neighborhood, you spot a trail of thick, black smoke rising in the air from a group of homes near where you live.

Nearing your neighborhood you see traffic has died down, except for military vehicles or stray cars racing at high speed. The presence of the infected has increased dramatically, like an undead convention has arrived in town. The dark of night hides them from sight, and the few who chase your military jeep give up when a new target crosses their paths. Stores are all closed along the way, locked behind metal gates or covered in boards and plywood. Random fires and bodies of the dead make your neighborhood resemble a war zone. Nightfall doesn't remind you of home.

As you stop at a red light, a man and woman burst from an alley, their faces covered in dirt, splashes of blood on their clothes. He carries a baseball bat, while she holds a rifle. They spot your military jeep, turn, and run from where they came. You scan the area to see if some threat has appeared, but you are the only one on the street.

The light turns green, and you continue your way home. Not far from home and more smoke rises in the air, hanging like a persistent blanket of gray over the houses, bleak and caustic. There is a thickness and weight to the fog, and as you move through it, you feel a sting in your chest. A mile to go or less, and every hundred feet it seems the smoke grows heavier.

You feel a buzz from your pocket and absently reach for your phone which lies dormant, the screen blank. Another buzz, and you reach for the military device given to you by Colonel Faulkner. The screen is lit with green letters, INCOMING CALL…

"Hello?" you ask, anticipating the voice of your brigade leader.

The device lets out a squealing tone followed by a crackle of static. As the noises subside, you hear a clear, female voice:

"This is Alpha Black 1. Identify yourself."

You pause before answering. You expected Colonel Faulkner to call by yesterday, but this is clearly not him. You recall he ran a squad with the Alpha Black call sign, but that was years ago. Giving your name, rank, and your commander's name seems the most efficient way to proceed, but army protocol instructs against giving personal identifiers over open lines of communication. Is this open comms? You don't have time to be elusive right now and want to make contact with the Colonel as soon as possible. Getting some information about the people on the other side of the device may be reasonable.

"This is Bravo White 2. What's your name and rank, soldier?" You say to rattle the speaker and gain info. "This is a member of the 4th Sustainment Brigade of the United States Army. I do not recognize your call sign. Hold for the colonel."

You wait for a few minutes while watching the road. Though you hold for your military commander, you see no presence of military the closer you move towards your home. You take a moment to glance down at the communication device to ensure the call didn't drop but it remains active. Icons blink on the screen, none of which were lit when you checked it before, and you press one with a mail symbol. A window pops up and fills in the display.

***

Message-ID: <RC.US.20001.29RRR78@team.us.army.mil.us-west-2>

Date: Friday, 11 May 2012 17:22:25 +0000

From: Col. John Faulkner Subject: First Contact

Aaron:

By now you should be home and have received a separate email with the device's password—MolonLabe.

If the device turns inactive enter this password for activation.

I recommend spending time gathering supplies and securing your home. Restrict your exposure to others including family and friends. The next 24 hours will be chaotic.

You may be wondering why I have ordered you home instead of aiding our efforts to contain the infected and reinforcing the quarantine. In brief, our superiors are already planning the next phase in which key personnel relocate to strategically located depots—safe havens. You are designated for this task.

Within the next twenty-four hours, I will contact you via this device with the location of the first safe haven where you will report. Be prepared to leave for that haven immediately.

Discuss these orders with no one other than myself and officers up our chain-of-command. Consider any request for Intel a potential to harm your mission, directly or indirectly.

Once the location is provided, enter it using the AS button to set the device to act as a GPS. In the event issues with the location coordinates arise, the device may be set to search mode using the FT key. Once activated, search mode acts like a beacon directing you to the nearest safe haven within twenty-five miles.

The next few days will be difficult and trying but you have been selected due to a set of values and attributes command feels will succeed in the dawn of this new era. More details on your mission is forthcoming. For now stay alive and be ready.

Colonel John Faulkner

***