Shaun Harbinger - Wildfire - Destruction of the Dead

“It’s not so bad,” Dad said. “We get food and water and we’re protected. Come and live with us, Alex. The army will keep us all safe until this mess blows over. Then we can go home.”

Was this the garbage they were being told by the authorities? “This situation isn’t going to just blow over. Nothing will ever be the same again. There are things we can do to try and make things better but sitting in a camp and putting our heads in the sand isn’t one of them. We need to fight. If we’re ever going to beat the undead, we need to destroy them.”

“No,” Joe said, shaking his head. “There are people paid to do that. Trained soldiers. It isn’t up to us.”

“What happened to you, Joe? You used to be strong. I was the one who always needed protecting and you were there to do it. But now, it’s like you’ve given up.”

“There are some things we can’t fight,” he said.

“Come with me to the boat,” I said. “Both of you. You’ll see that we don’t have to give up and let the undead take over.”

I reached out for Joe and he shrank back as if he were afraid of me. That was when I realized I was wasting my time here. Dad and Joe had lost whatever spirit they had once possessed. Whether it was the death of my mother or simply the gravity of the undead situation, something had broken them.

“I have to go,” I said.

“No, Alex, stay,” Dad said. “I’ll worry about you if you go out there.”

I looked at them both and said, “Worry about yourself.”

I turned to leave. I knew they were safe for the moment but there was nothing I could do to help them further.

Except one thing. I took the two syringes from my pocket and handed them to my father. “These contain a vaccine that protects you from being turned if you’re bitten. I brought them for you.”

He looked down at the syringes in his hand and then handed them back to me. “We don’t need these. We’re safe here.”

I didn’t argue. They were in total denial of what was going on around them if they thought they were 100% safe.

I put the syringes back into my pocket. “Goodbye.” I walked out into the rain and over to the car. When I slid into the passenger seat, my face was wet with rain and tears.

“Hey, man, where are your folks?” Sam asked.

“They’re staying here,” I said.

“Okay,” he said. He started the car and drove toward the gate. As we drove through it and onto the road beyond, I looked back at the camp with its wire fence and guard towers. After what I had seen Jax and Vess do at Prometheus, Camp Achilles looked vulnerable.

Sam didn’t say anything during the drive back to Swansea. He might be loud and brash sometimes but when it mattered, like now, he knew when to keep quiet.

I just sat, looking at the road ahead and thinking about the people I knew who had died in this apocalypse: Mike, Elena, Johnny, Jax. And now I could add Joe and my father to that list.

They might still be breathing, but they were already dead inside.

WE SPENT the rest of the day taking the boats out into deeper water. I told the others about my father and brother and the fate of my mother. Everyone was sympathetic but I didn’t want their sympathy, only their friendship. We put Survivor Radio on and fished off the aft deck and played cards in the living area.

When night fell, the rain stopped. I stepped out onto the foredeck and stared up at the bright stars and silver moon. My thoughts were unfocused. I felt adrift like the boat.

Lucy came out and snuggled close to me in the evening chill. “Are you okay, Alex?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It was a shock seeing how much my dad and Joe had changed, and learning about the death of my mother. In a way, I wish I hadn’t found them. At least that way, I’d remember them how they were. I’d have some hope that my mother was still alive.”

We stood together in silence for a while, enjoying the physical closeness we shared.

It was Lucy who broke the silence. “What are we going to do now?” she asked.

“We’ll do what we’ve always done,” I said. “At one time, my dream was to put all this behind us and just keep sailing. But today, I told my dad and brother that we have to keep fighting the undead. And I was right. I can’t turn my back and sail away while there’s still fighting to be done.”

“So we fight,” she said.

“Yeah,” I said, holding her close and watching the dark coastline. “We fight.”

BRIGADIER GORDON HATED FLYING. As the Chinook dropped out of the sky to the parking lot below, he felt his stomach lurch. Still, even though his insides were churning, he ensured that his outward appearance remained calm. No need to let his men see his weakness.

The Chinook, which had flown from an Air Force base specifically to fly Gordon on this mission when he told them of its importance, touched the ground and he let out a mental sigh of relief. He exited the chopper first, as befitted his rank, but did not rush. Once his feet were on the asphalt parking lot, he felt much better.

This was definitely the correct location. The bus was parked exactly where the drone operator had said it was.

The dozen guards he had brought with him assumed firing positions around the Chinook, near the bus, and on the road.

Gordon put his hands on his hips and surveyed the area. The run-down cafe looked like a possible hiding place for nasties but he hoped they wouldn’t be here long enough to have to worry about that.

If Price had done his job properly and stopped the damned bus on the motorway like he was supposed to, Gordon wouldn’t have had to contact the drone operators and tell them to watch the coast for the vehicle, those four miscreants wouldn’t have buried the Type 1’s body beneath the elm tree in the field across the road, and Gordon wouldn’t be here now.

He could have stayed at the camp, of course, and simply sent the men to recover the body, but after Price had let him down, he felt the need to supervise this operation himself.

Two lance corporals he had tasked to dig up the body joined him as he crossed the road. Each man held a shovel.

Gordon halted at the edge of the road and stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “Under that tree,” he told them.

They hurried over the wall and to the tree in double time.

Gordon turned and looked out to sea. It was a clear day and the sea was calm, almost like blue glass.

Forty minutes later, he saw the lance corporals pull something out of the ground. He waited patiently while they carried it across the field and heaved it over the wall. They laid it at Gordon’s feet.

When he saw the body, he frowned.

It was the body of a man.

“Who is this?” he asked the two men. “Is he one of ours?”

“I don’t think so, Sir,” one of them replied.

What the bloody hell were those four survivors playing at? Had they guessed that he would access the drones, and switched the body of the woman they called Jax for this unknown man? The victory he had felt at outsmarting those hooligans faded when he realized he might have been outsmarted himself.

No, there was no way they would go to the trouble of burying a body that was unimportant. There was something more going on here than met the eye.

“Right,” he told the lance corporals. “Get this in the chopper. I want the scientists to have a look at it.”

“Yes, Sir,” they said in unison. They picked up the body and hurried to the Chinook.

Gordon followed them at a leisurely pace, not wanting to get on board the damned chopper just yet.

Ten minutes later, he could hesitate no longer. He ordered the guards onto the Chinook and strapped himself into his seat. He looked over at the body, which was now wrapped in a blanket and lying at the rear of the aircraft.