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Chapter 40


I wasn’t trying to be a hero. I didn’t set out to become a martyr. On the Day of Unholy Resurrection, my goal was simply to prepare the survivors who were immune the best I could while I was still able.

I had accepted my fate. In my military training, I was taught that casualties are a part of war. They can and should be limited, but they are nearly impossible to prevent altogether. Some casualties are inevitable. My own demise seemed just as certain. Unless I opted to check out early, as Edwards had, I would go one of two ways: the unpleasant, yet relatively quick death met by all victims of the plague, or the torturously slow, yet final process of starvation. The way I saw it, I had three choices: take off the gas mask… take off the gas mask and blow my own brains out… or leave the gas mask on and just let my body waste away.

I tried not to dwell on these choices and the less than desirable results offered by each. Instead, I focused on ensuring that, whichever choice I made, it would not doom the other survivors I had brought together on the base. In the beginning, they were dependent on me. I knew they had to become self-sufficient, if they were to survive after my death.

I only know a couple of Latin phrases by heart. One of them is “carpe diem” - “seize the day.” The other is “unus pro omnibus, omnes pro uno,” or “one for all, all for one.” I’d love to pretend it was only for the greater good that I kept my mask on as long as I did, kept myself alive while those around me perished, so that I could be an asset and prepare that small group of survivors to rage a war against the undead. That was part of it, sure, but self-preservation was also a factor. I didn’t want to die. But once I’d accepted it as probable, almost certain, a third reason entered the picture:

When death came calling, I hoped the others would be merciful, and put a bullet in my brain before I became victim to something even worse: undeath.



Sunday, April 15, 2012
2:00 p.m.


It was stuffy inside the Sunday school room. Power at the base had been down for over a day, ever since the last of the electricians had died, and it was now running off a system of emergency back-up generators. The system was programmed to conserve electricity by supplying enough power for only the bare essentials. Lights, it seemed, were considered essential. Air conditioning, apparently, was not.

Kevin could feel the slimy sweat sliding down his face, beneath his gas mask. He longed to take the mask off, to feel the room air on his face, but he didn’t dare. He was past the point of hunger now; he hadn’t ingested anything more than water since Friday evening, but what he’d witnessed that morning had been enough to take away his appetite. The thought of food made his hollow stomach turn, as he pictured, instead, the festering gray faces of the undead, their lips slick with blood that was not their own. Over and over again, he saw the face of Private Butler, her brains protruding from her open skull. He saw the dead body of Justin Flakeland rising from the bed. And he saw Captain Charlie Edwards falling to the floor, the top of his skull blown away by the bullet Kevin had fired into his forehead at point blank range.

He had seen combat. He had seen men die, men he had known, men he’d considered friends. Even so, nothing had prepared Kevin for the horrors he had seen that morning. This was a new kind of war.

It was for that reason he had not yet risked removing his gas mask. He remembered what had happened to Sam, after a moment’s panic, the briefest lapse in judgment, had caused him to pull off his mask. Sam was long dead, dead of the virus that had killed most of the base. For all Kevin knew, he was now undead, one of the zombie soldiers roaming around outside the chapel. If his body had not been one of the many incinerated in the fires the day before, he likely was.

Kevin did not want to end up like Sam. But, more importantly, he did not want to leave them alone.

He glanced up and across the room. Jo and Gabby sat huddled together on a pair of the small chairs. Jo was perspiring heavily, but despite the heat, she had her arm around Gabby, who leaned up against her, her head on her mother’s shoulder. The girl hadn’t spoken in hours. Gone was the outspoken, opinionated teenager Kevin had taken her for at first, replaced with a fearful, quivering little girl who refused to let her mother leave her side. She had sobbed for almost an hour after Edwards had died, then lapsed into shocked silence. Around noon, Jo had asked her if she was hungry. Gabby had shaken her head no. Kevin had taken that as a good sign; the girl was traumatized, no doubt, but at least she was still in her right mind, still able to communicate.

“What are we going to do about food?” Jo had asked Kevin, hesitantly. It wasn’t a crisis situation yet, but she was clearly thinking ahead, realizing that if they remained barricaded in the chapel long enough, it would turn into one. He admired that quality in her. As an ER nurse, she had proven herself to be level-headed in the midst of catastrophe, and he had confidence that, should something happen to him, she would do everything possible to protect her daughter.

But he didn’t want it to come to that. The fact was, he was the only one left who knew the base, knew the ample resources it provided and how to access them. Jo and Gabby depended on him, and he needed to stay alive for them. This was why, so far, he had stayed in the chapel with them. Whenever he mentioned venturing out for supplies, even just for planning purposes, Gabby got upset, shaking her head and starting to whimper incomprehensibly, almost like a baby whose parents have strayed out of its line of sight. For her sake, he always held up his hands and said, reassuringly, “Alright… it’s alright… I’m not goin’ anywhere. We’ll stay here all together.”

In the back of his mind, however, he knew they couldn’t stay, not forever. Eventually, they would have to go out for supplies. But as long as he was trapped in an inside room of the chapel, with no way to know for sure what it looked like outside and a little girl who flipped out every time Kevin tried to check, there was way to make plans. As the hours ticked by with agonizing slowness, Kevin found himself growing more and more frustrated.

The stifling heat didn’t help, but every time he got the urge to yank off his mask, he reminded himself why he couldn’t. If he started getting sick, like Sam had, it would send Gabby over the edge, and Jo would be on her own to care for her daughter and fend for herself on an unfamiliar military base, surrounded by the living dead.

So he kept the suffocating gas mask on and prayed for some sort of salvation.

Salvation came in a purple Lexus.

The first sign of it was Gabby suddenly sitting upright and saying, quite clearly, “Do you hear that?”

Kevin and Jo were both so astounded to hear her say something out of the blue that, at first, they didn’t react. Then Jo said, “Hear what, honey?”

Finally comprehending, Kevin listened. He didn’t hear anything.

Gabby cried, “Listen!” Her head cocked, brown eyes narrowed in concentration, she added, “It sounds like a motor… like a car!”

Kevin strained his ears, and finally, they picked up what hers, aided by a child’s keen and undamaged sense of hearing, had much earlier. It did sound like the engine of an approaching car – a low rumble, faint at first, but growing louder and closer.

Jo heard it too now. Her eyes, the same as Gabby’s, lit up, and she exclaimed, “I think you’re right! Someone’s coming!”

Kevin stood up at once. “I have to go meet them. They’ll never know we’re in here unless I do,” he added quickly, at Gabby’s first sign of protest.

The girl bit down on her bottom lip, sucking it between her teeth. “But… what if it’s not… you know… a regular person. What if it’s… one of… them??”

Kevin smiled, though it was half obscured by his gas mask. “Did you see those things when you were running earlier? You think they have enough coordination to drive a car?”

To his relief, Gabby actually cracked a sort of smile, too. “I guess not,” she admitted.

“Okay then. So it has to be another person, a normal person like us. Someone who’s probably just as scared as we are. Imagine how relieved that person will be to see us, eh? You see why I’ve gotta go out there and meet that car?”

Gabby nodded.

“Alright. Listen, I’m gonna take my gun,” he explained deliberately, reaching for it across the table, “and I’m gonna be real careful when I go out there. Charlie – Captain Edwards – left his Hummer parked somewhere around here, from when he first met the zombies, when Justin and Amy were attacked. I’m gonna take that, and I’m gonna drive up towards the entrance gate, the same one you came through. I’ll meet the other car along the way, and I’ll bring them right back here. Alright? Sound like a plan?”

With some reluctance, Gabby nodded again.

Kevin nodded too. “I’ll be right back,” he vowed, and then he left without another word, not looking back. Before he left the chapel, he went into the sanctuary. He strode up the aisle to the altar, where he had lain Edwards’s body, beneath the cross. It had seemed the most reverent place to put him in the moment, almost as if he were ready for his own funeral. Now, he quickly patted down the captain’s pockets, searching for the keys to the Hummer. He found nothing.

Not panicking, he assumed – as he’d suspected when he had first remembered the Hummer – that Edwards had left the keys in the ignition when he’d jumped out to help Flakeland drag Butler into the lodging facility. But if he was wrong, he would find himself outside, possibly surrounded by hordes of the undead, without transportation.

It was a chance he was willing to take. To not risk it would mean risking missing the other car, who might mistake the base for deserted and turn back. He couldn’t let that happen.

Steeling himself, he armed his weapon and let himself out the door through which they had come. This was just another ground battle, he told himself as he set off across the parking lot, heading back towards the TLF. As an Air Force pilot, he did most of his fighting in the air, but he had been trained in hand to hand combat, and this was no different. In fact, he thought, it was easier, because unlike enemy soldiers, these zombies did not seem capable of actual thought, only instinct. The instinct to hunt. To kill. To feed.

But Kevin could hunt, too. Kevin could kill. A bullet through the brain; that was all it took. A good eye and a steady hand would be defense enough.

He kept repeating these positive thoughts in his head as he darted along, eyes moving all around for the first sign of movement. At first, there was nothing, and then, halfway there, the remaining zombies began to emerge from around trees and parked cars, having sensed his presence. Kevin didn’t hesitate. He fired off one shot after another, taking out zombies in all different directions. If he missed their heads and hit shoulders or torsos, the zombies staggered with the force of the bullet, but kept coming. Only shots to the head killed them; that really was the key.

This isn’t so bad, he thought, now spotting the Hummer ahead. With another person or two to help, we can take ‘em out, rid the base of ‘em. He fired off another shot, felling a zombie in front of him and clearing the path to the Hummer. It was a straight shot now. He broke into a sprint and didn’t stop running until his hands touched the door handle. Please be keys, he begged, as he yanked open the door and boosted himself up and into the vehicle, immediately shutting the door and locking it behind him. Then he checked the ignition, and his heart sank.

No keys.

“Okay, now just wait,” he muttered to himself, looking around. “They could still be here somewhere. Maybe Charlie took ‘em out… and then set ‘em down… here!” He had looked down towards the center console and suddenly spotted a glimmer of silver. The keys were sitting in the cup holder, where they’d been tossed haphazardly in the rush to aid the injured private.

Triumphantly, Kevin found the right key and plunged it into the ignition. A turn of the wrist brought the Hummer’s engine roaring powerfully to life. Kevin threw it into drive and gunned it forward, flattening several zombies in his path as he weaved out of the parking lot and turned onto the boulevard. Hoping he would not miss the other car, he made a high-speed right turn onto Florida Keys Avenue, which connected to the main drag, Bayshore Boulevard. Up the road, he sped, the western arm of Tampa Bay shimmering in the sun to his right. And then, suddenly, there was something else glistening in the road up ahead.

The metallic gleam of a car.

He began to honk, as the car grew nearer. There didn’t seem to be many zombies roaming along this stretch of road, so he threw caution to the wind and even rolled down his window to stick his arm out and wave. When he got close, he slowed down, and so did the car. It was a fancy car, Kevin realized, a Lexus, with a glossy purple paint job.

Out of the Lexus climbed not just one, but three people. Two men got out first, from the front, and then a younger woman emerged from the backseat. “Watch out!” Kevin called, sticking his head out the window. “There’s some of them on the base too.”

The girl recoiled immediately, drawing closer to the driver as she looked all around, but to everyone’s relief, the area seemed – for now – free of zombies. One of the men, the front seat passenger, strode ahead of the others, stopping a few feet from the driver’s side of the Hummer.

“I thought this was supposed to be some kind of safe haven for survivors,” he said suspiciously, without any kind of greeting or introduction. “Those two-” He jerked his thumb carelessly over his shoulder. “-said they heard some radio message, telling all survivors to come here, to MacDill. And now we’re here, and there’s nothing… no one… ‘cept you. And you’re telling me there’s fucking zombies here too? Some safe haven.” He let out a derisive snort.

Before Kevin could reply, the girl sprang forward. “Oh come on, AJ, he’s the first living person we’ve seen since we picked you up!” she cried pleadingly. “That’s something, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” the second man answered for the first, and he marched up to Kevin’s door, his hand outstretched. “Howard Dorough, of Orlando,” he introduced himself, pumping Kevin’s hand through the window.

“Lieutenant Colonel Kevin Richardson,” Kevin responded, somewhat amused at the other man’s formality in a time like this.

The girl gasped, her eyes lighting up in recognition. “You’re the one we heard on the radio!”

“That’s right. I’m glad the message got through. To be honest, I wasn’t sure anyone was still alive to hear it.”

“We’ve been all the way to Cape Canaveral and back and haven’t seen anyone else,” said the girl, her eyes wide and serious. “Except AJ here.”

“There are two other survivors here from outside the base, a woman and her daughter. But we haven’t seen anyone else either. A lot of the base got sick before we could contain it, and I’m afraid most of the rest were attacked by… well, whatever you wanna call those things.”

“Zombies,” supplied the man called AJ. “The undead. Living dead. Walking dead. Fucking ghouls.”

“Yeah,” Kevin nodded. “Them.”

“Speaking of which…”

A moan, in the distance. They all heard it, four heads turning in the same direction. The girl shivered visibly.

“We better head to safety,” Kevin said apprehensively. “You wanna take your car or ride with me?”

“Ride with-” The girl started to say, but Howard interrupted, “I’ll follow in my own car, thanks.”

Kevin looked kindly at the girl. “You can hop in with me, if you want.”

“Okay.” She scrambled up into the passenger seat. AJ hesitated, then shrugged and followed Howard back to the Lexus. The two men climbed in, and Kevin made a U-turn, leading them back down Bayshore Boulevard and to the chapel. There were, of course, more zombies there, new ones joining the ranks of those Kevin had failed to shoot down.

“You guys got guns?” Kevin asked, gesturing to his own.

The girl, Kayleigh, shook her head.

Wondering how they’d managed to stay alive this long without guns, Kevin said, “Okay. You’ll just have to stick close to me then. I’ll cover you. At least we’re close this time.” He had parked right in front of the entrance to the chapel. “Ready?”

“No,” whimpered Kayleigh, but the zombies were already closing in; there was no time to hesitate.

“Let’s go,” Kevin said, and he opened his door. He jumped down and immediately went around to Kayleigh’s side to help her out. He heard car doors slam as Howard and AJ raced to join them. “Go ahead, run!” he urged them, turning to start taking out the zombies within range. As the shots fired, he heard their footsteps pounding against the pavement as they rushed for the door.

Within a few seconds, they were all safely inside. As he barricaded the door, Kevin shouted, “It’s just us, Jo! We’ve got company!”

He led Howard, AJ, and Kayleigh to the Sunday school room, where Jo and Gabby sat waiting. “Oh, thank the Lord!” exclaimed Jo, rising to her feet, when she saw that there was not just one, but three more survivors in their midst. She went to Kayleigh at once and hugged her. Introductions were made, and even Gabby joined in as they all pulled up chairs and started talking rapidly.

It was so good to hear from other survivors, people who had been on the other side, had seen the outside world. Unfortunately, it seemed the rest of central Florida was as desolate and in as much disarray as the base.

“… and it took us almost four hours to get here, between all the cars blocking the streets and trying to avoid the zombies!” finished Kayleigh, who had narrated most of their harrowing tale, quite dramatically. “Four hours, for a drive that should have taken, like, one, at most!”

Kevin nodded. “Well, I’m glad you’re here,” he said, once he was finally able to get a word in. “This gives me hope, that at least five people who were exposed to the virus have survived. You all must be immune.”

They all looked at each other, then at him, and he could see the question forming on all of their minds. It was the same question he had, too. What would happen when he finally took off his gas mask? Would enough of the virus remain in the air to make him sick? Or would he turn out to be the same as them, apparently resilient?

“I’m not gonna last in this mask much longer,” he spoke seriously, looking at them each in turn. “I’ve kept it on this long for the sake of those who were left alive. But now that there are more of you, I know that whatever happens, you can survive without me.”

“No!” cried Gabby, shaking her head, her eyes wide as saucers. “What do you mean, without you?”

Kevin looked directly at her. “You know what I mean, honey. I want to make sure the rest of you know how to get around the base, how to get what you need, so that if I get sick when the mask comes off, you’ll be able to survive here. I think I should take one of you in the Humvee with me now, on a sort of tour of the basics. Howard? Whaddya say?”

He would have chosen Jo, but knew Gabby wouldn’t allow it, and there was no way he was taking the kid back out among the zombies. Of the three newcomers, Howard, dressed in a rumpled pair of suit pants, dress shirt, and silk tie, looked the most intelligent, and that was what Kevin needed then. A logical leader-type, someone who could take charge and delegate in his absence.

Howard nodded his agreement, and before Gabby or Kayleigh could protest much, they set off. Kevin wanted to get it over with in a hurry, wanted to be free to take the mask off so that he could know his fate, once and for all.

“How good a shot are you?” he asked Howard, as they stood just inside the back door to the chapel, preparing to make the run to the Hummer.

Howard blinked in bewilderment. “Me? Well, I… actually, I… well, to be honest, I… I’ve never actually fired a gun before.” He said this last part very rapidly and in a low voice, as if he were ashamed to admit this apparent inadequacy.

Kevin wasn’t surprised. “No problem. You drive; I’ll ride shotgun. Uh… literally.”

“Oh… well, alright then…”

“Follow me.” Kevin led the way out, his loaded rifle proceeding him. He guarded Howard while the shorter man boosted himself into the driver’s seat of the Hummer, then jogged around to the passenger side. Kevin immediately lowered his window halfway, allowing himself enough room to poke the barrel of his gun out and take aim. He blew the head off one of the remaining zombies before they’d even left the parking lot.

“Which way should I turn?” asked Howard.

“Left. The aircraft hangars, weapons, and vehicle dispatch are all located that way, on the western perimeter of the base. We’ll stop and stock up on basic supplies and weapons while we’re there,” said Kevin. “And I’ll show you the communications building, where I did my radio broadcast. I’d like to try that again. If you guys heard it, maybe there are others left alive who might hear it too.”

He navigated as Howard headed towards the five large, white hangars in the distance, occasionally stopping in mid-sentence to fire a shot out the window. As they got further from the chapel, he realized that the rest of the zombies were not congregated in one area, leading him to believe there were not fellow groups of survivors holed up in the other buildings they passed.

The zombies roamed freely all around the base, often alone, sometimes in small clusters of twos and threes, though they never interacted with one another. They seemed oblivious of each other’s presence; oblivious, in fact, of just about everything but their quest for prey. In that respect, they were like animals – predators, programmed to hunt, driven solely by instinct and hunger. Unlike other predators, such as lions and wolves, they did not appear to use any sort of strategy. They simply chased, lumbering determinedly after their prey until one of three things happened: one, a large enough mob formed to overwhelm the prey; two, the prey got away; or three, their brains were destroyed. They seemed to have lost their self-preservation mechanism, for they didn’t even react when Kevin pointed his gun out the window and aimed. Most were still shambling forward when his bullets sent their brains spattering out the backs of their skulls.

Howard kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, watching the road, wincing noticeably every time the large vehicle thumped over one of them in the street. He looked out of place in his expensive business attire, behind the wheel of the camouflaged Humvee, and even more ridiculous toting around the semiautomatic Kevin outfitted him with later.

There was a skeet range located on the southern end of the base, good for target practice, but Kevin decided to give Howard some more authentic experience, on living (or, rather, unliving), moving targets. Near the skeet range was the communications building, and it was there that they headed last, the Hummer loaded down with goods and ammo, Kevin driving this time, while Howard practiced his aim from the shotgun seat. Kevin hadn’t expected him to be very good, and he wasn’t, his inexperienced marksmanship made worse by the fact that every time Kevin slowed down a little to allow him more time to aim, Howard panicked at the sight of the living dead gaining on them and screeched, “What are you doing?! Drive!”

It was only due to the Hummer’s power and protection that they made it to the communications building in one piece. Inside, Kevin showed Howard the radio set-up he’d used the day before and explained how to operate it. “If I get sick after I take this mask off, it’ll be up to you to show the others,” he told Howard. “It’s important that you keep broadcasting. If there are five survivors just in this area, there must be more in other parts of the state, let alone the country. If you join forces and work together, you’ll have a much easier time taking out the zombies and trying to rebuild.”

Howie frowned. “You keep saying ‘you,’” he noted, “like you already know you’re not going to be a part of it.”

Kevin shrugged. He had come to accept his fate as inevitable. “It’ll be a miracle if I am. I guess there’s a chance… I mean, you all survived, and no one’s sure why. But I’m not counting on it. I just want to prepare you as much as I can while I’m able to. This place offers as many resources as you could ask for; you just need to know where they are and how to use them. Teach the others as soon as you can, just in case… you know… something happens to you, too.”

Howard didn’t respond. His dark complexion had paled, as if all the blood had drained from his face.

Kevin swallowed hard. “I’m gonna do it now, okay? Before we broadcast and before we go back. I don’t wanna upset the little girl any more by making her beg me not to; I want it done and over with. If it happens as quick as it did to my friend Sam, I should know by then if I’m feeling any symptoms or not. Besides… I hate talkin’ on the radio through this damn mask.”

Howard just stood there, stiffly. He did not try to stop him.

Slowly, Kevin unstrapped the mask from behind his head. Moment of truth, he thought. He hesitated… and then he pulled the mask off. As the seal broke and the first breath of air reached his mouth and nose, he inhaled deeply, savoring it. The room air was slightly stale, warm and heavy from the lack of air conditioning, but after sucking air through a filter for two days, the ease with which it filled his lungs was satisfying. He tried not to think about the infectious particles entering his system with it. The damage was already done, and there was no going back now.

He couldn’t wait to step outside and take a breath of fresh air again, but first, there was the broadcast to attend to.

With the sense that he was recording his final testimony, Kevin cleared his throat, raised the microphone to his lips, and said, “This is Lieutenant Colonel Kevin Richardson, of the United States Air Force, stationed at MacDill Air Force Base in Tampa, Florida. I am urging any survivors of the catastrophic events that have claimed our country to make their way here, to Tampa. I wish I could tell you that the base is free of the living dead. It isn’t. But we do have the means to get rid of them. Weapons. Supplies. All the resources we need to survive on. There are other survivors here at MacDill. I repeat: There are survivors here…”

***