Walter Fanmer sat uncomfortably. He was tasked with watching a man he hated lie to the American people and it bothered him.
President Reilly took the stage with the mountain as the backdrop for his proclamation. Out trotted six men; dirty, grungy, bearded, and utterly filthy. Each was chained to the next and led onto the platform in single file. Ahead of them, a policeman tugged a chain wrapped around his fist.
Reilly gave an impassioned speech proclaiming the men to be members of a fringe, anti-American, homegrown terrorist sect called the Bridgewood Liberation Party. He gave vivid accounts of their past crimes and promised swift justice in which he assured the rebels would face the ultimate punishment.
The cheering from the press core turned Fanmer’s stomach. He couldn’t wait to get away from them and their hero. If only they knew the real man, the real story. Would they worship him then? A sly smile crossed his thin lips. For a second, he believed he could make his own proclamation. Knowing the lengths Reilly went to in order to become president, he knew better. That was a chance he dare not take. He folded his arms and prayed the torture would end soon.
As the men left to face their sentence, Fanmer moved toward President Reilly in the hopes of catching him before he entered his bulletproof limousine. He was close enough to touch him, when a Secret Serviceman blocked his path.
“Excuse me,” said Fanmer.
“State your intentions, sir,” said the man. He discretely opened his jacket to reveal the handgun he holstered.
“Do you know who I am?” Fanmer spoke the words sharply, the vein in his neck throbbing at the man’s audacity.
“Walter Fanmer, sir,” he said. “President Reilly is on his way back to the White House with First Lady Connors. He left orders for no one to disturb him or approach him until he has settled in to the White House. Sorry, sir.”
“I’m sure he did not mean me.”
Reilly was moving swiftly to the awaiting car so Fanmer tried stepping around the man.
“He means everyone, sir.” The man blocked his path. Fanmer could only watch the car kick up a trail of dust as it sped away.
While lost in thought, the cell phone in his pocket vibrated, drawing him back to the present. “Yes?”
After listening to the chattering voice, he delivered the bad news. “Sorry, I could not reach the President. I will call you with an update. Until then, tag and log every body. Move them to the shed and secure it, posting guards in front and behind. I will be there with a team to assist.
He couldn’t fathom why Reilly had taken him off his short list. He would regain his status by preventing a catastrophe. Reilly would owe him, then, he would hold the winning hand. Fanmer hurried to a waiting car.
Sometime later, he arrived at the camp in a caravan of military Jeeps and trucks. He glanced to what he presumed to be the shed, then turned to enter the main compound.
Sergeant Moore sat on a couch with a small child. The girl clutched a toy doll while craning her neck upward at the mounted television. Cartoons shone on the set, bringing a smile to her weary face. Moore reached and playfully messed up her hair, then winked. “Be back, love.”
“Okay,” her squeaky response.
Moore directed Fanmer and another out the door. He took great care in closing it softly behind him. “You must be Fanmer?”
“Yes, this is Agent Newmont of the Bureau. His team will log everything you have. You did swear your people to secrecy?” Fanmer gave a strong look.
Moore chuckled and indicated his bloody shoulder. “We have two survivors. The other is in the woods and loyal as they come.” He motioned to the shed. “This way, sir.”
Years of survival had taught him to scan ahead, searching for possible dangers. Fanmer allowed Moore to lead to perform his scan. At the door, he noticed the tension in Moore’s shoulder. That was a signal for him to take great care and scan further.
Inside, foul air rushed at him. Fanmer would have retreated if not for years of acclamation to the stench of death. He gazed at the bodies. From a broken window high above, the sun shined a light of purity into the small room. The light left nothing to the imagination. Each body lay next to another, gashes out of each. Blood, bite marks, and bullet holes were visible from the door. The nearest body faced him, a man with a bullet hole between his eyes. The open eyes held a redness he had never seen. The color was near scarlet and eerie to behold. The teeth were yellow and crooked with bits of possible flesh between them. A foul colored liquid ran out of the mouth and hardened on the floor. The sight induced a heaving reflex he suppressed.
To make things worse, not only were bodies present, but Fanmer also saw scattered bits of flesh. An arm, a leg, easily identifiable, but the others would require guesswork. He steeled himself and moved forward.
“We don’t have a count yet,” said Moore.
“Why not?”
“Like I said, only two of us survived. Getting bodies here takes time and manpower. If you can direct your men to provide assistance, we can have them all here before nightfall.”
Fanmer nodded to Agent Newmont who then left the room. Fanmer turned to Sergeant Moore. “I saw a girl back there.”
Moore rubbed his chin in thought. “Yeah, well . . . she is a survivor. Her infected mother did a lot of the damage you see here. Private Pierce and a civilian put her down not long ago. I’m not sure what will happen to the little girl now. The rest of her family is in this room.”
Fanmer looked about. Two of the bodies were women, relatively intact except riddled with bullet holes. Another lay on the end with a gash out of her stomach. In the middle he saw two teens. The sight was horrific. He closed his eyes and shook his head. With a deep sigh, he asked what he had asked the man on the phone. “Tell me again. You are sure they are zombies?”
“The day I start shooting mothers and children, sir, they had damn well be zombies.”
Not appreciating the words or the look, Fanmer squared off. “Convince me.”
Moore showed how badly hurt he was as he made his way to a body in the center of the room. He jabbed a finger at it. “This one is ground zero. She walked in to our camp as a woman and moments later, became what you now see. She ate that man there,” he pointed with outrage and disgust. “And when I say ate, I damn well mean ate. She took chunks out of him. He died. Seconds later, he was just like her and together, they attacked and began devouring this old fool here.”
Fanmer saw the pity in his eyes. Pity mixed with much more. He nodded for him to continue.
“Every person who gets bit, turns into one of those things and attacks others. You call them what you will. I call them zombies, the walking dead. The only way to kill them is a bullet to the head. Either that or taking their head off. A bullet is a hell of a lot quicker.”
Fanmer nodded in agreement. “You got them all?”
“We mopped up a while back. Still, we are scouring the area to be sure. Now you tell me, what is our President going to do about this?”
“I told you I couldn’t reach him,” said Fanmer. Denied access inflamed him, turning his cheeks red. He would not be cut out and as he thought, with a discovery like this, he held all the cards. He smiled. “Don’t worry, Sergeant. I plan to deliver the news in person. You have the rest of the day to catalog all the bodies. Tomorrow, I want them burned.”
Fanmer swiftly turned and left. He took great pleasure at being the one holding the power and leaving the victim with his mouth hanging.
“Of course,” said Moore, to an empty room.
On his way to the Jeep to retrieve a laptop, Fanmer had a thought. He pulled out his laptop and connected via satellite. A screen popped up, showing an elderly man behind a desk. “Yes?”
“It’s me, sir, Fanmer.”
“I’m not blind,” he scolded.
“Forgive my ignorance, sir.” Fanmer slightly bowed to show his sincerity. “I have something for you.”
The man sat straighter. “You have my undivided attention.”
“Sir, I’m at N
ational Guard headquarters in the North Carolina Mountains. A plague of some kind has been released with devastating consequences.”
A broad grin spans the man’s face as he moves closer to his screen. “How devastating?”
“Similar to something released in one of the tribal villages back in ‘61. Only this has a changing quality. The infected are mindless and devour others to live.”
“That’s classified information. How did you . . . never mind, Fanmer. I doubt if a weasel like you would tell the truth either way. What is the incubation time?”
“Unknown at the present time. My guess, hours.”
The man’s face broadened more. He was so close to his screen, Fanmer saw every wrinkle, every pimple, and every pore on his face. What great delight. Finally, he would cash in. The years of biting his tongue and personal humiliations would come to an end. To keep from losing it now, he kept his face blank, staring at the man as if it didn’t matter.
“What are you doing with the bodies?”
“Cataloging and tagging. They will be burned in the morning.”
“No!” the scream was visceral.
“It’s part of a cover-up by President Reilly, sir.”
“Screw Reilly, he’s an asshole and you know it. Besides, I need samples for my research. Take a body. No! Three! I have a facility in the caves of Missouri. We will hide them there. Adjust the paperwork accordingly. I’m sending the address to your phone.”
“Sir?”
The man pushed a button and Fanmer’s screen went blank. A second later, his phone vibrated. Fanmer saw an address and a number with enough zeros to choke a horse. He smiled with delight. When your ship comes in, be ready to sail. He sent a message back saying three bodies would leave tonight.
Later that night, two men carried a black, body bag between them to a black van. Behind them, came two more carrying a bag between them. Another two followed, their bag shifted. The lead soldier’s hands shook.
“Come on, Bill, get with it,” said the soldier who held the other end of the bag.
“Sorry, it’s getting to me, man.” He set his end down and wiped his brow.
“Pick up your end so we can get this last one on the van. I’ll be nice; you can sit up front with Coleman. Come on.”
The young man reached for the bag and stopped, believing he saw movement. He kicked the bag but saw no reaction. His partner chuckled. “Cut it out, man.”
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Come on, man, let’s get this over with.”
The young man reached again, quickly grabbing the bag, and rushing to the back of the van. All entered the back, except young Bill. He secured the rear doors, opened the passenger door, and sat with the driver. The van rolled slowly down the street without headlights.
The next morning, soldiers rushed to pile the remaining bodies and bits on top of a pile of gasoline-drenched firewood. All was set afire.
Pierce, Jodi, Moore, and the rest gathered to watch them burn. Once the flames died, the new soldiers helped them carry out desks, pictures, rugs and other items they believed contaminated. All burned on the pile. Again, they stood and watched, relieved their nightmare ended.
Tammy stood to the side, clutching Wilbur while watching Fanmer. The sight of the young girl watching him made him nervous. He wondered if she had been awake and saw her mother loaded with the other women into the van. Believing himself safe, he readied to retire to the community building with his laptop. Next on the agenda, update his associates and check his hidden bank accounts. But first, he addressed the crowd.
“May I have your attention? By Presidential Order, these grounds are under one-week quarantine. No one is to leave this immediate area. These guards will patrol the perimeter. Anyone trying to leave will be shot on sight. This is a contamination zone. You will wait here for the contamination unit which will arrive in two days. Once you have been cleared, you are free to go. Agent Newmont is in charge. He is under Presidential orders and duty bound to carry them out. Wait until you have the ‘all clear’ before leaving.” He stopped and looked at each person. “Have a pleasant stay.” With that, he left for the community center, longing to count his money.
Chapter Twenty-Four: Reilly