Deadlocked 3 Read online

  Its leg blew out from underneath it. The creature fell forward as its lower right leg bounced down the road behind it.

  Reagan looked behind us and then back at me. He nodded his approval and said, "Nice shot."

  "Yeah, I wanted to knock it down," I lied. "Take a left up here."

  "What?"

  "Take a left!"

  He jerked the wheel to the left. The forklift went back on two wheels and screeched through the sudden turn, but this time it tilted faster than I could counterbalance it and we tumbled over. Its metal chassis grinded against the pavement. As the motor died I heard a helicopter in the distance.

  "You dumb ass," I said. "You're lucky I don't shoot you." I scrambled to collect the earpiece that had fallen out of the Hazmat suit's pocket. I grabbed it with my bare hand and then wormed my arm in through the sleeve to put the earpiece into the tighter pocket on my pants where it couldn't fall out so easily.

  "Where to now, boss?" he asked.

  If the helicopter was still searching the area, I didn't want to take a chance by walking down the street with Reagan. We'd made it to a residential area and I motioned for him to follow me away from the corner and to the side of one of the houses. We could travel through the neighborhoods instead of the streets. That way, if the helicopter came back, it would be easier to find cover.

  We passed by the front door of the quaint home and I noticed that it was painted with a black 'X' like the others along 23rd. "What are these?" I asked as we walked.

  "I don't have to tell you shit," said Reagan.

  "Can you stop with the hard-ass routine?"

  "This ain't a routine, boy."

  "Fine," I said. "Be a dick."

  The neighborhood was a nice one, but the houses weren't large and had seen better days. They were packed up next to each other, with only three feet separating them, and many had the ramshackle appearance of old, inherited, unappreciated wealth. These houses were once gorgeous, but many of them had been turned into multiple occupancy units. The years, and tenants, had not been kind.

  "Where are we headed?" asked Reagan.

  "I told you, up to 13th. My mom's apartment is out there."

  "That's not a cleared zone."

  "Good," I said as I marched behind him with the gun pointed at his back. "That means you guys haven't had a chance to put a bullet in her head and stuff her in a crate yet."

  Reagan stopped and I bumped into him. He turned to ask, "Is that what you think is happening?"

  I backed up to put more space between us. "I saw it, Chief, with my own eyes." I pointed back toward 23rd, where the graveyard of plastic boxes sat. "Back there."

  "We're doing everything we can to save this city."

  "By killing thousands of people? By killing fucking babies?"

  "What are you talking about?" he asked.

  "Thomas and Williams told me all about it. They said one of your men found a baby and shot it dead."

  He turned and started to walk again. "You don't know what you're talking about."

  "What? Were they lying? Is that what you're trying to say?"

  "No. We're here to do a job, Billy." He said my name with disdain. "We might not like it sometimes, but it's what has to be done."

  "Because babies are real dangerous, huh?"

  "No, but the disease they have is. We're not here to save a few people, we're here to save the world."

  "That's bullshit. They said the kid hadn't turned. It was alive, and their orders were to kill it."

  "Just because it was alive doesn't mean it wasn't infected. The bacteria's airborne." He waved his hand in the air.

  "Enlighten me, Reagan. What the fuck does that mean?"

  "The disease is caused by a bacteria. I don't remember the name of it, but it mutated from some species they found in hospitals. It's resistant to every antibiotic we know of and started to spread on medical equipment, like scalpels and shit. Once it gets in you, it can get to work, and that's when there's nothing we can do to help the person."

  "I heard there was an antibiotic that works on it. I've got the name of it in my pocket." I couldn't get to it because of my suit. I could have pulled my arm back into the suit like I had before, but that would've given Reagan a chance to attack me.

  "It's probably bullshit," said Reagan. "If there was something out there that worked then we'd know about it by now."

  "Okay, fine. What does this have to do with killing innocent people?"

  "Let me put it this way," he said. "Say a ten year old kid had a bomb strapped to his chest with a timer on it. Whoever put the bomb on him tells the kid to start walking to school, but if he makes it then the whole school will blow up. If there's no way to stop that kid other than putting a bullet in his head, isn't killing him the right thing to do?"

  "So you're saying the baby had the bacteria in it?"

  "I'm saying everyone left behind does," he said.

  "I'm lost. What does that mean? How do you know that? Because it's airborne?"

  "Those markings," he pointed to the black "X" on the door of a nearby house, "are left by Alpha Squad. They're the ones moving through the city first. They're testing the people they find. If they leave someone behind that means they're infected." He stopped and turned to look at me. His tone and expression had turned somber. "They're the kids headed to school with bombs strapped to their chests."

  "This doesn't make any sense." I struggled to understand everything he said. "How do you know you're not infected? You've been running around without your mask on the whole time I've been with you. If it's airborne then you've got to be infected too."

  "Yeah," he said. "I am."

  "What? Now I'm really fucking lost."

  "Billy, I'm not leaving the city. This is my last mission. I'm not walking out of here alive."

  "So you're planning on killing yourself once this is finished?"

  "Yes sir," he said. "I'm here to save as many people as I can. Then it's lights out for me."

  "And you're okay with that?"

  "Son, the good guys die all the time. I'm just proud to be counted among them."

  CHAPTER FIVE - CONSPIRACY THEORIES

  "Captain Reagan is MIA," said the voice through my earpiece. "Alpha has been sent to investigate. Continue clearing 15th Avenue and then move north. I repeat, move north to 16th after finishing 15th. Do not move south. The area south of 15th has not been cleared."

  "What's going on?" asked Reagan when he saw me intently listening to the report.

  "They know you're missing."

  "It won't take them long to find us."

  "Why's that?" I asked.

  "These men are professionals. They'll have us tracked down in no time."

  "Come on," I said and forced Reagan to keep walking.

  "Why don't you make this easier on yourself and just tell me where Thomas and Williams are at. Tell me and let me go. You'll have a better chance of staying alive without me."

  "No, that's okay. I like the company."

  Reagan laughed and it sounded genuine. "First time I've heard that in years."

  "Yeah, I bet. You're a real barrel of laughs."

  We made it to the next street and I cautiously looked around for any sign of people. It looked clear and I pushed Reagan along as we ran across 17th and between another set of houses on the other side. We slowed down and were entering a backyard when I saw the barrel of a shotgun emerge from the side of the building. It settled on Reagan's right shoulder, pointed at his head.

  "Freeze, mother fucker," said the man with the shotgun.

  "Calm down," I said as Reagan put his hands up. The movement of the Captain's shoulder as his arm went up caused the shotgun barrel to slide backward a little. Then, with frightening speed, Reagan wrapped his right arm around his attacker's gun and pulled it down. His left hand darted out in three quick strikes. I couldn't see who he was hitting, but each punch landed with a crack of painful contact.

  "I am sick and tired of getting fucked with today," s
aid Reagan with a staccato rhythm that matched his attacks. His assault was quicker than I could keep up with and by the time I responded, the shotgun had already fallen to the ground. We both reached for it at the same time.

  "Back off," I screamed and stomped my foot over the barrel of the gun.

  He smiled at me and then moved away. His wry smirk hinted that it was only a matter of time before I befell the same fate as his latest adversary. He scared the hell out of me.

  "Who the fuck?" asked the man on the ground around the corner from me. I dared to look down at him while keeping my gun pointed at Reagan. "Why've you got your gun on him?" the stranger asked me.

  It was a young, black man that Reagan knocked down. His nose was bleeding and he stumbled as he tried to stand up. Blood poured out of his wound and the sight of it on his hands startled him.

  "You broke my nose," he said and stopped trying to get up. He sat on the stoop that led to the back door of the house.

  "Two more seconds and I would've shot you with your own gun," said Reagan.

  "Quiet," I said to the old man. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

  "You first."

  "Last I checked I'm the one with all the guns. I make the rules. Who are you and why are you here?"

  "I'm Hero."

  "Seriously?" I asked. "You're name's Hero?"

  "That's what people call me. Real name's Levon, but I haven't been called that in years. Everyone calls me Hero."

  "Why?" asked Reagan. "Can't be because of your fighting skills."

  "Fuck you, old man."

  "Shut up," I said to Reagan. "What are you doing here?"

  "This's my Aunt's pad. I came to check on her. Fuck man," he cursed and tried to stop his nose from bleeding. "You got a rag or something?"

  "No. Sorry," I said. "Why'd you try to attack us?"

  "Cause you're killing people. Or he is," he pointed to Reagan. "I don't know what your deal is. Why you got your gun on him? Who are you?"

  "I'm just a regular guy, like you. I'm trying to get to my Mom's place."

  "Where's she at?"

  "On 13th. Above Harold's Butcher Shop."

  "Yeah," said Hero. "I know where that's at. I don't live far away. My brother's still there, up on Venture." He pinched his nose to stem the flow of blood. "Why are you wearing that get-up?"

  "Trying to blend in. Is your Aunt okay?"

  He shrugged. "Don't know. She's gone."

  "She probably left during the evacuation, like you two should have," said Reagan.

  "Why?" asked Hero. "So you could line us up and plug us instead? Make it easy for you?" He mimed a pistol shot to the side of his head for emphasis.

  "If you evacuated the city, you would have lived through this," said Reagan.

  My stomach dropped when I thought about Laura and her girls. I convinced them to come with me, back into the city, and might have doomed them. If what Reagan said was true, then their murders would be on my head.

  "Pick up your gun," I said to Hero. "Let's go get your brother. Then we can get my Mom and get the fuck out of here."

  "How do you know she didn't leave with the evacuation?" asked Reagan.

  I laughed at the thought of my mother doing anything the government told her to. "She's not a big fan of you guys."

  "The military?" asked Reagan.

  "Yeah, or any part of the government."

  "She sounds smart," said Hero. He got the shotgun from under my foot and smiled at Reagan as he held it tightly against his chest. He was a tall, strong guy that looked to be in his twenties. His baggy shorts barely hung to his waist and the calves that stuck out beneath were impressively cut. A red cap sat sideways on his head and there was a large tattoo of a pistol on the left side of his neck. He nodded at me and said, "Let's go, Boss. I got your back."

  "Don't give him a gun," said Reagan.

  "Shut up," said Hero. "It's my fucking gun. I just got one shell left in here, but I'd be more than happy to waste it on your white ass."

  "I'm happy to have another gun pointed at you, Reagan." I was more scared of him now that I'd seen him in action.

  "Just leave me behind then. You'd move faster without me."

  "Fuck that, old man," said Hero. "You know where we're headed. What? You think we're stupid?" He nudged me with his elbow and motioned at the back of Reagan's head. "If anything, man, we should pop him here. Be done with it."

  "No," I said. "I don't want to kill anyone else today."

  "Who else did you kill?" asked Reagan.

  "No one," I said. "I meant I didn't want to kill anyone, period. Come on, let's get a move on."

  The streets were desolate as we made our way up to 16th Avenue. I glanced up and noticed something I hadn't seen since after the World Trade Center attacks in 2001: The sky had no planes in it. There wasn't even a vapor trail fading in the cloudless sky. It was a canvass of pure blue with a white, saucer moon swimming serenely through it.

  Hero glanced at me and then looked up. "Whatcha looking at?"

  "There're no planes in the sky. It's eerie."

  He looked up and agreed, "Yeah, man, shit. I didn't notice that before. You're right. That's fucking creepy. Reminds me of 9-11."

  It startled me to hear him say that. He and I were completely different types of people. I was one step above a redneck and living in the city had always felt bizarre to me. Hero was as urban a creature as I'd ever met. From the drooping level of his shorts to the slant of his hat, he was my exact opposite. Yet, despite our clear differences, we both felt the exact same emotion while staring into that empty sky.

  That moment of unspoken connection between us is something I've come to appreciate in the time that followed. In the middle of the event we were stuck in, this single, fleeting moment of introspective kinship was one of the most important events in my life.

  Hero had charged out into a dangerous city to check on a member of his family. He had been willing to stare down certain death just to make sure someone he loved was okay. I understood him completely, and I felt a strong bond to his struggle. Hero and I were a lot alike, and I smiled at him as we walked. I felt like we could become great friends.

  Then he ruined the moment by making fun of me.

  "Why you staring at me like that, bro?" he said. "You're giving me the 'fuck me' eyes. It's creeping me out."

  There was a gunshot in the distance, and a second one followed shortly after. It was hard to tell what direction it came from, and I was about to say it came from ahead when Reagan spoke up.

  "Sounds like that came from behind us. Alpha's probably dealing with the breach."

  "What breach?" asked Hero.

  "Back near 23rd," I said. "They had a big group of zombies fenced off and they got out." I looked to Reagan. "Why didn't you guys just shoot them? Why were they locked in like that?"

  "They'll die on their own quick enough. The infected aren't that big a concern. It's the ones that don't know they're infected. They're the dangerous ones."

  "What do you mean they'll die on their own?" I asked. "Will they eat each other?"

  "Nope. Their guts explode and they just, plop, die," he used his arm to mime a falling corpse. "Takes about three to five days."

  "Why do their guts explode?" I asked.

  "Bacterial growth. Builds up gases in their stomachs and they just pop. Once that happens, it's lights out for the walking dead."

  "That's gross," I said.

  "No use wasting bullets on something that's about to die anyway."

  Hero looked perplexed and he stopped in the middle of the street. "Wait a fucking second. How do you know that?"

  "Know what?" asked Reagan.

  "How do you know they die after three to five days?"

  "That's what they told us. That's the reason Alpha's been containing them where possible."

  Hero squinted and shook his head as if Reagan's explanation was clearly wrong. "Man that's bullshit." He cursed with dramatic flair and stomped his foot down in frustration. "You
telling me there's been zombie attacks around the world and no one knew shit about it, except the government? Come on, man, open your fucking eyes."

  "What exactly am I opening my eyes for?" asked Reagan.

  "You giving us a line of shit. How come they know this stuff about how long a zombie can live? Why's there been truckloads of those black coffins sitting outside the city, waiting to be brought in like this?"

  "You've seen those too?" I asked.

  "Hell yeah. Up at Crenshaw Field they've got them stacked three high and there're thousands of them. Row after row of dead folks locked up tight."

  "Same thing back on 23rd," I said and pointed behind us.

  "What the hell were those things for? Huh? Why'd you guys make so many of them and stick them right outside the city?"

  "It's better for a city to be prepared for something like this than to let it catch everyone by surprise," said Reagan.

  "Oh really?" said Hero. We were still in the middle of the street and I tried to get them to move to the other side, but Hero was incensed and wanted to stay where he was. "Then how come none of them showed up after Katrina? Huh? Why'd they let bodies float around out there for fucking weeks, man? You got an answer for that, Pops?"

  Reagan didn't answer so Hero continued with his rant. "And how come all you mother fuckers strode right up in here as soon as this shit went down? Like you knew it was going to happen."

  "We get reports of terrorist activity all the time, and we prepare for them accordingly," said Reagan. He tried to keep his composure, but I saw a change in his expression. It seemed like he had some doubt about his convictions.

  "Fuck you," said Hero as he finally moved to the other side of the avenue. "This shit was planned. Open your eyes. You know what we heard from some buddies that ran from your guys?"

  Reagan grimaced as he asked, "What?"

  "They heard you were taking people out to camps, outside the city, and keeping them there to test them and shit."

  "I heard about that," I said. "Your two guys, Williams and Thompson, they were talking about civilian camps. Is that where everyone got sent to?"

  "Sounds like some Hitler shit to me," said Hero.

  "Yes, of course we are," said Reagan. "We have to run proper tests on people before we can allow them to mix with anyone that's clean. That's common sense. Stop trying to turn that into a conspiracy."