Revelation: A Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Thriller (Arize Book 2) Page 3

  “Of course. Raised Methodist and I’ll die that way. I pray for the safety of my unit every morning and night.”

  “Even Methodists accept the Book of Revelation, the visions of Daniel, and the prophecies of Matthew and Luke.”

  “I’m no expert on any of that. My orders are to hold this ground, and that’s as far as I need to think.”

  “You proclaim your faith,” Ingram said. “And yet I can see great concern on your face.”

  “Because this shit has turned people into flesh-eating monsters. I’ve lost soldiers. Half the world’s burning down and the rest’s turned into a soup sandwich. And we don’t even have enough of a surveillance grid left to know how other countries are reacting.”

  “We only need to worry about one Kingdom now. It’s a time to rejoice, because He is coming.”

  “You’d know better than I do.”

  “True. That’s why President MacMillan appointed me. He sees what’s happening and knows his days are numbered. ”

  A sudden gust of wind drove a sheet of rain against the window. Despite the weather, the husks of buildings still smoldered on the horizon, marked by deep red smudges against the darkness. Here and there, electric lights winked in the storm, probably powered by gasoline generators. Those poor souls were lost and alone, bewildered by the sudden disruption of their world. So many had yet to find their way to Promiseland. That was where the Army should devote its powers.

  And the Army’s powers were his powers.

  “We have another problem,” Hayes said. “One of our squads reported some deaders that were half rotten. Way too decomposed to be recently turned. The squad blew them all to hell and brought back a tissue sample for the medics to examine. Medical report suggested these zombies had been dead at least a month, maybe more. And they had formaldehyde in their systems.”

  Ingram smiled. “You’re still clinging to science in the age of miracles?”

  “These things were already dead and buried before the Klondike Flu. I don’t know where they came from, but something kick-started them back into action.”

  “Satan.” Ingram let the name hang in the air, studying the colonel’s expression. Despite the man’s profession of faith, he was clearly skeptical. He was willing to accept a scientific theory but immediately rejected the most obvious answer.

  “Well…it’s a new threat, whatever it is.”

  Is that FEAR in the colonel’s eyes? So much for courage in the face of the enemy.

  “Satan will summon allies in whatever form he can. The Bible plainly says he will command great armies. The only question is whether the Lord’s armies will be equal to the task until His return.”

  Hayes stiffened. “I’ll perform my duty and so will my soldiers.”

  “That might include expanding our list of enemies. Those who refuse the mark are free to take their chances outside official shelters and sanctuaries. But at some point, Satan will recruit them and use them against us.”

  “Our recon suggests they’re lucky to survive out there. They have more to worry about than Promiseland and the people inside our walls. And they’re still United States citizens.”

  “Are they, though? The final lines are being drawn. And there will only be two sides in the end.”

  “I’m sorry, but I won’t ask my troops to kill innocent civilians.”

  “You already have. You slaughtered the sick.”

  Hayes grimaced. “That’s different. That was eliminating a clear and present danger.”

  “They’ll prove themselves a danger soon enough.”

  “Are you giving me an order?”

  Ingram realized the man was perfectly willing to commit any atrocity, as long as he had plausible deniability and political cover. “I’ll leave it to your discretion. For now.”

  Hayes stood at attention for a moment longer. “Is that all?”

  “Dismissed. Send in my assistant on your way out.” Ingram waved him away, already turning to the satellite telephone system FEMA had installed on his desk. The technicians had explained the encrypted transmissions, but Ingram didn’t care about the specifics. All he knew as that he had a direct line to the president and the lack of a communications grid wouldn’t affect him.

  The assistant, Olin Starnes, was young and sharp-faced, a devout Christian who’d pledged loyalty to Ingram long before the apocalypse. Despite the living conditions, he looked well-scrubbed and tidy. Starnes had been mentored by Cyrus Woodley, Ingram’s personal bodyguard. Woodley had not yet returned from his mission to retrieve Ingram’s wife from the regional airport.

  “Help me rig this thing up, Olin,” Ingram said. “Get me the president’s line and put it on speakerphone.”

  “Yes, sir.” Starnes’s duties included broadcast production, and he was a whiz at any kind of telecommunications or video equipment. Within a minute, he’d placed the call.

  President MacMillan answered on the third ring with relief in his strained voice. “Reverend! Good to hear from you. Any news?”

  “We’re holding on. How are things in Washington?”

  “Broken down worse than ever.” The president paused, perhaps measuring whether Ingram believed the rumors of government evacuation of the capitol. “At least that’s what I’m hearing. Hard to tell with so many lies making the rounds. Here we are on the brink of collapse, and people are still jockeying for political points.”

  “At least you have the wisdom to rise above it,” Ingram said. A well-placed ego stroke never hurt, especially when politics was involved. “I’m honored by your trust in me, and I’ve already connected with several of the regional directors who are establishing shelters.”

  “So I’ve heard. This mark thing…is that going to cause a logistical problem? It’s one thing to ask for I.D. or passports, but simply taking people’s word for it?”

  “They can fool us, but they won’t fool the Lord. Besides, it’s working well so far. The ones who want to join us stay healthy. Proof that our shelters are resistant to the Klondike Flu.”

  “Thank God we don’t have to worry about the courts on this one. Lawyers would have a field day.”

  “I suspect most of the lawyers have turned, Mr. President. Nothing personal.”

  “True, I graduated from law school but then I went into honest work instead.”

  Ingram didn’t consider politics to be an honorable field, but it was a useful field. Influence could be channeled to further the Lord’s will. Look how easily Ingram had ascended to power in a matter of days. “Have we made any progress on containing the outbreak?”

  “The Secretary of Defense tells me we’re pushing back in some areas, but we’re a long way from victory. Our theater commands are fragmented and our infrastructure is shaky at best. We had infestations at all levels of command, and we’re still cleaning that up. Your plan of setting up shelters and expanding their perimeters looks like a good one. The trouble is finding good people like you to lead them.”

  “I have some friends in the ministry who share our beliefs. I’ll see how many I can round up.”

  “Praise the Lord. And listen to this…I’ve been in touch with the British and Canadian prime ministers, and they’re interested in a joint effort. They’ll be in touch with you for guidance. Levesque is a little bit of a heathen, but she’s about to be scared straight. And you know how the British are. The church has been running the show there for centuries.”

  “I’m honored you have so much faith in me, Mr. President.”

  “I have faith in your FAITH, Reverend. That’s what we need in these dark times.”

  “I’m here to serve.”

  “Thank you on behalf of our nation. Or what’s left of it. I’ll touch base in the morning. Good night and God bless.”

  After the call, Ingram turned to Starnes. The young aide’s face had remained implacable during the call. He could be trusted.

  “Do you have my sermon ready to go out?” he asked Starnes.

  “Yes, sir. We can transmit it to t
he seventeen shelters on our list, as well as the broadcasting corporations still in operation. We’ve got a satellite feed, too, so we can reach anywhere on the globe. Of course, we have no way to make an announcement or conduct any publicity campaigns.”

  “We just have to pray that it reaches those who need it.”

  “Everyone needs it, Reverend.”

  “Amen to that.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Raleigh-Durham International Airport was dark, and the traffic control tower had been sheared in half.

  A Boeing 747 lay in pieces around the tower, and several other jets had rammed the terminal. On the runway, flames flickered inside the ruptured fuselage of a smaller jet that canted down on one wing as if its wheels had collapsed. If any planes had landed here recently, their pilots must have been masterful at manual controls.

  And lucky.

  Cyrus Woodley studied the terminal with his binoculars. The odds of Sarah Beth Ingram surviving were slim, but he’d promised the Reverend. He imagined the crashed jets have suffered deader outbreaks in flight. Sarah Beth had flown from Asheville in a charter turboprop plane, likely with only the pilot and a couple of other passengers. Even if she’d landed safely, she would’ve been exposed both to the infection and zombies in the terminal.

  “Do we go in?” asked Specialist Horowitz, who’d driven the Humvee from Promiseland. A trip that might’ve taken half an hour in regular traffic had taken most of the day. They’d had to change a tire and at one point fought their way through a pack of zombies when the Humvee got stuck trying to squeeze between two vehicles.

  “The storm’s easing up a little,” Cyrus said. “We better try it while we still have the noise as cover.”

  “What’s the plan?” asked Private Brown from the Humvee’s gunner turret.

  “Look for groups of survivors,” Cyrus said. “If she’s alive, she won’t be alone.”

  “Do we separate?”

  “No. Stick together. If we lose each other, gather at the front of the terminal within one hour.” Cyrus checked the LED on his digital watch. “It’s just after three a.m. now.”

  “Pretty big place,” Horowitz said.

  “Yeah, but with the power out, it will be quiet. We’ll go concourse by concourse, shout a little, and see if we get any response.”

  “What if that brings out the deaders?”

  Cyrus wracked the slide of his Glock. “That’s why I brought you gentleman with me.”

  Several lines of vehicles blocked the terminal entrance, an assortment of buses, cabs, and sedans. The Humvee’s headlights had revealed bodies heaped along the sidewalk, some of them torn to pieces. After all the destruction Cyrus had seen on the journey, he was now inured to the slaughter. Reverend Ingram said that God had a plan, and Cyrus had no business second-guessing it.

  Brown passed Cyrus an AR-15. “Civilian weapon but it holds thirty rounds.”

  Cyrus accepted it and studied it under the interior light. “If that’s not enough, we’re not getting out of there anyway.”

  “What’s so important about this woman?”

  “She’s the reverend’s wife. He needs her. And we need him.”

  Horowitz slapped the steering wheel. “Whatever. I just want to make it back to base.”

  “What does she look like?” Brown asked. “Just in case we find her body.”

  “Assuming her face isn’t eaten off,” Horowitz added.

  Cyrus glared at the driver. “She’s middle-aged, attractive, short, wavy red hair. She’ll be wearing a pearl necklace and green eye shadow. She’s classy but not uptight. Healthy skin, a few freckles, cute little nose.”

  “Damn, boy,” Brown said with a whistle. “Sounds like you’re into her. You been hitting it?”

  Cyrus spun and lurched out of the passenger seat, grabbing the front of Brown’s field jacket. He pulled the man close enough to smell liquor on his breath. Brown’s eyes bugged out in surprise. “She’s a fine Christian lady. Don’t you dare talk that way about her!”

  Horowitz put a restraining hand on Cyrus’s shoulder. “He’s on our side, remember?”

  Cyrus gave Brown a final vigorous shake and let him go. “You guys don’t understand what we’re up against. This is it. The final battle. God is watching and sinners are going straight to hell.”

  Brown lifted his palms in supplication. “My bad, brother. I didn’t know you were like that.”

  “Like what?” Cyrus cocked an eyebrow in challenge.

  “A holy roller. You’re serious.”

  “I have a mission. And you have orders. Let’s go.”

  The soldiers glanced at each other but exited the Humvee after Cyrus. He swept his high-powered beam along the terminal entrance, searching for movement among the bodies. Whatever had fed here was long gone.

  Not surprising, considering what a sumptuous banquet had been served. Satan was generous indeed.

  Although the doors were inoperable because of the lack of electricity, the glass in one of them had been shattered. They made it inside the main gate without incident. More bodies lay along the tiled floor and a raw musk of decay hung in the cool air. Here and there, tiny lights glowed like dim stars—electronics and phones that had been abandoned during the attacks. The terminal was as cavernous as a cathedral, darkness encroaching against the tall windows. Despite his plan, Cyrus now felt that shouting would be a mistake.

  The ticketing desks were barren, suitcases and carry-on bags strewn along the carpet. They came to the security checkpoint and discovered the first mottled corpses bearing bullet holes.

  “Looks like the TSA fought back,” Horowitz said in a whisper. “Put some of them down.”

  Brown played his flashlight along the scanner checkpoint. A woman in uniform was sprawled across the conveyor belt, her limp arms ending in ragged stumps. “A real crowd pleaser. Had them eating out of her hands.”

  Cyrus pushed his way through the metal detectors and onto the open concourse. The entrances to a set of restrooms were blocked with bodies.

  “They tried to run and tripped all over each other,” Horowitz observed.

  “Either that, or they had the shit scared out of them,” Brown said with a chuckle.

  “You think this is funny, don’t you?” Cyrus asked.

  “Sorry. Forgot you were so serious.”

  “This place is giving me the creeps,” Horowitz said. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “Ready?” Cyrus asked, raising the AR-15 into a ready position.

  The two soldiers did likewise. “Bring it on,” Horowitz said.

  “Hello!” Cyrus yelled, his voice reverberating along the concourse. He listened as the echo fell away, straining to hear any movement or response. Something groaned and screeched like a giant reptile, glass shattering in the distance.

  “One of those jets,” Horowitz said. “Must’ve been rubbing against the building in the wind.”

  The trio worked their way past a number of boarding gates: United, jetBlue, Delta, Air Canada. More bodies, more stench of death. Cyrus’s flashlight beam fell upon a family that probably had been traveling for the Easter holidays. The father had tried to defend the two children, but great strips of flesh had been ripped from his back and shoulders. The mother had wrapped the children in a protective hug and had been likewise mauled.

  The deaders must’ve enjoyed the softer flesh of the children, because they’d been stripped nearly to the bone, their dress clothes hanging in rags around their tiny skeletons.

  “Appetizers,” Brown observed.

  “I want to know where the zombies went,” Horowitz said. “They left plenty of…food lying around.”

  “Plenty more where that came from.”

  “Where?” Cyrus said. “Nobody’s left alive. The deaders probably got out somewhere, maybe where the planes crashed into the terminal.”

  “Or else they’re waiting for dessert to walk in and serve itself,” Brown said.

  “I almost wish they would come out,”
Horowitz said. “This waiting is even worse.”

  “Let’s give it a try,” Brown said. He took a deep breath and bellowed, “ANYBODY HOOOOOOME?”

  They waited in near silence for a moment, the only sounds being the wind whipping against the building, rain against the windows, and the soft grinding of broken metal.

  Horowitz sighed. “I think it’s—”

  “Shh.” Cyrus turned his head toward the shops along the concourse. “I heard somebody.”

  He headed off in the dark, playing his beam back and forth in front of him. He sidestepped ravaged corpses and dried, gummy pools of blood. He called once more, bracing for an attack. Despite the cool air accompanying the storm, sweat dotted his neck and forehead.

  “Here!” came a weak voice somewhere ahead, followed by a second and a third.

  Cyrus searched the shops—a Starbucks, a newsstand, a bar—and then came upon a Hudson convenience store with the metal security fence drawn tight and locked.

  “Help,” someone said from the rear of the store, and Cyrus settled the soft yellow circle of light past the T-shirts and candy racks to a small office door behind the counter. Several sets of eyes stared back at him.

  “Anybody sick?” Cyrus asked.

  A young woman in a pink pantsuit stepped from the doorway. Her eyes were puffy with exhaustion but otherwise she looked healthy. “None of us are zombies, if that’s what you mean.”

  “How many are in there?”

  “Six.”

  “Is Sarah Beth Ingram in there?” Cyrus tried to see past the woman but the others were hidden inside the office, evidently as frightened of Cyrus as they were of deaders.

  “Nobody by that name,” the woman said.

  “How long have you been in there?”

  “Four days. Almost since the beginning. Zombies banged around the fence trying to get in for a day or so, and then they moved on.”

  Cyrus rattled the fence, testing the lock. “Do you have a key?”

  “No. Only management can open it. We’ve been stuck here. Lucky we had food.”

  A man’s head popped up over the woman’s shoulders. “Reese’s cups, Ritz Crackers, and Slim Jims. Get us the hell out of here.”