The Gauntlet_Book Two in the Zombie Uprising Series Read online

  She took a deep breath and exhaled. They could make me disappear and no one would know it. If it was a government coverup, she might never be seen again. They'd just report that she and her dad died in the Point Wallace fire, their remains so severely burned that identification of all body parts would be impossible.

  Dinner came at 5:30 p.m. She sat on the bed, her arms folded and her burning gaze directed at the guard. He ignored her. The tray switch was made and she caught a glimpse of the sunken-eyed leprechaun in a suit just before the door clicked shut.

  She dove into the meal. She had to keep her strength up. If someone didn't talk to her soon, she'd have to do something. Her mind raced through possible escape scenarios. She could stand off to the side with the chair when the next meal came. The big server lady would be no problem, so she'd take the guard out first. But what about the little guy? He didn't look like he'd be a problem, but looks can deceive.

  The local news came on with a lead story of a disturbance in Wasilla. Forty minutes north of Anchorage, it was one of the fastest growing areas in the state. Jen turned the volume up.

  The newscaster stared seriously into the camera. "A riot involving dozens of people is taking place in a strip mall on the northern outskirts of Wasilla tonight. Wasilla police and Alaska State Troopers are responding and are warning citizens to stay away from the still unfolding drama. Our own Quentin Kelly is there. Quentin?"

  The screen changed to a man in a shirt and tie, his salt-and-pepper hair perfectly in place. He held a microphone and had one hand to his ear. "Thank you, Sandy. Police aren't saying much, but I've spoken to some witnesses who said a disheveled man entered a local barber shop and attacked the customers. Some of the wounded customers then joined the man and attacked others."

  Screaming and yelling drowned out the newsman as panic-stricken people rushed past him. Several law enforcement officers, guns drawn, ran the other way. The newsman glanced over his shoulder, then back at the camera, his face slack. "The riot is getting close. We may have to—"

  A screech cut him off and he cringed. Jen's heart skipped a beat and her breathing quickened. No mistaking that sound. How the hell did a zombie get all the way down to Wasilla from the Alaskan bush in a day?

  The newsman's eyes grew wide. "Sandy, we're getting out of here."

  Gunshots peppered the background sound as more people stampeded past the camera. One old man stumbled, and a middle-aged woman jumped on his back, driving him to the ground. The woman glanced at the camera just as it cut off. Jen only saw her for a few seconds, but it was long enough to see the yellow in her eyes.

  3

  Jen stayed up all night switching between channels, trying to get the latest on the zombie outbreak in Wasilla. There had been no more live reports, just updates from the newsroom. All communication with the responding troopers and police had been lost, and the local stations repeated warnings to residents to stay indoors. By early morning, the outbreak had spread to the nearby city of Palmer.

  The governor declared the entire Matanuska-Susitna Valley a disaster area and ordered a full recall of all Army and Air Force National Guard. They, along with the Anchorage Police Department, set up a barrier on the Glenn Highway at the Knik River Bridge. Reports of unrest in Fairbanks hit the news by 6:00 am the next morning, and the President of the United States declared the State of Alaska a disaster area and ordered Air Force and Army troops on Joint Base Elmendorf Richardson in Anchorage to assist local forces.

  And never was there a mention of the dead walking, attacking, eating, and infecting the living. Someone at some level of government had to know what was really going on. Jen suspected the people in charge of the building she sat in knew the situation precisely.

  The door unlocked at seven the next morning, and the server loped in with a tray. Rings under her eyes, she picked up the old tray, nearly dropped it, and left. The damn security guy looked like he'd stayed in a five-star hotel, with pressed pants, a clean shave, and no sense of fatigue. Jen stood as he prepared to close the door. "Did you pass my message on? That I'd like to talk to whoever's in charge?"

  His gaze met hers and he nodded, then he closed and locked the door.

  Jen dug into her breakfast, keeping her attention on the TV. Just as she scooped the last of the scrambled eggs up, the power went out. With no windows, the room was pitch black. Somewhere in the distance, an alarm sounded, and footsteps pounded down the hall.

  She sat still, not daring to move. After a few minutes, she detected a weak glow from beneath the door. Probably some sort of emergency lighting in the hallway.

  A loud click came from the TV, and the lights came on. She powered the TV and surfed the channels for another news station.

  What the hell happened?

  She had just tuned into a local news station when the picture went out. The power light on the TV was still green, but the cable box showed red.

  Shit.

  She changed the TV's channel from the cable feed to the local airwaves. They were still up, but the picture was fuzzy and the audio filled with static.

  "City officials ... downtown disturbances ... multiple injuries ... warn people to stay away from ... power down all over—"

  Jen changed to another local channel. The picture had a little snow, but the audio was clear. A female reporter stood in front of the camera. "I'm here in Town Square in downtown Anchorage, where police have cordoned off much of Fourth and Fifth Avenues."

  A line of police stood several yards behind her in full riot gear, their backs to the camera.

  "Word is a crowd of rioters is heading this way down Fifth Avenue. As you can see behind me, the police are prepared to repel them."

  A man's voice came from somewhere near the reporter. "Here they come. Prepare for contact."

  The reporter looked over her shoulder and everything went quiet.

  Great time for the sound to go out.

  Jen turned the volume up all the way. The shuffling of the police officers came through the speakers, so the sound worked. It was as if they all held their breath.

  A high-pitched shriek washed over the police line, followed by a chorus of answering shrieks. It sounded as if hundreds of sets of fingernails were being scratched across a giant chalkboard. How many were there?

  Shrieks turned into a roar. A burly policeman strode into view just as the picture cleared. "Stand your ground!"

  The reporter turned to the camera. "I think we should leave."

  The first wave of yellow-eyed demons slammed into the police line, which bent but held, but only until the second wave hit several seconds later and washed over them. Two zombies tackled the sergeant, one ripping his throat out and the other clamping its jaws on his arm.

  A zombie in a ripped shirt and dirty jeans grabbed the reporter and sank his teeth into her shoulder. She screamed as he ripped a chunk of flesh out and chewed it, looking into the camera just before its signal ended.

  Jen sat, her hands clenched on the chair's seat and her breathing shallow, as the news anchor appeared on screen, his usually carefully coifed hair askew and his eyes wide. "Grab your guns, gather your loved ones, and lock yourselves in." He stood and ripped the mic off his lapel. "I'm going home."

  A voice called out from somewhere in the studio. Jen couldn't make out what was said, but the anchor looked to his left and flipped the bird. "Fuck you. I'm out of here. I'm not sitting at a desk while the end of the world comes."

  He strode out of view. The camera stayed on his empty chair for thirty seconds before the feed switched to commercials.

  Jen charged the door, throwing her body against it. "What the hell's going on out there?" She slammed the door with the base of her palm. "The city's dying. They're coming."

  When no one answered, she rammed her shoulder into the door. "Is there anyone out there? We're in danger."

  Panting, she dropped onto the bed. What would she do when the zombies came? She had no weapons. She looked around. And this damn room is a trap. One way
in, one way out.

  The door opened and the guard stood with a tray in his hand. He stepped to the desk and set it down.

  Jen rushed him and rammed him into the desk. He folded over at the waist with an oof. She pushed off him, ran out the door, and stopped. The hall went in both directions, each ending in a turn. There were no doors or windows. Just shiny tile and bright lights and that damn antiseptic smell.

  The guard dashed out the door and slammed her against the wall. Her lungs emptied and she fell to the floor, gasping. He picked her up, tossed her onto the bed, and closed the door. The lock clunked.

  Jen lay on the bed, her heart pounding and sweat trickling down her cheek. She had to get out of there and find her dad.

  She sat up and screamed, "I want to see the person in charge. Now."

  No answer. The damn guard was out there. He'd been out there the whole time. Did that dick ever sleep?

  Soft whistling came from the other side of the door. A snippet of a tune, Jen couldn't quite place it. Something classical. By the fifth time he'd whistled it, she'd had enough, and trudged back to the bed and plopped down.

  Exhausted, she lay back and closed her eyes. She'd need her rest. She'd think better, and fight better, with it.

  The lock clicked and Jen's eyes snapped open. No telling how long she'd been out, and the damn TV didn't work, so she couldn't get the time there.

  The door opened and the guard stood in the doorway, knees slightly bent, arms apart, his eyes scanning the room. He looked like he expected to be jumped. Not so dumb.

  He glanced at her and picked up the lunch tray. He frowned. "You didn't touch this."

  So he does speak. Jen sat up slowly, trying to look as passive as possible. "Been sleeping."

  He nodded. "Then I'll leave lunch and dinner both." He shrugged. "It's not much. Sandwiches. All I know how to make."

  She raised an eyebrow. "You're making my food? What happened to the lunchroom lady?"

  "Gone. All the locals are gone." He placed the second tray on the desk.

  Jen took a deep breath and exhaled. "Please. I need to talk to someone in charge."

  He stepped into the hallway and faced her. "I let him know. He'll see you when he has time."

  He closed and locked the door.

  Stomach growling, Jen sat at the desk and lifted the lunch tray's plate cover. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a bag of potato chips. "I guess cuisine is the first thing to go in an apocalypse."

  She picked up the dinner tray's plate cover and groaned. "Of course. Another peanut butter and jelly sandwich. This guy's going to kill me with this crap."

  She ate both sandwiches and inhaled the chips, then opened the refrigerator. Only two more cans of soda. She pulled a can out. Why save them when she could be a zombie by morning?

  An hour later she was running through channels with the remote and having no luck picking up a signal, when the door lock clicked. She put the remote down and turned in the chair. "What now? A midnight snack of peanut butter and jelly?"

  The guard stepped in and to the side. She raised her eyebrows at him, but he gave her no reaction.

  A tall man in his late twenties wearing a white lab coat walked in and peered over his round wireframe glasses at Jen. "Hi, Jennifer," he said in a soft Southern drawl. "I'm Dr. Wilson, but most folks call me Doc. I hear you've been asking to see me." He smiled. "Let's chat."

  4

  Jen jumped to her feet, and the guard stepped between her and Dr. Wilson. The doctor put his arm out. "It's OK, Mark. She just wants some answers, and I've a mind to give her some."

  Mark moved back into the doorway, blocking off her escape. This guy doesn't miss anything.

  Wilson gestured at the chair. "Please, Miss Reed. Have a seat." He glanced at Mark. "I think Mark'll feel a little better if you do."

  Jen eased into the seat. "Where's my dad?"

  "He's here," Dr. Wilson said. "Would you like to see him?"

  Jen smiled. "Yes."

  Dr. Wilson nodded. "Fine. I can make that happen, but I'll also need something from you."

  "What's that?"

  "I need to find out more about your experiences in Point Wallace."

  So she had information he wanted? She had some leverage after all. "There was a fire. We got out."

  Mark stood still as a statue, no expression on his face. He's really soaking everything in. What else has he heard in this building?

  Dr. Wilson sighed. "Really, Miss Reed, I was hoping we could be reasonable. You and I both know what's going on. I'm trying to stop it, and your assistance could be invaluable."

  "And I get to see my dad?"

  He nodded.

  "And we can leave?"

  "If I had my druthers, you could leave right now, but—"

  "But we have the authority to detain you to get the information we need." The sunken-eyed man in the suit sauntered into the room, his nasal voice irritating her. "Miss Reed, the President of the United States has declared martial law in Alaska, and we will do whatever is necessary to combat and contain the outbreak."

  Dr. Wilson frowned. "Hatcher, why don't y'all chill?" He turned to Jen. "What he said is true, but my concern is you won't be safe. I understand you've seen the local news reports?"

  She nodded. "I have, Dr. Wilson. But how did the zombies get down here? Weren't they all destroyed in the Point Wallace fire?"

  Wilson put a hand up, palm out. "Doc. Please call me Doc. Not all of the zombies were destroyed, but that's not how the virus got here."

  "How, then?"

  "I'll answer your questions and let you see your father if you'll agree to help me. Let me mine your experiences in Point Wallace. Do we have an agreement?"

  Hatcher crossed his arms. "She doesn't have the proper security clearance."

  "I'm giving it to her right now," Doc said. "What do you say, Miss Reed?"

  What did she have to lose? Besides, if it would piss Hatcher off, she was all for it. "OK, but cut the Miss Reed crap. I'm Jen."

  "Good." Doc walked to the door. "Get some sleep and we'll talk in the morning."

  Jen stood up and took a step toward him. Mark stepped in front of her and Jen put her hands up in a gesture of surrender. "No harm. Just want to see my dad."

  Doc walked out the door. "Tomorrow, Miss Reed."

  Mark closed and locked the door. "It's Jen," she yelled through the door.

  Despite having had little sleep, Jen still had trouble dozing off. Funny how she'd lived without her father for all those years and suddenly she couldn't wait to see him again.

  She woke the next morning when the door opened and Mark brought in her breakfast tray. She sat up and yawned. "If you made me peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for breakfast, I'm going to kick your ass."

  The burly guard cracked a smile and answered, "I made eggs and bacon, but you're welcome to put PB and J on your toast."

  Jen laughed. "I thought the standard food after an apocalypse was canned peaches." She stood and put a hand out. "What's your last name, Mark?"

  Mark stared at her hand, his grin melting.

  Jen sighed. "Oh, come on. Are you afraid of little old me? I just thought we could start over."

  He gave a slight shrug and shook her hand. "Mark Colton."

  "Now when do I get to see my dad?"

  He sighed. "You have a one-track mind, don't you?"

  "And I'm told I'm a little pushy, too. So when do I see him?"

  "Doc will stop by this morning. He'll tell you."

  Jen opened her mouth to protest, but he put a hand up. "He's a busy man, but if he says he'll see you, he'll see you."

  Jen nodded. "Good enough. For now."

  Mark left and Jen dug into her breakfast. She'd just finished when the door opened and there stood Doc. He carried an aura of calm about him. If she didn't already know about the virus, she would've never guessed he was trying to save humanity.

  He leaned against the door frame. "I trust you've had plenty of rest."

>   Jen swiveled in the chair. "I got enough." She wasn't going to ask about her dad again. At least, not yet.

  Doc cleared his throat. "Let me give you an abridged version of what's been happening, then you can answer some questions. Fair enough?"

  "OK."

  "The dead are being reanimated and are attacking, infecting, and eating the living. Zombies, some would call them, and it's not an altogether incorrect characterization."

  Jen leaned forward. "Welcome to my world. What can you tell me that I don't know?"

  "It's caused by a virus."

  Jen crossed her arms. "So you get bitten, then you die and come back as one of them."

  Doc squinted. "That's part of it. You don't need to be bitten to be infected, all you have to do is die. It takes a bit longer to reanimate that way, but the results are the same."

  "Don't have to get bitten? How does that work?"

  Dr. Wilson rubbed his eyes. "I'm not sure. But it's why I need your help. You're the only person who's observed these creatures up close and has the scientific training to report on them."

  "I'm an environmental scientist. I'm familiar with viruses at a basic level, but not an expert."

  "I need every scientist I can muster," Doc said. "We need to crack this soon, because later may be too late."

  Help stop this nightmare or sit in a room eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches until the world ends? Tough choice. "And my dad?"

  "I'll take you to him in a moment," Doc said. "But I need to know something first. Other than with the explosion and fire, were you able to stop any of the infected from the pit?"

  Jen thought back. "Yes, but you had to damage their head. Their brain. I shot some in the head, and other times caved in some skulls. It worked the same way with the locals who'd turned. They just moved faster."

  "Did they?"

  Jen pushed back a strand of her hair. "I think it was because they were fresher, if that makes any sense."

  "It does, indeed."

  Jen stood. "My father."